Ridge Creek

by C L Green

  Ridge Creek

  C L Green

  Published by C L Green at Kindle

  Discover other titles by C L Green:

  Attraction Series:

  Natural Attraction

  Copyright 2014 C L Green

  ISBN-10: 0987552457

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9875524-5-7

  Front cover image © Cor Van Der Waal / 123RF

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead is coincidental.

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  *****

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my best friend KAL.

  My sister and soul mate in laughter, music and crazy, crazy fun.

  *****

  Chapter One – Divine Intervention

  Chapter Two – Hell On Earth

  Chapter Three – Even Crying Hurts

  Chapter Four – Electronic Visibility

  Chapter Five – Pizza

  Chapter Six – Emma

  Chapter Seven – Ladies Come First

  Chapter Eight – IT Specialist

  Chapter Nine – Fall Back Guy

  Chapter Ten – One Punch

  Chapter Eleven – Towball

  Chapter Twelve – Expansion Of Morality

  Chapter Thirteen – Boring

  Chapter Fourteen – Boxes

  Chapter Fifteen – Tickets

  Chapter Sixteen - Business

  Chapter Seventeen – Plausible Deniability

  Chapter Eighteen – AAA

  Chapter Nineteen – Body Shots

  Chapter Twenty – The Call

  About C L Green

  Discover other books by C L Green

  Chapter One

  Divine Intervention

  Staring up at the moon through my left eye, I wonder if there is a God. Under normal circumstances I would hold steady to my firm belief that God doesn’t exist.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight I have a reason to believe. A reason to believe there might just be a God and that even though I have been a bad girl, he still thinks I am worthy of redemption.

  Either that or he simply has something else planned for me. If that’s the case, whatever that something else is, I’ll take it. Anything has to be better than being dead.

  Right?

  Clearly there is a reason I am still here.

  There must be, I can feel it.

  I can feel it because tonight I am positive I witnessed a Divine intervention. I am also positive that without it, right now, I would most certainly be dead. I would also most definitely not be looking up at a big, bright, silvery full moon.

  Blinking slowly, I marvel slightly at the sensation of blinking with just one eye. It's not a skill that people use much, but tonight I don’t have a choice. My right eye is swollen shut and has what I think might be a nasty case of gravel rash over the top of it as well.

  Not that I can confirm that, I haven’t seen myself in a mirror.

  Yet.

  But perhaps I never will. I’m still not out of this mess and even with the Divine intervention about half an hour ago, I’m not sure I’ll be breathing easy any time soon.

  Shifting my good eye from the sight of the big silvery moon beating its light down on me and the skinny bitumen road ahead, I once again hold my breath to listen for the truck. I have been doing this every five minutes or so for the last half hour.

  I do this because I know that eventually he’s going to turn that truck off onto a dirt side road, pull to a stop and head around to the back. Eventually, he’s going to find out the back roller door of that truck is open and that I am no longer in there. Then he’s going to turn around and he’s going to come looking for me.

  Fuck.

  With a deep sigh, I start my ridiculous shuffling along the roadside again. My shuffle is compliments of the three inch spiked heel missing off one of my boots. One of my favorite knee-high, leather black boots.

  Rethinking my Divine intervention theory, I decide that I could be wrong. Surely if there was a God up there, he would not have added this final insult to all my injuries. He would not have snapped the heel off one of my favorite boots.

  Deciding that I will probably cover the ground more quickly if I rip the heel off my other boot, I groan and start searching the roadside for something to sit on. Spotting a huge log off to my left, I swallow all the scary thoughts. Scary thoughts of what might be slithering in the grass in the dark under my feet. Scary thoughts of what might be behind or inside that log. Scary thoughts of all the things that could be hiding in the thick forest surrounding me.

  Including vampires.

  Shaking the ridiculous thought of vampires from my head and wishing my high schoolteacher had never made us watch The Lost Boys that time at school, I shuffle across to the log.

  Ignoring all the screaming bones and muscles, I lower myself down onto my sore ass. Leaning forward, I watch in awe as my right arm swings uselessly in front of my body. It looks all kinds of wrong flopping about while I grab for the heel on my second boot with my left hand. Gripping it firmly, I am surprised at the ease with which it snaps off.

  Ignoring the pain in my ribs as I straighten again, I am about to fling the spiked heel off into the trees when it occurs to me that I should hold onto it. It could useful to poke his eyes out if he manages to catch up with me before I reach … safety.

  Wherever safety is.

  That’s a whole new problem I have yet to consider.

  Thinking that I will just slide my new makeshift weapon into the back pocket of my jeans, I slowly stand again and reach around behind myself. Trying to find my pocket with my fingertips, I get yet another surprise. The pocket of my jeans is no longer there, and to be honest, I don’t think much of my pants are either. Feeling what might well be a mixture of ripped clothing, ripped skin and blood with my fingertips, I sigh and give up.

  Unfortunately, that’s when I hear it.

  The sound of a truck groaning it’s away along the road towards me.

  Fuck, he’s on his way back already.

  Freezing as panic takes over me again, I hear my heart pumping in my ears.

  This is it. This is fucking it.

  There’s no way he’s going to just throw me in the back of the truck alive this time. This time he’ll put that gun to my forehead and blow the back of my head off first. This time he’ll make sure that I can’t escape out the back before we get to his middle of nowhere, mineshaft destination.

  Watching in horror, I see the headlights of the truck rounding a bend towards me and I suddenly launch into action. Spinning around, I throw myself over the top of the log to land painfully and awkwardly on the ground on the other side.

  Cringing at the new round of unbearable pain shooting through my body, I shuffle myself sideways and try to plaster my body lengthways against the log. Lying on my back, staring at the silvery moon again, I decide to start praying.

  What have I got to lose?

  As the truck approaches, I see the ground light up all around me and I am temporarily blinded by the high beam lights blazing the roadside into daylight. Muttering prayers of all the things I will do on God’s behalf, I lie still as I will the truck to pass by without its driver sp
otting me.

  And it does.

  It doesn’t even slow down, the engine never missing a beat. In fact, I can’t even say that it sounded like the truck was in a hurry. It sounded like a normal truck on a normal road, going somewhere. Although at two in the morning, in the middle of nowhere, one would have to doubt that any truck would be doing anything normal.

  Dazed and relieved, I struggle back up to a sitting position to look at the taillights of the truck as it makes its way off into the distance. Staring in disbelief, I realize that this is a different truck to the one I escaped from earlier. It's slightly bigger and it has canvas sides that are flapping in the wind. The truck I had been in had solid metal sides.

  Sighing with relief, I begin to struggle to my feet again only to launch back into panic as I hear another loud grumbling vehicle noise coming from the bend again. Swinging my head back, I falter briefly as I sight the single headlight of a motorcycle and recognize the heavy roar of Harley pipes.

  A momentary sense of relief floods my system as I realize that my savior may be here. This could be my ride to safety (wherever that is).

  It is only as I am about to struggle my way back over the log that another thought hits me. What is a biker doing out in the middle of a forest, in the middle of nowhere at two in the morning?

  Fuck!

  He’s probably out here taking care of the same sort of business that he had been taking care of with me.

  Shit, I’m probably jumping from the pan into the fire.

  Realizing the error of my ways, I throw myself back down on the ground and roll behind the log again. More pain screams through my body but this time it’s worse. This time I land on my back and a rock positions itself just right to jamb itself hard against my shoulder blade on the arm that has been dangling uselessly.

  As pain beyond bearing slices through me, my mind finally decides it’s had enough. It’s time to give up. After all I’ve been through today, I’ve just found my last straw.

  With an audible sigh of relief, I sink into blackness and pass out.

  *****

  “Woman! Wake the fuck up woman!”

  Slowly, and with a good amount of reluctance, my mind decides to wake up again.

  With an enormous effort, I drag my good eye open to find I am still lying on my back next to the log.

  There is a small torchlight beam pointing straight into my face and I can vaguely make out the shape of an enormous hulk of a guy squatted down behind it.

  Deciding that it’s not worth fighting anymore, that this time I really am done, I groan and shut my eye again.

  Now is the perfect time to die.

  I just hope he has a gun and decides it’s kinder to shoot me than leave me lying out here on the roadside next to a creepy forest.

  “Woman. What’s your name?” I hear Hulk’s deep rumbling voice urge again.

  “Ari,” I murmur. “Arianna.”

  “Arianna, are you gunna be able to get to my bike?”

  Keeping my eye shut, I half groan, half whisper as my mind teeters on the edge of nowhere. “Just leave me here to die. I’m cool with it.”

  “What the fuck?” I hear him rumble loudly again. “I’m not gunna leave you lying on a roadside woman. You’re all kinds of fucked up. You need a hospital.”

  At those words my mind snaps back to attention.

  Ignoring the agonizing pain roaring through every part of my body, I snap my eye open and start struggling to sit up. “No hospitals!” I grunt between jabs of pain. “No police, no public places either.”

  “What the fuck?” I watch as the torchlight moves and Hulk puts the handle of the torch between his teeth. Using his now free hands, he gently helps me to a sitting position.

  “Arianna. You need to see a doctor. Can you make it to my bike?”

  Avoiding staring straight at the torchlight, I look towards Hulk who is now in a stooping position in front of me and mumble, “No doctors either. Just leave me be. I’m fine.”

  Hearing a click, the torch goes off. Cast back into the shadowy gray of the moonlight, I can now see a better outline of the man before me.

  He is indeed a biker. I can see he is wearing heavy biker boots, possibly jeans and a thick leather jacket. He is also huge. Huge by way of being tall and broad. Huge by way of being six foot four tall and muscly broad, not fat broad.

  “You’re not fucking fine woman. You need help,” he rumbles softly as he stoops down towards me. “I’m gunna carry you to my bike.”

  “No!” I screech as I struggle to stand up on my own. There is no way I am going to let Hulk carry me to his bike and then take me to a hospital. I can’t go anywhere he might find me. As soon as he realizes I am gone he’ll have men posted out the front of every hospital, police station and shopping outlet for a hundred kilometer radius. He’s not stupid. He’ll know I have to show up somewhere.

  I watch as Hulk takes a step back at my outburst. His body language tells me he’s being wary.

  “Chill woman, I hear you. Trust me, I’ve got this.”

  “No hospitals, no doctors, no police and no public places.” I chant my list off trying to sound as authoritarian as possible. Although I am finding it hard to sound anything but feeble when faced with a six-foot four mountain of a man with a voice as deep as sin.

  “Gotcha. I’ve got this. Just let me get you the fuck on my bike.”

  “Okay,” I mumble. “Thank you.”

  Stepping closer to me again, his voice rumbling from above my head, he asks: “Can you walk?”

  “Yeah. I can walk,” I advise as I turn to climb back over the log. “Bending forward to place my hand down on it, I hear the click and the torch turns back on.

  Ignoring Hulk making a loud hissing noise from behind me, my fingers contact the log and I clamber back over.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” His rumble now sounding more like a growl.

  I’m guessing my ass IS hanging out.

  “My boyfriend beat the shit out of me and then he raped me with a gun to make sure I got the message. I then had to throw myself out the back of a moving truck in the middle of fuck knows where to save myself the pleasure of being shot in the head.”

  Should I have actually told him that?

  “Fuck,” I hear him grunt behind me. “You’ve had a fuckin’ bad day.”

  “You could say that,” I mutter to myself as I send another silent prayer to God begging him to have sent me a trustworthy biker who doesn’t plan on doing me more harm.

  But then again, what have I got to lose?

  Ignoring the alarm bells sounding in the back of my mind, I continue to shuffle towards the outline of the motorcycle on the side of the road.

  *****

  After what turns out to be a couple of hours of excruciatingly painful riding on the back of Hulk’s motorcycle, I am relieved to hear him rumble that we are almost there.

  Slowing down on the outskirts of a small country town, I watch as a sign welcoming us to ’Ridge Creek’ slides by.

  The town itself is still mostly asleep. At four in the morning, there is only the occasional light to be seen among the many old Victorian weatherboards lining the streets skirting the main township.

  Slowing down further, Hulk seems to be trying to keep the roar of his bike to a minimum as we rumble through the center of town. Passing several small shops and a supermarket, we roll through a red light at what looks to be the only set of lights in the main street. With no traffic to contend with, he turns right and then a short time later left into a small laneway running next to a shop front.

  The shop front is small and well lit with security lighting pointing direct on two shiny bikes sitting in the front window. The bikes are surrounded by signs, tubs and knickknacks all displaying the famous Harley Davidson logo.

  As the shop front slides past my eyes, we idle slowly down the alleyway until we hit a dead end with a huge roller door. Revving his motorcycle once, I watch in awe as the roller door slowly slides upw
ards flooding light into the laneway. The light reveals a potbellied old man wearing only a pair of loose fitting shorts and a pair of thongs. He is pulling the chain that is lifting the roller door.

  He has long white shaggy hair that is hanging messily around his face and a long white beard that stretches down to the middle of his chest. Grinning at the sight of Hulk, I watch as his grin soon turns to a scowl as he spots me.

  Exhausted and relieved that we are at last somewhere other than next to a log on the side of the road, I stare tiredly at him as we roll past.

  Gliding to a stop, Hulk flicks the stand out on his bike and leans it over. Slumped against his back, I hear the sound of the roller door going down again behind me at the same time as I hear Hulk ask, “Can you get off on your own?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” I mumble into his back, not moving.

  And I don’t. There was a point about an hour ago where I swear every cell in my body swelled and locked everything into place. My whole body is now just a constant throb with my only focus for the past hour being to keep my feet on the foot pegs and my good arm clamped around Hulk’s waist.

  I’ve been silently chanting don’t let go, don’t fall off, for a considerable time.

  “Pops,” I hear Hulk rumble. “You’re gunna have to lift her off.”

  “On it,” I hear the old man’s voice from behind me. “Fuck girl, are you okay?”

  Nodding silently, I try to turn my head to see him behind me but can’t get it to move. With big hands much stronger than they look, ‘Pops’ grasps me either side of my waist and lifts me off the back of the bike.

  Groaning in agony, me feet touch the floor and I feel my knees crumbling as my legs try to take my weight. More pain shoots through my body as I feel the familiar numbing of my brain sliding into place.

  Hearing two voices grunt, “Fuck!” In unison, I once again pass out.

  *****

  I wake up lying on my back staring at a picture of a mostly naked woman with her legs spread wide open. I say mostly naked because she is still wearing a pair of killer, spiked heel, red, knee-high boots.