Mercy shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, I’ll lead now. I want to find Jessy Porter.”
They continued, looking at the strange little cubbies of monsters and listening to frightening music. Another monster jumped out at them, and the sound of a chainsaw going off diverted their eyes to the other side of the room where someone was pretending to chop up another person.
“Eww,” they both said and hurried along. That dreary sounding music was getting worse the farther they walked.
“There. Look, I can see his bright yellow shirt.” Mercy grabbed Cherokee’s arm and had her sliding along behind the curtain where the actors probably go.
“Mercy, someone is going to get mad. We don’t belong here. My God, you are obsessed with revenge and acting like a kid.”
“Yes, I am.” She saw a mask sitting on a mannequin and pulled it off.
“Come on,” Mercy said, and they headed back into the hallway that was so dark it was hard to tell which way was the right way.
It branched off in four directions. Mercy put the mask on and pointed.
“There. Right there. Come on.”
They hurried toward Jessy and his brother, Cherokee smirking and feeling like some sort of kid, and as Mercy squeezed behind the curtain to get ahead of the two boys, Cherokee stayed back and watched. As Jessy and his brother rounded the corner, Mercy jumped out, scaring the heck out of the two boys, making them scream at the tops of their lungs. Cherokee covered her mouth and laughed.
Suddenly she was jerked back behind the curtain. A hand came over her mouth, a strong, thick arm around her waist hoisted her off her feet, and the creepy monster from the front of the entrance to the haunted house was staring at her. She tried to get free from his hold, but he was stronger and he had his hand over her mouth and arm around her waist.
“You’re coming with me.”
She felt the prick to her neck. She kicked off her shoe and screamed as best she could with his hand over her mouth, but then her body went weak and he threw her over his shoulder and continued walking. Darkness overtook her vision.
* * * *
Spartan yelled into the satellite phone.
“Are you kidding me? When, Jaguar? When?” he yelled and looked at John, Hans, Nolan, Brye, and Cherokee’s dads.
“Days ago, Spartan. She was taken while in town at the haunted house with Mercy. We found her boot—she obviously kicked off on purpose—and a syringe was nearby.”
“A syringe? Fuck. They drugged her. Who do you have on top of this right now?”
“I got everyone I can, plus Cesar and his men scouted the entire area for more clues. They’re even backtracking to the surveillance cameras from days before in town to see if any strangers stand out. So far none match the identity of that guy Stanston.”
“Divert this plane we’re on. I don’t care where the fuck you think but obviously not Texas. It’s been three days. Three fucking days! She’s our woman. We meet in Arkansas. It has to be that fuckhead. Do you have him covered?”
“No. We can’t find him.”
“Fuck. Get this plane diverted. Have medical on standby for Field and Harrow. My team and I will need ground assistance and anything else I can think of. Hopefully your men have more when we land.”
“You have all resources available. I’ll work this on my end. The best thing to do would be to ease our way into that town.”
“I’m not easing in. I’m invading it.”
He ended the call.
“What happened? Is it Cherokee?” John asked.
“They took her.”
“Who?” Harrow and Brye asked.
“They don’t know, but let’s assume it was the asshole who broke into her house and attempted to rape her.”
“Fuck,” Hans said.
“He must have been watching her or had people watching. How fucking long? Why didn’t anyone notice?” Nolan asked.
“I don’t think someone was watching her for long. Plus, she hardly went to town. Only the few times before we—” He stopped talking and looked at Field and Harrow.
“Something you men want to tell us?” Harrow asked.
“We’re Cherokee’s guardians,” Spartan stated.
Harrow stared at Spartan and the others then looked at Filed. “I fucking told you,” Harrow said.
“You are so full of shit. I told you,” Field stated.
“Enough of this, where are we headed? Do you have a plan?” Field asked.
“You’re not pissed?” Brye asked them.
“I wouldn’t say that. The man she had to escape from found her while under your protection. Not good. What’s the plan?” Field asked.
“Well, we have a lot on this town. Jaguar knows, too. We locate where Cherokee is and we go in and get her out of there. If anyone gets in our way, they die. Good enough?”
“Well, Spartan, the only problem with that is there are civilians. We can’t go shooting up a town and leaving dead bodies,” John stated.
“Says fucking who? That’s our woman. Someone had the fucking balls to come to our town and to take her. They’re fucking dead,” Hans stated.
“There you go. Let’s see what Jaguar figures out by the time we land. They’ll get the two of you to the hospital,” Spartan said to Harrow and Field.
“Fuck that. We’ve been dealing with this pain for weeks. We’re not leaving Cherokee to some rapist monster in a crazy corrupt town. She’s our responsibility,” Field stated.
“Ours, too,” John said, and the others agreed.
“You should know that we love her. That we want her to be our wife, but we were waiting until you showed up to ask you,” Spartan said to them.
“And if we said no?” Harrow asked.
“We’d say fuck you, we love her, and she’s ours. Deal with it,” Spartan said to them, and they chuckled.
“Fuck yeah. I love it when a plan comes together,” Harrow said, and then they felt the plane changing directions.
“Jaguar works fast. Now let’s get what we can while aboard this bird and hopefully be ready to initiate that plan upon arrival,” Spartan said, and they all agreed.
Spartan was going to make sure that man who took Cherokee suffered. If he laid a hand on her, or had hurt her already, he was as good as dead.
* * * *
Cherokee was sweating. She was practically suffocating in the trunk of some car. It wasn’t moving, and she couldn’t hear a sound. Her head was pounding. She was thirsty, exhausted, and achy. She ran her hands along her body, ensuring that she hadn’t been touched while drugged, but she wasn’t certain. She was shaking so hard, scared out of her mind and only remembering the guy with the mask at the haunted house and nothing more. She listened and tried to determine if he’d just left her somewhere and how long she’d been out cold.
She waited and waited, and nothing. Not a sound. Had he left her here to die? What the hell was going on? She reached around, looking for something, anything that might help her, but the trunk was empty, and she didn’t really have much room to work with. She located the wires by the taillights by pulling down the corner material, reaching in, and tugging. If she took out the lights, then when he drove again, a police car or someone would notice. Perhaps she could slide her hand out and someone would see? She was trying to stay calm and make a plan. The guy was big. Too big to fight physically, despite any training she had. Besides, she had been drugged. She felt it in her system, and she hadn’t drank or eaten. How long had it been? Hours? Days? More? Tears filled her eyes.
She wanted her men. She wanted her fathers. Had they even been successful with their mission? Or if she got out of this situation would, she find out that they were dead?
Tears filled her eyes but hardly any. She must be dehydrated. Where are we? Where?
She lay down and tried to conserve her energy. Her survival skills taught by her fathers began to form in her head. Stay calm. Figure out a plan of action. When an opportunity arises, take it.
She started to think abo
ut scenarios. When the person opened the trunk, and she had to hope that they would, she could shove forward, up and out of the trunk. No, she couldn’t do that. It was a deep trunk. Was there enough room to maneuver her leg, hold on to the rim, and then thrust her hips hard to the left and kick the person, stun them, and then get out of the trunk and improvise?
She practiced it a few times in the small space, unable to fully turn or kick with the trunk closed, but open? Maybe. Then suddenly she heard the sound. Gravel kicking up, like maybe another vehicle approaching? A cop? Someone who’d found the abandoned car? Who? Her mind was frazzled with questions, scenarios, and when she heard the footsteps and then the trunk being unlocked, she gripped the side and prepared to use the one move she was able to in this position and with the one shoe, a boot, on her foot.
As the trunk opened, her reaction was quick, shocking even her. She slammed her foot up and out, colliding with a chest. She gripped the side as the man stumbled back, and she jumped from the vehicle.
“Grab her!” She heard the familiar voice despite the darkness of the night. Stanston, that son of a bitch.
As she countered a move by Ron, the guy who had supposedly raped Cassidy, another teacher, she caught Ron with a right hook to his nose, shattering it. She turned to run but then felt the strike to her shoulder and hit the ground. She scrambled to her feet, only to take a hit to her mouth by Stanston, and then he gripped her hair and squeezed her to him. His teeth were clenched, and the scar from his cheek and ear to his neck stood out as plain as day. She realized that was from her. That when she fought him off and got the knife and countered, she’d done that damage, and she would kill him if she had the chance.
“Don’t resist. It will make matters worse for you.”
“Go to hell!” she screamed and attempted to pull free but then felt the strike to her head from the butt of the gun. Stanston released her, and she fell to the ground.
“We need a safe place to go. The cabin in the woods. No one will come looking. It will give me time to break her in and make her see who she belongs to. Well, under.” Stanston said and stroked her cheek.
She felt stunned, her head throbbed, and dizziness was getting stronger. The son of a bitch had hit her hard. She needed to gain strength. She had to be smart and then make another move. Don’t let me pass out. Please don’t pass out.
“There we go. Realize that there will be no escaping. You’re meant to be mine. I was patient, Cherokee, but now that you’re here, we can finish where we left off.” He stroked her jaw again and then down her shoulder to her breast. She tried pulling free, but Ron held her hands behind her back and was tying them. She couldn’t let him tie them.
“No please, please it hurts too much.” She pulled them forward. “I’ll cooperate. I will. Just don’t tie them back. It hurts so much.” She fell to her knees and lowered down. She heard Stanston chuckle.
“Leave her be. I’ve got the gun anyway. If she tries anything, I’ll shoot her. Someplace that won’t interfere with me fucking her.” He chuckled. Ron did, too.
“You’re all set up there. Let’s head up. It takes a good thirty minutes through the woods to get to the remote cabin,” Ron said to him.
“Davie will take care of the vehicle, and Trev has been paid for his services. All loose ends tied.”
“Good. Then I can enjoy Cherokee, and you and the others can join us in the next few days to enjoy her, too.” He stroked her breast. She pulled back, and he scowled then backhanded her across the mouth. She had to do all she could not to roar and attack. Patience. She needed to be patient and wait to make her move.
So as they hauled her up and got her onto the ATV, she began to formulate a plan of action. She had no fucking idea where they were. It had to be Arkansas because Stanston mentioned staying clear of the town. Were her men, their friends from Repose, already looking for her? She had to hope they were but focus on being in this alone and surviving. She was scared, but becoming a victim of rape scared her more. The fact that Stanston planned on sharing her with others, including the sheriff, made her feel sick and so angry she would rather have Stanston shoot and kill her before she allowed them to take from her body or be alive when they did. She made a promise to herself right then and there as they took the ATVs that she would die before allowing them to take from her body. She swallowed hard. It was do or die. She closed her eyes and focused on keeping the dizziness away and conserving energy until it was time.
* * * *
“Let me tell you something, asshole. We don’t play by the rules. Just like you didn’t play by the rules being sheriff of this town. We got all the evidence to put you and your buddies away for life. Now, where the fuck did those assholes take Cherokee?” Hans yelled into Davie’s face as he gripped his shirt and held him up against the wall in the sheriff’s office.
The entire town was swarming with federal agents and military friends of Hans and the team. They’d found an illegal gambling ring, prostitutes, drugs, and a bunch of townspeople all claiming sexual assault, being held here against their will, and other crazy crap. It was a fucking mess and still no sign of Cherokee, Stanston, Frank, or Ron, who were officials in town.
“I don’t know a thing,” Davie said, and Hans decked him in the stomach. He fell to the floor.
“Fucking piece of shit. Tell us. Tell us now,” Hans demanded.
Davie held his gaze and smirked, even though he had blood dripping from his lip. “I don’t know a thing.”
Hans roared, ready to kill him, but Jaguar pulled his back. His team, and Cherokee’s fathers, weren’t going to stop Hans from beating the information out of Davie.
Jaguar stepped forward.
“Okay, here’s the deal, asshole. One, you tell us right now where Stanston took Cherokee and maybe it will give the judge and the feds a little leeway in prosecuting you for your crimes, or, two, I put you in one of your little cells with Hans here, and he can introduce you to the many, any ways a soldier with his capabilities can get an enemy to talk. He’s used to dealing with foreign terrorists, but I think he won’t kill you too quickly. He’ll try not to anyway.”
Davie’s eyes landed on Hans, and Hans gave him his most angry, wildest expression, his eyes wide like some psycho, and then Hans pretended to be a little insane. He rubbed his face and then growled and slammed his hands down on the desk, making everything bounce and fall to the floor.
“Fuck I want blood. Fucking blood. I love blood. Let me have him, Jaguar. Come on. I’ll be nice.” He then slammed his hand down again, pumped his muscles, and roared, then spoke in Russian. When he stomped closer and slammed his palm against the wall by Davie’s head, the man cried out.
“Holy fuck, no fucking way. No. I’ll tell you. Jesus, get that fucking guy away from me. He isn’t sane.”
Hans roared some more, really playing up the role good.
“A fucking cabin. Stanston, Frank, and Ron are all going to party with her.”
“Party with her?” Brye asked, teeth clenched.
“Screw her,” Davie said, and Hans stepped closer only for Spartan to hold him back.
“Where’s the fucking cabin?” Jaguar asked. Davie whimpered and held his arms around himself, looking scared and shaking.
“I’ll tell you. Just keep that psycho away from me.”
* * * *
The dumb cocky bastards. They didn’t tie her up. They let her walk around the cabin as they entered. It was pitch-black outside now, and on the way up, she’d looked for a route to escape. But wherever she went, it would be dangerous and slow moving. She had nothing. The only thing she noticed was a backpack that Ron had. She saw a flashlight on the side and a hunting knife. Maybe the bag had other things in it. He placed it right by the door on the rack.
“Where are we?” she asked in a low mouse of a voice trying to act timid and afraid. Not that she wasn’t afraid, but her anger, and the need to escape, was greater.
Stanston grabbed her arm and brought her into the living room. He
pulled her close and ran his hands along her ass. She tightened up, felt the gun on his hip, and knew she could get it off of him, maybe shoot him, but Ron had a gun, too, and he was in the kitchen. She was shaking. Stanston kissed her neck and then her shoulder.
“I’ve waited so long to have you, Cherokee. I did a lot of shit to find you. Fucking Texas and a damn schoolteacher still.” He ran his hand against her pants and over the crack of her ass. She pushed against his chest, and he gripped her tighter. “No. Don’t you fucking resist. You get what’s coming to you. You’re mine. Always have been and always will be mine.” He kissed her mouth. She cringed from the pain because her lip was swollen and cut, her cheeks bruised and sore from his strikes, and she turned from him.
“No. Don’t touch me,” she yelled, and he threw her down on the couch, pressed his thigh between her thighs, and struck her again.
He tore at her top, ripping it off her shoulder and exposing her breast. She glanced to the left and saw Ron smiling and watching. It was so quick, her evaluation of the situation of where Ron was to where Stanston had her. Stanston grabbed her pants and started to undo the button and zipper, his hands both in use, and she reached up and around him, which he took as her acquiescence to his moves and power and eased down lower, chuckling.
“She fucking wants it. It was all a fucking game.” He chuckled and pulling on her pants then looked toward Ron.
She gripped the gun, pulled back, and shot at him. He roared but jumped away from her, and she leaped off the couch nearly losing her pants as she ran when the first shot rang out, missing her. She turned shot again and again, hitting Ron’s shoulder and then Stanston again. She grabbed the bag, threw open the door, and a series of shots rang out, hitting the doorframe and then her arm. She cringed, but the adrenaline rush was so strong she ran, not worrying about getting shot but about getting free and escaping. She ran down the path she came to first but knew she needed to venture to either the left or right. It was a chance either way.
Sons of Justice 1: In Good Hands (Siren Publishing LoveXtreme Forever) Page 14