by Lowe, Aden
Georgie took a shaky breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and grabbed for the gun. Wrenching her body around, she fired blind into the body of the man with the knife to her throat. The recoil vibrated through her every bone while the percussion made her head ring. The man's grip on her hair started to loosen and she lunged away, leaving plenty of hair tangled in his fingers as she tried to put distance between herself and him.
A fist slammed into the side of her head with sickening force. She threw herself at the second man's knees, hoping to knock him off balance. He gave a satisfying grunt, but stayed upright to pound at her head again. She lost her grip on the butt of the gun for a second and struggled to regain it while he hit her one more time.
Darkness threatened to pull her under and she fought it back long enough to take one more desperate shot. The blows stopped, but she slumped to the ground and fell through to the black abyss of unconsciousness.
***
Georgie came to with her stomach threatening to empty itself. She wretched and rolled to her side on the cold hard surface, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly shut. The cool dampnes felt good on her face and she managed to keep her last meal where it belonged. About the time she settled into a spot where her hipbone didn't press against one of the ridges under her, a hard jolt slammed her cheekbone against metal.
Despite the screaming pain in her head, she forced herself to pay attention to her surroundings. Everything swayed dizzyingly and the combination of engine noise and loud exhaust implied she was in a moving vehicle. A fresh cool breeze whipped across her body to send a slight chill over her sweat-dampened skin.
The bed of a truck? The wide grooves under her seemed to confirm that impression. Finally she opened her eyes, but might as well have kept them closed for all the good it did. She managed to catch a glimpse or two of dim stars above, but nothing that helped her figure out where she was. With no way of knowing how much time had passed, she couldn't even make an educated guess about how far she might have been driven.
Another jolt cracked the side of her hipbone painfully against one of the ridges under her. Blinking back tears of pain, she tried to shift position deliberately instead of just letting her body settle a little, but found her hands bound tight behind her back. She moved her feet experimentally, enough to learn they were tied together at the ankles. So much for any bright idea she might have about leaping from the back of a moving truck.
The longer she stayed awake, the more she felt the discomfort of her position. The pain in her head seemed to subside a little, or the other aches just intensified. Every bony part of her body in contact with the truck bed hurt like mad with the vibration created by the road. And no doubt those jolts and bumps would leave some nasty bruises, if she lived long enough.
Who the hell attacked her, anyway? Probably the same ones who injured Dix. Leaving him passed out at her door must have been a ploy to get her outside where they could grab her. But why? As far as she knew, she didn't have any real enemies. Not the sort to do something like this. The only locals who might wish her harm were the occasional drunk she had to toss out of the Rattlesnake, and Old Man Weaver didn't seem capable of inflicting the kind of damage she had. Of course, his new buddies could have done it for him.
Business rivalry might bring enemies, but there were no other diners or bars in Stags Leap, and as far as she knew, no one had even a remote interest in operating one. Besides, Rita, the owner of the Rattlesnake, was well-liked in town. She'd made a mark on the community by helping women who found themselves in the middle of a rock and hard place with abusive men.
Could that be it? Had the abuser of some woman Rita helped in the past decided to take revenge? The voice she'd heard during the attack had been slightly familiar. If some man bent on getting even had kidnapped her, chances were, she wouldn't get out of it alive.
The thought electrified her and she struggled against her bonds. With a great deal of wriggling and plenty of new bruises, she managed to bring her hands below her ass and to the back of her thighs. Gasping against the pain, she stopped for a moment to get her breath, then brought her knees to her chest.
She'd intended to get her hands in front of her, but as she moved them past her ankles, her fingers brushed against the binding around her ankles. Rather than the zip ties she would have chosen for that kind of situation, they had buckled a leather strap, maybe a belt, to secure her legs. Adrenaline made her fingers shaky and slow to obey commands, but eventually she succeeded in opening the buckle and freed her feet.
Able to move her legs freely, it only took a moment to get her hands to the front. She inspected her wrists carefully, searching for a way to get loose. They'd used what felt like hay string to tie her. The stiff fibrous material had no give to it, and the coarse fibers bit into her skin. Limited in what she could feel with her fingers, she brought her hands to her mouth to find a weakness.
Her lips encountered sharp ends where the strands had been cut at a tight knot. Unless she missed her guess, that tie had been made by the hay baler, meaning there should be a hand-tied knot somewhere.
The truck slowed into a turn and she froze with dread. Had they reached their destination? If so, she probably only had moments left to live. Fuck, she wasn't going out without a fight. She returned to the search for a way to free her hands.
Chapter Fourteen
Dix wanted nothing so much as a good stiff drink of whatever had put him in such a state. The noise around him made his head thump harder and bright lights kept his eyes shut tight. What the fuck kind of partying had he done? Hell, it even hurt to breathe. And whoever insisted on talking non-stop needed to be shot.
A hoarse groan came out and he started to move a little. If he didn't get up to piss soon, it would be too late. He groaned again and started to roll to his side.
"Whoa, there, brother. You ain't going nowhere." That sounded like Fabio.
"Fuck you." The faint croak didn't sound half as tough as he'd meant, but who the hell cared. "Gotta piss."
Someone approached, tempting him to open his eyes and see who, but his head just hurt too bad. He tried moving again but heavy hands landed on his shoulders.
"Not so fast Slick. You're going to damage yourself if you keep this up." Someone pulled the blanket back and let the cold air reach his bare skin.
"The fuck, let me up." Cold plastic touched his dick and he pulled back in shock.
"Lay still, damn it. It's just a urinal bottle. You're not getting up."
Suddenly too tired to struggle anymore, he gave up. Taking a piss flat on his back with his dick stuck in a bottle took conscious effort, but the pressure in his bladder refused to be denied. When he finished, someone took the bottle away and pulled the blanket back over him. Sleep reached for him, but he resisted.
Something important—"Georgie." Just saying her name sent a wave of cold fear rolling down his spine.
"Hold on, kid. We're going to get you raised up a little and get you some liquids. Then it's time to come clean. We need to know every single detail." Fabio squeezed his shoulder.
The bed under him took a sickening shift, then the head raised until he sat in a sort of reclined position. A straw touched his lower lip. "Here, drink slowly. It's ginger ale. Should settle your stomach a little."
He took an experimental sip and the cold liquid flowed over his parched tongue and relieved the dry ache in his throat. Instantly more alert, he took another drink, but then the straw was taken away.
"That's it for now. Don't need you puking your guts up again." The bed creaked as someone sat by his feet. "Start talking."
He tried to open his eyes but light speared through his lashes and threatened to burn out his retinas. "Do something with that light." After a couple of seconds, the glow he could detect beyond his eyelids dimmed, and he tried again. This time he managed to get his eyes open to a slit, so at least he knew who was in the room. "What happened?"
Crank, sitting on the foot of the bed, shrugged. "That's what we're trying to fi
gure out, man. Georgie called Kellen early this morning and said you were hurt. Kellen called Stella to go help, and by the time he got there, the back door of the Rattlesnake was standing wide open and a stranger had bled out in the parking lot."
Dix's heart pounded. "Where's Georgie?"
Fabio shook his head. "We don't know. Stella made the call for all hands. There was no sign of her, but you were passed out just inside the door of her apartment. Looked like she left and locked the door behind her."
"We need to know what happened before you got there."
The ginger ale threatened to come back up as his thoughts raced. "That don't matter. Where the hell is she?" Alarm tightened his muscles in an effort to get out of the bed. "I have to find her."
Fabio pushed him back. "We'll find her, Slick. Whoever laid into you probably took her. We need every detail you remember. Was it the guy you knew that showed up?"
Crank passed him a styrofoam cup with a lid and straw. "Here, man, have another drink."
Dix complied, searching his empty memory for anything, any hint. "I don't know." He started to shake his head and quickly corrected that mistake before his brain rolled back to the other side of his skull. Jumbled bits and pieces of the last few days flashed through his mind. Riding with Georgie. Beating the hell out of Abe. Talking to Kellen. Pictures of Georgie on a computer screen. "I can't remember." Panic made his voice crack.
Fabio exchanged a significant glance with Crank. "That's probably from the head injury and blood loss."
"Probably." Crank turned back to Dix. "Here's what we know. Two days ago, you found out some douchebag ex of Georgie's had put naked pics of her up online. You beat the hell out of the stupid kid you work with at the garage and smashed the computer. You told Georgie and brought it to us."
Fabio took over. "On your way here, someone tried to run you off the road, and you said some guy you used to know came into the Rattlesnake." He went on to remind Dix what he'd said about Strafer. "You and Georgie spent the night at the Ferguson place, and you took her to the Rattlesnake yesterday morning, but you never showed up at the garage. Georgie expected you to come back in, but you didn't. Next thing we know is when she called Kellen."
Flashes of making love with Georgie ran through his mind. Spending the night with her in his arms had been a dream come true. And he needed it for the rest of his life. Try as he might, he only got sparse details about the night and morning. "I don't remember leaving the Ferguson place or dropping her off." His head throbbed from the effort. "Why am I stuck in bed for a bump on the head anyway?"
"Man, you got way more than a bump on the head." Crank grinned. "The Doc wanted you in the hospital but we convinced him to patch you up here."
"He wanted a bunch of tests but that would have caused questions we didn't think you would want to answer. His best guess was you have a severe concussion and three broken ribs. You also lost a hell of a lot of blood. You were shot at close range, kid, but somehow the bullet missed the important shit." Fabio sat back and dug his phone out and pulled something else from his pocket. After a moment, he handed the phone to Dix. "You know this guy?"
A dead man's image filled the small screen. The past reached out to bite him hard.
Chanting filled the candlelit room and Belial spun in the center of the Circle, acting as the focal point of the energy. The chant sped up and the tone deepened as they spun in the opposite direction from their leader, and the dead man's face belonged to someone on the other side of the Circle from Dix. The whole thing built to a frenzy until Belial dropped to his knees and everything froze. The candles snuffed, leaving them in thick darkness that vibrated with the force of Belial's will.
They never knew the purpose of most of the ceremonies and workings Belial commanded, but none ignored the summons to take part. The end goal didn't matter, as long as they fulfilled the commitment to serve.
Dix returned to the present with a mind-bending wrench. "Yeah I know him. Where's Kellen and Trip?" The prospect of explaining the details of his life sat like a rock in his belly. "I think they better hear this too." He let his eyes close in a slow blink.
Crank and Fabio traded another of those meaningful looks. Fabio finally answered. "They'll be here in a few minutes. I texted Kellen when you started to come around."
"Just so you know, man, Kellen's not a happy little camper. He was pissed all the fuck off."
Dix tried to draw in enough air to sigh but sharp pain lanced through his side. He brought one hand to a thick bandage around his ribs. "Yeah, I don't blame him. I'd be pissed at me too. Hopefully what I have to say won't make him any madder." The low roar of a bike engine grew to an ominous pitch outside.
***
Dix must have dozed off again because the sound of the door opening startled him. Kellen, Trip, Crank and Fabio came in and took up positions around the room.
Trip spoke first. "I'd offer you a beer, kid, but the Doc said no alcohol or you might start bleeding again." He gave a broad grin and took a long swallow of his own beer.
The effort to laugh hurt too much. "Fuck off, bastard."
Kellen smacked Trip on the shoulder hard enough to make him almost choke on the beer. "How you feeling, kid? Really."
Fear swarmed over him again. "I'll be fine once I know Georgie's okay."
"Yeah, I know. Ain't nothing worse. I've already got the boys looking for her. We'll find her." He nodded toward Fabio. "I hear you knew the stiff we found in the parking lot?"
The ginger ale he had earlier threatened to come up. Time to tell his brothers everything and pray they didn't cut him out, or worse. "I guess I should start at the beginning so you get the full picture." The deep breath he tried to take fired his ribs up all over again and it took him a moment before he could speak again. "My folks were pretty well off, I guess. At any rate, we lived in a big house and they sent me away to a boarding school that promised to get kids ready for Ivy League colleges."
Fuck this part was going to make him sick. He'd never spoken of it before, but they needed to know in order to understand. "Every kid had to take part in sports and clubs and shit like that to build their college application from about third grade on. I wasn't good at the sports stuff but that didn't matter. In the eighth grade, the made me play basketball, even though I sucked at it. The coach offered extra practices to me and another kid, and my parents insisted. "
Dix swallowed hard and looked around the room at these men he considered brothers. Would they look at him differently? "Those extra practices had nothing to do with basketball. It started with a beer and a nudie magazine. Me and the other kid, we endured through the season and never said a word, because one word from that coach would ruin our entire futures." He swallowed hard. "At the end of the season, he had a conference with our parents and convinced them we needed further mentoring from him. The other kid killed himself two weeks after that. Somehow, I got through the year but my head was all kinds of fucked up."
He chanced another look at his brothers and found stoic sympathy in their expressions, rather than the condemnation he'd feared. "I started getting in trouble, drinking, weed, fighting. Anything to forget that year. I kept good grades though and my parents thought I was just rebelling or something. I got with some pretty rough kids, I guess. At any rate, they thought giving me things would turn me around. They gave me a car when I was sixteen and I started seeing this local chick."
More bad shit coming, and the others clearly expected it. "My folks are religious. Church every week and all that shit. Well, my new girlfriend was religious too, but it was a whole other kind of church. She brought me in gradually and before long, I was a convert. The Church of Satan was right up my alley at that point. It let me justify all the bad behavior and do whatever I wanted."
Trip held up a hand. "Whoa there. I was with you right up until you said Church of Satan. Do you mean the real deal Satanism? Or some kids fucking around?"
"This was the very real deal. And it was very bad. I started to pull away aft
er a couple of months, so Belial, the leader, raped my girlfriend and had the others hold me so I had to watch. After that, I was too scared for her to object to anything he wanted or to try to leave. A little while after I graduated school, she died when a ceremony went wrong." He paused for a second to fight back the self-hatred that always threatened to suck him in whenever he thought of Sophie. "After that, I had nothing to lose."
Crank's deep scowl told very clearly what he thought of the whole thing. "Where is this bastard? He needs to be taken out just on principle."
"He's supposed to be in jail serving life, and as far as I know he's still there. My testimony put him there." Dix paused to let them absorb that. Men in their lines of business hated rats, and that's what he was. Would they kill him, just as a precaution? They might be tempted before he could roll on them. "He swore he would take revenge and eat my heart."
Kellen nodded. "That kind of threat is pretty common, but sounds like he might have meant it." Not a word about rats. Were they really just going to overlook it?
Dix's heart pounded a little harder. "The guy who showed up at the Rattlesnake the other day was involved, too. Strafer made a comment about my mom. And the dead guy in the lot? That used to be Belial's right hand. I hope Georgie got cold feet and ran off. But I think Belial gave the order to track me down, and use her to hurt me." Fuck, his head thumped. Just the thought of Georgie in Strafer's control was enough to make him puke his guts out.
The fucker was brutal in a sneaky way. Memory tried to drag him under again and he fought to hold it back while Kellen and the others continued to talk. Too bad, he lost the battle.
Strafer crouched on a log beside the fire that would eventually become the ceremonial bonfire. On the ground before him, a small goat lay on its side, all four legs tied together, and bleated in pain and terror. The stench of singed fur hung heavy in the air.
He held the stick back in the flame until the end lit again, then pressed it against the goat's neck. The poor thing shrieked with pain and tried to struggle, but the rope held it powerless.