I need to hit something.
How did we not see this coming?
I wait until the men return and have them all sitting at the table.
“We’re going to the Kings clubhouse,” I announce, looking at their faces. “We don’t know where they have her. Any ideas about the best way to handle this?”
“A few of us can go to scope out the situation, or we can all show up, a united front, and demand that they hand her over now,” Ranger says, glancing around the table. He looks on alert, ready to go to war, and in this moment I know I’ve made the right decision by letting him become one of us.
“This isn’t a normal fuckin’ situation. They’ve declared war by taking Faye,” I add, jaw tight. “United front. I like that. Everyone get your weapons ready. They’ll expect us tonight, so why don’t we surprise them instead.”
“Five a.m. sounds like a good time,” Arrow suggests, running his hand down his beard. “They definitely won’t expect that. They’ll all be asleep, yeah? Maybe have one or two men awake to keep guard.”
I stand up. “I’m going to get ready. You guys do the same, then try to get a little sleep, okay?”
I definitely won’t be able to sleep, but that doesn’t mean that they should stay up with me. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I have her, safe and sound, in my arms once more. Who the fuck do the Kings think they are?
They have no idea who they’re messing with. We took care of them before, and now they’re back for revenge. But they should have left it alone, because when I’m done with them, they’ll have nothing left of their club.
Nothing.
Some might think that what they did was ballsy, but it was just plain stupid. We’ll never give up. And if they’ve hurt my wife, we’ll never stop hunting them. They may as well kill themselves now and get it over with.
The Kings of Hell MC are nobodies.
And soon, no one will even remember their names.
EIGHT
Faye
I WAKE up needing to use the bathroom. I have no idea what time it is, and Douche Lord didn’t return after he left. Neither did anyone else. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. I kept dozing in and out, so uncomfortable to be sleeping sitting up, my neck sore as fuck. Still, when he finally walks in after I call out for someone, I pretend that everything is fine.
“Sleep well?” he asks, looking smug. I can’t wait to bury my foot in his face. And his nuts. I’m going to kill him, and I’m going to enjoy it.
“Like a baby,” I lie flippantly, squaring my shoulders. “But I do need to pee.”
He comes and stands behind me. “If you try anything, I will give you to the men, do you understand?”
I nod.
Yeah, being gang-raped does not sound appealing. There’s no way I’d try to escape without checking out the area first, looking for a weakness in their security. I can’t just kick him in the balls and run, because I have every element against me.
“I won’t try anything. I just really need to pee, okay?”
He unties my feet first, then goes behind me and undoes my wrists from the chair, but leaves them bound together. Hand gripping my upper arm harder than necessary, he leads me to the bathroom.
“You have two minutes.”
“You’re not going to untie my hands?” I ask, eyes going wide. “How do I wipe myself or wash my hands?”
“You don’t,” he says, looking bored. “You’re wasting time.”
I walk into the bathroom and he half closes the door, giving me a little privacy.
“How do I undo my jeans?” I call out, not wanting him to touch me, but I really do need to go.
He curses and then comes in, studying me. He looks like he doesn’t want to touch me, so maybe he has a little bit of brains in his head after all. Reaching into his waistband, he pulls out a gun. I swallow hard, but try to keep my expression blank.
“You try anything, I shoot.”
I nod.
He motions for me to turn around, so I do, and he cuts the binds off, then walks out, again leaving the door half open. I quickly undo my jeans and pull them down with my panties, emptying my bladder with satisfaction. After I clean myself up and wash my hands and face, I drink some of the tap water with my hands so I don’t have to ask him for some, rub my sore wrists, then look around for a weapon. A few seconds later though, the door is opened fully and a gun is being pointed at me.
“Hands together,” he demands, so I hold them out. He ties them in front of me this time, and I’m silently relieved. Sitting in one position for a long time really is hell—my body is so stiff and sore right now, and putting my hands in a different position will be heavenly. With a gun to the back of my neck, he walks me back to the chair. “Sit.”
I sit down, and this time he actually ties rope around my stomach and the chair a few times. “Not like I’m going to do anything with a gun to my head.”
“I like to take precautions,” he says, stepping back and admiring his handiwork.
“Precautions? Is that what they call being intimidated by a woman these days?” I say, unable to help myself.
He backhands me across the face.
Fuck.
It hurts like a bitch, blood filling my mouth. I look him dead in the eye and spit the blood on the floor, right next to his white shoes. A few light blood splatters cover them, which for some reason gives me a feeling of satisfaction.
“Probably shouldn’t wear white shoes on the day you’re going to show how much of a man you are by hitting a woman who’s bound to a chair. A woman who would otherwise give you a fair fight.”