The side door slides open, and hands grab me roughly, tugging me out of the van. I’m pushed forward, nearly losing my footing on the loose gravel. My captors grunt at each other, then shove me into what I imagine is a warehouse or another wide-open space. A hand wraps around the back of my neck, jerking me to the side and then forcefully pushing me down into a metal chair.
The bag is removed from my head, and I look at my kidnappers for the first time. A large man with a long gray beard and an ample beer belly smirks at me, his yellow teeth on full display.
“There you are,” he says as if he were expecting me. I guess he probably was. “We weren’t sure you were coming back to your apartment. Good thing someone was staked out in front of your place just in case you showed up.”
I swallow past the lump of fear in my throat and fight back tears. I won’t let him or the other man standing off to the side see me cry. It’s then that I notice both men are wearing leather vests with matching emblems on the front and back.Sons of Destruction, they read. I don’t know much about motorcycle clubs other than what’s portrayed on TV, but something tells me the reality is much worse.
“Hey,” the man shouts, snapping his fingers to get my attention. “I asked you a question.” I blink up at him in confusion. I must have missed what he said while trying to process everything that’s happened. “Where is your father?”
I narrow my eyes at the bearded man, not giving him anything. Instead, I ask a question of my own. “Is Jackson working for you?”
He furrows his brow and glances over at his accomplice, who shrugs. “I don’t know who Jackson is. We’re here to talk about Ronnie.”
They don’t know Jackson? Could that be true? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. Who can I trust? My breathing turns ragged as I shut my eyes against the migraine raging behind my eyes. If Jackson isn’t working for these guys, and he doesn’t know my dad…
I still don’t have any answers, but I’m starting to regret running away. I should have stayed and talked with Jackson. Maybe there’s a good explanation? I can’t think of any at the moment, but I keep coming back to how safe I always felt when he was around. Why would Jackson teach me self-defense moves if the plan was to hurt me all along? If he meant me harm, whywould he invite me into his home when these guys were already staking out my apartment?
“Sage,” the man growls. He spits my name out like a curse word. I open my eyes, caught off guard by how close he is. “It’s in your best interest to tell us where your old man is. If we don’t get our property back, we’ll have to take you, instead.”
“She won’t sell as well as Tatyana,” the man standing in the corner chimes in. “Too fat.”
“Some people are into that. Besides, at least we’ll get something. Fucking Ronnie,” he curses under his breath. “He was our first customer,” the man continues. “Or, he was going to be until he stole Tatyana without paying for her.”
“My dad… bought a woman?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I’ve never thought of my father as a good man, but I didn’t think he was this kind of monster.
“Wrong. Hestolea woman, and now he’s going to find out what happens when someone fucks with the Sons of Destruction.”
My captor’s pupils are blown wide, probably from whatever mix of drugs he’s on. There’s a tense, almost manic way about how he holds himself, like he’s winding up to strike at any moment.
“Are you scared yet, little girl?” he jeers. “Daddy won’t be able to save you from your fate.”
Something about his grunted threat unlocks a well of anger and rage deep inside me that I was unaware of. Memories of everything I’ve been through, every time my dad abandoned me, every abusive family I stayed with boil over, causing me to snap.
I only have a split second to decide and commit to my actions, but I’m ready. I stare the ugly motherfucker who kidnapped me in the face, a smirk curling up my lips as I lean back and then headbutt the asshole in front of me. My foreheadmakes contact with his nose, sending the large man peddling backward in surprise.
Before he gets too far away, I free my hands from the loose ziptie and lunge at him, grabbing the gun I saw tucked into his jeans earlier. Pointing it at the bearded biker, I realize I’ve never shot a gun before. It seems simple enough in theory. There’s usually some kind of safety or something, but I’m guessing an outlaw rebel doesn’t have much use for gun safety.
“Fucking bitch!” he roars. I don’t back down. In fact, I take a step closer to him, feeling powerful when he moves further away from me.
“Careful now,” the other man says. In my fury to escape my restraints, I forgot about him. Darting my eyes in his direction, I see he has his gun pointed at me. How the hell did I get into a standoff with outlaw bikers? Oh, yeah. My dad. “You shoot, I shoot. You run, I shoot. You look at me wrong, I shoot. Got it?”
I grit my teeth, thinking only of Jackson as I decide what to do. I should have stayed. I should have listened to his explanation. Fuck, I never told him I love him. I do, of course. Is it too late to make things right?
The gun in my hand is still pointed at the bearded biker, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the other biker slowly walking toward me. I make another rash decision, counting on the element of surprise. In a fraction of a second, I turn to face the second biker, pulling the trigger before he has the chance to. I shriek as he falls to the ground, writhing in pain.
The first man sees an opportunity to tackle me, but I move out of his way at the last second, watching him crash into the metal chair I was just sitting in. He curses and scrambles to his feet, but I aim the gun at his head. Before he can do anything else, the double doors on the other side of the warehouse open with a deafening bang.
All three of us look in that direction. My breath catches in my throat when I see more bikers filing in, but I notice their leather vests have a different emblem: Wicked Riders. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but when the bearded man backs away with his hands up, I know at least he won’t be a problem anymore.
Someone else bursts into the warehouse, and I have to blink my eyes a few times to make sure I’m not hallucinating. “J-J-Jackson?” I stutter out.
Relief floods his features as he sprints toward me. Jackson slows down as he approaches me, almost like I’m a rabid animal. Every muscle in my body is shaking, and I’m locked in place as he moves closer.
Slowly, Jackson wraps his hand around the muzzle of the gun, pointing it away from him before taking it out of my hands. I didn’t even realize I was still holding the weapon. “That’s it, Sage,” he says in a calming voice. “You did so good. I’m here now.”
Jackson slides the gun into his jacket, then puts his hands on my shoulders, sliding them down my still-outstretched arms. He massages my muscles, then takes my hands in his, forcing them to relax at my sides.
“Jackson?” I whisper again in disbelief.
