Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mikayla
Fucking. Hell.
My head is pounding and my body feels like I’ve been shoved through a meat grinder. The ringing is still in my ears and my mouth has the sensation of eating cotton balls for dessert. There’s a searing pain in my shoulder that definitely wasn’t there before and I have both sweat droplets as well as shivers waging war across my skin. My head hangs with my eyes refusing to open. Superglued together with sticky-eye-gunk and a weighted feeling.
What the hell happened?
The last thing I remember… fuck, I don’t even know. Everything is so blurry. The fight… walking highlighter… I continue to rack my brain, but the fog is clinging to it like a lifeline. Refusing to leave and causing everything to come back in fractured fragments. I can’t seem to make heads or tails of where I am, how I got here, or who was involved, and that notion has my heart racing.
Okay. Calm the fuck down, Mik. First things first, open your fucking eyes. Second, figure out where the hell we are. Third, kill the motherfuckers who took me away from my guys. Though, I have a pretty good idea who it is already.
I can’t let the panic take over. If this is the handy-work of who I think it is, I’m in a life-or-death situation and there is little room for error. The torture I can handle, but I doubt my resilience to a bullet between my eyes and I refuse to die because of this motherfucker.
With a deep breath, I allow my training to kick in. Ironic considering my predicament, but what’s a girl to do? My instincts surface, melting away the last of the nerves that plague my body. Replacing them with heightened senses and meticulous calculation. My brain now kicking into gear, the rest of my body seems to finally fall in line and I manage to pry my eyes open.
I’m currently tied to a wooden chair, my wrists and ankles bound to the arms and legs like some bad horror movie plot. What’s next? The villain bursting through the door spouting his inner monologue of dastardly plans, as if telling me what he’s going to do has any effect on the outcome.
Speaking of the devil, boots begin to thump from the other side of the metal door, getting louder as I wait. Three… maybe four men, if I had to take a guess, are heading this way. Time for the fun to truly begin.
Guess they must have heard my thoughts and have come to explain my demise.
The lock clicks on the door—cause why not have a lockandtie someone down—and three huge dudes, ripped to the high heavens, walk in. Seriously, they’re stacked, although, I’m putting my money on the ‘roids. The blond at the back has a sneer across his face, looking at me like I’m the cum stuck to his boot, while his bald partner looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else.
Ditto, my dude.
The man at point however, I recognize. Not from the Havoc Vipers, or Colt’s inner circle, no, this man I recognize from the fight. Mr. Impeccable Suit and southern twang. The same wall of muscle and arrogance I accidentally smashed into ringside while trying to follow… well,fuck.
Should have seen that one coming a mile away. Stupid cunt set me up.
“Look who's finally awake,” the suit says, taking a few steps towards me.
“Afternoon, asshole. May I call you, asshole?” I respond, a smile creeping onto my face. “Listen, I’m all for trying new kinks, but I really don’t think rope play is my thing. I mean, I am currently a little wet, but I’m pretty sure that’s because I pee’d myself.”
Blondie’s grin fades, replaced with indignation. Seems they thought I would come quietly. Some meek little thing they get to play with and taunt. Jokes on them. I’m far from docile, and they are about to learn that the fucking hard way.
None of the men give me a response, their faces going deadpan, which has me pouting. “Wow, tough crowd,” I mutter and roll my eyes. “So, is humor not a requirement to join the asshole brigade?”
My head snaps to the left, the chair tilting from the slap that just landed across my cheek. My skin stings, blooming with an angry red mark, but I laugh, catching my tormentors off guard. They freeze, staring at me with narrowed eyes as they scratch the back of their heads and look at each other. Unspoken questions—clearly in regards to what the hell is wrong with me—pass between their eyes while I continue to chuckle and smile wide.
“I prefer my ass to receive the spankings, but I’ll still take it. You know, if you wanted to see my cheeks flush we could have just talked it out. I can think of a few ways that would be more—“
Another backhand to my face cuts off my speech, as the chair again lurches from the momentum. “Damn,” I cough, blood coating the inside of my throat. “I bet you’re a top in bed, aren’t ya?”
“Shut her the fuck up!” Suit guy shouts, as he shoves the barrel of his gun into the side of my head. Bad-ass baldie comes forward, violently thrusting his fist into my stomach, causing me to heave. The bile mixing with the blood and spurting out onto his shoes.
Ha!Try getting that out, fucker.
My now favorite cue-ball winds up again, clearly angered by the new paint job his sneakers have incurred, and takes a second swing. Then another and another. My ribs crack, every breath starting to hurt like hell as I attempt to pull oxygen into my lungs. The pain rushes through my abdomen, growing in intensity, but I’ve survived worse.
“Not bad for a newbie. Still in training I see?” I chuckle when I’m able to inhale a solid breath again. The man in charge steps off to the side without warning, repositioning the revolver in his hands against my back. A single hand clamps down onto my shoulder—the bad one—and I hiss from the pain. He pushes down with more force than needed, pinching as he does.
They do know I’m tied to a fucking chair right?!
My thoughts have little time to process between the pain and the situation, when the man of the god damn hour swings the door open and walks in like he owns the fucking place. Which is not saying much, because he probably does, if I’m honest.
“Ahhh, Addison. So nice to see you again.”
