This earns me a dry, humorless laugh from my dad. “Bullshit. All MCs are filled with thieving, whoring, selfish assholes. The only difference is if they’re lying to themselves about it. At least the Sons of Destruction know the score. Are we the bad guys? Sure, if that’s how you need to think about it. But your little biker boyfriend isn’t innocent, either. Did you honestly think we wouldn’t all pool our resources to find you?”
“Pool your resources?” I repeat. “Never mind. You’re distracting me. Where the fuck is Wraith?”
“He’s fine. Who do you think let me in?”
“Not Wraith,” I say in what I hope is a confident voice.
Truthfully, I’m more rattled than I’d like to admit. Why isn’t Wraith here? He didn’t text, didn’t leave a note, didn’t wake me up to tell me where he was going. Was this really the plan all along? My father drove me straight into the arms of an accomplice?
“Afraid so, daughter. We’re going to try this whole auction thing one more time. Once the paperwork is done, as well as the deed, of course, you’ll be free to go.”
“And you think I’m just going to agree with you?”
“Doesn’t matter if you agree or not, I just need to–” He lunges at me with a syringe, and I pull the gun out, pointing it at his head. “Ha.Ha, ha, ha, okay, now things just got interesting.”
We dance around each other, sizing up the competition. My father darts to the left, then to the right, then pins me down against the counter. I hit his temple with the butt of the gun, sending him stumbling backward.
“Keep your goddamn handsoffof me,” I threaten, holding the gun in front of me once more.
“You’re not going to shoot me,” he states. “You don’t have the–”
I pull the trigger, watching with satisfaction as he falls to the floor and clutches his now-bleeding right shoulder.
“FuckingBITCH,” he roars, rolling around on the kitchen floor. The heavyset man tries getting up, but he slips and lands on his ass with a frustrated grunt.
“While you’re down there,” I start, my gun still trained right on him, “tell me where the new auction house is.”
“Why the hell would I–”
I shoot the floor near his leg. He thinks it was a warning shot, but I just don’t have very good aim. I wouldn’t mind sinking another bullet or two into the man who tried to sell me.
“Jesus Christ! You crazy-ass bitch. It’s on Monaco Lane outside of Denver.” He slams his eyes shut and curses at himself, probably for giving up the information so easily. “My men are going to come after your precious Wicked Riders. Wraith will be the first to go.”
“I thought you two were working together? Or is that story no longer convenient?”
My father grunts, looking at me with all the disdain he can muster. That’s fine. I’m sure I’m looking at him the same way. What a fucking waste of space.
The only good thing that came from tracking down this human equivalent of a shitstain is finding Wraith. He’s certainly not working with my dad, but where is he? I’m ashamed to admit I bought my father’s lie for a moment, but none of that explains why I woke up alone this morning.
“Stay put,” I yell. “Don’t come after me. Swear to god, I’ll…”
“Okay, okay, you’ve made yourself clear.”
“Have I? Well, just in case…” Instead of shooting him in the head, I smack him with the butt of the gun again, this time hard enough to knock him out.
As I step away from my father’s body, my mind races and folds in on itself. My ears ring and my vision blurs, but I know I need to get the fuck out of here and get help. I need to get to Wraith.
One second, I’m thinking about leaving, and the next, I’m already halfway down the block. I seem to be losing a few minutes here and there as lies war with the truth. The stress of the day, the week, hell, my entire life pushes down on me, making it hard to breathe. Still, my feet pound the pavement, not unlike that night I made my first escape. At least this time I have shoes on.
Before I even realize it, I’m standing in front of the Wicked Riders clubhouse. I shove the door open and step inside, myentire body trembling from head to toe. I’m gasping for air and soaked in sweat, looking around the darkened space frantically. The gun I forgot I was holding slips from my grip, but I catch it before it falls.
“Woah,” someone says from beside me.
“Gun!” another person shouts.
I try opening my mouth to defend myself, or to hand the weapon over if someone else wants to take this burden from my shaking hands, but I can’t move. A few men place their hands on their own guns, but then Wraith’s familiar voice cuts through the noise and panic.
“Stand down, men,” he says in an authoritative voice. “She’s with me.” When his comforting, warm brown eyes rest on mine, I know everything is going to be okay. “Athena, love, I’m going to take the gun, okay?” He’s so gentle with me, talking me down like a rabid animal.
