“No, it’s not that. I used my knife to dig that tracker out. She bled a little, but I was careful.”
“Good. Stick with her for now. She needs time to adjust and get clean. I’ll keep this.” He fingers the tracker. He’s probably going to have Wicked’s sister take a look at it. She’s smart when it comes to tech shit.
“She mentioned that she’d been there since she was about thirteen. Said her real name was Hope. Didn’t give me a last name.”
“Look into it. She could be in the database for the missing. I’ve got Gwynee bringing her friend Celia over to pamper Daisy a little.”
Big Daddy is as tough as they come, but he’s got a sweet spot when it comes to Gwynee. Woman has him pussy whipped. I’d never say that to him, but hell, we all know it.
I head downstairs to find Toxic and Puck to help me do a search. Between the three of us, we should be able to work faster. With any luck, we can find out who Daisy really is. That’s if she wasn’t feeding me some shit about her name being Hope and she wasn’t classified as a runaway without a report.
Chapter Six
I awaken to the unfamiliar feeling of being held by strong arms. My first instinct is to pull away, but this biker’s hand is warm and gentle against my hip. My cheek fits the curve of his shoulder, and I’m tangled with him in the blankets. I wake up slowly. My brain is still stuck in some concentrated place between a nightmare and a memory. It takes a minute for reality to catch up. I’m in a big, comfy bed in a nice house that doesn’t belong to Hector.
The bedding is clean as well as my body, but my limbs are stiff. The skin around the fresh cut on my hand is tight and throbbing. I try to sit up, but his arm pulls me close, keeping me anchored.
I steady myself with a deep breath and stare at the line of his jaw, watching his chest rise and fall. The dark bristles of his beard tempts my fingers. I start to touch his face but decide against it. Lunatic is still asleep. Men aren’t supposed to look this peaceful, but he does, even with the faint scar splitting his eyebrow.
He’s sort of beautiful in a weird way. I close my eyes, debating on whether or not I should attempt to fall back asleep. Here inhis arms, it’s easy to forget why I’m here and that Tonya is dead. My temples pound, reminding me I need drugs to survive. It’s not even about getting high. At this point, it’s about maintenance to keep alive.
I never grew up thinking I wanted to be a junkie or a whore, but I wasn’t given much choice.
My teen years were spent stuck in a state of comply or die, and I chose to live.
“Morning,” Lunatic says in a sexy but drowsy voice.
I wipe my eyes and try to get fully awake.
Some other biker comes knocking at the door to fetch Lunatic for Big Daddy. He doesn’t say anything more to me. I roll to my side and stare at the wall because I know any minute now I’m going to be sick. The headache is already building, and soon I’ll sweat. Then comes the jerking muscles, nausea, and diarrhea.
“Hey. Sit up,” a gruff voice tells me. I roll over and look at him. He was with the group we rode back with last night. The patch on his cut reads Tyrant. He looks as mean as his name sounds. “Brought you something. Courtesy of Hector.”
My blood runs cold hearing Hector’s name.
He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, crowding into my space even though the mattress is the size of a damn continent.
“Can’t have you getting sick.” He smiles at me in a way that makes my skin crawl.
I shake my head and try to sit up. Sweat is already prickling my skin. The room spins a little. Tyrant hands me a little blue pill—oxy, maybe, or fentanyl. I don’t bother to ask. My hand trembles as I take it, burning shame stitching itself into my guts. The Juarez brothers don’t let anyone leave easily. Even here, stateside, I’m tethered. A pill for a leash.
“Prez will be wanting to chat with you,” Tyrant grunts, like he’s annoyed at playing nursemaid. “A prospect will bring you breakfast.”
He watches as I swallow the pill dry, jaw flexed, arms folded over his chest. He’s big. Bigger than Lunatic by a hair, but older. Early forties with dark hair streaked with flecks of gray cropped close and the kind of eyes that never stop observing.
“There’s more where that came from.” He rattles a bottle of pills at me.
I want to tell him to go to hell, but everything hurts. I’m tired, sore, and hungry. I don’t know these men. Their behaviors. What will happen if I test boundaries and push buttons? There are rules here, even if I don’t know them yet.
His gaze fixes to my mouth with a sick concentration that turns my stomach. I know that look. What it means and how men like him take what they want. “Hector says you’re supposed to call and check in with him, so you better not make me look like an asshole.” I nod. Tyrant softens his voice to a mocking sweetness. “You do that and we’ll get along just fine, Daisy.” He hands me a burner phone. “It’s pre-programmed. Don’t miss your check-ins or I’ll be forced to remind you what happens to girls who don’t follow orders or those who turn into rats.”
I don’t need a reminder. I remember all too well what happened to the last woman who crossed Jose.
“Keep that phone hidden.” Tyrant leaves the door clicking behind him, and the stillness picks at my nerves. I learned quickly never to be memorable, never to be out of line.
Quiet returns, and I’m left with my thoughts.
I don’t know how long I have before someone else comes.
