Page 34 of Lost King

Bella's steps never falter as she makes her way across the parking lot towards me. As soon as I am within arms reach she pulls me in for a hug. I cling to her and finally let the tears that I have been holding back fall.

"It's going to be okay, Emerson. They'll find him." A second later Grey pulls up beside us in my Jeep and hops out.

"Angel, I want you to drive Emerson back to the clubhouse. Jake and I will lead, and Grey will tail," Logan orders.

Knowing we don't have time to waste, I climb into the passenger seat of my car while Bella gets in on the other side. When we pull up to the clubhouse, the first person I see rushing out the door towards Jake is Quinn's mom Victoria. I watch him gently grab her by her shoulders and murmur something to her. A second later she lets out a blood-curdling cry just before Jake scoops her up and carries her inside.

My body is numb. I sit in my Jeep unmoving. I don't know where to go from here. What do I do? I've never felt so helpless in all my life. How could God be so cruel? Why would he bring me the love of my life only to take him away so soon? A rapping on my window brings me out of my fog.

I turn my tear-filled eyes to see Blake standing next to my passenger door. When I don't move, he opens the door for me. "Come on, Doc. Let's get you inside."

With a slight nod, I take Blake's hand and make my way into the clubhouse to face my reality.

Chapter Seventeen

Quinn

A dull throb accompanied by ringing in my ears seems to be the only thing I can focus on at the moment I start to come to my senses. My eyelids feel heavy, but I try prying them open when I feel my body jostle from side to side. The sensations I'm feeling—the vibrations and humming of wheels running along asphalt brings me to the conclusion I'm in a moving vehicle.

I lick my lips. Fuck, my mouth tastes like I ate a bag of cotton balls. After several attempts, I crack my lids. The smell of paint and paint thinner is overwhelming. Lying still I hone in on the low murmured voices coming from somewhere in the vehicle, but after a few minutes, they fall silent. Unfortunately, through my brain fog, I can't make out a word.

Still secured behind my back, I wiggle my hands that are now numb from the lack of blood flow due to the tightness of the bonds. Shit. Lifting my head slightly off the floor, I do my best to glance around. No windows. Painters supplies like ladders and white tarps clink on the other side of where I lay. I have no idea how long I've been passed out, but from the little to no light in here I have to assume it hasn't been for very long.

"Well looky here, fellas. It looks like pretty boy decided to join the party," the detached voice drifts from the farthest end of the van, followed by the strike of a lighter setting his face aglow as he lights a smoke. My eyes fixate on the orange-red glow of the burning end of the cigarette as he takes a drag. The fucker sure was quiet this whole time sitting in his little corner.

"Aww, shucks. I'm flattered you find me attractive, but my dick doesn't swing that way," I taunt him. Not that it's in my best interest to fuck with the asshole, but what the hell, there's nothin' better to do at the moment. As expected I get a rise out of him. The toe of his heavy boot makes direct contact with my balls, sucking the air from my lungs and leaving me with a deep resonating guttural pain equivalent to feeling like I could shit myself at any moment. God damn, I'd rather get punched in the face than get kicked in the balls. Hit where it hurts, right?

"Who's laughing now, asshole," the guy spits.

"Sit the fuck down, Smokey. We need him to walk on his own unless you plan on carrying his ass the whole way there," the voice I recognize as Twiggy hollers out from behind me, so he's either driving this heap or sitting in the passenger seat. Smokey, as he calls himself, sits back down, but not before thumping his lit cigarette ashes onto my face.

Bracing my foot against a stack of paint cans, I maneuver myself to sit in an upright position, pushing my back against the ladder on the opposite side. The van falls silent. It gives me a clear-headed moment to figure out how I'm gonna get out of the mess I'm in. By now Emerson will have been trying to find out why I never showed up to follow her home from work. Then my thoughts shift to Liam. The poor kid. They worked him over good. I just hope someone finds him.

The ride becomes bumpier after a few minutes before coming to a sudden stop. No one exchanges words until the back doors swing open allowing the dim moonlight in.

"Time to go. Prez wants shit done before daybreak," Twiggy orders. With force, the guy riding in the back along with me grabs me by the collar of my leather cut, shoving me out the double doors. With no way to catch my fall, I land on my knees, a mixture of sand and rock beneath them sending dull throbs of pain through both joints. Glancing around, I try to make out our location. We've stopped a few yards away from a bridge. The reflection of the moon lights the water below. Shit. I don't see any signs or markers. It's too fuckin' dark.

"Stand his ass up," someone's told.

"Stop being a bossy, prick, Twiggy. No one was left in charge of this little adventure." They start to argue amongst themselves. The one who kicked my baby makers hauls me up from my kneeled position. My patience runnin' thin, I proceed to kick his feet out from under him. Lifting my foot, I bring it down, crushin' the heel of my twelve-inch boot between his legs and see how far I can shove his balls up his ass.

"How's that feel motherfucker?" I grind harder before my body is slammed against the side of the van with a gun pointed at my face. Turning his head, Twiggy address the other guy who is picking himself up off the ground holding his pint-sized dick in the palm of his hand. "Get rid of the van."

Ushering me towards the edge of the tree line he warns, "Try some stupid shit like that again I'll shoot you where you stand."

My attention shifts to the engine of the van revving before watching as it barrels towards the bridge railing then plunges into the water below. His two biker buddies take off into the woods and Twiggy waves the barrel of his gun in their direction. "Get to walkin'."

With two leading the way—one shining a dim flashlight to guide us through the darkness and one behind me we begin making our way through the dense trees. Tilting my head back, I glance at the night sky, hoping maybe the position of the stars might give me some idea of the direction we are walking in. Sadly, between the cloudy skies and the thick tree canopies above us, I can't make out much of anything.

With their ease of navigation, my theory that they might be held up in an area such as this proves accurate. They know where they are going.

Here's the thing. I'm still alive. Which means, they have an agenda. For now, that's good. It gives my brothers time to try and find my ass. It's also bad. Unfortunately, because that means they have plans for me. They get to toy with me. Bad because the deeper we hike into the woods, the harder it will be for the club to find me. I value my life. I have everything to live for. I'm not about to throw it all away and risk dying just yet.

Thankfully, the three of them are so focused on where they are going they let me be. One thing I happen to notice, which is completely stupid on their part but beneficial to me is I've watched one of the guys pluck what looks to be fruit candy from his pocket—and often. When he does this, he tosses the wrapper to the ground. Ten times. I've kept count. I'm hoping one of the others doesn't catch on or may be too dumb to give a shit that he's leaving a crumb trail. Granted, the possibility of someone—one of my brothers hiking into this section of the mountain is slim.

Never say never. Right?

While trying to keep my mind from wandering—keep myself from overthinking about Emerson and my unborn child, and what she must be going through, I start counting to help me keep track of time. We've walked for a good two hours or more since I began to count not long after disappearing among the cover of the trees.