Page 35 of Lost King

Up ahead is a small clearing. The guy in front with the flashlight stops and casts the light down at his feet and starts looking for something by kicking leaves and branches from side to side. A heavy thick rope comes into view. Squatting, he grips the string into his hand and lifts. What the hell? A piece of old as fuck plywood lifts off the forest floor and I'm staring into a dark hole. Is this where they plan on keeping me? I feel like I've dropped into a real-life deliverance scene and pretty soon I'll hear banjos playing in the background.

Just as I get the idea, I'm about to be pushed into the abyss and left to rot the flashlight reveals steps leading down to hell.

"Get in," Twiggy pushes me forward with a hand between my shoulder blades. Again, the one with the light goes down first, followed by me then the other two. Once we've descended several steps, my feet touch the bottom.

Holy shit. I'm in an underground bunker of some sort. From what I can make out in the cover of darkness it looks like the inside of a large shipping container. Solid steel all around. How the hell did someone get this big ass thing here in the first place? It's like walking into one of those weird reality shows.

"I get it. You guys are like those doomsday preppers you see on TV or somethin'? You believe we all die in a zombie apocalypse?" That earns me a sharp blow to the side of my head with the heavy end of a gun. I squeeze my eyes shut. That one stung. I shake it off. Dim lights flicker before illuminating half of the space, bringing part of the room into view. At the far end of the container with his arms crossed over his broad chest, Boulder their president sits on a chair, a sinister grin on his face. Another one of his men sitting across from him.

Shits about to get real.

"Ah, our guest has arrived," he stands. My head turns from left to right taking in my surroundings. "Impressive huh?" he states walking over to a small fridge retrieving a bottle of water from the inside. I have to agree with him. It is impressive. How the hell do they even have electricity isolated out here? Then I spot a collection of car batteries stacked on a shelf to my left. Boulder jerks his head, gesturing for his men to move me towards a chair with leather straps attached to the arms and legs. Next to the chair sits a table draped with a tarp to hide whatever lies underneath.

Smokey pulls a knife from his boot, and cuts the zip ties from my wrist and slices my skin in the process. The sting is nothing compared to the relief my fingers are feeling as my blood rushes back to the tips and the prickles of numbness start to fade. Forcefully pushed down into the chair, they strap me in leaving one hand free.

Boulder hands me an unopened bottle of water. Eyeballing him, I take it. I'm not a dumbass. I need to stay hydrated as often as I can get it because I have no idea how long this whole ordeal will play out before my brothers find me. I have the opportunity to escape, or—they kill me. Either way, they want to keep me alive for now, and that's the way I'd like to keep it too.

Letting out a heavy sigh of thirst after gulping half the water down my dry throat, I address the elephant in the room. Me. "Alright boys, let's get this show on the road. You can do what you want with me, but know this—I'm not talkin'. I'll die for my brothers; It's something called loyalty—something you don't know anything about. Let's see what you got."

He motions with a look for someone to take my water and secure my free hand. Holding my chin high, I stare the fucker down. He glares.

That's right fucker, bring it.

"Oh, well, we don't want much. Just everything your club has. That's it," he boasts as he pulls a cigar from a pack resting inside his shirt pocket and lights it. Tilting his head back, he blows a puff of smoke towards the roof. "I want your town." Striding to the table next to me, he lifts the tarp exposing what he plans to use on me and picks up a rusty ice pick. "I want your President to tuck tail and run. I want blood. You will break. Your club will break. One by one I'll take and shatter everything all of you hold dear. Starting with you." I braced myself as he rams the blunt tip of the pick into my right thigh. I grit my teeth absorbing the pain that spreads down my leg as he twists it.

I chance a deep breath before every man in the room takes his turn landing blow after blow. At some point, Twiggy takes his turn at me. The pussy slaps me across my already bloodied face. Lookin' at him, I grin and taste my blood dripping from my busted lip. "Is that all you got? My baby sister hits harder than you-you fuckin' pussy," I spit blood at his feet. Closing his fist, he strikes me again. This time across my left ear that I can no longer hear out of from taking blow after blow from the others already.

"Sweet lookin' little thing—that sister of yours," he taunts.

He wants my attention. Now he's got it. My blood boils. I narrow my eyes into slits. "If your filthy fuckin' hands ever touch her I'll kill you and everyone you share blood with motherfucker." Forgetting I am strapped down to the chair; I try flinging myself towards him.

He laughs in my face, "Maybe I'll finish what I started with that feisty doctor lady of yours," he reaches down and grabs his crotch, "show her what a real dick feels like as I shove it down her throat and make her choke on it."

Two men grab my upper arms, keeping me in place as I attempt to break free of my restraints so I can kill the son of a bitch with my bare hands. Fuck the bullet. I want to feel the life drain from him.

Reaching into his cut, he pulls a hypodermic needle from the inside pocket and holds it up between his fingers. "I wonder if she will love you all strung out. Will she love an addict? After a few days, your body will start to crave it—need it to get by," he walks towards me. The others hold me tighter as I watch him take the cap off the tip. Gripping my arm, he presses the needle against the flesh of my inner wrist breaking skin.

Breaking me with pain isn't their plan. The torture is strictly for shits and giggles. No. They plan on breaking my spirit another way. They plan on keeping me strung out on drugs.

My head falls back as warmth spreads through my body. The pain I was feeling seconds ago begins to fade away. Like in the garage at the youth center my body relaxes to the point of weightlessness. The leather straps across my wrists loosen. I don't fight them as they rip my leather cut, covered in my blood off my body and toss it on the floor at my feet.

I fixate on my club symbol.

The very same tattooed across my back.

I fight to keep my eyes open.

The men of Satans Reapers form a semi-circle in front of me. That's the last thing I remember before letting go—allowing the undertow to pull me under.

Chapter Eighteen

Church

JAKE

Pulling into the clubhouse parking lot, I dismount my bike and cut my eyes over my shoulder to see Bella parking Emerson's Jeep. "Blake!" I bark when I see him striding in my direction after securing the entrance gate. "Help Emerson inside."

With a nod, Blake makes his way towards Emerson's car. No sooner does he turn around when Quinn's mom Vicky bursts through the clubhouse door and makes a beeline in my direction. "J.D, tell me it's not true!"