Precarious Page 5

  “She ain’t gonna cause any more trouble,” Krypt grates.

  “She better fuckin’ not, or I’ll put her on her fuckin’ ass.”

  With wide eyes, I gape at him. He flashes me a feral grin. “Yeah, babe, that’s what I fuckin’ said.”

  He steps past us, walking off to join the rest of the bikers. Krypt drags me inside, pulling me through the doors until we stop in the living room of the cabin. It’s actually a nice space, surprisingly. There are polished wooden floors and a big wooden kitchen. The furniture is very masculine, all black and biker-ish.

  “Why did you take me?” I ask as Krypt drags me down a hall.

  “Because you’re fuckin’ evidence, and there ain’t no way in fuck we’re lettin’ you go back and tell them what happened. There is big shit goin’ down and you ain’t goin’ to ruin what we’ve put in place.”

  “I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you speak. I was starting to think you had a condition.”

  He snorts. “Code out here, woman. Don’t speak when you’re locked away.”

  “You killed people. It’s your own fault you were locked away.”

  He stiffens and spins around, clutching my shoulders and shaking me just slightly. “You want to fuckin’ survive?”

  I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. “Well?” he barks.

  “Yes!” I snap.

  “Then shut your mouth, do as you’re told, and don’t fuckin’ mention me or my club again.”

  “Your club?”

  He growls at me.

  “What are you going to do with me?” I ask as he turns and starts dragging me down the hall again.

  “I have no fuckin’ idea right now, but until I find out you’re my prisoner.”

  Prisoner?

  I want to gag.

  “I’m hurt.”

  “Can see that. I’m not fuckin’ blind.”

  “There’s no need to speak to me like that,” I bite out.

  He spins to me again. “Don’t feel fuckin’ nice, does it?”

  I recoil and flinch. “I’ve never spoken to you like that.”

  He chuckles, but his smile is cold and deadly. “Yeah, you were the only one.”

  I say nothing as he continues to lead me to wherever it is we’re going. We stop at a room, and he shoves me inside. It’s a big room with a double bed, a ragged couch and what seems to be a bathroom off to the side. He pulls me across the faded green rug on the floor, and forces me to sit on the bed.

  “First thing,” he says, reaching under the bed and pulling out a first-aid kit. “You even try to run, we’ll kill you.”

  “You’d kill an innocent woman?”

  He looks at me, his eyes burning into mine. “If she threatened our club and everything we’ve worked for, yeah.”

  A cold chill runs through me.

  “You keep your mouth shut,” he continues. “And we’ll have no problems. This is a club life, and trust me, babe, it’s not what your spoiled ass is used to.”

  “I’m not spoiled,” I say, tugging on my cuffs.

  He snorts. “Not spoiled my ass. Look at you. You’re up yourself so fuckin’ far you can’t see your own head.”

  “That’s not true,” I protest.

  “Ain’t it, babe?” he snorts.

  “I could put you on your ass in a matter of seconds, buddy,” I spit at him.

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “I’ll make it one when my ribs aren’t broken.”

  He smirks. “You’re on.”

  I refuse to answer him. He pulls out a cleansing wipe and reaches towards my face, but I flinch away.

  “Don’t touch me,” I growl.

  He glares at me, his grey eyes narrowing. “You got two fuckin’ choices here; think carefully. You either let me help you, or you sit here in your own dried blood.”

  I stare at him, my expression filled with hate. “Fine,” I grate.

  He leans forward again, wiping the dried blood from my face. I keep my eyes trained on the wall beside us, not wanting to look at him. He cleans me up, and then puts a patch on the laceration under my eye. His face is still battered from his fight, and for a moment I think that we’re matching with our eye gashes.

  “You need to clean up and get some clothes on that aren’t covered in blood.”

  Remembering Larry and Peter has my stomach coiling tightly. “You killed them?” I say, my voice shaky.

  “They had it comin’. Believe it or not, babe, those men were bad guys.”

  “I’m starting to believe that,” I mutter.

  He nods. “Because of that, we need all evidence gone. We gotta burn your clothes.”

  I snap my head up. “This jacket was more than five hundred dollars. Look at it, it’s epic.”

  Why did I wear the one jacket I actually loved today? That’ll teach me. It’s a biker jacket, too. All leather and spunk. Dammit.

  He snorts. “Well, it’ll make nice firewood then, won’t it?”

  I grit my teeth. “I have no other clothes.”

  “Plenty of women’s clothes here.”

  “Why would there be clothes here? Is this your whorehouse?”

  He smirks at me, showing me a dimple in his cheek.

  “You got it right on, babe. It is a bit of a party house, lots of fucking.”

  “You’re disgusting. You can play all you want, biker, but I know what you really are. I saw you in that prison; I saw what your brothers here didn’t see. So act it up. I know the truth.”

  His eyes flash and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. Who is the real Beau? It’s certainly not this act he’s putting on for me now. He hurts; he just won’t admit it.

  “Listen here, princess,” he growls, a low rumble forming in his chest. “Don’t pretend you know anything about me. I told you before, I won’t fuckin’ repeat myself: the reason I didn’t give you fuckers anything is because any word I fuckin’ say can be used against me or my club.”

  There we go with the my club again.

  “You tell yourself whatever you want.”

  He opens his mouth to spit something else at me, but someone comes into the room. Another biker, this one is . . . I blink . . . that can’t be right. I blink again. He’s in . . . a wheelchair? Krypt sees me staring at the man and barks, “Take a fuckin’ picture, it lasts longer.”

  I jerk and turn my gaze away from the man.

  “Tyke,” Krypt says, “watch her for a minute. I gotta talk to Rhyder.”

  Rhyder. Tyke. Krypt. Clearly these guys don’t use their real names. The man in the chair wheels himself in, his strong arms rippling as he moves. Krypt shoots me a glare before leaving the room. I turn and stare at Tyke. He’s a really, really stunning man.

  He’s equally as bulky as the other men, with rippling muscles running up his arms and no doubt continuing under his shirt. He’s got messy russet-colored hair and deep, deep brown eyes. They’re almost black. He’s equally as scary and intimidating as the rest. I turn my eyes away when he holds my curious gaze.

  “Never seen a man in a chair before?” he grunts.

  I turn to him. “I, uh, yeah.”

  “Just not a biker?”

  I shake my head, my cheeks flushing. “No, never a biker.”

  “Accident,” he says. It’s clear he’s probably had to tell this story a lot, so now he shares it before the question is asked. I get that. “Fucked my legs. Crushed all the bones from my thighs down. Can’t feel anything from just slightly under my knees. Enough that I can’t stand real well, so I spend most of my time in this.”

  He pats his chair and I stare at it, unable to stop the smile creeping across my face when I see it’s been decked out, Harley-style. Flames have been painted up the side, making it look like a gas tank. It has thick wheels with a whole lot of bling.

  “Will you ever walk again?” I ask, feeling sorry for him.

  He shrugs. “Probably—they tell me most of it’s in my head.”

  “They?”

&nbs
p; “Shrinks.”

  I scrunch up my nose. He wheels forward, using his big hands to pull the chair across the room. He goes right past me, leaving the door open. I’m not ashamed at my thought in that moment—he can’t chase me. I never said it was right, but I certainly don’t want to be stuck in this house with a group of bikers who are keeping me prisoner, for longer than I need to.

  I don’t think—I just do.

  I run out of the room. Tyke doesn’t yell right away, which tells me he hasn’t seen me go. Adrenaline runs rampant in my body as I hurry down the halls. I reach a window and peer out. Krypt and the bikers are all out the front, talking between themselves. I turn, staring down the hall just as I hear Tyke bellow.

  It’s now or never.

  I spin around and charge through the kitchen, slipping on something that has been spilled on the floor. With a curse, I push forward, my body aching and pounding with each step I take. I see a back door and I don’t stop to see if anyone is behind me or in front of me, I just bolt right on out. I see a patch of grass before it disappears into thick, luscious mountain trees.

  We’re not close to any city, that much I know.

  It’s a huge risk, but there has to be a road close by. If I skirt around the trees and follow the driveway down, I might have some luck. I hear shouting and curses being flung about. I run forward, forcing my legs to move as fast as they can—which in the scheme of things is pretty fast, considering my condition.

  I grit my teeth as pain shoots up my legs and right into my spine. My head pounds, and I’m struggling to breathe, but I push on. I force myself through the trees, dodging the thick branches pointing out of the massive trunks. I reach a clearing that boasts one hell of a gorgeous, crystal-clear creek.

  I don’t stop.

  Mountains are all I can see ahead of me, and with mountains usually comes caves. I’m sure I can hide, at least for the night.

  The wind is chilly, and I wrap my blood-stained coat further around myself, glad Krypt never got the chance to burn it like he’d said he would. Footsteps echo through the trees and I know they’re close.

  I keep pushing on, heading for the thick trees that surround the base of the mountain. When I reach them, I duck behind one, desperately trying to catch my breath. Fear and adrenaline battle inside my body, and my skin prickles with the knowledge that if they catch me it could end badly.

  “I know you’re fuckin’ out there,” I hear Krypt bellow. “I’ll find you.”

  I have no doubt about that; it’s why I push off the tree and keep running. His footsteps fade as I pick up my pace, getting deeper into the trees. Then I make the fatal mistake of tripping over a log that I try to jump. With a scream, I land on my face, sending a burning pain through my ribs that has me screaming in agony.

  I push to my feet, desperate to keep going. Angry tears course down my cheeks because I know I’m about to fail, I’m about to ruin the only chance I have of escaping. Footsteps behind me come to a stop and I hear a cursed word before a heavy, booted foot lands beside my head. Krypt kneels down, pulling me up.

  “You’re fuckin’ bleedin’,” he growls.

  Not the reaction I’d expected.

  “You stupid fuckin’ girl.”

  That’s more like it.

  He pulls me up and I wail in agony at the pain soaring through my body. I stare down and see that I am in fact, bleeding. I’ve obviously torn open a wound.

  Krypt has one strong arm around my waist as he leads me out of the trees. I have no strength to fight, no energy left. That was all I had; I’m in too much pain to give more. If I weren’t so hurt, I would have had a decent chance.

  “Do you have any fuckin’ idea what’s in these woods?” he says as he leads me back to the house.

  “Nothing that could be worse than staying here with you,” I whisper, my voice gone.

  He scoffs. “You would rather take on some feral mountain lion over me?”

  I say nothing; he’s got a point. I didn’t think it through.

  “You can’t really blame me,” I add. “You killed the people I work with.”

  He snorts, and his arm tightens around my waist. “You have no idea about the people you work with.”

  “I think you’re wrong. I think I do have an idea. It still doesn’t make it right.”

  Now it’s his turn not to answer.

  When we reach the house, he leads me inside and closes the door behind us. The ‘President’ comes charging over, his fists balled tight. “I swear to fuckin’ Christ . . .”

  “It’s fine, Prez,” Krypt says. “We got this.”

  “You’re gonna get us all fuckin’ killed with that brown-nose little bitch.”

  I prick up at his words. “Excuse me?” I yell. “Do you even know me?”

  “You work with the rest of those little bastards. You’re exactly like them.”

  “You’re wrong. I’m nothing like them. I work there, I love my job, but I have a life outside of that place. I am a normal person; don’t assume you know what I am.”

  He steps forward, leaning down into my face. “You’re tellin’ me that you wouldn’t go straight to the cops if you got out of here?”

  “Of course I would,” I snap. “You killed people—some of those guards weren’t bad.”

  “My point exactly,” he steps back. “Krypt, she gets away again, I won’t be so kind.”

  I glare at him as Krypt leads me past.

  “Stop windin’ him up,” he mutters. “He’s not a nice guy.”

  “He shouldn’t pretend to know me; he doesn’t.”

  Krypt stops, spins around and leans in close. “He runs things around here, and if you value you life you will fuckin’ do as he says.”

  “He doesn’t run me,” I growl, standing my ground.

  “You see what happened to your friends?”

  My stomach twists, but I don’t answer him.

  “Well, did you?” he barks.

  “Yes, I fucking saw it, you jackass.”

  “Then what the hell makes you think he won’t do it to you?”

  My next words are cut off as I realize he’s right. Nothing is stopping him from doing it to me.

  “That’s what I fuckin’ thought,” he mutters. “Now move.”

  He walks me down the hall and back to the room. When we get in, he slams the door shut and turns to me. “Get in that shower and clean yourself up.”

  I don’t bother to argue. Instead, I take the towel hanging off the bed and walk into the shower.

  “Don’t even think about climbin’ out the window. It’s barred.”

  Of course it fucking is.

  I shut the door to the bathroom and turn the shower on, then slowly and very, very painfully I step out of my clothes. I’m covered in blood, and not all of it is my own. The very thought makes my skin crawl. I step under the warm water and cry out in pain as it hits the battered parts of my body.

  I can barely stand it. The minute I’m clean, I step out. I pat myself dry and straighten to stare in the mirror. My face looks . . . awful. My usually sky-blue eyes are dull and bloodshot. My skin, which is really quite pale, is now covered in ugly bruises. My long, chocolate-brown hair is messy and matted. I sigh and step away, not wanting to look for a second longer.

  I dry myself off and stare around the room, realizing I’ve got no clothes. With a groan, I walk over to the door and peer out. Krypt is leaning against the bedframe, arms crossed over his chest. Gosh, he’s good looking. He flicks his grey gaze to me and it slowly moves down. “You need to get cleaned up before you dress.”

  “I don’t think so, buddy,” I mutter.

  “You don’t get a fuckin’ choice, Ash.”

  The way he just said my name has shivers breaking out over my skin. I swallow and keep my arms tightly crossed. Krypt points to the bed. “Sit.”

  I stare at the bed, where the first-aid kit is lying. I know I’m an idiot if I don’t go and let him help me. “Can I at least put some . . . undergarments
on?”

  His lips quirk. “Yeah, babe, whatever.”

  I flush and rush out past him, taking the pile of clothes on the dresser. I hurry back into the bathroom and pull on the bra and panties. I’m grateful the panties still have the tag on them, but that doesn’t stop me from inspecting them to make sure they’re clean. They’re a little tight on my curvy body, but they’ll do. When they’re on, I pull the towel back over myself and walk out.

  I sit on the bed next to Krypt, and he flips the first-aid kit open.

  “You might need stitches in that wound on your arm,” he says, nodding to the ugly gash near my elbow. It hasn’t really stopped bleeding, even after my shower. A slow, thick rivulet of blood is already running down towards my wrist.

  “You want me to let you put stitches in my arm?”

  He meets my concerned gaze. “You want to die of infection?”

  “No, but I’m not sure I won’t die of infection if I let you do it.”

  He grins. God. Just, God. He’s perfect. How can someone be such an asshole and yet be so damned good looking? It hurts to watch him. “You make the choice, babe.”

  “Don’t call me babe, and fine, do whatever you want.”

  He flashes me a devilish grin. “You do know I’m goin’ to put a needle through your skin, right?”

  “I know what stitches are!”

  “With nothing to numb your skin.”

  That has me swallowing. He sighs and turns, barking out, “Rex!”

  Minutes later an older biker with a big, bushy beard comes in. “What?”

  “Get me the whiskey.”

  “Whiskey?” I squeak.

  He turns back to me. “It’ll help the pain.”

  Oh God.

  He reaches over and presses around the wound. “Definitely needs stitches.”

  Double oh God.

  “Here ya go,” Rex says, coming back in and tossing Krypt a bottle filled with amber liquid.

  Krypt hands it to me. “Drink this while I clean the rest of you.”

  I stare at the alcohol.

  “You scared it might bite you, princess?”