Page 20

Chapter 20

Fleur

A s soon as the word smoke is out of my mouth, the fire alarm goes off. Thick and gray it pours into the living room from down the back hallway. It’s not even coming from the kitchen.

I jump up from the couch, rushing toward the smoke. Where the hell is that coming from? Did I leave a candle burning?

“Fleur!” Adam shouts, but I move anyway down the hall and to my bedroom. Plumes of dark smoke climb the walls, and I turn exactly as the crackling of wood sounds. How did it start here? And so quick—everything is catching so fast. The gray smoke turns into a glinting orange fire that rages over my headboard. It’s hot, and I turn on my heels and run to the kitchen. I smack into Adam and he grabs my hand.

“We have to get out.”

We take off to the front door, and I grab my cell phone off the table before we spill into the front yard. I gasp at the sight of my newly renovated home. Flames rapidly consume the walls, the reflections shimmering in each of the windows. The white wood siding turns to black with each lick of flame.

The smell of rancid smoke and burning wood invades my nostrils and I choke back a cough.

“Fleur, we need to leave. Come on.” Adam pulls at me, but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed by the sight of all I poured into this home falling around me. Beams crack and pop, with the heat getting hotter and hotter.

“We need to call the fire department.” I fumble with my phone, tears threatening to spill faster than I have the hands to wipe them away.

A chuckle scares me from behind, and my phone flips out of my hand. I turn to see five men walking toward the house from the road. Behind them, their cars and bikes sit, and I let out a whimper.

No .

Adam steps up to them. “Did you do this, Blitz? Did you seriously?—”

Blitz delivers a punch to the side of Adam’s head, and he goes down. Sprawled out on the grass, he moans in a cry of pain.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I scream at the men before falling beside Adam. Blood seeps from his nose as he tries to get up. Spitting, he rolls over, and another fist lands on his stomach. The sound of air rushing out of him makes me shiver and he coughs.

Wincing in pain, he grits out, “Fleur ...” I think for a moment he’s going to tell me to run, to get out of here. Instead, he continues, “… help me.”

Fire rages all around us, reflected in each of the men’s eyes as they stare down at Adam. I reach for him, but?—

“Take her,” someone says. I jerk, turning to run, but a yank to the back of my shirt has me flying back into large arms. They wrap around me as I claw at the sweaty skin gripping me tight. He lifts me off the ground, and I thrash.

“Leave her alone. This is about me. This?—”

Another blow to Adam’s face has me flailing until the man loses his grip and I fall to the ground. The grass under my hands feels like a fresh spring of cool water compared to the heat blazing at my back.

Run, run, run, I tell myself, scrambling for purchase against the slick green. I slip, the tug on my ankle pulling me back down before I can fully stand. My foot kicks out behind me, connecting with a man’s face. Refusing to turn to look, I crawl, panting and struggling not to collapse. Smoke fills my lungs, and I cough, trying to suck in another breath.

Too close. Too close to the blazing fire.

My hands clench around the grass. With large fistfuls, my fingernails dig into the dirt as if that will anchor me. Boots step into my vision, and I let out a wail as I’m torn up by my hair.

Crying out in pain, I reach for my head. A man’s face hovers in front of mine, and I can almost taste the stench of his breath in my own. I clutch his wrists, trying to remove his hands from my hair. The scream lodged in my throat finally erupts as he spins me around and places me in a headlock.

More crackles and pops sound from the house, and I turn to see the roof cave-in before the man drags me backward down the driveway. Adam’s body lies on the ground by my favorite oak tree. Unable to make out if he’s moving or not, I shriek, calling out his name, but there’s no response. The other four men turn from him and follow to where I’m being heaved toward a vehicle.

A man with silver teeth gets in my face and cups me between my thighs.

“I can’t wait to play.” The silver in his mouth widens into a large smile, and I flinch, clinging to any extra energy I can.

Lunging forward, I try to escape the headlock, effectively cutting off my air supply. I suck in a breath, gasping for air.

“No! Let me go!”

My mind is a muddled mess between fighting back and trying to understand. I can’t make sense of what’s happening. Why are they taking me?

Thoughts of Liam flash in my mind, and my eyes flick around to each man as they load themselves on their bikes, looking for him. He isn’t here. Why would he allow this to happen to his brother?

The car door opens, and I’m turned around, glimpsing one last look across the hayfields rustling in the night wind. A faint light moving down the old service road flickers through the field. It’s a single light, and I narrow my eyes watching a lone motorcycle barreling down the field before it stops abruptly. Too far away for the men to see as they try to load themselves and their supplies back into the car.

A hulking figure jumps off the bike, letting it fall to the dirt, and whips off his helmet. Liam’s blond hair falls around his face, and I make out his hand swipe back through his hair.

Asshole . Who lets this happen?

Someone shoves at the back of my head, and I’m pushed into the car. My nose smacks into the other door, and with a crunch, blood gushes over my lips. I fight the urge to throw up as the warm metallic liquid seeps into my mouth. I move, huddling to one side of the car, and I reach for the other door handle before a sharp searing pain stabs into my leg.

The cool window cradles my lulled head. My cheek smooshes against the side of the window. My eyes are heavy, slowly closing with each heartbeat. I find the strength to shift my head, looking at the hayfield once more. Liam turns, the shadows of the night engulfing him. Away. He turns away.

I slowly drift and my body sways. The high of the drugs lifts and drops me like the swell of the waves on the ocean.

My mind flicks to the unread letter with my camera Chris sent. The words I’ll never read from him. Was he sorry or did he only want to wish me well? Images of flames ravaging the envelope, ash replacing where my name was scrawled across the paper scroll in my mind.

I will never know.

Sweat drips on the concrete, and each drop speckles the dust-coated floor. Two, four, six, I count each one as it rolls off my face.

Pain was the first thing I felt waking in the cell. I must’ve been tossed in. Right onto the concrete floor covered in dirt and grime because with each breath, I grimace. My ribs are bruised.

When I first opened my eyes, I couldn’t see anything but a white haze. But slowly, as I blinked and squinted through the cloudy blur, my surroundings became clear. Panic surged at first, especially when I saw I was alone. My thoughts immediately went to Adam lying unmoving on the grass outside my burning home—did they kill him? Is he okay? Please be okay.

I cried for what had to be an hour before I couldn’t anymore. Emotionally, I’m drained, but more than that, physically, I’m struggling.

A rickety cot is tucked into the corner. One pillow and a thin blanket bunched in a ball sit on top. Both are so dirty that I’m here on the floor, tucked into myself.

I face the back wall, three of which are solid gray concrete, while the fourth is all bars. For a minute, I thought this was a bad dream or I had awakened onto a movie set about pirates.

Rust decorates the iron bars, the lock is the only section that doesn’t seem to be withering away. Like it’s been well oiled and cleaned for easy, quiet access.

I shudder.

I’m in shock. At least I have the wherewithal to understand that. Right?

The dull ache in my thigh has gotten worse. With each shiver, each jerk of movement, I wince at the throbbing from the needle puncture. Luckily, it seems whatever they injected me with is almost out of my system.

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. There isn’t any water in here, no food either, but I’m dehydrated. A headache rages behind my eyes, which are now swollen from my endless tears.

However, crying won’t help me get out of here. And I’ve realized it won’t do me any good to kick and scream. I’m locked in a jail cell—I’m not going anywhere.

So I take advantage of the fact I’m alone in a darkened cell. No one is here with me or interrogating me. Rest , I tell myself. Gather strength. It does no good to risk further injury trying to break out of iron bars.

Remaining in a fetal position on the floor, I work the problem in my head.

Clearly, it’s them. Darrin and his crew. What will they do with me? Is it because of Adam?

A slick oil pools in my gut, coating my stomach with an acid burn that churns the more I dwell on what their plans may be. Memories from the night on the Trace, their faces and remarks, replay vividly in my mind. All of them except for Liam.

Ugh. Him.

The image of Liam rolling in on his motorcycle but choosing not to intervene flashes through my mind and I scowl. Who lets this happen to their brother? Or me, for that matter.

Granted, he doesn’t know me, but we’ve talked. He helped me change my tire on the side of the road, for goodness’ sake. He and those men could’ve taken me then if they wanted to. So I go back to, what has changed now?

The cell is quiet, save for the loud drumming rain overhead. I’m not sure how I can hear a rainstorm below ground, most likely in a basement, but I do. The rich, damp scent of fresh rain mixes with the mildew stench I’m breathing so close to the concrete floor.

Between the myriad of smells and my pounding headache, I want to throw up. I huddle together, despite the wicked heat in here. The humidity plasters my shirt against my skin, and I’m keenly aware of how gross I am.

I reach up, swipe at my caking makeup, and pull my hand away, inspecting it. Ash flakes on my fingers as I rub them together. Running a hand through my hair, I pull down the strands to find more white ash. I fight more tears with every fleeting thought of my home.

It’s only a house. I repeat to myself. It’s only a house.

But the words do little to curb the sinking feeling in my chest. It was my fresh start. Something for me in the chaos of my life in the last several months. I stare down at my empty hands. And now it’s gone. Burned down to ash and charred wood.

My wrists still sport two rubber bands, and I sigh. They both stick there, calling to me. I’m out of control again. My life is literally out of my hands. I pluck the strings, playing myself a tune of pain over and over until my wrist is raw with raised meat-colored welts. The sting bites into my flesh and I breathe easier.

A clanking sound gives me pause, and I jerk up to sit, sure to keep my knees tucked into me. The concrete wall is cool against my back as I move to lean against it. The sound of metal screeching makes me want to rip my hair out as it grates at my pounding head.

A large, tall man with a long beard pulled into a ponytail saunters down the dimly lit hall. The two other cells across from mine rattle with his thundering steps. He steps into the light and his soulless dark eyes lift to mine, studying me. Gut large and round, he chuckles and the sound slithers through me.

I know that sound.

I lift my chin to get a better view. He’s familiar. One of the men who stopped while I was on the side of the road and gave me a hard time. More like gave me a very clear picture of what he would do if he got his hands on me. And right now, he’s standing outside my cell with the same focused and leering stare plastered on his face.

He fumbles with a key in his hand, turning it over between his grease-stained fingers before sliding it into the lock. A smug twitch lifts the corner of his mouth. He looks at me as he slides the key in, and he licks his lips when it clicks. As much as I dreamed of those bars being unlocked for the past hour, I want nothing more than to slam them shut, blocking him.

Feeling along the wall, I rise, using the chilled stone for support. My knees wobble, threatening to buckle as the ear-screeching sound of metal bars opening echoes off the cell walls.

I press my back to the far wall, as far from him as possible. But it’s no use. There’s nowhere to run.

“W-where am I?” I stammer, my voice cracking from my dry mouth. The words are sluggish and tumble from my lips in a slow slur. I tense. Perhaps I’m not as recovered from the injection after all.

“Doesn’t matter where you are, darlin’. Only matters what you’re going to do while you’re here,” the man says. His voice is laced with poison, and his tone hovers above a whisper but grates in my ears as if he yelled it out.

He stalks for me, and I shake, eyes widening as he reaches out to grab my arm. Pressure is immediate as he grips me. Each pad of his finger squeezes there, leaving bruises in his wake.

I yank on my arm, faltering when his vice grip bears down even harder and pulls a scream of pain from me. Stubby fingers grab my chin, the smell of cigarette smoke lacing them. He strums my lips, coaxing my mouth to open for his pointer finger, but I bob my head from side to side, trying to avoid his disgusting hand.

“Boss wants a word with you. But he didn’t say I couldn’t play first.”

I growl, angling my knee to try to deliver a kick to his groin, but a chilling laugh snakes its way through the cell. I wiggle, trying to remove myself from between him and the concrete wall I cling to.

“Leave me alone!” I topple forward, no match for his weighty form.

He slides a hand into my hair, grips it, and yanks my head back. I wince in pain, letting out a shriek.

“Not sure that’s what D meant when he said to get the girl.”

A scream lodges itself in my throat and my breath catches with that voice. His voice.

The brawny man pivots to look behind him, giving me an unobstructed view of Liam. Casually, he leans against the bars of a cell across from mine while he studies his fist. Two rings reflect the minuscule light and the oddest thought of how he could possibly fit rings over his hefty fingers enters my mind.

Both of Liam’s legs are kicked out to the side, and he rests there. But I catch the flex of his muscles, the jerk of his biceps as they tighten when he opens and closes his fist. His hair is rumpled, matted on top from where I’m sure his helmet has been. The black V-neck molds to his upper body, the outline of his pectoral muscles pressed against the fabric, and I blink finally looking at his face.

He looks bored.

His eyes meet mine and he smirks, looking faintly amused by his buddy’s handsy behavior.

“Darrin didn’t say I couldn’t sample the goods first. Get out.” The man snarls, his lip curling in disgust. Liam interrupted his attack, and I hold Liam’s gaze, silently pleading he won’t leave.

Don’t go, my mind begs.

Liam doesn’t say anything while he pushes off the bars and strides into my cell. Folding his arms in front of himself, he tilts his head in my direction, seemingly disinterested.

“Probably want her clean before you touch her,” Liam says, eyes racking over my body in revulsion.

I swallow the nausea, heat flooding my face at his mention of my current hygiene. It’s not my fault I escaped a house fire, fought on the grass, and was hauled off and dumped into this awful cell. But as much as indignation flares, I can’t help but exhale a short sigh of relief when the man roves his inspecting gaze over me and scrunches his nose. With ash tangled in my hair, dirt smeared across my face, and makeup sagging in streaks, he must finally reconsider.

“You’re right. Patience always makes it better.” He sniffs, rubbing his hand back and forth over his nose. “But I’m first, Liam. Don’t pull rank.”

“She’s not my type,” Liam clips out, not sparing me a glance. “Better see what Darrin wants with her before you start making plans, Trip.”

Not his type? Good. I don’t want to be his type—arrogant jerk. Fighting the drop in my chest, I tremble when Trip forces me to him, pulling my shirt by its front collar. The strength of his pull causes me to slam into him, and I nearly throw up at the smell of his body odor and the scent of stale chips on his graphic T-shirt. My hand grazes the sweat-slick hair between his too-short shirt and hanging belly, and I try to flinch away, but he holds fast.

“Let’s go, beautiful.” Trip’s hand comes to the back of my neck, gripping there, and I yank away. On instinct, I knee him in the groin and duck when he tries to grab me. Darting for the open cell door, I make it two feet before a muscular arm spans the width of the opening.

Tendons and veins spread the length of his arm and I freeze before colliding with him. Trip uses the pause to yank back my hair and another whimper of pain leaves me. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Liam’s nostrils flare briefly while he focuses his gaze on the upper corner of the hallway. I try to catch his attention and fail.

I’m not sure why. I’ve only interacted with him a handful of times, but in this moment of uncertainty and fear, he’s the only person I remotely know. I was at his parents’ house, and they aren’t people I’d associate with this insanity for one minute. My eyes flutter to him, seeking an ally. But he avoids me altogether, and I’m on my own.

Forced through the door, I’m pulled through the narrow hallway with another three cells lining the hall to the double-door entrance. Liam follows, fists clenched at his sides. With every shove from Trip, I try to angle my head back to see him. His chin is raised and he scans ahead as though on the lookout for something to jump from the shadows.

Through the doors, a darkened ramp ascends gradually before it zigzags back and up even farther. Lights flicker and the cement foundation blocks break into drywall halfway up.

Trip opens another door and I squint at the bright light.

A dining hall? What is this? It’s like a high school lunchroom. Round tables are scattered throughout the vaulted room with plastic chairs circling each one. I’m so confused. My brows furrow as I try to slow, to figure out where I am, despite each press behind me.

Is this a school?

We pass a kitchen hidden behind a stainless-steel serving buffet with rolling doors operated by a chain dangling to the side.

At first, it’s eerily silent. The white lights reflect through the windows, blocking my view outside. Up ahead, the illuminated hall dims, and a neon sign above another set of double doors is lit with the word brEAK and the word ROOM scrawled like graffiti next to it.

Quickly, the surrounding atmosphere grows heavy. Bass pulses from the room, rising louder with each push. Trip licks his lips, his eyes hungrily trained on the door like he’s starving for what’s inside.

The overpowering smell of smoke and sweat seeps out, and as we reach the door, I have to swallow the bile rising in my throat because of it. It’s pungent and strong, masking even the suffocating odor that wafts off the man jostling me closer to his side.

He pulls me close when the door opens into the room.

No. Not a room.

I’m struck with the sheer size of what lies behind these doors and what’s taking place.

The “room” favors the square footage of the first floor of my house, with a makeshift bar in the back. Rustic wooden shelves stack behind the stainless-steel counter. All lined with liquor, some lean slanted, and most of them asymmetrical. Two rows of back bar refrigeration units are on each side, stocked with a variety of beer.

But the bar only holds my interest for seconds before it wanders to the two stripper poles. Each is positioned perfectly in the room so no matter where you sit or stand, you can see. Mismatched chairs and lounge couches are placed around the space, the focus on one large leather chair in particular.

Smoke billows across my face, and I turn to see the man named Blitz sitting with his back sunk into a couch while a woman straddles him. He flicks the cigarette in his hands as he’s focused on me.

It feels like slow motion, watching the embers drift to the tile floor. Light in this room is barely existent and the tiny ashes scream into the darkness.

With his heavy lust-filled stare, I instinctively step back, running into the belly of the man clenching my neck. Trip chuckles and runs a finger up the side of my arm.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll take good care of you.” He whispers his vile words in my ear and I shudder, teeth aching from my tense jaw.

I avert my eyes, counting more than twenty men in the room, all of whom are nursing a drink and fondling a half-naked woman. Tears threaten with each passing second, and I wrestle with the severe desire to slump to the ground and sob.

What have I gotten myself into?

Trip maneuvers around the space, dodging occupied chairs and full couches to drag me toward the corner of the room.

A handsome man sits in a deep, black leather chair. Tight dark curls hug the top of his head, but it’s the one blue eye next to the bronzed brown that snags my attention. Trip kicks the backs of my knees and I stumble forward, the hard floor stinging bone.

I keep my head hung low but don’t miss the black boots that step into my peripheral. Following the black jeans up to his blond hair pulled back into a bun, I watch Liam’s jaw work back and forth. His eyes look past me at the darkened windows drawn closed.

“Meet Darrin, sweet thing,” Trip says, kicking my feet currently tucked under my bottom as I practically kneel before this man.

Under my lashes, I peer up at Darrin. He slides forward out of his chair, leaning both of his forearms on his thighs.

“So this is the woman Adam has been pursuing.”

I flinch at the man’s words. They’re smooth and quiet, and instinctively, I compare it to the rough voices I’ve experienced from this group so far. He rubs his forehead between his eyes with his middle finger, head tilted to regard me.

“Please,” I say. “Let me go.”

I’m not sure why I plead with him. It’s probably futile.

A laugh sounds behind me and Blitz, who has since finished with his girl, steps over to me. “Never going to happen.” He reaches down to grab my chin and yanks my face to the side so I’m looking at him. Instead, I gaze past, eyes landing on Liam. I narrow my focus on him, irritated this is Adam’s brother and blood. Disgusting.

I must take him by surprise because for the first time, he meets my glare and I catch the slight rounding of his eyes before they flick to where Blitz has his hand on my chin.

Then his fingers slide farther down reaching through my shirt.

“Hands off, Blitz,” Darrin says, still watching me. I squirm under his study. “Fleur, is it? Funny, he never mentioned you while he’s been at my establishments the past few weeks.”

Darrin’s eyes drill into me, and I focus past them on the curves of the chair and the dips in the cracked leather.

I’m confused, but I press my lips together fighting the urge to ask. Adam doesn’t come here, does he?

“How’s his new truck looking these days?”

An immediate brisk cold sensation crawls up my arms and settles behind my neck. New truck?

Anger snaps any of my resolve and I blurt out, “What does a new truck have to do with burning down my home and kidnapping me?” I muscle as much disdain to mask the terror coursing through my veins. When Darrin quirks a brow, a small thrill runs through me, similar to when I pulled those first rubber bands long ago.

I sit back on my heels, slumping farther to the floor. “Is Adam okay?” I ask. Because as the words from Chris’s unread letter invade my mind, so does the image of Adam lying face down on the grass in front of my burning farmhouse. I want to make sure he’s okay.

“That depends. He’s had the privilege of people paying his debts for too long. Buying a new truck with his gambling money instead of paying his debts other people”—his eyes flick to Liam—“are paying for won’t fly with me. You are collateral.”

I try to look around me, the thrumming music picking up speed with my rapid heartbeat. Collateral? The word rolls around silently on my tongue. I’m nothing. No one.

“It seems everyone has a price to pay for Adam. Including you.”