Page 9

Samantha

Diesel wraps his arms around me again and pulls me tight to his chest to be his human shield, a shield for a man that, even battered and bloody, has just knocked multiple people unconscious and definitely does not need a shield, human or otherwise; Diesel is a weapon; his muscle, his strength, his power consumes me and my body becomes flush with terror and something else — some crazy urge that makes me want to turn around in his grip, press my lips to his, and lose myself in him.

“Let’s go,” he says, and I feel absolutely powerless as I’m force-marched to the parking lot of Club Sin. “Which car is yours?”

I point. “It’s that one.”

He drags me, and Hunter follows, his eyes and weapon trained on the exit behind us. When we reach my car, I dig into the tiny pocket of my Daisy Dukes and pull out my car keys.

“Just take them and go,” I say, holding them out.

Diesel looks down at them, then back to me, his face an unreadable, beaten, bloodied mask. Then he shakes his head. “No can do.”

Panic floods me as Diesel’s grip tightens, his fingers like iron bands, and my heart races, a frantic tattoo against my ribs.

"Please," I plead again, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just take the car and go. I won't say anything, I swear."

But Diesel isn't listening. He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear.

"I don't just want your car, Samantha," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "I want a lot more from you, and I’m going to take it."

“What do you mean?” I whisper.

“I’m taking you.”

I scream — terror escaping from my mouth in a sonic burst — before Diesel covers my mouth with one of his large hands. A shiver runs down my spine, a mix of fear and something else — a thrill of excitement I don't want to acknowledge. I hate myself for it, for the way my body responds to his closeness, his touch.

"Get in the car," Diesel orders, pushing me towards the driver's side.

As I fumble with the keys, the reality of my situation hits me like a punch to the gut: I'm in way over my head with two dangerous men… And worst of all, a part of me — a traitorous, reckless, rebellious part — doesn't want to escape from Diesel; I know I should; I know I should fight to escape, to get out of this mess and try to convince Grub that I was just an innocent victim of Diesel and Hunter so he doesn’t rip my life apart or kill my brother, but there is a piece of me that responds in a deep, burning way to the power in that man’s voice.

“Hurry,” Diesel says. “You’ve got about five seconds before a lot of shooting happens, and, while Hunter and I would find it a hell of a lot of fun, I don’t think you want to be caught in the middle of it. So, here’s your choice: get in the fucking car, or get ready to see a lot of people die.”

I slide into the driver's seat, and I’m so out of it from fear that I don’t even shut the door until Hunter taps me on the shoulder. “Samantha, you need to close the door and put the keys in the ignition.”

I do just that.

Even collect my scattered thoughts enough to start the car.

“Drive, Samantha,” Hunter says. “Just take a deep breath and drive.”

His words help. Not a lot, but just enough that I can keep my head together to do what I need to do. As I back out of the parking spot and drive to the exit, I see Grub and a few others appear in front of the strip club. My heart jumps at the sight of him; he’s staring right at me, there’s murder in his eyes and a throbbing, ugly vein in his forehead that looks like it wants to leap out and strangle me. It’s then I feel something cold press against the side of my head. It’s Diesel’s gun.

A bone-shaking shiver runs through me as he cocks the hammer.

“Drive faster if you value your life,” he snarls.

I scream and slam my foot on the gas, my hands clutching the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip as we speed by Club Sin and Grub and his men, who all raise their weapons. I lock eyes for a second with Grub, still screaming, still acutely aware of the feeling of the gun against my head, and see Grub open his mouth and laugh in cruel amusement as we go speeding by in my car.

That evil jerk sees my terror, and he’s laughing at me.

It isn’t until we’re several blocks away that Diesel takes the gun from my head and I stop screaming and instead release a whimpering sigh. My fingers and hands are numb and shaking, and it feels as if I don’t really have control over my body, as if I’m outside of it just watching things happen.

“Why did you…?” I want to say more, to give him a piece of my mind, to ask him why he’s suddenly so different, so terrifying, but I’m too scared to command my tongue.

The man next to me is a far cry from the man who, just minutes before in that back room, seemed so concerned for my safety that he’d rather risk dying that put me in danger. What happened to him? Was it all a ploy? Has he always been so… evil? Is there any difference between him and men like Grub?

“Keep your eyes on the road,” He says. “As for anything else, there’s just one thing you need to know: you’re belong to us now, Samantha, and it’s going to be a long time before we’re done with you.”