Page 2 of Guarded by Atlas (Steel Rebels MC #6)
“Thanks, Marie.” She beams. “Promise me you’ll come to the engagement party. It’ll be at the clubhouse, and you’ll get to meet the guys. Oh, maybe I can introduce you to someone special.” She stops, frowns. “You’re not dating anyone, are you?”
“I barely have time to breathe, let alone date,” I say, walking over to grab my coat, which I’d draped over a chair earlier. “But I would love to come to your engagement party.”
“Oh, you’ll make time for dating once you see the men at the clubhouse.” She chuckles, exchanging a knowing glance with Scarlett. “They are hot enough to tempt a nun.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I say with a laugh, doubting anyone would tempt me into a relationship.
Not when my head is always spinning with thoughts of work and a hundred other things I need to take care of on a daily basis.
No, romance is the last thing on my mind.
In fact, I plan on spending one of my rare free weekends watching some trash TV and rotting on the couch with a bowl of ice cream.
The thought puts a smile on my face as I zip up my coat.
“Okay, what a crazy coincidence.” Chelsea chuckles, and when I look up, it’s to see her eyes shift from Scarlett to me. “Did the two of you plan this?”
“Huh?” My brows knit with confusion as I try to make sense of her words. “What do you mean?”
“You and Scarlett are wearing the same outfit.” She laughs, and I look down at my coat and then at the woman standing next to me.
Scarlett is wearing a bright red parka with a fluffy hood, and it looks exactly like the one I’m wearing.
I didn’t notice it at first since she left hers unzipped, but our outfits do look similar, down to her blue jeans which are the same color as my scrubs.
“You’re right, wow,” I say, a chuckle escaping my lips. We both start laughing and there are a few jokes exchanged on how we could trick people into thinking we’re twins, even if Scarlett and I look nothing alike. No one would be able to tell with our hoods raised.
Despite my plan to exit early, I find myself roped into more conversation about the engagement party and hot bikers before I’m finally able to leave.
I make a few more stops to chat with the nurses on the night shift, and it’s almost eight by the time I step out of the building.
Two hours past the time my shift was supposed to end.
The cool evening air hits me when I step onto the sidewalk, tugging my hood over my head to fight the chill stinging my ears.
I turn toward the L station and notice a plain white van slowly come up the nursing home’s drive, immediately dismissing it as a delivery van.
Those often have some kind of logo on them, but I don’t pay it too much attention as I hurry to catch my train.
I’m about to turn the corner when I hear a sharp metallic sound that startles me. I turn around, my heart hammering in my chest when I realize the van is much closer than I thought and a figure emerges from the side door, his face obscured by a hood.
It takes me five seconds—entirely too long—for me to realize that he’s moving toward me, and when it clicks, it’s too late.
It all happens too fast.
The man reaches me before my brain can transmit the panic to my limbs.
My breath catches in my throat when I see the glint of metal in his hand—a knife, its blade gleaming in the dim light.
It’s pressed against my neck before I can even react, and I know one move from the jittery man could prove to be fatal.
I don’t want to die.
There is so much I have left to do. I know I told Chelsea that I have no time to date, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to find love at some point. I’ve yet to kiss a man, and the awkward press of lips that happened when I was fourteen doesn’t freaking count.
My parents. Oh God, this would kill them.
“Please,” I whimper, conscious of the knife dangerously close to the vital parts of my throat. “Everything is in my purse. My money, credit cards, and phone. Take it!”
“Shut up!” he hisses, and I can hear the nerves in his voice as he grips my arm and pulls me toward the van. “Just shut the fuck up and get in the van.”
I try to tap into the lessons we were taught about how to de-escalate frenzied patients, but before I can think of anything to say, he pushes me toward the open door of the van.
I turn around and a chill runs down my spine when I am met with dark hateful eyes glaring at me, and I realize that there is nothing I could say to save myself from this situation.
With another shove, I stumble inside, the darkness engulfing me, the smell of stale air and metal filling my nostrils.
The door slams shut behind me, trapping me in a cage of steel and fear.
I’ve been kidnapped.
The thought sends me scrambling to my feet and pushing against the door, searching blindly for some mechanism to open it, but I come up empty.
I move to kick the door, but I’m thrown down when the van starts moving.
I wrap my arms around my head to brace for impact when the van takes rough turns, each one sliding me from one side to the other; there is nothing to grab to steady myself.
I’ve been kidnapped.
My heart thumps in panic as I close my eyes against the thought, even as another, equally terrifying one filters in.
What do they want?