Page 27

Chapter 27

Empty

Whitney

I woke up with dry mouth. It took a moment before I realized it stemmed from a wad of fabric shoved between my lips. I opened my eyes. The room was dimly lit, and it appeared that I was alone. My wrists were bound to a chair with duct tape. With care, because my neck hurt like hell from my awkward position, I turned my head to see if any one was behind me.

Alone.

Thank God.

I took a closer look at the chair. It was a white, plastic outdoor chair. Whoever bound me made sure my forearms were flat to the armrests. Little did they realize that could work in my favor. I began to move my forearms back and forth to cut through the duct tape. It would take time. With any luck, there would be enough time for me to break free.

I noticed a windowsill a few feet away. When I went to move my legs, I found they’d been taped to the chair also. Trying to cut the tape on my legs and my arms would take more coordination. I started working my legs to break them free also, but free hands would do me the most good.

The blinds weren’t completely drawn. The sun shifted enough to brighten the room, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. Rod or his buddy was dumb enough to leave my purse on the floor.

With effort, I jerked my torso to scoot the chair forward. I expected to hear the chair scraping the floor, but no sound came. That was when I noticed the room was carpeted.

Could they be so stupid as to leave me in this room with my purse? Surely they searched it.

I shook my head. This was no time for assumptions. If there was a chance my phone or my gun was in that bag, I had to get to it. Who knew what Rod wanted to do to me now that he had me here?

My mind flooded with thoughts of all the things I wanted to do but hadn’t had a chance: buying a house, marriage, starting a family, proving to Aunt Nadia I could keep her legacy going.

Mentally I shook off the thoughts, then I took another quick glance around the room because putting cameras in here wouldn’t be that difficult. Another thought hit me: even if there were cameras, I had limited time and I had to make the most of it.

I scooted across the room as fast as I could – though with my arms and legs bound, it wasn’t very fast at all. During my slow trek across the room, I debated the choice I’d have to make. I wouldn’t be able to bend over and grab my purse – at least not until I freed an arm. If I really wanted to grab my bag, I’d have to tip myself over. There was no way I’d get upright again. That was a bridge I’d have to cross when I got there.

With all those thoughts running through my head, I propelled myself forward too hard. All my weight rested on the two front legs of the chair. Somehow I stopped the momentum before I fell on my face. Once I had the chair on four legs again, I took some deep breaths and kept working on the tape at my arms. To my surprise, I heard something tear on my right side. I examined my right arm, but it didn’t appear any different than before other than my skin being red.

Still, that sound encouraged me to redouble my efforts to tear the duct tape.

After another seven scoots and what felt like at least twenty minutes, I was finally within a foot of my bag.

I clenched a fist and pulled up with my right arm. The tearing sound was music to my ears, but my arm was still stuck. On my third try, the tape finally tore loose. I pulled the gag out of my mouth and took a huge gulp of fresh air.

I tamped down my urge to shout with joy, then awkwardly bent forward and grabbed my purse.

Whatever minimal relief I felt was short-lived.

My purse was empty.

I blew out a quiet sigh and set to work freeing my left arm and both legs.

Once I broke loose, I went to the window.

Lifting one of the blind slats, I saw an empty field with nine motorcycles. The slat I’d lifted ran along the top edge of the window rail, and I noticed there was a sash lock. Carefully, I shifted the lock and lifted up to open the window. It didn’t budge.

The room had three doors. Light coming through the bottom of one of the doors told me that led out to the rest of the building. Another door was close by with no light emanating from it. I opened it and found it was an empty closet.

I hustled across the room to the last door, and found a small bathroom. I turned on the light and searched the cabinet under the sink. There was a bottle of spray cleaner alongside an aerosol can of pest spray.

Giving Rod a face-full of pest spray was tempting, but I knew better. That could backfire and would only serve as a distraction.

As I backed out of the room, the ugly shower curtain caught my attention and an idea struck me. My junior and senior year of high school, I’d been on the track team, not for running but for shot put. I pulled down the curtain, wadded it up, tucked it under my arm, and grabbed the toilet tank lid. It wasn’t an ideal shape, but the concept was still the same.

The plastic chair wouldn’t bust through the window, but a toilet lid most likely would. If it didn’t shatter along with the glass, I could use the lid as a weapon when I ran into someone preventing me from escaping.

At the window, I set everything down, and yanked on the cord to raise the blinds. The light flooding the room made me wince. My eyes were downcast and the glint of something metal caught my attention.

My cell phone was on the ground in the corner of the room. That was strange, but I had to guess they were more interested in my handgun than my phone.

I picked up my cell and my growing relief shriveled up. The screen wasn’t just cracked, it was clear they’d stomped on it. I hit the power button, and nothing.

Nevertheless, I tucked it in my back pocket and picked up the toilet lid.

Before I could swing at the window, I heard multiple bikes outside. Outside the door to this room, I heard the commotion of footsteps pounding down the hall.

Through the window, I saw four bikes pulling into the backyard. All of those riders wore Corrupt Chrome patches.

So much for busting out of here .

“What the fuck are you doing?” a man demanded.

I whirled around, but the door to the room was still closed.

A gruff voice spoke on the other side of the door. “I’m gonna bring this blonde bitch out front. She’s the type our brothers from Georgia like.”

I’d left the plastic chair close to the door, and I quickly dragged it back to where I’d initially been situated. Whoever came in would expect to see me sitting there, hopefully with the chair in the right spot it would take them an extra second or two to register that I wasn’t where I should be.

I moved to the closet door and pressed my back against it.

The first man spoke. “You’re out of your mind. That bitch is Rod’s. You bring her out here, he’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

“No, he won’t. He’ll be pissed he didn’t think to hand her over to them.”

My eyes closed as I took a deep breath. The idea of being handed over to anybody didn’t sit well with me. My hands were getting clammy. I opened my eyes and shifted the lid to one hand while I wiped the other one on my shorts.

Nothing about this situation was ideal, but I sent up a prayer that only one man came into the room. One on one, I might stand a chance – especially if he were unarmed. Two on one, I had to hope my guardian angel came ready to tussle and kick some ass.

“You’re a moron. Rod’s been jumpy as hell all week. He’ll slit your fuckin’ throat you even go in that room.”

The man with the gruff voice let out an annoying laugh. “Even better. Someone needs to show Rod his place. You want in on this action?”

“Fuck no. And why are you carrying a gun? She’s tied to a chair in there.”

“The gun is to scare her. I like it when they’re scared. You gonna rat me out to Rod?”

“Should, but I won’t, Scaler.”

Scaler? What kind of road name was that? At least I knew this asshole had a weapon.

I heard a set of footsteps move away from the room, then I heard a key being inserted into the doorknob just before country music blared from the adjacent room.

Even if the tunes were annoying, they might drown out the sounds of me fighting with this asshole.

The door opened and an overhead light came on just as I heard the door slam shut.

With the door closed, I was able to hear him speak. “Hey, Blondie— what the fuck?”

I had to wait for him to step further into the room. As luck would have it, he had his gun in his left hand. I raised the toilet tank cover high and cleaved it down on his arm. It took more effort than I expected to keep hold of the lid after impact.

He yelled in pain, dropped his gun, and reached out to punch me. My reflexes kicked in and I blocked his punch by holding the lid out like a shield. He howled at punching the porcelain. Before he could lunge at me again, I threw the lid at him. It hit him in his sternum. I didn’t watch what he did next, opting to scurry to his gun instead.

I grabbed the gun from the floor, turned, and saw him rubbing his chest and stalking toward me – his brown eyes enraged. I took aim and fired the gun. Blood bloomed across his chest. The music stopped and I opened the bedroom door.

To my right the hallway led to a common room, and to my left was a back door. I sprinted left and ran out to the backyard.

That guardian angel had to be working overtime today because nobody was in the back yard. I ran past all the bikes toward a chain-link fence.

In the distance I swore that I heard more motorcycles approaching, but I kept running away from the back door.

“Stop, bitch!” someone shouted behind me, and I zigged to the right.

Then there was a loud boom that most likely came from a shotgun. The ground to my left sprayed up. I heard the sound of someone approaching from behind, but I didn’t dare look over my shoulder.

“Whitney!” someone shouted from beyond the fence line.

I heard heavy breathing just before a heavy weight hit me and a man tackled me to the ground. It wasn’t a typical tackle, though. He sliced at my right arm, forcing me to lose hold of the gun.

We wrestled on the ground and he got an arm around my neck. I twisted my head and bit him on his exposed bicep.

“You fuckin’ bitch!” he yelled and pulled his arm away.

I used the distraction to jerk out of his hold, but three pairs of boots blocked my path.

Grimy hands reached down, hauled me to my feet, and shoved me forward so I faced Rod.

“For a cunt, you put up a decent fight,” Rod snarled.

It took all my willpower not to spit at him. I heard the faint sound of sirens, but there didn’t appear to be any homes around the clubhouse. My every instinct said my luck had officially run out.

Rod cocked a brow. “You got nothin’ to say… Whitney?”

“No,” I said with a reflexive lip curl.

Movement over his shoulder stole my attention. Five men had climbed the fence, and one of them I’d know absolutely anywhere… Mensa. Roman, Brute, Finn, and Gamble were running behind him.

Sadly, I must not have hidden my reaction because Rod and the two men at his side shifted and looked behind them.

“Stop or she’s dead,” Rod yelled.

Mensa and the other Riot members stopped in their tracks. The concern on their faces cut through the adrenaline and sheer bravado that had driven me.

“Let her go,” Mensa yelled.

Ever so slowly, I turned to glance behind me. The man holding me didn’t appear to have a weapon. I hadn’t seen where the gun went when I got tackled. I faced them all before they noticed I was looking around.

“I’m not letting her go, asshole,” Rod hollered.

The man behind me pushed past me and yelled at Mensa and the others. “You fuckers are trespassing. We’re gonna kick your ass.”

With nobody standing behind me, I wondered if this was a decent time to make a break for it. I recalled there had been nine bikes parked out here and the four others that rolled up made thirteen. My eyes darted around the area and I only counted seven other men since there were three men positioned to the side of Mensa and the Riot brothers.

Without law enforcement here, this stalemate wouldn’t end well. Five Riot brothers up against thirteen or more Corrupt Chrome members… the numbers were not in our favor.

I took a step backward and none of the Corrupt Chrome members noticed.

“She wants nothing to do with you, Rod,” Mensa said.

With the men focused on Mensa, I moved back another two paces.

“Not yet, but she will,” Rod said, turning to look over his shoulder to where I’d been.

His eyes locked with mine, and from the crazed look in his eyes I saw my mistake. Rod hadn’t tackled me. Rod hadn’t picked me up off the ground. Hell, back at the strip mall, Rod wasn’t the one who stuck me with a needle. He’d let other people do his dirty work. That didn’t mean he always let other people handle his problems though.

And I hadn’t noticed if he had a weapon on his person or not.

Most likely it was five seconds that Rod stared at me, but it damn sure felt like five minutes. Whether it was a bizarre law of human nature or pure instinct, the moment I decided to flee, Rod also pulled a gun.

I took off at an angle, but it wasn’t enough. The sound of Mensa shouting my name… no, the gut-wrenching plea in his shout was something I’d never forget.

White-hot pain sliced along my left shoulder blade. The ground looked and felt like it had tilted. I had a fleeting thought to stretch my arms out in front of me before the ground rushed up to greet me, then my vision went dark.