Page 6

6

AINSLEY

I come awake with a start. My head is pounding, my body feels as if I’ve been hit by a damn bus, and I have cottonmouth so bad, I don’t think I’ll ever have saliva again. Slowly, I turn my head, trying to bring back any memory of where I am and what the fuck happened to me. Not finding any immediate danger, I take a moment to inspect myself.

I look down to find I’m covered in a gray itchy blanket and lift it with shaking hands. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my clothes are untouched. The smell of an old penny finally penetrates the very slow lifting haze in my head. I roll my shoulders, noting how truly fucking sore I am. Reaching up, I find my hair is stuck to my head and caked in only what I can assume is blood and who knows what else.

Feeling across my head, I find a set of stitches that run from just above my eyebrow back across my temple, ending just behind my ear. Anxiety rushes through me as memories of what happened start to finally come back in full Technicolor—the Holly shit, the bar, an explosion, someone trying to shoot me—pain like I’ve never felt. The blackness until the voice of a man I prayed I’d never hear from again washes over me, providing a comfort that I do not deserve.

After that, there is nothing until I wake up here. I don’t recognize anything in this room. Meaning it’s time for me to get the fuck out of here. Pulling the blankets back, I turn and hang my legs off the side of the bed, noticing that I don’t have any shoes on. I slide off the bed and look around the room. There is very little in here. A door to my left, a large set of built-in bookshelves across the wall in front of me, and there are two doors to my right with a dresser and TV sitting between them. I take a tentative step, needing a bathroom desperately. My legs are shaky under me as I slowly shuffle across the worn, beat-up hardwood floors. Making it to the closest door, I sigh because I picked the right one.

I step into an outdated but clean bathroom. I shuffle across the tile floor, refusing to look at myself in the mirror and focus only on not peeing on myself. I make it to the toilet, struggling to get my jeans down my legs. They are caked in dirt, alcohol, and who knows what else. I do my business and when I stand the world spins so fast that I can barely stay standing. Gripping onto the sink I breathe deep, trying to shake the dizziness. I’m finally able to get the spinning down to an annoying trimmer and try to pull the nasty pants back up while my trembling legs groan and I fight vomiting from the pain in my entire body.

“Fuck, I have to get the hell out of here. The universe fucking work with me,” I say, trying not to sob in pain and desperation.

My knees give out, causing me to sink to the cold tile floor. Sighing, I roll onto my back to steady my breathing and shaking limbs. I lay there trying to get my body and brain to fucking work together and figure where I am and how to get the fuck out.

“Okay, bitch, let’s get your pants pulled up.”

“But the tile feels so good. Let’s just rest here for a minute,” I mumble to myself.

Groaning, I realize that I’m actually having a conversation with myself and need to get it the fuck together. Slowly, I reach down and wiggle my pants up my thighs and over my hips, swallowing down the scream from the pain in my ribs. Once my pants are up, I take in a shallow breath and roll onto my knees.

“Damn it all to hell, if the world would just stop fucking spinning, that would be stellar,” I mumble once again like a crazy person.

Reaching up as slowly as I can and trying not to pull at my ribs any more than I have to, I grab the edge of the sink and pull my ass up onto my feet. I finally catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and can’t stop the tears from falling, even if I wanted to. My hair is matted and nasty. The stitches that I felt are far worse than I could have imagined. I am one giant bruise with swelling here, there, and everywhere. I wipe at the tears as they make tracks on my face before turning and limping out of the bathroom. I slowly shuffle my way back across the room, resting when I finally make it to the bed. I can't help but to sit heavily on the edge and cup my head as it pounds.

Maybe put something like:

Once I feel like I have more strength and the pounding in my head has backed off, I know it’s time to move before whoever brought me here comes back. Gritting my teeth, I slide off the bed, hanging on as my legs try to give out. Slowly I shuffle my way across the room, using every surface I can to hold myself up.

“Come on, bitch, you’ve been through worse. Get your ass moving and get the hell out!” I snap to myself.

When I make it to the door, I expel every amount of oxygen in my lungs before I reach out, taking a hold of the brass doorknob and throwing up a small prayer that it’s unlocked. The knob turns and the door pulls open toward me. I ease my head out, looking up and down the long hallway taking in all the closed doors. Not seeing anyone, I ease out into the brightly lit hallway with black-and-white checkered floor tiles leading out into what appears to be an open space.

Pulling the door behind me closed, I slowly start making my way down the hallway, needing to pause every few steps as my world tries to go ass over teakettle. Reaching the hall's entrance, I discovered a spacious room. I don’t even try to stop the whimper that escapes my cracked lips when I find a large motorcycle club insignia on the wall. There are several pool tables in the middle of the room, and to my right there is a large TV with couches and chairs around it. Lined up along the wall under the insignia are tables and booths. A bar sits on the far side of the room with a large restaurant-style door next to it.

Another long hallway lies to my left. I lean my back against the wall, laying my head back against it, fighting the rising panic attack. I’m in a fucking club. Memories flash behind my eyes. First of the bikers the day I moved into my college apartment, then the man standing over me with a gun pointed at my head, and now here I am standing inside one of their places without knowing a damn thing about how I ended up here or fucking why.

“Okay, okay. So far, you haven’t seen anyone. There is an exit on the other side of the room. Yeah, but that leaves me wide open. You saw what looked to be an exit down the other hallway,” I murmur to myself, as I attempt to figure out what my best plan of action is.

I go to step away from the wall again, finding my legs entirely too weak. Looks like the hallway it is so I can continue using the wall for support. I reach the second hallway's entrance after silently moving down the wall, away from the large room. Slowly, I pass one closed door before coming across one that is cracked open just a little. As I go to pass it, my arm bumps it further open, and my attention falls on a wall of pictures. I slowly make my way across the fairly large office with paper spread around everywhere.

My eyes are focused on the pictures. There are so many of them, ranging from what looks to be really old to newer ones. Something about one of the men in the picture closest to me draws me in. I study the lines of the man as a memory starts to take shape.

“Most people who enter Pres’s office uninvited rarely leave it still breathing,” a voice that I’ve only ever heard on the phone and in my nightmares growls so close to my ear that his lips skim my ear.

I turn around so fast that my head spins and I can’t stop the rise of nausea. Hell, I’m so over puking on this man. Leaning over, I place my hands on my knees, losing all the contents of my stomach on his boots once more.

The sound of someone’s laughter caries through the room and the voice pulls at a faint memory as he says, “Fuck me, man, she really doesn’t like those boots if her puking on them every time she sees them means anything.”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole. What the fuck is wrong with her? Why the fuck does she keep fucking doing that?” the very pissed off giant snaps, laying a hand on the back of my head. Warmth spreads through me at his touch.

“She has a major concussion, several bruised body parts and stitches. Let’s add that to the ungodly amount of pain she’s fucking in and ta-fucking-da she pukes on your boots,” the voice that was giving out shit continues speaking.

I try to take in his words between puking spells. It’s nice to know that I don’t have any severe injuries. Now just to figure out how in the actual hell I’m going to make it out of here alive.

When his words finally take root, my eyes snap open and I stand straight up, trying to find the know-it-all man. “Are you telling me I was shot and the motherfucker couldn’t get it right?”

A few chuckles fill the room and I finally take in the fact the office is now filled with several very large angry looking men. Squeaking, I fall back against the wall, trying to put space between me and the giant. He reaches out and wraps a large hand first around my arm before sliding his other up my chest and around my throat with so much anger, and what could be lust, staring back at me, I can’t help the shiver that racks my body.

“It looks like it was just a graze. Who ever tried to shoot you must have been a fucking idiot because yes, he fucked it up somehow,” he says, a look of confusion written across his face.

The room goes silent when men around us realize the predicament that I’m currently in. I hear movement but can’t bring myself to look away from the man that holds my life in his hands.

“Why in the fuck are all you assholes standing in my office looking like you're scared to fucking breathe?” a very stern voice shouts.

He moves up behind the giant, looking over his shoulder and makes eye contact with me. I can’t even take in how truly stunning this man is. “Mercy, why are you holding the little lamb by the throat in my office?”

“It’s fucking weird, she looks so familiar,” the man I now know as Mercy mumbles, narrowing his eyes.

“Okay, well, if you kill her now, she definitely will not be able to talk to us. So, can you let her go?” Mr. Too-good-looking cautiously asks.

“We need some answers and right now she’s our only lead at this damn point,” a very pissed off voice rumbles to my right.

I whimper as the fingers on my throat flex, and Mercy steps closer into my body. A single tear slips down my face, and to my horror, Mercy leans forward, licking the tear away. Gasping, my body sways at the feel of his tongue on my skin. Everything seems to stop, not a sound heard, or breath breathed as if we’re all waiting for an explosion.

“You straight?” Mr. Too-good-looking questions quietly, eyeing us closely.

Mercy snaps his head around to eye the man behind him. Before giving him a stiff nod. Still not letting his hold on my throat ease in the slightest. My head spins again, and I don’t know if it’s from my anxiety restricting my airway or the hand I’m currently wearing as a necklace.

“Are you going to kill me?” I’m finally able to rasp.

“And why would that be the first question you ask? Have you done something that warrants you being killed?” Mr. Too-good-looking’s voice is dripping with false concern.

I shrug my shoulder, eyeing all the men in the room one at a time, seeing they’re all wearing a leather vest like the man that tried to shoot me.

Bringing my eyes back to Mercy, my brain-to-mouth filter falters, “it was men wearing vests like yours that did this to start with.”

I wave a hand around the side of my head that has the stitches. Mercy uses his hold on my throat to tilt my head so he can look at the stitches. Growling low in his throat as his eyes ignite with anger.

“Cuts,” someone new snaps from somewhere in the room.

“Cut what?” I query, pulling my eyebrows down. As I do, I hiss at the pull it caused on my stitches.

Mr. Too-good-looking sighs, “Let's take this somewhere that doesn’t smell like fucking vomit and get a little more comfortable. Terro, has the furniture for the new conference room showed up?”

Someone that I am guessing is Terro answers him, “Yeah, the prospects got it set up yesterday.”

“Alright, let's move this in there. Terro, Blitz, Remedy, Rhino, Hermes, Mercy, and Blender let's go see what we can find out from our little lamb.” Mr. Too-good-looking snaps out.

Despite the murmuring voices and shuffling feet in the crowded room, Mercy remained utterly still. Our gazes collide and everything else falls away. I gasp as once again my new necklace flexes. I don’t dare move or try to pull away. Someone slaps Mercy on the back, causing him to growl at the person.

“Bring her with us. You don’t have to let her go, but you do have to bring her with us,” a chuckling voice tosses out before I hear retreating footsteps, leaving me alone with my very own monster.

Mercy finally loosens his grip on my throat and takes a slight step away from me. “Make no mistake, if you in any way try to run, lie to us, or pull anything funny—I will kill you.”

I nod slowly, too afraid of what moving too quickly would mean.

Mercy grunts, then uses his hold on my arm to guide me out of the office and back into the hallway. Mercy glares back at me when I can’t seem to stay in step with him. My brain-to-mouth filter decided to once again malfunction.

“Sorry, not only am I about seven inches shorter than you, but I was also just nearly killed not too long ago, and my body doesn’t seem to be moving like it needs to,” I snap while glaring at him.

When we enter the room, the sudden hush and the weight of all those men's stares made me stumble backward into Mercy. Most of them look guarded, amused, and even slightly interested. There are a few pairs of eyes that look as if they would rather slit my throat than have me in their space. I once again try to take a step back, meeting a hard body.

“Sit,” Mercy grunts, nudging me forward.

I take small, unsteady steps into the room and sit in one of the only three seats available. There is a man that looks as if murder is his only option is leaning against the far wall. Mercy ignores the seat next to me, standing sentry behind me.

“Let’s start with who we all are,” Mr. Too-good-looking starts, “I’m Relic this here is my left is my VP Raider, to my right is Terro, then you have Remedy, Blitz, Rhino, Hermes and against the wall is Blender and Mercy. Can you tell us who you are?”

I take a moment to decide what to do. I don’t know what kind of reach these guys have, but I know I need to be very careful. I’ve spent a lot of time and effort building my new life when I ran away. The promise of my death if anything happened to Jenny, had been just that— a promise . I knew after the cops left that her brother and his people wouldn’t be far behind them, so I did what I do best. I ran and made sure that my tracks were covered well.

“Paisley,” I whisper, praying they can’t hear the lie.