Page 8 of Ruger (Riders of Retribution #2)

Marigold

I don’t want to get off the back of Ruger’s bike when we get to my place, but I don’t have a choice. It’s not just me and Ruger. There’s another member of the Riders of Retribution idling on his bike and watching the two of us. I don’t even get the chance to give him a goodbye kiss.

So, I squeeze my arms around him one last time before swinging my leg off his motorcycle.

Then, I walk to the other member, who hands me my bag, and I head up to the front door of my empty home.

With one last look at Ruger, I slide my key into the lock and let myself inside.

And, as soon as the door closes behind me, I hear their bikes leaving.

The silence is absolutely deafening once the roar of motorcycle engines dies. For a while, I just stand in the entryway, taking in the living room. It’s untouched since I cleaned it up the day my brother was sent to prison.

Normally, Blade’s things would be strewn around the room.

He was guilty of kicking his boots off in the middle of the floor and leaving nearly-empty cans of beer and soda on the coffee table.

I never minded, though. It was signs of life, signs that there was love in this house. We were a family before he left.

When Blade was here, the house was never quiet like this. When we weren’t talking, he made his presence felt with the constant background noise of television or classic rock albums. Even when we went to sleep, he had fans roaring.

Now, I think I could hear a pin drop from the other side of the house.

I sigh as I shuffle my way to my bedroom, my duffle bag on my shoulder. Honestly, it’s my fault that I’m back in this silent home. That thought makes me feel even worse.

I pause for a moment. It feels almost like I’m being watched.

That’s just my paranoia, though. Blade put all these ideas in my head when he left. He was worried that I’d be some sort of target for his rivals. I don’t think that he’s right, but without someone else here, I let his fear permeate my body.

I wish that I had another confidant. It’s not like he forbade me from befriending women.

I’ve just always felt like he and I had a connection that was deeper than any sort of friendship I could forge with someone else.

So, I always had surface level friendships with other people and considered Blade my best friend.

I just never realized that there were things that I couldn’t share with him.

When he called me this morning, he asked how things were going at Ruger’s. And it’s not like I came right out and said that I slept with Ruger. Instead, I told him that I liked Ruger, that he was a really nice guy. Apparently, my brother knows me too well.

He asked me point blank how I felt about Ruger. I can’t lie to him. I could never lie to him. So, I told him that I thought that I might be developing feelings for him. The conversation shifted immediately.

He’d never been so angry with me before. He demanded to know if Ruger was pushing me, as though I wasn’t a grown woman with desires of my own. I told the truth. Ruger wasn’t pushing me, I wanted everything that happened.

I don’t remember exactly what he said after that. He repeated over and over again that Ruger shouldn’t be fucking his baby sister. And a lot of his sentences were cut off, like he was cognizant of the fact that someone else was listening in. Then, he hung up.

The next phone call that I got came about an hour later from the chaplain at the MC.

He told me that I’d be coming home and that there would be surveillance.

And, worst of all, I wasn’t allowed to contact Ruger anymore.

They made it clear to me that those were my brother’s orders and therefore the MC’s orders.

Whatever. I’m an adult. This is a minor setback. It’s not like my phone is tapped, and I seriously doubt that Ruger’s is. I can still contact him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I can’t let something like this get in the way of what we have.

In fact, maybe once I get myself settled in this horribly empty place, I’ll give him a call.

For the first time since my conversation with my brother, a smile creeps onto my face. I toss my duffle bag onto my bed, preparing myself to unpack, when I hear something from within the house. I pause for a moment, my blood running cold.

It’s probably just the house settling, though.

For a few seconds, the silence of the house remains. I’m ready to write that noise off, as normal house sounds, but then it happens again. And this time, I hear a voice accompanying it.

I freeze. I’m an optimist, not an idiot. There’s someone in the house with me, and that voice was not one I recognize. Whether the intruder is a rival gang member or a would-be burglar who thought the house would stay empty, I’m not safe.

I need to act fast.

With a quick glance around my room, I determine that my best course of action is ducking into my closet for cover.

I know that I might end up cornering myself by doing so, but I can’t get out of my window quickly.

Plus, the sound of the window creaking and slamming open would alert someone to my presence, if they didn’t already know I was here.

Making sure I have my phone, I duck into the closet, pulling the door shut behind me.

I glance around the area in the low light.

There are piles of clothes, a stack of books, and boxes of belongings that I’ve outgrown but can’t get rid of.

One of those belongings being my old softball bat from when I played in elementary school.

I never thought I’d have another use for it. I kept meaning to donate it to the next library toy drive. Now, as I grab it and take hold of the grips on the end, I’m glad that I didn’t. Actually, now, I’m never getting rid of this thing. I might start carrying it with me everywhere.

It takes me a few seconds to get my breathing under control enough to hear what's going on outside of this tiny room I’ve closed myself in. I can pick out two male voices and the sound of rustling in the room next door – Blade’s room.

My panic spikes, but I force myself to remain as calm as possible. Taking hold of my phone and shifting my grip on my weapon, I send a message to Ruger in all caps. HELP .

Almost immediately, my phone starts ringing, the tone loud, piercing the relative silence of the house. I jump, fumbling with the device. I see Ruger’s name on the caller ID as I send him to voicemail. Then, before I’m able to turn the ringer off, he calls again.

My hands shake as I silence the call and force my phone to shut off. I should have been more specific in my message, told him there was someone in the house with me. I wasn’t thinking, though. And I definitely wasn’t thinking when I left the ringer on.

I’m reaching for my bat again when the closet door flies open. I’m blinded by light flooding in. My eyes barely get time to adjust, but when they do, I see the colors of the Riders of Retribution’s rivals, the Apex Runners.

Then, my entire world goes black. I’m still awake, but there’s something over my head. When I try to suck in a breath, it sticks to my mouth, and I panic, letting out a scream that pierces even my own ears.

“Get a van,” one of them barks as he forces me to my feet, knocking my phone and my bat to the floor. “Jesus. Do we have anything to tie this bitch up with?”

“Let me go!” I scream, thrashing uselessly.

I know that I’m not going to get away from his bruising grip, but I won’t go down without a fight. I’m going to make this as hard as possible for them. Plus, the longer I struggle, the more difficult I am to keep completely restrained, the better chance I have of Ruger getting here and helping me.

“We have got to do something about her fucking mouth,” the other voice says. “She’s loud as hell. The neighbors are going to hear her.”

I receive a knee in my back, and I’m forced to the floor. A crushing weight settles on top of me. I can’t get a single breath in. My panic gets worse, but I’ve been pretty effectively silenced.

“You’re going to be quiet, got it?” the man on top of me says, leaning in close so his mouth is by my ear.

“No,” I gasp, the sound using up nearly all of the air that I have in my lungs.

“How’s this?” he snarls, his tone sending shivers of fear down my spine. I’m icy with it. “If you keep your fucking mouth shut, we won’t hurt you. If you so much as cough , you’re going to be sorry. Understand?”

He stays on top of me, waiting until I nod, scraping my nose against the front of my mask and the carpet in the process.

When I do, he stands, yanking me to my feet and throwing me onto my bed.

I shake violently, worried that he’s not going to keep his word, that he’s going to do something unspeakable to me.

“Now, you stay right fucking there,” he growls. “We’re going to get you tied up and out of here. So, do what the fuck we say, and this is going to be a hell of a lot better for you.”

I nod, silent tears spilling down my face. Staying stock-still, I send up prayers and pleas to anyone or anything that might be listening. I need Ruger to pull through. I need him to come check on me. And I need him to be on his way now .