Page 9 of Salvation (Reckless Kings MC #6)

I kept my face expressionless, evaluating our options. Both men appeared to be armed -- bulges at their waistbands suggesting concealed handguns. The zip ties bit into my wrists, too tight to slip free without tearing my skin open. Not yet. Not with Clover to protect.

“Say something,” Vince snapped, annoyance flashing across his face. “Need to prove you’re both alive and kicking.”

“I still say we should just use pictures,” the other one grumbled. Vince sighed and took a few pictures, then glared at the man as if to ask happy now ? Then he turned back to face me, pointing the phone my way again.

I met Vince’s gaze steadily. “We’re alive. For now.”

He sneered, stepping closer. “Not very cooperative, are you? Maybe we need to be more convincing.” He reached out suddenly, fingers gripping my chin and forcing my face toward the camera. His nails dug into my skin. “Say hello to your old man, Russian. Tell him to have our money ready.”

I stared directly into the lens, imagining Salvation watching this footage. Imagining his rage, his fear, his determination. I wanted him to see that I wasn’t broken. That I would protect Clover with my life. That I believed in him.

“We are unharmed,” I said clearly, my blue eyes never wavering from the camera. “Do not worry about us, Salvation.”

The message was clear. Do not pay. Do not follow their instructions. Come for us your way .

Vince released my chin with a small shove, seemingly satisfied. “See? Was that so hard?” He turned the camera toward Clover. “Your turn, kid.”

Clover glanced at me, then lifted her chin in a gesture so reminiscent of her father that my heart clenched. “I’m okay, Dad. Don’t worry about me.”

Vince lowered the phone, tapping at the screen. “That ought to do it. Proof of life, check. Ransom demand, coming up next.” He glanced at his watch. “They’ve got enough time to get the money together.”

Marco shifted uncomfortably by the door. “We should get going. Make the call from somewhere else. Or better yet, just send a note. Pay someone to deliver it.”

“Relax,” Vince said, pocketing his phone. “No one’s tracking us here.”

Marco’s gaze darted to me, then away. “I don’t like this, man. The Russian especially. You hear what they say about the club’s connections?”

I kept my expression neutral, though a small thrill ran through me. The club’s reputation preceded them, even among these lowlifes.

Vince rolled his eyes. “They’re just women. The club will pay to get them back, end of story.”

“The younger one is his kid. The older one’s his wife,” Marco persisted. “What if they’ve got ties to the real Russians? The serious ones?”

A cold smile touched my lips before I could suppress it. Marco saw it and took a step back.

“See? She’s fucking smiling, man.” His voice rose slightly. “This isn’t right.”

Vince turned to me, irritation plain on his face. “Something funny?”

I shrugged as best I could with my bound hands. “Just thinking about what Salvation will do when he finds you.”

“If,” Vince corrected, but I noted the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “If he finds us. And he won’t, not before we get our money and disappear.” He nodded toward the bag at my feet. “Eat up. Might be a while before your next meal.”

He backed toward the door, keeping his eyes on us. Marco was already halfway into the hallway, clearly eager to be gone.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” Vince warned as he reached the threshold. “We’ll be right outside. And we won’t be as nice next time.”

The door slammed shut behind them. The lock clicked, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.

Clover exhaled shakily against my shoulder. “Did I do okay?”

I turned to her, examining her face in the harsh light. Despite her fear, there was a determination in her eyes that reminded me so much of Salvation it made my chest ache.

“You did perfectly, malishka ,” I murmured, pressing my forehead briefly against hers. “Your father will be very proud.”

“They’re idiots,” she whispered, glancing nervously at the door.

I nodded, reaching for the bag of food with my bound hands. “Yes. And that may save us -- or condemn them.” I managed a small, reassuring smile. “Either way, we must keep our strength up.”

As Clover helped me open the water bottles with our awkward, bound hands, I kept my ear tuned to the sounds outside our prison. Waiting. Planning. Preparing for whatever came next.

Their footsteps faded down the hallway, followed by the muffled sound of another door closing.

I waited, counting to thirty in my head before moving.

We might not get another chance to be alone, and I needed to know exactly what we were dealing with.

I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the way my head throbbed, and began a methodical inspection of our prison, taking in details I’d missed in the initial panic of waking up bound and disoriented.

Clover watched me from the floor, her eyes tracking my movements as I tested the walls, examined the door, and assessed everything that might become a weapon or an escape route.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, scooting back against the wall to give me space.

“Looking for anything useful,” I replied, keeping my voice low. “Anything that might help us.”

The room was small, maybe twelve feet square.

Concrete walls, concrete floor. A single metal door with a deadbolt lock -- simple, but effective.

No windows. The only light came from the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, too high to reach even if I jumped.

A dirty mattress had been tossed in one corner -- the one we’d been sitting on.

In the opposite corner sat a plastic bucket -- our bathroom, presumably. How thoughtful.

My gaze traveled upward, following a network of pipes that ran along the ceiling. Water pipes, maybe, or heating. They disappeared into the wall opposite the door. A basement or utility room, as I’d suspected.

“Anything?” Clover asked, hope tinging her voice.

I shook my head, frustration gnawing at me. “Not yet.”

I moved to the door, examining it more carefully.

Solid metal, hinges on the outside where we couldn’t reach them.

The lock appeared sturdy. I pressed my ear against the cold surface, listening for any sounds that might tell us more about where we were.

Faintly, I could hear a mechanical hum -- a furnace or water heater -- and distant voices, too muffled to make out words.

Returning to Clover, I sank down beside her on the mattress and held up my bound wrists, examining the zip ties. They were pulled tight, biting into my skin. Not impossibly tight, but enough that I couldn’t simply slip free. I twisted my wrists experimentally, testing the give of the plastic.

“Can you get them off?” Clover asked, watching intently.

“Not easily.” I glanced at her bonds. “They’re amateurs, malishka . Professional kidnappers would have used something stronger. Or kept us separate. Left a guard. These men are trusting us to stay put and not fight back.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “How do you know what professional kidnappers do?”

I paused, considering how much to tell her. She knew pieces of my past -- the boarding school, the rescue by the club, my marriage to her father for protection. But not everything. Not the darkest parts.

“I grew up around dangerous men,” I said finally. “My father’s associates. I learned things, even as a child. What to watch for. How to survive.” I nodded toward the door. “These men? They’re not professionals. They’re local thugs who think they can make easy money.”

“Will Dad pay them?” Her voice was small, uncertain.

I met her gaze steadily. “No, malishka . The club doesn’t pay ransoms.”

Fear flashed across her face. “Then what --”

“Shh.” I moved closer, lowering my voice to barely above a whisper. “Your father won’t pay them. Neither will the club. That’s not how the Reckless Kings operate.”

“But then how will we --”

“They will come for us,” I continued, certainty hardening my voice. “Your father, Beast, all of them. They won’t follow the kidnappers’ instructions, won’t play by their rules. They will hunt them down and destroy them completely.”

Clover’s eyes widened. “Destroy them?”

“These men made a fatal mistake taking us,” I said, not softening the truth. She’d grown up in the club. She knew what they were capable of. “The Reckless Kings protect their own. And they make examples of those who threaten what’s theirs.”

A small shiver ran through her, but she nodded. “Dad will come.”

“Yes. And we must be ready when he does.” I glanced down at our bound wrists. “We should conserve our strength. Eat what they brought us. Stay alert. Look for any opportunity.”

Clover reached for the fast-food bag with her bound hands, her movements awkward but determined. We ate in silence, the cold burgers tasteless but necessary fuel. I made her drink an entire bottle of water, knowing dehydration would only make things worse.

“What do you think they’ll do?” she asked after a while, her voice steadier now. “When they realize the club won’t pay?”

I considered the question carefully. “They’ll get desperate. Desperate men make mistakes.” I met her eyes. “That’s when we’ll have our chance.”

“What if they…” She trailed off, unable to voice her fears.

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against hers as I had done countless times since she was a child. “Listen to me, Clover. I will not let anyone hurt you. Do you understand? Not ever.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “I know.”

“Your father taught me many things over the years,” I continued, a small smile touching my lips.

“How to shoot. How to fight. How to survive.” I didn’t add that these lessons had built on what I’d already learned growing up in the shadows of the Bratva, as that hadn’t done me any good when monsters actually threatened me.

But I wasn’t that weak teenager anymore.

“If those men come through that door intending harm, they will regret it.”

Something shifted in Clover’s expression -- fear giving way to a tentative confidence. She was Salvation’s daughter, after all. Courage ran in her blood.

“What can I do?” she asked. “To help?”

Pride swelled in my chest. “Stay close to me. Follow my lead. And if I tell you to run, you run. No arguments.”

She nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

We fell silent again, listening to the distant sounds of the building.

My mind turned to Salvation, imagining him watching the video our captors had sent.

Seeing the defiance in my eyes. Understanding my message.

By now, the club would be mobilized, hunting through the city for any trace of us. For any connection to Vince and Marco.

I allowed myself a small, cold smile as I pictured the look on Snake Tattoo’s face when he realized his mistake.

When he understood exactly who he’d taken and what it meant for him.

The Reckless Kings were dangerous enough on an ordinary day.

But Salvation, when his family was threatened?

There would be no mercy. No quarter given.

The thought should have disturbed me. Once, perhaps, it would have. But eleven years with the club had changed me. Mothering Clover had changed me. Loving Salvation -- first from a distance, then with growing certainty -- had changed me. I no longer flinched from the darkness.

A sudden noise from beyond the door snapped me back to the present. Footsteps approaching again, heavier this time. Angry. I tensed, rising to my feet in one fluid motion.

“Behind me,” I murmured to Clover, positioning myself between her and the door.

She scrambled up, pressing close to my back. I could feel her trembling, but her voice was steady when she whispered, “Be careful.”

The lock rattled. I widened my stance, centering my weight. With my hands bound, my options were limited, but not nonexistent. I’d survived worse situations than this. And I had more to fight for now than I ever had before.

The door began to open, and I steeled myself, ready to protect my daughter at any cost. These men had made the biggest mistake of their lives taking us. And whether Salvation reached us first or we freed ourselves, one thing was certain…

They would pay for it in blood.