Page 24 of Scythe’s Salvation (Imperial Knights MC: Roanoke, VA #2)
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Tamara
With new cleats in hand, as well as two more pairs of practice pants, plus some more batting gloves to put up in case the ones he has come up missing, we head back to the car.
While he climbs into the back and gets himself situated in his booster seat, I pack the bags into the cargo area, close it and then start toward the driver’s side, only to stop dead in my tracks.
“Hello, Tamara. Long time no see,” Tim says, holding a gun where only I can see it. “Now, be a good girl, get the kid and get into my car.”
My heart is slamming against my chest so hard that I feel like I might have a heart attack. However, anger is steadily overriding my fear. How dare he point a gun at me? Still, he looks as though he’s not afraid to use it, so I open the back door and say, “Come on, Chance, we’re going for a ride.”
Thankfully, he must have noticed the gun because instead of saying a word, he unbuckles his seatbelt then climbs out of his booster seat, getting out of my SUV to stand next to me. He is, however, glaring at Tim and I bite back a grin as I lock up my car and take my son’s hand.
“Get in. Now ,” Tim growls, waving the gun at the two of us.
We slip into the backseat, and I help Chance buckle himself in.
I hate that he doesn’t have a booster seat, but with that gun now pointing at my head, I don’t ask to get his out of my vehicle.
Sometimes, saying nothing is the best option of all.
“Where are we going?” Chance asks.
“Hello, son,” Tim replies, not answering my boy. “I’m your father.”
Chance makes a sound in his throat then says, “You’re nothing but a pussy. You ran away when my mommy got pregnant with me.”
Tim backhands me and sneers at Chance. “Say another word, kid, and I’ll shoot your mommy.”
Chance gets a mutinous look on his face but instead of replying, he grips my hand in his.
He never stops glaring at Tim, though, even as I slip into unconsciousness from the unexpected blow.
My last thought before darkness claims me is I hope Scythe finds us.
Because I suspect whatever’s on Tim’s agenda isn’t going to be fun and games for me and Chance.
Waking up slowly, my first thought is for my son.
Glancing around, I see that I’m tied down to a bed in a small, almost utilitarian room, like a jail cell.
Not that I’ve seen one firsthand, but I’ve watched enough movies and television shows to understand that I’m a prisoner right now, all the way down to the bars that are along one of the walls.
“Chance,” I whisper, frightened about what could be happening to my son. He may be smart as a whip, but he’s still a little boy. He sometimes gets scared of the dark, and he can’t sleep without the ridiculous purple alien that Amara got for him.
Amara! Maybe I can somehow reach her, and she can get word to Scythe?
She and I talk or text every single day and maybe they didn’t take my phone which was in my back pocket.
Scooting around, I realize that not only is my phone gone, but so is my Apple watch, which would’ve helped me get help.
I’m not worried about myself per se, I’m concerned about Chance.
Now distraught, I decide that I have to figure out a way to get out of these ties so I can rescue the two of us.
I wish I had stayed home, safe in Scythe’s arms. I wish I had kissed him a little bit longer.
I wish I had told him how I was feeling inside.
Because he managed to knock down each and every wall I put up so long ago. Not only did we fuck, but we made love, multiple times. The look in his eyes was one that can’t be faked and in order to keep myself calm, I recount the hours we spent yesterday and earlier this morning in each other’s arms.
While I’m lost in my thoughts, I hear a key in the lock and the door swings open, allowing Portia to walk inside.
“Portia?” I ask, unsure why she’s here. I mean, I know she’s married to Tim, of course, but she doesn’t look like the woman who was in my massage parlor a few weeks ago.
That woman was put together with her hair, clothing, and nails.
The woman that’s making her way toward me looks like she’s been browbeaten.
She’s wearing a nondescript dress, kind of like I’ve seen in The Handmaid’s Tale .
“Hello, Tamara,” she quietly says as she sets a tray on the table that’s next to the bed. Before I can even ask how I’m supposed to eat when I’m tied up, she loosens my arms and legs. “Now that you’re awake, you have free rein of the room.”
I scoff because ‘the room’ as she calls it is maybe ten by ten if that. There’s a steel toilet in the corner along with a sink that’s obviously bolted to the wall. Hell, I can tell the bed is as well when I swing my legs over and it doesn’t even move. “What’s going on? Where’s my son?” I growl out.
Mama Bear isn’t playing when it comes to her offspring. While I may not be the strongest person on the block, the adrenaline that’s currently coursing through me has me feeling as though I can take on the world.
“He’s with his father,” she admits, setting several towels down. “You can use these to wash up in the sink.”
I roll my eyes at her. Where is the woman who acted as though she had her life together? Because the one who’s facing me right now has been broken. “What’s going on? Why are we here?”
“You’re here because I’m a soldier for the cause,” Tim states, walking into the room, his gun at his side. “And as for my son, the child needs to be taught our ways.”
What ways? Because from where I’m sitting, these people are the head residents of Crazy Town and I want zero part in it at all. “I want to go home.”
“You are home, dear,” Tim sneers. “The fact that you got pregnant from our little tryst all those years ago shows you’re a perfect candidate for our breeding program. Right now, we’re trying to decide which of the Elders will propagate with you.”
“Yeah, I’m not fucking anyone,” I retort. “Besides, you’ve never once, since I told you I was expecting, were involved in our lives. Especially my son.”
“Biology says he’s mine as well,” Tim replies. “And he’s going to grow up to be one of our leaders for the cause.”
“Over my dead body,” I tell him, meaning every word. Tim moves closer and I presume he’s trying to intimidate me. The only problem with that is I’m so full of anger and rage at what he’s done, it doesn’t work.
Several years ago, Amara and I started taking various self-defense classes.
While she eventually stopped, I kept going since I knew I needed to be able to protect myself.
Calling on memory muscle, I wait for him to get within striking distance and lash out, my leg sweeping his and causing him to crash to the concrete floor.
“You’re going to regret that, bitch,” he yells as the gun points in my direction. “Don’t think we can’t keep you alive on life support and still breed you.”
He pulls the trigger and I fall back onto the bed, pain radiating down my side. I stare in horror as blood starts seeping through my T-shirt, even as he laughs while getting to his feet. “We’ll get you fixed up. Just remember, you’re somewhat dispensable, Tamara. The kid isn’t.”
Darkness looms as I succumb to the pain lashing through me and I miss Portia whispering, “I’ll try to help, Tamara.”
Time seems to be irrelevant at this point.
I have no clue how long I’ve been here, but based on the bandages on my side, I’ve been ‘fixed up’.
Unlike when I first woke up and was told I’d have free rein of the room, I now have an ankle shackle that has just enough give to allow me to go to the bathroom and the sink.
My non-dominant hand has been bound behind me, leaving me with nothing to use to fight back with, although the drugs they’re giving me kind of make that a moot point.
I know I’ve got an infection; I can feel how hot my body is but calling out won’t do any good based on what little Tim shared earlier.
“Chance,” I feverishly murmur as I toss and turn on the narrow, uncomfortable cot. “God, I hope you’re okay, baby. Mommy’s sorry, so sorry.”