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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DAKOTA

I stay in the new room for a while longer before two tall, wide-shouldered, clipped-bearded men walk into the space. They tip their heads to the sides, their eyes finding mine before they simultaneously snort.

I’m not sure what’s so funny because I’m scared shitless. They don’t enlighten me, either. Instead, one of them takes a step forward and shouts at me to stand on my feet. He reaches out, wraps his hand around my bicep, and tugs me behind him. He moves so quickly that after a few moments of trying to keep up, I’m unable to, and he just drags me behind him.

When he stops, he doesn’t say anything. He throws me into another room. And when my body stops sliding across the tile floor, I realize that I’m in a bathroom.

“You got ten minutes,” he snaps, speaking for the first time since he stalked into that room to literally drag me out of it.

I don’t say anything. Instead, I look up at him, watching him, and he scowls before he turns his back to me and takes a step out of the bathroom, allowing the door to close behind him. After taking just a moment to gather myself, I stand and take a step toward the closed door before I frown.

There is no lock.

Nothing.

Spinning around, I ignore the urge to look at my reflection in the mirror. Instead, I train my gaze upward to find a way out of here. Except there is not a single window. I’m in another windowless room.

What the hell?

Feeling defeated, I look over and see a shower. I decide that I better at least wash my body because I don’t know when I’ll be able to again.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll have a clearer head when I’m clean. I have lost track of the time. I’m not sure how long they’ve kept me here. It could be a couple of hours, or it could be days.

Being drugged and taken into that pitch-black room, then that other room before being dragged here, I’ve completely lost all concept of time. So, maybe a shower is really what I need, although there’s nothing for me to change back into after I’ve showered.

Thankfully, the two things that do exist in this room are a towel and soap. So I take that as a win and start the shower. When the water heats up, I take off my dirty and slightly smelly clothes and set them on the counter.

Stepping into the warm shower, I let the water wash over me for a moment before I allow my mind to begin working. I am not a mastermind whatsoever. In fact, I am at a complete loss of what to do to get myself out of this situation.

As much as I want to be the damsel in distress, I have a feeling that there isn’t going to be anyone to rescue me. I’m going to have to do this myself, just like I left the Willamette Haven by myself.

Except when I left the Haven, I had Briana to pick me up, guide me, and teach me about how to live on the outside.

I have nobody here, and on top of that, I don’t even know where here is. I am utterly and royally screwed. But I’ll be even more screwed if this scary weirdo makes me marry him. Because I know that if I marry him, I’m never getting out of here.

The thought of having sex with this man makes me want to throw up everywhere.

Closing my eyes, I inhale a deep breath and hold it for a moment before I then let it out slowly. I know that I’m cutting it close to ten minutes, so I quickly use the soap on my whole body, cringing at the feel of my hairy legs, then rinse off before I turn the water off.

Reaching for the towel, I dry off my body before I wrap it around myself, tucking the end between my breasts. Only then, once I’m showered, do I chance looking at my reflection in the mirror.

I don’t like what I see.

I don’t like any part of myself looking back at me.

But I also don’t have time to dwell on how pale and almost sickly I look. Spinning around on my heels, my feet slap against the tile and I move toward the door. Turning the knob, I open it and peek my head out to see the men standing across a hallway, but only a few feet from me.

Their eyes lift to meet mine.

“Are there any clean clothes for me to change into?” I ask.

Their heads swing to face one another, their eyes widen, and I can tell that they haven’t been anticipating my question. In fact, they seem oddly perplexed by it and almost a little nervous.

Good.

I hope they’re shitting themselves and make a mistake, a big one, like allowing me to escape.

Waiting for their response, I watch as one jerks his chin at the other, and then he walks away, leaving me with only one guard. I would like to think that I’m smarter and faster than these guys, but I’m not stupid.

That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. Stupid or not, this is life and death, and I’ll take death over this life. It’s not like I’m doing anything magical or wonderful with my life. I am a virtual assistant. My bosses have only ever seen me over the computer at a Zoom meeting. They would just hire someone else if I disappeared.

As soon as the one guy leaves, I take a step out of the bathroom and into the hallway across from the other. I try really hard not to look from side to side for an exit so he doesn’t figure out what I’m about to do.

I’m not sure how effective I am. He takes a step forward and starts to reach for my bicep. I tuck my arms against my side a little more, shaking my head. “I need to keep my towel up,” I say.

It’s the truth and a lie all wrapped into one. He flicks his gaze to my boobs, then back to my face, his lips curving up into a smirk when he does. He doesn’t say anything, although I can practically see the wheels turning inside of his head.

He turns and starts to walk toward the room where I was being held earlier today. At least it’s not the dark room. I follow behind him, eyes scanning every place we walk, and then I see it.

A door.

I have no idea what is behind it, but I don’t care.

Turning toward the door, I take off in a run. I move as fast as I can, reaching for the handle and wrenching it open. I can hear the man behind me shouting for me to stop, but I ignore him, all of him, and I move.

I’m not sure how I picked a door that led to the outside of the building, but maybe God or my father is by my side, but my legs don’t stop. They move, they pump, and then it happens. The man finds my towel with his fingers and grips it.

Instead of holding on to the fabric, I let him take it with him. Naked, terrified… and naked, I continue to run. I ignore the way the rocks hurt my feet in the gravel parking lot. I don’t give a shit about rocks right now, and I have no doubt that my feet are bleeding… again, I don’t care.

Then I see a motorcycle roaring in my direction. I don’t know whether to jump out of its path or not. And I’m too scared about the man at my heels to even attempt to stop or shift. He’s right on my heels, and I know it won’t take him much to tackle me to the ground. The motorcycle does stop, though.

Right in front of me.

I can’t get around him, but something causes my steps to falter, and maybe that’s because the man is huge, but instead of feeling scared shitless, I run right into his spread arms.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

BULLET

The bikes in front of me stop so abruptly that I have to slam my foot on the brake to avoid hitting the bikes in front of me. Dirt and rocks go flying around me.

“What the hell,” Ralph hisses behind me.

“I don’t know,” I murmur as my eyes scan the area in front of me.

Then I see her.

Long dark hair, slim sexy-as-fuck body… naked.

What the fuck .

Turning the truck off, I pull the key out of the ignition and shove it in my pocket as I move toward Dakota. Viking is holding her in his arms, which instantly fills me with rage. Not just because she’s bare fucking naked, but I should be the one holding her.

There’s a noise somewhere in the background, a whimpering, like a small animal, and when my gaze scans the area, it lands on a man being held at gunpoint. Not recognizing him at first, I flick my gaze down, and I see that there is a Bloodhound patch on his vest.

My lips twitch into a smirk at the sight of him on his knees like the bitch he is. No, that’s an insult to women because this man is so much less than any woman could ever be. He’s a Bloodhound, aligning himself with the goddamn scum of the fucking earth.

Pulling my gun out of its holster, I point the barrel directly at the man’s forehead. If he’s going to whimper like a dumb fuck, I’m going to give him something to whimper about. His eyes meet mine, and I dip my chin slightly so I can catch his gaze.

My lips curve up into a grin, and without a word, I squeeze the trigger. I watch the fuck fall to his knees. Viking chuckles behind me. And for just a moment, I watch the man’s body twitch until it stops, and he’s dead.

I’m sure that is not supposed to have been satisfying, especially since I have no idea what his name even was, but it was pure satisfaction. Killing the rest of them will be as well.

“So I guess we’re just shooting first and asking questions later.”

Looking over my shoulder, I jerk my chin in Viking’s direction. “I’m past that shit. I was past it the moment they thought they could take what was mine.”

“You mean Dakota?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say. He shakes his head once, his lips curved up into a smile. “Shall we go inside?” I ask.

The men are at my back just as I hear bikes approach. I don’t even have to look behind me to know that they’re the other men who have been called here to help us. Other Vicious Reapers men. And they are here.

“Get Dakota covered and to safety,” I call out. Turning my head, I look over to Razor, who is standing at my side. “And get that little fucker, Ralph. I want him front and center for this shit.”

“Yes, Prez,” he says, then he turns and walks away. I don’t watch him go, too frozen by his word, Prez .

Never did I think that I would ever become the president of Vicious Reapers, let alone the president of the original charter. I thought being vice president was as good as it got. I honestly never imagined I would have been voted in as VP, and now I’m the president.

It’s so fucking bittersweet. I want to be happy that I am here, that I have worked my way to the top, but I can’t be because the only reason that I’m here is because Shade is dead. Focusing my gaze on the building in front of us, I begin walking toward the clubhouse.

The bikes behind me come to a halt, killing their engines, and no doubt are at my rear, ready to support me in any way I ask them, mostly ready for gunfire, though. I would be a liar if I said that I don’t want this to end in gunfire. I do. I don’t even give a shit if they answer any questions.

I don’t have any more.

I just want them dead.

Every single one of them.

I stand in front of the clubhouse for a moment. Walking in there is, without a doubt, signing a death warrant. And I haven’t even asked my woman if she’s okay. But she was fucking naked running out here, so I’m going to go ahead and go with she’s not okay.

So they all must die.