Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

E ventually Angel had to get back to work. Despite the fact that she owned the tattoo studio, Inked Ya , she still received most of her income via commission. No tattoos, no commission. No commission, no money to pay the bills.

It took over a week for her to get herself out of bed and moving. Her heavy bleeding had slowed to spotting and she no longer had to wear the postpartum pads the hospital had given her. Tessa kept up the flu charade, which Angel appreciated. The ol' ladies helped with Bree. Abby had offered to take Bree for the duration of her illness so Angel could recover in peace, but her house wasn't as wheelchair accessible as Angel's. Though doable, it would have been difficult for Bree to live there. Instead, Bree spent her days with Cassie, Bulldog and Abby's teenage daughter, and the other club kids at the clubhouse or in the communal backyard referred to as the Pentagon.

Bree was clearly concerned about Angel, which made Angel feel guilty for having neglected her daughter. She may have lost her baby, which was devastating and heartbreaking, but she still had a daughter. She needed to rejoin the land of the living.

"Want to come to work with me today?" Angel offered as they ate breakfast together for the first time in over a week.

Bree immediately perked up. "Yes!"

Inked Ya was part of the store fronts on Main Street. On its right was a barber shop and on the left a flower shop. Across the street was a bookstore and diner. Prior to adopting Bree, Angel had lived in the apartment above the shop and ate most of her meals at the diner. The apartment had been a single studio room that had fit her needs perfectly and gave her space away from the clubhouse during some of the rowdier parties.

Angel loved a good party, but she would never be one for sex out in the open where people she had to face the next day could see her. Steel had become like a father-figure to her, and Angel had no desire for him to witness her in a compromising position as they all had with some of the other patched members.

The modular home Angel had purchased was specifically designed for a wheelchair inhabitant. With certain modifications in mind, Angel had made changes to her tattoo studio too. She wanted Bree to be welcome at her place of business, as well as any other wheelchair users. The building was old enough that certain modifications hadn't been required or necessary until Bree had entered her life.

Bree would be starting high school in less than a month and was extremely nervous about it. Not only had she not been to school in several years, but she had a history that none of her other classmates had. Small town or no, kids could be mean to each other. Bree was a wheelchair user in a school of obnoxious and hormonal teenagers.

Cassie was not ready to go to high school. Though the two of them were similar in age, Cassie's agoraphobia—her fear of going outside—tended to increase whenever the topic of school was raised. Abby was doing her best to homeschool Cassie, though she needed Harper's help at times. It gave Abby a sense of purpose since she had no work history or high school diploma to apply for a job.

Lila, Abby and Bulldog's six-year-old daughter, would be starting school too. Mount Grove had two school buildings. The elementary school, which was kindergarten through grade seven, and the high school, which was eight through twelve. The elementary school was on the opposite side of town from the high school where Harper worked and Scotty, and now Bree, attended. Lila acted like this was a fun new adventure and she didn't mind being separated from the others, but they all knew she was nervous.

Angel was grateful Harper was a teacher at the high school and could get to Bree at a moment's notice if needed. Pirate, Jumper's brother and a newly patched member of the club, also worked as a security guard at the school. Angel knew that Bulldog planned to talk to Pirate about considering transferring to the elementary school so Lila had someone from the club readily present. Since she'd been MIA from club business for the past week, Angel didn't know if Bulldog had spoken to Pirate yet. Angel also knew that Lucky preferred having a patched member at the high school where his wife and son were. She'd missed enough that she was going to need to catch up on certain events.

Bree was excited as she pushed herself into the shop. When Angel first had to go back to work after Bree had been discharged from the hospital, Bree had come with her daily. As Bree got stronger, and with the help of some of her club brothers willing to watch her, Bree had been able to start staying at the clubhouse while Angel worked. Sometimes, Angel would drop her off at the club's Harley-Davidson dealership to spend the day with Demo or whoever was on the sales floor that day. Bree would proudly wear her denim cut that announced her as a club kid and work the sales floor with the best of them.

Angel always wore her cut to work. Though the tattoo studio was hers alone and not a club business, Angel was proud to be a Via Daemonia . Her cut was not something she needed to hide. Bree had followed suit and started wearing her cut when she was at the shop with Angel too.

Bree immediately went to the welcome desk and pressed the button to lower it down. She pushed her wheelchair right up to the desk chair and transferred herself easily to it. Angel watched with a sense of pride she hadn't known she was capable of before meeting Bree. It had taken a lot of hard work for Bree to become as independent as she currently was.

It was hard to imagine that a year ago, she'd been dying in a hospital bed.

With her hormones still heightened from her chemical pregnancy, Angel felt tears well in her eyes and quickly had to wipe them away. Bree was worried enough about her as it was.

As Angel went to get her station set up, she heard the bell ring behind her. Patrick, a flamboyantly gay man with rainbow hair and enough piercings to set off a metal detector, came in. He had been the first tattoo artist Angel had hired when she'd started to get too busy as a one-woman shop. Though he loved Mount Grove's small-town vibe, his biggest complaint was that he had to leave town to get his rocks off due to the lack of a gay community here.

"Bree, my darling, my love, it's been too long!"

Bree giggled as she opened her arms to Patrick for a hug. When Angel had called the studio that first day to inform them that she was at the hospital and what was happening with Bree, Patrick, Delilah, and Katie all dropped what they were doing and headed to the hospital to help with the blood drive efforts. Delilah was their third tattoo artist and a single mom after kicking her deadbeat drunk of a husband out. Katie was their receptionist, a perky woman who sometimes could be a bit of a ditz but always meant well. All three of her employees had welcomed Bree into their lives with lots of hugs, kisses, and support.

Based on their schedule today, Angel and Patrick had back-to-back appointments all morning. Delilah wouldn't be in until that afternoon as she only had a half-day due to a dentist appointment. Katie would be spending a good part of the morning helping Angel and Patrick clean up, sanitize, and prep, so it was good Bree was there to also help with the phones and checkout.

Since Angel had been out for over a week, Angel had Bree start off the day by contacting Angel's cancelled appointments to rebook. Bree said she didn't mind staying late so there were two appointments that she scheduled for Angel around dinnertime. Angel planned on putting a takeout order in with the diner for all of their lunches and then Bree's and her dinner too.

As Angel worked throughout the day, Bree would interrupt to remind her to drink water or take a break to eat something. Angel had lost some weight during her week in bed and still looked reasonably pale.

The worst part about returning to the land of the living was not pretending that everything was fine or lying about being sick, it was the realization just how nasty and terrible she'd been to Cage. Regardless of her feelings, which she was woman enough to admit were hurt, she never should have spoken to him as she had. Cage's proclamation that he wanted to try to be with her was like a bruise to her already battered soul.

He didn't know that though. Like the rest of her brothers, he believed she'd had the stomach flu. He had no idea that she'd just lost her baby—or that there was a part of her that blamed him for putting her in that precarious situation in the first place.

It wasn't Cage's fault.

As soon as work was over, Angel was going to find Cage and have a rational conversation with him. She still had no intention of dating him or sleeping with him again, but she should apologize. That was the right thing to do.

The chime of the doorbell announced the arrival of Angel's last appointment for the day. She was beyond exhausted and, frankly, wished she'd told Bree not to schedule so many appointments. Her arm was sore and her hand was cramping from holding the tattoo gun for so long. People thought Angel collected stress-balls because she liked the different shapes, but the truth was she used them throughout her day between appointments.

Seeing Angel work a stress ball in the shape of a brain with the words Made You Think on the side of it, Bree told her, "It's just a consultation."

Angel let out a sigh of relief. Delilah had already gone home. She'd stayed later than Patrick or Katie to make up for her morning off. It was just Bree and Angel now.

The kid who walked through the door made Angel's eyes narrow. He was a punk, pure and simple. He wore eyeliner, black clothes, and boots. His hair was spiked with neon green tips. There was more jewelry on his face than Angel probably owned. He was tall and lean with a long hook nose.

Angel also placed him around eighteen. If he was under eighteen, this appointment wasn't going beyond the reception area.

"Can I help you?" Angel asked. The kid hadn't acknowledged either of them yet, just looking at the pictures Angel had on her wall of her customers' tattoos over the years.

The smile he gave was cocky. "Possibly. You Angel?"

Her hackles were starting to rise at the blatant disrespect in his voice. Angel nodded once. "I am."

"Then you can help me." That grin turned malicious.

Angel instinctively reached for the belt knife she kept on her at the small of her back. It was small and concealed under the faux leather, but it would do the trick. Her gun was in the safe at Bree's feet behind the reception desk.

Something sharp pierced Angel in the back. She heard Bree's scream as unimaginable pain, like a swarm of bees attacking her, racked Angel's body. The electricity shook her rapidly as she lost all muscle control and the ability to move on her own.

The pain stopped and Angel collapsed to the floor. She gasped for breath. Her ears were ringing and any movement hurt. She knew she'd been struck by a Taser from behind. No one should have been back there though. She'd been facing the front door.

A second scream pierced her ears, and Bree came to the forefront of her mind. She had to protect her daughter!

Angel reached around to rip the barbs out of the small of her back. They were imbedded into her skin just below the line of her cut. That was unfortunate because the leather cut might have protected her.

Another wave of electricity rolled through her. Angel cried out, her hand losing momentum and function.

As her mind started to fade from consciousness, she heard someone close to her ear say, "You can help me. You're going to help me send a message to your buddy, Steel."

Bree sat frozen as she watched Angel be tased for a second time. Her mom was one of the strongest people she knew; it was unnerving to see her so easily taken down.

Bree's eyes flashed to her wheelchair in the corner of the room. Her stupid legs made her utterly useless. She was too far away to help Angel. Fear gripped her.

It had been a year since she'd last felt so helpless. The knowledge that you're going to die is a heady one. All Bree could think was why me and how unfair it was that she was going to die. There'd also been solace in death. She'd been in pain for so long that death had begun to feel like an escape.

Bree no longer felt that way. For the first time in her life, she had a life worth living and fighting for. She had friends and family. She had Angel , a mom who loved and protected her. Angel had given her the strength to hope again.

Now fear gripped her once more. Bree watched, frozen in her seat, as two men came into her view. One was holding the Taser that had struck Angel down. He was big, but not as big as some of Bree's uncles. His companion was more potbellied than muscular, but the thing that stood out about him was that he was wearing an eyepatch over his right eye.

Bree saw the hatred and maliciousness in the men's eyes and knew that they meant to harm Angel in the worst of ways. She'd seen that look too many times in her life not to recognize it.

The boy who had come into the shop from the front door stepped forward. He looked far too young to be mixed up with the older men. He squatted down next to Angel and whispered something in her ear. Bree saw Angel's eyes roll back into her head as she lost consciousness.

She had to call for her uncles! Her eyes landed on her phone on the reception desk. A quick glance at the three men in the room made her wonder if she could reach it in time. She only needed to text out one word and the club would come running. Uncle Keys would be able to track both her and Angel's phones in seconds. It didn't matter who she sent the message to. They would come.

But it would be a long couple of seconds to get to her phone, unlock it, and send the message. Doing so now would draw attention to her phone. Bree needed to bide her time.

In the past year, Bree had been working on honing her fear with her therapist as well as several of her uncles. Uncle Bulldog was even teaching her how to defend herself from her wheelchair. While Bree had been hoping and praying that she never had to be in a life-or-death situation again, she knew she needed to know how to push past her fears.

"People know of fight or flight, but there's another F." Uncle Bulldog told her this often. "Freeze. The inability to move is almost guaranteed to be your death sentence. We're going to make sure you not only know how to fight, but also know how to think your way out of that fight."

Bree was terrified. There was no doubting that. She could feel herself shaking uncontrollably as she watched Angel's hands be tied in front of her. The man with the Taser kept the gun attached to Angel's back, making Bree wonder of he planned to use it again. Confetti from the Taser being fired littered the linoleum floor around them.

There were two entrances and exits from the tattoo studio. Angel made sure Bree knew every inch of this place in case of an emergency. Although, Bree was pretty sure Angel had had a fire in mind and not a hostage situation when she'd said ‘emergency'. Clearly the two men had broken in through the locked back door to sneak up on Angel.

In the reception chair, Bree was up higher but not as stable as she would be in her wheelchair. She needed to get in her chair and, somehow, do it while hiding her phone. That was her goal.

"Prospect, get the door!"

Bree's head snapped up at the order. Prospect? She looked between the three men again. None of them were wearing cuts. She hadn't heard the roar of pipes approaching the shop. Her heart started beating faster. If there weren't unknown bikes in Mount Grove, a passerby might not suspect something out of place was happening inside the shop. She needed to send that SOS message sooner than later.

As the man who'd shot Angel with the Taser dragged her towards the back rooms and the boy went to lock the front door, the third man with the eyepatch turned towards Bree.

"Ain't you a little young to be workin' at a tattoo shop?"

Bree swallowed nervously. Should she admit she was Angel's daughter? Despite that her brain was working overtime as Uncle Bulldog had taught her, her tongue felt like lead and her mouth was completely dry. She barely managed to get out the words, "Summer job," to answer the man's inquiry.

The man scowled. "Unfortunate. No one else shoulda been here." He held up some more rope. "Hands."

Bree baulked. If they took her hands away from her, she was completely helpless. No phone, no chair. She would be stuck. "Please!" she begged. "I need my hands."

The man's single eye landed on Bree's empty wheelchair for the first time. For a moment, Bree thought he looked pissed—then he burst out laughing.

The prospect came running up to them. "What is it?" Bree's eyes landed on him and noticed for the first time how nervous he appeared. The cocky attitude was a fa?ade. His hands were shaking, his eyes kept flitting about the room, and his breathing was a little short. Bree would bet money this was the first time he'd done something so hardcore for his club.

Bree didn't know who their club was, but the fact that the men had called the boy a prospect was telling enough. Also, those sort of specifics didn't matter.

"Concentrate on your objective." Uncle Steel's voice rang through her head like he was standing behind her whispering in her ear. "What matters is your survival. Everything else is just background noise."

The man with the eyepatch was laughing so hard, he could only point at Bree's chair. Bree felt herself stiffen through her fear. She loved her chair. It had been one of the first things Angel had bought her upon announcing she was adopting Bree. Even before knowing that Bree would survive her surgery, Angel had bought it. At first, Bree had hated looking at it, knowing it was a symbol of how she'd never use her legs again. Slowly, though, it became a goal. She'd hated her hospital bed so much that the wheelchair had been her objective. She needed to get herself strong enough to get into that chair.

Bree knew there were people who thought wheelchair users were less or that she was broken, a cripple. No one in her family had ever made her feel so. No one talked down to her like her brain was as useless as her legs. Uncle Steel had even bought her a special harness so she could be included on club runs.

Cage had bought her an accessible car.

Bree's eyes landed on Angel's feet just as they disappeared as she was dragged from the room. A new fear arose. What would happen to Bree if something happened to Angel? The thought made Bree want to cry as a new fear presented itself.

She'd survived so much only to end up here? A hostage once more?

Her hand automatically went to her side where the scars from her kidney surgery remained. Cage had saved her life. He hadn't had to donate a kidney to her, but he'd done it so readily and selflessly. If Bree died today, he'd have done it for nothing.

Bree saw how Angel looked at Cage. It hadn't taken her long to piece together that Cage and Angel had feelings for each other. At first, Bree had been upset about it. She'd had a crush on Cage upon first meeting the handsome man. However, after many sessions with her therapist, she'd helped Bree realize that Bree's attraction towards Cage had been led by admiration rather than lust. Cage had saved her life and what she was feeling was hero-worship, not love.

Once that realization had been discovered, Bree had been able to move past seeing Cage as a man to desire. He'd become her fun-loving uncle, but she'd never used that title with him. A part of her, one that grew larger every time she saw Cage and Angel together, hoped to one day give him a different title. A paternal title.

Bree didn't remember her birth father. She had flashes of her birth mom, but nothing with specifics. Bree had been in foster care since she was four years old. Her seventh foster mom had been nice, but she wasn't permanent. Then Bree had been kidnapped and raped by a pedophile who insisted he be called her ‘Daddy'.

Christ, Bree hated that word. Even after a year of therapy and the progress she'd made, she still flinched every time she heard the word. Scotty and Lila were great kids and she loved having cousins within the club, but there were times when she had to step away from them because they referred to their fathers as ‘Daddy'.

Likely, that word would always have a negative effect on Bree. She had to continuously remind herself that Scotty and Lila used the literal meaning of that word, versus when she'd had to use it to complete a man's sick fantasy.

Despite her aversion to that word, though, Bree did want to have a father. Angel had become her mom in every sense, but she could see how lonely and stressed Angel was. Bree's condition and needs only added to that. She felt bad that she couldn't lend a hand more, which was why she loved coming to the tattoo shop with Angel. At least here, she could help answer the phones and talk to clients to free Katie up to help in the back rooms.

Cage came around their house and helped out when he could. She wondered if Angel even realized how much Cage helped or if she was too busy to put it together. Bree saw it though. The groceries, the home repairs… Hell, Bree's accessible car!

Whatever was about to happen, even if Bree and Angel survived it, it would kill Cage. More than once, Bree had heard him refer to them as "my girls".

Her chin trembled at the fear that she might never know if Cage was meant to be her father.

The prospect went over to Bree's chair and gave the left wheel a kick. "What the fuck is that?"

Anger replaced fear. Bree stiffened. "It's my wheelchair. I'm a paraplegic."

The boy blinked like she'd spoken Greek to him.

The man with the eyepatch rolled his one eye at the prospect. "She ain't got use of her legs, dumbass."

The boy's eyebrows rose and he took a step away from her like her condition was contagious. Bree fought the urge to roll her eyes. The kid really was a dumbass. She might only be fifteen in comparison, but at least she had use of her brain.

"Git her in the chair," Eyepatch ordered. "Snakeskin should be about ready."

"I'm not touching her!" The prospect's nose scrunched in disgust.

Before Eyepatch could argue or push the order, an idea came to Bree. "I can do it myself," she insisted.

Eyepatch studied her for a moment and then nodded. "Hurry up."

As Bree reached for her chair to bring it around next to the reception desk, she heard the prospect make a gagging sound. "King didn't say anything about a cripple working here."

The slap across the prospect's face made Bree jump and nearly lose her focus. Using her upper arm strength, Bree pulled herself out of the chair into a standing position. Her paralyzed legs hung limply under her. All she had to do was lower herself into her chair, but she made a show of having to scoot and grunt her way closer.

"Can't you see her cut, you fuckin' moron? She's Via Daemonia too. Way I see it, her bein' here is good for us. Two birds, one stone."

As Bree guided herself back into her seat, she slid her phone under her left hand and knocked it off the counter. It landed on her seat just before she did. While she couldn't feel the phone beneath her bottom, she was confident it was there. She hadn't heard it hit the floor. Bree prayed Eyepatch and the prospect were too busy not helping her to notice her sleight of hand.

Bree strapped her legs to the footrest. She'd learned the hard way what happened if she didn't. She might not be able to feel her legs, but they still had blood flow, tissue, and muscle that could be damaged.

A furious scream came from the back rooms. Bree forced her tears and worry for Angel back. She would be of no use to Angel if she lost her focus.

Once positioned in the chair, Bree wheeled herself around to face the men. "Please don't hurt us." She made sure to add a whimper to her voice. From experience, she knew the sort of reaction that would bring from this type of men. They lived off of the fear of others. It was like a drug to them.

Eyepatch laughed harder than when he'd discovered her wheelchair. Barely breathing, he ordered, "Follow me." And then walked through the doorway to the back rooms.

The building that housed Angel's tattoo shop was old. The entire strip area of Main Street was and were even marked with a Pennsylvania Historic Marker. Unfortunately, none of that helped Bree or Angel as it meant the outer building and the walls separating each individual business were brick.

Like that alien movie, no one would hear them scream.

The tattoo studio was set up like a doctor's office. The front reception area held the desk and waiting chairs. In the back were four additional rooms, connected by a single hallway. The three tattooists had their own private room with a curtain instead of a door and the fourth was a lockable storage supply room as well as Angel's office. At the very end of the hallway was the emergency exit door that was supposed to sound an alarm when opened.

Eyepatch led Bree into Patrick's room. He'd painted his walls a bright and cheerful purple with several rainbows, teddy bears, and candy drawn on them. In the center of the room was the medical couch that allowed Patrick to manipulate the client's position. Since Patrick also did piercings, it gave him easy access to certain body parts too.

The couch, however, was empty.

Horror seized Bree as she rolled through the doorway. Angel's hands, still tied, were now secured to the wall by one of the hanging light fixtures. She was semi-conscious and sweating profusely. There was blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth, likely from a slap or a punch.

Two things, Bree noted right away. First, the man with the Taser was now wrapping the wires around the end of the Taser. That meant Angel was no longer attached and, as long as they didn't have another Taser, was not going to receive any more shocks. Second, she was still fully dressed.

"What the fuck is this?" Taser Man asked, indicating with his chin towards Bree.

"She's Via Daemonia , Skin," Eyepatch told him, reminding Bree that he'd called Taser Man ‘Snakeskin'. He lifted Bree up by the scruff of her denim cut. Fear gripped her, but only because lifting her might expose the phone she was hiding beneath her butt. Eyepatch dropped her back down unceremoniously. If Bree had feeling below her hips, that might have hurt.

"I meant the fucking chair," Snakeskin sneered. He tossed the used Taser onto the counter. "This town really is fucked up. Allowing women into the club, hiring fags," he indicated around the rainbow-colored room, "and letting cripples live. No idea why King wants this place so badly."

Bree stored that away for future use. Whoever had ordered them to attack Angel, his name was King.

"Prospect, did you close up the front?" Snakeskin asked.

The kid nodded once. He was hanging in the doorway like he wasn't sure where he was supposed to go or what he was supposed to do. "Locked and flipped the closed sign. Even turned off all the lights."

Snakeskin snorted. "Going for extra points." He nodded his chin out of the room. "Go keep watch."

The boy practically ran out of the room.

Bree looked towards Angel hanging on the wall. She was starting to come out of the effects of the Taser more. The moment she realized her predicament, her eyes went straight to Bree's and widened in horror.

Angel immediately snapped out of her shocked and immobile state. She started pulling on her hands bound to the light fixture. The U-shaped fixture though did not give. She was tall enough that her feet were on the ground but not tall enough where she could lift her hands over the fixture to get herself loose. Her only option was to break the rope. Angel let out a vicious, snarling sound as she pulled and pulled. The rope, though, held strong. She kicked towards Snakeskin but he was too far away for her legs to reach.

Eventually, Angel stopped. Bree saw she was out of breath but her mind was still working. She kept looking around for options.

Bree sat immobile as she watched Snakeskin approach Angel from the side. She immediately kicked out at him again, but he caught her boot and twisted her leg. Bree flinched as Angel cried out in pain. She hoped her leg wasn't broken. They were already down a pair of legs between the two of them.

If somehow Angel got free, she needed her legs. At the very least, Bree was light enough that Angel could pick her up and run with her.

Eyepatch was still too close to her. Bree didn't dare pull out her phone yet. As much as she hated it, Bree needed both Eyepatch and Snakeskin's full attention on Angel so she could send her SOS message.

Bree started to shake. She knew what that full attention would mean for Angel. Tears escaped her eyes as she squeezed them closed. Bile threatened to rise and she feared her Reuben sandwich might make a second appearance.

"I never understood letting women think they have an equal standing in this world." Snakeskin continued to bend Angel's leg between them as he reached forward and gripped her chin. Bree saw how tight his grip was, but Angel did not flinch away. "You are not made to be equal. You are made to serve men. You are not strong. You are weak, sniveling, and pathetic. Steel was a fool to let you into his club. Did he honestly think King was going to let him insult him and not pay the consequences?"

Eyepatch started forward. He was to the side and in front of Bree now. Just a little more , she thought. If she was on his other side, she'd risk pulling her phone out. The way he was standing, though, she assumed she was still in his peripheral vision.

However, she also saw that he had a gun at the small of his back. Maybe there was a way she could get ahold of that.

Snakeskin's hand let go of Angel's leg. She winced but did not cry out. As Snakeskin leaned closer to her, Angel hocked a loogie in his face.

He flinched back, frantically wiping at his eyes. "Bitch!" he shouted out and then backhanded Angel.

Her head slammed back against the brick wall and Bree saw blood start to flow down from Angel's nose. For one terrifying moment, Bree feared the blow had killed Angel. Her head lolled limply to the side.

Then the most cynical laugh that Bree had ever heard rose up from Angel. She stood straighter and, when she smiled, Bree saw blood coating her teeth. Angel spat the blood onto the floor at Snakeskin's feet. Bree noticed for the first time that the man was wearing snakeskin boots. Angel's blood splattered onto the coppery scales.

"Big words coming from such a little man. Is this the only way you can get your rocks off? By tying up women? You're nothing if they can fight back."

Snakeskin punched Angel in the stomach. She gasped and spluttered, but she stood strong. Snakeskin gripped her black hair, which she'd started to grow out over the past year that Bree had known her. He forced Angel's face to tip up towards him. "I'm not so stupid that your words are going to make me let you go."

She smiled widely. The crimson outline on her white teeth made it seem all the more menacing. "Because you know that I can take you? Who's weak now?"

Snakeskin dropped his grip on her hair. Rather than hit her again, though, he put his hands at her button-up shirt and ripped it open, revealing Angel's black sports bra. Bree let out a real gasp of fear.

Angel's eyes landed on her, and the hardness in them softened. "Don't watch, baby. Whatever happens, don't watch."

"No," Snakeskin countered. "Watch. Watch what your future will look like. Because once we're done with her," he turned and looked appraisingly over Bree's body, "we'll move on to you."

Bree gagged. She was willing to survive and fight for a lot of things…but not that. If Bree was raped again… She turned and threw up her Reuben sandwich.

No, she would not survive being raped again.

Both Eyepatch and Snakeskin found her reaction to his threat amusing. Bree was still wiping her mouth of vomit when she heard the telling clank of a buckle being opened. Visions of the past threatened to overtake her.

"The past can't hurt you," Uncle Jumper told her numerous times. "The past has a way of taking over your mind. Don't let it. Push it away, bury it. Only the present can harm you if you allow the past to take over."

Bree tried, she really did, but the horrors of her past were replaying now in her present. She didn't need to think about her past when all she had to do was open her eyes and see it happening all over again.

The back of her chair vibrated. She heard Angel's shouting as if it was coming from the next room over. It sounded displaced, distant.

It took several precious seconds for Bree to realize what was vibrating the back of her chair. Her phone. It was vibrating under her bottom, but she couldn't feel it there. She could only feel the lesser vibrations on her back.

Bree looked up. Both Snakeskin and Eyepatch were approaching Angel. The fierce look on her face told Bree that they would not take her easily. Still, she could not fight forever with her hands tied as they were. Additionally, neither man had realized yet that they already had the one thing that would force Angel's compliance: Bree.

She knew her mother. All they had to do was threaten Bree, with pain or rape, and Angel would comply. She would take anything, do anything, to spare Bree that fate again.

Bree had to act quickly. Angel would run out of stamina or the two men would realize there was an easier way to get what they wanted. She blindly reached under her butt. Bree had no way of knowing where the phone was, only that it was there.

Finally, she pulled it out. Thankfully, it had stopped vibrating. Her body had suppressed the vibrations but, if it went off again, the men might hear it.

As fast as she could, Bree unlocked her phone and pulled up her messages. She ignored the missed call from Scotty. Her cousin was sweet and adorable, but the last person she could send an SOS message to.

Her last text message prior to going across the street to pick up Angel's and her dinner had been to Aunt Jenna. She'd been checking in to see if Bree or Angel needed anything. The second had been a group message with some of her uncles. Bree had begged Angel not to throw her a birthday party. Maybe next year, if she made friends at school, but she didn't want one this year. Instead, she wanted to throw Cage a ‘You Survived a Year with Only One Kidney' party. It was her way of saying ‘thank you' to him.

The group message included her uncles Keys, Ghost, Ranger, Pumpkin, and Bear, who were all for a good party and would keep it from Cage. Angel was also in the group message, but obviously that did not help or matter.

Bree: SOS TATTOO SHOP NOW GUNS

She did not bother with punctuation or details. It was enough.

"Hey!"

Bree jumped and looked up. Eyepatch was storming across the room back towards her. The fact that his pants were unbuckled, unbuttoned, and his fly was down did not scare Bree as much as the gun he was now carrying.

Snakeskin's attention also turned towards Eyepatch at his yell. Unfortunately for him, he took his eyes off of the real threat. Angel, whose pants were down at her thighs, leapt up and threw her legs around Snakeskin's neck.

Hearing Snakeskin's struggle, Eyepatch turned. As he did, Bree threw her phone at the man's head. Thwack!

Eyepatch yelled out as the hard plastic made contact with his temple. Bree looked to her right and saw a glass jar of cotton balls on the counter. She picked it up and threw it too. It broke over Eyepatch's head.

Cotton balls, however, were not enough to knock the man out. The glass cut up his face but that only angered him. He turned towards Bree. She threw a glass jar of disposable razors right into his face.

The jar did not break, but it knocked his head back hard enough that he dropped his gun as he grabbed for his nose. It skittered on the floor to the left of Bree's wheelchair.

She didn't think; she just acted. Bree tipped her chair over, landing painfully hard on the floor. Despite her young age, though, Bree was used to pain. Even over the past year with Angel, pain had been her constant companion—probably more than Angel knew. It was less than the other pain she'd dealt with over her lifetime, but still pain. The stretches and exercises her therapists put her through to build up her strength, the occasional twinges from her lower back, the ghost pain left behind from the inability to use her legs…

Bree fought through the pain of landing on the hard floor. She army crawled towards the gun only feet in front of her.

Just as she heard Eyepatch come up on her, Bree's hand touched the cold metal. She took the gun expertly in her hands, flipped off the safety as she rolled onto her back, and fired.

BAM!