Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jordyn

"Next!" I call out, trying to keep my voice steady despite the absolute craziness going on in Tart right now.

The smell of sugar and freshly baked goods mixes with the scent of sweat.

My hands are sticky from icing I've wiped away hastily on my apron.

"Yeah, I'll take two dozen of those red, white, and blue cupcakes," says a woman in a patriotic T-shirt, her kids bouncing around her legs like ping-pong balls.

"Coming right up." I force a smile, punching in the order and grabbing a box from beneath the counter.

The clock ticks closer to closing, but there's no end in sight.

Memorial Day weekend always brings out the masses in Billings, Montana.

I know damn well everyone is going to be barbecuing, getting their alcohol, sweets, and laying poolside.

"Hey, Jordyn, you got any more of those star-spangled donuts?" someone yells from the back of the line.

"Just a sec!" I shout back, trying not to snap.

My caramel-highlighted hair sticks to the back of my neck, damp with sweat.

I glance at the display case—nearly empty. Damn it. We're running low on everything and I don't have any extras in the back.

"Ma'am, can you hurry it up? I have to get my kids from their dad in ten minutes." another customer grumbles.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm doing my best," I mutter under my breath, shoving cupcakes into the box and slapping a lid on it.

"That'll be $24.50," I say, handing over the box and taking the woman's cash. Her kids start squabbling, and I suppress an eye roll.

"Thanks," she says, giving me a sympathetic look before wrangling her herd out the door.

"Next!"

Within the next twenty minutes I get everyone taken care of and out of the bakery. Once it slows down I decide to make myself a latte.

A familiar voice cuts through the din, making every hair on my arms stand on end. "Well, look what we have here."

I know that voice. I know it all too well.

I look up, and there he is—Blake.

His presence sends a chill down my spine, even in this stifling bakery.

He flashes me a smile, but it's anything but friendly.

It's the kind of smile a predator gives its prey.

"Blake," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "What the hell do you want?"

"Gee, I don't know. Just some alone time with you," he says, eyes scanning the shop.

His fingers reach for the lock on the door, and my heart skips a beat.

"Shit," I breathe, fumbling for my phone.

I text the MC group chat as fast as I can: "911 - Tart."

My fingers tremble, and I pray they get here in time. Blake is unpredictable and that makes him much more dangerous.

"Now, where were we?" Blake turns back around, eyes dark and menacing.

He steps closer, and I can feel his anger radiating off him like heat from an open flame.

"Blake, it would be best if you leave now. Trust me and get the fuck out of here," I command, trying to sound braver than I feel. But he doesn't budge.

"Not until we've worked some things out," he sneers, taking another step forward.

My pulse races. This isn't good. Not good at all.

"Leave, Blake. Now." I try to sound firm, but my voice wavers.

I know he's pissed—probably still sore about Bama beating him in public. But standing up to him feels like trying to stop a freight train with a paper wall.

"No, not until we've worked some things out," he growls, closing the distance between us.

His anger radiates off him, making the small shop feel even more claustrophobic.

"I won't say it again. Get out!" I say, my voice rising.

"Guess you didn't learn your lesson, huh?" His voice is low, dripping with menace.

"Stay away from me," I manage to choke out, trying to keep my voice steady. But it's useless. He can smell fear.

"Or what?" he taunts, stepping closer. "Your knight in shining leather gonna save you?"

I swallow hard, but my throat's gone dry. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as he moves toward me.

I glance toward the kitchen door, calculating my chances. Not great, but it's all I've got.

Out of nowhere he stops moving and I feel like things are going to change. But, my momentary peace doesn't last for long.

Instead, he lunges at me, and I bolt toward the kitchen door.

My pulse pounds in my ears. Almost there. Almost?—

The bakery blurs around me. Flour dusted countertops, the scent of sugar lingering in the air. I almost make it, fingers brushing against the cool metal handle, when he grabs my ponytail and yanks hard.

Pain lances through my scalp, and I'm pulled backward, stumbling.

Blake sneers, dragging me back to the center of the shop. "Think you're fast, huh?"

My body tenses, every muscle coiled tight like a spring.

He kicks me, each blow a burst of agony.

"You're the dumbest bitch I've ever fucking met," he snarls, pulling me up by my hair. "Useless. More trouble than you're worth."

"Let go of me!" I scream, thrashing against his grip.

But he's strong, stronger than he looks. He picks me up and slams me down onto the floor.

The world spins, stars exploding behind my eyelids as his boot connects with my ribs. Again and again. Each kick sends shockwaves of agony through my body.

"You're so fucking useless," he spits, hauling me up by my hair. "A waste of space if you ask me."

The taste of blood drifts over my lips. "You're not going to get away with this."

"Watch me," he snarls, lifting me easily and hurling me onto the display case.

Glass shatters beneath me, pain blazing as shards slice into my skin.

"You're insane," I manage, glaring at him as pain radiates through my body. "They'll kill you for this."

"Maybe they will," he says, shrugging. "But I doubt they're going to get to you in time."

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

I try to move, but pain flares up my side, and I can barely breathe.

The hope that the club will get here in time is the only thing keeping me conscious.

"Ugh—" A sharp, searing agony blooms in my side.

I look down and see glass embedded in my flesh, crimson red oozing through my shirt. Blood drips onto the tiles, each drop making me realize this is real. This isn't some fucked up nightmare.

"How does that feel, huh?" Blake jeers, stepping closer, his shadow swallowing me whole.

"F-fuck you," I spit, struggling to push myself up, but my limbs refuse to cooperate, and even if I wanted to move, I'm damn certain there's glass deep inside me. I can't move even if I wanted to.

My vision blurs, dark spots dancing at the edges.

"You should've known better than to cross me," he says, crouching down so our faces are level. "If you had shut the fuck up and stayed in your lane like you should have done, you'd be fine."

"You're wrong," I gasp, every word an effort. "You're the one who should have stayed in your lane. They will kill you, Blake. You have to know that."

"I highly doubt it," He laughs, the sound hollow and mocking. "They have to catch me to kill me."

Every breath is a battle, every second a fight to stay conscious. I clutch at the glass sticking out of my side, feeling the warm sticky blood coating my fingers.

"You're finished, Blake," I whisper, teeth gritted against the pain. "You don't know who you're messing with."

He continues to tower over me like a specter of doom. "Big talk for someone who's bleeding out,"

My body screams in protest, but I force myself to focus. Focus on surviving. On holding on until help arrives.

I can feel the blood oozing from a dozen different wounds, each one screaming for attention.

My vision's a mess of swirling colors and darkening edges, but I see Blake's boots stop right in front of my face.

"Look at you," he sneers, crouching down to pick up a jagged piece of glass. "Pathetic."

He grabs my wrist with a grip like iron, yanking it toward him. The pain is immediate and blinding as he drags the shard across my skin.

"Ask your new boyfriend about slit wrists," he says, his voice dripping with venom.

I bite back a scream, feeling the searing cut deep into my flesh.

Everything's fading, the room turning into a tunnel of darkness. But above the roar of agony, I hear something—faint but unmistakable.

Motorcycles.

The distant rumble grows louder, vibrating through the floor, through my bones. It's familiar, like the dum of a heartbeat. Hope flares, even as my world starts to slip away.

"You're done," Blake mutters as he heads through the back door.

The last thing I hear before everything goes black is the roaring symphony of engines, praying they get to me before it's too late.

I don't want to die. Not yet.