Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Vienna

Panic soared through me as the ground fell out from beneath me as I was yanked back against a horrifically familiar body that felt even stronger than ever before.

"You thought you could get away from me?" he asked, hot breath in my ear.

A whimper escaped me, muffled by his hand on my mouth as hopelessness surged through me.

Because for the first time since I arrived in Shady Valley, I was without my weapon from Murphy and my knife from Nyx.

Those had become a bit like security blankets to me, giving me a sense of power that I desperately needed to be able to be out in public again. Even if I had Riff or the others with me.

But I'd been so upset and in a hurry to get away from the clubhouse that I'd done the unthinkable.

I'd left them behind.

I was defenseless.

The van peeled down Main Street, and I was just aware enough to know they'd taken a left instead of a right. Which meant they were heading into Shady Valley instead of out.

That was a good thing, right?

There was hope of being discovered.

Saved.

But no one knew to look for me.

No one would assume I was missing.

I'd taken off upset. They would be thinking I needed some air, some time to clear my head.

I doubted anyone would come looking for me for hours. Even if Riff would have wanted to, I figured Coach might talk him down, remind him that I needed space.

Even if they started looking, how much time would they waste combing the streets? Going into the stores, the diner, even the pub and pool hall that I'd yet to visit?

They might visit Dr. Swift, but she would have nothing to say other than that I was there. She couldn't have seen me get taken. The angle was wrong from her office even if she had been looking.

There'd been no one on the cold streets that may have called the police with what they'd seen.

Every one of my worst nightmares were suddenly manifesting, and all I could feel was a marrow-deep sort of terror.

My breath was coming in short, shallow gasps. My heartbeat was thundering in my chest, the sound reverberating like a drum in my ears. A cold sweat formed on my brow and back of my neck, trickling down my temples and spine.

My vision darted wildly, blurring everything inside of the van, as I desperately tried to find an escape.

Out of the windshield, a car was moving toward us, driving in the opposite direction, and everything within me was screaming for them to see something wrong inside this van, to know I was in here, needing help.

But it just kept driving, oblivious to a crime being committed right in front of their eyes.

The van jolted over a pothole, making my abductor stumble backward, crashing into the opposite wall of the van. His grip stayed relentless on me, tight enough around my midsection to make it hard to pull in a breath, the other still clamped over my mouth.

The interior of the space smelled stale. Like unwashed bodies spent in too close of quarters for a long period of time.

My mind raced, my thoughts a chaotic jumble, nothing quite able to take root, to grow into something I could work with.

I needed to calm down.

Coach came back to my mind, one hand on his chest, another on his stomach, reminding me to breathe into my heart, then deeper into my belly. Hold. Release. Over and over. Until the frantic thoughts fell away.

It seemed impossible to try to meditate at a time like this, but if there was any hope of survival, let alone escape, I had to be able to focus.

So I did just that, letting the van fall away, until my mind went blissfully blank.

I came back to the moment slowly, trying to stay detached, to think past the panic.

There were less of them this time .

That was the first thing I realized.

The first time I'd been taken, there'd been two men in the front and three in the back.

Now, the numbers were down.

Did one of Riff or Raff's bullets completely debilitate the others? Kill them, maybe?

One could only hope .

It didn't really matter.

All that mattered was there were fewer of them.

My main abductor, the one with his hands on me, his breath wetting the shell of my ear. Then the driver.

That was it.

Just two of them.

Bigger and stronger, yes, but this gave me a chance, unlike last time. There was hope.

I just had to get away.

If I could get out of the van, I could run and scream. Someone would come. I had to believe that.

The van took a sharp turn, throwing me against the wall. I bit back a sob as my abductor squashed me against the wall, his intentions clear.

Not again.

Never fucking again.

"You can't get away from me," he growled in my ear. "You're mine."

That was the exact wrong thing to say.

Because I wasn't his.

I would never be his again.

I was Riff's, damnit.

No one was ever going to touch me again but him.

He ground into me, and the bile rose up my throat for a second. Swallowing it back, I felt the van brake hard.

Wherever we were, the journey was done.

And that only meant one thing.

The bad shit was going to start.

"Turn the music on," my abductor demanded of the driver. "I want to be able to hear her scream."

A sound rose up in my throat, something he seemed to take as a cry, as fear.

But it wasn't that.

No.

This time, it wasn't terror building in my system.

It was rage.

And there was another difference this time too.

I wasn't the same woman I'd been last spring.

My time in Shady Valley had changed me, strengthened me. Both mind and body.

I wasn't helpless anymore.

All my lessons with Nyx came flooding back to me. Hours and hours spent learning how to watch an attacker's body, the way their legs would shift before they charged or struck. Seeing that gave you an advantage of speed.

I spent just as many hours learning how to duck and pivot, to shuffle out of the way.

But just as much focus as she'd spent on teaching me to get away from an attack, she'd spent teaching me how to fight someone off.

The main focus of her women's self-defense classes was to show you how to use an attacker's strength against them, since we would most likely be against someone who was bigger and physically stronger than us.

That was certainly true of my abductor.

He was wide around the middle, fleshy from the junk food that made him so greasy all the time too. But he had trunk-like legs and arms that could easily pick me up and toss me around.

So I had to be quicker and smarter.

The music turned on, a disorienting metal shrieking sound that pierced through my skull.

I cursed the music, since Nyx said all of our senses were vital in a fight. She told me that, eventually, I would get to a point where she would start to blindfold me to teach me how to be able to fight with only my other senses.

But there'd never been anything about not being able to hear. Hell, not even be able to think with the music so loud.

It didn't matter, though.

I could see.

I could feel.

That would have to be good enough.

My gaze scanned around the van, looking for anything that might be used as a weapon.

There was a bare foam mattress on the floor near the back, the material of it stained in spots. The sight of it made my stomach twist, so I forced my gaze away.

There was a suitcase on the floor, but it was zipped, its contents hidden from view.

The walls were metal, at least, as was the floor that wasn't covered by the mattress.

It was always good to have a hard surface to slam someone against or into.

It was something.

It would have to be enough.

Heartbeat tripping into overdrive, this time more with adrenaline than fear, I watched as the driver turned in his seat, his beady eyes roaming over me.

Luckily, this time, he wasn't seeing much.

I wasn't even feeling much, thanks to the layers I had on. Bulky, wide-leg jeans, a sweater under my bulky, fluffy jacket.

Something about those layers helped give me perspective, helped me not let the panic overwhelm me.

My abductor's hand slid across my face, seeming to delight in slowly removing it, like he was just itching to hear me suck in a breath to scream and beg.

He would be disappointed.

I waited until the tips of his fingers were almost off of my lips before I pulled open my mouth, turned slightly, and bit down with everything in me.

His howl was masked by the music.

But I heard it.

You're going to be the one screaming, asshole .

Taking advantage of his surprise and pain, I twisted away, putting the wall of the van to my back, facing my attacker head-on.

"Bitch," he said, and I think I was reading his lips more than hearing him. "You're going to pay for that," he said.

He yanked back his arm.

But I was watching.

So I ducked before he could strike, the backs of his knuckles colliding with the unyielding wall, making pain shoot across his knuckles.

A growling sound moved through him as I inched away, mind on getting around this van in a half circle, reaching for the door handle, sliding the door open, and running away.

Maybe slamming my abductor's hand in the door in the process.

My stomach clenched as my shoe met the edge of the mattress, everything in me screaming to move in the other direction, to get the hell away from the makeshift bed.

But the other direction would put me in the reach of the other man.

While experience told me that my abductor wouldn't let him actually take advantage of me, that in some sick way, he believed I did belong just to him, to be abused strictly by his hands.

But the driver would happily grab me, hold me down for the abductor. He would watch, egg him on, even pleasure himself.

I knew.

I'd experienced it all before.

And I refused to do so again.

So I moved further onto the mattress as my abductor charged toward me again, hands outstretched, trying to grab me, wanting to drag me down onto the mattress.

Fighting against my instinct to duck right away, I waited until he was too close to change his movement, then lowered down under his arm, twisting around, my footing awkward and unsteady against the mattress as it depressed under each step.

My wrist was grabbed, and the instinct to simply yank it back only made pain shoot through my shoulder.

No.

I couldn't use my instincts.

I had to use my training.

My abductor yanked me forward toward him, the only thing keeping me from colliding with his chest being the way the mattress was swallowing my feet.

He had my left wrist, leaving me with my dominant hand to work with.

So I struck out, aiming high, catching him across the throat.

The shock of losing his breath, the strangling sensation that was overtaking him, had him releasing my wrist, letting me stumble back just out of reach.

But as I took another step back, something on the floor caught my foot, making me stumble, then start to fall, my stomach bottoming out as I crashed to the ground.

The metal collided with my ass, painful enough to steal my breath for a moment.

That was the least of my concerns as my attacker made sick, wet sounds while he tried to breathe but he was still coming for me.

Like he knew I was close to getting away. That I was so, so close to the door.

"Get her, Marshall," the driver said.

Marshall.

After all of this time, I finally had a name.

I must have been distracted by that information, though. Just for a second. But that was all he needed.

He bent before I could anticipate his actions, grabbing both of my ankles, and pulling hard enough to force me to fall flat.

Only my reflexes had me tucking my chin to my chest to keep my skull from whacking into the cold, hard floor.

I yanked a foot free, using it to strike out.

His thigh, his knee.

Distracting him enough to drop my other leg, giving me another way to strike out.

My hands went around, feeling for anything on the floor.

It wasn't long until I felt something hard to my side, maybe what I'd tripped over initially.

I grabbed at it, feeling it cold and firm.

Marshall had managed to grab my legs, though, spreading them wide as he came down to his knees between.

Panic surged, and I fought it back, reminding myself that it was different this time.

I had on layers.

It would be a fight to get them off of me.

It was okay. I had time.

So I waited, knowing he was too far away to strike yet.

It wasn't until he planted his arms on either side of my shoulders, caging me in, that I lifted the thing in my hand.

I didn't even know what it was until I was whacking it into the side of Marshall's head.

A wrench.

It hit with a sickening crack, making blood bloom from his temple as he let out a howl.

There was a second where hope swelled, but he didn't move away from me.

He grabbed for the wrench, wrestling it out of my fingers, and tossing it toward the far corner of the van.

"You'll pay for that," he vowed, one hand pressed to his temple, a little streak of blood slipping from under his fingers.

A strange little sound escaped me, too quiet to be heard over the music, but I hated how weak it sounded.

It wasn't over, damnit.

I could still get away.

I had to get away.

My hands felt around the floor around me, but there was nothing but dirt and grime.

Desperately, I reached for my own pockets, praying I had something in there. A key, maybe. Or a pen. Something that could be gouged into Marshall's eye.

It wasn't until my fingers closed around two tiny things that I remembered.

Judge and Delaney had brought their toddler over to the clubhouse when I'd just gotten in from a trip to the grocery store with Riff and Detroit.

The baby had rushed toward me, arms outstretched, wanting to be picked up.

I'd reached up, grabbing at my ears, pulling out the earrings, and tucking them safely in my pocket, so the baby didn't grab them, didn't somehow manage to open them.

And access the poison.

Poison .

Morgaine's words came rushing back to me.

Each vial could kill a fucking elephant , she'd told me as she'd given me them.

I had to get it in an orifice, though, I recalled. The mouth, ideally. But the eyes could work in a pinch. Neither seemed easy, especially given our positions.

But I had it. I could use it.

Before anything got too bad.

I needed to get up.

Ideally, get him under me.

That would give me the right position to drop the poison in his mouth. Even if I just got it on his lips.

If a tiny vial would take out an elephant, a drop would have to be enough to make him sick or slow him down.

I had no idea what the poison did.

It didn't matter.

So long as it gave me a chance of getting away.

Stomach twisting, I held myself still as Marshall lowered down over me, wanting to get close enough to whisper in my ear what he was going to do to me.

I fought back the sick in my throat, waiting until his hand started to creep under my shirt, knowing he was holding his weight up with his knees and one arm now, so he would be more unsteady.

I'd only ever practiced this move with Nyx, who was bigger than me, but much smaller than Marshall.

But it wasn't supposed to matter.

Sucking in a breath, I threw my shoulder until it was against the center of Marshall's chest. Then, as quickly as possible, I used both of my legs to hook his one thigh as I pushed up and over.

And, like magic, he was suddenly beneath me.

It was right then, though, that the whole van jolted hard toward one side.

Confused, I glanced up.

To find the driver being pulled out of the truck.

Help, it seemed, had arrived.

But this wasn't over.

Not until I never had to worry about this evil man again.

Right then, taking advantage of my momentary distraction, Marshall threw his weight, knocking me off of him.

I rolled further, mind on the wrench he'd thrown away from me before. My hand just closed around it when his hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking savagely.

My eyes flooded with involuntary tears as the pain seared across my scalp.

But I had to pull harder against his hold until, at last, my fingers closed around the cold metal wrench again.

I didn't hesitate.

I whipped around, swinging out, catching his hand with the wrench. I watched in satisfaction as he howled and cradled his hand as the van rocked wildly when something seemed to be slammed against it.

Or someone , I reminded myself.

There was someone out there with the driver.

I needed to get out there too.

Out of the cramped confines of this van full of awful memories.

I rose to my feet, having to throw out a hand to brace on the back of the front passenger seat as the van continued to rock, then swung out again, this time catching him on the jaw.

Both his hands went there, cradling it as his face contorted in pain.

Maybe a better person would have mercy right then.

But why the hell would I ever need to show him something he never showed me?

All those months of pain and starvation and humiliation. He had to pay for that.

Fueled with my memories and the rage I now attached to them, I swung out again, watching the blood spurt from his nose, a river of red that trailed down his face to wet his shirt.

He wasn't so scary now.

Some sick part of me almost wanted to laugh.

Maybe I would have.

If the van door didn't suddenly slide open, flooding the space in brightness, and revealing my savior.

It had to be him.

Somehow, I knew it was.

But there he was, knuckles busted open and bloody, eyes filled with the same kind of rage I felt flooding my system.

Familiar hands reached out, grabbing me, lifting me and setting me on the ground outside of the van.

I think I expected a hug, a moment of comfort.

But as soon as Riff's gaze moved over me, checking to make sure I was—at least physically—okay, he turned away, climbed into the van, and slammed the door.