"You will be seeing Sawyer soon," he says, crouching to look me in the eye, but doing it far enough back that I can't reach him. My heart beats in hope at those words.
Then he says, "Have to show him the goods to prove I've got them. Then the motherfucker will do what I want."
I flinch at the curse word applied to Sawyer.
"Nice boobs though." Helman gets up. "If things go south, I might treat myself to a good feel of those. And a hot, hard fuck. Before you die."
Hours go by. I know it's not days because it hasn't got dark yet. I've moved to the extent of my chains. There's not enough slack to reach the door or any of the walls, never mind the window, which is seven feet off the floor.
I'm trapped, damn it.
The fat henchman brings me a plate of food-half of a fast food burger and a few fries. I take it he ate most of the meal before giving it to me. He walks right up to me, sets the plate in front of me. Then he reaches for my breast.
I lash out at him with my feet, and scurry back. He just laughs. "Later." He winks as he leaves.
I know what he thinks he is going to get to do later. That is not going to happen. I'd rather die.
But I'm scared I'm too much of a coward to pick death. I'm scared I might capitulate out of the pure fear of dying.
I eat, though I hate taking anything from these bastards. I'm so hungry, I have no choice. Shadows are starting to fill my cell. It's getting close to night-
Rattling sounds at the door. I hear the click of the lock. There's a loud scrape as the corner of the door drags over the floor again, then a deep voice shouts, "Fuck! What have you done to her?"
Sawyer! My brain registers his tall strong body, his black leather, his blond hair. Then I see his face. Fresh bruises sit on top of the older, fading ones.
Behind him are two of Helman's men-one of two who cleaned up my cell and the gross, lecherous one again.
"Claire, are you okay?" Sawyer gets on his knees and wraps his arms around me. His lips touch mine and I hear the two guys snicker.
Next thing I know, Sawyer has pulled away from my kiss and he jumps to his feet, a knife in his hand. He slashes at one of my captors and the blade slices the man's side. The guy howls in pain and rage. I scream to Sawyer, but it's too late. The other guy slams the butt of a handgun into the side of Sawyer's head.
Sawyer stumbles forward, then falls to the floor.
"You could have killed him!" I scream. I scramble toward Sawyer, my chains rattling. I feel like I'm choking on my own heart.
As I reach him, Sawyer groans and pushes up on his arms.
He sits up, rubs his head. "Fuck," he mutters. He sees me and comes over to me. He strokes my hair and hugs me to his strong, warm chest. But I'm stiff with terror and even smelling his sensual Sawyer-scent of soap and warm skin isn't soothing me. It's good to be held, but I've got to think of a way out of this.
Behind Sawyer, I see legs in shiny black leather pants step through the door. And I see the muzzle of a long gun. It's the last of the three henchmen. The guy has a shaved head and pale skin. He wears sunglasses, a tight black T-shirt, and black leather pants. He points a huge gun at Sawyer. It's streamlined, gray, and must be some kind of automatic weapon.
Oh God.
I can't believe this is really happening. I used to watch mystery and cop shows with my mom. I saw hundreds of women in this situation. It feels so surreal.
And, damn it, I can't figure out a way to get out of this.
Helman strides in, a phone pressed to his ear. His suit shimmers in the grey light. He grins, then laughs-a high-pitched hyena-like sound. "You want your pretty little whore back? Win tonight, and I let her go."
"That's it?" Saywer asks, his arms around me. "I win tonight's race and you let her go?"
"You will run two races tonight. Win them both and she's yours."
"Why?" I ask.
Sawyer looks startled I asked.
"I have some friends who find this idea amusing," Helman says. "Betting on this entertaining idea has risen to 50Gs. My associates believe you will do anything to win to save your whore-in-distress."
"She is not a whore. And I would do anything for her."
"So I've ensured you have some real competition." Helman gives a slimy grin. "It's time to go, Sawyer. You want her back, you be at the race tonight. And you win."
The guy with the machine gun motions Sawyer to stand. But Sawyer cups my face and kisses me. A long, deep, melting kiss. He draws back, touches his forehead to mine. "You're mine and I'll do anything to protect you."
I've never had anyone say anything like that to me. And say it with both hot rage and icy determination behind the words. It makes my heart race.
Helman has his hand at my low back. A 9mm handgun is stuck in the waistband of the trousers of his silk suit. Surrounding me are his muscle-the three stooges in black-all armed and all instructed to take me down if I try to get away.
He pushes me to walk through the crowd gathered in the parking lot of a restaurant called Babe's. It's ten o'clock at night. The lights of the restaurant are the only lights for at least half a mile in each direction-this stretch of highway is pretty empty. We drove about an hour north of the warehouse where Helman was keeping me. No one in Babe's seems to care about the large number of bikes, trucks and trailers, and people who gather in the shadowy end of the parking lot. There a lot of women showing cleavage. Guys wear leather jackets or vests and T-shirts with pictures of rappers on them. On the vests are insignias that I guess belong to biker gangs. One group of tall, scary looking guys wear a logo that reads: The Riding Dead.
Ahead, I see Saywer. He's so tall he towers over most of the crowd. I want to run to him, but I don't dare move away from Helman.
As we get closer to Sawyer, we have to fight through people who suddenly start to back up. In the middle of the crowd, someone starts shouting and cursing.
The crowd is drifting away from two men, leaving an open circle around them. The one who is yelling has spiky dyed white-blond hair, caramel-colored skin, and wears a black leather jacket with an insignia that reads Zombie Bikers. The other is heavy-set, pale white, with a red bandana covering black curls and a long mustache that hangs off his face.
"You don't deserve that bike," the blond man goads. "You gonna lose it tonight. You a fuckin' coward, you know that?"
The heavy-set man snarls. "Shut up or I'm gonna pop you."
My heart pounds. I'm sure I'm about to watch two men kill each other. But instead, Zombie Bikers guy takes a swaggering step toward the other man. "Yeah, you fuckin' chicken? Gonna race me? Put that fuck-ass bike of yours on the line." He points to a gorgeous bike with a sapphire-blue paint job. The bike is lit underneath with LED lamps, and the eerie blue glow makes the bike look futuristic, like it's floating on air.
I sense someone right beside me. I breathe in scents I recognize and my heart races. Even when I'm surrounded by so much danger, I suddenly feel safer, and I feel … intense, excited, aware. I can't describe it. It's like I've never felt more alive now that Sawyer is close to me. I turn and look up at him.
God, he looks scared. I've never seen him look like this. His jaw is held rigidly, but I see it flinch and twitch.
He's angry as well as scared. I remember how he launched at Helman's men, so filled with fury he actually tried to fight men armed with guns. He levels a look of pure, cold rage at Helman. Who looks at Sawyer's glowering hatred and gives his hideous, high-pitched laugh.
I'm scared Sawyer is going to do something rash. I want to distract him, so I point surreptitiously at the two men who are pacing around each other in the cleared circle. "Are they going to kill each other?"
"Smack talk," Sawyer says quietly. "Guys want to force other guys to race by getting them angry. Guys will throw down to race when they're emotional and not thinking straight. You want to race a dude when he's off his game. Sometimes the insults get too close to home. Shots get fired. That's why I didn't want you near a place like this-" He breaks off. We both know I'm in a lot more danger than just being in the way of stray shots.
Sawyer leans to me and kisses me. His lips move from mine and brush my ear. It's like fireworks explode in my heart. "I'm going to win this," he murmurs.
"Just be careful." That's all I want. For him to get through this alive. Though I'd like to come out of it alive too, I have to admit.
I don't want to admit the dark truth that's eating at my heart: I'm scared we won't.
Helman leaves me under the watchful eye of his henchman with the tight black T-shirt while he converses with other men. Wads of bills are flashed. I guess they are making bets. Then Helman waves his hand and I'm pushed back to his limousine by the tall, shaved-head guy.
I sit in there and put my hand on the handle of the car door. Could I push it open and run? My legs tighten in pain as I imagine trying to escape and taking a bullet in my back. Or twenty bullets in my back. I look up and the driver is watching me anyway in the rear view mirror. Fuck.