Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(80)

If she was awake, she'd just have to deal with the pain and the  knowledge that her future was uncertain at best. Of course, he wasn't  going to tell her that hope was futile; he was at an impasse,  philosophically, about whether she'd be better off knowing that she was  going to die or whether that little bit of hope that she might live  would sustain her.

It didn't matter to him, but it was an interesting thing to ponder.

As the night began to creep over the landscape on the day that  everything was going to come to fruition, Silas felt an unusual strain  in his temperament. Almost as though he were nervous. It was good to be  alert and aware of possible downfalls in a plan of action. It was not  good  –  or comfortable  –  to be nervous.         

     



 

Especially not for Silas, who couldn't even tell you the last time he  felt anything close to worry. Why should he worry when he'd done far  worse things, and done them with considerable less care? This job was so  easy compared to many of his others … yet he felt a nagging unease.  Perhaps it was merely the amount of money at stake; it was one of his  biggest payouts to date, and being so close and yet so far (to borrow  the cliché) wasn't the worst reason to have a bit of rumble in one's  stomach.

Sighing, he stood and turned towards the girl, whose eyes grew wide as  she stared at him. The shadowy light in the little cabin ensured she  could never confidently ID him, but that didn't really matter,  considering she'd be dead in a matter of hours. He walked towards her  and then crouched down onto his haunches, watching sense flicker on and  off in her big green eyes.

She was a pretty one, he had to hand it to her. Reaching out, he brushed  a strand of hair from where it stuck to her sweaty brow, the most  contact he'd had with her. She cringed, eyes tearing, filling with fear  and disgust. He thought when all this was done he'd look for a girl like  her to spend a night or two with. It'd give him a sick sort of  pleasure, which was the best sort of pleasure in Silas' book.

He reached into his shirt pocket, bringing out a needle with a half  dosage of the knock-out juice he'd been pumping her with. No need for a  full shot this time, since she'd be dead before opening her eyes again.





34





Honey watched out the window of the bar as Reign threw his leg over his  bike, sitting straight and tall on the seat, then kicking the engine to  life. She bit her lip, an empty, gnawing sensation in her gut. When had  she last eaten? It seemed like days. She hadn't had an appetite since  Reign's royal dressing down.

In fact, this was the first time she'd caught sight of him since then.  He'd gone full-on hermit on the club, accepting visitors to his  apartment but not coming down to the bar since the search for Gabriella  had turned up nothing. They'd kept searching, sans Reign, but no one had  found hide nor hair of her or her captor.

He looked bad. Drawn and pale, he looked like he hadn't eaten in days, either. Or slept.

Where is he going, Honey wondered, brow furrowing. As though, deep down,  she didn't kind of know. It could be that he was just tired of sitting  around, needed some time on the road, wanted to do his own sweep of the  area. But she'd seen his face when he got on the bike. It was the face  of a man who'd made a decision, a decision that hadn't been easy to  make.

He was going to get her. Somehow, someway, he'd found her, and was going to get her.

Or he was leaving for good.

Either way, he was going alone.

And that, Honey knew, was a bad, bad, bad thing for him to do.

She wanted to step outside, stand in front of him, block his path and  knock some sense into his skull. But she couldn't bear picturing what  he'd say to her. Not after the verbal whipping he'd given her only a few  days ago. She would never be able to look him in the eyes again …

He sped past the window, not noticing her as she stared after him.  Turning onto the main road, he went left, towards town. Honey moved  quickly, pulling open the drawer under the cash register. It was still  there. Of course it was still there. No one knew it was there except her  and Endo, and neither had had to touch it in years. Now, as she picked  up the gun and tucked it into the waistband of her jeans, Honey prayed  that it would still fire. She didn't have time to test it out.

The bar door slammed shut behind her. The evening was growing dark, the  moon and the sun sharing the sky, purplish light beginning to blend the  distant mountains together in a haze. Honey strapped her helmet on and  adjusted the gun once more.

She'd show him that she wasn't what he thought. She knew he'd said what  he'd said out of anger, but she also knew just how true some of what  he'd said was.

But there was always time to change.

She'd learned that a long time ago.





35





Reign pulled up to the still, small lake fifteen minutes early. The  darkling sky reflected on its mirrored surface, the moon standing out  whiter and brighter as the sun fell. He spit onto the dust, lit a  cigarette with fingers that shook. He cursed his shaking fingers, willed  them to be still.



From under his jacket he pulled a worn, black billfold. Inside was all  the money Gabriella's captor had demanded. In the distance, he thought  he could see a blowing tornado of dust coming his way, but couldn't be  sure it wasn't just his eyes playing tricks on him.





36




         

     



 
I dreamed I was on a ship rocking on a stormy sea. Bumping, painful, the  wooden boards of the ship battered me again and again. My eyes winked  open, saw bright blue and pink above me, and I felt the hard, dusty  floor that I lay on moving. My eyes closed again and I was back on the  ship, a slave ship now, and I was chained to the wall, unable to move.



Above me, awful laughter and the sound of heavy footsteps echoed. Was it  Jeremy up there? No, no, he died, my dreaming mind said, but the words  meant nothing. It was Jeremy, or it was a stranger, it was someone  awful. Reign wasn't there. He'd never be there again. I was being taken  to a far away land, where I'd never see anyone I loved ever again. I  cried for myself, for him, for the life I could have had. In real life,  tears slipped down my cheeks as the truck bumped down the dirt road.





37





Silas leaned forward, looking for the telltale marks of a bike's tires  on the road, but it was getting too dark, and there was too much dust.  He checked the rearview; clear. Of course it was clear. Why was he so  edgy? No one would be coming. Reign wouldn't risk his pretty little  lover's neck like that. And if he did, he'd be dead before he could call  for reinforcements.



Silas was good at this. There was no reason to worry.



So why was he worrying?





38





Honey kept a distance from Reign. And, when an old pick-up turned onto  the otherwise vacant highway from what looked like a road to nowhere,  she slowed even further, keeping her distance from it as well. Her heart  pounded under her cut. She'd always been comfortable behind the scenes.  The gun felt awkward in her waistband. Everything felt just the  slightest bit awkward.



But hell, Honey could deal with feeling awkward. It was better than feeling useless.





39





The man smiled as he stepped from the truck. Reign did not return the  smile, but stubbed his cigarette out on the ground, planting his heel on  it firmly. He looked at the man from head to toe, trying to discern  where he was hiding his weapons. He couldn't see any obvious bulges in  his clothing, but he knew damn well this bastard hadn't come unarmed.

If ever a man looked like sin, it was the man who walked slowly,  confidently, towards Reign. A full mustache and beard hid the lower half  of his face, and his eyes were black. He wore a Stetson, but Reign  could tell the man was balding. The man was skinny as a rail, tall and  lean to the point that he looked like he might blow over in the wind.  But those eyes told Reign everything he needed to know.

"Where is she?" Reign demanded, and the man stopped his advance. His  hands were empty, and he made no move to reach for anything on his body.

"Back of the truck, friend," the man said, a smile spreading across his  face that made Reign's stomach turn over. His fingers itched to grab the  gun he was hiding, but he steeled himself, keeping his emotions in  check. If this could be finished with no one getting killed, that would  be okay. Reign would love to put a bullet between the man's eyes, but  not if it risked his own life  –  or Gabriella's.

"I'm not your fucking friend," Reign said, extending the hand that held the billfold. "It's all here."

"Well, mighty kind of you," the man said, walking towards Reign once  more. The wind picked up; it was almost entirely dark out now, and  Reign's heart thudded with the increased danger that the night held.  Less visibility was never a benefit during a scene like this.

He held back the urge to leap forward and beat the man into the ground  as he pulled the billfold from Reign's hand. They were so close now,  Reign could smell the stink of the bastard's unwashed body, could almost  taste how vile and cursed the man's smile was. He kept his eyes fixed  on the man's. No trouble, asshole, don't you give me any trouble, Reign  thought, hoping the stranger knew that Reign wasn't just some ordinary  dick with a soft spot for a pretty girl.