Take Me, Outlaw(39)

The voices outside were getting louder. “Fish, you dumb fuck! He said we needed her alive!”



“Yeah, well, he didn't say nothin' about them other greasers or that Frankenstein-lookin' fucker peekin' out the door,” another voice said. Fists started banging and hammering at both doors.



My stomach felt like it was being squeezed by a fist of ice as I pressed myself against the wall. My fingernails dug into the cheap paneling. I gritted my teeth against the panic, wishing I had kept the pistol instead of giving it to Rafe while also knowing with a gnawing certainty that it wouldn't have done me any good.



There was no way out of here except with these men who were coming for me. My only comfort was that they wanted me alive, but without knowing what for, that wasn't much comfort at all. A horrible voice inside of me wondered whether something similar to this had happened to Growler once, when he still had two eyes and two arms and two legs.



The sound of Growler's heavy breathing filled the room as he pointed his gun, rapidly shifting his aim from one door to the other. He was doubled over, but I could still see the deep holes in his torso pumping out dark red blood. One of the wounds was in the right side of his chest, and every time he inhaled, it whistled wetly.



His eye flickered back and forth, back and forth. His eyepatch was soaked with the heavy sweat that rolled down his face. His teeth were clenched, bubbles of spit forming at the corners of his mouth.



Back and forth.



Back and forth.



Suddenly, the door to the bar smashed open, shoving the cot aside. Men in ski masks pushed through, some carrying shotguns while other brandished mini-Uzis. Growler squeezed the trigger as the men opened fire on him. His first two shots hit a man standing toward the front, but the rest went wild as his body jitterbugged under automatic fire from six different gunmen.



After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, the guns fell silent and Growler reeled backward, dead before he hit the floor.



The men swarmed into the room, approaching with their guns trained on me. When they got close enough, the two in front reached out quickly, snatching my wrists and duct-taping them together behind me. My lips parted and I let out a scream before another strip of tape was slapped over my mouth.



“We don't need to hear it, honey,” one of the larger men said, heaving me over his shoulder and turning around. I lashed out with my foot and felt it connect with the side of someone's ribs, eliciting a pained groan. A few of the other men laughed.



“Hey, we got one hell of a kicker over here!” one of them said.



“Bears oughtta draft this bitch,” wheezed the man who'd been kicked. “Couple field goals from her an' they might make it to the Super Bowl.”



There was more laughter as a long strip of duct tape was wrapped around my ankles. Someone punched me in the left kidney, and the pain that radiated from it felt like rusty nails.



“Have fun pissin' blood, you rotten slit,” said the man I'd kicked.



“Yo, we oughtta get a fuckin' move on,” said a younger, more nervous voice. “If the cops show up...”



“Relax, Tommy,” someone else said. “The cops've been paid off top to bottom to steer clear of this block until we're finished. Now come on, help me lift this filthy mignotta into the trunk. I got a bad back already.”



I was carried out the back door to the alley behind the Devil's Nest where two cars were parked. Most of them got into the first car and drove off, while the remaining two dragged me to the second car and popped the trunk.



As they crammed my aching body into the trunk and slammed it shut, I thought about how funny it was to find out that the cops really had been bought off by Jester after all. I thought about poor Growler lying on the floor in a pool of blood. I thought about where they might be taking me.



Mostly, though, I thought about what they might cut off of me when we got there.





Chapter 36




Rafe



Bard ended up telling Antonio that we'd been looking for a different Angelo, and that the “business” we wanted to discuss involved restoring a vintage motorcycle for him. But Antonio had still looked a little distrustful of this explanation. As we walked away, I could tell Bard was wondering whether someone like Antonio might call the cops and report us as suspicious characters. We hadn't exactly committed a crime, but we couldn't exactly go snooping for the Thorns' yacht with the police breathing down our necks either. Plus I'd been out of prison for all of four days, so carrying an unlicensed firearm would probably be enough to put me back behind bars for a long fucking time.



We tried to blend in and look casual as we walked up and down the docks, looking for any clues pointing to the Thorns' boat. Just as we were about to give up, Sperm pointed to one of the smaller yachts near the end of the last dock and said, “Hey, you don't suppose...?”



Bard and I turned to look. The boat was sleek as an arrowhead and painted dark crimson. The name on the hull was “Every Rose,” and the letters were decorated with elaborate vines of thorns.



“'Every Rose Has Its Thorn?'” I said in disbelief. “Huh. I wouldn't have pegged Jester and his guys as Poison fans.”



“Hiding in plain sight after all,” Bard said. “Come on. Let's see if anyone's aboard.”



We walked up to the gangway, peering up at the deck. It didn't look like anyone was there. Bard motioned for us to follow him and crept up the gangway slowly, his hand hovering over the handle of the pistol at the back of his jeans. Sperm and I followed.



“This doesn't feel right,” Sperm muttered. “What if they're watching us, waiting for us to get on board so they can blow the boat up or something?”



“If Jester really thinks killing me is worth blowing up a yacht, I'm flattered,” I answered.



“Quiet, both of you,” Bard hissed. He stepped aboard and walked over to the cabin's entrance. He pressed his body against the wall next to the open doorway, snuck a quick peek inside, then relaxed and stepped forward.



“It doesn't look like there's anyone here,” Bard said. “Still, keep your wits about you, both of you. Let's search the place and see what we can find.”



We spent the next thirty minutes examining every inch of the boat's deck and cabin, looking for any clue that it belonged to the Family of Thorns. We couldn't find anything. It was almost as if no one had ever even stepped onto the yacht before. There were no personal items, no clothes, not even a bottle of liquor or a glass to pour it into. Even the windows and walls seemed as though they'd never been touched, since they didn't have a single fingerprint or smudge on them.



“I don't like this at all,” Sperm said. “This yacht looks completely new and untraceable, which kinda seems to support my whole blowing-it-up-with-us-on-it theory. I think we need to get out of here as fast as possible.”



“I agree,” I said. “This smells like a trap. We need to go. Now.”



We all turned and headed for the gangway as fast as our legs could carry us.





Chapter 37




Jewel



By opening and shutting my jaw, I was able to loosen the duct tape on my mouth just enough for one end to come loose. I scraped my face against the floor of the trunk over and over again until I was able to get the tape to peel away. I knew struggling against the tape on my wrists and ankles was probably useless, but at least I'd be able to scream for help when they opened the trunk.



It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.



I felt the car slow to a stop and heard the doors open and shut. I could hear what sounded like crowds of people nearby, with children screeching and playing. I sighed, relieved. That would make it much easier for me to draw attention.



A few moments later, I heard a high, reedy voice just outside the trunk.



“Is this the girl?” the reedy voice asked.



“Yeah, it's her,” said the man I'd kicked. “We had to kill our way through half the Reapers to get her.”



“No cures for cancer lost there, I'm sure,” the reedy voice sneered. “All right, open it up and get ready to move fast. If she's made it this far, she shouldn't be underestimated.”



I took a deep breath, preparing to scream. But when the trunk popped open, a hand filled my field of vision, quickly stuffing a rag into my mouth to stifle me. The hand belonged to a thin, pale man in his thirties, with moist blue eyes and curly hair dyed bright red. He wore a white suit with a purple turtleneck underneath.



“See what I mean?” the red-haired man said, pointing to the loose strip of tape dangling from my face. He reached into the front pocket of his jacket and produced a covered syringe, looking around to make sure no one was watching.



“Don't worry,” the red-haired man said. He leaned into the trunk, uncapping the syringe and inserting the needle into my arm. I screamed deep in my throat, but the rag swallowed the sound completely. “This is just a little something I put together to keep you nice and drowsy. You probably shouldn't try to talk or walk on your own while it's working its way through your system. Or operate any heavy machinery, for that matter,” he added, giggling.



My world started to shimmer around the edges, and I could feel the thoughts in my head starting to screech to a halt and slam into each other. My body felt like a fist that had been clenched for too long, and it took me several painfully-slow seconds to remember that I'd been hit in the kidney before my brain washed the thought away again briskly along with the question that preceded it, like laundry being tossed and churned in a washing machine. Who was this man? Was I supposed to recognize him? Why was he doing this to me?