Everything began so innocently. I was just a teacher, like any other teacher. I wanted those straight line desks, the pencils all neatly stacked in my organizer, and students who wrote their names on their paper each and every time. But, instead, I got Maddie and her dirty mouth, her loud comments, her love of fighting anyone and everyone who dared question who she was. And how could I not care about her? How could I not want to step in and make sure she was okay?
But one little, dirty touch in my classroom changed all that. I can still feel the heat of his breath on my cheeks as he says, “Miss Springer” to me in that condescending, overbearing voice of his. It’s the one that makes me weak in the knees and lose all sense of control. It’s the one that led me to crossing that line and allowing his hands to slip under the hem of my dress and up my thigh.
I eventually made a bed with him despite knowing better. But there was something about him, something about how he held my face in his enormous calloused hands and ran his fingers through my hair that made me want him over and over again.
I put my job on the line to be with him and to see Maddie get through her challenges. But no good deed goes unpunished. I should have learned that lesson ages ago. However, I like to see the best in everyone, the potential in the most helpless. And for Maddie and Cal, the Ross family, they became my project. How could I take a man out of his motorcycle club and his daughter out of a life that would only stifle her abilities?
But I should have known I would eventually get caught up in his danger. That’s all he is – fire and blood, sweat and motor oil. Every part of him from those dirty boots to the black and gray tattoos along his chest were warning signs that I was too blind in the moment to read. Now I am paying a price. With each second that ticks on by in my brain, I know my time is running out and running short. There wouldn’t be many more moments left to spend thinking about Cal or us together.
11,243.
11,244.
11,245.
There’s a small thud, then some scuffs. It’s the sound of heavy shoes on pavement followed by the familiar crunch of gravel. I hear a small voice screech as she yells out to someone, anyone, “Where are you taking me?” There’s a pause. Maybe someone’s answered her, but she’s even more terrified as she adds, “I don’t want to go there! Please! No! Not there!”
Maddie’s voice suddenly fades into the distance with some slams and another shuffle. It’s the first I’ve heard of her since the men took us this afternoon. I let out a sigh of relief. Despite us being so close to our ends, at least I know Maddie is still alive. And even better, she’s still fighting like the girl I know and have come to love.
But what about me? How was I going to fight this? I don’t have a moment to even think of a plan. Before I can get to 11,351 seconds, the black trunk fills with beams of lights pointed directly into my eyes. I blink rapidly, trying to look away. A man laughs as I recoil towards the back of the trunk, away from their hands. “They’re like dogs in a cage.” He jabs at Erin with the end of his long, black flashlight. “Well, except this one. She looks dead. Did you tell Mountain?”
His partner tussles Erin a bit, turning her over to face him. I get a good look at her for the first time in a few hours. She’s pale, her head covered in red streaks of blood from where she was hit. Her body is limp and not responding. But the man and I notice the same thing. She’s breathing. He turns back to his friend, “She ain’t dead, Addison. At least not yet. You want me to call the doc or tell Mountain or something?”
“No. Just get her downstairs with the kid. It won’t matter by tomorrow evening.” He smiles at me, seeing the fear spring in my eyes. Whatever is happening tomorrow evening is something I do not want to know about. But at least now I know a timeline. I have to get out of here, out of their capture in about twelve hours.
The man pulls Erin out of the trunk and throws her over his shoulders, just like he would a sack of vegetables or a weight at the gym. Her body sways dangerously near to the ground as I watch him go down the steps, wobbling at each one. A metal door, charred and brown, closes with a loud squeak of the hinges, and I’m left alone with the man.
He looks at me questioningly as he pulls out a pack of red and white cigarettes. He leans against the car as he smokes one slowly, “So you’re Cal Ross’ gal?” he asks almost amused. “You know, I wouldn’t think he would like a girl like you. You’re a bit uptight for his tastes. At least, compared to his wife. Or, should I say dead wife? He has a habit of killing the girls in his life.”
He lets out a long cackle at his own sick joke, and I try to close my mind to him. Instead, I am trying to focus on every bit of detail I can about the place that I am in. It’s a garage. Or, at least what used to be a garage. There are burned out cars to the sides of me, and I can still smell smoke and char in the air. This place has been recently burnt down, and so much so I can see the marks of a fireball in the cement walls and on the concrete ground.