The car slows, and I brace myself to keep from ramming into the walls of the trunk. We’ve been driving for too long. An hour. Maybe more. I tried counting, tried to gauge how far from Snowflake we were taken, but worrying over Violet killed my concentration.
The engine shuts off, and the stillness causes my skin to crawl. They hurt her, I’ll hurt them. Doesn’t get much simpler than that. I gave up earlier to save Stone, to save Violet. Gun to the head ends all debate, especially when that gun’s on Violet.
Doors squeak open. The car shakes. Doors slam shut. Movement outside, but nothing else. Beats of time pass and my already strained patience is on the verge of snapping. I angle to my side so I can reach my belt. I’ve got a small lock pick hidden there. It’s not normal, but it’s how I roll. Fast hands sometimes need assistance.
Footsteps and I return to my back.
“We’re going to open the trunk,” comes a deep voice. “We’ve got a gun trained on you, and we’ll shoot, so be slow as you get out.”
The trunk opens, and a spotlight shines in my direction. My eyes snap shut, and when I attempt to open them, all I see is black spots. I’m blinded. Fingers on my arm and I’m pulled out. My feet hit the ground, and no matter which way I turn my head, the light follows me. Smart bastards. With the dark night, the spotlight keeps me from seeing my surroundings, from identifying additional faces, how many people will be thwarting my attempt at escape.
We go forward, into a building; the door looks like one that could belong to a house. Inside, it’s pitch-dark, and I drop my head, studying the floor to keep the light from continuing to blind me. The flooring is linoleum, like I would find in a kitchen. White squares with black diamonds in the middle.
Pushed and we’re heading down stairs that groan. Wooden ones with no backing. The air temperature drops with each step, and the stench of mold and mildew fills my nose. At the bottom, my boots land on concrete and then men fall away as I’m being pulled ahead. We stop. A hesitation. And then I’m released.
The light turns off, darkness engulfs my vision, rapid footsteps. I pivot on my heels to find a way to escape, and a door is slammed shut. My heart beats in my ears, and I glance around as I blink to adjust my eyesight, but there’s only darkness. No natural light.
A rustle in the corner behind me and I spin. “Violet?”
“Chevy?” Shifting of fabric. “God, Chevy, I’m here. I can’t see. They blindfolded me.”
“Not much to see. It’s dark. Keep talking so I can find you.”
“My hands are still bound,” Violet continues. Never knew so much relief could be found in hearing her sweet voice. “I’m sitting. In a corner. Felt safer that way. I can stand if you want.”
“No. Stay sitting.” I keep blinking, an instinctual movement so my vision can adjust for light, but there’s only the black hole. The tip of my boot comes into contact with something solid, but with give. “This you?”
“Yeah.”
I crouch, then lean my back against the wall beside her, letting my hand brush the exposed skin of her arm. As a gesture of comfort, to reaffirm I’m here and she’s safe. Violet’s cold to the touch, and she trembles. She’s in shock. Why the hell wouldn’t she be? I rap the back of my head against the concrete wall. Fuck the Riot. Fuck them for all of this. “You okay?”
She inches closer to me and our legs touch. So do our arms. I move my head in her direction so I can inhale her scent. Violet smells like honey. It’s a perfume her father bought her for her fourteenth birthday and continued to buy for her every year after that. Until this year.
I purchased it for her the other day, but I wasn’t sure if I would have the guts to give it to her. We’ve been like two rabid dogs trapped in a cage. I was afraid she’d throw it back in my face and wasn’t sure I could stomach more rejection.
The perfume sits on my dresser stuffed in a birthday bag. Somehow, in this moment, my lack of courage seems pathetic.
“Violet?” I’m slow asking because I’m not sure I can control my reaction if she gives an undesired answer. I’m already walking a tightrope, and I’m not the kind, at least when it comes to her, who can keep my balance. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
Fear she’s lying whirls inside me. “You were screaming and then you stopped. I need to know if they hurt you.” I need to know if I’ll be able to sleep again.
Silence on her end. Each quiet second that passes causes my body temperature to rise with the growing rage.
“Violet,” I urge, barely able to keep the anger from leaking out in my voice.
“The guy in the backseat backhanded me,” she says in a small voice, as if that confession is something she should be ashamed of.
I’m going to kill them. I’m going to kill every single one. “How bad?”
“Are you okay?” She attempts to drag the conversation in another direction because she knows me. Knows I’m on the verge of losing my mind.
“Violet.”
“He hit me and we’ve been kidnapped,” she snaps. “Isn’t that bad enough?”
No. They hurt her. No part of me is okay with that.
“Are you okay?” she asks again. “They hit you. I saw it.”
And I hit them back. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Violet’s entire body quakes in a small fit and the stream of air being pushed through her lips as she tries to control herself is audible. She’s killing me, and she needs to know she’s not alone. Not physically. Not mentally. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. The club’s maybe, but not yours. This is what the Terror is, Chevy. This is why I walked away.”
This is the Riot’s fault, not the Terror’s, but I’m not in the mood to argue. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you better at the car.”
“You did exactly what I wanted you to do.”
She’s referring to protecting Stone. Violet shakes again, and I edge closer to her, wishing I could comfort her more. “I promise I’ll protect you now. I won’t let them touch you again.”
“I know you’ll try.”
I can do more than try. I lean forward, fish for the lock pick I’d stuck in my leather belt and begin the task of freeing myself from the cuffs. Can’t remember the first time I picked a lock. Cyrus said I was breaking out of baby gates and jimmying safety latches before I was two.
“Can you do it?” she whispers, so quietly I barely hear her. She’s probably frightened someone’s listening. Won’t lie, I’m itchy wondering the same. The rest of this dark room seems empty, but I won’t feel good until it’s fully explored.
“Give me a few.” I work at the handcuffs. There’s something about how my mind ticks and how my fingers move with the puzzle. The way I can hear the metal shifting. The gentle vibrations a lock gives right as it’s about to pop.
And it does pop and a much-needed adrenaline rush floods my veins. I slip off the cuffs, careful when setting them down not to create noise, then gently move my fingers until I find Violet. I make contact with her knee first, and she flinches as if that caused her pain.
Damn bastards. I skim up her leg, up her side, her arm, then to her face.