Her Possessive Bikers

32. Indy

32

INDY

T he throbbing in my head pulls me from darkness. My mouth feels like cotton, and there's a metallic taste lingering on my tongue. I try to piece together what happened, but everything's fuzzy. The last clear memory I have is curling up with my book, taking a sip of Coke, and...nothing.

My eyes flutter open to unfamiliar surroundings. The room is dim, lit only by a small window near the ceiling. The walls are concrete, and there's a musty smell that makes my nose wrinkle. This cot is something they wouldn't subject a fucking prisoner too. This definitely isn't my room at the clubhouse.

"Shit," I mutter, attempting to sit up. The clinking of metal stops me cold. Looking down, I see heavy shackles around my ankles, connected to a thick chain bolted to the wall. My heart pounds against my ribs as reality sets in.

I examine the restraints with my paramedic's eye, assessing for any weakness. They're industrial grade, no quick escape there. The chain gives me about six feet of movement radius - enough to reach a rusty sink in the corner and what appears to be a bucket. Charming.

"Think, Indy, think." My head still feels clouded, probably from whatever they slipped in my drink. I run through my symptoms: dry mouth, headache, memory loss. Classic signs of sedation.

The room spins slightly as I manage to sit up, propping myself against the wall. My fingers trace the cold metal around my ankles, searching for the lock mechanism. If I can just figure out how they work...

"Dad," I whisper to myself, "I could really use some of that MC wisdom right about now." The irony isn't lost on me - spending my whole life avoiding the MC life only to end up in what's probably Dos Bandito's basement.

A door slams somewhere above me, followed by heavy footsteps. I force myself to stay calm, remembering what Dad always said: "Fear makes you stupid, and stupid gets you killed."

The chains rattle as I yank against them, ignoring the way the metal bites into my skin. Each pull sends echoing clanks through the basement. My wrists are already raw, but I keep trying. There has to be a weak point somewhere.

The door at the top of the stairs creaks open. Heavy boots descend, and a stocky figure emerges from the shadows. Even in the dim light, the facial tattoos are unmistakable - Lupe "Loco" Perez, president of the Dos Banditos.

"Causing trouble already, princesa?" His voice drips with false sweetness. "Just like your old man."

"Go fuck yourself." I spit the words at him, channeling every ounce of my father's defiance.

He circles me like a vulture, running a finger along the chain. "Such language from such a pretty mouth. But you're the perfect bait. Tres has been stepping where he doesn't belong. When he comes running to save you..." He draws his thumb across his throat.

"You really think you're the first asshole to try this play?" I laugh, harsh and bitter. "Tres isn't stupid enough to walk into your trap."

"No?" Lupe crouches in front of me, his breath hot on my face. "He's already proven how much he wants to protect O'Brien's little girl. The territory will be mine once he's dead."

"You're pathetic." I meet his gaze steadily. "My father would have eaten little bitches like you for breakfast."

The backhand comes fast, snapping my head to the side. The taste of copper floods my mouth as my lip splits. I slowly turn back to face him, letting him see the hatred burning in my eyes.

"Your father's dead," Lupe snarls. "And soon, your new protector will be too."

Lupe grabs my jaw, fingers digging into my cheeks. "When your man comes, princesa, you'll watch him die. But first..." His thumb traces my split lip. "We'll make sure you're properly entertained. My boys haven't had fresh meat in a while."

The threat hits me like ice water in my veins. I wrench my face away from his grip.

"And if you don't play nice?" He pulls a knife, letting it catch the dim light. "I'll carve you up real pretty. Make you match those tattoos you're so fond of. By the time Tres finds you, you won't even look human anymore."

My stomach churns. "You're insane."

"No, mi amor. I'm a businessman." He stands, tucking the knife away. "And this? This is just good business."

The door slams behind him, leaving me alone in the semi-darkness. My hands shake as I draw my knees to my chest, the chains rattling with every movement. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Crying won't help me escape.

I scan the room again, desperate for anything I might have missed. The window's too small, the chains too strong. My paramedic training kicks in - assess the situation, identify resources, make a plan.

The sink might have parts I could use as tools. If I could just reach the pipe joints... But the chain's length keeps me inches short.

"Come on, guys," I whisper into the darkness. "Notice I'm gone. Please notice."

My mind drifts to Tres, to Jacoby, to Kyler. They have to be looking by now. The thought of them finding my room empty, seeing signs of struggle...

I close my eyes, trying to push away Lupe's threats. The image of Tres walking into their trap makes my chest tight. He's smart, but he's also protective. Would he rush in without thinking? Would any of them?

"Guys," I murmur, "Please come through, please."