Hook (Brutal Chains MC #1)

Chapter 18

Eighteen

Bea

I scream at the top of my lungs.

So loud I swear I think I can taste blood.

I’m in the sub basement of a high rise building. I can’t believe that no one saw me being dragged in here but then again, Lance is behind this so I know he made sure everything was going to go as planned.

My throat burns raw from the effort, but I scream again, desperate for someone, anyone, to hear me. The cold, damp air of the sub-basement clings to my skin like a shroud, and the flickering fluorescent lights cast eerie shadows across the concrete walls. I can smell mold and rust, the scent of abandonment and decay.

My mind races back to Hook, his body pinned beneath the overturned four-wheeler. The image of his frightened eyes, wide with panic, is seared into my memory. Is he still there, trapped and alone? Did anyone find him? The thought of Hook suffering makes my heart constrict with fear and guilt.

I try to move, but thick ropes bite into my wrists and ankles, securing me to a rusty metal chair. The chair scrapes against the floor as I struggle, the sound echoing off the walls, mocking my helplessness. I scream again, putting every ounce of strength I have left into the cry, but it's futile. The thick concrete walls swallow my voice, leaving me in suffocating silence.

Suddenly, the heavy metal door creaks open, and Lance's imposing figure fills the doorway. My breath catches in my throat, and a chill runs down my spine. This is the moment I've been dreading since I first tried to escape him. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now gleam with a predatory hunger that makes my skin crawl.

He saunters towards me, each step deliberate and menacing. "Did you really think you could run from me, Bea?" His voice is deceptively soft, but I can hear the underlying current of rage. "You still belong to me. You've always belonged to me."

Lance reaches out, his fingers trailing along my jawline in a mockery of a tender caress. I flinch away, but there's nowhere to go. His touch leaves a trail of ice in its wake, and I feel my resolve crumbling under the weight of my fear.

"You've been very, very naughty," he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And now, I'm going to have to punish you for what you've done." His lips curl into a cruel smile, and I can see the promise of pain in his eyes.

I want to be brave, to face him with defiance, but terror courses through my veins like ice water. As Lance looms over me, I close my eyes and silently pray for a miracle, for someone to find me before it's too late.

I brace myself as Lance lifts his hand and strikes me over and over. With every blow he tells me how I’m not worth anything. How I’m a bitch and how he should’ve killed me when he had the chance. I do my best not to let the words get to me but I can’t stop the tears that are falling from my face.

As Lance's fists finally slow, his breath coming in ragged pants, I sense a shift in the air. His anger seems to have burned itself out, leaving behind a hollow exhaustion. This is my chance—perhaps my only chance.

I force myself to look up at him, blinking away the tears and blood that blur my vision. My entire body throbs with pain, but I push it aside, focusing on the man before me. I soften my gaze, letting my lower lip tremble as if I'm fighting back more tears.

"Lance," I whisper, my voice hoarse and broken. "I'm so sorry. I've been such a fool."

He pauses, his hand still raised as if to strike again, but there's a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. I press on, desperation lending strength to my words.

"I've missed you so much," I continue, letting a sob catch in my throat. "Every day since I left, I've regretted it. I was scared, confused... but I never stopped loving you."

Lance's arm lowers slowly, his expression a mixture of suspicion and hope. I can see the war raging behind his eyes—the desire to believe me battling against his anger and distrust.

"You're lying," he growls, but there's a hint of doubt in his voice.

I shake my head vehemently, wincing at the pain the movement causes. "No, I swear it's true. I've been waiting for you, Lance. Waiting for you to find me, to bring me back where I belong."

My words seem to caress him, soothing the rage that's been driving him. His posture relaxes slightly, and he takes a step closer, his eyes searching mine for any sign of deception.

"You mean it?" he asks, his voice suddenly soft, almost childlike in its vulnerability. "You still want to be with me?"

I nod, forcing a smile onto my battered face. "Yes, Lance. I want to try again. We can start over, make things right between us."

For a moment, hope blooms in my chest as I see Lance's expression soften. He reaches out, his fingers gentle as they brush a strand of hair from my face. I lean into his touch, fighting back the revulsion that threatens to overwhelm me.

"Oh, Bea," he murmurs, a sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "If only that were possible."

My heart plummets as I see the change in his eyes. The tenderness vanishes, replaced by a cold, calculating look that chills me to the bone.

"You see, darling," Lance continues, his voice now dripping with false sweetness, "I've already made other arrangements for you. Your little escape attempt cost me a lot of money and credibility. I had to make it right."

Fear claws at my insides as I realize the full extent of my situation. "What do you mean?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Lance's eyes glint with a mixture of amusement and malice as he steps aside, revealing two hulking figures lurking in the shadowy doorway. My breath catches in my throat as I recognize them—the same men who had been chasing me earlier. Their faces are hard, emotionless masks, but their eyes gleam with barely contained violence.

"I'm afraid our time together has come to an end, my dear," Lance says, his voice dripping with false regret. He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. "I'll miss that smart mouth of yours, after all. Such a shame it has to end this way."

With a dramatic flourish, Lance turns on his heel and strides out of the room, leaving me alone with the two menacing figures. The door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing through the basement like a death knell.

The men approach slowly, their heavy footsteps reverberating off the concrete walls. One of them, a brute with a scar running down his left cheek, reaches out with meaty hands to untie me from the chair. His touch is rough, uncaring, as he yanks me to my feet.

I sway unsteadily, my body screaming in protest from Lance's beating. The other man, taller and leaner with cold, gray eyes, produces a length of rope and binds my hands tightly behind my back. The coarse fibers dig into my already raw wrists, but I bite back a whimper, determined not to show weakness.

They drag me through the dim corridors of the sub-basement, my bare feet scraping against the cold floor. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting grotesque shadows that dance along the walls. The musty smell of decay grows stronger as we near what I assume is an exit.

A heavy metal door groans open, and I'm hit with a blast of cool night air. We emerge into an abandoned loading dock, the crumbling concrete littered with debris and weeds pushing through the cracks. A sleek black sedan waits nearby, its engine idling softly.

Scarface roughly shoves me towards the car while his partner pops the trunk. The cavernous space yawns before me, dark and foreboding. A scrap of ratty carpet lines the bottom, and I can see the faint outline of what looks like a tire iron tucked into one corner.

Before I can react, Scarface lifts me effortlessly and dumps me into the trunk. The impact knocks the wind out of me, and I gasp for air. Gray Eyes leans over me, a strip of duct tape in his hands. With practiced efficiency, he slaps it across my mouth, effectively gagging me.

"Sweet dreams, princess," Scarface sneers, slamming the trunk shut and plunging me into darkness.

I lie there, my heart pounding in my chest as I feel the car start to move. Despite the pain wracking my body and the fear threatening to over whelm me I know I need to keep my wits. This is my only chance.

I wait a few minutes until the car starts to drive. I have to move quickly because if they get on the highway I’m not going to be able to do what I have planned. I feel the car start to slow as if they are coming to a traffic light.

My hands are tied at the wrist but my feet are free. I use my finger tips to feel for the latch of the trunk and just as the car comes to a complete stop I flip it to the side and jump out the back. I have no idea where I am. There’s no other cars on the road but there’s a row of houses on the other side of the street. I’m hurting but I push through the pain. I have to get back home I have to get to Hook.

My breath comes in short wheezes as I continue to run through the back areas. The two men chased me in the car for a while but I took so many twists and turns that I lost them in the dense houses.

As I stumble through the maze of narrow streets and alleyways, the adrenaline that fueled my escape begins to fade, leaving me acutely aware of the pain wracking my body. My bare feet ache from the rough pavement, and I can feel warm trickles of blood seeping from cuts I don't remember getting. The duct tape across my mouth makes it hard to breathe, and I fight against the rising panic as I gasp for air.

The buildings around me grow more dilapidated with each block I pass. Boarded-up windows stare blankly like sightless eyes, and graffiti covers nearly every available surface. The acrid smell of garbage and urine assaults my nostrils, making me gag behind the tape. Distant sirens wail, their eerie echoes bouncing off the crumbling brick walls that hem me in.

I duck into a narrow passage between two abandoned warehouses, hoping to catch my breath and get my bearings. The alley is pitch black, and I stumble over unseen obstacles—empty bottles, soggy cardboard, and things I'd rather not identify. My bound hands make it impossible to steady myself, and I crash to the ground, landing hard on my already bruised knees.

As I struggle to my feet, a flicker of movement catches my eye. A group of shadowy figures huddles around a burning trash can at the far end of the alley. The firelight throws grotesque shadows on the walls, and I can hear low, guttural voices muttering in a language I don't understand.

My heart hammers in my chest as I back away slowly, praying they haven't noticed me. I turn to flee, only to find my path blocked by a towering man with a wild, unkempt beard and eyes that gleam with a feverish light.

"Well, well," he slurs, his breath reeking of cheap alcohol. "What do we have here?"

I try to scream, but the tape muffles my cries. The man reaches for me with grimy hands, and I lash out blindly, my bound fists connecting with his jaw. He stumbles back, more surprised than hurt, and I seize the opportunity to run.

I burst out of the alley and onto a wider street, my legs burning with the effort. The torn remnants of my clothes flap against my skin, offering little protection against the chill night air. I can hear shouts behind me, but I don't dare look back.

My vision starts to blur, black spots dancing at the edges. I know I can't keep going much longer. My body is reaching its limit, pushed beyond endurance by the events of the night. Just as I feel my knees begin to buckle, a familiar sound cuts through the haze of exhaustion and fear.

The deep, throaty roar of motorcycles fills the air, growing louder with each passing second. I blink, trying to clear my vision, not daring to hope.

The thunderous rumble grows louder, and suddenly, two gleaming motorcycles round the corner, their headlights cutting through the darkness like twin beacons of hope. My heart leaps into my throat as I recognize the riders—Brick's massive frame hunched over his custom Harley, and Semi's lean silhouette atop his sleek Ducati.

The sight of my friends, so close and yet so far, overwhelms me. My legs, already trembling from exhaustion and pain, finally give out. I collapse onto the cold, damp pavement, my cheek pressed against the rough asphalt. The world spins around me, a kaleidoscope of shadows and streetlights.

I hear the screech of tires and the roar of engines cutting off. Footsteps pound towards me, and then strong, gentle hands are lifting me up. Brick's gruff voice cuts through the fog in my mind.

"Jesus Christ, Bea. What the hell happened to you?"

Semi's there too, his usually stoic face twisted with concern. "We've got you, girl. You're safe now."

They work quickly to remove the duct tape from my mouth and cut through the ropes binding my wrists. I try to speak, but my throat is raw, and all that comes out is a hoarse whisper.

"Hook... where's Hook?"

Brick's face softens. "He's at the clubhouse, darlin'. We'll get you to him."

They help me onto Brick's bike, Semi taking up a protective position behind us. The vibration of the engine beneath me is oddly comforting, and I lean heavily against Brick's broad back as we tear through the streets.

The ride passes in a blur of lights and shadows. Before I know it, we're pulling into the familiar lot of the clubhouse. The old warehouse looms before us, its weathered brick facade a welcome sight after the horrors of the night.

As Brick cuts the engine, the clubhouse door bursts open. Hook emerges, his face a mask of worry, blood and rage. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the world stands still.

Then I'm stumbling off the bike, ignoring the pain shooting through my body as I run towards him. Hook meets me halfway, his strong arms enveloping me in a crushing embrace. I bury my face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and motor oil, finally allowing myself to break down.

"Bea," Hook whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "Oh God, Bea. I thought I'd lost you."

I cling to him, sobs wracking my body as the full weight of what I've been through crashes over me. Hook's arms tighten around me, one hand gently stroking my matted hair.

After what feels like an eternity, Hook pulls back slightly, his eyes roving over my battered face and torn clothes. I watch as the concern in his gaze hardens into rage.

“He’s a dead man.” Hook snarls.

“No, not now. Please not now.” I grab hold of him desperate to keep him close.

Hook holds me close until I feel some of the tension leave his body. “Before my time is done, I’m going to make sure he pays for this.”

Pipe clears his throat, “Well, it doesn’t look like you’re going to have to wait very long.”

I sit up and look in the direction Pipe is looking. In the other room is the feed from survellaince cameras. My heart sinks into my stomach as I watch Lance’s truck along with the car I was shoved into drive into the tow yard.

Pipe was right. Hook isn’t going to have to go looking for them.

They’re already here.