Outlaws’ Property (Property of Outlaw Sons MC #1)

18. Jessica

18

JESSICA

Bonnie opens her door and hands me a mug. “Here’s your coffee. Brrr, I don’t know why you’re sitting out here. It’s colder than a witch’s tit.”

“I’ll come back in soon. I just wanted to watch the sunrise.”

She nods. “Suit yourself.”

Steam rises from the top of the mug. I blow on it, watching the swirls drift away. I feel…

Free.

Light.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m not carrying anything alone. Oh, I’m still a hostage, officially anyway. I can’t leave the compound any more than I could leave Victor’s tender care, but it’s not the same. Not at all. I’d been holding onto the burden of my past for so long that I didn’t even understand the full weight anymore.

Even as I hoped to be free, I didn’t dare open my mouth in case I found myself right back where I started. Victor beat rebellion out of me young, and if he was willing to do that to a child, I don’t want to think about what he would do to me if he thought I had to learn my lesson all over again now. His little corrections were bad enough.

Seeing the looks on Riot, Ghost and Tex’s faces as I told them my story healed something inside me. They might be violent, criminal, impulsive, crude, and a hundred other things that make them unfit for Victor’s fancy society, but they were horrified.

And instead of getting me in trouble, confessing has bought me a little more freedom.

The freedom to sit outside when it’s really too cold, and drink coffee made with too much sugar while watching the sun rise over the sliver of ocean I can see from the top step of Bonnie’s apartment.

The sky is a swirl of orange and yellows. It’s beautiful. If I make it out of this, I want a tattoo of exactly this. The sun coming up over the ocean, and promising a brand new start. The guys have inspired me with all their ink.

Is it crazy that I actually like it here? Because of my position— former position—I got to experience some of the luxuries of living with Victor, but I’d happily trade them all for coffee on the stairs and cereal with marshmallows.

Or maybe it’s the company I like.

The dreams I had last night about Tex, Riot, and Ghost were pretty vivid. My subconscious has turned out to be wilder and kinkier than I could've ever imagined.

“Hey!”

I look down at the sound. There's a biker standing at the far corner of the church, trying to get my attention. I don’t recognize him, but that’s not unusual. Aside from my guys, I really only know a half dozen of them on sight. My guys. I grin at the thought. They aren’t actually mine, but it kinda feels like it.

He motions me closer.

I’m only wearing socks, but I take my mug and tiptoe down the steps so we don’t have to yell back and forth. "What?"

"I was sent to get you," he grumbles. "They want to talk to you more about Kane."

“Who? Hellfire? Ghost? Let me go get my shoes.”

“There’s no time. Come on.” He looks annoyed, and I get a bad feeling about this whole situation.

“Let me just go tell Bonnie where I’m going. I don’t want to worry her.”

“Stop being so fucking difficult! I was sent to get you, and I’m going to do that,” he hisses, voice low and pissed off.

"I’m not even wearing shoes!" I hiss back, stepping off the final step and onto the cement paving stones below. "Why are we being so quiet?"

He moves fast, grabbing me before I can run. My coffee mug drops to the ground, shattering and spilling its contents out in a steaming puddle. I try to scream, but he clamps a gloved hand over my mouth and holds me tight as he drags me into one of the deep nooks in the side of the old church where we’ll be out of sight unless someone walks directly in front of us.

"Easy there, ratty,” he whispers into my ear. “Wouldn't want to draw too much attention now would we?" His voice drips acid, and I finally place it. Troy, one of Victor’s men. Just needed him to start calling me names first. "We need to have a little chat."

I struggle, but he's too strong. I try to cry out, but his grip covers my mouth so completely I'm struggling just to breathe. Troy was always one of the guards I avoided at all costs. Most of them were nasty, but just doing their jobs. Troy enjoys being nasty just a little too much.

I rear my head back, managing to smack him in the face. Not hard enough to make him let go, but enough that he draws a sharp breath between his clenched teeth.

"You little bitch. You're going to fucking pay for that. Victor wants you back, but he never specified in how many pieces. We could leave some fingers behind for your new boyfriends to find if you don't quiet down. Fucking slut, you looked pretty comfortable up there. I bet you’re down on your knees already for these animals, eager to please. It was always bullshit that we weren’t allowed to fuck you." He pulls out a vicious looking knife that looks deadly sharp. I stop immediately, totally believing he's willing to cut my fingers off. "That's better," he growls in my ear.

I wait, shivering against him and terrified for whatever's coming next. My chest draws so tight I'm surprised my heart is still able to beat. What is he doing here?

"I like the new clothes.” He runs a hand over my tight jeans, cupping my ass. “You know, if you dressed like this back home, maybe you wouldn't be so alone all the time. Maybe that’s why he keeps you in that old lady nanny uniform. I bet Mr. Kane is waiting to have you all to himself once the kid is shipped off and doesn’t want our sloppy seconds."

Voices carry on the cool air as a couple of Sons come closer. I don't recognize them right away, but I have to get the attention of someone—anyone—if I’m going to get out of this.

Too bad Troy isn’t too dumb to understand what I want to do, though. With one hand still firmly over my mouth, he tips my head back and runs his knife up the front of my shirt. "Easy now, we don't need any heroes, do we? I'm supposed to bring both of you back, but if you somehow don't make it in the confusion, I'm sure Mr. Kane will understand."

Does he really think he’s getting out of here? The Outlaw Sons can't be more than twenty feet away as they come up the walk and pass by the old rectory, on their way to the garage, but I don't dare risk it. I've fought too hard to survive this long just to let this asshole be the end of me right before I finally get to live my life.

"What the fuck? Bonnie could use a little decluttering, but I don’t think smashing her shit on the ground is the way to go. Not very mindful," notes one of them, his voice curious.

“Mindful?” the other one says with a laugh. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re so fucking uncultured. I was watching this documentary about organizing, and…” Their voices trail off as they keep going, the sound of their boots fading along with my hope of a rescue.

"Is Anne up there? Where you were sitting?" Troy growls softly. "If you’re helpful, I’ll not only let you keep all your fingers, I’ll even show you how to use them when we get back."

That's definitely a threat rather than a promise. If he thinks that’s going to make me help him, maybe he really is that dumb. I pretend to try and speak, muffled by his glove.

"Are you going to behave?" He presses the knife against my throat. There's a slight sting, followed by a trickle of wetness. “Shit,” he mutters.

Ghost would absolutely destroy him. Even half asleep, he had more control than Troy. But that doesn’t help if Ghost isn’t here.

I don't even want to nod, in case it drives the blade deeper, but I do just barely, and make a noise that I hope sounds affirmative. Finally, he takes his hand off my mouth. I draw a deep breath, feeling like I can breathe for the first time since he grabbed me.

"The school," I whisper, hoping to send him to the place that has the best chance of being filled with bikers at this hour. It might kill me, but I’m not repaying Bonnie’s kindness by sending him her way, or putting Anne in danger.

"She’s in the school? Fuck. Where?" He relaxes his knife hand.

I slam my heel backwards, catching Troy on the inside of the thigh and not quite on his balls as I’d intended. There's a sharp pain across the side of my neck, but either I’m dying or I’m not. Worrying about it will just waste time. "Help! Someone, help me! Please!"

"You little bitch," Troy roars. "I'm going to?—"

"Going to what?" snarls Riot's gravelly voice.

Troy's head snaps to look in Riot's direction, giving me time to pull even farther away. I run straight past Riot, making a bee line for the steps and not stopping until I’m out of their reach. After a quick glance to make sure I'm clear, Riot aims his deadly gaze on my attacker.

Troy holds up the knife trying to defend himself, but Riot only pauses long enough to get into a ready position as they start to circle each other.

"Who the fuck are you?" Riot growls, promising some pretty horrible things with the furious tone alone. "And why was her NECK BLEEDING?"

"Fuck off," snaps Troy. "I’m not telling you shit."

Riot chuckles, sending a chill down my spine. He’s usually so easy going. This isn’t a side of him I’ve seen yet. "You gonna stick me with that toothpick? I'm gonna make you fucking eat it unless you drop it right now."

It's not a threat, just a fact. Like this is already predetermined. Troy doesn't have even a little bit of a chance, but he doesn’t know it yet. I'm not sure I should watch, but I can't look away.

Troy jumps forward, swinging the knife at Riot. Not fast enough. Riot sidesteps, grabs Troy's arm and uses his momentum against him, throwing him forwards until he crashes into the wall with a loud grunt. Riot rolls his shoulders to loosen them as he advances.

Troy whirls to face him, holding his knife up but not looking so confident anymore. Riot shakes his head. “Want to try again? I dare ya."

Troy lunges, but this time Riot doesn't send him anywhere. Instead, he grabs Troy's wrist and twists him around into a grapple. There's an audible crack followed by Troy's high-pitched scream.

They spin around and I wince when I see the front half of Troy's lower arm sticking out at a weird angle, his shirt sleeve soaked dark with blood.

"You should never have fucking touched her!" Riot roars. The noise is drawing a crowd. Yelling and footsteps, but Riot's only focused on Troy. And now he’s the one holding the knife.

Troy must know it’s over, but he charges, screaming. Riot jams the blade right into his mouth and through Troy's throat. His eyes go wide, his scream turns into a gurgle, and then Riot twists his head sharply to one side with a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage. When he lets go, Troy drops to the ground, limp and lifeless.

"Told ya I'd fucking make you eat that knife."

I turn away so I can throw up.