Page 134 of Kneeling to Candy

Baring his teeth, he grabs me low on my thighs and tosses me over his shoulder like I wasn’t a five-foot-seven woman, but a small child. It frightens me into action, pounding against O’Conall’s back, taking extra measures to hit him square in his kidneys. He grunts and curses at my punches, his hold losing purchase. Yet he keeps moving forward.

“Fuck you, you fucking sick bastard!” I rage, kicking out my legs and pounding with my fists everywhere on O’Conall.

By this point, Punk has rounded the corner and is charging toward us. O’Conall’s remaining guard fires off several shots, forcing Punk to take cover behind a pillar.

“Hold on, Candy! I’m coming!”

Punk’s words encourage me to keep fighting—to fight harder. Using my core muscles, I throw my body around on his shoulder, trying to throw off O’Conall’s balance. It works. He slows his jog.

Frustrated with my antics, O’Conall cracks me hard on my ass with the butt of his Glock.

“GAH!” I scream in pain. This fucker is only giving me a taste of the pain he’ll inflict if given the opportunity. Hell, he may use his gun to hurt me, too.

I need to be on my feet if I’m going to fight my way out of his hold.

Before I can react with another attack, a loud pop goes off, followed by shards of glass raining down on us, cutting against my exposed arms. My body bounces uncomfortably on O’Conall’s shoulder as he jumps down onto a blanket of snow. Cold wind whips around us, chilling me to the bone. The banging of the shootout fades against the howling of the harsh mountain winds.

O’Conall has shot his way out of the estate through a window. He’s one step closer to disappearing with me, disappearing from my freedom and the man who made me feel alive again.

Volatile thoughts enter my head, wishing for an avalanche to stop him from escaping or snowstorm to come on all at once, anything to stop him. Nowhere in my thoughts do I dwell on what those natural catastrophes would mean for my well-being. It doesn’t matter what happens to me as long as it takes this fucker down for good.

“But I do matter,” a small voice whispers. It takes me a moment to realize I said those words out loud.

I do matter. I matter to my biker brothers. I matter to my chosen sisters. I matter to all the lost and stolen girls of the world.

And I matter to Butch—the man who’s been my quiet protector, my empathetic supporter, my lover. My love. My everything.

No. I will not let O’Conall win. I will defend myself or go down fighting.

Releasing a warrior cry, I plant my palms on the small of O’Conall’s back and push my arms straight. My back knifes upward, forcing my body parallel with O’Conall’s. The combination of the snow-covered earth, rushing to escape, and top-heavy effect forces O’Conall to lose his balance. He trips on the uneven ground, falling to his side. I hit the hard ground with a huff—the snow being more ice packed than powder. It hurts, but I ignore the pain, scrambling on hands and knees to get away.

A heavy hand locks on to my ankle, yanking me backwards across the sharp ice crystals. My nails dig into the packed snow in my desperation to flee, clawing and grasping for purchase. It’s futile, doing nothing to slow my return into my enemy’s hands.

“NO!” I scream when O’Conall’s arm snakes around my waist, pinning my arms at my sides in his tight embrace. He lifts me off the ground, feet dangling. Again, I’m put at a disadvantage. I helplessly thrash in his arms as he moves us further away from the estate and closer to the summit.

As panic descends over me, I recall lesson twelve.

“Don’t panic,” I mouth the words. If I have a chance in hell of making it out of this mess, I need to focus my attention on my training and keep my head in the game.

Using all the tools in my arsenal from my countless hours of counseling and short stint of defensive training, I take a deep, calming breath and look inward. If I could break out of Triple’s impossible to escape hold, there’s nothing stopping me from doing the same with this piece of shit.

Pushing my fears aside, I concentrate on the now, how O’Conall has me restrained against him. He has his arms around me in a crushing hug. My back is flush to his front and my arms pinned to my sides.

Oh. I’ve practiced this. I know what to do.

My heart may beat behind my ribcage at an alarming rate, but my mind is steady as I execute my moves.

In my head, my movements are unhurried as I walk myself through the steps. Reality is anything but slow.

Firmly taking hold of O’Conall’s forearms wrapped across my arms and sternum, I promptly drop my weight and stomp with all my weight on his left foot as soon as my feet touch the ground.

O’Conall cries out a curse, but it’s only white noise. My head is only focused on the next step in this counterattack.

Pivoting on my right foot to the side, I have enough room to swing back and hit the prick in the balls with my fist. He immediately releases me, allowing me to spin away from his reach.

While he’s distracted, coughing and holding his junk, I use my left foot to kick out high, contacting O’Conall’s chest. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with shock. He’s probably never had a woman fight back like I am.

Goddamn, it feels good to knock him down.

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