Page 22 of StoryTeller's Tale

Chaz nods. “Seems like our brother’s got a white streak.”

“Now wait a fuckin’ moment.” I stand, my chair flying back.

Both men start laughing, and for the second time, I’m instructed to sit my ass down.

Slugger leans forward. “You’ll be wearing your colours, ST. Worse that will happen is they give you a beatdown. They won’t kill you or take you as that would start a war.” He pre-empts my question about why the Dominators should do anything for me by saying, “If they let you have her, they’ll have your marker. If they don’t, they’ll be in deep shit with the Wretched Soulz. I’m betting they’ll take the easy route and won’t cause problems.”

Could he be right? Could it be that easy? I just walk in and take her? I have to admit to being intrigued. A direct approach hadn’t occurred to me. “And if they do kill me?” My mouth twists as I suspect it wouldn’t be a quick or clean death. If we caught a Dominator, they wouldn’t die easy.

“It’s a risk,” Slugger agrees. “But if they take you out, the Wretched Soulz will avenge you.” He catches Chaz’s eye. “Allcharters.” He laughs softly. “If they want a war, so be it. I’m sick of pussying around them.”

Chaz picks at the label on his bottle for a moment, then sighs. “Up to you, ST. You want to ride in like a knight in fuckin’ armour, then we’ll have your back. Though it might just be your bones we’re rescuing.”

It’s up to me.

Now how do I feel about that?

CHAPTERSEVEN

SHERI

BEFORE…

It’s stupid how inane things occur to you in the worst of situations, including thinking how lucky it was I was snatched after, rather than before I’d managed to have a pit stop. If not, my bladder would be screaming as we’ve been driving for literally hours. I’ve no way of knowing exactly how long, but the light’s grown darker in the back of the van, and light that was coming in through the cracks has totally disappeared now.

I’ve gone through all manner of emotions and reactions. I’ve cried until my eyes are sore, screamed enough to make my throat hoarse, but nothing stopped or even slowed the truck’s movement, and beneath me, the road just rumbles on. I’ve gone from being terrified about what these men might have in store to me to furious that they’ve the audacity to snatch me away from my not very remarkable life.

Through it all, there’s a sense of incredulity. This can’t be happening to me. I read stories, I’m not a part of them.

Like any victim, I end up questioning,what did I do wrong?But I can’t think of anything I did to contribute to the situation I’m in. I gave no one come-hither glances, nor encouraged the bikers at all.

There could have been a hundred ways to avoid this predicament. I could have eaten at the resort and then driven straight home. But who would think I was risking my life by pulling off at a rest stop?

How soon will people come looking for me? Agatha surely will raise the alarm when I don’t arrive home, unless she thinks there was maybe a man at the signing after all and I got lucky. While she should think it unlikely, it’s what she would do if she was me.

But even if she got people looking for me, what are my chances of being found? People disappear every day. The thought I’ve become just another statistic makes me want to vomit.

Real-life bikers have stolen me away. It’s nothing like I ever imagined it would be. It’s not a dream. It’s a freaking nightmare.

I may be an introvert, but I’m not a coward. That I enjoy my own company best and hate being in a crowd, doesn’t mean that I’m helpless and won’t fight back if I’m given a chance. I don’t like to think about the fate that might be in store for me, but I won’t accept it meekly like the proverbial lamb.

While I’ve got no actual experience to call on, surprisingly, I’ve never been kidnapped before, I’ve got a whole armoury within the pages of books that I read. Although all is based in a fictional world, I’ll take my strength from the heroines who’ve managed to escape, or at least, stay alive, until rescue comes.

I toss out of my mind the thought that while Agatha might raise a cursory alarm, there’s no one who’d put themselves out to find me, and definitely no one who would put themselves in danger. I can’t allow myself negative thoughts. Being here is deleterious by itself.

Wedging myself into a corner, exhausted from the emotion and adrenaline flooding through me, I let my eyes close, drifting off to the drone of the engine. Again, with no way to measure time, I could have been asleep for minutes or hours when the truck comes to a stop.

I wake fast, my head spinning, my ears ringing, even though the noise has cut off. Pushing myself away from the corner, I prepare to run as soon as the doors are opened. I’m wearing sneakers as I knew it would be a long day on my feet, but that’s the only thing athletic about me. I don’t exercise or work out. But I’ll give any chance of escape a damn good try. Anything has to be better than staying in the arms of the enemy, even if I give myself a heart attack in the process.

But the doors stay shut though the engine is switched off. After a few minutes, there are sounds of doors slamming and the engine again roars to life.

I doze once again, then the process is repeated. This time, my preparations pay off. As the doors are flung open, immediately, I throw myself out… straight into the arms of one of the bikers who oomphs as he catches me then laughs aloud.

“And where do you think you’re off to?” he asks, using my own momentum to spin me around.

“There’s nowhere for you to fuckin’ go,” the second says as he takes a hold of my arm firmly, pulling me along.

I stagger and try to drag my heels, but he’s far too strong. He has no problem ignoring my attempts to escape and pulls me along with him. I eye the building ahead with utter dread. It’s an old farmhouse, out in the middle of nowhere, and it’s obvious nothing good will come of me going inside.

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