Page 111 of Paladin's Hell

I didn’t even know there was one. Obviously health and safety’s not a priority at the club as no one had pointed it out. Taser knows this place better than me, so I follow him to a door I hadn’t noticed at the far end of the corridor, almost running down the external metal steps. A motorcycle is parked waiting at the bottom.

Taser doesn’t give me a helmet. Now’s not the time to protest that I’m under eighteen and, by law, need one.

My first bike ride, and it’s up behind another man, it feels so wrong. As Taser roars out through the gates of the compound, I sob, wondering if I’m ever going to know what it’s like to ride with Paladin. How badly is he hurt? How did it happen? He can’t die, can he? All I can do is pray I’m not too late. He can’t die. He can’t. Not now. More sobs come one after the other. I’m blinded by tears.

I don’t know Pueblo, have no idea where the hospital is, nor how far away. All I can hope is that we get there soon, and in time. In time for what? To say goodbye? I couldn’t bear that. It would destroy me. I can’t lose him. Not now. I can’t. Every nerve in my body is screaming.

I close my eyes, trying to picture his face. Trying to conjure up every detail. Trying to remember the feeling of his arms around me. When the bike starts traversing rough ground, I open them.

Where are we? This doesn’t look like a hospital parking lot.

Taser swings the bike around, spitting up gravel beside a muscle car.

“Where are we, Taser?”

His terse reply is just one word. “Off.”

Are we taking the car the rest of the way? That doesn’t make sense. But with the majority of my brain focused on Paladin, I do what he says.

Suddenly I’m face down in the gravel, Taser’s heavy weight on my back, my arms wrenched behind me. Something’s tied them together. Shit. Has this been a trick? Is he working for the Herreras?

“Paladin?”

“Don’t know where the asshole is or care. But I can’t wait to see the motherfucker’s face when he finds you gone.”

Paladin’s okay. He didn’t crash. Oh, thank God!

My wave of immense relief is short lived. Almost immediately I focus on what’s happening to me. If Taser gets his way, Paladin will be hurt, though maybe not physically. His devastation if I’ve gone missing will equal mine when I thought he was lying injured. I have to do something.

Escape. Get away. My mind races. I can’t let the Herreras get their hands on me again. There’s no other reason Taser’s got me tied up. I can’t let him put me in that car. Can’t let him take me to them.

He pulls me up expecting a weak woman. But knowing what lies in store for me, I’m going to fight. Taking him unawares, I throw my head back, hitting him in the face. Then I turn, kneeing him as hard as I can in the balls and then take off, running toward the road. Have I incapacitated him enough?

The loudly roared, “Bitch,” from behind shows he can still breathe, and the sounds of his heavy boots on the gravel pounding after me suggest I haven’t. From somewhere I find another burst of speed. Suddenly I feel immense pain between my shoulder blades, and I fall to the ground unable to control my twitching muscles. I can’t breathe, I’m screaming but making no sound. I don’t know how long it goes on, the pain’s awful, I feel like I’m dying.

The pain stops, my muscles still jerk uncontrollably, I’m flapping around like a landed fish.

He takes his time getting to me. When I at last can gasp air into my lungs, he crouches in front of me, showing me something. “Wonder what hit you? You’ve been tasered, bitch.”

He drags me up by my bound hands, pushing me in front of him. I try to struggle but I still haven’t got control over my limbs and know I lost control of my bladder. He must have had the taser at full strength.

As he opens the trunk, I’ve at last regained sufficient presence of mind to stiffen my body to try to stop myself being pushed inside. He takes hold of my hair, pulls my head back, then smashes my face, hard, into the bodywork. Half-stunned, he has no difficulty shoving me in, folding my still weak limbs and slamming the trunk down.

I’m dazed, my muscles aching from the long burst of the taser, my head hurting. I’m scared. He must be taking me to the Herreras. Are they paying him? What else could he want with me?

But instead of the car starting, I hear the motorcycle engine instead, then the sound of it pulling away. After the noise of the exhaust pipes fades, there’s silence.

He’s left me here.

I start screaming, kicking futilely. I’m scared of the dark, scared of closed-in spaces. My voice goes hoarse, my legs hurt where I keep knocking them against whatever’s kept in this trunk, tools and something sharp that’s cut me. I can only hope I’m not bleeding to death.

How long will he leave me?

Is there a way to get out of here? Some sort of mechanism to release the trunk from inside? I force myself to calm down, concentrating on slowing my breathing. Pal, help me. What should I do? Am I looking for a lever? How should I know? My education didn’t include how to escape from a locked car. A hysterical giggle bursts forth when I think perhaps it should.

Calm down, calm down. But it’s dark. Ignore that. The dark won’t be what kills me. Hampered by my hands being tied behind my back, awkwardly using touch only, I trace the seams around the trunk closure, finding nothing that appears might be a mechanism which would open it. It would be better if I knew what I was searching for, but even trying everything, nothing works. If this had been his plan to leave me here, he might have removed anything which would help me escape.

At last deciding getting out the way I was put in isn’t going to work, I try to kick at the back seats, but there’s not enough room to manoeuvre. I can’t get sufficient weight behind my legs to kick, and my hands, tied so tight that I’m starting to lose feeling, are becoming next to useless.

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