Page 22 of Rooster's Redemption

“Go and take Stryker with you. We’ve got this handled. When you get back to the Clubhouse, take a break until morning then start looking for Steam.” Kayne advises.

I don’t know if I will take the advice but I’ll think about it. Stryker and I fire up our bikes and Duke opens the bay doors with just enough clearance, allowing us to pass. Once the two of us clear the doors, we take off like rockets into the night.

Stryker and I pull up in front of the bar and I shut my bike off, popping my kickstand down. I don’t wait for Styker to follow. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end when I reach the thick door and it’s slightly open. I unholster my gun and slowly open the door. The bar is trashed, beer bottles and alcohol bottles litter the floor. The bar stools are broken and the booths are ripped apart. I walk behind the bar and spot a blood trail leading to the backroom. Stryker and I follow the blood trail to the storage room. I slowly open it and the sight before me makes me want to gag. Khandi, the bartender working with Alyssa is strung up in the middle of the room, naked. Her mouth is taped shut, she has blood on her thighs and her head is at an awkwardangle, the fear in her eyes is unmistakable. I feel for a pulse, just in case and she’s cool to the touch.

“Motherfucker!” I shout. “Where the hell is Alyssa?”

We check each room and come up empty. Alyssa isn’t here. That means Steam and Kingston have her.

“Fuck!” I dial Kayne and he answers on the first ring. “Kayne, she’s gone. Those dick suckers took my woman and they raped and killed Khandi!”

“Rooster, come here,” Stryker shouts from the bar area before Kayne can respond.

“Hold on, Prez. Stryker found something.”

I hurry out of the supply room and over to the DJ Booth where Stryker is standing. There’s a note in a pool of blood. I pick it up and read it aloud.

Rooster,

If you want your woman alive, meet me at Deerfield Park tonight at ten p.m. Come alone or this little piece of ass you’ve claimed will end up like that bar bitch.

Dean.

“Fuck, Kayne. Kingston has Alyssa.”

Chapter

Thirteen

ALYSSA

My head is pounding against my skull causing vomit to rise in my throat. I try to open my eyes, but only darkness greets me. What the heck happened? Where am I? How did I get here? I try to roll over but something is holding me back. I wiggle my fingers behind my back and they tingle. I try my feet next. I can only roll my ankles from side to side. My legs and arms are being held behind my back. I try to move my head forward but something rough bites into my throat, choking me.

“You’re finally awake.” A familiar thick Russian accent causes my blood to freeze.

No way, this cannot be happening. Shaking my head, I try to clear it from the fog taking over. The rope tightens around my throat and I cough but I can’t open my mouth. This man has me bound, gagged and blinded. My heart starts pounding in my chest, causing my head to throb. I don’t remember anything after Rooster left me at the bar when he received a phone call that Ace was in trouble. I need to calm down before I hyperventilate and pass out.

Rooster. Everything we’ve been through up to this point and everything I dreamed about flashes in my mind. I wish I had achance to tell him how I felt. I hate the fact that I didn’t trust myself enough to let him in more and now I don’t know if I will get that chance.

“Such a pretty little thing at my mercy.” The Russian asshole speaks against my ear. His hot breath fans across my nose, making my stomach churn. His soft fingers grip my cheeks, forcing my head up, but since I can’t see, I don’t know if he’s looking me over or what he’s doing. I squirm away from his grip and that causes the rope around my throat to tighten.

“Kozlov, don’t touch the merchandise.” Another man’s voice reprimands the Russian. I don’t recognize the deep, raspy timber of smoking three packs of cigarettes a day. But I store it in my memory for later.

I inhale a deep breath through my nose, trying to calm myself down before I have a full-blown panic attack. The Russian releases my face and I can hear him move away from me. I listen intently to my surroundings, trying to figure out where I am. There is a low buzzing noise above me, shuffling of feet to my left, shoes tapping in front of me and a small whimper to my right.

I hone in on my sense of touch since everything else is limited. I’m sitting on a cold unforgiving floor that’s rough like concrete, My legs are bound in front of me and my arms are tied behind me. I move my hands as much as allowed in the bindings and the wall is rough like the floor. A cold breeze causes goosebumps to break out across my skin. I still have clothes on but not much since there isn’t much to wear in my bar uniform besides a crop top and short shorts. I move my head back and it nudges the wall, giving away the rope tied around my neck. I wonder if I keep my head against the wall, will I be able to move it from side to side without choking? I test the theory and sure enough, the rope doesn’t choke me. But If I move forward it will. That means it’s tied to something above my head. If I could getmy hands in front of me and slide my body up the wall. I might be able to loosen the ropes and take my gag and blindfold off. I just need to patiently wait until these men leave the room.

A childlike whimper to my right catches my attention. Oh no, they have a child down here with me. Why would someone be so cruel? I kick my feet, trying to get someone’s attention to remove my gag and blindfold.

Heavy boots stomp my way and stop, nudging my bare thigh. I can hear the crack of their knees as they bend down. “What the fuck do you want?” Rough hands grip my face, making me tilt my head. Don’t these assholes know I can’t speak from the gag in my mouth? I shake my head back and forth, keeping my head against the wall so the rope doesn’t choke me. I flare my nose, breathing hard. Maybe that will get him to take the gag off.

“For fucks sake.” He mumbles and pulls the gag away from my mouth. My lips, tongue and throat are dry. I create a little bit of saliva to coat my tongue.

“Why…” I swallow and try again. “Why are you doing this?” My voice is scratchy but I don’t care. The child to my right whimpers at the sound of my voice and I stiffen.

No, it can’t be. I shake my head trying to stop the tears forming in my eyes.

“You’ve figured out who else is here, haven’t you?” The man’s rough voice asks. He removes my blindfold and I blink, trying to adjust my eyesight. I turn my head to the right and a sob escapes my throat. Elsa, my little girl who I’ve taken care of since her mom died, is tied up next to me with fear in her dark eyes.

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