Page 95 of Rampage

The forest grows darker as I plunge deeper, using the fading light to my advantage. I drop to my knees behind a fallen log, working frantically at the ropes binding my wrists. The rough bark scrapes against the bindings, slowly fraying the fibers.

Voices call in the distance, spreading out as they search. I need to keep moving, but first?—

The rope finally gives, my raw, bleeding wrists coming free. I massage circulation back into my hands, wincing at the pins and needles sensation.

A twig snaps nearby. I freeze, barely breathing as heavy footsteps approach my hiding place.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," sings one of the men, his voice slurred with what might be alcohol or excitement. "Frank's going to be so happy when we deliver your head to him."

A hand clamps over my mouth from behind, yanking me backward with brutal force. I thrash wildly, but two more sets of hands grab my limbs, pinning me down as I'm dragged from my hiding place.

"Got the little bitch!" one of them shouts triumphantly.

I kick and writhe, landing a solid blow to someone's shin. The man curses viciously, twisting my arm until pain shoots through my shoulder.

"Enough games," Walter snarls, appearing from the darkness. "Get her back to the house. Now."

They haul me to my feet, dragging me through the underbrush. Branches tear at my skin, roots catching my ankles as I struggle against their grip. The house comes back into view, its windows glowing with sickly yellow light.

"Frank sends his regards," Walter hisses in my ear, his breath hot and rancid. "Says to make sure you understand what happens to witnesses who talk."

One of the men, a heavy-set brute with tobacco-stained teeth, suddenly pulls me against his chest. His meaty hand gropes roughly at my breast, squeezing painfully as he laughs.

"Might as well have some fun first," he leers, his fingers digging into my flesh.

Rage explodes inside me. I twist my head and sink my teeth into the fleshy part of his hand, biting down with every ounce of strength I possess. I taste copper as my teeth break skin.

He screams, ripping his hand away. Before I can react, his open palm connects with my cheek in a blow so violent my head snaps to the side. Stars burst across my vision, pain blooming hot and immediate.

"Fucking animal!" he roars, raising his hand to strike again.

"Not the face," Walter orders sharply. "Nothing visible. We need her recognizable for the video."

The word "video" sends ice through my veins. These men don't just want to hurt me, they want to document it, send evidence of my suffering to intimidate other witnesses.

They drag me up the porch steps, my cheek throbbing where the blow landed. Inside, the house is sparsely furnished, reeking of cigarettes and neglect. They force me onto a wooden chair in what might once have been a dining room, zip-tying my wrists to the armrests.

Walter circles me slowly, his eyes cold and calculating. "You cost my brother everything," he says conversationally. "His business, his freedom. Seems only fair you pay a similar price."

I lift my chin, refusing to show fear despite the terror clawing at my insides. "Your brother was a monster. He deserved worse than prison."

The backhand catches me off guard, splitting my lip. I taste blood, metallic and warm.

"Set up the camera," Walter orders one of his men. "Frank's associates are paying good money to watch this bitch suffer."

My blood turns to ice as one of them sets up a tripod, mounting a camera with practiced efficiency. Another pulls out a laptop, typing rapidly. They're creating a livestream—planning to broadcast whatever they intend to do to me.

"You're making a mistake," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Reid and the MC know I'm missing by now. They'll find me."

Walter laughs, the sound eerily similar to Frank's. "That's exactly what we're counting on, sweetheart. Your boyfriend will get a personal invitation to watch the show." He leans closer, his breath hot against my face. "But by the time he figures out where you are, there won't be much left to find."

The man with the bloodied nose approaches, rolling up his sleeves. "Camera's ready. We're live in three minutes."

I close my eyes briefly, centering myself. Reid taught me to find calm in the chaos, to use fear as fuel rather than paralysis. When I open my eyes again, I scan the room, cataloging potential weapons, escape routes, weaknesses in my captors.

Four men in total. Walter pacing by the window. The camera operator focused on his equipment. The heavy-set man with the bite mark nursing his hand. The fourth, younger than the others, looking jumpy and uncertain.

The weakest link.

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