Page 81 of Killer Confections
Arms wrap around my midsection before I’m hoisted off the ground and ripped from Mason’s arms. I kick, slamming my foot into Mason’s stomach as I’m dragged away by the bigger man that was blocking the swing doors.
Mason groans, a hand covering his abdomen as he sucks in a breath. The man behind me laughs darkly as my feet peddle in the air and I whip back and forth.
“She got you good,” my captor chuckles, making goosebumps pebble on my arms.
No Hat saunters over, gripping the back of Mason’s neck tightly before pulling him up. “It was one little kick to the belly. Get the fuck up.” He looks at me, sizing me up, before canting his head in my direction. “Get her in the truck. We can be back in Texas by tomorrow night.”
Texas…
I thrash harder, twisting in my captor’s hands as I scream for help. It isn’t until a rough hand squeezes my cheeks harshly and my head is yanked back that I’m silenced.
“Now, be a good girl and keep quiet. The harder you struggle, the harder I’m gonna get, darlin’.”
A sob leaves me as tears well. Something phallic presses against my ass and I close my eyes tightly, fighting the bile that’s threatening to rise as mocking laughter fills my ears. I feel so hopeless. I don’t want to give up, but as the other two men close in on me, I know I don’t stand a chance. I can fight all I want, but I’m not getting out of here alive.
Acceptance washes over me despite my spirit’s revulsion to it. I don’t want this to be my end, but I can understand it isn’t my fault. If this is how I die, I’m glad I fought. No matter how weak it may have been. I did minimal damage, but I also didn’t lie down and let them take my life.
The swing door closest to us is wretched open,slamming against the far wall as a haunting figure takes up the doorway. Our attention is instantly drawn to the new presence, his aura commanding it as his shoulders nearly brush either side of the doorframe.
I know this man.
Atlas.
I suck in a breath as I finally see his face, completely unobscured and terrifying in its severity. His sharp, thick jaw and tattooed neck are what fucking wet dreams are made of. Not to mention his straight nose and full lips I’ve felt on my body every day for the last week. The natural, pitch black hair that falls over slightly into his eerily beautiful, keen blue eyes is tousled and makes him look devastatingly dangerous.
Those pale oceans find me in a second and I have to tear my gaze away from him just to notice the man lingering behind him. They both look ready for war, but I have no time to feel the situation out before I’m shoved to the ground, and the wind is knocked from me. My head hits the linoleum hard, causing my teeth to clatter as my vision blurs. I distinctly hear the sounds of feet shuffling and cursing as I lie on my side, blinking the disorientation away. There’s something going on behind me, most likely a fight, but I focus on picking myself up off the floor so I’m not trampled.
As I crawl to my hands and knees, my ears ring as I finally get a look at the utter chaos unfolding over me.
And I instantly wish I had remained ignorant and crawled to the back door like my instincts screamed at me.
The man Atlas brought with him is taking jabs at Mason with a wicked-looking knife. Their moves are something out of an action film and my brain can’t take the time to process how quickly they’re dancing around each other until Atlas’s friend’s hand dips down by Mason’s side and another knife slides out of his sleeve. He grips the handle tightly before his arm raises and the steel lodges into Mason’s neck with a sickening slicing sound.
Mason goes still and I swear I can hear a pin drop beforethe large man sinks to his knees and he falls forward, his head hitting the ground with a heavy thud and my eyes connecting with his wide, lifeless ones.
A scream builds in my throat, but only a pitiful whimper leaves me as I scramble to my ass and use my legs to back peddle further away from the dead body that’s currently pooling blood onto my kitchen’s floor.
My chest heaves as my gaze darts frantically around the room. When my sight lands on Atlas, a hand slaps over my mouth as I watch him wrestle one of my attackers to his knees.
“Dom,” he calls, gaining his friend’s attention. “Get the butane torch.” The man kneeling swats at Atlas’s hands, but my stalker is solid as he grips my attacker’s neck tightly, forcing him to stay down. It’s only then that I notice the other prone body lying on the floor in an unnatural position as blood pools beneath it.
I’m going to be sick.
“Close your eyes, Short Stack.”
My gaze snaps to Atlas’s, and I see the sternness in his expression. If I weren’t so terrified and confused, I’m sure my heart would have stuttered in my chest from hearing that name after all these years. But I’m so fucking shocked I can’t move. I can’t even blink, much less close my eyes as my stalker steps into my line of sight, blocking me from watching as he lights the torch and lowers it to my attacker’s face.
“I can’t wait to send your mutilated head back to the South syndicate as their only warning,” Atlas growls as flesh sizzles and the man lets out an ear-piercing scream. He thrashes side to side, fighting against my stalker’s hold. All I can do is stare at Atlas’s back as the smell of charred flesh and the popping sounds of bubbling skin reach my ears.
Finally, I gain some strength and slap my hands over my ears before tucking my knees in and closing my eyes tightly until everything is over.
But it all rattles me.
The sounds of knives tearing skin.
The screams and gurgling.
The blood.
