Page 43 of Rider Daddies
Where is he?
That’s when a hand reaches out, dragging me from under the table.
Fuck.
“These men might tell you what you want to hear, girl, but they prioritize their own even if they have a pretty woman like you,” Manual says in my ear.
At least drink some fucking mouthwash before getting all up in my face, disgusting man.
I whip around and see them all crowding around Ryder, patting him up and down to make sure he hasn’t got any injuries.
My stomach churns, a sour feeling passing through it. I don’t know why I feel disappointed. I knew all of this from the get-go. I wasn’t expecting them to look out for me…
But it would’ve been nice.
“You’re coming with me.”
I twist and turn but Manual is strong. Much more stronger than he looks.
“Hey!” shouts Ash, breaking away from the cluster of men. He charges forward, but it’s all wasted effort. I’m already being dragged down from the veranda and shoved into the back of a car way too nice to be owned by a sex trafficker.
More gunshots ripple through the atmosphere. One even makes it to the car window, the glass shattering. But the car is already in motion, speeding away onto open roads.
Adrenaline runs through me. The smashed back window is the only shot I have at salvaging an escape. It’s big enough for me to slither out.
I kick off my shoe and hit the boot against the glass over and over. More glass breaks away, shards collecting on the seat.
That’s when the fucker decides to swerve.
I’m knocked off-balance, and the boot leaves my hand, flying out of the window, leaving me empty-handed.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Nice try,” chuckles Manual from the front.
I bite my lip.
Time for Plan B.
Pushing all thoughts of how much this is going to hurt to the back of my mind, I thrust my elbow through the glass, creating more of an opening.
Pain explodes, blood oozing out of the wound. Is that a shard of glass stuck into my skin? I exhale a shaky breath and resort to other means, lifting my foot into the air, taking over with another body part.
A force drags me away. “We can’t let you go and get yourself all dirty.”
“Take me back,” I order. It’s nothing but a pathetic whimper.
I look at my elbow, containing the blood with my hand. It’s more painful than I thought. Maybe even more fucking painful than Tristan cheating on me at my own wedding.
I grimace, trying to tweezer the shard out of my skin with shaking fingers.
“Leave it,” commands Manual. He looks over at me from the rearview mirror, his pale face making it seem like a ghost is in control of the vehicle. “You’ll only make things worse by taking it out.”
Am I supposed to take medical advice from a rapist?
I bring myself away from the window, not wanting the next shard to end up in my ass cheek.
Maybe I’m not at a total loss. I’m sure the bikers will be hopping onto their motorcycles and coming to my rescue in no time.
