Page 14 of Her Feral Biker
Horrible breath washed over my face from the man behind me who held my pony tail in a twisted grip. He forced my head back at an uncomfortable angle so I had to look up at Prinze. It was either that, or bow my back. Neither was a sustainable position, but I didn’t think that mattered to either one of them.
From the gun Prinze held loosely at his side, I doubted that in a few minutes it would matter much to me, either.
“I thought you were going to burn the building down.” I blinked at my own audacity as the words slipped from between my lips. “Not kidnap or shoot me.”
Prinze stared down at me, his dead, dark eyes at total odds to the amused smile playing around the bottom half of his face, like a mix and match doll with parts that didn’t belong together at all. “Is that what you’d prefer? I hear you like being tied up. Perhapswe can arrange a show.” He pulled out the envelope I’d pinned to my door free from his jacket pocket and tossed it to the ground.
It skittered across the gravel in a dirty mess to land before my knees. I shifted and the gravel that felt like cut glass bit deeper into my skin. Pain hissed between my teeth before I could prevent the reaction, but I refused to give him any other form of satisfaction.
That he might have read what I’d written for Lake left me nauseated. Those words weren’t for anyone else to see. I’d had hard enough trouble putting pen to paper for the man I was fast falling for—had already fallen for, if I was honest with myself. Not that any of that mattered right now.
Because Lake wasn’t here, and only Prinze stood before me.
The gun tapped his leg in an irregular rhythm. “Mmhm. Perhaps if you don't talk to me, we should give the boys a little show? Now that I know what you like, of course. We could play out your preferred scenario right here.”
I stared up at him, sickened.Please don’t touch me. Not you, not you, not you.
“Fuck you.”
The shakes that had started when he first walked into my shop and I thought it was Lake took over again. I'd run, then, while he laughed. Laughed as he set his men on me, chased me through the kitchen and out the back. Past the bins where one of them grabbed my arm and tossed me against the back wall.
My face became acquainted with the brick quite intimately shortly after, and I didn’t have the ability to fight back as my vision swam when someone reversed my sense of gravity moments later. Gravel was my new worst best friend. If I was ever allowed to stand again, I’d be picking pieces out of my hands and knees for a week.
If.
But I doubted he’d let me leave this parking lot anyway.
Prinze’s mocking smile did nothing to alleviate my pulsating fear. I tugged my head forward, trying to release the building pressure in my neck, but the grip in my hair tightened.
The mafia prince bent over me. “Did you think you could say no to me so many times, and not be punished, sweet thing?” The cold metal of his gun traced along the curve of my cheek. “Did you think that if you refused to sell to me like your father wanted, that you would be able to walk away unscathed?”
I stared up at him, uncomprehending. “What?” His words rang between my ears, making plenty of noise but far less sense.
“You see, when I’m promised something—say, money, or a business, or property, I tend to expect to get what I’m owed. And when I don’t get that, then I get upset. Don’t I?” He didn't look at the men behind me, or the man holding my hair. His eyes bore into mine, unblinking like a predator.
But all I saw was a spoiled rich boy having a tantrum.
A very dangerous tantrum where everything I valued would be destroyed.
“Why would you make a deal with my father?” I croaked. “Why would you wantmy business?”
Prinze Kola smiled, his lips thin and colorless. “I don’t care about your pathetic little clothing shop, Miss Hampton. I care about this entire street. Right now, I possess nearly half of it. But the owners of the businesses along this part? It’s becoming quite hard to buy them out. Perhaps they need a little…encouragement. Maybe seeing you run off the land in terror might motivate them, yes? And your father’s values seem to align nicely. He also wants you to not own a business. Feels your independence hinders family growth or some such other selfish need.” He flicked a hand sideways. “But it’s your business I’m interested in. Will your neighbors be amenable if I force you out?”
“I don’t think they’ll care about what happens to me,” I choked, finally forcing my head forward enough to breathe as my head spun with his words. “I barely speak to them. You’ll have to do better than that,” I challenged, knowing my neighbors were as set in their beliefs about their businesses as me. Locking away the information about my father for the moment, I focused on what else he said.
They’d hated it when I first bought in the street, but even though I still didn’t quite fit in, we weren’t exactly enemies.
Prinze shrugged. “Then I’ll burn it. All of it.”
I stared. “If you can't have it, no one will?” The cuts in my knees burned. Something warm trickled along my shin. I shifted again in the gravel but that only made the pain worse.
Prinze tapped the gun against my temple. “I can rebuild, sweet thing. Can you?”
I closed my eyes. He knew I couldn't. None of us would be able to afford that.
He laughed softly above me. “I didn’t think so. Is that your answer? You won’t sell, so I ruin everything you have in order to buy it when you have to sell it later anyway? How…horrifying.”
I opened my mouth to say something else stupid, knowing my time was just about up. He’d kill me anyway and probably dump in my own burning building. Prinze Kola had never been shy about his intentions and sometime in the last hour or so, my mind accepted that this night would be the last one I'd have on this earth. My mouth, however, decided that if we were going to hell, we’d have plenty of things to say before we went.
