Page 102 of Redemption

“I’m sorry,” she says and hurries out into the hall to the outside. She has to talk to Colt. Did he mean it?

“Lex, stop! Or at least wait up. This isn’t a good part of town,” he calls and runs after her.

Turning, she can’t help but laugh. “I’m the daughter of the Vice President of the Deranged Drifters. Trust me, I’ll be fine.”

“You are?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Her eyes study him. “Wait, for real?”

“I knew you were married to one of the bikers, but I didn’t know you were also the daughter of one.”

A dark van pulls up quickly and slams on the brakes, and the tires squeal loudly on the pavement, echoing in the quiet night air. She turns and realizes too late leaving the hotel was a giant mistake. “Oh, shit.”

“Lex!” Ben shouts as a redheaded man jumps out and grabs her.

Her elbow swings up and slams into his nose before stomping on his foot with her heel. “Colt!” she screams.

“He can’t help you, lass,” a man with a thick Irish accent says while the redhead cries out in pain, clutching his nose as blood pours onto the ground like a faucet.

“Fucking bitch!”

She turns to the Irishman and takes in his potbelly and handlebar mustache. The same man who shot Grayson, but now that she can see his entire face, she sees bright red scars on the right side, his eye glossy and likely blind. The evil smile on his face looks even more menacing with his injuries, and her stomach drops. “I knew it.”

“You knew what?”

“You sent us a message.”

“I meant to shoot another daughter of the club, but her boyfriend got in the way,” he says, his accent making it nearly impossible to understand him with his rapid rate of speech.

Another two men jump out from the van wearing all black and Slasher leather. “Are we going to convince her to hop in the van on her own since you’re just chatting away, or are we fucking grabbing her?”

“Not all of you are Irish. At least, not from Ireland,” she says. Something about this feels strange, but she can’t place why or what. All she knows is she needs to buy as much time as she can and hope someone sees her.

“Are you trying to talk your way out of this?” Ben asks, his voice low, as he stands close behind her. “Because I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“Listen to your fuck buddy there.”

Narrowing her eyes, she looks at one of the men and wonders why he wears a black ski mask and tries to hide in the shadows. He sounds familiar, but she can’t place him. She has to know him if he worries she’ll recognize him. “Go to hell.”

“Trust me, babe, you ain’t seen hell yet,” the scarred man says with a smirk.

The way he looks at her as he says the words tells her he tells the truth. Whatever he has planned won’t be pleasant, and her heart races. She knew this would happen. This was the plan, and she has no way to get out of this. Not alone.

A dark-haired man lunges for her, and she shifts out of his grasp, slamming her foot against the side of his knee. Falling to the ground, he swears and holds his leg while the scarred Irishman claps.

“You have balls.”

“You’d be surprised by what I’m capable of.”

A bald man punches her in the face, stunning her, and she falls to the concrete. A metallic taste fills her mouth, and her knee scrapes on the rough street. “You’re a fighter, but you won’t win this fight, bitch.”

“Lex!” Ben shouts, and scar-face pulls out his gun. “Holy shit!”

“You’re a fucking pussy, aren’t you?” he asks with a laugh. Flipping the gun around to hold the barrel, he slams the handle against Ben’s forehead and swings back to smack him in the face with it. His body falls limp to the ground, a small groan sounding as he hits the ground.

---