CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
THEO
I watchthe kid with the mohawk pace outside the train car, the jerk smoking a cigarette and talking on his phone like there isn’t a woman tied up and unconscious behind him.
Well, I’m not unconscious anymore, but he doesn’t know that, not yet.
I woke up a few minutes ago and decided it was best to lay here a little longer, try to figure out where the hell I am and if there’s a way out. The main door is open, the cargo door or whatever, and that’s where Mohawk is positioned, but there’s a smaller door to my right all the way at the end of the car and I know it’s open solely based on the way the wind is rattling through it. If he can stay distracted long enough, I should be able to inch my way out of view then make a break for it.
Unfortunately, there are several problems with that plan.
One, my hands are zip tied behind my back very tightly so even if I do get out, I won’t be able to defend myself.
Two, aside from being in a possibly abandoned train yard, I have no fucking clue where I am and I won’t know where to go when I start running.
Three, we’re at least an hour outside of town, in what direction I don’t know, and since I’ve been here for a few hours, it’s already dark and my glasses broke when that Cobra buzzcut asshole cracked my head against the side of my Jeep, I won’t be able to see shit.
Four, probably the biggest reason I can’t just haul ass and run blind back to town? He has Zak’s present.
That probably sounds ridiculous but it’s not something I can replace, not something I’m willing to leave behind in order to try to save myself. I know Zak would give me hell over it, he’s already going to be so mad about letting me go to pick it up alone, but I’m not leaving without his gift and that’s final. He’s just going to have to spank me later for it.
I snort a little at that because Zak is definitely going to punish my ass when he finds me, probably in more than one way, but I’m ok with it. I just shouldn’t have snorted though, because a second blurry figure stepped into the boxcar as soon as I did.
“You’re awake,” Buzzcut asshole grins as he crouches down in front of me, his eyes shrewd and dancing with malice. “I was starting to worry Bebop gave you too much chloroform.”
Bebop?
Oh my god.
Shut the front door, these two idiots arenotruining one of my favorite shows of all time by using Bebop and Rocksteady as their club names. Hell no. They might be bad guys, but they are ruining the nostalgia of my youth.
Plus, he’s like, I don’t know, twelve? This kid has no idea what the original TMNT was like and can’t appreciate it the same way I do.
Asshole.
“Where...” My mouth feels like I’ve been licking sandpaper. “Where is—“
“Right here, bitch.” He gets to his feet and walks to the cargo door, motioning for someone to get closer before he reaches out and comes back toward me. “Your priorities are all kinds of fucked up, sweet cheeks.”
I sigh as Zak’s present comes into view, still blurry but I can tell he’s unharmed, just scared.
“You’re looking at getting fucked by at least myself, Bebop, and Shredder in front of your old man as soon as he gets here, possibly turned into my personal sex slave if I don’t decide to kill you after I ruin you, and all you’re concerned about is a fuckingdog.”
Not just any dog. No, George 2.0 is a ten-week-old English bulldog puppy that was surrendered to the animal shelter from a puppy mill. He is healthy, but still smaller than he should be because of the conditions he was living in and he’s super skittish. George 2.0 was the only one of his litter to survive, was caged with his dead brothers and sisters, and he is a beautiful, brave fighter just like my amazing boyfriend. When I saw him on the shelter website, I immediately filled out the adoption form and when I picked him up this afternoon, it was love at first sight. Just like it was when I saw his daddy.
So yeah, I’m way more concerned about this sweet little puppy because his life has been hard enough already. George 2.0 doesn’t need some psycho Rocksteady wannabe scaring the shit out of him and turning him into a bait dog or whatever.
Turns out the Cobras dabble in more than prostitution and sex trafficking; dog fighting is apparently a good source of income too.
“This little guy will be just fine.” Rocksteady grins like the devil himself, even through unfocused eyes I can see that. “He’ll have lots of friends at the clubhouse. Pit bulls, Rottweilers, a few Dobermans and German Shepherds. Lots of other dogs to play with.”
My stomach churns as I narrow my eyes. “In your dreams, asshole. You won’t get the chance because Cy and his brothers are coming for me and when they get here—“
“When they get here, we’re gonna show him what happens when you fuck with the Cobras!” he spits. “We’re gonna take them down and make him watch all the things I’m going to do to you, sweet cheeks. Cyclops is gonna watch me dirty up what’s his, mark you good and ruin that tight little body of yours. He is going to watch me beat you, fuck you, and use you in anyway I see fit, and when you’re begging for him to save you, screaming for your old man to rescue you the way he always does, I’m gonna kill him right before your pretty doe eyes.”
For everything he just said, I should be shaking in my boots and recoiling in fear. I should be panicking and crying already, praying my boyfriend comes for me, but since I know he’s going to and none of that is actually going to happen, all I can think about is what he just called Zak.
Cyclops?
