“One chance, that’s all you get. I know you took her. I know you’re the one taking those kids. Your little pride and joy over there”—I nod to the eyesore of a car—“is your undoing. Tell me where she is and I’ll make it a quick death.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t know where she is. Maybe she got smart and moved on. Ever consider that? Maybe she got sick and tired of all this shit you bring and left. Wouldn’t be the first time a woman walked away from a biker gang, I bet.”
I punch him again. And again. And again. He got too cocky at the end. He knows shit, I just know it. I’m not leaving here till he tells me or till I’ve let off enough steam to move on. Which likely won’t happen even after he’s dead.
“Yo,” Bulldog says, and it’s enough to make me pause.
I glance at him, and he nods. We got him.
I look back to Troy and see him pale a bit. He knows he’s screwed.
I walk over to see what Bulldog is looking at. Pictures. Fucking pictures. Time-stamped and everything. Bulldog stops scrolling and pauses on one particular photo. The girl on the screen is young. Same age as his daughter, Princess, I bet. And she’s scared. It’s clear in her eyes.
In the blink of an eye, Bulldog is over by Troy and punches him so hard in the head that he falls down limp.
“Did you kill him?” Bass asks as he tilts his head.
“No, but if Gator doesn’t, I will.” He pulls out his phone and dials a number. “Flint, we got him. Sick fuck took pictures. Pictures of who was taken and of him—” He clears his throat as if he’s thinking it was his little girl in that position looking up at the camera. “Of him with a few of them. Think you’ll be able to get a location off them? A few were taken yesterday, and I think one of them is that kid we tracked as going missing the same time as Troublemaker.”
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
I knew this was bad. I knew it. But seeing the pictures, the victims, how young they are… seeing Bailey’s student, Hunter, also being taken advantage of…. It makes me want to throw up and kill someone all at the same time. I want to peel away the flesh from this prick’s body and poke at him, just to watch him cry and beg for death.
“Let’s roll. Flint says if we get him the phone, he can work it out and we can be on the road within the hour to where they are,” Bulldog says.
Kooper and Casper nod and start heading to their bikes.
But I can’t go. Not yet.
I squat down by Troy and smack him in his face till he wakes up. He jolts but doesn’t get up. “You hurt her?” I speak calmly, don’t let any emotion show.
He shakes his head, and I think he’s going to deny it, but then he grins. “Never had anyone like her.”
Then he smiles, and I lose my fucking mind.
I pound into him, over and over again. I feel wetness hit my face, and I’m not sure if it’s blood or the mud created from the dirt and his blood mixing.
“Reese.” My Christian name out of Bass’s mouth is what gets me to stop and look up at him. He nods to my bike. “Get going. Go get your Troublemaker.” I look down at the prick who’s still breathing, and Bass shakes his head. “Don’t worry about him. I got nowhere else to be.”
I push off Troy and stand, enjoying the groan he releases when I put weight on him, especially when I step on his knee and hear it snap.
I walk away without a backward glance, but I do smile. Especially when I hear Bass talking.
“Now we get to have some fun. Tell me, what’s your stance on pedophiles and castration? Are you for it or against it? I think I’m leaning toward it. What say you?”
Chapter 32—Bailey
Time is different when you’re in a windowless room with no way to get out. The air is thick and stale, and there’s a heavy cloud of fear and death floating among us. No one is talking about it, but we all know dying is a real possibility. Either mentally or emotionally, when the girls leave this room, a part of them never returns if they even come back.
So far, no one has been gone for longer than a few hours, or what I assume is hours. It could have been minutes, but like I said, time seems to tick differently. Sometimes it feels like days have gone by, others just minutes since they last threw food at us.
When Hunter came back, he was thrown in the room, and he just lay there for some time, crying. I did what I could, which wasn’t much. He didn’t want to be touched, screamed at me when I brushed against his back since he was hunched in on himself so much.
I cried with him. We all did.
I might not have been taken up there to have God knows what done to me yet, but I’ve got a feeling my time is coming. Either to be abused or killed, I’m not sure, but I’m on borrowed time. I can tell by the way the guards’ eyes linger on me each time they come in. They expect me to fight, but I’m saving my energy till I can do something more than just get knocked back into the room to lie in a lump like the last time Troy came in.
