Page 104 of Kings Have No Mercy
I’m out for hours.My head throbs as I try to piece together what I remember.
We drove miles from Wheaton ’til there was nothing but the desert landscape in every direction. The morning melted away before my eyes, temperatures reaching triple digits. Sweat poured out of me, and I bowed my head to try to keep the sun off me.
Velma and the Road Reapers purposefully left me uncomfortable, bound and gagged in the back of the truck as it bumped and lurched down never-ending roads.
At some point, I lost consciousness.
They must’ve dragged me from the back of the truck and brought me to the dark room where I wake up.
On the hard cement ground. All alone as far as I can tell.
My body pitches forward to run for it. I’m jerked backward by the chain attached to my wrist.
My gaze tracks the rusty chain in mounting disbelief. It begins where it’s latched onto my wrist and ends locked onto a pipe of what looks like the water heater.
Disbelief flares into outright panic. I go to scream, then realize I’m still gagged. I scream anyway, the muffled sound loud enough that it’ll be heard by anyone in the vicinity.
Unfortunately, anyone including the people I’m trying to escape from.
The door busts open and in walk two broad-shouldered, thick-bearded men in leather cuts. It’s not even their size that scares me most—it’s the cold glint of loathing in their eyes. They couldn’t see me as more of an enemy.
I go from trying to buck against the chain linking me to the water heater to backing up against it the closer they come.
The slightly taller one, with a wiry ginger beard, reaches over and rips the gag from my mouth. It’s nothing more than a ratty bundle of rags they bunched up into a ball.
“You really want to make all that noise?” he asks. “Something tells me if you were smart, you’d shut the fuck up.”
I’m breathless, I’m so shaken from the situation. “Please… just let… me go. I don’t even know who you are. I’d never tell anyone. You’ll never have to see me again.”
He hacks out a cruel laugh, then turns to the other guy. “What d’you say, Ern? Should we just let the bitch go?”
“I’m thinking the fun’s just getting started,” he answers. “We haven’t even made use of you yet.”
“If it’s money that you want—”
“Shut up, darling. Don’t even try pretending you’re loaded. We know you’re dirt poor. You weren’t waitressing at the Sunny Side Up for shits and giggles.”
“Why are you doing this to me? I don’t even know who the hell you are!”
The one with the wiry ginger beard leans closer. “But we sure know who you are, and you’ve got value.”
He stuffs the gag back into my mouth and dusts his hands off as if proud.
Both men turn to go, trading more laughs and taunts between them. Their clunky boots are the last I see of them before the door slams shut.
I scream.
Scream so damn loud, my vocal cords ache by the time I’m done. The soggy rags are pushed out of my mouth by my wild tongue. My head spins and a wave of dizziness rolls over me. I have to close my eyes and stay still until it passes me up.
This situation is so unbelievably cruel and dark.
I have no clue what the fuck they want with me. I’m not a member of any MC. All I wanted was to get justice for Pop.
Why would the Road Reapers be after me in the first place? Why does it seem like their vendetta is so damnpersonal?
They already murdered Pop. What could they want with me? To use me as some kind of trap to lure Mason and the Kings?
Velma already mentioned as much, but it doesn’t make sense. It still feels like there’s something I’m missing.