HARD RIDE (The Slayers MC Book 2) Page 7

  He’s tried to be nice, as nice as a biker can be, I guess. I remember the first time I saw him. He scared the crap out of me. Chase, my guard, is big, one of the biggest men I’ve ever seen. But Dawson? He’s bigger than Chase! Not by much, and I’m sure if the two were in a fight, it would be a close call, but he’s still bigger.

  I actually thought it was pretty funny. With him being so big and his wife or girlfriend being so small. He says the clothes he gives me are his Ol’ lady’s. As of last night and the lesson Chase had given me in what the term Ol’lady means, I now know that I’m wearing hand me downs from Dawson’s woman.

  I’m not a big girl, but, I’ve got an ass. I know it. I’ve come to peace and learned how to embrace it. I’ve got boobs, too. I’m Mexican. It comes with the territory, if you’re lucky. Let’s just say that I’m lucky, according to Fernanda. She says I hit the lottery.

  Back to Dawson. Aside from the awful scar he’s got by one eyebrow, he’s not as scary as he first was when I’d met him. I must admit, knowing he’s not alone today has really piqued my curiosity.

  These bikers are strange to me. It’s kind of like learning about a whole new species. I remember when our tutors would take Mateo and I to the zoo when we where children to study all the different animals.

  I had been drawn to the lion exhibit. There was something majestic about them. They would just lie under a tree, waiting. They looked like peaceful, beautiful creatures that you just wanted to get close to and pet.

  But then you’d see a flash in their eye, a reminder of how lethal and deadly they could be. I remember that I was thankful for being on the other side of that safety-glass when I saw that. Their roar, their claws. Their teeth.

  They were predators.

  The Slayers kind of remind me of those lions, and I find my curiosity getting the best of me as I watch and study them. I know I could end up like one of those slabs of meat the lions would feed on, but something draws me to the bedroom door, willing me to open it and see for myself.

  To enter the lion’s den.

  ~*~

  I don’t know what I was truly expecting, but it wasn’t this.

  “Don’t be shy, darlin’. Have another. If you don’t, I can’t promise you there’ll be any left” The man with one eye invites me to take another of the muffins from the plate. “My Ol’ lady made ‘em. She thought maybe you’d like em’.”

  I see the other guys eyeing the last three muffins on the round white plate hungrily even though they’ve each got a half–eaten one in their own hand.

  Seizing the chance, I reach and take the chocolate one. The funny one, Gryff, I think his name was, deflates when he sees which one I’ve chosen. Apparently, I hadn’t been the only one admiring it.

  I’ve already had a blueberry one, and I doubt I can finish a whole second one. Tearing the pastry in half, I offer him the larger of the two. He eyes it.

  “Take it. Sorry I had to rip it apart with my hands, but,” I look at Chase, “I’m not trusted with knives, so this will have to do.”

  Gryff nods and takes the half muffin before someone else does. “Thanks, darlin’.”

  These guys call everyone darlin’. I’ll bet it’s so they don’t have to remember women’s actual names.

  Chase feels the need to elaborate on my statement. “If I thought for one minute you wouldn’t try and slit my throat with it, I’d hand you a knife in a heartbeat.”

  “What makes you think that’s what I’d try and do?” I ask. Sure I’ve given him enough reason to be suspicious, but I’m not cold blooded like that. I don’t think I could ever use a weapon directly against another person. Indirectly? Sure. But not directly.

  “You know damn well she’d cut your dick off with it, Chase. Why bother slitting your throat when she can get ya where it really hurts?” Uno, the one-eyed man whose wife likes to bake muffins, jokes.

  Laughter erupts around the table. Even Chase can’t help himself. The mere mention of Chase’s, um, package, reminds me of what I saw last night, of what I couldn’t get out of my thoughts.

  I feel myself blush, and do everything in my power not to look at the object in question as Chase has it easily displayed, sitting across from me with his knees comfortably set apart.

  Don’t look. Don’t look.

  AGH! Why’d I look? What is wrong with me?

  “Please tell your Ol’ lady that her muffins are really good.” I ask Uno to relay the message.

  He smiles and then turns to Chase, who shrugs his shoulders innocently.

  “What?” Chase wonders. “I taught her some words.”

  More laughter.

  These guys have a natural way with each other, one that doesn’t happen over night. I can tell they spend a lot of time with one another.

  “Brought you some more clothes.” Dawson hands over a small canvas bag. “Angel’s gonna kill me and probably go buy a whole new wardrobe if I take any more of hers, so we got you some new stuff from the store.”

  “Angel?” I ask.

  “My Ol’ lady. Name’s really Molly, but we call her Angel.” Dawson explains.

  I rummage through the bag and take inventory of all the items. Jeans. T-shirts. Socks. Sweatshirts. Every piece of clothing has a tag, and I didn’t realize how grateful I’d be to have something of my own again.

  I chide and remind myself that I wouldn’t need to have new things of my own if I wasn’t taken from my old things. It’s not going to do me any good throwing the clothes back at them, so I zip the bag and place it by my feet.

  “Well, we gotta get goin’ before it’s too late. There’s a whole other bunch of things in the kitchen. Some more muffins, too.” Gryff picks himself up off the kitchen chair. The others follow suit, saying their goodbyes to Chase and even to me.

  Shockingly enough, Uno gives me a kiss on the cheek before I realize what’s happening, with no time to shy away.

  Haven’t they ever kidnapped anyone before? This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. I mean, I’m not a criminal like them, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be friendly with your captive. I’m positive you’re not supposed to bring them home-baked goods either.

  Old habits die hard, and I quickly clean up the table of all the crumbs and beer bottles left behind by the sloppy bikers. Chase walks Dawson to the door and pauses, whispering to each other about something. I pretend not to notice, but I can see their eyes darting to me every few words.

  I even overhear a little of what they’re trying to hide from me. Chase tells Dawson something about how he’s working on it and it’s not as easy as Dawson thinks, and to give him some time, that Chase will be able to get it done.

  “Bye Catarina. You take good care of my guy here.” Dawson waves to me before leaving.

  The screen door closes after him. Oddly enough Chase doesn’t move to close the big heavy wooden front door. Once the sounds of the bikes are far gone down the hill, I can hear the crickets croaking outside.

  “Why don’t we sit outside for a bit? Before the sun sets?” Chase asks from over by the door. He’s looking around through the woven mesh material of the screen at the empty hillside.

  I’ve spent far too much time staring at that exact view from my closed window. It’s beautiful. Gorgeous even.

  Is he serious? Does he remember what happened the last time I stepped outside that door? I bolted down the hill, making my escape, thinking I’d left him behind locked in my closet.

  I didn’t get more than half way down that hill before I felt his strong arms grabbing me around my waist. The next thing I knew, my feet were dangling in the air as he had thrown me over his shoulder and carried me back, kicking and screaming,

  I’d pounded on his back, pulled his hair, anything I could think of to get him to let me go, but it was no use. He was too strong.

  “Um… You’re not playing? You really want me to go outside?” I know he’s not cruel enough to dangle a carrot like that, but I still can’t believe he’d practically offer me
an attempt at escaping on a silver platter like this.

  “Yup. Come on.” He’s out the door and walking across the porch before I have a chance to reply.

  Okay then. Here’s the opportunity I’ve been waiting for for weeks. Just when he’s not looking, I’ll make a mad dash down into the bushes, weaving my way through deep into the tree line. I know better than to stay out in the open where he can see me. I’ll have half a chance if I can just get into the woods, where I can find someplace to hide until he’s gone in the other direction.

  Still somewhat unsure if this a ploy, I open the screen door and step onto the old rickety cover porch. Chase is sitting in the hanging wooden swing in the corner. I look around and find that there aren’t any other seats. My eyes dart around, quickly configuring the best route to take into the trees while trying to hide this from him.

  “It—it’s beautiful up here.” I pretend to admiring the view.

  “Yup,” is all I get from him.

  I look up at the sky in the distance. It’s turning shades of purple and deep orange. I’m guessing I’ll only have an hour at most before it’s completely pitch black. Will that be enough time? How far can I get before then? Will I have to stay hidden in the woods until morning light?

  These questions swarm around in my head as I take educated guesses at them.

  “Your friends seem... nice.” Some of that is true. I’m sure I’d think they were a whole lot nicer if they weren’t accomplices in my kidnapping. Even if they brought me clean clothes and delicious muffins.

  Chase exhales loudly. Stretching his legs, his arms, getting comfortable in the lovers’ swing. “Yeah. They’re good guys. Really, they are.”

  I pretend to smiling, stepping closer to the porch stairs. I feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to begin to sprint. Instead, I step to the railing and lean against it, watching the sun begin its descent into the far off hills.

  “Dawson says he had a visit last night. Someone from your Pops.”

  That last bit of information catches my attention. “Really?” I try not to sound too excited, to get my hopes up.

  Could this be it? Did father arrange for my freedom? Is this nightmare almost over?

  “Your cousin wanted to see how you were doing.”

  At that I abandon my escape plan for the moment and instead walk directly to my captor.

  “Mateo? He’s here?” This is wonderful! I know that wherever Dawson and Chase are from, it can’t be that far away, as we’re visited every day. If Mateo went to see Dawson last night, that means he can’t be that far away either!

  This is even better than father arranging some sort of release for me, no matter how unlikely that is. Mateo is here!

  But how could that be? Mateo hates father almost as much as I do. Two years ago Mateo’s own papa, married to father’s sister, had been murdered. Arturo, Mateo’s father, had been a loyal employee of father’s for my whole life. He was loved by the workers, by the men that worked for the organization, for his fairness.

  One night Arturo had disappeared. His burning car was found in the middle of town, engulfed in flames. Uncle Arturo couldn’t be saved, having been burnt alive. Father had blamed a rival organization, but Mateo swore that it wasn’t true.

  He swore that father had been behind it, jealous of Arturo’s influence over the men he commanded. Mateo was convinced that father would have his own sister’s husband murdered, than risk a possible rivalry for the men’s loyalties.

  I know my father. I know my cousin, Mateo. I have no reason to believe his theory isn’t true. It was one more thing to bond over between him and I. Father had been directly responsible for both of us having lost a parent.

  Mateo loves me. I know that. But I can’t believe he would agree to help father once again even if it meant to save me.

  “He wanted you to have this.” Chase searches deep into his pocket for a folded and wrinkled piece of paper.

  My eyes grow wide.

  “I didn’t want to give it to you when the guys were still here,” he apologizes as the note is extended to me. “I thought it should be something you read in private.”

  Chase doesn’t know Mateo. He doesn’t know how much this note means to me and yet he knew it would be special enough that I’d want to read it in private. My body betrays me and a single tear begins welling in the inner corner of my eye.

  I gulp and take one step, then another, closer to the paper, closer to Chase who’s holding it out for me to take.

  My fingers tremble inexplicably as they inch their way to the folded letter. In all the days I’ve been here, and each of the days I’ve been in our other hiding places before this one, I’ve wondered who would miss me. Who would wonder if I was well? I surely knew my stepmother and stepsisters wouldn’t care.

  To them it’d be a relief if I were gone.

  Father would only care that something of his was taken. It doesn’t matter what or who it was, but only that it belonged to him and it had been taken by someone else.

  My mother would have cared, I’m sure of it. Her family would have cared. But they’re all gone. There’s no one left who actually cares about me. No one except for Mateo.

  “Th-thank you,” my voice is nothing more than an unintentional whisper.

  The paper is light in my hands, yet it feels like it’s worth more than anything in the world. It’s all I have to prove that I actually mean something to someone else.

  Our eyes meet and he sees my trepidation.

  He stands from the wooden double swing, holding tight to the corner of the note until I’ve got a firm grip on it. “You okay?” he asks.

  I nod.

  Chase smiles and releases his grip on my letter. He steps forward, close to me. I don’t realize he’s trying to pass at first, and so I stay planted in my place with his body no more than an inch from mine. His large, powerful chest towers in front of me, expanding with every deep breath he takes. The musky sandalwood that I’ve come to know as his scent is so close that it fills my lungs.

  I can’t explain why, but having him close to me gives me some extra strength as I hesitate to open the note.

  “I’ll just be over here, if you need me,” he whispers and then sidesteps me to move past.

  I hear his heavy boots walking away, and I feel the vibrations moving through the long pieces of wood I stand on. The absence of his body heat hits me and a shiver of cold runs up my spine.

  Part of me is afraid to read what’s in my hands. Once it’s read I can no longer imagine all the possibilities that it could say.

  The wooden swing that Chase had abandoned is still moving, creaking from the old metal chain being put to use. I turn and drop to sit in it, catching it on its swing forward.

  There’s not much light left to read the words and I know I must act quickly before the waning sunlight disappears completely. Chase has found a new place against the post railing, pressed back against it, legs crossed at the ankle.

  He pretends not to be watching me, to be staring at his shoes instead.

  I imagine Mateo holding this paper not long ago and I open the crease to read what he’s written in Spanish.

  Cat,

  I hope you are well. I have spent every day since you were taken trying to find you. Please know that. I promised you when you were a little girl that I would always look after you. I will do that know. You know how delicate these things can be. You know how every side has its own agenda.

  Sometimes a terrible situation can lead to something good. Do you remember what my father wanted for me? I believe we can use this opportunity to make that happen. I believe we can find a solution for the greater good out of all of this.

  We can’t do it alone. Everyone needs HELP when faced with a difficult task. You know who we CANNOT trust in this, but do we know who we CAN trust?

  We will need to be STRONG, and to be POWERFUL in order to be able to do the things we must do. Perhaps it’s not something to be done alone?

  Stay strong and you
will make your REAL family proud.

  M.

  I read the words over and over again, each time letting the hidden meaning of Mateo’s message become clearer. By the looks of the condition of the worn paper, it’s been read before it reached my own hands.

  Mateo would have known that would happen, that Chase’s men, these SLAYERS, would have helped themselves to it, even if it is in Spanish. It was even possible, although less likely that someone else could have gotten a hold of the note. That explains why the message was written so cryptically.

  My father has spies everywhere. Mateo had to write this in such a way that whomever read it, from whichever side, wouldn’t be able to truly decipher it.

  He knew I would be able to, though, that’s its true meaning wouldn’t be lost on me. Mateo and I had only each other to share our grief with when I had learned what had happened to my mother’s family at the hands of father, and then again when Mateo’s own father had fallen victim to father’s dangerous ways.

  There was no safe place to vent our shared hatred of the one person who had ruined our lives other than with each other, where our treasonous words couldn’t be overheard by father and his minions, as that would seal our death warrants.

  Like Mateo and myself, Arturo Vazquez, my uncle, had seen my father for who he really was. As my father had no sons of his own, Mateo was the closest thing to a blood born legacy, a successor, as father had.

  Father knew it, and was threatened by it. Uncle Arturo was convinced that father would eliminate Mateo the first chance he could. That’s what got Arturo killed- trying to protect his son’s birthright, what would rightfully be his one day.

  “Everything good? You look kinda freaked out right now, Catarina.” Chase has been watching enough to see me react to Mateo’s secret message.

  Everything’s swirling in my head. All the time I’ve spent fixating on the paper in my hands has wasted a perfectly good opportunity to run.

  I’m torn between using the last rays of sunshine to try and make my escape, or to follow Mateo’s secret instruction encoded within the text.