Undaunted (The Kings of Retribution MC)

My hands being tied behind my back ends up working to my advantage, I have easy access to try and reach my phone. I strain and stretch as far as I can, reaching the tips of my fingers into my right back pocket.

YES!

I let my phone drop to the floor, and with a shaky hand, I reach down and swipe the screen. I start searching for Logan’s number. When I find it I press the call button, then lay my body down on the floor close to the phone so I can hear. It only rings once before I hear his voice.

“Bella!” Logan shouts into the phone, his voice full of anguish.

I can no longer hold back the tears prickling my eyes. What if this is the last time I hear his voice.

“Angel, please don’t cry, I need you to be strong. Can you tell me anything about where you and Alba are?”

“I’m in a basement...I think. I can hear footsteps above me. I’m pretty sure I’m in a house. They must have drugged me because I don’t remember how I got here. I just woke up, and my hands have been tied behind my back.”

“That’s good, Angel, you’re doing really good. I’m having Reid track your phone right now. Hold on for me baby, I’m coming for you guys. I promise.”

“Logan, Alba’s not with me, she’s not here. I don’t know what they did with her. You have to find her Logan, please,” I cry.

With a loud bang, the basement door opens and my heart stops. “Logan, someone’s coming. Oh god, what do I do? Please, Logan, tell me what to do.” I whisper and plead.

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” I hear him chanting. “I’m coming for you Bella, I promise.”

I scramble to sit up, pushing my phone behind me so they won’t see it, but it’s too late.

“What the fuck you got there you little puta, bitch?” A man with an accent spits.

He’s wearing a cut that reads Los Demonios. Shit, that’s the club Logan and Jake have been talking about; the one Lee has been associating with.

“Fuck you!” I scream at the asshole.

Walking over to me, the man takes his booted foot and knocks me out of the way, exposing my phone lying on the floor behind me. He stomps on it, busting it into pieces.

Turning back towards the stairs, he yells out something in Spanish. Two more men come rushing down into the basement. All three of the men speak rapidly back and forth with each other, and I have no idea what they’re saying. One of the men strides towards me, pulling something from his cut. I hold my breath—the first thing coming to mind is a gun, but it’s not. The closer he gets to me, I see it’s a needle.

“Get away from me!” I yell while trying to scoot away from him, with nowhere to go.

Grabbing me by my hair, he gets in my face, telling me, “Shut the fuck up.” The stench of his breath making me want to gag.

Without warning, he sticks the needle in my neck. Seconds later darkness takes me.

I awaken again with another familiar headache. I blink a few times, willing my heavy eyes to open. I realize my hands are still tied —this time, above my head—and I’m lying on a bed, in what looks like a bedroom. To my left is a d

oor, and to my right, a window that’s been boarded up. Directly in front of me is a small dresser with a small older TV that has a busted screen sitting on top of it.

The only positive thing in this whole situation is that I still have all my clothes on.

My thoughts turn to my sister. I start letting my imagination run wild on all the things these men might be doing to her. Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths to try and calm my nerves. This is not the time to be having a panic attack. I just pray that Logan finds us.

I’ve been lying here for what feels like forever. My arms are killing me and my hands are starting to go numb.

I haven’t heard any sounds coming from the other side of the door. I wonder if they left me here alone, should I scream for help? I quickly decided against it because I don’t want to do anything that will draw attention to myself.

A few minutes later I hear the click of the door and in walks a man. He is not one of the men from before, but he is wearing the same cut. I notice the VP patch as he gets closer to the bed. He’s only about five feet ten with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. He also has a large jagged scar running the length of his right cheek, but it’s his black soulless eyes that have a chill running down my spine.

“Where the hell is my sister?”

“You know it’s a shame my father has plans for you,” he says, completely ignoring my question.

He comes to a stop right next to me, and then slowly runs his finger down my arm, then down my chest between my breasts. My breathing picks up and I start tugging on my tied hands.