Biker's Bride (Demons MC)

I sat there, alone and cold in my thin morning clothes, with my back against the hard steel bars, and continued to imagine Rex smashing Michael’s face in, over and over.

Chapter Twenty

I don’t know how long I sat down there. Time was hard to keep track of without a clock or the sun. Maybe twenty minutes after Michael left, the lights flickered then went out. He had promised some food and water, but none came.

It had to be at least a few hours. I felt my stomach growl, and I was incredibly thirsty, but I didn’t want to cry out. The longer I went without drawing attention to myself, the safer I was. A few hours in a cage with no food or water was possible; I knew it was nuts, but I was totally prepared to gut it out. I thought about the hours I had with Rex, the days we spent together in and out of bed, the way I felt like I knew him better than anybody before. I knew that he was my best chance at getting out of the situation alive, and all he had to do was win his fight.

The last time I saw him, Rex still wasn’t fully healed. The swelling was mostly down, but the bruises were still dark and bloomed yellow across his body. Between the tattoos and the pooled blood, his body was a mottled canvas of different colors. I had to be careful when we went to bed. He wasn’t the kind of man to take things gently, but even he had to admit that it was a good idea to give his smashed body a rest.

He wasn’t in great shape. He was still in pain even when performing simple tasks. For the first two days I had to help him undress and shower, which I couldn’t complain about one bit. I loved pulling his shirt slowly from his body. But the blooming yellow and blue along his ribs always hit me right in the chest and took my breath away. I couldn’t begin to understand the kind of pain he was in, and the kind of strength it took for him to carry on. Soon though, he was feeling better, and was up and about on his own, but I could still see the suffering on his face every once in a while.

I was worried. He had to win, he could win, but he was coming into the fight injured. Whoever Michael got would be in perfect shape, and probably pretty motivated. What if Rex lost? I knew Michael would kill him, but what would happen to me? I was afraid he’d keep me around, force me to be a part of the gang. I imagined horrible scenarios, like becoming a sex slave, or a forced prostitute addicted to drugs. But he couldn’t actually do that, could he? I had Shane and Amy, and they wouldn’t let me disappear. Shane Green had enough disposable income to tear the city apart trying to find me. I had to assume that Michael and his people didn’t know about my relationship to Shane, which was a good thing. If anything went wrong, I needed to get a message out to him and Amy. They were the aces up my sleeve, and I really hoped I wouldn’t have to involve them.

My mind wandered over all of the horrible possibilities as the time slowly slipped by. My body was stiff and a pain shot up along my spine, but I refused to lie on the disgusting mattress. Besides, there was nothing I could do.

Suddenly, as I got lost in another fantasy where I tore Michael’s spine from his gross body, the door to the basement opened and the light flicked on. I heard boots stomping down the stairs, and the wood creaked under somebody’s weight. The person turned the corner and came into view. I recognized him immediately: he was either Spud or Clutch, one of Michael’s personal goons. He repulsed me powerfully as he moved closer. His head was shaved and his pig face curled into a disgusting grin. He was holding a tray with a sandwich on it and three bottles of water.

“Hello, girlie,” he said, and his voice was a high-pitched lisp. I winced at the sound, and realized I had never heard him say anything before. They were quiet when they tore through my apartment.

He crouched down outside my cell, put the tray on the ground, and stared at me.

“Are you going to push that in?” I asked, trying to avoid eye contact.

“I haven’t decided yet.” He kept staring at me, the crazy smile not leaving his face. He put his hands on the bars and leaned his forehead against the metal, staring in at me.

“What the fuck do you want?” I asked. Chills ran up my spine.