Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC 2)

He laughed, and it was so unhinged it sent chills down my spine.

“I have no intention of letting you go. And they’ll never find me. I still have connections,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Now get up,” he ordered, standing.

I debated the consequences of staying where I was out of pure rebellion, but I thought doing what the crazy guy with the knife said was probably the best course of action right now. Plus I didn’t even want to think about the germs I was subjecting myself to sitting on the floor of a bathroom in a cheap motel.

I gently pushed myself up. My body ached all over, most likely from the car accident. Fear bloomed in my stomach. Rosie.

“What did you do to her?” I asked desperately.

It took a second for Rafe to click. “Oh, the dark-haired slut in the car? I left her. As much fun as I would have had with that little piece there wasn’t time. Your fuckin’ bikers were on their way,” he declared, tugging me back into the bedroom.

My body relaxed slightly at the fact Rosie was okay. Panic crept back in as Rafe pushed me roughly onto the bed, dragging my arms up above my head.

“I hadn’t wanted to use these,” he informed me, pulling handcuffs from his belt. “I had wanted your hands free.” I sickened at the erotic glint in his eyes. “But I think this is best for now.”

I hoped the click of my restraints was not the sound of my freedom and dignity being locked away before I was raped or stabbed. I had to believe that Brock would come for me. Or at the very least the police would. Weird how I thought about Brock before the law.

“What’s the plan here, Rafe?” I tried to distract his gaze from its travel down my body. “You going to torture me in some hotel with paper thin walls? Not the smartest idea you’ve had.” Maybe questioning his intelligence was not the best idea at this juncture.

A muscle in Rafe’s jaw ticked and he dragged his gaze away from my breast. “Oh, this is just a stop along the way. I’ve got a couple of calls to make, then we’ll be heading to the airport,” he explained with a grin.

“The airport?” I repeated.

“You didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to stay in America? Not when dear old Dad and the Sons still have their spies everywhere.” He shook his head. “No, no, no, we’re off to Columbia. I’ve got everything arranged, Red, don’t you worry.”

He bent to kiss me and I managed to swallow down the vomit as his hand groped my breast roughly.

He pulled back with a groan. “We’ll have plenty of time for that. First I have to organize a plane.”

He stood up and turned his back on me, unearthing a cellphone. He moved to the corner of the room, speaking quietly into it.

Shit shit shit. Kidnapped again. Fuck. And by the same guy. This was so not my year. I tried to quietly move the handcuffs but they clanged loudly against the headboard. I was effectively trapped here until someone came to rescue me. If someone came.

Hours passed and Rafe had left. He had thoughtfully gagged me so I didn’t get any bright ideas as to yell for help. I tried to thrash around the bed, clatter my metal bracelets loudly, but to no avail. I was not only trapped but I really needed to pee. The door opened, revealing the dim twilight. I hoped it was leather clad bikers, but it was only a well-dressed madman.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart, so much to do.”

He dropped some bags by the bed and reached to ungag me.

I sucked in my first unobstructed breath in hours. “I need to use the bathroom, like pronto,” I informed him.

He frowned at me. “Fine. But you try anything, you’ll be sorry. And I’m watching,” he smirked.

Once uncuffed I rushed to the bathroom, so desperate his wily glare wasn’t enough to stop me. As I was washing my hands he thrust a bag at me.

“Put these on,” he demanded.

I wordlessly took the bag. I stared at him expectantly. Why I expected him to leave when the sick fucker had just watched me pee, I didn’t know.

“I’m not going anywhere, Red. I’m going to enjoy every minute of watching this. It can be our foreplay until I have enough time to have my fun with you.”

My blood chilled at the promise and I wore the reminder on my skin as to what his fun really was. “Your dad really fucked you up, didn’t he?” I muttered.

Suddenly he pushed off the wall and his hand was at my throat, choking me. I clawed at him, trying to get oxygen.

“You don’t speak a word about him, got it? We never speak of that man again,” he hissed, spittle flying out his mouth.

I nodded the best I could and he released me. I coughed, gasping for air.

“Now put the fucking clothes on and don’t say another word.”

Okay, so Daddy was a sore spot for him, I mused, silently undressing. I tried to ignore the crawling feeling I felt from his eyes on me and the humiliation of baring my body to him. I slipped the black slacks and blouse on quickly, slipping my feet into flats. Obviously he had learned heels constituted a deadly weapon.

He stepped forward once I was dressed, pressing his body to mine. I felt his hardness pressing into me and his palm brushed my face with a gentleness I didn’t know he was capable of.

“It’s a shame you had to make me do that.” He pressed into my tender skin lightly and I flinched. “You’ll learn.”

I itched to sling some sarcastic remark back but I stayed silent, realizing my mouth could mean my death.

He gripped my arm and yanked it. “Come on, we’ve got places to go,” he demanded.

As we got into the bedroom everything happened at once.

The door crashed open and Brock burst through, gun drawn. Cade and Bull followed.