Lazarus (The Henchmen MC 7)

I was going to be forced through that one way or another. I would get sick and the sweats and the chills. I would hurt everywhere and rage and cry and feel more miserable than I ever had in my entire life.

I didn't know a damn thing about the gorgeous man called Lazarus Alexander, but I got the distinct impression that he would have no mercy. He wasn't going to give in to my pleas for a couple 30s to take away some of the misery. He would cut me off cold-turkey and force me to crash through the withdrawal until I was nothing but a puddle of sweat and tears and vomit on the floor.

"I get you're scared, sweetheart. And I won't sugarcoat it- you should be. This is going to be scary and awful and you're never going to feel more alone and miserable than you will the next week or so. But the worst is the first two or three days. That's it. Just three days. You can endure anything for three days, right?"

That I wasn't so sure about. I was no superhero. I once cried over a stubbed toe. I didn't exactly have the best tolerance for things that made me uncomfortable.

"You want to get clean, right?"

That made my eyes snap up to his and when I spoke, every bit of conviction I possessed was in my voice. "Yes."

"Then are you making the choice or am I chaining you to the bed?"

If I wasn't completely mistaken, there was some humor in his voice, like he was trying to tease me a little, trying to make an incredibly heavy and dark situation just a little lighter.

I swallowed hard, trying to do the same. "Do I even want to know why you have something in here that you could chain a woman to the bed with?"

To that, his lips tipped up in a way that made the skin next to his eyes crinkle up charmingly.

In another world, in another life, he was someone I would have let myself want.

As it was, there was no room for that in my life.

Then there was, of course, the part where he was a sociopathic freak with some sort of savior complex.

Or, in other words, he was off his rocker.

"Jokes aside, Bethany. Make the right choice."

I don't know what it was per say- the sincerity in his words, the fact that I truly needed to make a change for the better, the fact that I didn't really have a choice, or a combination of all of the aforementioned, but I swallowed back the objections.

"Okay."

"Okay," he agreed, nodding as he slowly stood. "Good. You'll regret it for a week then you'll be happy you said what you just said. I am going to run out for some supplies to try to make it easier on you. I'll be back in a few hours."

With that and not another word, he turned and walked out of the room. A second later, I heard the door to the hall click.

I was a lot of things, but I wasn't stupid. If he was going to leave me alone, I was going to get the hell out of there. Then, I don't know, maybe Google some local detoxes and change my life while not being held captive.

I jumped up off the bed and rushed toward the window, looking down on the street in time to see a motorcycle pull to the end of the driveway, pause to look, then peel off.

So he was a biker.

And if he was a biker in Navesink Bank, well, that meant one thing. He was a Henchmen.

That, well, that just reinforced the fact that I needed to get the hell out of there. The last thing I needed in my life was to be caught up with some outlaw biker gang. No sir, no way.

I went to his dresser and found a pair of pajama pants with a drawstring, yanking it tight so that while it hung alarmingly low on my hips, didn't fall to the floor, then made a mad dash for the front door.

To find it locked from the outside.

My heart dropped down into the pits of my stomach as I turned around and ran frantically toward the window in the living room where there was a fire escape. But when I reached for the bottom and tried to haul it up, it wouldn't budge. My eyes went to look for the lock only to find there wasn't one.

Oh, no.

It wouldn't budge because he had nailed it freaking shut.

My breath rushed out of me as I turned back to face the apartment that would, for all intents and purposes, be my prison for the next... however long.

It could be worse. The kitchen had a light gray tiled floor that matched the tile to the countertops and contrasted the white cabinets well. The living space was small and sparse- just sporting a loveseat, lamp, and end table. The bed had been nice. The bathroom was as well.