Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC 17)

Burning fire rushes through my veins. Scorching flames sear my skin.

The burning sensation recedes to nothing.

My body goes limp.

He pushes me off him and I roll into the grass without feeling a thing.

This is worse than before.

So much worse.

He hoists me in the air, throwing me over his shoulder like a lumpy sack of potatoes. I can’t see where we’re going but I’m sure it’s back inside the quaint little cabin of terror.

Why couldn’t I keep my dang temper in check? Pretend to be docile for a little while until I figured out a better plan?

Each step he takes snuffs out any hope of escape.

He grunts as he lifts me up the steps. “For such a small woman, you’re heavier than I expected.”

Great. Now he’s insultin’ my weight on top of everything else.

The bedroom I was in before is on the right and he carries me inside, kicking the door closed.

Sounds like a nail poundin’ inta my coffin.

I don’t wanna go back in my trunk.

Tears leak from my eyes into my hair. I can’t feel them but I watch their glistening trail down my dirty, messy tarnished-gold waves.

I focus all my energy on sending a signal to my legs or hands but it’s like being caught in a nightmare where I see the monster coming but can’t so much as twitch a muscle to defend myself.

He sets me on the floor next to the bed with a thud. My head smacks against the hardwood, rattling my teeth.

My vision swims.

If my body wasn’t fighting whatever drugs he pumped into me, my heart would be jumping in terror.

Bending over, he grunts and struggles to pull something out from underneath the bed.

Finally, he rolls out a long box. The same color as the bed. Same length. Reminds me of one of those platform beds with the trundle underneath like Hayley and I had once begged our parents to buy us.

Hayley. At least if I don’t make it out of this, I’ll get to hug my baby sister again.

Oh, Lord. My poor momma. She’s already suffered losing one daughter.

A metal clacking noise draws my attention back to the box.

Nope. Not a box.

The top is made out of a thick, black metal lattice with two heavy-duty sliding barrel locks—one at the top and one at the bottom. The top hinges open, like a fancy cat carrier.

Realization slams into me.

It’s a human cage. He plans to lock me inside it.

My brain renews the effort to force my limbs to move.

He scoops me up and arranges me inside. “You’ll stay in here until you learn to be a good girl.”

My sleepy gaze sweeps over the interior of my new prison. It’s not tall enough for me to turn over or sleep on my side. Worse, it’s hidden so well, integrated into the bed seamlessly. How will anyone ever find me?

Drowsiness creeps over me from the injection, but somehow my arm finally receives the signals my brain has been sending. My hand jerks to life. My fingers slowly curl into a fist and I loosely raise it. As my last act of defiance, I sweep my fist into a wide, lazy arc, connecting with his cheek. It barely glances off the side of his face.

He tsks at me, slowly shaking his head.

Can’t do another thing. My brain’s too fuzzy. Soft. Barely able to concentrate on anything except for the fear of being sealed away in a box under the bed.

One last thought remains as the blackness pulls me under.

At least I went out fightin’.

Chapter Seven

Rooster

Pitch blackness engulfs the entire area. No streetlights. Haven’t seen another house for miles.

I pull the truck off the road, rolling it underneath the shadow of trees before stopping.

Behind me, a black van quietly crawls to a stop. The door opens. One after another, brothers dressed in black jump out, landing in the overgrown grass with nothing more than a dry rustle. In the darkness, they appear as little more than blurry movements in the night air.

More brothers on their bikes are waiting farther down the hill in case we need backup. But having them thunder all the way up here would be as good as announcing our arrival over a bullhorn.

“Ready?” Jigsaw asks.

I nod once, too focused on what’s ahead to bother with words.

Pants had suggested we wait until morning. To my relief, Ice had shut that idea down fast.

We go in now and we go in hard.

Once Shelby’s safe in my arms, I’ll decide what to do about Martin Suggs.

In addition to his gun and knife, Jigsaw’s carrying a set of bolt cutters in his gloved hands.

Just in case.

I pat the Glock in my side holster under my cut and briefly touch the hunting knife strapped to my leg. Not that I plan to use the weapons. No, I’m looking forward to getting up close and personal with my kill.