Gavin's Song (Road to Salvation A Last Rider's Trilogy 1)

“Son of a bitch!”

“Shit, how can he run that fast?”

Gavin pumped his legs faster. He was within inches of the trees when a hard body threw itself onto his back. Gavin didn’t stop, trying to shake the weight off him as he continued to run.

“Don’t let him go, Hock!”

Reaching the trees, Gavin dropped his shoulder forward and twisted his body to the side, trying to use the tree to drag Hock off his back.

Grunting, Hock held on, refusing to let go. There was no way Gavin was going back alive, and Hock was slowing him down.

In one motion, he raised his arm and yanked Hock over his shoulder. He circled Hock’s neck and gave it a sharp jerk, snapping it. Throwing him to the side, Gavin darted between two trees, feeling the burning sting of the bullet that hit the back of his thigh. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the pain, adrenaline coursed through his veins giving him the impetus to continue the mad dash for freedom. His body’s sole focus to get away, to return to the life that had been taken from him. He used whatever force spurring him on to push past the physical barrier of his limitations, seeing in his mind’s eye those he needed to get back to as a stimulus to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

There weren’t as many trees the farther he got away from the house. Another bullet hit him in the back of his shoulder. Coming around another tree, gasping for air, he saw a large field in front of him and, farther away, he could make out a road. He would be a sitting duck unless, by some miracle, a cop drove by.

No, his objective was the forest on the other side of the road. He might not be able to flag down a motorist on the back road to escape, but he could lose himself in the woods with a little luck.

He had to get through the field and make it across the road. It was a big if, but he would take the one percent chance of escaping versus being taken back to the basement that had become his hell. He had barely taken three steps into the field when he heard bike motors coming after him.

“God, please …,” he prayed, pushing his body harder. “Please ….”

The sounds of the motorcycles coming closer had him praying harder.

“God, don’t ….”

He wasn’t able to finish his prayer as Slate rode his bike closer to him. Holding his bike steady, he kicked out, hitting him in his ribs.

Gavin dropped like a stone, holding his ribs, unable to breath.

Slate spun his motorcycle to a stop, spitting dirt and grass into the air. Gavin was in too much pain to look up when Slate walked over to him and put the gun to his head.

“Do it,” Gavin croaked out.

“Fuck no. I’m not going to let you off that easy!” Slate screamed at him. “When I’m fucking done with you, you’re going to think that going to Hell will be a fucking paradise.” Slate cruelly jerked his hands behind his back, and Gavin felt the handcuffs snap in place.

“Ink, Raff, get his ass back to the house. Butcher, take care of his wounds and make sure Ink and Raff chain him to bed before you work on him.”

Following Slate’s orders, he was jerked to his feet and marched back to the house. When Ink shoved him in the shower, Gavin had to use his shoulder to catch himself. Blood dripped down his body from the cuts and bullet holes and onto the shower floor and ran down the drain as Ink turned the shower on.

“You know he’s going to make you pay for killing Hock, don’t you?”

Gavin used his shoulder to bash the stupid bastard against the wall, sending him scrambling back, his ass landing on the toilet.

“Next time, I’ll make sure you’re the one I kill,” Gavin promised.

“There won’t be a next time,” Slate said, coming into the bathroom and punching him on the chin, sending him back against the wall. Slate got in the shower and grabbed him by the throat.

Gavin met Slate’s furious gaze, raising his chin, silently daring him to choke him out.

“Give it to me, Ink.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw what Butcher handed Ink.

“You’re going to enjoy this trip.”

Gavin tried to throw his body at Slate to knock him off balance, but Slate held him in place as Butcher grabbed his arm, holding it out as Ink tied a tourniquet on his upper arm.

“You’re going to beg to suck my dick to get more,” Slate said, letting him drop to the floor when Ink drew the needle out of his skin.

Gavin slicked his wet hair back to stare up at him. “You don’t want my mouth anywhere near your dick.”