Rocket (Hell's Handlers MC 5)

“Yes, you fucking will. I’m not here to hurt you, sweetheart. Just here to get you and all that gorgeous red hair out of here.” He pointed toward the empty second bed. “Can I cover you with the blanket? I won’t touch you.”

She stared for a few beats, then her chin dipped. The movement must have hurt. She winced and held still. “Y-yes, please.”

Rocket pulled the frayed comforter off the additional double bed and laid it gently over her. Despite the feather light landing of the material, she flinched and hissed out a breath.

“Are—are you really going to get me out of here?”

“That’s the plan. Though I don’t know how you’ll ride on my bike in that state. I’ll have to call one of my brothers to bring a cage.”

Her eyes flew to his face mask. If she thought it odd he didn’t remove it, she didn’t say. No way was the fucker coming off. Whatever she thought she knew about his club, she didn’t exactly trust him and he wasn’t going to risk her being able to identify him down the road.

“Sorry, I mean a car. We call it a cage.”

“Oh. I-I’ll be fine on the m-motorcycle.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I know I’m guessing here, but you’re naked and you’ve been beaten. I’m guessing they did more than just hit you. You don’t want to sit on a bike for thirty minutes, sweetheart.”

“Chloe,” she said with a snap that had his lips twitching. Good for her. The fact that she was so damaged yet could still toss attitude his way gave him confidence she’d recover. At least as well as any woman could recover from this kind of horror.

“My name is Chloe. Not sweetheart. And we aren’t discussing what happened to me. I want out of this hellhole more than I want a comfortable ride. If you’re really here to get me out, then the bike is fine.”

He stared at her for a few long seconds before nodding. And damn if she didn’t earn his respect right there. “I need to get you free of the bed. I’ll try not to touch you, but I may have to touch your wrists or ankles. I’ll warn you before I do.”

With another nod, she said. “At this point, I’m not sure I’d care if you cut my hands and feet off. I just want out.”

Rocket grunted as he got to work on freeing her. There was a ridiculous amount of duct tape around each wrist and ankle. Whoever had bound her made a rope out of the tape then secured it to the legs of the bed. Easy to saw through with a knife, but impossible for Chloe to break free from. Working the tape off her skin was pointless. He’d leave that unpleasant task to the medical professionals. Pain medicine would come in handy.

Chloe. It was a good name. Pretty, like she’d been on that grainy security video he’d watched over and over. From the intel his brothers had gathered, she was a well-liked woman. Sweet, kind, a bit of a homebody, but willing to help anyone and everyone. It remained to be seen, how much of that woman still existed inside Chloe now.

After about five minutes of slicing through the four man-made ropes, he had her completely freed. Each time he released a limb, she flexed and rotated the joint, biting her lip as she groaned through pain. A pile of clothes rested in the corner of the room. Leaving her to soothe her muscles, Rocket inspected the pile, and discovered the outfit she’d been kidnapped in.

Without speaking he handed her the garments and turned his back. She snorted out a laugh. He got it. Her dignity had already been stolen and he’d had more than a glimpse of her naked body. Even if she didn’t think the gesture of privacy mattered anymore, it did to him. He wouldn’t compound the worst night of her existence by gawking at her while she dressed.

Chloe was tough, never asking for help as she struggled to a stand. The urge to swing her into his arms and carry her outside was strong, but Rocket resisted. For one thing, she’d probably freak if he touched her and for another, he had to know if she still had some fight left. Recovery would be a long road. Most of it alone, since the club was about to ask her to keep all details of the attack to herself. If she couldn’t dig deep and survive, they’d all be in trouble.

“I’m ready,” she said, voice weak but determined.

“Follow me,” he said.

When they got to his bike he turned to face her. “I’m taking you to the hospital. They will call the police. I need you to make up a bullshit story that will never lead them back to my club or Lefty.” Best to dump all the cards straight on the table.