Page 152 of Snared Rider

“Wade?” I barely breathe his name as he lists forward, his legs folding beneath him like wet cardboard.

I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I throw my arms around him to stop his descent. I realise instantly my mistake because I’m not small, but neither is Wade. His weight drives us both to the ground, my knees slamming painfully into the concrete. I don’t have time to register the pain because beneath Wade’s kutte I can see a crimson stain blooming across his slate coloured T-shirt. Even if I couldn’t see the blood, I can smell the coppery tang of it in the air. It’s mixed with the acrid smell of something I don’t recognise.

“Hello, Miss Goddard.”

My head snaps up from Wade’s bloodied T-shirt and locks onto the figure standing a few feet behind us. He’s partly concealed between two cars, but I recognise the dark hair and his goatee immediately. It is a face I will never forget.

I know without a shadow of a doubt this is the man who ran us off the road. This is the man who shot up the clubhouse. This is the man who wants Dean (and probably me) dead.

This is Simon Wilson.

Moisture beads on the back of my neck and I want to wipe it away, but I can’t tear my gaze from the gun pointed right at me. The parking garage rolls around me, the walls seeming to pulsate as my vision shimmers and my hearing dims.

Wade seizes my arm and I track his movement as he leans into me. We’re both on our knees and my fingers are digging into his shoulders with bruising force. I suspect this is the only thing keeping him from hitting the deck.

He stares at me a beat through heavy-lidded eyes, blood bubbling on his lips.

“Run.”

The word is garbled and hard to discern beneath the wetness clogging his throat. The blood. It’s now trailing down his chin and my stomach clenches as I watch it drip off the edge. I know I should pull my gaze but I can’t.

Wade shoves me weakly and hisses, “Fucking run!”

This time my brain kicks in and I do as I’m told. On shaky legs, I push up off the concrete and stagger to my feet.

My body is uncoordinated and my limbs heavy, but I’m moving. I take solace in this and push forward, screaming bloody murder into the air.

I make it less than two car lengths before something hard collides into me. Instinctively, I throw my hands out to break my fall as the ground comes up to meet me, but I can do nothing to buffer the pain as I hit the tarmac.

I bite my lip to stop from crying out as pain vibrates up my arms and through my left side. Agony flares savagely through my entire torso as I’m pressed into the concrete by a heavy weight straddling my back.

Wilson.

He manoeuvres so he’s straddling my hips, my face pressed against the ground. I can’t draw breath properly and my lungs ache as they are oxygen-depleted. This is the least of my worries, however.

Something sharp pricks the left side of my neck and I try to pull away as cold, numbing liquid spreads down my neck and into my chest. My head is fuzzy and feels odd as I lie prone, Wilson’s weight on my lower half. All I can smell is motor oil and all I can feel is rough-hewn stone beneath my cheek.

I try and fail to move. My limbs begin to feel detached and leaded and my struggles lessen until I can’t physically move to fight him.

Then, the weight on my legs disappears. Hands circle under my armpits, dragging me up off the concrete. The movement from horizontal to vertical makes my stomach roll. My head feels floaty and I know I’m fighting a losing battle.

My limbs are liquid as I’m dragged towards a white van. The side door is open and I can do nothing as Wilson heaves me inside, scraping the bare skin of my arms as he drags me in.

I’m dumped face down onto the metal floor. I can’t move. All I can do is breathe and try to remain calm.

As I lie motionless, waiting for whatever comes next, I can hear Wilson moving around me. I want to turn to see what he’s doing but my head is like a ten-tonne weight.

“Comfortable?” he hisses in my ear, and I jolt at his unexpected closeness. At least, I think I do. I can hardly keep focused on anything.

I try to speak, to tell him to go fuck himself, but my tongue feels too big for my mouth, and all I manage is a garbled retort.

“I’m sorry you have to be involved in this, love, but if Lawler gives me what I want no harm will come to you.”

He moves away and I hear the back doors of the van slam shut. I’m thrown into near darkness and my mouth instantly dries. Wade is lying on the floor of the parking garage bleeding out and no one else knows I’m being abducted by a lunatic who is hell-bent on seeking revenge.

I’m so incredibly fucked.

And that is the last thought I have before the drug drags me into the darkness and I lose consciousness.

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