Page 157 of Snared Rider

I don’t expect it, so I don’t prepare. The pain is indescribable. I feel my already cracked ribs shift beneath his fist and shooting agony spreads through my torso at light speed. I can’t breathe, I can do nothing but focus on the sensations rippling through my body, and God does it hurt.

My legs give out, losing traction. I sag against my bindings, which cut into my wrists. I don’t even feel that. All my attention is on my chest and the intense throbbing that is threatening to bring bile up my throat.

I’m dimly aware Dean is yelling and thrashing against his own bindings but as my head falls on my chest, I can’t understand what he’s saying.

My vision momentarily winks out. When it comes back online, the edges remain shadowy, tinged with tormenting pain.

“Where’s my wife?” Wilson repeats, and through the ringing in my ears he sounds muffled.

“You touch her again and I’ll rip your fucking head off!” Dean yells, his voice wild and enraged. I want to lift my head, to assure him I’m okay, but I can’t move.

“Where’s Olivia?”

No response.

This time Wilson’s fist strikes me square in the abdomen. I gasp and let out a cry that doesn’t sound human as I once again sag. The pain is blinding, like a tidal wave washing over me in fiery bursts. Sweat beads on my upper lip and dampens the back of my neck as I try to control my enflamed body.

“You’re a dead man,” Dean growls. “I’m going to kill you slowly and fucking painfully.”

“You say this, Lawler,” Wilson sounds smug, “but you’re the one hanging there and I’m the one standing here.”

He moves into my space, his face inches from mine, but when he speaks it’s not to me but Dean, “I can make it stop. Just tell me where she is.”

“I’m not surprised she left you.” Wilson’s body goes solid at Dean’s words. “You’re a fucking coward.”

“Taking on your little motorcycle club suggests otherwise.”

“You didn’t take us on. You carried out stealth attacks and then hid. You’re fucking pathetic. You’re a limp-dicked, cowardly little bitch. No wonder Liv came to me, you impotent little fuc—”

Wilson roars in anger and crosses the room in three steps. Then he goes off at Dean like a man possessed. The attack is fierce and enraged. Hit after hit rains down on Dean who doesn’t make a sound.

I whimper as I watch and then I yell for him to stop, but Wilson’s anger is uncontrolled and I know nothing I do will get through that barrier. He’s going to kill Dean. No one can survive such brutality.

Panicked, I know I have to do something. I’m Dean’s only hope of survival and I can’t do nothing while my best friend, my brother, is battered to death in front of me.

My eyes snap up to my bound hands. I need to get free. I need to get off this hook. I can’t lower the pulley, not from here, but the hook goes through the rope. Maybe I can lift myself off it.

I wrap my hands around the pulley mechanism, just above the hook and try to hoist my body up.

I realise my mistake immediately. I’m heavy and I have no upper body strength. Coupled with that is the fact I still have broken ribs and Wilson just beat me.

Bile climbs up my throat as the movement sends paroxysmal waves of agony through my body. I force it down, swallowing hard, ignoring my shaky vision. My pain is irrelevant right now, because Dean is still being beaten, and if I don’t act I will be burying him.

I push through my torment, biting my bottom lip so hard I taste blood and lift myself up again.

I fail.

The pain is overwhelming.

Oh God. I can’t do this. I can’t.

My eyes slide to Dean and Wilson and my stomach drops. Dean is barely conscious, his face a mess of blood, and it’s swelling fast.

I have to do this.

I have to get free and save him.

I grit my teeth and steel myself. Then, I grip the pulley wheel tight. Using all my strength, I lift myself off the ground.

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