Page 85 of Lucky's Trouble

“Now this.” She reaches for another confusing item made from the same material. It looks like nothing but a bunch of straps, buckles, and more O rings, but apparently, I’m to wear it.

Holding it out, she lowers it for me to step into. She positions two straps just under my ass that wrap around each thigh, two more that crisscross over my butt cheeks, and secures it with the buckle around my waist. It covers nothing.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” she says, a hint of satisfaction in her tone. “Just a couple finishing touches, and you’ll be ready.”

“Ready for what?” I ask.

She pins me with a look. “That’s a surprise.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper. “I know people who could protect us. You just have to—”

“Let me stop you right there because you’re wasting both of our time. You mean nothing to me, and I won’t rescue you. You should accept that now because the longer you hold onto a piece of hope, the longer it will take him to break you. My advice is not to fight it. This will all be over much quicker for you.” She bends over, once again reaching into the suitcase and producing two patent leather cuffs. After clipping them to the O rings on the outside of my thighs, she reaches for my hand covering my breasts.

I know she’s right, and I should just let it happen, but I can’t. I won’t. I have to try. Twisting my body out of her hold, I make a move for the door. It’s not locked, and if I can just get out, I can run. There have to be neighbors somewhere close by, even if I couldn’t see them, or maybe a passing car. Something.

“You stupid cunt,” she grits out and stops me by gripping a fistful of hair and yanking me back. I stumble over the suitcase and land on my ass. “What did I just say?”

My lip wobbles as she hefts me to my feet with little effort. She easily tugs my arm to my side and secures my wrist in the cuff before moving to the other side, doing the same, rendering me helpless.

“It’s always the same with you girls. I can practically write your story for you. You fight, he wins. You fight some more, and he wins again. The whole goddamn time, he’s smiling because this is his game you’re playing, and that man doesn’t lose.”

The last two items she pulls from her suitcase are impossibly worse than all the rest combined. She turns me around and places another red item on me. It’s a mask that closely resembles a muzzle, also in red to match my outfit. Once it’s secured with a buckle on the back of my head, she attaches a leash to the collar, keeping hold of the other end as though I’m a goddamned dog.

She blows out a breath. “There. All done.”

I suck in my lips and close my eyes, trying not to lose my shit because I know it’ll only get worse from here.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

LUCKY

My brothers try to reason with me and get me to take a seat and come up with a plan, but I’m not wasting any more time on idle chit-chat. I am the goddamn plan. My fist meeting Neal’s face until he tells me where Tinleigh is the only tactic I need.

“Jesus fucking Christ, brother. At least wait for us,” Dutch says, trying to keep up with my fast pace.

I don’t even hear him as I walk out the front door, heading to my bike. There’s nothing but darkness all around me with a singular focus they can’t stop me from following. They can come or not; it doesn’t make a difference. The result will be the same.

Climbing on my bike, I bring it to life and peel out of the parking lot, sending a spray of gravel behind me. My mind is clear as I weave through traffic, daring a cop to pull me over right now. It’s almost laughable. I know this bike better than I know myself, and there’s no possible situation we couldn’t find ourselves out of.

I glance at my side view, noticing at least four of my brothers behind me. I guess I was wrong. I could lose a cop, but there’s no losing them, and I’d do best to remember it. My problems are never my own. The patch I proudly wear day in and day out means I’m never alone in my victories or my failures.

The thirty-minute ride takes us seventeen, and this time, we don’t bother parking at the adult store. We pull right up to the front entrance. After a quick check of my magazine, I slam the butt against my palm and pull the slide, loading a round into the chamber of my Glock.

Dutch, Satyr, and Rigger flank me, but I know I saw four bikes, so I glance over my shoulder, surprised to see Judge with a Remington Tac 14 in hand. I can’t remember a time he’s ever come on an ambush with us. He’s usually the one who puts us back together after we unleash our most animalistic tendencies. But I know why he’s here. He’s spent a lot of time with my girl, talking about deep shit like God and purpose. Sometimes they disagree, but they hold a deep mutual respect for each other.

He returns my nod with a firm set of his jaw, positioning his Tac across his body, ready for action.

The club’s not open, but I don’t wait for an invitation. I aim my gun in front of me and shoot out the glass. It explodes, and I step through the newly open space.

Two men sit at the bar to the right, and their eyes go wide. They jump to their feet, both reaching for their sidearms.

“Hands up, motherfuckers,” I say.

Realizing they’re no match for the four guns already aimed at their heads, they hold their hands in position. Satyr pulls up a stool beside them, setting his laptop on the bar to hack into their security cameras, while Dutch tucks his weapon into his pants before divesting them of theirs.

“I’ll just hold onto these,” he says nonchalantly.

“Boss man here?” I ask, and instead of answering, they look over at each other. “Eyes over here and answer the damn question.”

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