Page 111 of Throttle

“I don’t have the fucking time to answer your dumbass questions. If you did your job, we wouldn’t be in this situation!” I shout, the anger dripping out of me.

“Now wait a goddamn minute—”

“Officer, we told you everything we know. That guy was already dead when my boy arrived, and ours was laying there beat to a bloody pulp.” Chain stands there, muscled arms crossed to his chest.

Chain's omission of Tequila signals that I should do the same. We won’t ever find her if the feds are involved. Or should I say, we won’t get her out with them breathing down our backs. And I don’t plan on letting them walk out of wherever they are. My first guess being that goddamn warehouse.

“Your club is already on our shit list,” the cop tells Chain.

Of course, we were.

“So, I’m getting five minutes with you and your full statement.” He’s looking at me.

I grind my molars and allow the asshat to ask me meaningless questions. With each passing minute, my patience dwindles. If I fail to find her soon, I'll lose whatever humanity remains.

Tequila

“C-can I ask you your name?” My teeth chatter as I pull my legs closer.

The girl with the copper hair was not shedding tears. Surprisingly, she never screamed in terror or called for help while he shamefully robbed her of her dignity. I wondered how many times he has hurt her. For her to be so subdued by the pain.

Her back was bare as she sat against the metal bars. Indifferent and dazed. I refrained from asking what happened. But perhaps talking to her will ease her silent agony.

Her pretty head swivels toward me. “Does it matter? They will either sell us off or kill us. We won’t ever see each other again. Why bother knowing our names?”

While she might be right, I choose to hold on to the hope that we have a chance. That chance being the Steel Valley Chains.

“If what you say is true and we don’t make it out of here, at least we’ll have each other. For as long as that may be.”

She looks down, picking at the dirt off her arm.

“I can be your friend,” I offer.

“Just stop, please. I don’t need a friend.” She lays her cheek on her arms, braced by her knees and turns away.

I decide it’s better not to push. She’s broken. Hurt. And she’s allowed to be. Given what she has gone through, it's understandable for her to feel angry and disconnected.

I’m angry with her.

Mya draws nearer and wraps her arms around herself for comfort. “I just moved here with my boyfriend. We were going to college together. Of course, my parents were against it. I mean, what eighteen-year-old moves hours away with a guy? They thought it was the most insane idea.” She chuckles. “But we’re in love. I met him a year ago and have been together ever since.” She sniffs, wiping a tear off her face.

I reach for her hand. “That’s so sweet. You were just following your heart.”

With a smile, she brushes away another tear. “I was. We were. Brandon was going to propose. He told me when we moved here, not wanting to wait any longer because he loved me. But he wanted it to be special.” Mya sighs, then continues. “We live in an apartment right outside campus, and one night when he was in the shower, I left him a note saying I’d be back. That I was running to the little store on the corner. He would have never let me go alone.” She frowned. “Anyway, it was when I was walking home, they grabbed me.” Her voice breaks, and she cries. “I’m such an idiot. I should have never gone. I should have paid attention to my surroundings.” Mya’s shoulders shake and I wish I could comfort her. Embrace her with a hug.

“This was not your fault. Fear should not be our reality. Women shouldn’t have to worry about walking to a store and getting kidnapped. Do not blame yourself.”

“If… if I make it out of here. I just want to hug Brandon and tell him yes. Yes, I’d marry him.”

I want to reassure her she will. She'll leave and get to hug her boyfriend, telling him yes, but I thought about the other girl's words, not to give false hope.

I do hope to believe Throttle and the guys will find us. Save us, but nothing is a guarantee. What I am certain of is I will go down fighting—fighting for me and for them.

“My name is Danika.”

Mya and I both shift our focus in the opposite direction.

“That’s pretty.” I smile. “Oh! I haven’t even told you both mine. It’s…” Which one do I give? In my possible last breath, what name should I say? “My name’s Tequila.”

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