Page 23 of Jaded Soul

“That’s why we’re going after her. I just shared her location and tracking information to my phone so we’ll have it with us. If she moves, we’ll know about it and can call in backup.”

I nod while both men pat me on the back. “We got this,” Domino says.

“We’ll get your waitress back, Jett,” Diesel promises.

“Soon to be my goddamn wife,” I grit out.

Please, god, let that be true. Let me find her in time.

12

ROWAN

Ifidget in the backseat of my father's old Cadillac, trying to find a sharp edge to help cut my zip ties off. My hands are locked behind my back, my shoulders aching from the awkward position I've been in for the last hour.

“Come on,” I huff out under my breath.

I peek out the window to make sure no one is looking at me. Of course, my father and his men are focused on the transaction that’s about to go down. Honestly, even if I got my hands free and managed to escape, where would I go? We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere surrounded by an endless sea of desert and scorching sunlight.

Still, I have to try. Dying out in the desert is a preferable ending to what my dad actually has in mind for me. I don’t know how he found me at Jett’s house, but he’s always been good at tracking me down. You’d think he loves me or something, but I know his intentions are anything but pure.

Jett left early this morning to handle club business. He didn’t have to say it, but I knew he was going to talk to the guys about Hell’s Scoundrels and how to get rid of them. I’m relieved that they’re on the case… or, at least Iwasrelieved. Now, I’m trapped.

I was still resting in bed when I woke up to the sound of glass breaking. I shot up off the mattress, instantly on the defensive. Searching for anything to protect myself, I grabbed the lamp on the table next to me and wielded it over my head. When my father climbed in through the window, I kicked over the side table to trip him up a bit. He dodged the table, lunging straight for me. I threw the lamp but missed his head by an inch. This only angered him more.

With the help of one of his new friends, my dad zip-tied me and tossed me in the back of his car. I thought he was going to take me back home and put a bullet in my head. His actual plan is arguably far worse.

Apparently, there's a market for plus-sized girls in some parts of the world. My stomach roils at the thought of being sold into sex slavery. I almost throw up but manage to swallow down the terror ripping apart my insides. Getting sick to my stomach won't help anything. I just need to get out. Somehow. Get far away. Start over under an alias this time. Dye my hair. Move to a different country.

I scoot across the backseat, my hands finding the sharp points of the seatbelt buckle. Gotta love old cars that are still made out of metal and not aluminum or plastic. I position my wrists just above the buckle and then hammer down on it a few times. I miss the first time, the sharp edge of the buckle slicing through my skin. By the fourth attempt, the zip tie catches on a corner, which cuts into the material by a millimeter.

Again and again, I rub my tied-up wrists against the sharp object, gritting my teeth against the jagged metal when it punctures my flesh. Blood drips down my hands from all the scratches, but I don't stop. I keep hitting the corner over and over, counting to ten and then starting over back at one. I can make it ten more seconds. Ten more seconds. Ten more seconds.

I only stop when I hear the faint sound of motorcycles in the distance. Looking out the back window, I blink a few times to make sure I'm not hallucinating. I swear I see Jett, Domino, and Diesel coming down the dirt road. Glancing over at my father, I'm relieved to see he hasn't noticed anything amiss. Neither has his men or the people he's talking to. They're all too busy negotiating how much cocaine I'm worth.

Jett and the guys park their bikes several yards away at the abandoned gas station down the road, probably to avoid being detected. Spurred on by their presence, I slam my wrists down on the seatbelt buckle one last time, holding back my victory cry when my restraints fall away.

I slide across the seat and wrap my fingers around the door handle, carefully opening the door a tiny crack and then pausing to make sure no one notices. Inch by inch, I ease the door open until I'm able to fit through it. First one foot, then the other, before gently pushing myself up and scooting through the open door.

My shirt gets caught on something, making the car door swing wide open, making an awful screeching sound. Without thinking or looking back at all, I sprint toward the gas station, where I hope Jett is waiting for me.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” my father roars. “No, you don’t get to run away again. Fucking selfish cunt.”

I wince at his words, though I should be used to them by now. He’s crude, cruel, and vulgar just to be vulgar. I hate everything about that man.

As soon as I make it over the slight incline, I see Jett running toward me.

“Don’t you fuckin’ move! Not one more step!” my father shouts. I freeze when I hear the click of the safety on his gun.

Jett doesn't hesitate. He whips out his gun and fires off a shot before my dad even knows what hit him. I don't turn around, Isimply keep running right into the arms of my savior, ignoring the thud of my father's body on the ground.

I’m aware of other shots ringing out, men yelling, engines revving, and then car tires squealing as they are pushed to their limit to get the passengers as far away as possible. However, I can’t focus on any of that. Not when Jett pulls me into his arms, wrapping me up in his embrace.

“Rowan,” he rasps, lifting me up and carrying me back toward his bike. “I’m so sorry, angel. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should have been there. Fuck, I… Are you okay? What happened? What did he do to you?”

The weight of the day, hell, the weight of my entire life feels suffocating in this moment. I can’t process the barrage of Jett’s questions or understand why he’s apologizing. It’s all too much.

Tears form and fall down my cheeks, making Jett deflate. His green eyes are filled with sorrow and anger, and I know he’s trying to calm down before talking to me again.

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