Page 5 of Babydoll

“Yes, okay. No, no pissing you off,” I stammer, realizing struggling won’t change my fate. I’m getting kidnapped either way, but resisting will get me injured as well.

“Smart girl.”

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, letting him lead me to his bike.

Looking back, he smiles at me and it’s even more terrifying than his verbal threat.

“You’ll get your answers soon enough,” he replies, popping a skullcap helmet onto my head.

His huge hands find my middle and he picks me up and plunks me onto his bike. “This is Lady,” he says, patting the motorcycle before throwing his leg over the front handlebars to straddle it. “Lean when she leans and you’ll be alright.”

Again, I contemplate my chances of escape. Could I jump off and make it to the building before he caught me? Would someone let me into their apartment? But I know the answers. If by some miracle,and it would be a miracle, I made it inside, every door would be locked tight and no one would answer.

I’ve lived in buildings like this, in the same types of neighborhoods. The only way to survive was to mind your own business, keep your door locked tight, and never ever talk to the cops or anyone else that came knocking.

Python reaches into one of the saddle bags hanging from the side of the bike and hands me a cell. “Prepaid burner. One number’s programmed in it. Mine. I call or text, you answer. Got it?” When I don’t move, he glances back at me. “Nod that you understand, gorgeous.”

I do and he takes my wrists to wrap my arms around his solid middle. When the bike rumbles to life beneath me, I lean against the big man and let the tears come.

On the first turn, I grip onto Python’s middle for dear life. Leaning when the bike leans is easier said than done. My body resists, wanting to counter the action to keep from tipping over, but when Python growls at me sternly to lean, I squeeze my eyes tight and obey.

Before we’ve even gone a block, we’re flanked by two more bikes, their riders equally scary looking and tatted, and ten minutes after that, we pull up to a small wartime house.

Python cuts the engine and throws his long leg over the front handle bars like before and I glance at the others getting off their bikes.

“Get her inside,” one of them barks and leaves us. Python nudges his chin at me.

“Let’s go, gorgeous. Inside.”

I swallow hard, looking at the other biker warily. Python doesn’t take my hesitation well though, because he lifts me by my armpits and sets me hard onto my feet.

“Move or I’ll carry you.”

“I don’t want to,” I croak, using every bit of bravery I have. “I don’t want to be alone in a house with any of you. It’s… safer…out… here.” My last words come out in a stammer.

The other guy pulls out a knife, opening the blade with a swift click, and points it at me. His cruel cold eyes betray his laughs. “Princess here thinks she’s got a choice, like this is a date or something. Ain’t that cute, Python?”

Python chuckles, but when the other guy grabs me by the back of the neck and shoves me hard enough to fly forward, it’s Python that catches me.

“Slash, you break her before Preach talks to her and I’ll knock your fucking punk ass out.” His words come out on a growl that makes my knees weak.

My gut tells me neither of them like each other, but that Python is higher in the chain of command and a more formidable fighter.

“Now, gorgeous. We talked about this, yeah? I give you a directive, you obey, and no one gets hurt.” His calm, easy-going manner is unnerving. And I’m starting to think I might end up in a hole in a forest somewhere whether I cooperate or not and that makes something inside me click.

“Yeah, right,” I say through gritted teeth and straighten my spine. “Tell that to him.” My voice is strong and steady as if I tapped into some hidden source of strength.

Python gives me a ghost of a smile and nods at me.

“Hey, if it helps, you wouldn’t get a choice even if this were a date.” He laughs obnoxiously at his own joke as he plucks his helmet off and shakes out his straggly, shoulder-length sandy-brown hair.

Python shakes his head but says nothing and I gather a breath. Here goes.

“I don’t know what the hell you want with me, but let’s get this over with,” I say and start walking with purpose up the driveway to the house. “And if he touches me again, I’m not playing nice. I’m kicking, biting and clawing my way down.”

If I’m dying today I’m not going down without a fight.

Python opens the door for me and ushers me into the living room where he sits me on a yellow and brown threadbare sofa. Slash, who plays way too skillfully with what I now see is a butterfly knife, stakes his place on the arm of the matching chair to my right, continuing to flick and twirl his knife. I’m surprised the old chair holds his weight, which has to be double mine. He’s only slightly smaller than Python, although his arms aren’t nearly as anaconda-like as his MC brother’s.

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