Page 79 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

“You’re going to behave, right?” he snarls, a menacing glint in his eye.

“Screw you,” I spit. His lip curls into a menacing sneer.

“I really should fuck you up, shouldn’t I? Teach you a lesson.” The Dead Demon laughs beside him, slapping his knee as though this whole situation is all entertainment for him.

“At least let me see those big ol’titties on her,” he whines.

“Reynolds said she was to be saved for him, just like the last bitch.” Gunnar pops out his pistol from his waistband. The metal gleams in the dark light.

I squint against the pouring rain and dim light. Trees tower over us, blocking out most of the moonlight that tries to shine through. My wrists are bound, the rope digging into my skin with each jolt.

We are somewhere in the damned forest. Most likely hours away from the city.

I swallow, trying to ease my racing heart. We seem to be deep in the redwoods, far from any hiking trail or campground. Far from the Hellfire Riders.

“Get movin’ bitch!” Gunnar barks shoving me forward with the barrel of his gun. The cool metal against my side sends chills right through me. My breaths come in ragged gasps, my body aching from the struggle, but I force myself to keep moving.

Each step, parts of my mind come back to me as they swim out of the fog. The effects of the chloroform are wearing away, but I am clueless to how long I was blacked out for. I need to take note of every detail, figure out how I can escape.

I stumble over a root, barely managing to catch myself before I fall. The ground beneath my feet becomes uneven, and I realize we’re nearing the edge of the forest. The sound of crashing waves grows louder, the roar of the ocean filling my ears.

We break through the last line of trees, and I gasp at the sight before me. The forest abruptly ends at a steep cliff, the bluffs dropping sharply to the rocky shore below. The moon casts apale glow over the turbulent waters, the waves crashing violently against the rocks.

Gunnar doesn’t slow down. He pushes me closer to the edge, his grip unrelenting. I glance over my shoulder, my eyes wide with panic. The drop is sheer and unforgiving, the rocks below sharp and deadly.

“Where are you taking me?” I demand, my voice trembling. “What do you want?”

He ignores my questions, his eyes cold and focused. “Keep moving,” he repeats, shoving me again.

I stumble forward, my heart racing. The ground beneath my feet is loose, small rocks skittering over the edge and disappearing into the darkness below.

We follow a narrow path along the edge of the cliff, the trail winding precariously close to the edge. Finally, we reach a small, hidden entrance in the rock face. Gunnar shoves me toward it, and I see a narrow cave entrance, almost invisible against the rugged cliffside. The air here is damp and cold, the sound of the waves echoing eerily off the rocks.

“Get inside,” Gunnar orders, his voice low and threatening.

I hesitate, glancing back at him. The darkness of the cave looms. No part of me wants to discover what’s waiting on the other side. Some part of me already has an idea. Nausea turns in my stomach.

“I said inside. Now!” he barks, shoving me harder this time.

I stumble forward, tripping over the uneven ground and landing on my hands and knees inside the mouth of the cave.

The air inside is musty, the walls slick with moisture. The sound of the ocean fades slightly, replaced by the soft drip of water from the ceiling.

“Get up,” he hisses, kicking a boot from under me. I gasp as he heaves me upward, back on my wobbly feet and deeper into the cave.

18

VANCE

Istand over Mace, my hands clenched into fists, the rope biting into my palms. The bastard's tied to the chair, looking like a trapped animal, his eyes wide with fear and defiance. Sweat beads on his forehead, dripping down his face, and I can see the pulse in his neck pounding rapidly.

“Where is she, Mace?” I growl, my voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of my fury.

Mace’s eyes dart around the room, looking for a way out, but there is none.

The basement of the clubhouse is dark and damp, the air thick with tension. The other Hellfire Riders are upstairs, dealing with the fallout, but down here, it’s just me and Mace. And he’s got nowhere to run.

Hawk had a feeling it was either he or Gunner, but not both.

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