Page 96 of Rook

I just needed to get to him.

I climbed off of the bed, feeling filthy from just touching it, and looked around the room I was in.

It was a small, maybe eight-by-ten space with orange shag carpet and tobacco-stained walls.

The nightstand was littered with old lighters, an ashtray, and a pack of smokes.

Most of the light in the room came from the camping lantern set on the other nightstand.

Because the window had been boarded up.

I rushed over toward it, grabbing the wood at the edges, trying to pull it free. But it was no use. Randy had nailed it on too well.

My fingers felt around for one of the nails, prying it free with my fingers, though I wasn’t exactly sure what I intended to do with it.

Stab him in the eye when he got close?

The thing was, even if he was down, I would have the other bikers to get through.

From what I could see, he had three of them with him.

Why hadn’t I seen the bikes outside?

Or, maybe even more pressing, why hadn’t I heard them rolling into town? They would have needed to drive right past the apartment.

Had I gotten so used to hearing the members of Rook’s clubs driving around that I stopped looking to make sure it wasn’t my past riding into town to drag me back to hell?

It was possible.

Even if I was kicking myself for being so distracted by a man that I somehow forgot to be on guard from the one I’d been running from.

I dug my nails around another nail, thinking that maybe if I could just loosen one corner, I could pull the whole damn thing off.

But as the cheap wood splintered into my fingertips and my nails broke and my skin bled with no luck on another nail, I turned around, leaning back against the wall with a quiet whimper.

My fingers throbbed.

But it would be nothing compared to what Randy would do to me if or when he got me back to the clubhouse.

I scanned the room again, trying to formulate another plan.

There was a bag sitting on the ancient faux wood dresser. A plastic one, so it wasn’t from California.

My stomach twisted as I made my way over, half-curious, half-terrified about what I might find inside.

I pulled the items out one by one, placing them on the dresser surface.

Duct tape.

Zip ties.

And adult diapers.

It was a long drive back to New Mexico. And they clearly couldn’t let me out at rest stops to use the bathroom.

I squeezed my eyes closed, overcome with how monstrous someone had to be to think of something like that, to be so hellbent on getting me back to the clubhouse that he would force me into fuckingdiapers.

I didn’t think the items would help me escape at all. But I could certainly thwart his plans.

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