Page 69 of Queen of Blades

Harper

Despiteputtingupagood fight, between her generalized weaknesses from being in pain, managing broken ribs and most likely a concussion, and Dwight having a solid hundred pounds on her, Harper couldn’t escape his grasp. He dragged her, literally kicking and screaming, from his room into the hallway of the second floor, which had a view down into the main clubhouse area. He shoved her so that the railing drove into her gut, just below her diaphragm, and she could see out to the first floor. Pressing against her back, he pinned her in place with his weight.

Below them was a large area with heavily damaged hardwood floors. Several pool tables, high-tops, and two poker tables took up the space in the middle. A vintage jukebox sat along the back wall between several couches and played Three Days Grace in the lounge area. Men and women bustled below, getting drinks from the large bar manned by prospects and otherwise enjoying an evening of debauchery.

In her youth, Harper had spent quite a few nights doing the same. She was very familiar with the ins and outs of this place. While it looked the same as it did then, it felt different. The vibe was wrong. Her father wasn’t playing poker and smoking a cigar or a blunt. A bunch of hang-arounds weren’t getting hustled by her mother. Her brothers weren’t playing darts, and her sister wasn’t debating the proper way to do some mechanical thing with one of the members.

This wasn’t her father’s clubhouse.

It was wrong.

From behind her, Dwight stuck his fingers into his mouth and let loose an ear-piercing whistle. Flinching, she attempted to squirm away from him, taking advantage of his arms no longer caging her in, but he was quick to trap her again.

“Stay put, baby. The fun is about to start,” he said against her neck as the crowd below quieted. The music stopped, and all eyes were on them.

“Now thatmy woman—” Dwight shouted beside her ear as he slapped her bare ass cheek. She winced as her flesh jiggled. Thankfully, he avoided the burn he’d given her. “—is awake from her little nap, we can get on with things.”

A roar of celebration bounced off the walls of the former armory, making the building shake. Harper’s heart pounded behind her broken ribs, and fear strangled her. Scanning the crowd, she sought anyone who might help her, some voice of reason to stop this, but none of the faces were familiar to her.

Where were her father’s men? Surely someone still had to be there. There had to beone rational personwho saw how wrong this was and would stop the madness.

As her chest heaved with ragged breaths, Dwight took her shoulders and spun her to face him. Twisting her ankle as she went, she reflexively reached out and grabbed his forearms so she wouldn’t fall over the railing and plummet to her death.

Though, would that be so bad? It’d be one way to escape this mess.

No! Absolutely not. She had to cut off that line of thinking. Harper wasn’t about to let Dwight win. She didn’t care what he did—she would survive out of spite. Her goal was to spit on his corpse at the end of all of this.

With a hand digging into her hip, his other took hold of her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “It’s gonna be a wild ride.”

His eyes were crazed. Pinpoint pupils, bloodshot and wide. He was out of his mind—high as hell. She had to figure out how to use that to her advantage.

Before she could respond, he covered her mouth with his. The foul taste of cigarettes and bourbon washed over her taste buds as his thick, far too wet tongue filled her mouth. He cupped one of her breasts, squeezed too hard, and mauled her chest.

Another loud roar of cheers erupted from below. Between the taste, the sound, and the feel of him groping her, Harper’s stomach turned, threatening to spill what little contents it had left all over him.

But she knew even that wouldn’t stop him.

The lipstick tube, nestled under one of her boobs, shifted, threatening to fall out and down to the floor. She couldn’t let her only defense go. She had to get a better grip on this situation.

Dwight yanked at the straps of her bra, too lazy to figure out the clasp in the back. She needed to act now. As the cloth covering her slipped down, she caught the tube and wrapped her fingers around it.

He slapped his hands on either side of her face. Stunned for a moment, her brain scrambled within her skull. She wobbled and blinked, trying to collect herself as he pulled back and grinned, his expression laced with devilish intentions.

Now or never.

Pulling the cap from the lipstick, she revealed the hidden knife disguised as makeup and reared back. Thrusting forward, she jammed the tiny curved blade into his crotch. Warm liquid covered her fingers as she yanked it back. With a series of jabs, she stabbed again and again, taking advantage of his slowed reflexes. The final time, she pulled up before her weapon slipped out of her hand.

His eyes widened, his mouth fell open, and he stumbled backward. Even in the dim light of the clubhouse, she could see the dark plume of blood staining his jeans.

In the matter of mere seconds, she’d stabbed him straight in the junk. Finally, she could run.

Wasting no time, she turned and took off for the stairs to get down. She wasn’t sure how far she would make it, considering the crowd below wasn’t exactly on her side, but she had to try. She’d take her chances with the unknown bikers.

Harper may be a dead woman walking, but she wasn’t about to just let it happen. She would go down fighting and take whatever motherfucker who crossed her path with her.

Then the lights went out.

40

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