Page 46 of Bounty
He leaned in. “Let’s try this again. Why are you here, Effie?”
I hated my sniffle. My fresh tears left me feeling like a scared little girl. I was terrified, but this asshole didn’t have to know it.
He struck me again. This time, stars danced behind my eyelids.
“You don’t want to talk?” His fingers went to his belt. “I have another use for your fucking mouth.”
Dutch had asked me about my kiss with Slice, so I knew why I was there. “This has something to do with Slice,” I croaked. “Pr-pretty Boy.”
Not answering, he finished unbuckling his belt and opening his fly. He shoved his hand into his underwear and—
“Yo, Dutch!”
He gave me an ugly look and stepped back, his hands falling to his side. “In here, Rusty.”
Metal scraped against metal, then a door opened, and four guys swaggered in, all in denim cuts. One carried filled cup holders, and another had two pastry boxes.
My stomach growled again.
“Took long enough,” Dutch sneered to the two men who carried the grub. “I’m fucking starving.”
“Sorry, Dutch,” a massive man with brown hair and a thick beard said. “We got a glimpse of a Death Dweller and had to lay low. Don’t want beef with those motherfuckers.”
Dutch grunted. Opening a box, he grabbed two donuts and tore into both at the same time. He chewed loudly, his smacking lips echoing around me and increasing my hunger. Once he finished, he grabbed two more and looked at the guy with the cupholders. “Got my cappuccino?”
“Got two for you, Dutch.” He shifted his weight and squirmed like a school kid facing a reprimand. “Seeing as how we took so long and all.”
One of the men whose hands were free rushed forward and picked up a cup, then held it out to Dutch. He scarfed the two donuts in his hand, grabbed the cup, and gulped, then grabbed two more donuts and polished them off.
Unfortunately, he remembered me. He crouched in front of me again, leaned in, and belched in my fucking face. I remained stoic.
“Did Pretty Boy make you come?”
How was I supposed to answer that? If I didn’t respond, I had no doubt he’d shove his dick in my mouth.
“We’re nothing to each other, Dutch,” I said quietly.
“Bullshit, bitch,” he responded. “Every time you posted pictures of that so-called event, that motherfucker was staring at you.”
That explained how he knew my name and my location.
“Why don’t we tag-team her?” Brown Beard said. “We’ll see if he fucked her. Pretty Boy would’ve busted that pussy wide open.”
My hunger and need to pee couldn’t compare to my mortification. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Slice,” I said, too tired to care that my voice trembled. “But we just had a fling. He won’t care that you took me. I’m innocent.” I searched my brain for the right word. “A c-civilian. I’m not part of his world. I wanted a night with a biker, and he gave it to me.”
Dutch stared at me.
“If anything happens to me, won’t that bring more heat down on you because I don’t belong to your world? Let me go and I swear I’ll never mention this to anyone. Even law enforcement.”
Fifty-fifty I spoke the truth. But I needed safety to think clearly. If my kidnapping was because of Slice, and, if the cops got involved, he’d be implicated, too. Whether I was his or not, I was takenbecauseof him, an egregious affront in the biker world. Dead or alive, I would be avenged. No matter what I claimed.
Brown Beard turned. Satan’s Sinners MC caught my attention. Dutch. Satan’s Sinners. Striker and Slice discussed them the other night. I’d seen his photo and called him a scrotum.
I was in deep shit.
My stomach growled again. If I didn’t use a bathroom soon, I’d wet myself.
“I need a bathroom,” I said in a small voice. My mouth felt dry and cottony. I licked my cracked lips. “And some water.” My stomach growled again. “And a donut.”
