Page 52 of Patch's Bride
The van behind me seems to be in no hurry, kind of like me. The old highway isn’t busy this time of day, so I guess neither of us needs to rush. Or maybe I’m wrong about that, because the van suddenly speeds up and passes me. By the time I go around the next blind curve, it’s parked along the side of the road.
I tighten my grip on the wheel but keep going. A good Samaritan would probably stop and see if they’re okay, but not me. With the shit I’ve been through recently, I’m not in the mood to take risks. It’s probably nothing anyway.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder. I glance down.
Patch: Almost done here. Can’t wait to see you.
I smile, but the feeling slips when I look up again. The van pulls onto the road right in front of me. My heart starts to thump because I have to slam on my brakes to keep from hitting it.
When the van cuts across my path and forces me into the gravel shoulder, I begin to panic. The car jerks violently, like I ran over something. I slow down when I realize that I’ve got at least one flat tire. I can tell by the sound they’re making.
The van doors fly open, and three men jump out. I quickly lock all the doors and make sure the windows are rolled up when I realize they’re wearing cuts that say Grave Diggers MC on the backs. When one brazenly walks up to my car, I see the one percent patches stitched below his name. Their faces are hard. One has a thick beard and a snake tattoo on his neck.
And then I see him—Lynch. Marauder sent me pictures of him back when we thought he was the person I was being trafficked to. He smiles at me, but there is no humor in his expression. It’s a purely malevolent, downright creepy grin. Histeeth are yellow and chipped, and he has a lug wrench in his hand. I don’t need to be half smart to know that he’s planning to break a window to get to me.
Since I can’t drive away on flat tires, I throw the door open and make a run for it before he can get too close to grab me. The moment my feet hit the ground, I run as fast as I can. The sound of their footsteps crunching in the gravel propels me forward at breakneck speed. I’m desperate to get away from Lynch because I know what he wants.
Unfortunately, he catches up with me all too soon. His hands close around one arm, and he jerks me back. His other arm clamps down around my waist and yanks me off the ground. I kick, twist, and scream.
“Let me go! Get the hell off me!”
My elbow connects with his chest, but it doesn’t slow him down.
One of them murmurs in my ear, “This little bitch has some fight left in her.”
“Easy,” another says. “She’s worth more if she’s not bruised.”
“Don’t tell me what to do with my own property,” Lynch snarls as he drags me towards their van.
I twist again, trying to break free. My leg scrapes across something that looks like a long chain with spikes sticking up. I realize it’s what they used to make my tires go flat. When we get close to the van, Lynch literally throws me through the open door headfirst, causing me to lose my balance and faceplant onto the metal floor.
He stands in the doorway, smirking all over the place. “They never figured it out, did they?” he says. “Your stepdaddy made the deal with me before he ever brought you to Vincent. Vincent pays premium for short-term girls. I take his leftovers for steep discount. See how that works?”
“Go away. Let me go,” I shout, trying to push him out of the doorway.
“I like women with a little spirit. You’re too valuable to pass on, even if the others were stupid enough to get themselves caught,” he says with a frown. “Money changed hands, and that means you belong to me now. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do as I say or suffer the consequences.”
I scream the walls of the van down, hoping to draw attention to what’s happening here, but unfortunately, there is no one around to hear me.
Lynch jumps into the van and pulls the door shut. He zip-ties my hands to a metal rail running along the side of the van and we drive off.
My wrists ache from the zip ties, and my arms grow numb from how they’ve been twisted and tied to the rail. Every bump in the road throws me sideways. One of the men slaps me when I jostle against him. Lynch immediately punches him in the head and starts going off on him for messing with his property.
Eventually, the van slows down and comes to a stop. I’m shocked to see they’re using an old, abandoned gas station with a garage attached as some kind of hideout. The pumps are rusted out, and the place is a total ruin. The garage door opens just enough to let the van glide through.
They pull me out, and I see a few men are already there. They’re all Diggers, and I don’t recognize any of them. Some have weapons on their belts. One has brass knuckles hanging from his waistband. Another carries a gas can. Why? I can’t imagine. He’s just carrying it around like I do a purse.
They lead me to what appears to be their main room. Unlike the Savage Legion clubhouse, which has a sports bar feel to it, the Grave Diggers clubhouse carries an air of menace. There’s a drain in the middle of the concrete floor. A few folding tables are stacked with liquor bottles and half-eaten food. Loud music plays from a speaker with a broken grille. Someone lights a joint and stinks the place up even more.
Chains hang from a hook in the floor in the right-hand corner of the room. Lynch nods at one of them. “Secure my property and don’t rough her up.”
One of them mumbles, “Looks like someone already did.”
Lynch gives him a careless kick and grumbles, “I can do as I like with what’s mine. You will respect my property. Got it?”
“Yeah, sure, boss. Anything you say.”
He grabs me, cuts the zip ties off my wrists, drags me over to the corner, and snaps a metal restraint around my ankle. Making sure it’s tight, he grunts before stalking off.
