Wait…am I a hostage? I’ve seen this movie.
Maybe I’d misjudged things. After all, I was now Mrs. Domenic Cliff. Maybe they wanted a ransom.
Which means they’ll get in touch with Dom. But can I just sit here and wait for that?
I began to look around, for some kind of weapon, maybe an escape route. The room was pretty basic: a single bed covered with a striped red and white duvet, and a single pillow. There was a single table, a wardrobe, and a picture on the wall of some has-been rock star with a guitar. The floor was dusty as if it wasn’t swept much and there was a pair of boots in the corner and a bunch of clothes on a chair near the corner.
I crossed over to the chair, examining its legs to see if I could break them off, maybe use them for a weapon even as my anxiety threw up extreme doubt about my ability to escape. I pushed the clothes to the floor and turned the chair over, kicking one of its legs as hard as I could.
It was a sturdy chair, didn’t even crack, although my foot certainly felt the impact. Then I sat back, feeling like an idiot. I didn’t have to break off a chair leg when I could just use the whole chair. I picked it up, crossing over to the table, and put it down. I sat down, picking up my sandwich and ate it slowly, hoping like hell that it wasn’t drugged.
I examined the bottle of water for any holes, but it seemed legit, so I unscrewed the top and took a cautious sip. Feeling much better afterwards, I decided that as soon as the lady came back to get the plate, I was gonna kick her ass and escape. I could hear the faint beat of music pounding the walls.
I crossed to the wall and pressed my ear into it, trying to hear what was going on outside. There were voices, many of them, and foot stamping.
A dance club?
Occam’s razor said I was probably in the biker bar from the other day. I went to the door and listened intently for approaching footsteps. There was nothing but silence. I crossed over to the desk, picked up the chair and dragged it to the door. I placed it just next to the door and then sat down, waiting.
It took something like an hour for the woman to return. I stood up quickly as I heard her footsteps and crossed to the other side of the door so that when she opened the door, I would be hidden. I expected her to exercise some caution, but she just walked into the room without so much as a look around to see where I was. She crossed to the desk and picked up the plate. I hesitated, wondering if I should just run out, but if I did that, she’d be on me in a second. I dashed to the chair and picked it up, raising it on top of my head and charging like I was in the Battle of the Bastards.
She turned just as I reached her and screamed even as I swung the chair. To my shock, the downward trajectory was stopped cold and there was a huge man between us, looming over me.
Rooster.
He snatched the chair out of my hand and threw it to the ground. The woman ran out and shut the door behind her as Rooster grabbed my arms and dragged me over to the bed.
I knew that look in his eyes. I’d seen it every day on Eugene’s face. It always preceded some gratuitous act of violence.
I fought. I kicked out, I struggled to free myself from his hold, but his grip on me was effortless and unyielding. Suddenly he stopped, taking one hand from around my wrist and burying it in my hair, pulling it mercilessly. I screamed as loud as I could, calling for help with every breath I had.
He used my hair to fling me onto the bed, and then put his knee on my stomach to keep me still.
“Please. Please. Please. Don’t. Let me go. Please.” I began to cry, just letting the tears and snot mix on my face in the ugliest display of terror I could manage. I was hoping to put him off but no dice. He grabbed the hem of my dress, trying to pull it upwards. It was form-fitting and so it wasn’t an easy thing to do without my cooperation.
He stopped trying after a while, reaching for the hem and trying to tear it off me.
“No. no. no. Please stop.” I continued crying and begging as he continued to ignore me. He grunted with frustration before he turned me over, finally remembering that dresses had zippers.
“Rooster!” another voice spoke from the doorway, dripping with authority, “Leave her.”
“Why?” Rooster was panting, his fat hand still on my zipper.
“Lost Boys are negotiating for her release. I guaranteed safety.”
Rooster grunted. “Now why’d you go and do that?”
“Because apparently she’s Domenic Cliff’s wife and worth a lot more if she’s undamaged.”
I gritted my teeth, unable to stop myself reacting to their words.
Undamaged? What am I, a shipment of iPads?
Rooster sighed. “Fuck.” Clearly he was frustrated but he took his knee off my thigh and backed off. I knew I’d dodged a bullet. Imagine surviving fifteen years of Eugene, avoiding rape and then having to give it up to some random biker. Couldn’t be me.
I hadn’t failed to realize that if the Lost Boys were negotiating, it meant Dom and Nico not only knew where I was but were close.
Well thank heavens for small mercies.
I thought about just sitting there meekly and waiting for them to find me. But the thought of Rooster deciding that having me was worth going against his club president kept me jittery and hypervigilant. Every time I heard
