Page 2 of Pain

And I’d stay because of that hope. He’d tell me I didn’t have any place to go, or anyone to run to, and I’d believe him. It was true, in way. My parents didn’t want me back, and the MC was the only family I knew. And they belonged to him, heart and soul.

I might have run. But I didn’t have any place to go, and he knew it.

Lately, it had been getting even worse. He’d become paranoid that someone was going to rat him out to the cops or one of the rival gangs and had started killing some of the MC club members. He’d shot his best friend two weeks ago and hadn’t even given anyone a reason why. Just looked at us furiously and asked if anyone else wanted the same treatment.

The next day, he’d started blindfolding me and forcing me into box trucks to be transported to the next destination like some kind of kidnapping victim.

I never knew where I was going, and once I was there, I didn’t recognize where it was. I stayed mostly in warehouses without any furniture, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a decent shower or a meal that hadn’t been reheated in a microwave. I also didn’t understand why he felt the need to transport me around like I was some sort of prisoner. I was his old lady, for shit’s sake. I was supposed to be his partner in crime. His trusted other.

Instead, he was treating me like I was some sort of slave.

And just like that, with that one little realization, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Something that felt a whole lot like emotion.

A whole lot like anger.

I poked at it, confused and curious, and a moment later, it exploded, roaring to life with a wave of fury so bright and burning that I gasped, shocked as it flowed through me.

“You okay?” the driver of the truck, whose name I didn’t know, asked roughly.

Shit. Rule #1 when you’re being transported like a prisoner and your boyfriend has given his club permission to abuse you: Stay quiet, no matter how much it costs you. Do not draw attention to yourself. Do not give them a reason.

My heart leapt into my throat with fear, and I swallowed heavily.

“Fine,” I said, forcing my voice to be as steady as possible. “Just a little bit hungry.”

The guy snorted but didn’t answer me, which I took to mean I wasn’t going to be getting any food anytime soon.

And wasn’t that just fucking typical? The anger growing in my stomach got even bigger with this next thought and the memory that I didn’t know when I’d last eaten any kind of good meal. Devil was my boyfriend. He was the center of my life. Wasn’t he supposed to be taking care of me? Making sure I ate and slept and had a warm blanket over me when I lay down? Wasn’t he supposed to be keeping me safe?

If he was, he certainly didn’t realize it. He wasn’t keeping me safe. He was beating the crap out of me at every opportunity. And then blindfolding me and starving me, and—

I couldn’t take it anymore. The thought was like a sudden wave crashing over my head, the cool water washing me clean of whatever had been holding me back, and I reveled in it for several long moments, my thoughts frozen on that one idea.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t live like this. Hell, I didn’t even know if I was going to live at all. Not if Devil and his club kept hurting me the way they’d been doing.

I couldn’t take it. I didn’t want to take it. I wasn’t going to take it.

I straightened up, feeling what was left of my backbone strengthening in a way it hadn’t done in years, and I almost smiled. I didn’t know when I’d last felt anger, and it felt... good. It felt healthy and strong and freeing.

Hello, old friend, I thought, aligning with the anger and using it to energize myself. The question was, what was I going to do about this?

Get out of the truck, I realized. I had to get out now, while we were moving and the driver couldn’t do anything about it. I’d heard Devil give this guy his orders, and I knew there was no one else around us. We were on the road by ourselves. Devil wasn’t here, and neither was any of the rest of the gang.

If I got out of the truck, there’d be no one to stop me. No one to see what happened or take me back to him.

Right, well, that was the plan, then. But how was I going to do it?

I tested my hands, wondering how tightly they were actually tied, but the rope was tight enough that I’d never be able to get it off. That was no good. They weren’t tied to my body, though, and I brought them back up to my face, experimenting. Slow, slow, I thought. Don’t want to draw attention to yourself. I made like I was going to wipe at my nose again, but then slipped one finger up to push the bandana off my right eye.

Light flooded my vision, and I squinted against it, blinded for a moment. When that passed, though, I looked around, noticing that we weren’t on a freeway. We were in a town. Not one I recognized, at least not right away, but if there was a town here, that meant there were people, and that meant...

Before I could rethink it, I reached for the handle of the door, jamming my fingers into it and yanking while throwing my shoulder against the door itself. I grunted in pain, my shoulder feeling as though it was going to explode with the motion, but then the door was opening, and I was throwing myself out of the truck, feeling the hot air wash across my face as I closed my eyes and fell.

I hit the sidewalk rolling, but that didn’t help. Something in my leg cracked, and my head hit the pavement, and everything went dark for a moment—until I heard the screech of brakes from the truck and realized that the driver was going to come for me.

I jumped to my feet, but my damaged leg collapsed underneath me, and I went back down, screaming in pain and frustration. Shit, shit, shit, that guy was going to come back for me and now I was too broken to even run from him! What had I been thinking? This was a stupid plan! Yes, I was out of his truck, but he was going to catch me and shove me back in before I could do anything about it!

I was about to jump up and try again when the roar of a motorcycle filled my ears, and an enormous Harley screeched to a stop right next to me. I glanced at the bike and then toward the driver of the truck, who’d gotten out and was running toward me.