Page 12 of Rough Road

If this fucking guy touched her tit one more time, Fiona was going to tear his goddamned hand off and shove it up his ass. They’d been in this damned cold house since sun-up and she’d been fondled, badly, about a thousand times since. But she smiled as he stroked the valley between her breasts. Again. “So, what were you two arguing about this time?” So far, her dumb and dumber captors had argued over everything from food to who was going to watch Fiona and the baby while the other went for provisions. They’d come to blows over that one and BO Boy had won. Just as she’d hoped.

She dropped her hand into his lap and walked her fingers up his thigh toward his zipper. He caught her hand and laid it over his dick, then squeezed. She resisted the urge to dig her nails in, but not by much. “I forgot to load something into the truck when we left Daytona.”

He cupped her boob like a stress ball. She bit back a growl and smiled. “Well, maybe what’s his name should’ve loaded it. You were busy taking care of me.” She let her hand close over him again and let her voice drop to a purr. “Too bad Ty left that hands-off rule. Feels like you could show a girl a good time.” She swallowed back a mouthful of bile.

His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt, and he tugged at her waistband. He was going for the finish line. “He doesn’t have to know.”

Before he got far enough for her to have to yank out his windpipe, the door swung open and he jerked away, hopped to his feet, and adjusted his dick.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sewer Breath charged into the room and grabbed BO by the throat. He shoved him against the wall and held him. “Tyler said no one touches her.” Fiona didn’t see him pull the gun, but she heard the mechanical click of the hammer and no way could she have missed the glint of silver in the moonlight as he pressed it against BO’s head.

Oh no. He couldn’t kill the kid. Not after all the work she’d put in. “Boys. Boys. Boys.” She stood, fighting the ties around her ankles. “Hey. He didn’t do anything. We were talking is all. He was… telling me about what it would be like to be an Omen. That’s all.”

Though BO couldn’t speak, he nodded.

Fiona hopped a couple of steps closer. She wanted that fucking gun so bad, she considered choking Sewer Breath with the short line of rope he’d left to give her enough slack to be able to feed and hold the baby. But until she was sure of BO’s loyalty to her, she couldn’t risk making a move. But BO’s eyes were bulging, and he couldn’t breathe. She had to do something. She focused all of her energy, all of her power on throwing her hands over his head, yanking him against her body, and securing the rope against his windpipe.

BO stumbled and the gun went off, caught him in the cheek and he went down. But so did the gun. And Fiona was weak, hadn’t worked out in months. Her arms burned with her effort and Sewer Breath had his hand on the back of her head, yanking handfuls of her hair like his life depended on it. Finally, he pulled her over his shoulder, and she landed on her back on the floor in a pool of BO’s blood. Any breath she’d had left escaped in a whoosh and she struggled for another. Sewer Breath was free, rubbing his neck and holding the gun on her.

“Stupid move, bitch.” He backhanded her and her head twisted to the side. “Now look.” He jabbed the revolver, a pearl-handled six-shooter, at the prone and lifeless body of her other captor.

Fiona spit out a mouthful of blood and a tooth before he came closer, arm pulled back for another strike, and the world went dark.

* * *

Fiona didn’t know how long she was out, but she knew she was freezing and the baby was crying. Her hands were tied behind her back and BO was still sprawled on the floor with a large red circle of blood under his head. The entire left side of her face throbbed and she was pretty sure he’d broken something in there since she couldn’t move without pain. She needed to sit up and feed the baby, but she couldn’t do anything with her hands tied behind her. And Sewer Breath was nowhere she could see from her one partially opened eye. She tried to turn her head, to get a better view, but she couldn’t lift her cheek from the floor. Oh, God.

Pain ricocheted through her as she tried to slide her legs up so she could get onto her knees and try to get to the baby. But everything hurt. Nothing worked or moved the way she wanted. And the baby continued to cry, to wail. Fiona tried to move her mouth, to speak enough to try to comfort the baby, but her jaw wouldn’t move either.

Every move cost her a gasp of pain and every gasp of pain cost her a moment of clarity. No way she was going to make it through this. And the baby… oh, God, London. Tears leaked out of her eyes and she let them fall. She gritted her teeth—at least she thought she did, she couldn’t tell—and pushed her forehead against the floor. With every ounce of strength she had, she pulled her knees across the floor, leaving skin behind, and didn’t stop until they touched her stomach then her chest. Now all she had to do was raise up. It took three tries before she made herself sit upright. Her head swam and once she was finally straightened, her body revolted and she heaved, almost fell over again, but somehow, maybe through sheer will, her body supported her.

Oh, God. She just needed to get to the baby, hold her, feed her, let her know Mommy hadn’t given up. The footsteps came with some speed toward her and she fell back onto her ass, cowering, curling in on herself to protect what was left of her face and body. A pair of arms slipped under her knees and behind her back and she leaned her head against his chest, hoping, praying it was Grier, but the small part of her left knew it wasn’t. Not his smell. Not his arms. Not his chest.

More tears leaked out of her eyes as he laid her on a bed or a car seat, something not as hard as a floor anyway. In the distance, a foggy sound-clouded distance, she could hear London still wailing. And then the first shot rang out and Fiona’s eyes snapped open. She struggled for focus, to figure out what was going on. It took a minute to realize her arms were free and she was holding London. She shifted, trying to move her feet. They were still tied, but she had her baby and that was enough.

* * *

The information was shoddy. And came at a cost. Sonoma and a group of his men had traveled with Grier, Sage and Kye to Atlanta, found the run-down plantation house and the twenty or so men Sedotal had left behind. If only they’d gotten the information sooner, but Hamilton hadn’t been able to break the guy Carl had shot with his bow. But Sonoma’s guys came through. By the time the gunfight in Boston was over, Sonoma’s guy had a property address, a satellite image and enough firepower to blow up half the east coast. And still, the Omens managed to get away with Fiona. How a giant black Escalade had managed to get past them, Grier couldn’t guess, but all they’d left behind were some trigger-happy shooters with more ammo than aim. Sonoma and his guys ended the fight quickly and dead men littered the ground. Sonoma’s men left a lot of blood in their wake.

Kye kicked one of the Omen bodies and the body groaned up at him. A bright red bloodstain continued to spread across his stomach, and Kye knelt to hold his hand over the wound. “Where’d they take her?”

“Who cares? She’s not gonna live to see the sunrise.”

Grier’s chest clenched, and he wanted to pummel the guy. Instead, he knelt beside Kye and jerked the guy’s head toward him. “Tell me where she is!” He pushed Kye away and stuck his thumb into the hole in the bastard’s gut.

“Probably on her way back to Pine Hill.” For being on his way out of this world, the fucking guy had a lot of balls. And there really wasn’t any reason why he shouldn’t have been so gutsy. Not like Grier posed much of a threat. He couldn’t even protect his own wife and his kid. This guy had nothing to be afraid of. Except Grier. Who didn’t have anything left to lose.

Still, what the son of a bitch said didn’t make sense. Why would Sedotal drag her up and down the east coast if he was just going to bring her home? It had to mean something. “What does he want?”

“Fuck you, man.” The guy’s breath hitched and a gurgle in his throat said he didn’t have much time left. But goddamned if he was going into the light before Grier found out what he needed to know.

Grier twisted his thumb and fought a wave of nausea as the guy screamed and writhed against the pain. “Tell me.” He needed to know, and he’d do whatever it took. “What does he want?”

The guy’s eyes rolled back, and he gasped softly. “Your club. Your woman. Your life.” Another gurgle and he grabbed Grier’s arm. “Help me. Please.”

Grier looked up at Kye and nodded then waited until Kye put a bullet in the guy’s head before he turned and yelled at the horizon. “Fuck!” He let out a string of curses and for the first time considered giving it all up. Not fighting Sedotal but letting him have whatever he wanted as long as he returned Fiona and the baby unharmed. No heroics, just a man getting his wife and child back.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Two years ago, he’d been happily sunning on a beach in Belize, living his life, never thinking of a wife or a child. Then Fiona had shown up, her fiery hair blazing in the sun, her eyes flashing with so much hatred and anger he’d thought she planned to shoot right outside Kye and Eli’s house. Somehow, they’d ended up married and it still boggled his mind. Luckiest thing that ever happened to him, even though Max and Fiona had forced his hand. And now they had London, as beautiful as her mother.