Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 505(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 505(@200wpm)___ 404(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
More shouting and panicked pleading helped clear the fog. Until the telltale click of a bullet being loaded into the chamber of a pistol made an eerie stillness settle over him.
He’d been here before, seconds from death, his life in someone else’s hands. Only those other times, he’d been on active duty and prepared to sacrifice his life for his country. And he hadn’t had a gorgeous woman burrowed under his skin counting on him to keep his shit together.
“Don’t shoot him! I’ll be quiet,” Olivia screamed. “I’ll stay calm. I’ll do whatever the hell you want—”
“No!” Scott ground out. Fuck that. He’d gladly take a bullet to keep these motherfuckers’ hands off her.
Olivia continued yelling until the hard barrel of the gun settled against the back of his head. Then she fell deathly quiet. Goddamn, he was so proud of her. Though blinded by the bag, he could see the look on her face clear as day—terrified yet furious.
“They aren’t going to kill me,” he said, voice strong and steady.
“No?” whomever the fucker was with the gun at his skull said with a laugh. “And why’s that?”
“You pulled me over for a reason. You want something. She can’t get it for you.” He’d die before giving these assholes her name, though they probably already knew exactly who she was. “She’s a woman. Curly won’t listen to fuck-all from bitches.”
Man, she’d skin his balls for that sexist remark.
Unless Brooke got to him first.
Curly would just laugh his ass off.
The gun stayed in place. Though he couldn’t see Olivia or anyone, he felt the waves of anxiety wafting off her. He couldn’t do a damn thing to ease her fears, which twisted him up more than having a gun to his head. Only one other time in his life he’d felt so helpless, and it ended with Deke’s death.
No one would fucking die tonight.
Well, maybe the fucker holding him at gunpoint.
“You know,” the guy said as though an idea had just popped into his head. “There’s something I’d like. Actually, something my boss wants.”
“Lobo?”
The responding grunt was all the confirmation Scott needed. Lobo had sent these assholes. “Where’s that motherfucking coward been hiding out? This seems to be his style, kidnapping innocent women and shit. Your boss a one-trick pony? This the only way he can get a woman’s attention?”
The gun nudged his scalp. Hard.
“He wants a meeting with your president.”
“Seriously? He never heard of a phone? A fucking text message?”
“Tomorrow night. Nine o’clock. Grim’s Bar.”
Scott had heard of the place. Biker bar a few towns over. Closer to the beach. Supposed to be a shithole run by a guy Curly used to ride with. “Want us to bring anything? Bottle of wine? Roses? A fucking cake, maybe?”
The gun cracked against his head again. “Fuck off with the smart-ass shit. Prez, VP, and your stupid ass. That’s it. Anyone else gotta wait outside.”
Scott spent his entire military career training for every possible scenario. Every brand of sensory deprivation, resisting torture, evasion, escape—everything. The time he spent in captivity fucked with his psyche, but it hadn’t erased years of intense drills. He’d also been trained to observe his surroundings. With his vision blocked, his ears went on automatic alert. They twitched, picking up on a tiny vibration that would eventually become the thunderous roar of approaching motorcycles.
The club was on the way.
His family had his back. That knowledge chased away any lingering panic. He wasn’t alone. Used to functioning in a team, he fucking loved this new brotherhood.
“Can’t promise he’ll accept this lovely invitation, but I’ll pass it along.”
The gun moved. Not far, but it shifted away from his head and down toward the ground. Scott didn’t think as there wasn’t any need. He trusted his instinct and training above anything else.
He swept his leg out, twisting so his back took the brunt of the fall. His shin collided with his captor’s legs.
“Scott!” Olivia’s scream quickly turned into a yelp of pain.
Oh, fuck no.
He heard the gun clatter to the road as the bastard fought to keep his balance. Scott thrust his bound hands upward. They whacked into skin, and a second later, he heard a grunt as the guy hit the ground. Scott wasted no time, scrambling to his knees.
Sounds of Olivia struggling spurred him on. He needed this asshole unconscious right fucking now.
The rumble of approaching bikes grew loud enough to be heard by everyone.
Blind, Scott dove toward the spot he’d heard the guy fall. His shoulder collided with something hard—the guy’s head.
Perfect.
He flipped to his back and reached out with his tied hands. As he caught the gun under his chin, he pulled as hard as he fucking could. The shout of pain was music to his ears. Bending his arms, he immobilized the guy in a headlock.
The approaching bikes got so fucking loud he couldn’t hear a damn thing over the roar of the pipes.