WITHOUT MERCY by Ava Strong

Author:Ava Strong [Strong, Ava]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2022-04-10T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Miranda Lopez's arms strained above her head, her skull splitting with a thundering headache. She blinked blearily, trying to gather her wits about her, surveying her surroundings as she steadily roused. The pain from her head lanced down her spine, and her heart hammered rapidly. Her lips felt numb and dry.

It was all a blur. As she blinked, adjusting to the faint light glinting through the boarded walls, she tried to think back...

Where was... how had...

And then it all came rushing back with a stomach-curdling spurt of horror. Her eyes widened in terror, and she began to move. But her arms protested the motion, her sockets straining, her wrists sore and stretched in pain.

It took her a second to realize her hands were bound above her.

And now the memories came surging back even faster. She remembered the way the bastard had gripped her arms, locking her in place as he'd sped through the night. Remembered the grumble and roar of the motorcycle engine beneath her desperately tensed legs.

Remembered his gloved hand gripping her, holding her in place.

She wanted to scream now, but the sound was lost in a dry and rasping throat.

He'd hit her over the head. She remembered now. As he'd pulled up a long, disheveled road, past a mailbox stand with no box, she'd tried to break free, to throw herself to the side of the road.

The bike had toppled. She'd hit the ground hard. And then he'd hit her with equal force until she'd stopped moving.

And now...

Now she was here.

Wherever here was.

She groaned, trying to wet her lips with a dry tongue, and trying to catch her bearings as her vision slowly cleared.

The sunlight drifted through slits in wooden paneling over large windows. The air smelled of grease and motor oil. The road they'd taken, when she'd tried to escape, had led down an isolated portion of terrain towards an empty house. But this didn't have the appearance of a house. More like a garage, converted into some sort of mechanic's shop. Half-built motorcycles and mechanical parts she had no name for littered dusty workbenches and metal tables.

Two thick metal barrels situated against a corrugated metal wall. The sliding door to the garage?

She groaned again, swinging slowly as she realized her feet were dangling inches above the ground, her arms still stretched above.

“H-help...,” she tried to moan, her voice pained. “P—please!” she tried, finding some volume.

She waited, listening. Only the faintest whistle of wind in the distance, and the choking, oppressive weight of sheer, desert silence.

“H-help me, ple—” she began to speak again, but just then a side door was kicked open.

She clapped her lips shut, going suddenly still, trembling and silent. A hunched figure moved into the room now, limping heavily and favoring his right side. The man was wearing the same biker leathers from the night before. The same helmet.

As she stared, terror in her chest, the man slowly reached up, unclasping something beneath his chin and then pulling the helmet.

And then she saw his face.

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