FORBIDDEN: The Stowaway PART ONE

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Zay

It doesn't take us more than an hour to get to the bar I'm sure Lillian visited many times to meet up with Riggs, maybe even Peter. Shitty biker bar that looks like it has seen better days, with broken windows patched with plywood. Dirt and gravel road has oil stains, potholes, and broken beer bottles everywhere.

I don't belong here. This isn't my scene. This isn't what I do. I don't kill people.

But I attempted to kill Peter. Thought I did.

Maybe I do belong here. Scared, broken.

Riggs keeps staring at me. He's been stealing glances the entire ride. Tried to hold my hand twice. But what's the use of giving in? What's the use of showing him I still care?

It's over.

It was never something, but I did feel things. I won't deny that.

He's not Adam.

He was just a dick I used as my last will and testament.

Riggs holds a place in my heart, but Adam owns it.

They shoved me into a booth at the biker bar Lillian spoke of. This isn't her scene. Christ, it's not even mine.

The place is dark, riddled with black leather and red curtains. Reeks of beer and cigarettes with a hint of piss.

What the heck was she doing here?

Riggs is sitting at the bar, glancing at me every so often as the rest of the guys pace the sitting area, whispering plans, pointing at me, and gritting their teeth.

I don't know what their plan is for me.

I know it isn't good.

Peter lights a cigarette; I didn't even know he smoked. I don't know a lot about him, it seems.

Tears slip down my cheeks and that's when I feel Riggs looking at me. I don't want him to see me like this.

Weak.

Pathetic.

On death row.

His gaze holds for a couple of minutes until I look at him. When we lock eyes, he looks away, taking a swig of his beer.

All hope is lost.

*

Just days ago, we were laying in front of the fire, naked and out of breath. He poked the wood, grinning without even looking at me.

"What's that smile about? I asked, poking his cheek.

He put the poker down and rested his hand on my stomach. "I hated being here with you. Hated your stubborn ass even more. But now, I don't want it to end."

I chuckled, poking his cheek. "Yeah, I'm pretty annoying when it comes down to it."

"You were."

"Who'd have thought shoving your dick in me would shut me up?" I said, turning onto my stomach. He nods, fingers delicately tracing the curves of my back to my ass.

"You have a tattoo," he said, tracing the butterfly on my lower back.

"It's for Lillian," I said, looking over my shoulder. "She was obsessed with butterflies." He nodded, brushing his fingers up my back and causing goosebumps to pebble. "Which tattoo was your first?"

He grunted, turning onto his stomach and touching his left side. "This dagger when I was fifteen. My uncle has a tattoo gun." He folded his arm behind his head. "Doesn't mean anything. None of them do."

I touched the open mouth of the serpent, moving my finger along its tongue. "And this one?"

"I was seventeen, had my first kill and my daddy said it was time I ink my skin since I was officially a member," he replied, turning onto his side again. "I've done bad things for the club, and this snake was the start of it all."

He has a dark past, something I wanted to learn about, but knew it was not worth it. I'd be dead by Friday.

"All the taboo things are the funnest, aren't they?" I smirked, biting my lower lip as he stared right at them.

He nibbled my shoulder, getting on top of me. "What's taboo is fucking you raw. I don't do that often. I don't do that, ever."

"Oh, really?" I said as he parted my legs. "Then why don't you show me one more time what fucking me raw is like?"

He breathed against my cheek, tongued teasing it. "For you, sunshine, I'd do anything."

I gasped feeling him slide inside me, one place he remained until we met our fate two short days later.

*

He gets up, draining his beer, and goes behind the bar for another. The men are distracted, huddled together, and speaking quietly.

If I'm getting out of this alive, I need to make a break for it.

The front door is out of the question. They're close enough to it that I wouldn't make it to the bar without a bullet in me.

I can see the exit sign at the back of the kitchen. I haven't seen a single soul walking around in there since we got here.

Riggs is making himself a drink, ignoring the barmaid offering to do it. He gulps his beer, shaking his head. None of the guys are looking at me.

It's now or never.

I slide out of the booth and make a run for it, hearing the sounds of Riggs's beer bottle clank on the bar top.

The kitchen is empty as I thought, and the exit sign is right up ahead. I'm going to make it.

Yelling and cursing move through the bar, and the sound of heavy footfalls follow after.

I shove the backdoor open and stumble out into the bright afternoon, skinning my knee.

Riggs is right behind me, staring down at me.

I wince, scrambling to my feet and charging for the parking lot, but he has me by the hair before I even make it a couple of feet.

Sobs leave me as he grabs hold of me and pulls my back to his chest. "Please."

"What part of stay put don't you understand?" he growls, whipping me around.

"Riggs, please," I weep, touching his chest. His heart is beating rapidly.

Is it beating for me? Or is it beating at the thrill of killing me?

Lip comes out with Banks, guns in hand. Riggs tenses and grabs my throat, shoving me into the brick wall. "You can beg for your fucking life all you want. I can't wait to be the one who puts a bullet in that fucking head of yours."

I'm crying, but he doesn't seem to care anymore.

There's nothing but darkness in those eyes.

The same darkness I saw the night we met.

It's over for me.

It's fucking over.