Hell's Angel: Devil's Backbone (BK 2)

Penny and Dime

Alison's POV
(bellamysgirl)

I groaned a little, trying to pull my head upright. The last however-long-I-was-out was a dense fog. My head felt like a lead weight. "And she's awake," the arrogant voice of that Irish nut from the carousel filtered through my ears. He sounded amused. "That was quite the fight you put up back there. Tell me—who are you supposed to be? Another Vigilante?" I forced my head to face straight forward. My eyes narrowed.

They would've had to squint from the light above my head anyway. But this way it made look like I was angry—which I was. I glared for a second. "What do you care?" I asked, venomously. My voice sounded like I'd just spent hours gargling gravel. It was a little deeper sounding than usual, but it gave me an edge. "Well, you're involvement in all this is a bit of a surprise," he explained, taking a step toward me.

"Look, I don't know what you think you've got with me here. But I'm not his girlfriend," I shook my head—and instantly regretted it. A tidal wave of an ache washed over my head. I swallowed to keep it under wraps. He huffed a semi humorless chuckle and slid his hands into his pockets. "Right. Could've fooled me—the way he was shielding you. You're important to him," he reasoned. "Thank you, because you're going to make my job a whole lot easier."

He turned and started out of the room. It looked like some four-by-four trash hole. The only light was coming through the open door and the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. I tried to move but was instantly pulled back by binds on my wrists, tied behind the back of the chair. A second after he left, I heard his voice echoing in from the next room. It was a bit faint—too faint to make out exact words—but it was nearby.

So Frank wasn't that far. Good. I twisted in the chair to see my wrists. They were tied quite solidly with rope. This is just great. Unfortunately for me, I don't have anything sharp. I'm sure there was a way I could get out of this but I'm not MacGyver. I can't just whip up some instant knife with nothing but air. My heart was starting to thump in my ears. I'd give anything to know what's going on in that other room. To know what they were doing to him.

I probably didn't want to know in reality. Suddenly the head Irish wing nut came through the open doorway, followed by two men. He looked like he was on a mission. "You're boyfriend's having a little trouble seeing the big picture," he said, moving behind my chair. "Why don't we pay him a visit?" He motioned to the two men he brought with him and they came over. I felt the pull at my wrists suddenly stop.

The two men—moving one on either side of me—each grabbed one of my arms tightly and hefted me up to my feet. I yanked against their grip. "I can walk by myself," I spat, but they kept a tight hold on me. The head Irishman walked around to stand a ways in front of me. He shook his head. "We're not making that mistake, again," he disagreed. He started for the door and the men at my sides each gave me a shove.

My feet were forced to move, no matter how much I dug my feet in. They were practically dragging me straight across the hall into another room. I pulled against the men, leaning backward into it. "Oh, come on," the Irish in charge said, stopping to stand mid room. "Don't be shy." I thrashed against the men holding me before I noticed just where we were. The air caught in my lungs. Frank sat tied to a chair near the back of the room.

His face was bloody, beaten. But his eyes were softened as he looked up at me. "Leave her out of this," Frank said, throwing it at the head Irishman. "She doesn't know anything." I startled a little, pulled from my thoughts, when the men that were holding me started pulling to the right. I only went because I didn't have the heart to fight back for only moving a couple feet. They pulled me to a spot not too far from Frank's chair.

They then forced my hands out and started a chain around my wrists, tying them back together. They only wrapped it around a couple times before yanking my hands above my head and hooking the chain to a bar in the ceiling. I was short enough that it was a slight dangle for me. "Maybe so," the Irish idiot agreed, nodding. "But you do. And until you talk, she's going to be a part of this."