Page 119 of Trigger Happy Ending

Blood oozes from my nose and my mouth.

The gruff voice owner steps forward and looks down at me. “You thought you could kill half our club and get away with it? Do you know who you’re fucking with?”

Fingers tighten around my throat, and my lungs burn. “He asked you a question, bitch.”

I suck in a breath, along with some invisible courage and spit in response. “Do you know who you’re fucking with?”

The gruff one in charge smirks. “A dumb slut who took off her ski mask, that’s who. How do you like being ambushed, huh?”

I blink several times. Spots dance in my vision.

Fuck. This is really fucking bad.

I’m not in a good way. Stupidly, I reach for my knife sheathed within my boot, but the hand around my throat tightens, the burn almost unbearable as my airways close. I can’t get to it in time. Another outlaw grabs my wrist, twisting hard enough to make me cry out. They zip-tie my wrists together behind my back.

I fucking hate zip ties.

They manhandle me over towards the elevators, where another thug holds open the doors.

“You saw nothing! Understand!” He bellows to Ava and a patron, they only two left, both cowering together in a booth.

Ava looks at me, tears streaming down her face. “Angel?”

I mouth the word “Lukas” to her and pray she understands what I’m saying. If she’s smart (which I’m not sure she is), she’ll contact Carson immediately and relay the message. It’s a long shot. But a shot nonetheless. It's all I've got.

C’mon, Ava. Surprise me.

The elevator arrives at the basement, where two blacked-out vans wait.

I’m tossed into the back of one of the vans like a rag doll, but the second the hand around my throat is removed, relief washes over me. My body lurches as oxygen fills my lungs. The relief doesn't last long as the two men waiting in the back get to work on binding my ankles together with rope. Pain screams through my body as they roughly hog-tie me and tape my mouth shut. I thrash as best I can, but they’ve tied me up in a way that makes any movement exceptionally painful.

Voices echo from the front. I clock a driver and a passenger. So there are four in this van. Who fucking knows how many in the other. At least four. Possibly six.

The odds aren’t in my favor.

Before I can try and count the turns the van takes, a rank cloth covers my face, and everything fades to black.

Chapter 49

Soren

Ididn’t feel like a drink, but Carson’s a persistent man. Impatience ripples through me as Carson pours two fingers of scotch into crystal tumblers. I just want to get the fuck out of here; but all he wants to do is celebrate the deal. The briefcase sits open on his oversized desk in his private office, ten vials of PARM-17 snug and tight within the black foam.

As of right now, the deal’s done. The mission is almost complete. The only thing left to do is the handover to O. My stomach tightens at the thought of what lies ahead of me. Not the delivery to O—nah, that’s the easy part. It’s the goodbye to the only woman I’ve ever loved that has me tripping out.

I’ve decided I’ll tell her. I’ve got nothing to lose.

Because not telling her I’m head over heels, deep in love with her?

I’d rather die than live with that regret.

Goddammit, I think I’ve grown as a man. Evolved or whatever.

Carson’s phone rings, snapping me out of my thoughts. He ignores the call, and leans forward, handing me a glass of straight scotch. Then it rings again.

And again.

A sense of dread washes over me. Something’s happened. I know this because my gut, or soul, or whatever the fuck I’m made of is dialed in to turmoil.