Page 45

“Can't,” he breathed.

“Then Ghost and Hammer are going to kill you,” she threatened.

Something strange crossed Crow's face, and she wasn’t sure, but it looked a lot like relief. “Good.”

Angel stopped fighting him. “What?” He looked toward the bedroom door as shouts echoed downstairs. Boots pounded across the clubhouse, and she could hear Ghost shouting her name.

“Hurry the fuck up,” the second man whispered. Angel couldn't see him clearly.

Crow tightened his grip. “Sorry about this, Lina.”

“About wha—” Something pressed against her neck, and she felt a sharp sting.

Angel gasped. “No.” Her legs immediately weakened, and panic exploded through her.

“What did you give me?” she asked—her words slurred.

“Something to make this easier,” Crow said.

“You son of a bitch,” she slurred.

“Yeah,” he breathed. She tried to fight him, but her arms wouldn't cooperate. The room tilted off axis, and Crow caught her before she fell.

“Ghost!” The name came out weak and was barely more than a breath.

“He'll come after you,” Crow whispered.

Angel tried to focus on him. “What?”

“That bastard will come for you,” Crow repeated.

“You don't know him,” she slurred.

Crow smiled. “No. But Razor does.”

Cold swept through her that had nothing to do with whatever drug he'd injected into her. “Razor?”

“Time to go.” Crow lifted her, and Angel tried to scream again, but nothing came out. Her head fell against his shoulder. The last thing she heard before everything went black was Ghost shouting her name from somewhere below, and Crow whispering against her hair. “Your daddy should've burned those fucking books when he had the chance.”

Angel woke up to the sound of a shovel scraping against dirt. For several seconds, she didn't move. She didn't open her eyes, and didn't breathe any deeper than necessary. Her head felt like someone had split it open with an axe, her mouth was dry, and her stomach rolled—but she was alive. She was counting that as a win.

She listened to the scrapes and thuds. Someone was digging. Great—that couldn't possibly be good, or very, very bad. Angel slowly tested her hands. They were tied behind her, and her ankles were bound too. She was lying on something hard—wood, maybe. The air smelled like dust, damp earth, and old gasoline. Cold air brushed her face, and she was sure that she was outside, or somewhere partially open.

She cracked one eye and was met with darkness. A dim orange glow flickered somewhere nearby. Angel opened both eyes and could tell that she was inside an old barn. One side had partially collapsed, exposing the night sky. Moonlight spilled through broken boards, and everywhere she looked she saw pumpkins—dozens of them. Some were whole, some carved, and some rotten. Jack-o'-lanterns lined an old workbench, with candles flickering inside grotesque faces.

“What the fuck?” she breathed.

The digging stopped. “Well, look who's awake.”

Angel turned her head and saw that Crow stood about fifteen feet away holding a shovel. “I see you’re decorating for Halloween,” she said.

He smiled. “Still a smart-ass.”

“Still an asshole,” she mumbled.

“Also true,” he agreed. Angel tried to sit up, and the room spun. Crow dropped the shovel and walked over to her. “Easy,” he ordered.

“Don't touch me,” she spat. He stopped, and something about his expression bothered her. He didn't look like a man who wanted to kill her. In fact, he looked worried, and that made no sense. “You kidnapped me.”