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“No questions. Get in the camper, slut.”

His mood had deteriorated fast, and the vindictive tone he used when calling me a slut made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I pulled the door open, and stepped up into the camper, but it was more of a run-down mess. Sunlight shone in from a ten-inch hole in the floor a few feet away. It reeked. I couldn’t put my finger on what it smelled like, but it was definitely a blend of multiple odors, all of them vile.

Duane shoved me from behind, and I remembered the mallet in my waistband. I turned around while pulling the mallet free.

“I will tase you, Mickayla. That will only make things worse,” he said.

In a wide arc, I swung the mallet at the side of Duane’s head. As I watched it connect, I realized the flat end made contact. I’d meant to use the pointy end for maximum damage. His expression turned dazed for a split second, then he brought up the taser.

Tiny was right. A bat would have been much better against Duane.

Both probes flew past me. Duane dropped the weapon and charged at me.

I swung the mallet again while the sound of someone’s muffled screams registered. Duane dodged my hit. Keeping my gaze pinned to Duane, I turned my head a fraction toward the sound. My eyes darted to the side and back to Duane.

“What did you do to Lucinda?”

Our cleaning woman, Lucinda, was gagged and bound at her wrists and ankles. She was slumped in the corner of the dinette booth of the camper. During the week she cleaned later in the morning, closer to when we opened. I looked forward to the mornings I opened because I got to chit chat with her, and she was a hoot, always telling me about her daughter and her grandkids. The fact Duane had time to get her back here and still be at the bar when I showed up angered me anew.

“I had plans for you when you came in. You were supposed to be opening this morning, another lie you told me.”

I brought the mallet up again, but he grabbed my wrist with both hands.

Shit.

He pinched the tendons along my wrist. No matter how I fought against it, I dropped the mallet. I brought a knee up and connected with his crotch. He doubled over, but the floor was slippery and I hadn’t put enough umph into it.

“You’ll pay for that, bitch.”

He shoved me away and I stumbled toward a pull down bed - that was already pulled down. This was the last place I wanted to be. Lucinda whimpered behind her gag.

“Put that dress on, Mickayla. It’s time to get you clean.”

I scrambled to my feet and glanced over my shoulder. A scrap of red fabric rested on the bed.

I shook my head. “I don’t need to get clean, Duane. Let us go.”

He yanked open a drawer in the tiny kitchenette and brought up a gleaming butcher knife. “Put it on, or I start slicing Lucinda.”

I picked up the scrap of fabric, and sidled toward a small door that I suspected was the bathroom.

“No! You change in front of me.”

For mentioning he wanted to get me clean, the idea of changing in front of him, made me feel especially dirty.

While I hesitated, Duane yanked Lucinda up by her wrists. “Strip, now, or I slice her up.”

I exhaled and undid my shorts. Best case scenario, the police were at the bar by now…but they wouldn’t have any idea where we’d gone. None of the Riot brothers would be at On a Lark for another twenty minutes at least…I prayed I could get Lucinda and myself out of this in one piece.

“Hurry up. You’re a whore, but I don’t want a show.”

I unzipped the dress, stepped into it, and awkwardly zipped it up my back. No way I’d ask for Duane’s help with that. It looked like the dress I wore at Christmas, but it was sequined, and didn’t have any fur trim. Not only was it a size too small, it was scratchy as all hell.

“Is this what it takes to make your ol’ lady happy? Will she take you back now?” I asked.

“How could it?” Duane snarled. “She’s dead. Nothing will make her happy any more.”