Hell or High Water (32 page)

The truck’s passenger-side door opened and hands gripped her ankles. Who had joined the struggle? Within seconds, Kay was facedown in the dirt.

“What’s the hell’s going on here?” a male voice demanded. He sounded angry.
 

“Help me!” She struggled to sit up.

“Shut up,” the voice said. He shoved her flat on the ground with his foot.
 

“She wanted to pee but refused to put on the rope.”

“Then she can hold it.”

Damn, she’d dropped the syringe. Her chances of escape faded more with each second.
 

“Get her up. Let’s get a good look at her.”

Yeah. Get her up on her feet. They’d made a mistake by not binding her ankles.
 

Chapter 32

“Jake had better be right.” Nate accepted the earbud from Marcus. Staying in contact would be critical. “I need a gun.”

“Where’s yours?” Tyrell’s fingers stopped pounding the keyboard on Holly’s computer. He slid a knife from his boot and passed it to Nate. “Take care of this.”

“Thanks. The cops made me surrender my weapon before I went into Walsh’s warehouse. All hell broke loose, and I didn’t get it back,” Nate grumbled. “They were afraid I’d kill the bastard.”

“Would you?” Holly picked up her purse, making Nate nervous that she might want to go with them. He couldn’t allow her to put herself in jeopardy. “Would you have killed him?”

“Without blinking an eye.” He left out the part where he’d have been happy to do it.

“Then take mine.” She hauled a 45-caliber Glock from her purse and handed it to him.
 

The sight of this short, barefoot blond holding a weapon of that size would’ve been comical under different circumstances. Tonight, he was grateful.

“Shit, that’s a cannon,” Marcus commented after he pulled his chin off his chest. “Is it legal?”

“Like I told Kay, God and Texas know I carry.”

The medallion on Nate’s chest grew heavy. He absentmindedly removed the chain from under his shirt and rubbed the medal between his fingers. Marcus moved next to him, studying the Saint Jude.

“You’ve really got it bad. Don’t you?” Marcus stated, a smile creeping across his face.

“No,” Nate snapped.

“So why do you still wear it?” Marcus’s eyebrows rose, punctuating his question.

“Don’t make something out of nothing,” Nate answered. “Where’s yours?”

“Who knows?”

“Where’s what?” Tyrell growled, apparently not happy with the chatter.

“Nate’s still wearing the Saint Jude medal Kay gave us.”

“Ain’t that sweet?” Tyrell made a sound like a muffed chuckle. “Although it doesn’t surprise me.”

Ready to change the subject, Nate stood behind Tyrell, checking if he’d found locations and pictures of the men Jake had suggested they look up. According to him, the two guys were long-standing customers of Anthony Walsh’s. They’d eagerly taken problem girls off the old man’s hands in the past.
 

It made sense Walsh would have wanted to get her out of sight fast. Maybe he had sold her to somebody out of state. These two men were in Texas and close by. This was one hell of a long shot, but Nate couldn’t wait while all those big rigs were hunted down, stopped, and then searched.
 

The printer kicked into high gear, and Nate hovered until the documents rolled onto the tray. He retrieved and read carefully, committing the information to memory. The coffee in his belly rebelled just looking at the pictures of the sick sons of bitches.

Both men were masquerading as upstanding citizens. Stephens was a veterinarian. His home and office were in the country outside of Fort Worth, and the other twisted bastard owned Duncan’s used car lot in a small town fifteen miles east of Dallas.
 

“Jake had better be right,” Tyrell grumbled, handing copies to Marcus.
 

Nate understood Tyrell’s concern, but Jake had been adamant. These two bastards were Walsh’s go-to buyers when a female was too hard to sell because of bad behavior. Sick motherfuckers should be tortured themselves.

Holly handed Nate a cup of fresh coffee. Without thinking, he drank. The hot liquid burned the back of his throat. For some odd reason, experiencing a little pain was comforting.

What was Kaycie enduring right this second? Was she suffering? Frightened? His fingers flexed. Palms itched. The gun felt good in his hand.
 

“You’re sure we shouldn’t wait for the cops?” Marcus asked.
 

“Hell, no. I’m not waiting for anybody. They’d want to put a plan together while they tried to get a warrant. I’m not holding their hands. You and Marcus take Duncan, he’s the closest. I’ll take Stephens.”

Tyrell slid on his old-fashioned shoulder harness. A leftover from his bodyguard days. “Let’s get to it.”

Nate was bouncing on the balls of his feet. Adrenaline pumped through his veins at supersonic speeds as he slid the Glock into his empty holster.
 

“This is right. I feel it.” He turned to Holly. “I owe you. Big. I won’t forget everything you’ve done.”

“Just bring Kay home.”
 

Nate stuffed a piece of paper in Holly’s hand. “Give us forty-five minutes then call this number. Tell Tomas I know he listened to your conversation with Jake. Tell him we’ve gone ahead to check out these two perverts.”

Tyrell and Marcus followed Nate down the stairs. No further discussion or planning was needed. They simply separated in the parking lot to carry out their assignment. No words were spoken. Nobody gave a rah-rah speech to tell them how important this was. Each man loved Kaycie in his own way and wanted to bring her home. Nate refused to believe they’d accomplish anything less.
 

The motorcycle moved under Nate as if it understood the urgency. When he hit the on-ramp to the freeway, he pushed the bike faster until billboards, speed-limit signs, and light posts blurred, looking like toothpicks. Air swirled under his visor while his heart twisted inside his chest. For the first time in years, Nate prayed. Prayed for her safety. Prayed he’d get to her in time.

Kaycie was alive. Every pulse of his racing heart said she was close. He felt it. Tasted it. Wore it like a shield as he raced into the night.
 

The Saint Jude medal scorched his determination into his chest. He would find her. He had to.

****

“Master,” the monster said, while tightening the rope around Kay’s neck. “You’re to address me as Master. And keep your gaze and head pointed to the ground. Punishment will be severe if you look me in the face.”
 

Kay swallowed, fighting for a breath. By slipping the rope over her head before allowing her to stand, they’d effectively ended her plan to run. She clamped her lips shut, grinding her back teeth. If this sleazebag expected her to play his game, he was crazy.
 

She glared at him, openly defiant. She memorized every peak and valley on his face. She’d never forget how his eyes were set too close together or the pencil-thin scar that bisected his left brow. When she escaped, she’d remember every detail and easily describe him to a police forensic artist.

Around five-feet-nine, with a pork jowl, the overweight, middle-aged man might have appeared benign to a stranger, but to Kay, he reminded her of the deadly copperhead. The one snake that dared humans to cross its path. It didn’t slither away if given the chance—it would come after you.
 

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve dealt with arrogant bitches who tried to escape. Fought me. Disobeyed me. After a few lessons, they learned just as you will. I won’t tolerate disrespect.”
 

His gaze raked across her. With a disgusting gleam in his eyes, he gripped her tattered blouse, ripped it off, and inspected her like a prize hog. He poked at her flesh. His fingers clamped down on her nipples and twisted.
 

She screamed in agony. The truck driver laughed, tightening the rope around her neck.

The monster smiled. “Yell all you want. Nobody will hear you.” He leaned in close and stuck his face close to hers. “Except me. And the louder you are the better I like it.”

Suddenly, all of the females he’d stripped of their dignity, tortured and killed, gathered and filled her with rage. She collected what saliva she could and spit in his face.

He wiped his face with her blouse, tossed it to the ground, and then rammed his fist into her abdomen. The blow struck with such force, her bladder released, soaking through her underwear and jeans. When he realized she’d wet herself, he laughed in her face and then hit her again. Kay gagged and collapsed against the noose.
 

Despair drained every ounce of strength out of her. Nobody was coming for her.
 

The trucker’s voice seemed far away when he spoke. “You want her in the trailer?”

“Yeah,” the monster said. He stepped to the back of a horse trailer and opened the side walk-through door.

Each man grabbed an arm and jerked her up and forward. Kay surprised herself. Hell, yes, she still had fight left, and she proved it by struggling against them while they pulled her along. She dug in her feet and made them drag her. Her shoes came off so she fought for purchase with her toes.
 

She wrestled with every ounce of strength she had left while they fastened metal clamps around her ankles and wrists.
 

When the two men were finished, she was standing spread-eagle in the nose of the enclosed trailer. She strained against the binding only to have the metal cut into her skin. She was trapped like a wild animal. Still, she thrashed and tried to free herself.
 

The stench in her new prison was overwhelming, causing her eyes and nose to burn. The walls were a dark gray, and she stood on black rubber mats that were used to help a horse or cow to keep their hooves under them.

So the bastard actually hauled animals in this contraption when he wasn’t carrying helpless girls to their doom?

Where the strength came from, she didn’t know. But she whipped her head back and slung her matted hair off her face. She lifted her gaze, locking onto the man’s who’d bought her.

“You will die for what you’re doing. Maybe not while I’m alive, but a man will come. He’ll hunt you down like the vermin you are. And I promise, come hell or high water, you will suffer wrath like you’ve never known.”

“Stop. You’re scaring me,” he said in a high-pitched, mocking tone. He jerked a rag from his back pocket, stuffed it in her mouth, and then tied one around her head to secure the gag in place. “That should silence your smart mouth until we get home.”

“Want me to give her this last shot before you go?” the truck driver asked.

“No. I want her fully awake. Let her spend some time thinking about the gadgets and fun items waiting for her.”

She ignored the razor-like pain and bucked against the metal braces. Apparently satisfied she couldn’t get away, the two men exited without looking back.
 

On her chest, the Saint Jude medal rested between her breasts. Knowing one other person wore its mate eased her fear.

Nate. Saying his name inside her head gave her comfort. Comfort knowing when he came home from Colombia and learned of her fate, he’d search until he found the bastard who’d killed her. Comfort that the punishment he’d administer would be fatal.

Soon the trailer started moving. Her wrists and ankles were shackled, but her head and body jerked and swayed with the movement. The road was bumpy, leaving her to believe they were taking a back or deserted road to their destination. With each rough spot, Kay’s appendages were stretched by the restraints, cutting grooves into her skin. The burn in her shoulders felt as if they’d slipped the sockets. Maybe they had.

This kind of hate and cold fear was alien to Kay. She’d never wanted to kill a person with her bare hands. But then her future had never been this bleak.
 

She tried again and again to spit out the gag. The trailer bumped to a stop. Then the pickup’s engine died and a door opened and closed. Not a sliver of light could get inside.
 

Kay was frantic. She could only imagine the horrors that the pervert had in store for her. To retain her sanity, she refused to stop struggling. Had to believe she could break free. She lunged forward. Again and again, she battled her restraints. The pain in her joints intensified. She used it. Got madder. More determined to find a way out.

Even as the cold night air numbed her skin, her self-preservation instinct refused to let her give up. Until, exhausted, she collapsed. A dead weight, supported only by the shackles, she listened to the quiet. No human sounds. Nothing but her heaving while she fought to breathe through her nose. Her lungs demanded oxygen.
 

She waited. The bastard would have to drag her outside. Where had he taken her?
 

Chapter 33

Nate killed the bike at the beginning of the dirt road and stowed it out of sight in nearby bushes.