Roped (14 page)

Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, blood for blood, you’re going to die.

We’re all going to die.

Tek Cain

T
EK
TAPPED
the steering wheel of his truck impatiently and checked his watch again. It was one minute later than the last time he’d checked. It hadn’t taken him and Jamie long to come to a decision. Going witpro meant going rat, and while neither of them could do that to the club, neither could they stay. To do so would be risking certain death if those pictures were turned over. They had to run, disappear—put a continent between the two of them and their old lives. They planned to leave the West Coast behind and start anew in one of the biggest, most anonymous cities in the world. New York. Tek glanced up at Jamie’s house and then back down at his watch again. Now if the bastard would just hurry up, they could start this journey.

He’d dropped Jamie off an hour ago, ran home, showered, threw his shit in a bag, loaded his truck, and hurried back. How long did it take to grab some fucking clothes and your weapons? Tek blew out a frustrated huff and checked the house again; it was as still and silent as it had been for the last fifteen minutes he’d been sitting watching it. A bad feeling began to roil Tek’s gut.
Fuck it!
Tek stepped out of his truck and jogged up to the front door. He turned the knob. Finding it unlocked, he entered the house.

“Hey, Jamie! What’s taking you so long?” Tek called out. He expected Jamie to come bounding down the stairs, still wet from a too-long shower—the man did love to run a hot water heater dry—but the house remained quiet. Tek headed up the stairs.

The queasy feeling in his gut intensified when he noticed what appeared to be blood on the carpet, and he broke into a dead run, heart hammering as he raced to Jamie’s room. The room was in disarray. Clothes thrown around, furniture overturned; evidently a hell of a struggle had taken place.

“Jamie!” Tek bellowed, but the only reply was his own voice reverberating off the walls of the small room. Sheer terror began to seep into every fiber of Tek’s being, and he began to shake violently, weakening his legs and threatening to drive him to his knees. “Jamie! Where are you?”

He started scanning the area, trying to make some sense of what had happened, looking for some kind of clue that would help him find his best friend. A large handprint in blood by the door was enough to nearly send Tek over the edge into insanity, but he forced himself to stay on his feet, to keep searching for… something… anything.

Somebody had taken Jamie, forced him from this room, and when he found the son of a bitch who dared to take what was his, Tek would kill them. He had no doubt it would be one killing he wouldn’t regret. The thought of revenge and torture spurring him on, Tek narrowed his focus, forced himself to still and take in the room again with intent.

“Who got the jump on you, Jamie?” Tek mused. They had apparently caught him coming out of the shower; a wet towel lay on the floor near the door. Tek spun slowly. They’d been waiting in here. There! He pointed to either side of the door. They hit Jamie with something hard enough to disorient him and rip flesh, and then he steadied himself against the wall after touching the wound. Tek turned again. A bag was packed, the clothes strewn around the room clean, but no signs of the clothes Jamie had been wearing. Tek rushed to the bathroom. He found evidence of Jamie’s recent shower, his shaving kit on the counter, another wet towel on the floor, but no discarded clothing, which meant they had at least allowed Jamie to dress. That meant….

Tek snatched his cell phone from his pocket and fired it up. He and Jamie had a shared app that allowed the other to know where they were. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he complained when the app was slow to open. “Got ya!” he hooted in victory when Jamie’s location appeared as a blinking red light. “Sit tight, I’m on my way!”

Tek rushed out of the house and jumped into his truck. Before firing up the engine, he fished around in his bag and pulled out his sheathed knife and attached it to his belt. He checked the clip of his Glock and hid it in the pocket of his coat. Then he pulled out his Tec-9—the very gun Jamie had gifted Tek with would be the one to save his life—and laid it across his lap.

Tek stomped on the gas, pushing the engine into a determined vengeful roar. His cell felt leaden in his hand, the flashing beacon his only hope. It wouldn’t take him directly to Jamie, but it would narrow his location down to within a square mile. Tek had no doubt he’d find him. There was no other option. Fear and the need for vengeance kicked up his adrenaline, each heartbeat and growling vibration of the powerful engine lighting his every nerve as he flew down the highway, gas pedal pushed to the floor.

Tek left the city of Chatom behind, heading north as the sun began to set. For long painful miles, he had no idea where the hell he was going or where he would end up. He was unsure of just how bad off Jamie was, but feeling, knowing, that Jamie wasn’t okay, Tek let the pain and anger take him over and blacken his vision into dangerously honed focus. Each mile that passed beneath his tires felt like an eternity, causing Tek’s muscles to thrum with tension and his head to throb. Truck pushed to the max, “Highway to Hell” aptly blaring from the speakers, Tek’s thoughts were consumed with pain. The pain he would inflict upon those who dared to touch Jamie.

The tiny flashing light led Tek to familiar territory, and within the mile range, he shut down his phone and shoved it into his pocket. He knew exactly where Jamie was and knew exactly who would die by his hands tonight. A satisfied sneer curled Tek’s lips as he drove farther into Mongol territory.

Tek pulled to a stop and cut the engine a good distance from his target, thankful for the cover of darkness. Stepping out of the truck, he set his Tec-9 aside, removed his leather coat, and retrieved a black hoodie from his bag. He slipped it on, pulled the hood down low over his face, and slid the Glock into the waistband of his jeans.

He made his way through the trees surrounding the cabin, the strong wind rustling the branches, the creatures of the night going silent with his presence—a lone bark ahead the only thing to announce his arrival. The closer he got, the louder, more ferocious the barking became. Tek stopped behind a wide oak tree and caught sight of the large dog chained near the side of the cabin. The animal was straining against his chains, his glowing eyes focused on Tek, jaws snapping.

Tek had a split second to form a plan. Going with the first thing that came to mind as he ran toward the door, he hoped like hell the shadows and his dark clothing were enough to keep him out of sight from anyone looking out from within the cabin. He also said a little prayer the dog’s chain would hold, since he valued the flesh on his ass.

Pressing his back against the wall next to the door, Tek pocketed his gun, picked up a rock from the ground, and pulled out his blade. His heart was hammering in his chest, the rush of blood in his ears nearly enough to block out all other sounds, but he forced himself to take slow, even breaths, refusing to allow the fear and excitement to overwhelm him.

After what felt like forever, the door opened and the barrel of a gun pointed out as the man holding it swept the area without showing himself. Tek tossed the rock sideways, hitting his mark. The ding of stone against the tin garbage can did its trick, and the gunman rushed out the door, weapon aimed toward the direction the sound came from, exposing his back to Tek. What an idiot, he deserved to die. Tek didn’t hesitate, he sprang.

“Call out ‘fucking raccoons’,” Tek ordered the man, his blade pressed against the man’s windpipe. When the man hesitated, Tek pushed the knife harder, enough to break skin, to show how serious he was.

“Fucking raccoons!” the man shouted, and Tek severed his windpipe in one quick slash, ensuring he’d never utter another word.

Tek held the man until the gurgling sounds and twitching ceased, then carefully eased the dead Mongol to the ground. As happened far too often of late, the coldness took him over again. Each time he called on it, he’d found it was easier to reach it, pull it to the surface. He knew if he continued, he would no longer have to summon it, search it out, he would become it. But that was a worry for another time, another place; at the moment the only thing was saving Jamie, coldness and soul selling be damned. First, he had to do something about the barking before someone else came out to investigate. Strangely enough, the thought of hurting or killing a dog bothered him more than the human life he’d just taken.

Tek hesitated, eyeing the vicious animal as he scrambled to come up with a way to stop the insistent snapping and snarling without killing the dog.

“Goddammit, Tao,” someone yelled from inside the house. “Shut that dog up, or I’ll shoot you both.”

Time’s up
. Tek approached the dog, forearm up, distracting it, demanding its focus. He could smell the dog’s warm breath as it snapped, feel its spittle on his face. “Sorry, pooch,” he mouthed with true regret and lifted his forearm higher, tightening his grip around the blade in his other hand. When the dog lunged upward and exposed its vulnerable neck, Tek silenced the animal.

Tek wiped his blade on his jeans, returning it to his sheath as he edged close to the window. He could hear at least two men talking, neither the familiar voice of his lover. Tek needed to be silent but quick in his recon of the house. He only had moments before they came searching for Tao.

Thankfully, the gods of vengeance must have been smiling down on him, because when he peered into the cabin, he found it to be a one-room structure. Both men he’d heard talking were sitting at a table. One was drinking from a fifth of whiskey, the other cleaning a large blade as he rambled on about something that had his face animated. In the center of the room, tied to a chair, head bowed, was Jamie. Tek’s heart skipped a beat, and he held his breath as he fought against the red haze of anger that threatened to rob him of sight. Blood matted Jamie’s hair from a large gash over his right eye, which was swollen and turning an ugly shade of purple. Tek let out the breath he was holding when he saw the big chest rise and fall.
Alive.
Jamie was beaten, but still alive.

Dropping to a crouched position, Tek pulled out his Tec-9, checked the ammo, and flipped off the safety. He was far from a religious man, doubted God had a whole lot of care for him and his actions, but Tek prayed just the same. He prayed that his bullets hit their mark. Which was really a messed-up thing to ask God to help him with, but fuck it, he asked for it anyway.

After one last long breath out, Tek jerked to an upright position, bared his teeth, and pointed the weapon toward the table. Tek had caught them both by surprise. The moment he saw one man open his mouth, Tek pulled the trigger, firing round after round into the two men. He smiled with maniacal glee at the screams of pain as the bullets tore flesh, mangled limbs, and ended pathetic lives.

The noise was deafening, Tek’s ears ringing, and he kept his finger pressed against the trigger, firing in a sweeping motion between the macabre dance of the two Mongols until his weapon was empty and the world fell silent.

Breathing harshly, Tek turned his head, expecting stunning blue eyes to be staring back at him, but his heart sank. All the noise and commotion and Jamie hadn’t moved. He had to get to Jamie now! Tek threw his empty weapon aside and gripped the windowsill.

A single shot rang out as pain exploded in Tek’s left arm; fingers numb, bone shattered, his arm became dead weight. He stumbled back, his feet hitting an obstacle, and he landed on his back. His chest seized, he couldn’t breathe. It took him a second to understand the impact that had knocked the wind out of him was not a bullet to his lungs. He rolled on autopilot and pulled the Glock from his waistband as he moved. Where had the gunman come from? How had he missed one? No time to think about movement, pain, fear, Tek fired in the direction of the hulking shadow.

He rolled, fired, and rolled again until something stopped his movements. Silence.

Tek lay there for long drawn-out moments, listening to nothing but his own pulse roaring in his ears. Cautiously, gun raised, he pulled himself to a sitting position and spotted the man who had shot him, lying still, dead from a single shot to the head.
Fucker!

Tek laid his gun down and pulled off his hoodie, wincing as the material scraped across his wound. He could feel the warm wetness oozing down his arm with each beat of his heart. Stop the bleeding. Get to Jamie. Tek pulled his knife and cut a strip of material from his hoodie. Using his good hand and his teeth, he secured the makeshift bandage around his bicep, pulled it tight. He squeezed his eyes shut as the world spun and exploded into pain.

Fucker!
He cursed again when the dizziness subsided and he opened his eyes. He fought down the bile that rose up in his throat as he went to his feet. He was nauseated, his arm throbbing, and unsteady on his feet, but he had to get to Jamie.

As he made his way into the house, Jamie still hadn’t moved. Panic once again overwhelmed Tek, spurring him to act; ignoring his own pain, he rushed to Jamie and lifted his head.

“Jamie! Wake up.” Jamie’s head lolled back; his eyes twitched beneath the lids, but he didn’t open them. “C’mon, man, you gotta talk to me. Open those eyes!”

Tek patted Jamie’s cheek. Nothing. “Jamie!” he roared and grabbed a handful of hair, forcing Jamie’s head up. “Open your fucking eyes right fucking now! We have got to go!”

Jamie grunted but he still didn’t open his eyes.

Tek tightened his grip on Jamie’s hair. “Open your goddamn eyes, or so help me God, I will kick your ass!” he screamed into Jamie’s face.

Relief rushed through Tek when Jamie’s right eye fluttered open, the left too swollen to open. The pupil was blown, the normally white globe bloodshot, but it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.