Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Elizabeth Knox (cheapest way to read ebooks .txt) 📖

or what?” I pipe up, trying to keep some order to our meeting and keep the old fuckers on the task at hand. Mouse. All eyes are on me now because other than when talking to Mouse, I’m more of the grin and bear it type—Well, I bear it, even if I don’t smile while putting up with shit. Mouse once said I was the strong silent type, which was her subtle way of saying I’m a quiet asshole. Each second we waste on other subjects is a moment we could be looking for her. We need a plan, I understand that, but all I want to do is bust in their clubhouse and spill their blood. By doing that, eventually, one of them would talk.

“I figured Glas would scoop up a couple of prospects in the cage. Let them do the heavy lifting. While the rest of us lead the cavalry,” Bad instructs, stroking his beard within his palm. No doubt, flipping through the possibilities of how everything will play out in his mind.

After exchanging a glance with Glas in silent agreement, I speak for us both. “You got it, Boss.” I rub my hands together and lick my lips. I’m not a good person, and I know it. I like causing physical pain to those who deserve it. If someone crosses my brothers and my club, it’s a guarantee they are going to be on the receiving end of my fists at the very least. These fuckers have a whole hell of a lot more than my fists coming for them, though. I impatiently tap the silver and black rings I wear on all of my fingers on the table. We can’t leave soon enough.

“Mind if I ride in the cage with them?” Hatter shamefully asks, hanging his head. It’s not easy for him to handle his bike on most days.

“Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on the youngbloods,” Skillet interjects to save our brother his humility with a nod.

“It’s settled.” Bad agrees to the steps we’re all adding, and once we figure everything out, we will put it to a vote. Regardless of how it happens, one thing is certain, that MC has one hell of a storm heading their way.

11

Quinn

My eyes slowly open, but I can’t see a thing at first. It’s incredibly hard to breathe, and the heat is almost unbearable. A thin line of light is above me, and there’s a distinct smell of motor oil all around me. My hand and leg throb, but the pain is nothing when comparing it to the constant throbbing in my skull. It feels like it’s going to split into infinite pieces at any moment. My hands try to cradle my temple, but I can’t move them. Shit! I can’t move my feet either. They’re bound together, but by what? I wiggle my body around until the dim light is on my hands and wrists. “Stupid assholes,” I murmur so quietly no one else will hear it.

Duct tape is around my wrists, and I’m betting my ankles, too. The rest of my body isn’t tied down. Clearly, whoever abducted me has not done this very many times. Chains or something a little harder to get out of is the way to go. Maybe my kidnapping wasn’t a planned one, and they used whatever they had with them.

Although I have never killed anyone, Cobra has taught me plenty. I stretch my back to its limit until I reach my shoelaces, removing one from my boot slowly so I won’t lose it in what I’m guessing to be a trunk. Time is my advantage right now. If I’m still in the trunk, then they haven’t had a chance to take me to a second location. Maybe they have, but at least I’m not inside yet.

Using my fingers, I inch the string up into my hands and carefully wrap it around the tape between my crossed wrists. My fingers ache, but I push through the pain. I won’t end up on one of those true-crime TV specials. They aren’t the first broken bones I have ever had.

My eyes adjust a little more, and I saw it back and forth and create friction to weaken the tape until I can break free. My mind screams to go into panic mode, but I refuse to let it. I will get out of here. I wonder why they did not go ahead and kill me at Cobra’s, and then it hits me. They want me alive to use me as leverage. The need to get out of here is now more important than it was before. As long as I’m their prisoner, he’s in danger.

My heart clenches within my chest, and I frantically move the string as fast and as hard as I can. My left-hand slips when the tape begins to give, and I flex my hands in opposite directions. The tape rips, and I’m able to grab it between my fingers and force it open. My right-hand smacks against something hard, and I cry out from the impact.

“Shit!” My body stills, and I listen for anyone around. I had tried to make as little noise as possible so as not to draw unwanted attention to myself. Even though it’s difficult to make out much, my eyes scan my surroundings, searching for anything in case I need to fight someone. I’m not really going to do anyone any good right now in the shape I’m in, but I won’t give up.

“Seriously,” I whisper, noticing a crowbar beside me. I became a makeshift MacGyver, and it worked, thankfully, but I could have saved so much time if I would have just felt around and found this earlier. Shoving the straight end through the gapped part of the tape over my legs, I cautiously push it through, making a sizeable tear, and then undo the rest with my hands. Now to pry the seat open, and I’m free.

My hands trace around the frame