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

“Tiny dicks and fat wallets,” Khan commented from where he sat at the table still eating. “I suppose we should let her know what to expect. She needs to behave and not make it worse for herself. No sense damaging the merchandise any more than we have to. It’s like this, cunt. When you leave here, you’re headed to the stable where the other slaves are held. You’re gonna be put in a cage with a camera that’s feeding shit to the dark web. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll put on a show. Squeeze those tits and shake your booty. Show them your moves and make them want you all the more.”

As much as she hated to hear it, she knew her best chance of survival lay in hooking someone’s interest enough to make him pay top dollar. People tended to value what they paid for. Give them a gift worth the same and they’d trample it in the dust.

“When it’s time, you’ll all be moved to the auction location,” Khan continued. “There’ll be live buyers and online bidders. Whoever wants you the worst will either take you with him or pay to have you delivered. Either way, your ass is out of here tonight. Toad!” Khan boomed. “Hose her down again.”

They dragged her back outside, hosed her off, and shoved an energy drink in her hand. Aware that she needed more liquids than what she’d been given, she tipped back her head and started drinking. It was tasty enough, she chugged it down, welcoming the cool, wet feel of it . . . and wondering why she saw rainbows floating out of the opening.

Pretty. They were so pretty. She tried to catch one but it slipped through her fingers and wove itself in Toad’s hair.

“You have a ribbon,” she giggled, thinking it was one of the funniest things she’d ever seen.

“I want some of that shit when we get back to the clubhouse,” he grumbled. “I don’t see why the slaves get an acid trip and we don’t.”

Phantom chuckled. “Sounds like she’s good to go. Load her up. I want to get out of here.”

Her feet had grown roots that wouldn’t let her move. Phantom plucked her like a turnip and carried her to the van that had brought them here. Or she thought it was. There were fish swimming on the side of it now. It must be holo . . . holo . . .

It must be magic paint.

Words had deserted her along with her fear.

Magenta was floating, soaring, fascinated by the fantastical things she was seeing, like a live-action version of Fantasia where the surreal appeared and reality faded.

Someone shoved a T-shirt over her head and buckled her in, making her look like any other tourist, not the kidnapped star of The Pole Barn. All she needed was some of Madam Belle’s pixie dust, and she’d be flying.

11

The Dragons were up at daybreak, roused from their sleep by the sounds of Grey Smoke tending his horses. The veteran actor-model banked on his looks to pad his income but every cent went back into this place and the mustangs he rescued, tamed, broke to the saddle, and sold or gave to good homes.

He loved animals as much as Ryder did his axe.

Quake went to a bit of scrub and relieved himself, then headed for the corral where Grey Smoke was feeding and watering his four-legged babies, scratching their noses, petting their necks, checking them out while he could. Quake knew it was much easier to spot some problems when a horse stood still than try to see them when they were in motion.

Stone, Ryder, and Inferno joined him, waiting expectantly for Grey Smoke to speak.

Stone had brought the two bags from the travel store with him. Grey Smoke had left last night before he’d had a chance to give him their gifts.

“I have breakfast,” the shaman said, stepping out of the corral and latching the gate behind him. “Come.”

Accepting his invitation, the Dragons followed him into his home. Quake was expecting the underground house to be something of a mancave, but the inside was well-lit, surprisingly spacious, and tastefully decorated, warm and inviting for someone who preferred to be alone.

Stone had been right. There was more to the man than it seemed.

They took turns washing up and crowded around the kitchen table, which held a bowl of biscuits, a platter of bacon and sausage, a saucepan of gravy, and a skillet of fried apples. Five blue graniteware plates were on the tabletop with mismatched stainless flatware and five blue metal mugs of hot, very black coffee.

He’d left the gravy and apples in the pans used to cook.

No sense dirtying more dishes, right?

Grey Smoke was intelligent. Clever. A bit deceptive, letting people see what he wanted them to see. Stone and he had a history, but neither one spoke of it.

Maybe it held triggers. The Indian was a veteran, after all. No one saw action and came home unchanged.

Grey Smoke waited until they’d eaten their fill to speak.

“White Buffalo Calf Woman says you must look to the Valley of Fire. Seek and ye shall find. You’ll understand when you see it.”

Quake arched an eyebrow. “See what?”

Grey Smoke lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “She didn’t say.”

Releasing a breath before taking a sip of the bitter coffee, Quake quelled his frustration. The Valley of Fire was a big place, rough terrain with red sandstone formations. Magenta could be anywhere.

“It’s a start,” Stone told his men. “We’ll scout around the area, see what we can find. Maybe someone’s seen something.”

“Yeah,” Inferno joined in. “That purple-red hair of hers is hard to miss. Someone will remember it.”

That was true. Magenta’s dyed locks were as bright and bold as the woman herself. They’d leave a lasting impression.

They put their dishes in the sink and thanked Grey Smoke for the food. Stone brought out the presents he’d purchased the evening before.

“For you,”