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  Bang!

  A sudden impact to my shoulder knocked me down. Shots continued ringing out. The men were on their feet with weapons drawn in seconds.

  Tye pulled me through the front doors and held me up against the wall. He looked over my wounded shoulder.

  "It's just a flesh wound. You'll live."

  I nodded and pulled my gun.

  "Let me guess. This where Diesel went?" Tye asked, nodding in the direction the gunfire was coming from.

  “Yeah, it’s the Cartel. Because of…”

  “The bitch you took upstairs?”

  “Yeah.”

  I had been right about the Cartel coming, but I thought the wait would have been a little longer. At least long enough for Diesel to rally up enough men and weapons for us to stand a chance.

  After holding them off for ten minutes, I made the call to retreat. The men scattered on their bikes, and I ran upstairs to grab Cassie.

  I thought she would have come down looking for me or something, but she was upstairs looking around in my room. Probably for a gun to shoot me with. I grabbed her and hightailed it downstairs, practically dragging her along behind me until we had made it outside.

  The compound was outside of Eden, surrounded by the desert. But there was more than one place to hide. I took Cassie through the back and waited. The Cartel wasn't stupid. They wouldn't wander into the desert after everyone they saw leave through the main entry points. And it was Cassie and I they’d come for anyway. They would terminate all the Ghost Riders, but it was me they wanted to kill first and Cassie they wanted to take.

  “Ruiz! They're gone!” a voice shouted.

  "What you mean, they're gone?" Ruiz shouted. "Fucking find them!"

  "All of them, they all cleared out! The house is empty along with all the sheds."

  Ruiz kicked up some of the gravel and cursed before he retreated to the black SUV he had arrived in.

  "Burn the place down. Kill anyone you see, but make sure you bring me Mason's head!"

  "Yes, boss."

  “And the girl. I want the girl untouched. She’s mine. You pendejos can have the scraps.”

  I felt Cassie shift next to me. I looked down at her. She was shaking, terrified, and kept her head down. I heard a few sniffles and realized she was crying.

  They torched the place, and I watched until the Cartel had left. Cassie still hadn't looked up. But I was relieved she wasn't sniffling anymore, as it had been seriously starting to piss me right off.

  “Stay here.”

  She nodded, and I went in to grab my bike.

  It took me a couple of minutes. When I drove out and pulled up next to Cassie, she didn't hurry, but she didn't protest at getting on the back of the bike either.

  I waited just long enough for her to wrap her arms around me before I took off.

  Chapter 11

  Cassie

  My mind screamed questions. I couldn't make sense of any of it or find the right words to ask what was going on. But asking wouldn't do any good anyway, because Mason had snapped at me and told me to shut up when I’d asked him earlier what was going on. I wondered how someone who had seemed so mysterious and handsome less than a day ago could be so cold and unkind now.

  I decided this must be happening because of the mirror I broke when I first moved to Eden and was unpacking the box with my bathroom products in it. I've never been a superstitious person, but there was no other plausible explanation as to why I had been caught up in this mess.

  If I hadn't spent all week undressing Mason with my eyes every time he drove past, I might not have been in this situation. It was my fault. Did anyone even know that I was missing? Work would be wondering what was going on, and eventually my family would be called. My sister was the last person I’d talked too, and I’d told her I was pulling into work. Everything was such a mess.

  My thoughts were interrupted when I felt something wet on my hand. Too scared to loosen my grip around Mason, I waited until we slowed down for a fork in the road before I looked at my hand.

  It was stained red. With blood that wasn't mine.

  I needed to escape this madness, but the thought of running from Mason when he was bleeding made knots form in my stomach. I couldn't leave him until he was okay, or at least with someone who would take care of him. He had friends, a whole house full of them, even if I didn't count the scantily dressed girls. I still hated him, but at least he’d come back inside to get me when those Cartel people arrived. He could have left me there to be found by that other man, Ruiz.

  He wanted Mason’s head and me untouched. Whatever he meant by ‘untouched’, I knew it wasn’t good.

  I shivered. Even though I was in jeans and a jacket, it was still cool on the back of the bike as the wind whipped past us. I wrapped my arms around Mason as tight as I could. I wanted to be warm, but I also wanted to make sure he was too. Because if I was cold sitting behind Mason’s large form, I could only guess how he was faring in the conditions. And he was bleeding, which would surely be making it a whole lot worse.

  Or maybe it wasn’t his blood?

  As he continued the drive, I began to relax in the realization that I did seem to be better off with Mason right now than with anyone else.

  He came back for me, I told myself. He came back when he could have left. That’s gotta mean something, right?

  Chapter 12

  Cassie

  We drove for a little over an hour, maybe, before we finally pulled off into a secluded driveway. The track was dirt and not well kept, with lots of bumps and potholes. Mason drove slow and careful, but every now and then I could feel him stiffen and hear him groan. He was hurt, and it served him right. If he hadn't taken me, neither of us would be in this predicament.

  Why send me to the auction house just to buy me anyway? God, how would that process even work? It's kind of weird to buy something that you're selling!

  I had so many questions piling up in my mind that I felt like I’d have to start writing them down soon or else I’d forget them. I just wanted some answers. That wasn't much to ask for, was it?

  I looked around Mason's hulking frame when a building of sorts came into view. It was a cabin made from big timber logs. The place was pretty bare aside from the building: a garage attached to the side of the cabin, and a small garden type shed off to the far-right side.

  I didn't need to ask why we were here. I assumed straight away the place was a hideout. Fear took me over again, and I wondered how I would get out of there when I didn't even know where I was. To escape and run the risk of running into the Cartel was plain stupid. I needed to get to the police somehow, or to call them. They would help me.

  Scenes from books and movies ran through my mind. In some crime genres, the evil people had pockets so deep they were paying law enforcement to help them. It was corrupt, and the thought that Mason might be paying off law officials disturbed me. If it was true, or even if the Cartel was in with law enforcement, I stood no chance at all.

  But who was worse? Mason or Ruiz?

  Mason sold me, then bought me. Ruiz wanted me, but what for?

  We pulled up outside the garage and I waited for Mason to cut the engine before saying anything.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Somewhere safe,” he answered, as he climbed off the bike and walked towards the front door. “Hurry up.”

  I sighed. He was still being mean, and it made me feel so pathetic and weak. I wasn't sure how I should be acting or feeling, but it couldn't be stupid for me to be scared.

  I did as he said anyway and climbed from the bike. My legs protested at the movements and I felt horribly sore and stiff in my lower region. I hoped he didn't have plans on having sex again tonight. Or ever again.

  We walked into the dark cabin. I couldn't see a thing until Mason turned the lights on.

  It was tiny, just like a mini apartment. The kitchen, living and dining spaces were combined. There was a door that went outside just off the kitchen, anoth
er door that I thought would likely lead to the garage and laundry, and two doors down the hallway. I could best assume they were a bathroom and a bedroom.

  “Where are we?” I asked again.

  Mason didn't answer. He continued to ignore me as he moved around the place stiffly but seemingly comfortable in the space. He opened and closed cupboards, pulling a few things out. Canned food, water, a bottle of whiskey, two glasses, a couple of forks and spoons, and an old-fashioned emergency medical kit.

  He opened the medical kit and started rummaging around it. He looked up and glared at me.

  "Close the door," he ordered.

  I nodded and closed the door quietly.

  "Lock it too," he added, just as I was about to turn around.

  I locked it and felt a single tear roll down my cheek. I quickly brushed it away. I wasn't going to start crying now. He’d probably ignore me and tie me up like he’d said he would.

  I continued to stand near the door and watched as he tried to clean his wound. It was from a gunshot. And although it likely hurt, he would survive after giving it a thorough clean and a few stitches. I could have fixed it for him, but I wasn't going to volunteer for the job.

  I looked around the place again, trying to find a way I could escape without getting caught. I spotted his bike key on the small dining table. If I took the key and fled, he would have no bike to find me with, and I would stand more chance of getting away.

  Before I thought any more about my plan, I edged slowly to the table. I watched him carefully as I reached behind me and felt the keys. I squeezed the three keys on the ring tight in my hand to stop them from jingling, before carefully slipping them into my back pocket.

  I jumped when I heard Mason curse. He glared at me. I gulped down, thinking I'd been caught red-handed, and prepared myself for whatever was going to happen.

  "You’re a doctor, right?"

  “No, a nurse,” I stammered out nervously.

  “Whatever. Get over here and fix this,” he growled. “Be useful.”

  He was angry. I wanted to argue back, retaliate to the insults he threw at me, but I knew it wouldn't be a bright idea. I didn't know what he was capable of when he was angry, and I didn't want to find out. I walked over and, without looking at him, took the first aid box from him.

  After finding what I needed to get the job done, I told him to sit on the couch and get comfy. There was no argument. But I hadn’t really expected one, given the situation.

  "Remove your shirt."

  He didn’t say anything as he took off his shirt and jacket, tossing both on the lounger next to him. Out the corner of my eye I could see him staring at me. I ignored him as I got the needle ready, along with the bandages to patch him up after.

  “You’ll probably want to take a painkiller for…”

  “Sorted,” Mason said.

  He cracked open the whiskey bottle and took a long gulp. I hadn’t even seen him bring it over to the couch. I shrugged the thought off as I started cleaning the wound.

  Mason held the bottle out to me.

  "Sip?"

  I looked up at him through my messy hair and lashes. I raised my brows.

  “Do you honestly want the person stitching you up to be drinking?”

  “Don’t want your hands to shake.”

  "Oh, how super kind of you," I mocked, rolling my eyes and giving him a thumbs-up. "You truly are too kind."

  He grabbed my wrist and started squeezing it tight until I dropped the disinfectant cloth. I grabbed his hand and tried to pry it off me. He only squeezed harder. My breath caught in my throat from the piercing, searing pain he was causing.

  "Please, Mason. Please."

  “Please, what?” he sneered.

  Tears started wetting my cheeks and my teeth clamped shut. I didn't know what would happen first, whether my teeth would shatter from being clenched so tight or Mason's hand would snap my wrist before I got a chance to say anything more.

  “Please. I’m sorry. Please,” I whimpered.

  He loosened his grip long enough to grab my face. He pulled me toward him roughly and glared at me.

  "Let's get something clear right now, pet."

  I swallowed.

  "You are alive because I want you alive. You are safe because I make you safe. You are fed, clothed and have something to drink because I allow it, because I give that to you."

  He glared at me before lifting his wounded arm. He ran his other hand down my face, neck, and chest before dipping it lower to my pants. I tried to flinch away from his grasp, but the hold on my face was painfully tight.

  "You are mine. I own every inch of you. You do not tell me what to do. You do not disrespect me. Okay?"

  I nodded.

  "And you should know that this gunshot wound is because of you. Understand?"

  I nodded vigorously.

  “I need to hear you say it.”

  “Yes, I understand,” I choked out.

  “Yes, I understand what?”

  “Yes, I understand that I’m yours,” I quickly answered. “Yes, I will do as I am told, and I will be respectful.”

  He let go of my face and smirked.

  "Good. Now wipe those tears, quit your crying and tell me how thankful you are that I saved your weak ass."

  I did as he said, choking back the sobs.

  “Yes, Mason. Thank you. I am grateful that you saved me.”

  He smirked again.

  “Drink?”

  He held the bottle out again.

  Is this optional or compulsory?

  My eyes widened, scared at whether or not this was a trick question. I gulped. It would be a trick question and there would be only one right answer.

  Mason’s threat had knocked the wind right out of me. He had made himself very clear. But he hadn’t said what the punishments would be if I didn’t do as I was told or did something wrong. He had left that to my imagination.

  My hands shook. I looked down at the disinfectant cloth on the floor. I’d need to get another one.

  “Drink,” he told me. “I need your hands steady.”

  I nodded and, my hands still shaking, carefully grabbed the bottle from him and took a small sip. I choked and coughed a few times as the burning liquid trickled down my throat. He laughed and took the bottle from me. He swallowed another mouthful of the fiery liquor and smiled at me.

  “Not a drinker?”

  I shook my head.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  "No, I’m not a drinker."

  I sounded almost robotic. But the answer seemed to please him, and he nodded anyway.

  “Get back to your job,” he grumbled.

  “I need to get another swab to clean the wound,” I whispered to him.

  "Right… Well, go get it then," he shrugged as if he didn't care at all, as if he didn't care about my discomfort or fear in the least.

  He did not care. There was no way he did and would ever in the future. My future, however long it may be, was dark and bleak. I couldn’t see an end to this tunnel of darkness called ‘Mason’, and it was terrifying.

  'You are alive because of me.'

  I didn't have to be a genius to know what that meant. My life was in his hands. He could end it at any moment, and he could do whatever he wanted with me until then.

  I patched his gunshot wound before moving onto a few of the smaller cuts and scrapes. They didn't need much, just a bit of cleaning to stop any infections. There was some bruising to his ribs, and I carefully felt them to make sure they were okay. I already knew they weren't broken, just bruised from being hit a little too hard. But among all his tattoos, I wanted to get a closer look at the one on his side.

  It was a single word.

  Dana.

  There was nothing else tattooed on that side of his body, apart from that one four-letter name.

  I wondered who Dana was and the temptation to ask was near unbearable. But one look at my already bruised wrist reminded me that Mason didn’t care fo
r questions.

  He was a tough and brutal man. I knew that much already. Maybe if I were tougher and more brutal with him he would be nicer. Kind of like with schoolyard bullies. They say that, nine times out of ten, if you stand up to a bully, they will back off. I shook my head and giggled at the thought. Must be the alcohol, I told myself.

  “What are you laughing at?” Mason asked.