Page 45 of Hook

I lie there, my heart pounding in my chest as I feel the car start to move. Despite the pain wracking my body and the fear threatening to over whelm me I know I need to keep my wits. This is my only chance.

I wait a few minutes until the car starts to drive. I have to move quickly because if they get on the highway I’m not going to be able to do what I have planned. I feel the car start to slow as if they are coming to a traffic light.

My hands are tied at the wrist but my feet are free. I use my finger tips to feel for the latch of the trunk and just as the car comes to a complete stop I flip it to the side and jump out the back. I have no idea where I am. There’s no other cars on the road but there’s a row of houses on the other side of the street.I’m hurting but I push through the pain. I have to get back home I have to get to Hook.

My breath comes in short wheezes as I continue to run through the back areas. The two men chased me in the car for a while but I took so many twists and turns that I lost them in the dense houses.

As I stumble through the maze of narrow streets and alleyways, the adrenaline that fueled my escape begins to fade, leaving me acutely aware of the pain wracking my body. My bare feet ache from the rough pavement, and I can feel warm trickles of blood seeping from cuts I don't remember getting. The duct tape across my mouth makes it hard to breathe, and I fight against the rising panic as I gasp for air.

The buildings around me grow more dilapidated with each block I pass. Boarded-up windows stare blankly like sightless eyes, and graffiti covers nearly every available surface. The acrid smell of garbage and urine assaults my nostrils, making me gag behind the tape. Distant sirens wail, their eerie echoes bouncing off the crumbling brick walls that hem me in.

I duck into a narrow passage between two abandoned warehouses, hoping to catch my breath and get my bearings. The alley is pitch black, and I stumble over unseen obstacles—empty bottles, soggy cardboard, and things I'd rather not identify. My bound hands make it impossible to steady myself, and I crash to the ground, landing hard on my already bruised knees.

As I struggle to my feet, a flicker of movement catches my eye. A group of shadowy figures huddles around a burning trash can atthe far end of the alley. The firelight throws grotesque shadows on the walls, and I can hear low, guttural voices muttering in a language I don't understand.

My heart hammers in my chest as I back away slowly, praying they haven't noticed me. I turn to flee, only to find my path blocked by a towering man with a wild, unkempt beard and eyes that gleam with a feverish light.

"Well, well," he slurs, his breath reeking of cheap alcohol. "What do we have here?"

I try to scream, but the tape muffles my cries. The man reaches for me with grimy hands, and I lash out blindly, my bound fists connecting with his jaw. He stumbles back, more surprised than hurt, and I seize the opportunity to run.

I burst out of the alley and onto a wider street, my legs burning with the effort. The torn remnants of my clothes flap against my skin, offering little protection against the chill night air. I can hear shouts behind me, but I don't dare look back.

My vision starts to blur, black spots dancing at the edges. I know I can't keep going much longer. My body is reaching its limit, pushed beyond endurance by the events of the night. Just as I feel my knees begin to buckle, a familiar sound cuts through the haze of exhaustion and fear.

The deep, throaty roar of motorcycles fills the air, growing louder with each passing second. I blink, trying to clear my vision, not daring to hope.

The thunderous rumble grows louder, and suddenly, two gleaming motorcycles round the corner, their headlights cutting through the darkness like twin beacons of hope. My heart leaps into my throat as I recognize the riders—Brick's massive framehunched over his custom Harley, and Semi's lean silhouette atop his sleek Ducati.

The sight of my friends, so close and yet so far, overwhelms me. My legs, already trembling from exhaustion and pain, finally give out. I collapse onto the cold, damp pavement, my cheek pressed against the rough asphalt. The world spins around me, a kaleidoscope of shadows and streetlights.

I hear the screech of tires and the roar of engines cutting off. Footsteps pound towards me, and then strong, gentle hands are lifting me up. Brick's gruff voice cuts through the fog in my mind.

"Jesus Christ, Bea. What the hell happened to you?"

Semi's there too, his usually stoic face twisted with concern. "We've got you, girl. You're safe now."

They work quickly to remove the duct tape from my mouth and cut through the ropes binding my wrists. I try to speak, but my throat is raw, and all that comes out is a hoarse whisper.

"Hook... where's Hook?"

Brick's face softens. "He's at the clubhouse, darlin'. We'll get you to him."

They help me onto Brick's bike, Semi taking up a protective position behind us. The vibration of the engine beneath me is oddly comforting, and I lean heavily against Brick's broad back as we tear through the streets.

The ride passes in a blur of lights and shadows. Before I know it, we're pulling into the familiar lot of the clubhouse. The old warehouse looms before us, its weathered brick facade a welcome sight after the horrors of the night.

As Brick cuts the engine, the clubhouse door bursts open. Hook emerges, his face a mask of worry, blood and rage. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the world stands still.

Then I'm stumbling off the bike, ignoring the pain shooting through my body as I run towards him. Hook meets me halfway, his strong arms enveloping me in a crushing embrace. I bury my face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and motor oil, finally allowing myself to break down.

"Bea," Hook whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "Oh God, Bea. I thought I'd lost you."

I cling to him, sobs wracking my body as the full weight of what I've been through crashes over me. Hook's arms tighten around me, one hand gently stroking my matted hair.

After what feels like an eternity, Hook pulls back slightly, his eyes roving over my battered face and torn clothes. I watch as the concern in his gaze hardens into rage.

“He’s a dead man.” Hook snarls.