CHARLOTTE: Soul Sisters - Book One (The Soul Sisters 1) Page 14

  I’m sitting outside the camper on a lawn chair, eating the powdered sugar donut Jerry gave me, along with a bottle of water. Now that it's daylight, I can see what’s around. There’s nothing as far as I can see, just desert and some rock outcroppings here at the base of what I think might be the Spring Mountains. But where we’re parked, there are no expensive homes or civilization of any kind.

  I’m still handcuffed, but at least he let me off that chain and out of the camper. There’s no air inside and without the coolness of the desert night, it was starting to heat up fast. I can’t imagine what it will be like if he locks me inside during the day.

  It’s September, and the nights get down in the fifties, but the days still climb into the mid-nineties, and out here, the sun is relentless.

  I drink a sip of water, frantically searching for a means of overpowering him and escaping. So far, I see nothing I can use as a weapon. There are no large rocks nearby, no can of spray I could shoot in his eyes, no tire iron or pipes I can see.

  I swallow a drink of water, thinking there’s no way anyone will ever find me out here. I’ve got to find a way to save myself if I’m going to survive this. There has to be a way. I’ve got to find it. There’s got to be something. My eyes dart around.

  The sun glints off something, and it draws my eyes. It's one of the beer bottles Jerry sat out here and drank last night after he threw the canopy over the camper. I could hear him talking to himself as if he had a split personality, and the two were arguing.

  “You shouldn’t have done this, Tommy.”

  “Shut up, Jerry. You always wimp out. Not this time.”

  “But what if it turns out like all the others?”

  It terrified me. Eventually he got drunk and staggered inside, collapsing on the bunk above the truck’s cab, thankfully leaving me alone.

  I stare at that discarded brown bottle and suddenly realize it might be enough to knock him out if I hit him just right. But if I screw up, it could go very badly for me. I’ve got to try. I may never have another shot.

  My eyes shift to him. Right now he’s brushing his teeth, his back to me, rinsing with a bottle of water and then bending to spit in the sand. Now’s my chance. I get up, silently grab the bottle, and move with lightning speed, slamming it into his head. He drops to his knees, and I hit him again. This time the bottle breaks over his head, and he collapses, unconscious. I know I don’t have much time. He could rouse at any moment. I frantically search for something to finish him off. I look in the cab of the truck and feel around under the seat. There’s a gun. I pull it out and check it. It’s loaded, but when I stand over him, I’m afraid to shoot. Hitting him over the head is one thing, but shooting him in the back is another, and I don’t think a judge and jury would think it's self-defense.

  I shove it in my waistband, go back in the camper, and find a small fire extinguisher. My hands are still cuffed in front of me, but I manage to pry it free and use it to bash him over the head several more times.

  I don’t know if he’s alive or dead, but I’ve got the gun in case he comes after me again.

  I look through the cab and find the keys in a cup holder. I shove them in the ignition and start it up. I get about fifteen feet before I try to make a turn and get stuck in some sand. I try to reverse, but I just sink farther. I panic, still afraid he’s going to regain consciousness at any second and come after me, so I jump out, grab two bottles of water and jam an old ball cap on my head, and then stop, staring at my sandal covered feet. Definitely not made for hiking across the open desert. My eyes shift to Jerry’s body and the boots he’s wearing. Without hesitation I run over and yank them off, then jam my feet into them. I’m tall, so they’re actually not that big on me.

  I head out, following the trail of tire tracks. I jog, putting as much space between Jerry and me as I can, before I finally double over with a pain in my side.

  The sun is quickly climbing higher into the sky, and the temperature is heating up. Still, I trudge on. It’s tough going, but I keep at it. I try to judge my location. The sun rose in the east, so I know I’m headed southeast. If that range in the distance behind me is the Spring Mountains, I think I’m headed in the right direction. It’s not long before sweat is running off me, but still I trudge on until I’m exhausted. Only then do I stop and allow myself some water, drinking sparingly because I don’t know how long I’m going to have to make these two bottles last.

  It’s difficult walking with my hands still cuffed, and I often feel like I’m losing my balance. I try to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, but thoughts of Daytona fill my mind. What could he be thinking? Will he figure out what happened to me? Is he even now out searching for me?

  I uncap one of the water bottles and take another sip.

  The sudden sound of a rattle has me freezing in place, my gaze darting around, looking for the snake. I back up several steps, and lose my balance, falling on my ass, and I drop the water bottle. The rattling sound stops, but I’ve just lost half my water supply. Shit. I scramble to my feet and make a wide berth to the right, giving the snake space wherever it is. Small thorny plants grow in the desert, and avoiding their sharp pricks has me keeping a sharp eye on the ground in front of my feet and glancing up only occasionally.

  After a while, as the sun climbs straight above me, I swear I’m walking in circles, even though I know I’m not, because the mountains are still on the horizon behind me.

  One such time I glance up, I see movement off to my right and stop. Two horses are standing there. One is a brown and white appaloosa, and the other is a white horse. It stares at me, and then tosses its head, and I know it’s the same white horse that visited me before.

  I don’t know why, but I decide to follow him as he trots away, hoping he’ll lead me toward Badlands, or at least the edge of civilization.

  I walk all day, and my mind starts to string together random thoughts and images. Daytona smiling at me, the white horse in my sister’s front yard, Jerry’s bloody head, the concert lights of the stage.

  I frown. I was suppose to perform tonight. Or was that last night? I can’t remember now. But I promised Scarlett I’d be back. I wonder what she’ll do when I’m not there. Will she go on as me? Will my manager, Lou, hustle her to the stage and push her out there? Will she willingly take my place? Perhaps the spotlight has woven its magic lure over her.

  I think about Daryl and his wife and kids, laughing at the dinner table. But mostly I think about Daytona.

  Will I see him again? Will I die out here, stumbling around, lost in the desert?

  ***

  Daytona—

  Trick and I ride past the North Trailhead. There’s a group of dirt bikers unloading their bikes off the back of a trailer and getting ready to head out on a desert ride. I signal to Trick, and we both pull over, dismounting.

  “Hey, man.” I wave one of them over and watch as they amble up.

  “Yeah?”

  “Have you seen this guy or this camper or a blonde woman? She’s been kidnapped by this man.” I show them the pictures on my phone.

  “No shit? We saw that camper yesterday. Guy stopped and asked us if we knew any remote trails.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “Told him none that a pickup could get down except the old mining road.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Five miles North.”

  “Do me a favor. You see him, call this number.” I give him my card.

  “Sure, mister. I hope you find her.”

  We walk back to our bikes, but before we climb on, I turn to Trick. “Call Lobo. See if he can get us one of those drones so we can search from the air.”

  He makes the call, then shoves his phone in his pocket. “He knows a guy in Vegas who can operate one. It’ll take him about an hour to get out here.”

  “Goddamn it. We may not have an hour. She’s out there with this lunatic right now. You saw those filthy pictures. God knows what he’s capabl
e of.”

  “Lobo called in all our support clubs. We’ll find her, Daytona.”

  I have to believe him. I nod halfheartedly as we climb on our bikes and head north five miles. I pull over because I can’t find any turn off. I shout over at Trick. “Did we miss it? Did you spot anything?”

  He shakes his head. “Maybe we haven’t gone far enough.”

  I nod, and we head out another two miles before we give up and double back, rolling slowly and searching for anything that resembles a trail. I scan the shoulder looking for any place where tire tracks divert off the paved road, praying to a god I turned my back on when my son died. Don’t take her from me, too. Please, God.

  ***

  Charlotte—

  The sun is sliding quickly down the horizon, and I’m terrified I’ll have to spend the night out here in the desert, alone. My wrists are chafed raw from the handcuffs and every step hurts, not to mention the sunburn on my arms and legs. I try not to let it get me down, telling myself over and over, I’ll survive this, I’ll make it, I’m young and strong, and I am not going to die out here.

  I glance up. The white horse is getting smaller and farther away. I think I hear something, but I’m not sure what. It sounded like a quick spurt of a motor from a long distance off. It echoes, so I don’t know where it came from.

  The white horse startles and changes course, dashing off at full speed.

  I’m sad to see him leave me. Somehow he’s given me strength, like he’s a sign from above, leading me out. But now he’s gone, and I’m filled with despair, like my last hope is dwindling. No, don’t go. Don’t leave me. The words flit through my head.

  I hear the motor roar again, this time louder, closer. I squint into the shimmering horizon. I see movement, and a plume of dust rising. Am I seeing things? I squint harder. It was there, and then gone. I see a flash of sunlight reflected off something. There it is again. There is something there. It draws closer. There are two, no three objects moving toward me. It’s three riders on dirt bikes, their big full-face helmets glinting in the sun.

  They stop on a distant slight rise, and I scream to them. “Help! Help me! Over here.” I don’t think they can hear me over their bikes, so I put my fingers to my mouth and give a sharp whistle that I know carries a long way. I’m not sure they see me, but they pause as the sound carries to them. They look around, trying to spot me.

  I pull off the straw hat and wave it in the air as best I can with my two hands linked.

  I see one man lift an arm and point in my direction, and then their bikes roar to life as they head my way.

  As they draw near, I collapse to my knees, exhausted, and I burst into tears of joy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Charlotte—

  I’ve been transported back to their vehicle, where the men surround me in the open passenger door giving me aid, one pressing a cool cloth to my head, one trying to get me to drink water. The AC blasting on my skin makes me feel chilled.

  There’s a roaring sound in my ear, like I have a seashell pressed to it. I hear the thundering sound of motorcycles break through, though. I try to see; my eyes darting, but the men block my view, trying to talk to me.

  I see their lips moving, but their voices are distorted, like they’re coming from the end of a long tunnel. I try to concentrate, but it takes up too much energy. I’m tired, so tired. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes open. I just try to concentrate on breathing. My breathing sounds loud in my ears, drowning out everything.

  Suddenly the men are pushed aside and new men fill my vision, they’re blurry around the edges and distorted.

  But I see Daytona. He pushes everyone out of the way and bends in front of me.

  He cups my face and tilts my head back and looks deep into my eyes. He’s talking, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. His eyes are wide with worry, and I want to smooth his furrowed brow, but my arm is too tired to lift.

  I must be in shock. It’s like I’m floating above, watching the scene play out. Yet I take notice when his face starts to look frantic. I blink at him, but that does little to soothe the worry lines or the way his muscles tense around his mouth.

  I try to snap myself out of it as his eyes glaze.

  “Cherry, Jesus Christ, please say something. Are you all right?”

  I hear his words like I’m surfacing from underwater, and suddenly I feel everything, the cool cloth pressed to my head, his touch on my sunburned skin, my pounding headache from too long in the sun.

  “Baby,” I say, but it comes out in a croaking whisper.

  “Thank God. Fuck, you scared me. I’ve been so worried. I thought…” He cuts off his words, but I know what he was going to say. He thought I was dead.

  He cups my nape and presses his lips to my forehead, his hold keeping me there for a long moment before he releases me.

  Until this man told me he thought I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, did I ever believe those words. Until this man looked into my eyes and told me he loved me, did I ever truly feel needed. Until this man kissed me like I was his everything, did I ever truly feel loved.

  Until this man.

  He’s here, and I know everything will be okay.

  Daytona twists and motions to someone, barking an order that I don’t understand. A moment later, Trick is there, digging in his pocket and pulling out a set of keys. He fans through them until he finds what he’s looking for, then fits a funny shaped key with a single tooth at the end into my handcuffs, freeing me.

  The relief is overwhelming, both physically and mentally.

  Suddenly, I’m moving, and Daytona is standing up with me cradled in his arms, taking control like he’s so good at, and I don’t have to try to think anymore. I give in to it, and lay my head on his shoulder, too tired to do more than lean against him. I feel dizzy and lightheaded.

  I barely remember the ride back in someone’s pickup truck.

  I come awake again as Daytona carries me into his house. It’s strange because the room is crowded with his brothers, and then a man pushes forward, setting a doctor’s bag on the bed next to me.

  “Give us room.”

  “Everyone out,” Daytona snaps.

  The room empties, and the doctor examines me.

  “She seemed really out of it when I got to her, Doc.” Daytona’s words are spoken softly.

  “Brain fog. It happens with severe dehydration. How long was she out there?”

  “She’s been gone since last night. I don’t know how long she was wandering in the desert.”

  “Judging from her sunburn, it looks like most of the day.”

  “She gonna be okay?”

  “I’m going to give her an IV to rehydrate her more quickly. I’ll give you some ointment for her skin, but you’ll need to give her a cool bath to wash all this grit and dirt off first.”

  “Is she in pain?”

  It’s like they’re talking around a child. It pisses me off, and I croak out, “My head hurts.”

  The doctor smiles. “I’ll give you something for that, too.”

  He hooks up the IV. “This has a blend of fluids and electrolytes. Should take about an hour.”

  Daytona sits with me while the bag empties into my system, he stays quiet, and I think everything that happened to me must have affected him greatly, maybe more than he wants to admit.

  I stare over at him. The bags under his eyes reveal how tired he is. I’m sure he hasn’t slept.

  “I’ve been so much trouble to you since the moment you met me.” My words are so soft, I’m not sure he hears me. But then he looks over and shakes his head. The muscles in his jaw clench and unclench, like he doesn’t trust himself to speak, or maybe his throat is so tight with emotion, he can’t.

  Eventually the bag empties, and the doctor checks my vital signs again, then removes the IV, placing a bandage on the injection site. He pulls Daytona off to the side and murmurs something low, gesturing to me. Daytona shakes his head, and then approaches me.<
br />
  He sits on the bed and takes my hand. “Baby, the doctor wants to know if you were… Goddamn, there’s no easy way to say this. He wants to know if he needs to do a rape kit.”

  I shake my head vigorously, but I can tell my response doesn’t entirely put Daytona at ease. Perhaps he’s wondering if I just don’t want to deal with the embarrassment of the legal system. Knowing how the MC feels about cops, he may think I’m making a choice based on that fact. I’ll have to set him straight when we’re alone.

  He and the doctor exchange a look.

  “If you’re sure, then I’ll return to check on her tomorrow.”

  Daytona shakes his hand. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Doc.”

  When he’s gone, Daytona disappears into the master bathroom, and I hear the taps come on. He’s gone a few minutes. When he returns, he scoops me up and carries me.

  The tub is filled with bubbles and lukewarm water.

  He lowers me carefully in and sponges my skin clean with long gentle strokes. His tenderness suddenly has tears welling up in my eyes, and I burst out in sobs, all my pent-up emotions spilling over.

  He freezes, and I’m sure he’s thinking all the worst thoughts. I fight to pull myself together because I have to put his mind at ease.

  “I’m so sorry, Cherry. I’m so sorry I didn’t keep you safe. I promised you. I promised you I would.” He dries my eyes with a towel, and I clutch his wrist, seeing the torment in his face.

  “I’m okay. He didn’t hurt me. Not like that. He didn’t rape me.”

  I see his relief in the way his shoulders sag and his head bows.

  “Thank God.” He clutches my head to his, needing, I suppose, just to touch me. With his mouth at my ear, he asks, “Can you tell me what happened, baby?”

  I tell him everything, my words barely a whisper. When I get to the part about how I escaped, I see his hands flex.

  “Was he dead?” He holds my eyes.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe.”