Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(96)
“Climb the f*ck over it, and go see Charlie.” Something heavy hit the door next to us, and a man's muffled scream came through the wall. “Hurry the f*ck up!”
There was a certain peace in my surrender. My brain found its survival setting through the lust and terror obliterating the last few shreds of resistance and common sense I had left. I carefully climbed over the destroyed break in the rooms, listening as he followed me through the gap, and then walked over to Charlie.
He was warm when I touched him. There was a tiny bit of relief when I felt him breathing. Whoever Anton had beaten to a pulp with his monstrous fists, it wasn't this man. Charlie would live with nothing worse than a cold blow to the head and a few scrapes.
“They're on his belt. All that shit's there, fixed to the same chain.”
It all happened like a sickening, fragmented nightmare. My hands moved on auto-pilot, unclasping the guard's keys, finding the one Anton demanded, and unlocking his cuffs when he held them toward me.
Then he pushed me aside and dropped to the guard's limp body. I watched as he started undressing him, wondering what the f*ck he was doing. I didn't completely shake off the stupor until Anton stood, and immediately began tearing off his bright orange jumpsuit.
He was naked except for the tight boxers clinging to his strong ass. The ink covered him more fully than anything I'd imagined, lining his entire body, sharp edges and furious phrases written in English, Latin, and what looked like blocky Russian Cyrillic.
He rolled the pants on before he started on Charlie's shirt. He turned, and I caught a flash of a huge predator bird on his chest. Maybe an eagle or a hawk, or else something more mythical. A phoenix wouldn't have been out of place if he actually pulled this off. His blue eyes flashed, and he gave me a grin, casual as if this whole thing were just filming a movie.
“What the f*ck's the matter? You look like you've never seen a dude naked before. You always stare at guys who order you around like this, or is it just because I've got the biggest dick you've ever seen?” He reached for his crotch and squeezed.
Gross! Or, rather, it should've been, if only he didn't look like an Adonis who somehow used his sick confidence to look even more handsome. Infuriating was more like it.
I swallowed, fighting the tears. Bastard. How dare he.
How f*cking dare he. How dare he accuse me of anything, remind me of this grotesque attraction, as if he hadn't already ripped my whole world apart by the throat.
He grunted, trying to do the buttons. The shirt was way too small. To my surprise, he shrugged, leaving it open and tearing the keys out of my limp hands.
“Come on. This shit'll do the job I expect, doesn't have to be perfect. We gotta move f*cking fast. You follow me. Stay close. It's your only way outta here in one piece. One wrong move is all it takes to get hurt – and I'm not talking about me laying the pain on. There's a full f*cking prison riot going on outside. You step outta line, you'll find out how fast it takes to find some f*ck's knife in your leg or an elbow flying for your nose.” He reached out, still wearing his trademark smile. “Shadow me, Sabrina, and you'll never have to worry about that pretty face getting broke. I won't let anybody else near it.”
He walked behind me, pulling me close, protecting me from all my vulnerable sides. I moved with him dumbly, stopping as he unlocked the door leading into the corridor.
Hell waited for us.
Smoke burned my nostrils as soon as we were out. Half the sparse cells lining the little walkway to the visitors' room were open, empty. We went through another door, and then a split in the hall, leading me towards some place I'd never been in the prison.
The long delayed thoughts I had about escape were shattered the instant something heavy slammed into my side, tearing me from his grasp. It knocked me all the way to the wall.
“Anton!” I screamed his name, landed with an oomph! and felt fire racing up my shoulder.
“Stay the f*ck off her!” Anton roared, slapping the fat prisoner who'd crashed into me.
I watched him force the round man against the opposite wall head first. There was a sickening crack as his head connected with the brick. He fell on the ground, gurgling, jerking one more time when Anton brought his foot into the man's ribs.
One good stomp was all he needed. He looked down, satisfied, and then he was reaching for me again.
Rough hands tugged around me, tighter than before. “Come on! Keep moving. We're almost there.”
He said it with a weird tender quirk in his voice. Like he was guiding along a scared puppy. Fitting, I guess, because I was terrified out of my skin, and just as obedient too.
It wasn't Anton threatening ruin anymore. I did it to myself by being too scared to fall out of line. I followed him without skipping a step, into the cool October air that hit me in the face as we swirled outside.
It was some kind of loading dock. The prison brawl hadn't spilled over out here, and it was eerily quiet except for a loud semi rumbling a few feet away. Anton dragged me towards it, stopping at the closed backside.
He banged on it with his fists. “Open up, you bastards! We're here. Red Eagle. Red f*cking Eagle!”
The door swung open. Anton spun me around, swung both hands around my waist, and leaped into the truck backwards. His huge body shielded me from the blow when we landed on hard metal.
A man near the door yanked it shut, and the loud rumble in the empty trailer doubled. I rolled in his arms, realized we were moving. Probably picking up speed pretty fast if the loud squeal of the metal underneath the engine's growl was any indication.