The Biker's Fate Chapter 371

Poppy

Oh My God, I was going to puke again. I was currently hooded, handcuffed, and belted into a car… an SUV, I think… and it was hauling ass to wherever Curly was taking me. But I couldn't watch the road, ergo, I was horribly nauseated.

Before I could warn my captors of my condition, however, we stopped moving and I was hauled out of the vehicle, losing my balance slightly as I was set on my feet. As soon as the hood was removed, I pitched forward and puked all over the ground… and someone's boots.

"Goddammit!" Curly growled, gripping my arms.

I leaned to my right and wiped my mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, earning a howl of, "You stupid bitch!"

"My day is complete," I sneered.

He growled again and shoved me aside, which gave me space, which meant I took the advantage and made a run for it. The problem was I didn't know where the hell I was, and my middle hurt from where Roach grabbed me earlier, so my run was more of a gasping limp as I rushed away from the car… and straight into a fist.

Then black.

"… goddamn motherfuckin' idiot!" I heard Curly yell as I started to come to. "Why the fuck did you hit her?"

"She was runnin'!" Roach said as strong arms lifted me.

I played dead, not wanting anyone to know I was awake yet. This proved harder than expected, because whoever was holding me had me over his shoulder and it was spiked into the very sore part of my belly, cutting off my air.

"What happened to young Poppy?" Harlan's deep, southern voice asked, lethally.

"She tried to run," Roach said, and I was set gently on the ground.

"I gave you strict instructions not to harm her. Why was this not obeyed?"

"I—"

Bang!

I jumped at the sound of a gunshot, and subsequent thud of what I assumed was a body hitting gravel, rolling to my side with a groan.

"Miss Poppy, I apologize for my… ah… colleague's abuse. He won't do that again."

I opened my eyes (well, eye, since I couldn't see out of the other one now that it was starting to swell) and found Harlan hunkered down in front of me.

All of my bravado of feeling safe in the knowledge that no one would hurt me swiftly left my psyche, and I found myself unable to stop shaking.

Curly and Roach I knew (sort of), they were "brothers," so I knew what to expect, and also knew that they knew what my father would do to them if they hurt me. But this man? He was a monster dressed up like a fried chicken hawker, and I suddenly realized that my tenure in this life was on very thin ice.

"Do you need a minute, or can I help you up?"

"I need a minute," I rasped, gulping in deep, terrified breaths. Despite my attempts to keep my emotions in check, I felt tears running down my face and could taste blood in my mouth.

"Someone get this girl some water," Harlan ordered, gently dabbing my tears away with his handkerchief. "There, there, sweetness—"

"Don't call me that," I ground out.

"Still feisty despite your injuries, I see. I like you Poppy. I like you very much." He rose to his feet and one of his other cohorts helped me to mine, handing a bottled water to me.

My hands were still handcuffed in front, so Harlan unscrewed the cap and handed it back to me. After rinsing my mouth out, I drank greedily, my stomach aching for something to fill it.

God, I just wanted to go home. I wanted to curl up in my bed and have Devon hold me until… well, forever. He could never ever let me go.

"Do you feel better, dear?" Harlan asked.

You know, like it was a Tuesday and I had a headache.

I nodded, not knowing if I could keep myself from saying something that would incite his rage enough to shoot me as well, and I was hauled up against Curly once again who looked pissed and nervous all at the same time.

Harlan and two of his bodyguards walked toward the shipping docks and it was then I realized we were at the harbor. The smell of salt air, gas, and fish assaulted me as Curly dragged me behind.

I could hear nothing. Just the water lapping against the boat slips, and that seemed weird to me. But as soon as that thought floated through my mind, my eyes started to scan my surroundings. If Hatch was here, he'd be hidden, and I just knew he was here, because I suddenly felt a lot less panicked.

"Where's the ship?" Curly asked.

"It'll be here," Harlan said. "It's not due for ten minutes."

"I don't like this," Curly continued. "It's too fuckin' quiet."

"It's a Sunday." Harlan smiled slowly. "All the good people of Savannah are faithfully attending church services. It's the perfect day to do our business. Just relax."

"Hard to relax when I feel like we're bein' watched."

That was when I saw him. My dad. It was only for a split second and I know it was because he wanted me to see him, but I saw him, and I couldn't stop the tears.

Harlan misconstrued them, thankfully, and said, "Now, now, dear Poppy. No one's going to hurt you… further, that is. Calm yourself. This will all be over soon."

Yes, it will, asshole. You're right about that.

Devon

"Bogdan!" I called out to him, while waiving him over. He ran to us immediately, and I asked him to help us move Agent Kahler.

"Sparky, what the hell are you talking about? Who is this guy?" Doc asked.

"Doc, this is Bogdan. He's the ship's mechanic, and his sister was one of the young women in the container. He knew the container was rigged to blow and he warned us. Without him, they'd all be dead."

"Holy shit," Doc said.

"Doc, I'm not sure how much, if any of the ship's crew, is in on this. I think everyone on board is a slave of some form or another, and I think if we asked, they'd help."

We got Agent Kahler situated in the wheelhouse and Doc fired up the engines and got us headed back home before radioing Hatch with a status report.

Bogdan was not only a wealth of information about the ship, but about the Russian's trafficking operation. He explained, in his best English, how the women on board, as well as the entire ship's crew, had been tricked by promises of safe passage to America. They were all told they could work aboard the ship to pay for the cost of the voyage, and were promised jobs once they reached the US. Of course, this was all a lie. The women were to be sold, and the men likely executed or held to work as slave labor on other boats.

Alamo got blankets for the girls and reunited them with the crew, many of which were family members or even spouses. It was clear they posed no threat to us, but I was hoping the crew would be willing to pose a threat to the men that had taken them, and held their loved ones' captive.

"Can your crew operate guns, Bogdan? Can they shoot?"

"Shoot? Yes… most," he replied.

 "When we reach the harbor, there are going to be some bad men with guns waiting for us. Will you and the rest of the crew help us?" I asked.

Bogdan smiled wide and said, "We will… help… fight."

"Good," I said. "But before we fight, I need to teach you all an American game called hide and seek."