Taken by the Bikers

Chapter two

Liliana

The forest was cold and dreary.

It was nothing like I remembered when my father and I used to come here to hunt when I was a teenager. It was eerie looking now with the trees and leaves staring down at me with judgemental eyes just like the elders had done.

Everything had happened so fast. I still couldn't believe I was now packless, nothing but a pitiful rogue.

I had been framed so perfectly; I had not been able to defend myself.

How could Tony do this to me?

He'd always hated my guts; in fact, his behaviour towards me since Father became sick had been nothing short of mean and dehumanising, but I had thought that it was simply because he was upset and I was his only outlet, but for him to do this?

To frame me? It was evil.

With each step I took away from the pack house, I was growing more wary. I had nothing, no supplies, no direction, just the heavy feeling of betrayal and the raw sting of loss. My father's face haunted every breath I took.

I didn't even have clothes to change into. I had essentially been thrown out and fed to the evils of the forest.

The only motel I knew was about 8 miles away from here, and I was very sure word had already gotten to them not to let me in.

It was a hotel owned by the pack house.

I had nowhere else to go. I was alone.

And the realization shook me to the core.

My feet throbbed, and the soles of my boots were caked in mud. Dusk painted the world in copper and shadows, and I was almost grateful for the numbness spreading through my bones. It kept me from screaming.

The sudden growls of engines startled me, and I stared forward.

At first I thought I was just seeing things; I had been walking for hours after all, but then I saw them: six figures on roaring bikes emerging from the fog like nightmares. Black leather, helmets with glowing red visors, and an insignia I recognised immediately.

The Ravagers.

Assassins, bounty hunters, and merciless executioners from the most feared pack in the Southern Province.

Rumours had it that if you could see them coming, you were already dead. They were hired by the elites, Alphas, and Gammas. If wanted someone gone, they were hired by packs during war to fight for them.

A shiver ran down my spine as they neared me. For a split second I wondered if they'd come for me, but that didn't make any sense. I was already banished. Tony had gotten what he wanted, but when I saw one of them take off their helmet as they neared me, I began to run. I ran into the woods, my heart beating in my chest.

Branches tore at my skin, and tree trunks became a blur of brown as I ran for my life.

They couldn't have come for me, right?

It made no sense. But when I heard their tires skidding behind me like a tractor bulldozing through a forest, I knew I was in danger.

Unfortunately, I didn't run far before a branch caught my leg, sending me to the ground.

I panicked, trying to pull myself up.

I glanced back to find three bikes all speeding towards me like agents of death.

Quickly I pushed myself up and started to run but stopped when I saw one of the bike men in front of me with a gun pointed at me.

My stomach fell, bile rose to my throat and I panted. So, this was how I died?

“Please, don't do this!” I begged, but he just grinned and pulled the trigger.

I dropped to the floor and lost consciousness.

****

I was jolted awake by a bucket of water, only to find myself in an unfamiliar dark room – no, not a room, a shed. I coughed, my lungs irritated by the sudden splash of water.

“I am alive,” I blurted out when the fits of coughing had subsided.

“Not for long,” a man said.

I saw heavily modded booths before my eyes slowly travelled up to a rugged-looking man. The man that had shot me.

I blinked through the dimness, the pounding in my head syncing with the rapidness of my heartbeat. My hands were bound behind me, wrists raw from whatever rope or chain they'd used. My back ached. My legs were weak. The air smell of gasoline, metal, and blood.

"How..." My voice cracked, "Why am I still alive?”

The man crouched in front of me. His face was bruised with scars and shadows, the kind of man you'd cross the street to avoid. He wore a leather vest bearing the Ravagers' insignia, claws through a wolf's skull, and when he smiled, it wasn't kind.

“Oh, darling. That was a tranquilliser. The man who hired us wanted us to execute you in a special way to prevent you from being reborn.”

My eyes widened.

“Who sent you?” I swallowed.

“Shhh,” he snapped.

“The dead have no business with the affairs of the living.” He said. His voice sent chills down my spine.

“Was it Tony?” Even as I asked the question, I knew it couldn't be true. Tony hated me, but he'd never want to kill me.

“I said zip it,” he said to another man just as tall and towering standing at the door.

My heart began to beat within my chest, threatening to burst out at any moment.

Tony? My brother? It wasn't enough that he got me banished for a crime I didn't commit?

*Please, don't do this. I didn't do anything, please,” I begged.

“Enough!” He yelled and then collected something that looked like a sword.

I immediately stiffened.

I remembered seeing a sword like that. It was what was used to kill Black magic users to prevent them from coming back. It trapped their souls. I thought it was a myth.

The burly man sauntered towards me and raised the glowing sword into the air to strike.

I closed my eyes, crying and begging for him to stop.

“Goodbye,” he said and struck.

***

I waited for the weapon to slice my neck off, but nothing happened.

Instead, I heard a deep, raspy but commanding voice yell:

“Wait!”

I opened my eyes to find that the sword that was meant to decapitate me was now blocked by another sword.

I looked up at the man who'd blocked the attack, and my heart ceased.

The man before me stood like a phantom torn from some kind of myth, tall, towering over everyone in the shed. He wore a long midnight black coat that flared behind him like wings, his presence commanding silence, still silence. Almost freezing everyone.

His jaw was sharp, dusted with stubble that only made his face more maddeningly perfect.

Dark brown hair, tousled and damp from sweat or rain, framed his face. But it was his eyes that stole my breath.

Storm-grey and glowing faintly, like thunderclouds on the verge of breaking.

His skin, from what I could see, was sun- Kissed, bronzed and smooth, married only by a faint scad slicing through one brow, adding danger to an already dangerously beautiful face. His chest rose and fell beneath a dark shirt that clung to muscle, his grip on the sword so effortless and firm. There was something unhealthy about him. Rugged, like he'd seen too many deaths and fought too many battles.

Time stopped.

My wolf stirred within me violently for the first time in a week since my father died.

It growled and howled for his attention, but it was frowned out by how terrified I was of him.

He looked at me, a hint of recognition in his eyes.

"Alpha, what's wrong?" The man who was about to kill him asked.

But he paid him no mind.

He stared at his subordinate.

“Don't touch her.”

“But she is our kill.”

“I said. Do. Not. Touch. Her.”