Free Biker Taken (The Lost Souls MC Series Book 6) by Ellie R Hunter Page A

the night before? I can’t quite remember.  
    My eyes open and the sun is beginning to filter through the small window at the top of the wall. It’s not the highlight of my life being tied up in a basement but being able to still see the sun rise doesn’t make it all bad.
    My wrists are bound with cable ties tied to the wall above my head and my feet are tied with rope and cutting into my ankles. My body aches to fuck.
    Cas will know I’ve been taken by now and all I have to do is wait it out. Then I’m going to take great pleasure in rearranging the face of whoever got me before shooting the shit out of him.
    Heavy footsteps pound the floor boards above me. I was a little on the drunk side when they rode me off the road and bustled me into the back of their van. I’ve become lazy in watching my back, lazy or not giving a flying fuck, either one works. Truth is, I’m tired. Tired of everything. For too many years we’ve been watching our backs and not once has it killed me. It can make a man feel invincible, it made me feel invincible.
    Well, I’m not invincible as it seems and my ass is numb and paying the price. There’s not much to look at and keep me entertained, broken furniture piled up in the corner and the walls are lined with stacked boxes and crates. Apart from that, the basement is pretty much empty.
    The boots above me get louder and it sounds like we have company. I close my eyes, whoever is keeping me here will eventually show their face. There’s no point in losing sleep over these fuckers, whatever happens will happen. I’ve always rode out any situation, believing myself and the club can handle anything and I’m not going to stop now.
    Whatever the boots above me are planning to do with me, let them do as they please, I’m not afraid. John ‘Oak’ Johnson isn’t afraid of anything or anyone. Physical pain means nothing to me and I haven’t felt emotional pain in many years.
    Death can hurt. I’m not talking your own death. I’m mean someone else’s that you’re close with can hurt. No matter how I die I don’t think it will hurt as much as Mark’s death did. He wasn’t no angel. He could kick ass like the next guy in a bar brawl. Better yet, he would take any cunt out who came for one of his own without a second thought. Yet, the man would sit and listen to anyone who needed an ear to chew off, it didn’t matter how small the problem was to them. He was understanding and compassionate. Brotherhood is more than friendship, the foundations brotherhood are based on are solid. I believed nothing could crack it. I was wrong. Mark’s death was an almighty crack for me and a crack that never healed.
    I remember, I got on my bike and rode. I had no destination, no idea of time, I had no feeling at all. I’d been gone for a week after his funeral and my ass couldn’t take any more sitting down. I had spent the nights drowning my sorrows in different bars and sleeping under the stars, and the days riding hard and fast wherever the road led me. During the last night before I returned home, I ended up in yet another bar, which turned out to be the first real night I took notice off since Mark’s death. I had only been there for an hour when a group of rowdy guys walked through the door. I had drunk more than enough to put a lesser man on his ass and it didn’t take long before they noticed me on my own.
    Being a part of the club I learned I could watch my back without having to look over my shoulder. The whole bar took on a different atmosphere, other patrons threw me sideway glances as they moved on, and the music went from blaring to a low hum. My heart was pounding against my rib cage, my blood was pumping around my veins at a million miles an hour and I was hyped. The first real feeling I owned and I embraced it.
    One of the guys pressed up against my left while another guy pressed up against my right, sandwiching me in.
    They spewed some hillbilly shit in my ear, trying to intimidate