She pried open her eyes as he set a plate of eggs and bacon on the bed beside her. Her stomach rumbled at the cuisine.
"I need to take off, but I can't until you eat, and I know you won't pass out again."
Ignoring her strange surroundings—that appeared normal at first glance, she picked up the fork and shoveled food into her mouth. He handed her a glass of orange juice. She snapped up the drink and drained half the contents before taking a breath.
The man frowned. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and continued eating. Her pride was gone. She was starving.
The crispy bacon, over-easy eggs, and orange golden sunshine stimulated her appetite more than unknown meat on the bone stored in a hole in the ground.
He left the room and returned with a glass of water. She finished the third egg and picked up the last piece of bacon before he could take it away from her.
"Slow down," he muttered.
She chewed. "Where am I?"
"My house."
"In Avery Falls?" The memories of last night and arriving in town, being carried inside the house, brought a heaviness to her stomach, and she swallowed.
"Yes."
"Can I leave?"
"No." He picked up the empty plate.
She bounded out of bed. Dizziness hit her. She swayed, grabbing the back of his shirt to keep from falling. "Bathroom?"
He pointed outside the room. She let go, following him while finishing the orange juice. He took the glass from her in the hallway and motioned with his chin toward the open doorway. She stepped inside and shut the door.
Her urgency to use the toilet won out over trying to escape. While she finished, a rumbling vibration came through the walls. She hurried and washed her hands, her face, her arms, her neck. Wanting to clean the filth of the last several days off her, she couldn't get clean enough. All she'd accomplished was making the dust turn to mud and smearing it over her.
She used the hanging towel to clean as much of the dirt off her and then left the bathroom. Following the noise, she found her kidnapper using a battery-powered screw-gun on the door. A quick study to see what he was doing left her miserable again.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Putting a lock on the door." He flipped a lever and slid a keyed padlock through the mechanism, checking the fit. "You'll need to stay here while I take care of business. The doors will be locked."
She gazed at the window.
"You won't be able to get out. One of my brothers is guarding the house. The locks are just to make his job easier."
She rubbed her bare arms. "How will you get back in?"
The thought of him locking her in the house alone for who-knew-how-long scared her more than who was outside the house watching her. There could be a fire or a gas leak. How would she get out?
"The lock is on the outside of the door, leading into the garage. I'll lock you in when I leave and be able to unlock it when I get home." He stepped over to the couch, picked up a leather vest, and slid it on.
Her spine stiffened. Until that second, she had forgotten about the men wearing leather vests last night upon their arrival.
She looked at the front of his chest, scanning over the patches, and zeroed in on the one over his heart. Keenan
From what she knew about bikers, they went by road names. Butch, Spade, Greaser, Devil, Dirtbag.
Keenan seemed like a normal name. It would be easier for the police to find him if she had his first name when she escaped.
"There's food in the kitchen. Eat whatever you want." His gaze wandered to her chest and something flickered in his eyes. "Take a shower. I'll be back later."
He pulled on the lock again and grunted, satisfied that it would hold.
She stared at him in disbelief. Take a shower? Seriously?
Looking around the room, and back at the door, she gritted her teeth. He'd put some thought behind keeping her here.
There was no way he could've anticipated her arrival at the cabin. She was following general directions and staying on paths, using the GPS on her phone. Even she hadn't known where she'd end up.
So why had he planned out how to secure his house so that she couldn't escape?
He walked out of the room, disappearing into the kitchen. She stepped over to the front window. Several seconds later, Keenan walked onto the driveway and sat on a motorcycle.
She glared. He walked around cocky for someone who, seconds ago, locked a woman in the house.
A biker approached the house wearing the same vest and parked in the driveway. Avery Falls Motorcycle Club.
She pursed her lips. The name of the group seemed innocent, like the mountain town. She knew differently. They were probably all criminals who condoned kidnapping women. She'd heard the horror stories in other parts of the United States. Women went missing. People were shot. Street wars broke out.
The only bikers she'd known went to Bayside Bar in Cannon Beach. The locals steered clear of them. The tourists were hesitant to approach the building because of the number of motorcycles parked outside.
While her sister had expressed her fascination over the rough and rude men decked out in leather who seemed to flip their middle finger up at everyone around them, she tried her best to ignore they existed in the sleepy beach town.
She could live without the catcalls, the revved engines every time they rode past, and the leering looks.
Glaring at Keenan and the other biker, she knew deep in her heart she was looking at the baddest of the bad.
Avery Falls was a lie. A recreational hub in the Bitterroot Mountains was a cover for more dangerous activities. Like kidnapping women.
She glared at them through the window, hoping their wheels exploded.
Several minutes later, Keenan rode off. His motorcycle club brother stayed in the driveway, sitting on his black bike. She moved over to the door and yanked on the lock. The contraption never budged.
Knowing Keenan had left through the back door, she went in search of the exit. In the kitchen, elation filled her, seeing no lock on the door. She twisted the hand and pulled, pushed, and then kicked. The door wouldn't budge.
Not wasting time, she moved through the house, taking stock of everything she could use to help her escape or use as a weapon.
There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms—one in the master bedroom—one off the hallway, which she'd already used. The furnishings were slim. She'd met bachelors who had a more outfitted house than Keenan.
There were no knickknacks sitting around. No sign of a woman living in the bedroom. Not even a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Though, she had found a half-full box of condoms in the drawer of the end table by the bed.
She shivered. He was so large. She had a hard time imagining someone not being intimidated by the size of his dick.
The most dangerous possession he had in his closet was a snow measuring stick that people use in areas where avalanches were a danger. She decided to leave it there and look for something that would cause more damage as a weapon.
Retracing her steps, she returned to the kitchen. Going through the drawers, she found forks, butter knives, and spoons. She slammed the cabinet door shut. There wasn't even a steak knife in the house.
Escaping through the window was her only option. She'd need to break the glass and climb out.
Deciding not to climb over the sink, she went to the first bedroom at the back of the house. If she could slip out without the biker in the front noticing, she stood a chance at making it to her Jeep and riding out of town.