Finding only club shirts in the compartment, I consider not wearing one at all. I won’t walk out there in their colors loud and proud in my new home. These fuckers are just as bad as my Spanish kidnappers. They may have cleaned and patched me up, but I’m not exactly a welcomed guest with a guard outside my door. I rummage more until I find a single black tank top in the farthest corner. It will have to do. My boobs will barely be contained, but at least I might be able to use them to my advantage during my talks. These guys seem to be controlled by the brain downstairs and not the one in the bigger head. My voluptuous girls might just help me negotiate my way out of here. I don’t like having to debase myself to such rude tactics, but my idea factory is a little empty at the moment. I can’t stay with criminals with the past looming. They’ll toss me right onto the first police department’s steps as soon as they find out the ransom on my head. Money and criminals aren’t exactly the greatest tests of loyalty with a beautiful stranger.
Slipping the tank top over my head, my head gets stuck. I tug hard against the misbehaving fabric when a rough pair of male hands grabs the hem and yanks it free of my hair. His touch startles me. Shock must register on my face because the tall man backs away from me with his hands in the air in surrender.
“Sorry, looked like you needed help. The Prez will be pissed if I bring you down late. Let’s get going,” he says, grabbing my arm and aiming me toward the door. He lightly heaves me out the door and closes it behind us. Pointing down to the left, we hustle at a quick pace down the hallway.
“I’m Slider, by the way,” he says as we make our way down the stairs.
“I’m Dani,” I tell him. “Is that honestly your real name? Your parents are fucked up if that’s what they legally named you.”
“Naw, Slider is my road name. Hero gave it to me because I’m smooth with the ladies and can get just about any girl to slide their panties off with just a glance.” He stares at me with duck-face lips and squinted eyes in what I fathom is his attempt to work his mojo on me. “Huh, the smolder didn’t work for you. I’ll have to up my game. My real name is Luke, but don’t go calling me that in front of the guys. Stick with their road names if you know what’s good for you.”
“Sorry, Slider. It takes more than a goofy ass look to make it into these panties,” I reply just as we hit the bottom of the stairs. He leads us through the crowded room and into a side room. Depositing me into a hard wooden chair, he exits, closing the door behind him. Being left alone to my own devices is a scary notion, especially in this kind of biker-filled clubhouse hell. I drum my finger against the wood of the chair when the door abruptly swings open and in walks King Gray Beard. It’s the man that shuffles in behind him that takes my breath away. His face is blocked from my vision, but my body instantly responds to his presence.
It can’t be him. There’s no way. He’s not one of these assholes. I continue to stare at his hidden face as the temperature of the room rises past boiling while I break out in a shock-induced nervous sweat. My body launches in shakes, rippling through my bones. Whether they are in fear or anticipation, I don’t know. A familiar cologne wafts to me as the other man shuts the door behind him. Please, don’t be him, I plea to myself. Don’t let my dark fantasy man be him. His face continues to stay shielded until he finally turns around. Fuck me; it’s the guy I danced with at the bar. I may never have seen his face that night, but I recognize him by the reaction from my body and the ring on his hand. My memory flashes back to that night and the feel of his hands caressing my body. My drunken haze blocked out so much, but I know I’ve felt the hands before me on my body.
This man is fuck-me-sideways-sexy. He’s taller than I remember, but I wasn’t exactly sober when he dirty-danced with me at Red’s. If I took a guess, I’d say he is probably close to six foot five and built like a brick shithouse. Every muscle on his body is toned and the thought of what could lie underneath that t-shirt he has on is making me drool. I want to lick every contour of his defined abs. The tattoos snaking up his arms are just an added bonus.
I plead internally for him to look up at me when his eyes lock onto mine, neither of us are moving. The tension in the room rises as my blurred, drunken memory comes back to me in waves. His body swaying against mine mentally seduces me all over again. The memory of his touch on my body sends arousal shooting throughout me.
His body is nice. Well, maybe more like fan-fucking-tastic, but I won’t be admitting that to him any time soon. However, , it isn’t his physical demure that is affecting me the most. It’s his eyes. The dark green orbs are framed by his tanned skin and shaggy, dirty-blonde hair. The way they stare into me is like they are reaching inside my body and coiling around my soul, drawing me in like a moth to the flame.
This man makes me shake in fear and my panties wet all in one look. Someone out there in the universe has a fucking horrible sense of humor for putting him in my path. He’s like my kryptonite. He’s everything I shouldn’t want, but my body craves his like oxygen. Even though he hasn’t said a word, I want to fuck him and kick him in the balls all at the same time. My body is in love with the devil, and I have no idea what to do about it.
King Gray Beard watches us both, trying to decipher what’s going on between us.
“You’re the man from the bar,” I state, hoping to still be wrong.
“Sure am, and you’re a traitorous slut. Twisted Tribe probably planted you that night in hopes to get you into our clubhouse. Guess it only took torching a salon to accomplish that,” he angrily quips. Leaning against the door, his stare bores holes into me, making me feel small and weak against his strength. “Why don’t you make it easy on yourself and fess up now before you make it any worse? It’s easier to kill you now before the other women get attached to you.”
“Twisted who? I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I yell in return, gripping my hands tightly to the chair.
“The motherfuckers who murdered our brother, that’s who—,” he yells before the gray-bearded man stops him.
“That’s enough, Hero. There’s no reason to throw unconfirmed accusations at the girl before we even get her name, or fuck, even her story. All right, darlin’, let’s start with the easy stuff. Who are you and where the hell did you come from?”
“You could start by telling me who the hell you are and where I am,” I sarcastically reply while mentally smacking myself for being that rude off the bat.
“I’ll tell you who the hell I am, little girl. I am the president of the Heaven’s Rejects Motorcycle Club, and I go by Raze. The lovely woman who deposited you into this predicament would be my wife, Maj. Any other questions you want to throw at me while trying to stall from answering me?”
“My name is Dani. I’m from the Midwest,” I reply, taking care to give few details. I don’t need to give him or Hero, as he called him, any more information about me. I have no idea if wanted posters have been issued for me yet, and I’m not about to paint a red arrow over my head screaming, “Here I am,” if one of these assholes searches my name.
“Midwest, huh? What brings you out here?” he asks. Shit, what do I say to that? Think, Dani. Think.
“I’m waiting, Dani. Answer me,” he demands.
“I needed a change of scenery. Figured sunny California would be a good place,” I simply state. Keep it to minimal details. You don’t want to lie elaborately in case you forget it later. You can do this, Dani. Keep it simple and maybe you’ll survive.
“You look awfully young to be out here on your own. You can’t be more than twenty or twenty-one.”
“I’m twenty-five. Why the hell does my age matter? You sick fucks like little girls as play things?”