by Lilly Atlas
I need you.
Fuck no, he wasn’t needed.
He was out. Done with his former life as a glorified mercenary and had the walking papers to prove it. Didn’t stop his old employer from seeking him out every so often. Not once had he been remotely tempted to return to that way of life. With each rejection, the requests grew a little more hostile. One of these days, his reprieve would run out and they’d send someone to bring him in. For now, he’d continue to avoid them with radio silence. Hence the turned off phone.
“Fuck,” he ground out as the screen came to life. Fifteen missed calls and twice as many texts screaming at him to check in. All from Zach, the club’s enforcer.
Some shit was going down. He’d flaked on church last week while tailing Chloe to the grocery store. Copper would roast his ass on a spit if it became a pattern. But calling in meant leaving Chloe.
Torn between loyalty to his club and the hot gut-punch he experienced knowing Chloe was minutes away from fucking some businessman, Rocket paused. What the fuck was wrong with him? It was getting harder to call the souring in his stomach anything other than jealousy.
He had to put an end to this shit. Chloe was a big girl. She, more than anyone, knew what could happen at the hands of a madman. For his own sanity, he had to step back. He couldn’t continue to watch over her so much. Not when his club needed him.
Without bothering to listen to the voicemails or read the texts, Rocket left the bar, heading straight for his bike. If he pushed it, he’d be back in Townsend and at the clubhouse in thirty minutes. The guys could catch him up in person.
With any luck, they’d finally gotten a bead on Lefty.
That thought had a sinister smile curling his lips.
Just as he was pulling out, he caught sight of Chloe turning onto the road with Mr. Smooth’s car hot on her tail.
Now that his head was screwed on straight, Rocket hit the throttle and shot off toward the clubhouse.
There were just some questions he might never get the answers to and he’d have to learn to live with that.
CHAPTER TWO
SHE USED TO be normal.
For ninety-seven percent of her life, Chloe had been perfectly and predictably normal. Born the daughter of a middle school principal and a home economics teacher, she grew up with three older brothers and an overweight pug in the suburbs of Knoxville, Tennessee. Throughout her school years, she earned A’s and B’s, played some mediocre soccer, and had a summer job at the local ice cream parlor from the time she was fifteen until she graduated high school. Afterward, she went to the University of Tennessee, graduating with a degree in accounting. After passing the CPA exam, she moved to Pigeon Forge where she’d started her own small accounting business and had been living and working ever since.
She’d had exactly one serious boyfriend, two bed partners, and a beloved group of close-knit friends. Once a week, she’d spoken to her parents and kept in close contact with her brothers through texts and her favorite new app, Marco Polo.
Normal.
Normal.
Normal.
Not overly exciting, not boring, just a regular life.
And then in one forty-eight-hour period, everything was shot to hell. Now, there wasn’t a damn normal thing about her.
No, now she was just a screwed-up rape and assault survivor who hated leaving her house unless it was to pick up the random men she fucked on Friday and Saturday nights.
Who did that?
What kind of woman who’d been through what she’d endured went out and slept with multiple arbitrary men each week? Especially knowing exactly what could happen if she chose the wrong one.
Fucked-up women, that’s who.
“Shit, babe, you’re an animal in bed.” The man beneath her said, giving her a satisfied, post-orgasm grin.
“Mmm,” she said with a roll of her shoulders. Shoulders that were just as tense as when they’d walked in the room. “Don’t call me babe. I’m sure as hell not your babe.” Swinging her leg around, Chloe climbed off his adequate body before searching for her dress. Without so much as a glance at the man on the bed—Jon, Joe, James, something like that—she walked straight into the bathroom.
Here was the part she hated. The post-sex re-dressing while she tried to avoid catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. For a few short hours, from the moment she walked out of her house until she scurried into this bathroom, she felt good. More than good. She felt powerful, sexy, in control, excited. And then, without fail, she’d see her reflection, and it would all evaporate.
As the high of her conquest began to wear off, Chloe stepped into her dress. After shimmying it over her hips and working her arms thorough the straps, she stood in front of the mirror with her eyes closed.
“Just do it,” she whispered. Hiding from the mirror was a pointless exercise. She’d have to face herself at some point.
With her palms planted on the surface of the vanity, Chloe opened her eyes. She took a hard look at the woman in the mirror. As the seconds ticked by, her heart sank. Physically, she looked good. None of the damage to her face had left any scarring. Her body bore a few small reminders of the beating she’d suffered, but nothing unsightly, and nothing that truly bothered her. All the problems were squarely between her ears.
The woman staring back at her might look the same on the outside, but her soul had been permanently altered.
Sometimes, a sick part of her wished the men who’d hurt her had left some kind of hideous scar for all the world to see. Maybe a big gash across her cheek. At least then, people she encountered could tell from first glance that she was messed up. Hiding the internal struggle was an exhausting practice that took a huge toll on her every single day. No one expected her to hate being touched or panic if men she didn’t know spoke to her. But maybe they would if they could see her scars.
“Uh, babe? You planning to release me anytime soon? I’m game for another round, but I could use a few minutes to stretch my arms first.”
With a resigned sigh, Chloe bowed her head. This had to stop. One of these days, she’d end up hurt or worse from the reckless behavior. She’d been through hell and honestly wouldn’t survive another attack. Neither would her family.
So why the hell did she continue to pick up random men at bars and fuck them? Why, and how did she manage to do this again and again when she’d flip out if a man so much as offered to shake her hand otherwise?
Because she was so very fucked up.
And because it was the only time she felt anything besides fear, depression, and disgust.
She flipped off the mirror. “What did I say about calling me babe?” she asked as she exited the bathroom.
“Sorry,” the guy shrugged. “You never told me your name.” He gave her a grin that was probably supposed to be boyish and playful, but now that she was done with him, it just made her skin crawl.
“And I never will,” she said scanning the floor for her clutch.
“Oh, that’s fine. My name is—”
“Nu-uh.” She held up a hand, using the other to rummage around for the handcuff key. “Don’t care. Didn’t care the first time you told me. I’ll uncuff you, then I’m taking off. Room is paid up through eleven am if you want to stay.”
His forehead wrinkled. While not her type with his fancy suit and over processed hair that probably cost more than her own highlights did, he was an attractive man.
She’d chosen this hotel for its beds. They had headboards with wooden slats, perfect for handcuffing her conquests. Spread out and at her mercy, what’s-his-name had the type of body her friends went nuts for. Gym honed muscles, sprinkling of dirty blond chest hair, smooth, ink-free skin. Way too clean cut and polished to get her motor revving, but then again none of this was really about sexual attraction.
At least not for her.
“You sure? I’m pretty much ready to go again now. We could switch positions and I’ll tie you up.” He shot her a wink.
Chloe’s heart
nearly stopped dead in her chest as an icy wave of fear washed over her. Not for all the money in the world would a man ever restrain her in any way shape or form. Hopefully, would never do anything to get herself arrested, because she’d have the mother of all freak outs the moment the cops broke out the cuffs. With a shake of her head, she pushed past it. “Not how this works.”
She moved to the head of the bed and rested her knee on the mattress as she unlocked his right wrist.
Immediately, his freed hand landed on her thigh, giving it an affectionate squeeze. Chloe reacted without thought as though someone had pushed a button springing her into action. Her hand shot out, slamming into the man’s throat.
A strangled half choke, half wheeze came from him as his body jerked.
Shit. Looked like those instructional self-defense YouTube videos were actually working.
“Jesus Christ. What the fuck is wrong with you, lady?”
Well that was a loaded question if she’d ever heard one. His words came out slightly garbled, like someone had throat punched the guy.
Oops.
“I’m sorry. You startled me.” Even to her own ears she didn’t sound very apologetic.
“That’s it? You try to kill me because I fucking startled you? You’re a crazy bitch.”
He had no idea.
Chloe slipped her feet into her heels. She’d be making a speedy getaway this time around. Quick as she could, she scurried to the other side of the bed. After unlocking the remaining cuff, she grabbed her clutch and darted toward the door. “Sorry again. Just be out by eleven.”
And now came the part of the evening that almost gave her cardiac arrest each time. Mace in one hand, keys threaded through the fingers of the other, she ran to her car like the devil himself was hot on her heels. After being kidnapped from a dark parking lot, she made sure to park directly under a lamp and always had her weapons at the ready.
Once securely in her car with the doors locked, Chloe allowed herself a moment to relax. Eyes closed, head resting back, she breathed in the fresh mountain air. With her tension finally at a manageable level, she started up her Volvo and navigated her way out of the parking lot. Sticking around to see just how angry what’s-his-name was wouldn’t be the smartest of ideas.
Halfway home, her car connected Bluetooth rang, jarring her so bad her heart nearly flew out of her mouth.
“Shit,” she muttered as she used the steering wheel buttons to lower the ringer’s volume then accept the call. “Hello?”
“Seriously, sis? It’s ten on a Saturday night. Why the hell are you answering your phone?”
“Scotty!” Man, it was good to hear her brother’s voice. “Are you in the country? Please tell me you’re home?” Nine years older than she was, Scotty had enlisted in the army the moment he turned eighteen. Now, with nearly two decades years under his belt, he was a Ranger and deployed more often than not.
His laugh, healthy and strong filtered through the car’s speakers. “Yeah, sis, I’m home. Arrived in country yesterday.”
She couldn’t hide the sigh of relief. Another deployment survived.
“How long you here for this time? Any idea?” As she spoke, she steered the car onto the highway that would take her back to Pigeon Forge. Or at least in that direction; she lived right outside the vacation town that was the home of the flashy Dollywood tourist attraction.
“Actually—”
Static had her smacking the dashboard as though the jolt would somehow end the crackling. Always happened on this stretch of the highway.
“Sorry, Scotty, dead spot. What did you say?”
“I said I’m taking some time off and coming to visit you.”
Her heart simultaneously seized and soared. Visiting meant he’d be staying with her, and an end to her nocturnal activities. Scotty would flip his shit if he found out what she’d been up to these past few months.
Nerves skittered down her spine. Since she’d made the decision two months ago, she hadn’t missed a Friday or Saturday. Would she be able to hold it together without those nights?
“Nothing? Thought you’d be at least a little excited.”
Chloe blinked and laughed. “Oh, God, sorry. My mind ran away for a second. Yes! Come here, please. I’m super excited. What’s it been, almost a year and a half since I’ve seen you?”
“Something like that.”
She flicked her turn signal on and coasted over to the exit ramp. This time of night on a Saturday she was pretty much the only one on the pitch-black road. A shiver overtook her. Three more minutes and she’d be safely in her home.
“So, when are you coming? Gotta make sure I have enough food to feed your huge ass.” And huge he was. Most of her family was tall, but at six-six, Scott was the largest by far.
“Got some shit I gotta take care of here before I can bug out. I’m thinking three weeks from tomorrow. That work for you?”
“Yes, of course. Anything works for me.” She smiled into the night as she pulled into her driveway. “God, I can’t wait to see you.”
He didn’t respond for a moment which had her frowning as she put the car in park. “Scott? Did I lose you?”
“Nah I’m here.” His voice had grown serious. “How you doing, honey? I’m sorry I’ve been off the grid so much over the past few months. Nearly killed me to be out of the country when you were hurt.”
A now familiar sorrow swamped over her. It wasn’t a surprise. The attack was always there, looming on the sidelines, just waiting to jump in and ruin a good moment. A healthy dose of guilt joined that sorrow. Her family didn’t know the full story of what she’d suffered. They knew the same version she’d told the cops. A partial truth.
“Ahh, so that’s why you’re visiting. Not because you can’t stay away from your favorite sister and my brownie recipe, but because you’re checking up on me. Mom making you do this?”
She’d kicked her mom out after five days, unable to take the incessant mothering—smothering—any longer.
“Clo…” He sounded pained. As though thinking about what happened to her physically hurt him.
She almost snorted, but thankfully found enough control to keep the rude sound at bay. Didn’t anyone get it? Didn’t they realize she couldn’t handle their hurt on top of her own? It was just too much. Too heart wrenching. She hadn’t asked for what happened to her, and the fact that it caused almost as much agony for her family as it did for her was more than she could take.
“I’m okay, Scott. Dealing with it.” In a way that could get me killed. “Getting better every day.” Because she’d found tying men to a bed and fucking the shit out of them was the only thing that gave her a sense of command over her life. It was the only time she felt powerful, strong, in control. The moments she was dominating some random man were the only ones that banished the fear she’d lived with every second since she was stuffed in a trunk and kidnapped.
So yeah, she was dealing with it, and she’d continue to do so until it blew up in her face. As dangerous and unhealthy as her unconventional therapy might be, it was far better than cowering in the corner of her house as she’d done for the first three months following her rescue.
It’d been a while since she thought about the rescue. About the mysterious biker who’d saved her life and delivered her to the hospital. He was the man who’d seen her at her very worst and somehow, he’d known what she needed. He’d known not to touch her both because she’d freak at the touch of a man and because she’d needed to climb off that bed and walk outside on her own two feet.
Needed to salvage some shred of dignity.
And he let her.
Even though he was her savior, and she owed him her life and then some, he represented the worst possible moments in her existence. Not to mention he was a member of the Hell’s Handlers. Lefty’s message placing blame on the bikers ran through her head whenever she thought of her rescuer. Like a true coward, she avoided the entire city limits of Townsend, his motorcycle club’s territory.
She sure as hell hoped to never run across the biker again.
CHAPTER THREE
SHIT HAD BLOWN with the club.
From the moment Rocket left the bar three weeks ago, it’d been one explosion after another.
Copper, the club’s president, had been kidnapped.
Boom.
They’d rescued him only to find the giant red-bearded man stabbed and beaten to a pulp.
Boom.
Rusty, Copper’s psychopathic brother was murdered.
Boom.
Lefty, the man whose blood Rocket wanted more than anything, slipped through their grasp yet again. Gone to ground without a trace.
Fucking boom.
Thanks to Copper’s strong leadership when he returned to the chair less than a week after being injured, the clubhouse had only descended into mild chaos. A full-on manhunt was in effect for Lefty, the one-time leader of the Gray Dragons gang. Almost two years ago, Lefty had been the number three dog in the Gray Dragons’ food chain. Shark, a sadistic motherfucker, ran the gang at the time. Shark had a nasty history with Toni, the ol’ lady of the Handlers’ enforcer. The sea predator had been killed in a showdown between his minions and the Handlers, but not before causing a shit ton of grief for the MC.
Once Shark was out of the way, Lefty murdered the number two and took over the gang. His primary source of income had been twofold, drugs and trafficking women—unwilling women. It wasn’t long before the Handlers shut that shit down, sending Lefty underground. Unfortunately, not fast enough to save Chloe from her fate.
Recently, Lefty had poked his head out of whatever hole he’d been hiding in long enough to commit a few murders before disappearing once again.
Rocket had hit his limit with this fucking guy. Hell, Copper was at his limit, and that’s what mattered, because he ran the show. So now, the Handlers were searching under every rock and in every dark corner for Lefty.
