by Lilly Atlas
“Lefty? Because I’d love a shot at that piece of shit.”
He worked to hide his grin as he shook his head. “No. Someone from my past wants something I’m not willing to give him. He was spotted in town and isn’t above using people I care about to get what he wants from me. Club’s just making sure all the ol’ ladies are safe. He saw me with you, so I’m asking for a few days to deal with it.”
“People you care about? Guess I’m off the hook then.” She rose to her knees, hands on her hips. “I’m going home if I have to walk the whole goddamn way. Now get the hell out of this room.”
She had questions. Was curious. Her curiosity was there in her searching eyes and the way she chewed her lower lip in frustration, but she was fighting the urge to ask him. Whether because she didn’t want to have to deal with a story she might not believe or because she just plain hated his guts, he may never know.
He scooted off the bed, rose, and stared down at her. “I fucking care, Chloe. You think I’d let just any goddammed woman tie me to a bed and ride me like a damn stallion? And knowing how sweet that pussy is? Knowing how hard it squeezes my dick as you come? You think I’d give up taking control of that if I didn’t fucking care? Don’t fucking think so.” Let her chew on that for a while.
Chloe’s mouth dropped open and she hopped off the bed.
She shot forward, going toe to toe with him as though he couldn’t snap her in half with his pinky finger. “Fuck you,” she growled.
“Any time you want. Hell, I’ll even bring the cuffs.”
“Screw this. I’m leaving,” she marched past him, heading for the door.
Shit! Could he have handled that any fucking worse? The woman drove him out of his mind. He caught her wrist as she was halfway out the door.
She spun, spitting fire with her eyes. Her mouth opened, no doubt to blast him once again.
“You can leave,” he said. “But I’ll follow. I’ll stay out of your way, but I can’t let you walk when there is a chance you could be hurt again.”
Her chest heaved with the force of her fury.
“The club needs me here to help with this threat. If I’m gone, that’s one less man around to make sure the problem is solved, and the rest of the women are protected. You may hate me and the men who run this club, but you don’t hate the women. They’re strong, and fierce, and have all overcome tremendous obstacles. They’re good women who don’t deserve this danger.”
She didn’t relax, but her shoulders slumped in defeat. “You play dirty.”
“I’ll do whatever I need to, to get you to stay.”
“Fine,” she spat out still facing the door. “A few days. That’s it. And you stay the fuck away from me.”
Shit. Guess that meant he wasn’t going to be able to sweet talk her into letting him sleep beside her.
“If you make a list of some things you might need, I’ll swing by your place and grab them for you.”
Looking him straight in the eye, she said. “Don’t bother. I don’t need anything from you.”
With a nod and a pit in his stomach, he walked around her and out the door. What else could he do? She’d left him no options.
She was done with him.
The question was, for how long?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ON THE MORNING of the second day of wallowing in whoever’s room she’d hijacked at the Handlers’ clubhouse, Chloe was officially sick of herself, and ready to rejoin the real world.
Or the biker world as it would be.
Okay, the whole being ready part wasn’t entirely true. Although she spent hours on end obsessing over every hour spent in Logan’s presence, she hadn’t come to terms with a few things.
The lies.
The fact that he’d been following her for a long time.
The fact that he’d slept with her. Repeatedly.
None of his actions made sense. Was she a charity case? Were his actions a product of guilt? Then, there were her personal feelings. A jumbled mess of conflicting emotions. Her rational brain was so furious over the lies, she couldn’t see a way to move past them. Then there was the irrational side of her that spent every moment since she’d kicked him out wondering what he was doing and who he was with. Basically, she was a hot freaking mess in the head.
Aside from the few times Steph and Izzy brought her food, everyone had respected her insistence on being left alone. Until now. The slightly scary, pregnant Izzy had barged into the room a few seconds ago, following one sharp rap on the door, and pretty much dragged Chloe off the bed by her ankles. “Okay, princess, no more hiding out in the castle.” She tossed some clothes Chloe’s way. Declining Logan’s—or rather Rocket’s—offer of clothing had come back to bite her, not that she’d admit it to him. A few fumbling grabs kept the garments from landing on the rug. “You got five minutes to put that on and meet me in the room next door.”
Chloe bristled as she dressed in the sports bra, tank, yoga pants, and running shoes. Princess? The last thing she was, was a freakin’ princess. With a near snarl, she yanked the door open, stormed past Izzy, and into the room next to hers. It took everything in her to ignore the snickers from the Amazon warrior trailing behind her.
“Whoa,” Chloe said as she stepped into what she’d assumed was going to be another bedroom. Instead, the large space had been cleared of all furniture save one overstuffed chair in the corner. Plush gym mats covered the floor from end to end. Someone had hung a heavy bag in one corner and a much smaller punching bag in the opposite corner. Izzy’s ol’ man, Jigsaw, was standing in the center of the room, also dressed for a workout.
“What’s all this?”
“Your first lesson,” Izzy said.
Jig gave his ol’ lady a stern look then pointed to the chair. “Sit that tight ass down, baby.”
Scowling, Izzy stomped to the chair and plopped down. “Happy?” Jig’s back was to her, so she stuck her tongue out in a childish gesture Chloe never would have expected from her.
In a failed attempted to mask her chuckle, Chloe hid her mouth behind her hand.
“Love you too, babe,” Jig said as he winked at Chloe. Behind his back, Izzy opened her mouth again.
“Uh, what am I doing here exactly?” Chloe rushed to say. The well-timed question had probably saved Jigsaw’s life.
“Iz thought you might benefit from learning some self-defense.”
Izzy cleared her throat—loudly.
With a roll of his eyes and a smirk for his woman Jigsaw said, “Sorry, Izzy likes to call it self-offense.”
“Damn straight. Someone comes after you, you’re not gonna defend yourself, you’re going on the offensive to take the motherfucker out. We’re not just gonna teach you how to break holds so you can run away. Forget that shit. We’re going to teach you how to incapacitate a motherfucker so you can cause some serious fucking pain.”
“The mother of my child, ladies and gentlemen,” Jig said in a dry tone.
Chloe chuckled then a huge grin stretched her cheeks. Something deep within her soared at Izzy’s description. Yes! The idea of taking someone out sent a rush of endorphins thorough her system. This was it. What she’d been missing. These skills would give her the same high she chased when dominating men. Hell, maybe she’d experience even more of a rush. She could already feel the promise of euphoria flowing through her veins like a drug.
“Before we get started, let me show you how to wrap your hands.” Jig said. “I’ll do one and you can try the other after you watch me. Okay if I touch your hand?”
Her gaze flew from where he held the wrap, up to his face. By now, everyone in the club probably knew precisely what had happened to her. For a split-second, shame and embarrassment shot through her. Who needed to give permission for someone to touch their hand in the most innocent way possible, while their pregnant significant other looked on no less? Oh yeah, she did. The girl who’d been violated.
But what she saw in Jig’s face washed away all those negative feelin
gs. There was nothing. No pity, no sorrow, no awkwardness or judgment. Just patience while he waited for the go-ahead to gear-up her hands. While she knew he only asked in deference to what had happened to her, the nonchalant way he acted made it seem as though he’d ask the same to anyone. He was so nonchalant, he might as well have been asking her to pass the salt.
Jig’s chill attitude immediately set her at ease. “Yeah,” she said. “Go for it.” And she only felt one microsecond of discomfort when his hand first grazed hers.
Progress.
After he’d wound the wrapping around one hand, and she did a fairly decent job with the other, Jig ran her though a few warmup exercises. Izzy barked the occasional order from her throne, clearly not accustomed to being sidelined. Jig was patient and didn’t seem to mind the interruptions.
“Okay, time to get down to business,” he said, sliding big cushioned gloves onto her hands. Once he was done, he slipped his palms into black pads. “Without me teaching you any kind of technique at this point, I just want you to go to town and wail on the pads. Hard as you can. It’s amazing for tension relief.”
Chloe rotated her wrists, getting used to the feel of the gloves. “What if I hurt you?” She’d never done anything more that swat her brothers when they pissed her off. Punching someone was a foreign concept that didn’t quite sit right.
“Trust me, girl, he can take it.” Izzy’s eyes gleamed, and Chloe had the distinct impression she wished they could change positions. “You won’t hurt your hands either. Try whacking your fists together.”
“I can do that.” She banged her gloves into each other, barely noticing the impact. Huh. This could be fun. Turning her body sideways, she held up her gloved fists. “Like this?”
“Just like that. We’ll worry about perfecting your form later.” Jig lifted the pads. He was a handsome man. Dark brown hair, the same color beard, ink, and muscles galore. He’d be a perfect physical specimen if it weren’t for an intricate scar on his cheek. There was a story there. A person didn’t get that kind of extensive damage from a fingernail scratch. Chloe’s scars may be on the inside, but they were there, and just as prominent as Jigsaw’s. He looked into her eyes. “Let it fly, darlin’.”
Chloe stared at his scar for one more second. She may never discover exactly how he got it, but knew in her soul he’d been where she had. He’d been helpless, at the mercy of a sadist, suffering through unimaginable pain. This, what he was offering her right now, he was doing it because it’d worked for him. Succeeded in helping him become what was obviously a man no one fucked with anymore.
That’s what Chloe wanted. What she craved. The power and strength to keep others from ever thinking they could harm her. “Okay,” she said. “Here goes.” She cocked her arm and let her gloved fist collide with Jig’s pad. “How was that?”
Izzy snorted. “Called you princess for a reason, didn’t I?”
“Iz,” Jig said, frowning at her. She just winked back at her man.
Chloe stared down at the fire-engine red gloves. Maybe they should scrap this whole idea. Just because the notion of being able to fight sent a surge of exhilaration through her didn’t mean she was cut out for it. Wouldn’t she have been able to fend off Lefty a bit better had a battle-drive been engrained in her?
Izzy’s voice cut through her musing. “Sometimes it helps to picture someone’s face on the pads. Someone you hate. Someone you want to hurt. Someone who hurt you.” Gone was any teasing. All that remained was a serious recommendation that also reeked of personal understanding. But then she smirked. “Or someone who straight up pissed you off,” she said with a sparkle in her eye. “I don’t know. Maybe someone tall, growly, who doesn’t say much. Rides a motorcycle.”
Jig grunted and rolled his eyes.
Pressing her lips together, Chloe managed to keep from smiling. Mad as she was at him, Rocket’s face wouldn’t conjure the type of rage she needed to fuel this exercise. She shifted her focus to the pads. Lefty had a face she wouldn’t forget any time soon. Or ever. It haunted her nightmares and lurked in every dark corner she walked past. Here was her chance to demolish him, if only metaphorically.
A tingling started in the base of her spine and crawled its way up to her shoulders. She rolled them, loosening the tension in her neck and straightening her posture. Crackles of energy flowed through her limbs making her feel strong, invincible.
There it was. The illusive high she chased on Friday and Saturday nights. The same buzz she experienced handcuffing a man to her bed and taking control. She smiled. Good thing there wasn’t a mirror in this room. She had a feeling her grin was a bit evil.
Power. Dominance. Command. The upper hand.
Her drug of choice.
Lefty’s face appeared on Jigsaw’s pads.
Game on.
With a warrior’s cry, Chloe hurled everything she had into beating on those pads. For long minutes, she threw punch after punch, as hard as her not very toned arms possibly could. Jig staggered on his feet, absorbing every single blow. Not once did he or Izzy speak. No encouragement, no critique. They just let her get it all out. With a final cry, Chloe connected with the pad one last time as her knees gave out. Breath heaving, she dropped to the mat. She rested her forehead on the cool vinyl, hands on either side of her head, enjoying the gallop of her heart.
Both Jig and Izzy remained quiet, giving her body and mind time to quiet. She had no idea how long she stayed curled up like a child, but when she got herself together, and rose to her knees, both her new friends were smiling at her with proud grins. Jig was right. That was some damn good tension relief.
“More,” she said, rising on trembling legs. “I want to do more.”
“Maybe tomorrow. You’re going to be sore enough as it is.” Jig started to remove one of the punch mitts.
“No!” Chloe bounced on the balls of her feet, pounding her gloves together. “I feel so good, so full of energy. Like I’ve had three Red Bulls in the last half hour. Teach me how to do this right.”
Izzy threw back her head and laughed. “She caught the fever, babe. Looks like our girl won’t be a princess for long.”
Chloe locked eyes with Izzy, giving her a nod. A silent thank you, to her new friend for yanking her out of her funk and giving her an emotional and physical outlet for the fucked-up thoughts in her head.
“Let’s do it,” Jig said, but his attention was on something behind her.
Chloe glanced over her shoulder at the open door, and could have sworn she caught a glimpse of Logan passing by. But it couldn’t be. He had made himself completely scarce in the time since she asked him to scram.
She missed his presence. Missed the intense way he looked at her and the feeling of safety when he was around. She also missed his body and the pleasure she’d found in him.
And that was terrifying. Because he wasn’t Logan anymore, not really. Now he was Rocket. And she didn’t know Rocket. She knew Logan, the sexy, brooding contractor who let her use his body to work out her issues. Rocket, the biker who told her he had fantasies of murdering Lefty was a mystery to her. And he hadn’t been kidding. He was capable of killing, and she had a feeling Lefty’s wouldn’t be the first life he’d taken. Rocket lived in a world she was ignorant of, where women were kidnapped, and clubhouses put on lockdown.
Jig walked her through a series of strikes with occasional interjections from Izzy. Each time he touched her, a hand under her arm, a shift of her shoulders, the discomfort grew less and less. After a short time, she was able to completely ignore the fact a man had his hands on her and view it from a totally educational standpoint.
Chloe worked for hours with the couple, until she could barely lift her arms. Then, after a well-deserved shower, she spent a few hours with Shell and her adorable daughter Beth while the majority of the guys were out of the clubhouse. Felt good to leave her room, and even better to know she wouldn’t run into Logan. Shell had assured her he was gone until the following day. That night, exhausted from the
intense activity and emotionally drained, Chloe fell into a deep sleep right after dinner.
The next morning, as sore as if she’d been in a car accident, she returned to the makeshift gym an hour and a half before she was scheduled for another training session. She ran through everything Jig and Izzy had taught her again and again.
Once the badass duo joined her, Chloe pushed herself to the limit, reveling in everything they showed her. After another few hours, her muscles cramped with a fury, sweat ran in rivulets down her face, and she felt ready to collapse in the very best way. Her soul was soaring, and for the first time since she’d been kidnapped, she was too wrung out to feel fear or anxiety. Even when she had a man cuffed to the bed, she didn’t have the peace she did now. Not only was she free from the grip Lefty had on her, she hadn’t thought about Logan for the past few hours. Her mind was clear of everything but the combinations and deadly strikes Jig and Izzy taught her. That and the fantasy of sinking into a hot bath to ease her aches and pains.
“All right, hon, I think we need to call it a day. You’re not gonna be able to fucking crawl out of bed tomorrow.” Jig said, pulling off the punch mitts.
Panting, Chloe tried to wipe a damp lock of hair out of her eyes with her gloved hand. All she managed was to plaster the strands across her forehead. Whatever, didn’t matter what she looked like. This was about impressing with her skills not appearance. “I’m good. I want to go a little longer.”
Jig and Izzy exchanged a glance. Didn’t matter if they wanted her to stop. Her body, her decision. And she wanted more. More of the burn, more of those delicious endorphins making her feel invincible.
“She’s done.”
The deep timbre of Logan’s voice had her whirling around. He hovered in the doorway wearing a black T-shirt under his leather cut. Dark wash jeans covered those thick thighs and giant motorcycle boots housed his feet. Arms crossed and shoulder propped against the door, his assessing gaze drank her in. Today, she’d left off the tank and wore only a sports bra and tight workout leggings. It had been a few days since his laser-focus attention had been on her and she’d nearly forgotten how it made her feel stripped bare both emotionally and physically.
