Biker's Virgin (An MC Romance)

by Claire Adams

  “She’s not dead,” Bones said confidently.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because if she were dead, then we would know about it,” Bones said. “This guy… Godwin’s second… he’s trying to prove a point. He’s trying to claim he’s stronger than the Angels so that when he takes power, he’ll be unstoppable. He’s challenging you, which means that anything he does to Mila… you’ll find out about it.”

  “So what you’re saying is that I have no choice but to sit and wait for her body to come back?” I demanded. “Is that his fucking challenge?”

  “I’m guessing here,” Bones said quickly. “But it’s not like we’re not doing anything about this. We’re out there actively searching for her.”

  I turned on Bones and looked him in the eye. “We searched for this fucker for months while Mila was with us,” I reminded him. “Months, and we found nothing; no one tipped us off… we didn’t even know who he was for the longest time. One thing I know for sure about this guy is that he’s good at hiding. What makes you think that we can find him and Mila if he doesn’t want to be found?”

  That stumped Bones, and his open mouth fell slack in the next moment.

  “Exactly,” I nodded. “So excuse me for being worried.”

  I clenched my hands into fists and then resolve started to form inside me and I knew I had to do something that was unprecedented in MC history…. at least in our MC history. But since Mila’s life hung in the balance, I was willing to do anything—and I meant anything—to get her out of this mess. I had sworn to protect her, and I had failed miserably. I needed to right that wrong, and I needed to do everything in my power to do so.

  I walked out of the house, leaving Bones and Justin behind without an explanation. I could feel the two of them at my back, wondering what I was going to destroy next. I got on my bike and started up the engine.

  “Wait for us,” Bones said. “We’ll come with you.”

  They assumed I was going on the hunt again. “No,” I said. “Stay here… I need to do this alone.”

  Bones and Justin exchanged a glance. “What exactly are you going to do?” Bones asked, and I sensed concern in his voice.

  “I’m turning to the last resort,” I said. “The police.”

  I saw the shock flit across their faces, but I didn’t care. I knew where we stood with the cops, but the Angels had never had a bad encounter with them. We had stayed clean for as long as I could remember, so there was no reason for me to be afraid to approach them. We’d just earned a bad reputation because of all the shit that the Knights pulled on a daily basis. We had enjoyed independence because of that, but the downside is that we’d also been cast with the same brush.

  It was a reputation that had suited us all this time, however, and its convenience was welcomed. But now things had changed, and I was willing to work with whomever I needed to…. including the police. If Godwin wouldn’t—or couldn’t—help us, then fuck him; I would find someone who could.

  “You’re going to the fucking police?” Bones said incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Most likely,” I nodded. “But a little insanity is necessary sometimes.”

  “Zack, wait,” Bones said. “We have to talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “What makes you think the cops will even listen to you, much less help us out?” Justin asked. “They hate the MC clubs. We’re nothing but law-breaking gangs to them.”

  “We’ve never had a face-to-face run-in with the cops,” I pointed out. “We’ve kept to ourselves mostly.”

  “Mostly,” Bones said, repeating the word. “If the cops get involved, they’ll screw everything up like they always do.”

  “We’re not getting anywhere on our own,” I pointed out. “Every second that ticks by is a second Ghost is using to do God knows what to Mila. We have to think of her first now.”

  I heard both Justin and Bones start to talk, but I was done listening. I rode my motorbike out of there, kicking up a fog of dust in the process. I rode fast until I got to the station, then I parked quickly and headed inside.

  There were a couple of cops lounging about behind desks when I walked in, and all of them sat up straight when they caught sight of me. I understood how intimidating a presence I was, but combine that with my motorcycle jacket, which clearly indicated who I was, I could almost understand the nervous looks on their faces.

  “I need to speak to someone in charge,” I said to the whole room.

  The cop that approached me was a short woman with blond hair that she had tired back in a tight knot at the back of her head. She was the only one who didn’t look like she was about to shit her pants.

  “Is the sheriff here?”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “But—”

  “I want to speak to him. Now.”

  She paused for a moment. “I’ll see if he’s available.”

  She disappeared through a door, and she was gone for almost three minutes that seemed to stretch on forever. The remaining three cops that I was left with didn’t take their eyes off me even for a second. One of the younger cops kept his hand on his gun the whole time, as though he were trying to give me a silent warning. It almost made me smile. I could draw my weapon a lot faster than he could draw his. But given that I had come here for help, I had opted to leave my gun at home. I had a license to carry, and it was my second amendment right to do so, but I didn’t want to push my luck.

  The female officer appeared at the same door and gestured for me to follow her. I walked through the door, which led to another huge room with desks set up every way. She walked me to a closed-off cubicle at the end of the room. The man sitting inside was skinny and tall with light stubble and sharp brown eyes.

  “Come in,” he said, as the policewoman opened the door.

  When I walked in, she closed the door and left me with her sheriff.

  “You can sit down,” he said.

  I sat down and nodded my thanks. “I need your help,” I said bluntly.

  The sheriff regarded me coolly for a minute. Then, he leaned back in his seat. “What is your name?”

  “Zack Robinson,” I replied.

  “Any relation to John Robinson?”

  “He was my father.”

  “I see,” the sheriff nodded. “That would make you… the Fallen Angels’ leader.”

  “President,” I corrected. “And yes.”

  “I didn’t realize Motorcycle clubs worked like a dynasty.”

  “They don’t,” I said. “I was elected.”

  “You must have done something to impress the men.”

  I was growing impatient. I had come here for a specific reason, and the sheriff seemed more interested in prying into my personal business. I knew that I had to be polite and patient, however, if I was going to get their help.

  “I did,” I nodded.

  The sheriff cocked his head to the side as though he were trying to figure me out with one look. “Your kind don’t usually walk into the station like this.”

  “My kind?” I asked, with raised eyebrows.

  “The outlaws and rule breakers,” the sheriff replied. “The gangs.”

  “We’re not a gang,” I said. “We’re a club.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  I knew he didn’t like me, and my instinct was to mistrust him too. But I had to stay focused and convince him to give me what I had come here for.

  “Someone has been abducted,” I said, ignoring his previous question.

  “We decided a long time ago that we were not going to involve ourselves in the affairs of the gangs in this town. You want to work by your own rules, fine, but then you don’t fall under our protection. One of you get shot, it’s not our business. One of you get killed, it’s not our business. One of you get abducted, it’s not our fucking business.”

  “Then why are so many of your men in bed with the Knights?” I dema
nded, as my anger surged to the surface.

  The sheriff sat forward. “That’s hearsay.”

  “Bullshit,” I shot at him. “It’s true. If it hadn’t been then I wouldn’t have needed to get involved in protecting Mila.”

  That got his attention.

  “Mila Mikalson,” I said. “She is a civilian… she was under your protection. When this fucker, Walter Black, tried to strangle her to death, she drugged him, got the hell out of his apartment, and came straight here to report the assault. She was questioned by one of your men; she was kept waiting for hours only to be told that Walter Black had disappeared, and nothing could be done about it.

  “She was terrified for her life, and because she was desperate she called her brother. She wasn’t even close to him, but he was part of my gang, as you call us, and she felt that if the cops couldn’t help her, then maybe we would.”

  The sheriff stared at me for a second. “Who was the cop that spoke to her?”

  “Officer Stallone,” I replied.

  The sheriff nodded. “How long has the girl been missing?”

  “She was taken two days ago,” I replied.

  I saw the sheriff’s jaw clench, and he nodded. “We’ll help you,” he nodded. “But now that we’re involved, we’re doing this my way. You need to stay calm… that means not doing anything stupid.”

  I had expected as much, but I wasn’t willing to give in to too many concessions either, nor was I willing to lie. “That depends,” I said. “On whether we find Mila or not.”

 

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Mila

  I heard the door creak open, but I no longer held my breath anymore. It felt like I had been in this room for eternity, and some of my fear had abated slightly. It took too much energy to be scared all the time.

  The old man walked in with the usual tray of food. There was three pieces of stale bread, a few pieces of meat, and a glass of water. He set it in the same place he always did and then he turned to me.

  “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

  We had a routine set up now. He would enter the room three times a day for meals. After he set the food down, he would ask me if I needed to use the bathroom, and I would nod. Then he would call in two meaty guys, both of whom were carrying guns, and one would escort me into the bathroom, while one would stand outside the door.

  The large bald man, who escorted me into the bathroom, would remove my cuffs and leave so that I could use the toilet. The door was never fully shut however, and every once in a while, one of them would peek inside to make sure I wasn’t up to anything. It was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life, but after that first day, I had grown detached from the whole experience. I no longer cared that the door was open. I no longer cared that they watched me. It didn’t matter.

  The bathroom was well and truly sealed. There were no windows and no source of natural light, much like the room I was in. It was perpetually dark, and there was only a vent in the roof that sucked up all the circulating air. I suspected that the room I was in was underground, which was why there were no windows anywhere. I was probably being held in the basement of a house in the middle of nowhere.

  When I was finished, and the moment I flushed, the big beefy bald guy would re-enter and take me back to the bed where he would attach me to the headboard once again, leaving my right hand free so that I could eat, and then they would both leave. Only the old man would remain long enough to give me a small nod before he too disappeared.

  I had refused to eat anything the first day, but hunger had got the best of me, and I realized that refusing to eat was just making me weak. I needed to keep my strength up. After that, I would even ask for more food sometimes. The old man seemed a little reluctant at first, but he always brought back more food, which told me he was making the decision on his own. I almost liked him now; he was the only face I saw with some small level of sympathy.

  “Girl?”

  “What?”

  “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

  “Oh… not now,” I said. “Maybe after I eat.”

  He nodded. “I’ll tell them,” he said, as he came forward to free my right hand.

  “Uh… I’ll eat with my left hand today,” I said.

  The old man frowned at me.

  “This is not a trick,” I said. “My wrists have been rubbed raw by those cursed cuffs, and I want to give my left hand a chance to breathe.”

  He stared at me for a second and then nodded with sympathy before releasing my left hand. I felt the sting of cuts that had formed around my wrist, but I tried to detach myself from the pain.

  “My name is Mila by the way,” I told him.

  He turned around and nodded.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, realizing that he wasn’t going to return the favor and tell me his name.

  He paused for a moment, wondering if he should be sharing that information with me. “Steven,” he replied, at last. And I realized he was only telling me his name because he was sure I wouldn’t make it out of this alive. The thought made me sad rather than scared, and I wondered if there was such a thing as preparing yourself to be murdered.

  “Steven,” I replied. “Why are you doing all this?”

  “It’s my job,” he said shortly.

  “Your job?” I repeated. “He pays you to keep women hostage so that he can torture and kill them later?”

  Steven looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I do what I’m told,” he said. “I’m paid to look after the house and whatever else I’m asked to do.”

  “Does he pay you enough?” I asked.

  Steven paused again. “It’s enough to support my wife, my daughter, and her kids.”

  “You’re a grandfather,” I said.

  “I have two grandchildren: a girl and a boy.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Betsy and little Steve.”

  I smiled. “Your daughter named her son after you.”

  “Yes,” Steven nodded. “It was before the accident.”

  “What accident?”

  “She was involved in a car crash,” Steven told me. “It left her paralyzed from the waist down. She lost most of the function in her arms too, and she can’t speak very well. My wife and I… we take care of her and her kids. Betsy is five and Stevie is three.”

  I felt my heart go out to him, and suddenly I couldn’t hate him anymore, nor could I judge him anymore for doing what he was doing. He was just another victim. Walter had chosen him because Steven couldn’t afford to say no. He was a desperate man with a family to feed, and so his loyalty would always be absolute because he counted on the money he got from Walter every month. He would protect Walter because he had to, not because he wanted to.

  I nodded. “Thanks for talking to me,” I said.

  Steven nodded and walked out of the room. I lay there, with my hands aching and my heart on fire, and wondered what I was going to do. My resolve felt weak. The fight had gone out of me somewhat. Every hour I spent in this room felt like a defeat, and I wondered if I was just going to waste away within these four walls.

  An hour after I had eaten, I heard footsteps again, and I figured Steven was back to collect my empty tray and ask if I wanted to use the bathroom. But when the door opened, it wasn’t Steven who walked into the room. It was the man who had haunted my nightmares for the last several months. He looked just as I remembered him: tall, powerful, and extremely dangerous.

  He was wearing a sinister smile, and I felt my fear come rushing back to encapsulate my body. He walked into the room alone and slammed the door. It was just the two of us, and instinct told me to scream, but I clamped my mouth shut. Screaming was pointless… no one could hear me. At least no one who could help me would be able to hear me.

  “Well, well,” Walter said, and the sound of his voice made my skin crawl. “Mila… we meet again.”

  “Walter,” I said, trying to make my tone ice. I didn’t want him to sense or see fe
ar. I wondered if he could smell it on me.

  “That was never my name.”

  “It’s the name I know you by,” I replied. “You’ll always be Walter to me.”

  “How romantic.”

  “Is that how it sounded to you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “Strange.”

  He looked at curiously, as though he was surprised by how I was reacting to him. I knew instantly that he had expected a quaking, quivering woman who was scared shitless and ready to beg for her life. Instead, he had me chained to a bed, staring at him defiantly, and refusing to turn from his gaze. I wasn’t nearly as confident as I looked or sounded, but my pride was the one thing still left to me, and I was going to cling to it until my last breath.

  “You’re different,” he said, as he walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  I moved my feet so that there were still a few inches separating us. I didn’t want him to touch me, and for the moment, he didn’t make an attempt to.

  “Am I?”

  “You’re not as… docile as I remember.”

  “Docile?” I repeated. “That’s a word people use to describe animals.”

  “I don’t see much of a distinction here,” Walter shrugged. “We’re all just animals at the end of the day, aren’t we?”

  “Some more than others,” I bit back.

  He smiled, and something about that smile told me he was impressed by my biting tone.

  “You look different too,” he said.

  I just bit my lip and stayed silent. I hated this; what was the point of unimportant small talk? He had abducted me and kept me as his prisoner for three days. Now he expected to walk in and have a conversation with me. It struck me that a psychopath had very little logic governing his behavior. It was all about dominance and power. It was all about control.

  “What the fuck do you want with me?” I demanded, cutting to the chase.

  He paused for a moment, and though the smile stayed on his face, I saw a flash of anger flit through his eyes. So there was a line then. He enjoyed my attitude to an extent, but he didn’t like me talking back to him or being overly rude.