by V. Theia
Over the last couple of days, she'd told him she could take care of herself. And to an extent he believed she could after the horror he was imagining she'd endured. She was like a shadow around his club, primarily sticking to the parameters of his room, never talking to anyone else. Rider was beginning to worry she was making a prisoner of herself and pondered what he could do to pull her back.
For four nights, he'd slept on his own bedroom floor, she hardly said a word to him save for saying yes or no if he asked if she wanted food. As it had for the past days thinking of her hiding stung his chest.
Rider brooded for a while, long after the local law had taken themselves off his property. With the gates locked behind them, he sat in the cold office, giving some thought to his Zara situation.
He was knee-deep that he didn't hear approaching feet.
"Everything good, Prez?" Asked Texas framed in the doorway after he'd rapped his knuckles on the frame to grab Rider's far-away attention, his cut worn tight to his white pristine long sleeved shirt and copper toned tie.
If Rider looked closer he'd see the tie had one of those fancy knots Texas liked best, what did he call it again? Something British or other.
It was more at home at a tea party than an outlaws MC, but somehow Texas fit like a glove.
Of all outlaws, Texas was antithetical to the rest of Rider's crew in every way possible, except the ones that counted. Namely loyalty and brotherhood. The guy was club-faithful to a fault, when Rider had needed a money man there Texas was with his immaculately cut hair, manicured nails and a well-spoken voice offering his services for a trial period, a savior in among the dirt and with some deep down shoveling he'd dug the club out of a shithole. He’d been patched in four months later. Rider would always give the guy the same kind of loyalty.
He looked up. "Hey, man. Yeah, now we got rid of the eyes from the compound. They poke into anything inside?"
"Not a thing, though I stressed loud enough that they hadn't produced a warrant of any sort to be searching and touching. Timmons' boy, that young thing Barry? No, Larry the lamb tried to puff his chest at Hawk, you can guess how that went. I think the boy defecated himself right there in the common room. He got out of there real quick." A grin split Texas' face.
Rider laughed, rising to his feet, he'd had enough of this freezer box and enough of brooding.
"Hawk's got that kinda face. We'll keep a low profile for a few days, Grinder's ridin' the tailcoats of a few contacts he has closer to Westbank, he'll let us know if the sheriff begins to look at us again. I pissed Charlie off enough to have him thinkin' he'd insulted the club, should have the good church boy turned around for a while."
"You sure we can't use him, Prez? It would be nice to have an insider sometimes, for this kind of situation, luckily this time we were prepared beforehand."
Leaving the office door ajar, not as though the weather could make the cabin any colder, Rider strode in step with his money man, sharing a look with him. His fingers flexed as he flicked his index finger over his thumb ring, moving the black metal around.
Cops were buzzing around his place like mosquitos waiting to suck his blood dry, he was sure the ATF still had eyes on some of the other chapters, maybe here, too, a good ten years ago, when his uncle was running the MC into the ground they'd had a hard-on to pin shit on them. So, with all that, the last thing Rider should be thinking about was a sweet-as-candy girl.
Her scent was all over his room now, she left clothes on the chair, her toiletries were scattered on the bathroom counter, and he was instantly hard every time he stepped into the shower knowing they were sharing soap.
Turned on by soap. Fucks sake.
He pushed the troubling thoughts aside before he sported wood.
"Thought about it a while back, but nah. Not that I think Timmons would go for it, the man bakes crap for the fuckin' church." he chuckled darkly, his steps drawing him closer to the clubhouse.
To where Zara was. His body stirred. "We're outlaws, Tex, we don't climb into bed with the law, not if we can help it, and I'd kinda sleep with Hawk first."
"Unless she's a five foot eleven leggy bit of a blonde cop with a giving mouth, Prez. Then all bets are off because I believe my pants would just fall off."
He believed. Rider barreled a deep laugh cuffing his treasurer around the back of the neck in a bro-affection way as he laughed as well. Only Texas would talk of boning a lady-cop with the manners of a Prince.
"Funny fucker."
"That’s better than ugly fucker. Are you joining us? we have a few pool bets going with the prospects, they've got no idea what kind of hustler Snake is, one of his lady friends has stopped by as well, she's entertaining if you like half-naked drunk girls whose giggle sounds like a braying donkey. I'm already up seventy dollars. Schmucks keep laying down the cash like big-shots, I'm going to keep taking it from them. Teaching the kids, a lesson."
After an unscheduled visit from the local law upholders Rider would have happily sunk a few drinks with his brothers to unwind, but not today, not when his skin itched.
He punched in the key code to get inside, Tex followed behind and gave an ahh to Rider's silence.
He cocked his head, brow raised in question. "You'll be looking for the girl then? What's happening there, are you claiming her?"
"What makes you ask that?" Curious, he wanted to know. Was his boner for her clear to all his brothers then he thought? He hadn't made his protection towards her a secret.
"She's in your room, Rider. We don't see her unless she's trailing behind you when it's mealtimes, when you're not here she's hidden away in your room again. It doesn't take much to reason you’re... Well ... you know."
Rider scrubbed his nape, let out a long breath. Yeah, he was you know alright. "It's not like that." he wished, but too soon was a saying for a reason.
Zara had baggage he didn't think she could ever drop. "But I'm about to do something about this hiding shit. Catch ya later, man."
Texas laughed, wished him luck. Luck had nothing to do with it.
His Icy needed to hear a few truths from him.
CHAPTER TEN
“Get to know your man, baby...” – Rider
Okay. Fine. Zara admitted something deep and dark to the surrounding walls and her own rampant thoughts; she was finding Rider and his attention incredibly attractive.
There, it was out in the open, she allowed herself to think it.
Having panicked this morning on waking to find Rider still asleep on the recliner chair, the blanket slid low on his waist, to show the happy trail of hair leading down the hardest naked belly and beyond. It had sent her thoughts spiraling. Happening so sudden it took her breath, drying her throat, rendering her a little dumb.
One minute she was yawning, tending fingers to her eye, noticing the swelling was less today, thinking about having jelly and toast, and then she happened to catch the sight of him after doing such a good job of overlooking the huge guy who seemed to always be there when she turned around.
Attraction. Bam! right between her legs, heat, and a throbbing pulse.
There it was then, she groaned as if she'd been expecting it any day now, inevitable really, she knew all about Stockholm syndrome and the like, and what with the connection she felt to him, her only anchor in a storm, he’d been the calmness she'd needed.
Four days after he'd played Batman, bringing her into the light, she was feeling all kinds of grateful feelings and was confusing it with something sexual.
Liar. Her conscience spoke.
Liar, liar, pants on fire. I like him. I want him and I know he wants me.
As a thief would with a bag full of diamonds, she'd crept out of his bed and his room after wordlessly pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a simple tank top and gotten out of there undetected, it was the only decent thing to do while she was so confused about...everything.
She didn't want Rider.
She couldn't. Broken.
It was...
It was lust she didn't trust. Misplaced feelings and confusion were a disaster in the making.
Who would have lust on their mind at a time like this? it wasn't a romance book for god’s sake. And she was no fair maiden to fall for the hardened hero.
Her life was a little more flawed that no happily ever after could fix. Besides, she didn't have the heaving bosom to carry off that role.
So, doing the only thing she could, she went about the day avoiding anyone in leather and denim, and especially Rider.
It was cathartic letting her legs fly even if she wasn’t very good at long distance running, limbs too gangly, bruised ribs meant having to stop every few minutes to catch her breath, man, athletes made it look so easy.
On and on she hit her feet against the electronic black belt trying to beat a self-imposed stop-watch only she could hear ticking down in her mind.
Her father the high-powered Boston lawyer would say competition with oneself was unproductive and unnecessary if you had no one to best. Thanks, Dad.
However, she ran, stretching every muscle until they all burned equally. Her arms ached, her legs throbbed, she had a stitch pinching in her side, and she felt fantastic.
Sweat trickled into her eyes, she’d tied her hair up into a messy ponytail never considering she’d see anyone, after all, the three days she’d used the makeshift gym within the compound basement no one else had ventured down there. Hey, maybe the bikers were avoiding her, too, she reflected.
Zara stayed away from the sets of weights and lifting benches, there was no use for the chest press or the dumb-bells, but she'd given the treadmill a try once she'd figured how to turn it on and get it to a decent speed where she hadn't pitched off backward on the first try at running.
That had been embarrassing.
The quiet was welcomed to her mind, it allowed Zara to think, because, for all her success at being an ostrich with her nose buried in the dirt, she seriously needed to have a game plan set out soon, it wasn't as though she could stay at the Renegade Souls MC indefinitely.
Could that be her plan of action?
As far as she knew, and it went for most motorcycle clubs (not gangs) they didn't patch in women and she was not so good at spitting and drinking beer by the case anyway.
She'd be a pitiful outlaw, she judged on her third km.
Every muscle hurt, she was sweating profusely, her shirt clinging to her back, but Zara didn't care about her unappealing lack of vanity.
She was blissfully alone.
Until she wasn’t.
She smelled his approach long before his boots appeared in her peripheral. There was something so clean and masculine about Rider, as though he bathed in Eau-de-bad-ass biker.
A scent so uniquely his she had often dreamed she could smell him.
So attractive it sent her senses into a riot, it was impossible not to soak the man in, he was a magnet for her eyes and any woman’s in his radius.
There he stood, a wicked smile on his mouth, long muscular arms hanging casually at his sides, boots braced, the outlaw was gorgeous.
The fluorescent bulbs up above gave a glossy effect to his arm tattoo, wishing she could look closer at it, she did the complete opposite and basically, Zara ignored his very presence pretending he wasn’t stood there watching.
Never stopping her incline on the treadmill, though her body was begging her to stop, for the love of god, please stop.
If he had something to say --- and he obviously did, why else would he track her down in his gym when she was doing a good job of staying out of everyone's way --- then he could just get on with it while she got her km in.
It didn't take him long. In his rich whiskey, deep timber, he asked.
"What you runnin' from, baby?"
The baby startled her.
Without looking at him she replied. Zara hated looking at him for longer than a second because the sight of him did something syrupy to her core and she refused to go there ever again.
"If you haven't noticed, this is a treadmill, it's stationary. I’d be surprised if it took me anywhere.”
Since his stare was disturbing, she hit the speed button to crank down a few sets, her feet slowing to a steadier pace, less chance falling flat on her face from a biker distraction.
Thank you. Thank you, her aching legs screamed.
Because, dammit, Rider was accurate in his observation, she was attempting to outrun herself. Mister know-it-all.
She huffed and carried on, snubbing the tall beautiful man quite unashamed watching her. She could effectively feel the rake of his eyes touching all over her body.
Only now was she conscious of her lacking appearance taking stock of the sweat making strands of hair cling to her neck, not to mention the see-through shirt show she was putting on.
Oh, great. That was the flustered nail in the running coffin.
She slowed the machine until it rolled to a complete stop, heaving breath, she stood with her legs braced on either side.
"You wanna talk about it yet?" His voice steady, she heard rather than saw him move closer.
"What's to talk about? Unless I've done something wrong?" A visit from the president... what MC rule had she violated? None as far as she could recollect.
What happened in an MC stayed in an MC, well that edict was fine and unbroken since she hadn't spoken to a Souls member all week.
His movements were that of a great panther as he prowled around the treadmill, for a second he disappeared from her sight and she longed to swerve around to follow him with her gaze, the prey must never turn their back on a predator and Zara made no mistake in thinking Rider was anything other than a great predator.
King of his jungle.
Then he was back in her eye-line, stood directly in front of her.
Tall. Powerful. Overwhelming.
Making her sweat more than the running had.
"You tell me," two thumbs hooked into the waist of his jeans, he looked like one of those rakish models you saw in a special edition of GQ magazine when they did rough countrymen month. Zara's mouth dried and she wrenched her eyes away, using the excuse of stretching out her cramped legs to avoid looking in his general gorgeous atmosphere.
The man was just too much. Did he realize it?
Four days, she reminded herself.
Lust didn't come with a time limit, except and only when you were a fucking kidnapped hostage mere days ago.
She couldn’t think this way.
Giving her calf a good rub she heard Rider curse blister the air.
"You can either talk to me or I'ma stand right here and enjoy the sight of you bent over showing me your ass, Icy. Good with me."
Gasping, she was upright in seconds, whirling to glare at him, her cheeks stained and sure enough, he was grinning wickedly, his eyes somewhere south of her body.
"You're a pervert!" she accused. Only his grin spread a little bigger showing even white teeth.
"Yup. But that's not the topic right now. You’ve been hidin’ baby, and I gave you a few days to do that, now you gotta stop that shit before it pisses me off. I told you no one is hurtin’ you here, didn’t I? You’re cowerin’ in my room ----”
“Because you won’t give me my own room!” she burst out.
“----- and I let it go, said nothin’, waited for you to come out on your own, but here you are, lurkin' again. It ain’t gonna work for me, baby.” she noticed he conveniently ignored her statement.
Oh, that made her mad!
“What's going on, Rider? I thought you were running an MC, not a counseling service. I'm fine. Don't buy into women always being fragile bitches who need a man to slay dragons.” Her insides were shaking clenched tight.
“I'm no one's victim now or then. And I wasn’t hiding anywhere, I was staying out of the way, I don’t know anyone, excuse me for trying to be courteous in the face of your assistance. Besides, I thought you’d want me to stay out of the way, don’t want me breaking all the MC rules or whatever. " She pause
d.
The last person she wanted to see her as weak was him, but it was how she felt. She’d put on so much face these last few days she was exhausted from the pretense.
His shrewd silent stare accused her of lying like he saw through her mask and felt sorry for her. It only caused her spine to tighten, needing to prove to him she was okay.
"I’m fine, not hiding. I did what I had to do to survive. It's been a difficult few days if you didn’t notice. I’m acclimatizing. No one gives you a helping hand, you either take that breath alone or you fucking die. That’s not hiding … just ... look at me, Mister President, do I look dead to you?"
Brave words for a liar, she cited silently but maintained her chin up, held the focus of his eyes. She wished she could read what was on his mind.
She’d completely underestimated the effect Rider had on her.
Four days...a reminder that it couldn't be anything else.
It was gratitude to the guy, that was all it was.
"No. You're too pissy to be dead, but that's good to know. I'm fuckin' glad you survived, baby. Don't care what you had to do to get through that, just glad you're here now. And I'll tell ya. You ever want to quit hidin’ and let me in on what went down those three years, I'll listen. You don't have to be a victim to want to talk to someone about that shit. Far as you're concerned, I’m whatever you need me to be. Counseling service included. If you want me to say it plainer than that, you need me, ever, you come to me."
Zara’s entire body deflated like a lead balloon. Why did he have to go and say something sweet?
She was momentarily stunned by his sweetness, the sincerity on his sharp face, and unwavering eyes tracing over her face, waiting patiently for her to fill in the silence, that churn of nerves felt like butterflies fluttering inside her belly, swelling into heat and-----
Don't fall for pretty words ... until she remembered, with punched clarity, her eyes blanking out, men said what they thought you wanted to hear, to get into your pants anyway they could.
Rider might not use his fists, or force, but he was still a man, her conscious warned, self-preservation in full attack, a man who was looking at her with want in those piercing depths of blue.
