by Zahra Girard
Still, I’m aching to get a glimpse of her so I can see if she looks as good in real life as she does in her driver’s license photo. Odds are pretty fucking good she’ll look even better.
It’s not too long before a taxi comes barreling around the corner and stops in front of her place. The back passenger-side door flies open and she gets out on shaky legs. Legs that even from here I can see are long, toned, and lead up to a plump ass that makes my cock as hard as a rock.
Emma staggers past the old VW van in her driveway and towards the door to her place as the taxi pulls away, her flame-red hair tossing wildly behind her with each drunken step.
God damn, she is a smokeshow.
She fumbles for her keys and I remind myself of my orders: report in to Creole, and then, together, the three of us will interrogate her.
She disappears inside as I reach for my phone, then just as quickly I put it away.
Around the corner slinks a black lowrider sedan. An old 1970’s Cadillac. Slow and steady it heads right for her place and comes to a stop in her driveway.
A man gets out from the driver’s side.
Trouble.
I shove the phone back in my pocket as he pulls a gun from his pocket and kicks in her door.
Adrenaline floods my body.
I race forward.
Emma needs me.
If I don’t get there, she’s going to die.
Chapter Five
Emma
My door explodes in, flying back on its hinges and hitting the wall with a crash.
I scream.
And I do the first thing that comes to mind — I hurl my cup of steaming hot chamomile tea at the man who charges straight at me through the gaping opening that used to be my front door.
The hot tea hits him, spilling everywhere.
He screams, too.
“I was going to kill you quick, bitch, but not anymore.”
But I’m already on the run to my kitchen. I always keep a knife in easy reach. My ex and all his unannounced visits taught me to be prepared.
This guy picked the wrong woman to mess with.
My fingers grip the handle and I feel a little more confidence. Enough confidence that I can turn around and look at the man who’s after me. I know I can’t stop him, but maybe I can hurt him enough to convince him I’m not worth it.
He stalks from my living room and stands in the entrance to my kitchen, gun raised and pointed at me. Steam rises from his black ski-mask where I’d hit him earlier with the tea.
“On your knees.”
I’ve heard that line before, too. I know where it leads.
I hold my knife out toward him and start edging backward. The other exit from my kitchen opens into a hallway that leads to my bedroom and my bathroom. There’s a window in there that’s just large enough that maybe I can crawl out it.
It’s risky, and I’ll probably get shot, but anything beats getting on my knees for this asshole.
I get two small steps backward before he aims the gun at my abdomen.
“Bitch, you have a choice: get on your knees and I do this job quick, or I can shoot you in the gut and then, when you fall the fuck over spraying blood everywhere, I can put a bullet in every fucking one of your limbs before I finish you off. Choose.”
I freeze and look right at him.
I can feel my eyes get huge while my brain races for something — anything — to do.
But I’m all out of options. I’m fucked.
“Fine,” I say.
I set the knife on the counter next to me and start to lower myself to my knees.
The intruder’s eyes flare wider under his mask and his chest rises and falls with excitement.
At least this should be quick.
He takes a step forward and I can feel the weight of the gun on my forehead.
I tense.
I shut my eyes.
There’s a roar and bone-shaking thud and the sound of something heavy crashing into my cabinets. Cutlery and dishes clatter and spill out of cabinets and drawers. The weight of the pistol against my forehead disappears.
My eyes snap open again.
The intruder is locked up with someone else, a man dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, a man wrapped in tattoos and corded with muscle. A patch of a skull with wings and the words “Rebel Riders MC” dominates the back of his jacket.
What in the fuck is happening?
Am I so popular that now I have people fighting for the right to kill me?
The man in the Rebel Rider cut has both his hands locked around the wrist of the intruder and he rams it, again and again, into my kitchen counter until the gun goes flying. As soon as the gun’s in the air, he takes a short step back, just enough to create distance, and raises his hands like a boxer.
Then he unloads on the other man.
Left after right after left, blistering fists smashing into the other man’s face and body, like the man in the ski mask is nothing more than a punching bag. He grunts with each punch, like some kind of animal defending its territory.
It’s bestial and terrifying.
And hot as hell. Watching this biker utterly dominate the man who was going to kill me.
I feel myself flush, I feel heat blossom in my cheeks and between my legs.
I’m scared witless, and more turned on than I’ve been in a long time.
Get it together, Emma. This is not the time.
The man in the ski mask staggers back and grabs onto my fridge for support. With his other hand, he snatches my knife off the counter and steps back to a safe distance.
The man in the Rebel Riders jacket cocks his head to the side.
“You know that’s not going to help you, right? You’re still going to get an ass-whoopin.”
“Back the fuck off,” the guy in the ski mask shouts. “This doesn’t involve you.”
“You were going to hurt her. You made it my business to come in here and kick your fucking ass.”
My heart leaps in my chest as the guy with the knife lunges forward and the Rebel Rider steps sideways so quick it’s almost a blur. His hands come cracking up with enough force to snap the intruder’s head backward. The intruder slashes again and misses and gets an uppercut to the chin. His eyes are wild and wide as he backs away from the Rebel Rider and retreats towards the living room, holding the knife out to try and keep some distance between himself and the other man.
The Rebel Rider positions himself between me and the intruder and then starts to advance toward the other man. He clearly doesn’t give a shit what kind of weapon’s in this guys hands, he’s walking like it’s predetermined that he’s going to beat this man into a pulp.
I start to stand up and he puts a hand out toward me and motions towards the floor.
“Hey, just stay down for a second, okay Emma? This isn’t a good time for you to be standing or getting involved. Let me take care of this.”
“You know his gun is right over there, right?” I say, pointing and surprising myself with the fact that I can actually speak right now.
“Yeah, but this way’s more fun.”
Keeping his hands up, he advances on the other guy. The knife slashes and he answers with a heavy hand to the other man’s gut that makes him lose his grip on the knife. The two of them lock up like animals, pummeling each other and slamming into my living room as they each try to beat the life from one another.
They fall to the floor in a heap. Each man locked tight to the other and struggling for top position.
Breathless, I edge forward for a closer look.
The Rebel Rider has blood dripping from his nose and it looks like it might be broken. There’s blood all over his fists, there’s a cut across his face, but he’s grinning as fights his way to top position. With one knee planted firm on the intruder’s chest, he blasts the other man time and again until the ski mask darkens with blood and the man goes limp.
I move closer.
And I stare.
Awe and fea
r and attraction all swirl around inside me as my mind boggles with the problem of coming to grips with what the hell just happened.
I only know three things about this man in front of me. First, he just nearly killed a man to save me, which is both terrifying and flattering. Second, he’d be pretty fucking handsome if he weren’t bloody — and even though he is bloody and sweaty, he’s still hot in a different kind of way. And, third, despite the fact that he did just save my life, the tattoos all over his body and the patches on his leather jacket tell me that he is very bad news and I should stay the fuck away from him no matter how attracted to him I am.
I ran away from the MC life for a reason.
Muscular chest heaving with exertion, and wearing a cocky smile that brings out the dimples in his cheeks, he stands up and steps towards me, extending one hand.
“Emma, my name’s Riot. We don’t have much time – if you want to live, you’ll grab your things and come with me.”
Chapter Six
Riot
She stares at my hand for a second, still looking so frightened that it takes everything I can do to fight back the protective urge to wrap her in my arms. She’s wearing just a basic v-neck t-shirt and jeans, but I swear to God she’s the prettiest damn woman I’ve ever seen.
I want to pull her close, feel her perky tits against my chest as she clutches me tight, and hear a sigh of relief leave her full lips as she feels her fears leave her body.
She shakes her head.
“No. Hell no,” she says, then her eyes dart to the unconscious guy on her floor. “I mean, thank you — I guess — for nearly killing that guy on my living room floor and for making a mess of my apartment, but I’m going to have to ask you to please get the fuck out of my home.”
I put my hand down. “I can’t do that. You don’t think that guy down there is the only person that’s out to kill you, do you? Whoever’s after you could have someone else on the way right now.”
“How do I know you’re not going to kill me?”
“Why would I save your life just to kill you?”
“I don’t know, I’m not the murdering type, I don’t know how you people think.”
“You know, my parents raised me right, taught me to show respect to a woman — especially in her own fucking home — but you’re pushing it right now. I’m here to help. Now come on, get your stuff, and follow me.”
She looks around her apartment and then her wild green eyes settle back on me. “Do you see what you’ve done to my place? There’s blood everywhere, most of my furniture’s ruined, thank fucking God you didn’t ruin my laptop because then I’d really be screwed, but, as it is, there’s no way in hell I’m getting my deposit back on this place.”
“You’re worried about your deposit? Money? When someone’s trying to kill you?”
“This place is the first place I’ve had to call my own in a long, long time. Take a look around, take a look at my neighborhood, do you think I have a lot of money? This shithole apartment is my first real opportunity for a normal fucking life and look what you’ve done to it,” she almost shouts at me. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
The troubled, desperate look on her face spurs me to take another step towards her. I have this irresistible urge to pull lithe, pale body to mine, to do something, anything, to chase her troubles away. I want to see a smile on that freckled face, not this abject fear and anger.
Her eyes flash as I move and, quick as hell, she darts back into the kitchen and grabs the gun from the floor.
“Stay where you are. You make another move and I’ll shoot you.”
“I’m trying to help you, and you’re making this really fucking difficult. Keep testing me. See what happens.”
“Oh, right. Sure. I’ve known plenty of guys like you. They pretend to be great just to get you under their thumb, and then, as soon as they don’t get their way, you get to see how violent and angry they can really be. Fuck no, I’m not going with you.”
Why the hell is she making this so damn difficult? Does she want to get herself killed?
“Emma, there’s not a man out there like me,” I say. “And right now, I’m the only one even on your side. You need me.”
“I’m on my own side. That’s all I’ve needed then, and that’s all I need now. And don’t go saying my name like you know who I am, or like we’re friends.”
Her upper lip is sticking out in a way that’s both defiant and makes my cock swell in my jeans. This gal is blessed with the fullest lips I’ve ever seen. “Fine, Red. But if you had any sense, you’d listen to me. You’re in way over your head. You need my help.”
“Don’t call me ‘Red’, either.”
“It’s ‘Red’ or ‘Emma’. Take your pick.”
“Neither. You’re impossible. Go away.”
“I’m here to help you. You can come with me willingly, or I can take you. Pick.”
“Like I’m supposed to expect that the biker who just broke into my house and nearly killed someone in my living room is a Good Samaritan.”
I frown. “Good Samaritan? Hell no, I’ve never even heard of that MC. I’m with the Rebel Riders. It’s on my fucking cut, see?”
“Oh Jesus,” Red mutters, running her hand across her freckled forehead.
“If you want to live, you’ll come with me. I can take you somewhere safe and we can figure a way to get you out of this mess.” I shouldn’t be telling her this. My orders are clear — I’m supposed to get the information we need from her to figure out who the hell killed our men at the port and then I’m to make sure she’s shut up permanently. But there’s no way I’m going to let anyone hurt her. And the little lie that I tell her is worth it just to see the second of relief that flashes across her face. Holy shit, she is beautiful. “There are several other guys from my MC not far from here. We’re more than enough to keep you safe.”
Mentioning the others in my MC seems to be a mistake. She flinches and takes another step back. “No, I’m not going down that path again. You haven’t even told me why it is you’re doing this.”
I answer without hesitating. “I’m doing this because the idea of someone hurting you makes my blood boil. Plain and simple. I’m not a good man, Red, but right now, I’m the kind of man you need.”
She keeps her gun trained on me while she grabs her laptop — which is the newest, nicest looking thing in her beat-up apartment — and then turns and heads back through the kitchen, down the hallway to her bedroom.
I follow, because what the hell else am I going to do? Let her just leave? She’s going to get herself killed with her stubbornness.
“Where are you going to go?” I say as I follow her down the hallway.
She pulls a duffel from her closet and starts packing clothes. She moves with practice, like she’s done this countless times before.
“That’s not your concern.”
“Are you going to crash at a friend’s? Do you have somewhere safe to go?”
“I told you, just leave it alone.”
“I’m not going to do that. You need people you can count on.”
“What part about the word ‘leave’ do you not understand?”
“The other night you witnessed a murder. Tonight, someone just tried to kill you. This isn’t going to get any easier. You can’t just up and run from this.”
“Why not? It’s worked before. I’m pretty fucking good at leaving crazy shit like this behind me.”
I can’t even wrap my head around running the way she seems so comfortable doing. Leaving everything behind. Going without friends, without family. It’s fucking crazy.
“Who the hell taught you to run like that?”
She stuffs a handful of lacy panties into her duffel. They’re distracting little things, barely more than a couple threads, and seeing them makes my cock as hard as steel.
“Men just like you.”
She says it with so much venom and anger, it makes me pause.
She’s been hurt before.
<
br /> And whoever hurt her, hurt her bad. As much as I want to keep her close to me, it’d be like trying to hold a wild animal. She’s more likely to bite me than she is to calm down.
I hold up my hands and take a step back.
“Okay, you win. I’ll let you go.”
A frown creases her forehead. She’s unsure. “You will?”
“Yeah. Look, I don’t feel like carrying you kicking and screaming,” I say, though it actually sounds like a good time, and my cock throbs in my jeans thinking about her muffled screams coming from my bed. “If you think you can run, fine. Even though I think it’s a stupid idea, because you’ve got me, my MC, some crooked cops, and that guy in your living room – plus whatever the fuck gang he belongs to — after you. Someone’s going to catch you and, I promise you, you’ll have a much better time with me than anyone else. I just want to know what you saw the other night. Those other guys? They want to kill you.”
She zips up her bag and looks at me a second, considering.
For once, she doesn’t look like she totally hates my guts. I like that look on her.
“Look, I appreciate the honesty, and thank you for stopping that guy, but I can’t go with you. I can’t. I don’t expect you to understand. I just want to stay out of this mess and live a normal fucking life for once. Okay?”
I shrug. “Fine. I get it. You go, do what you have to do.”
Her mouth gapes in surprise and I picture the sweet thought of filling that ‘oh’ shape her lips are making with my cock.
“Thank you.”
She grabs her laptop in one hand, her duffel in the other, and heads down the hallway to her front door. I watch her walk away, her ass moving hypnotically in her tight jeans.
I give her a minute head start, listening for the start of the shitty VW van’s engine and the sound of squeaky brakes and worn out shocks creaking their way out of her driveway. Then I head out myself.
My bike is parked just down the block and I jog the rest of the way and then hop on it, fire it up, and take off down the road in pursuit.
No way in hell I’m actually letting her get away.
