When all of this is over, I'm probably going to need massive amounts of therapy. Still, I can't help the way my heart lurches when I look at him. I…
I notice Flint and Ana exchange glances, and I retract my hand quickly.
"Why don't we all go back downstairs and grab a bite to eat?" Ana suggests. "Maybe order out for pizza?"
"Clearly, you've never tried to call for takeout while you were living out here," Flint replies as the three of us exit the room and close the door behind us. "The property the Clubhouse sits on is purposefully isolated. Some of the delivery boys we've sent for have never been heard from again."
I can't tell if Flint is joking about this, but I think he is. He's almost as much a master of his expression as Lesher is, but an occasional twinkling in his dark eyes gives him away.
"You're billionaires!" Ana exclaims, throwing her hands up. "Can't you have pizza flown in straight from Italy? Better yet, why don't you spend a little money and hire a live-in chef? You know, put a little back into the economy that helped make you? And maybe don't, I don't know, rob banks?"
"I do not rob banks," Flint says curtly. "Although clearly the number of Barons who can claim that are fast dwindling."
We descend the stairs together. I'm surprised to find that the front door is open; I attempt to look between my two new acquaintances for confirmation that this is strange, when a voice calls to us from the kitchen:
"Damn! Someone needs a shower!" a man's handsome voice laughs, and I blush when I realize he's talking about me. Flint and Ana had made my mess seem so natural, so unimportant, that I had almost completely forgotten about how I must look. It's all I can do to resist running to a mirror now and trying to bring some semblance of order to my personal chaos. It's as if the moment Lesher whisked me out of stuffy job at the bank, I lost all interest in maintaining my equally stuffy appearance.
Not to say that pine needles and motor oil, alpine dirt and engine soot, are an improvement.
"Wolf." Flint says what I can only assume is a name, and not some indication that we've been invaded by real wolves. He sounds instantly tired, but maybe I am just drawing an unfair comparison between his sedated way of talking and the clear exuberance of the Clubhouse's most recent visitor.
The man we find in the kitchen is as starkly different from the two preceding Robber Barons I've met as Flint is from Lesher. He must be older than I am by a few years, but he appears somehow boyishly youthful compared to the laconic, calculating Lesher and the road-hardened Flint.
That's not to say there is anything all that boyish about him. He stands an easy six foot in the kitchen, and holds his leanly-muscled frame at complete ease, as if there is nothing more relaxing than simply being himself. He has tousled brown hair that curls willy-nilly around his ears and stands up from his head, but it isn't a completely untidy look; if anything, it arouses immediate ideas of what he must look like rolling out of bed in the morning after a night spent in the company of a naked woman. I blush privately at this assessment. It's possible that all of the adrenaline I've been forced to deal with in the past forty-eight hours is responsible for my increasingly dirty thoughts.
The stubble that shadows his jaw isn't nearly as dark or neatly trimmed as Flint's, which contributes to his immediate impression of boyish charm. There is a bandana, or some sort of scarf, tied around his neck, with the halved cloth hanging in a triangle down his front. I can clearly see what appears to be the lower half of a grinning skull printed on the fabric.
Gray eyes sparkle as they take in the fact that I'm privately introducing myself to his presence inside the mansion. He lifts the drink he has made for himself in toast to my appearance. I reach up almost compulsively to try and flatten my hair.
Flint sighs. "You look fine."
"Yeah Nancy!" Ana agrees, making her voice overloud. "I think you look positively gorgeous, considering you survived a bank robbery and a night being held hostage. Play nice, Wolf. She's been through a lot."
"I can see that." The man—Wolf—lowers his drink to refill it, before nearly spitting out what he's halfway consumed. "Wait, did you say hostage? There something I should know about, Flint?"
"You're here because I sent out the message that Lesher was on the property," Flint surmises as we join Wolf at the bar. "You might want to finish that drink before I fill you in on any more details."
"No. Please. Go on," Wolf entreats. He moves out of the way so Ana can reclaim her position as bartender.
I hang back for a moment, unsure of where I factor into all this. Wolf comes around the bar to take the seat beside the one I was considering; before doing so, he pulls mine out for me. Relief floods me, and I nod. "Thank you," I say as I climb up onto the stool and resume the seat I had before.
"Not at all. Sorry about before," he says. "I'm not always the most diplomatic of my brothers." He grins at me, and I see for the first time that one of his eyeteeth is chipped. I have never witnessed an imperfection so well suited to the man who wears it. Strangely, its loss gives him an even more wolfish look than his roguishly unkempt appearance.
Flint relates the story of how Lesher and I have come to be here, in far fewer words than I had managed. Listening to my account told by someone other than me puts it in stark perspective. Wolf is soon looking to me with pity, and maybe even a little protective anger, in his eyes. It warms me to think that a person I just met would be so concerned for my well-being. My coworkers certainly hadn't been.
"It's not as bad as it sounds," I mention once Flint concludes. Ana passes me another drink across the table, and I hold onto it to anchor me, tightening my hand even as I keep the glass solidly in place on the counter in front of me. "I think... I know there's more to it now then Lesher just going on a spree."
"He's suicidal," Wolf remarks. "Probably. Tangling with the wrong cops is a real good way to get yourself killed."
"And what would you know about tangling with cops?" Ana interjects.
Wolf grins and raises his glass in another silent toast. "You're right. Can't say I know from personal experience. I'm a stunt driver," he explains to me. "Been tearing up the Pacific Coast Highway for almost going on two years now. They haven't caught me yet."
"Even though Wolf totally wants to be caught," Ana tells me. "By a certain lady cop, specifically. Too bad she's not into tangling with you, Wolf."
Wolf's smile fades, until he looks absolutely crestfallen sitting beside me. Maybe I've had one too many drinks already, but I reach over to pat his arm in a show of comfort. It's only moments later that I realize his wounded expression at Ana's words was probably a continuation of the act.
"So what now?" Wolf asks as he leans back in his chair.
"We wait for the others," Flint responds. "Didn't think you'd be in the area, so that saves us time. Dash and Bentley should be arriving in the next twenty-four hours."
"I haven't met them yet," Ana stage whispers across the counter to me. Again, I feel comforted by the words of a stranger. I'm not totally alone in my newness to the RBMC fold.
"And we wait for Lesher to wake up," I add.
"Whatever happens, Nancy, I can promise you that we'll get you home," Flint tells me. "It might not be right away, and there will probably be a Non-Disclosure Agreement. Sorry if that sounds heartless," he adds as Ana gently punches his shoulder. "The Robber Barons aren't exactly a public organization. If news of our existence broke, much less news that one of our members was involved in a robbery and warehouse fire, we would be hunted to the ends of the earth."
"That's just the thing," I muse aloud as I sit back. Three pairs of curious eyes turn to me, but I hardly notice as I continue on. "Has there been any news about the break-in? Or the warehouse, for that matter? Surely an explosion outside my small town would be considered newsworthy by someone."
The three of them exchange puzzled glances.
"I mean, obviously I've been out of commission for a bit," I continue. "I wouldn't know if they did break the story."
"No…you're right, Nancy," Flint says slowly. "There's been nothing on TV to indicate coverage of what happened."
"Nothing on the radio," Wolf chimes in. "And believe me, I'd know. I'm cruising twenty-four-seven, and I like to tune into the local stations immediately when I cross county lines. I'm the most informed out-of-towner you're likely to meet."
"Oh jeez," I mutter as I sit back. "Then that means I have nothing to corroborate my story. I…"
My thoughts fly up the stairs, and to the lone, unconscious occupant of the guest bedroom. Will Lesher back me up on my claims, or will he lie outright about what we've been through? Will he say I'm as crazy as I look, and that I need to be turned out and sent on my way without the protection he promised?
"I'm sorry. I guess there is really no reason you should believe me," I point out.
To my surprise, Wolf snorts a laugh. "Oh yeah. We definitely believe you. With Lesher involved? Are you kidding? This is tame in comparison to some of the stunts I've seen him pull in the past. I remember when he—"
"Not to minimize your situation or your suffering, Nancy!" Ana loudly interrupts, and Wolf backs off from his promised story abruptly to join her in reassuring me.
"Oh, for sure! He's never taken a hostage, at least. You must be someone pretty special," Wolf says.
To my surprise, Flint is the one who smacks his head at the careless save. Wolf smiles hopefully at me, and I can't resist his lopsided grin—I smile in return. I wonder if he is closer to being right about Lesher and me than the other two think he is.
"This changes things," Flint says finally. "I need to think. In twenty-four hours, we'll have the whole RBMC here to decide on what needs to be done. I think she should be able to present all the facts—and right now, there aren't many."
"I'll go with you," Ana volunteers. I realize that Flint's method of thinking probably involves the sleek motorcycle Lesher and I discovered in the bike barn. Ana must ride with him, then. I suppose their arrangement should have been obvious to me from the start, considering how closely it mirrors my relationship with Lesher.
"And I'll stay here with Nancy," Wolf concludes. "I bet she could use a little company that isn't actively trying to kidnap her."
"A little late for that," I mention as the others depart from the bar. Ana laughs at my comment, and I even see the taciturn Flint smirk as he takes hold of Ana's hand.
"We'll be back soon," Ana assures me. "Flint does his best thinking on the road. Which, in my experience, isn't saying much."
"Maybe later I'll show you just how limited your experience with me really is," Flint promises as they exit. I miss out on Ana's response to this, but I blush enough for both of us to think what he might mean. Wolf's easy grin returns, and he reaches across me to snag a bottle from the bar and pour me another drink.
Strange. I feel like I could fit in here. I know being social and getting along with these people should really be the last things on my mind, but I can't help but feel pleased by their acceptance of me.
Let's face it, Nancy. You're kind of lonely.
And strangely, that loneliness went away the first moment I met Lesher.
#
"…so, I pursued an advanced degree in microbiology, and that's sort of where it ended," I reply to Wolf's question as I take a turn pouring him a drink. "I couldn't find a job. Couldn't forge connections. So I went back to GNCU."
"What's that stand for?" Wolf accepts my offer of another drink. I'm much more intoxicated than he is, but I'm barely conscious of it. My awareness of how much I've been drinking fades in and out, but you wanna know little known fact about me? I can hold my liquor. I know it defies science, considering what a literal lightweight I am, but that's just how it goes.
Whether or not I can hold my liquor on an empty stomach is a different matter, but that's something Wolf has already seen to. Despite Flint's explanation of how takeout for the Clubhouse would definitely not work, Wolf and I were able to overcome the complication by riding out beyond the gate on his bike to meet the pizza boy halfway.
While I can tell from my first ride with Wolf that he's as skilled a rider as they come, he makes many more needlessly reckless maneuvers than Lesher. I can't help but wonder if he does this a bit to show off for me, or if he’s trying to uplift my mood, but a part of me expects that's simply how a "stunt driver" prefers to ride. I decide that I secretly prefer Lesher's smoother, effortless handling, and the sturdier build of the now-familiar Ural.
"GNCU stands for Grand National Credit Union," I explain. "I'm a bank teller there. It's where I was working when Lesher and his crew held us up."
Wolf is an amazing conversation partner. He's so interested in me, and what I do, and how that might align with what my dreams may have been once upon a time. He's got me thinking: why did I give up on becoming a nurse? I'm still young. No way twenty-three can be the end of the line for me, even if I do dress twice my age.
"His crew?" Wolf asks. I turn to look at him when I notice his tone has changed, acquiring an edge I've yet to hear him take on. His silver eyes narrow and darken slightly, like a sharpened blade being turned beneath a light. "He was working with others?"
"Yes." I wonder how badly I've screwed up by admitting this. Flint had glossed over this part when he was retelling my story to Wolf; I’d assumed it was for the sake of expediency, but maybe there was some other reason. Perhaps he wanted something to hold over Lesher once he woke up. "There were five others. They were the ones who entered the bank wearing ski masks."
"Well, it's probably the least of the rules he broke, but that's definitely against the rules," Wolf explains. I note that some of the tension eases from his posture. "No riding with other gangs or sharing other gangs' interests. In fact, I'd say that's implied when you sign up for the brotherhood."
"You take being 'brothers' very seriously," I notice. "Do the others do the same?"
I can't help but reflect on Lesher's prior hints and explanations as to what being in an MC entails, and how distasteful he seemed to find it. Flint certainly doesn't seem to consider Lesher to be like a brother to him.
"Well, yeah." Wolf glances down, looking suddenly sheepish. "It's what this club was founded for, right? We're all kind of in a weird situation in our lives. All of us are alone, enormously wealthy, and dealing with situations that can't always be readily understood or solved by an outsider. For instance, I know Flint seems like he's got it together, but you should have seen him a month ago! Jesus. That's what I heard, anyway. I was back home on the coast around the time he was stirring shit up in Omaha. Let me tell you, that Ana chick's probably the best thing that ever happened to that dude. Did you know he founded Green Star?"
"No way!" I cry as I rock back. "Green Star? Are you kidding me?"
"Nope!" Wolf takes an unperturbed swig of his drink. "Take it you've heard of them? They're only one of the most well-known green energy companies in the world."
"Not only that, but they have an amazing study abroad program for nurses," I enthuse. "Too bad I applied around the time that Flynn Carter was murdered…oh."
A bright burst of laughter escapes Wolf when he sees the fresh expression of shock scrawled across my mug. I've only just now realized who I've been talking to this entire time. Flynn Carter. Flint Carter.
Flint Carter is the murdered CEO of Green Star. Only clearly, he is less murdered than the entire world was led to believe.
"You should see your face right now!" Wolf laughs. "I take back what I said earlier. You're a total babe, Nancy Cardigan."
I blush. There's a mildness to the compliment that makes me think Wolf's admiration of me is almost completely platonic, but that doesn't make it any less flattering. I tuck a snarled strand of hair behind my hair self-consciously.
"I don't think anyone's ever called me that before," I admit. "I've never thought of myself as— Lesher!" I exclaim.
Lesher is standing propped up behind us in the entryway to the kitchen. He looks absolutely miserable: he cups his abused jaw
with one hand, and I can see an ugly black eye starting to bloom where Flint punched him…and from where I kicked him in the face the night previous. I hadn't realized before that Flint landed a blow almost identical to my own, although clearly Flint had more strength and intent behind his own assault.
"I'm glad you've never thought of yourself as Lesher," Wolf remarks without looking over his shoulder. "That guy is one ugly son of a bitch."
I see suddenly by his easy disregard for his surroundings as he says this that Wolf knows exactly who is standing in the doorway behind us.
My heart beats wildly in my chest, and I feel suddenly guilty, although I can't put my finger on why exactly. Had I said anything in the course of my conversation with Wolf that would warrant feeling this way—in the event that Lesher had overheard us? I don't think so—I haven't given away his most guarded secret, the flash drive I safeguard in the jacket pocket. Maybe I feel guilty for leaving him alone and unconscious for so long, but what was I supposed to do? One of us had to relate the story of how we'd come to be here at the Clubhouse.
If only Wolf's assessment of Lesher's ugly looks were true. If only it wasn't so easy to fall for my captor every time I lay eyes on his supple, powerful physique. He leans there in a T-shirt and jeans, studying us together quietly. I feel completely taken in by him, and it isn't helping matters that he's looking straight at me. I realize I've half lowered myself out of my stool without realizing.
"Better a son of a bitch than a bitch," Lesher remarks. He breaks away from the wall and moves into the kitchen, bypassing the two of us at the bar. I notice that he doesn't limp, exactly, but he moves more stiffly on his feet than usual. I wonder if he should be up at all after his confrontation with Flint, or if any move from me to go and help him would be welcomed.
I stay where I am, a prisoner of my own indecision.
"Was that a dig at me, or at Nancy?" Wolf's eyes narrow, but his mouth keeps smiling as he asks the question. I think we both know it was aimed at Wolf, but I get the impression he's not taking any chances with another brother being rude to a guest. Lesher snorts and pulls the freezer open.
BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books Page 23
