GRIFFIN

by Paula Cox

  “Somewhere safe,” he replied.

  “Safe?” she shot back. “How am I supposed to go anywhere safe with a person I don’t even know?”

  The dangerous man sighed and held out his hand as though going in for a handshake. “Griffin.”

  “What?”

  “Griffin. That’s my name.”

  “What kind of a name is Griffin? That’s a bird.”

  “It’s the one I have,” he replied, his patience thinning. “What’s yours?”

  “Natasha.”

  “Natasha’s a month.”

  In spite of everything, she gave a shaky smile. “Touché.”

  He turned away to see if the danger had passed, and Natasha looked as well. It seemed as though the assassin had gotten back on his bike, and after firing a few more shots, he peeled away, screaming something or other about the Los Diablos.

  Natasha searched her memory for any mention of them. Hadn’t they been a rival club to the Disciples? She had never been one to follow the politics of her father’s motorcycle club; it seemed so convoluted and dangerous. Frankly, thinking about it while growing up had terrified her. Now, she was seeing it all for the first time, and it overwhelmed her.

  With his helmet secured, he turned to stare at her. She was still on the bike in the same way—legs parted, dress riding up. She felt a deep flush move through her body, as she realized this. She shook her head to clear it, a disorienting feeling thanks in part to the helmet on her head. Natasha wasn’t a stranger to riding a motorcycle, but she was surprised when Griffin moved her forward so he could mount from behind her. Either way she wasn’t dressed for riding, but what could she do?

  He started the bike and peeled away, and Natasha was already glad that she wasn’t on the back. With his speed, she would have been left on the pavement. She could feel the muscles of his chest, hard against her back, and she allowed herself to take comfort in it. She had no idea where they were going, but at least this strange Griffin would be the lesser of two evils. He had at least saved her life.

  They drove for what felt like hours, taking random twists and turns where they could, riding in what seemed like a lack of direction. It took Natasha a moment to realize that he had been intentionally driving strangely in order to throw off any potential tail. Natasha herself couldn’t see behind them, so she wasn’t sure if there had actually been one, but in this strange time she trusted Griffin’s judgement. She had to.

  The sun was beginning to set as they pulled into a fleabag motel on the edge of town. Natasha wrinkled her nose as she looked up at it. It seemed like the kind of place that charged by the hour, dingy with small rooms. It was almost cartoonish, right down to the flickering “V” in the vacancy sign. Griffin stepped off his bike, leaving the keys in the ignition, and helped Natasha off of it as well. The insides of her thighs were still a little numb from the ride, but she hid it well. She followed him into the office to get a room.

  Griffin was quick and direct with the man at the desk, and in exchange, he got not only a room key but a promise of silence.

  Natasha followed him wordlessly to the room, which turned out to be on the first floor. Griffin quickly unlocked the door and pulled her inside, doing a quick sweep of the room to make sure everything was clear.

  It was a small, dingy room with only one bed, and not a very good bed at that. Natasha could feel the springs digging into her thighs. She desperately hoped that she would not have to sleep here. She was still stuck in her dress from the funeral; she was also stuck with a wildly strange man, and she had no idea how she was ever going to explain this to her professors. Once everything seemed clear from danger, Griffin leaned against a tiny desk shoved in the corner, his eyes trained on the door.

  Natasha folded her arms.

  “Okay, so what’s going on?”

  Chapter 4

  The chick was hot—but nosy. Griffin had gone through all the trouble to make sure that she was protected, and this was what he got? An angry face and crossed arms, sitting in a fleabag motel room that could be used for much better things.

  Not that Griffin was thinking about it.

  He couldn’t wrap his mind around the girl; there was something about her that he couldn’t put his finger on, but he could tell just by looking at her that she didn’t have anything to do with this. Why did the assassin go after her? Who did she wrong?

  It was more likely that she was just some accidental collateral damage and Griffin was reading the situation incorrectly. Yet, here she was now, sitting and demanding information that he had no intention of providing.

  He hadn’t been able to see it before, but up close her eyes were a warm brown, almost like amber, and when she was riled up—which was most of the time he had known her—they seemed to almost glow from within. God, she is so hot, he thought.

  “You know anything about the Lost Disciples?” he asked her.

  She paused for a moment before shrugging. “Of course I know about them, I was at a funeral for one of them.”

  Griffin narrowed his eyes. “Whose girl are you?”

  Natasha frowned. “No one’s. I go to college.”

  “So you’re not affiliated with the Lost Disciples?”

  She snorted. “Does it look like I am?”

  The casual derision in her voice made Griffin clench his fists.

  “Well, a Disciple just saved your life,” he said slowly.

  “A man in a leather jacket saved my life,” she shot back. “I don’t see any devils around here.”

  He picked up on her sarcasm and began to pace. Who is this chick? he thought.

  She watched him defiantly from her spot on the bed; he could feel her eyes on his back, her lips slightly parted, anticipating an explanation.

  Desire enflamed him. Did she have any idea of how sexy she looked? He didn’t think so, and for some reason, that made it hotter. He wanted to walk over to her and push her down on the bed, take her, and make her his. He hadn’t wanted someone like this in a long time, and he welcomed it.

  Now wasn’t the time though, not when someone could burst in the door with a gun.

  “I can’t tell you anything,” he told her. “You’re not part of the family.”

  Her mouth opened, as though she wanted to retort, but found that she couldn’t say anything. There was no way in Hell that Griffin was going to tell any of the Disciples’ secrets to some girl he barely knew just because she got caught up in something she didn’t understand.

  He turned away from her, thinking about those Los Diablos bastards having the goddamn balls to bust in on Emanuel’s funeral. Everyone had been there, and yet they went for one particular girl in the crowd. It seemed strange, and because of that, he knew that he couldn’t trust her.

  When he turned back around again, he saw that she was standing, her small hands balled into angry fists.

  “Listen, Mr. Mysterious, you think that just because you guys are in a little motorcycle club that you’re outside the bounds of normal morality? Please. You guys are a bunch of motorcycle hobbyists who take it a little too seriously.”

  “You don’t know a goddamn thing about it!” Griffin replied. “I don’t know who you know that brought you to that funeral, or if you were just going sightseeing, but you sure as shit don’t know a thing about the Disciples!”

  They stood there, staring for a moment, feeling something close to electricity crackle through the air. It took a while for Griffin to realize that it was simply the attraction. There they were in this small room with a bed nearby, and the last thing they should be doing was anything of that sort. Her amber eyes flashed with anger at his words.

  “You don’t know a thing about me,” she replied.

  “Oh yeah, not a thing about you? You’re probably some spoiled little Lady who thought she’d go and play with a Tramp!”

  “Well, you’re just a complete asshole who doesn’t know anything!” she cried.

  They lapsed into silence, and Natasha walked away to clear her hea
d. This wasn’t helping, and she knew it. She knew that she would probably have to apologize to the sexy asshole with whom she was sharing a small space.

  She hugged herself and thought about the things he had said. She wasn’t some spoiled little girl; she had worked hard to save up for college. In a wild moment, she thought about telling him that she had been at the funeral solely to put her father into the ground, but she didn’t want to do that to her father’s memory, not in that way. Instead, she took a deep breath and took her hair out of the ponytail. Shaking her long blonde hair out, she took another deep breath. Today, someone had tried to kill her. Perhaps she shouldn’t be fighting with the person who stopped that from happening. She stood up straight again to see him watching her, that same hunger in his eyes as before. He really was gorgeous, but who was he really?

  “We got off on the wrong foot,” she said softly.

  Griffin made a little snorting noise of derision.

  “But I think we should start over, okay?”

  “Whatever.”

  She felt the annoyance rise in her stomach again. “You don’t have to be so dismissive about it.”

  “Well, being all sugar and spice isn’t going to get you what you want, so I don’t even know why you’re trying.”

  Natasha growled in frustration. “Why do you have to be such an asshole?!”

  His face broke into a bitter grin. “Just naturally talented I guess.”

  “Can I at least know how long I’m going to have to stay here with you?”

  Griffin shrugged. “We got out of there as quickly as possible; we’re going to wait and get the all-clear so we don’t get ourselves killed.”

  “The shooter left…why isn’t it all-clear yet?”

  “Because shooters can come back,” Griffin replied gruffly. Luckily, he was broken off by the ringing of the cell phone in his pocket. Taking it out, he saw that Damon was calling, and he raised a finger to quiet Natasha as he answered the phone. He could already see her eyes roll in annoyance, but she stayed quiet anyway.

  “Griffin?” Damon’ voice crackled over the phone.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” Griffin replied. He could hear Damon’ sigh of relief.

  “Thank God. They got a few of our guys. No one died though. Zachariah is patching up the injured. I can’t believe those Los Diablos bastards did this!”

  “I can,” Griffin said, keeping his voice deadpan. “I told you that we would have to do something about this, but you didn’t listen.”

  “I said we’d do something after we buried Emanuel; it’s only been three days since that conversation.”

  “Well, we didn’t move quickly enough!”

  “Now isn’t the time to talk about this,” Damon said. “Where are you?”

  “A safe location right on the outskirts of the desert,” Griffin said, peeking out the door again. “Did you catch the asshole?”

  There was a pause on the line, as though Damon was shaking his head before he replied. “No.”

  Anger flared in Griffin’s blood, as he paced even more frantically. He was increasingly aware of Natasha’s wide and curious eyes, watching his every move. He knew that she was picking up on his half of the conversation, and he also knew that she was smart enough to piece some things together, but he couldn’t worry about that right now.

  “Well, then what are we going to do about that? He could be out there right now!” Griffin drove his fist into the wall, leaving a dent but luckily not punching through it. Natasha gave a little jump at the sight of it.

  Even though he might have saved my life, he is still clearly dangerous, she thought.

  “First of all, you’re going to get your ass over here so we can discuss this,” Damon said, so annoyingly calm. So annoyingly unflappable.

  Griffin swung back to see Natasha on the bed again. “I have a girl here.”

  “Are you kidding me!?” Damon’ disbelief was palpable over the phone. “In the middle of this?”

  “No, of course not, you asshole. She was almost killed in the attack; the guy had a gun to her head, so I had to take her with me.”

  Damon paused again, as Natasha stared at Griffin, daring him to give away any more information, especially because they were now talking about her. Well, she could keep waiting because Griffin had no intention of spilling.

  “Bring her too,” Damon said.

  “Where?”

  “The safe house. Is that okay? Can you handle it?”

  Griffin didn’t like being talked to like this, but given the circumstances, he figured he would just take it for now.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. See you in fifteen.”

  “I’ll be there in ten,” Griffin replied smoothly before disconnecting the call. He turned to Natasha. “Looks like we’re headed to the safe house.”

  “A safe house?” she said. “I’m not in the witness protection program!”

  He walked over to the bed and took her arm. “Not yet, let’s go.”

  She didn’t look pleased as they walked out of the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  Chapter 5

  Natasha was glad that they weren’t able to talk as they rode to wherever they were going. Once again, she was pressed up against him as they drove, feeling the heat of him, almost close enough that she could hear his heart pounding through the black shirt he was wearing. In any other circumstance, this would have been thrilling, but instead, she was just frustrated. Griffin was particularly good at drawing that out of her.

  How did he think that it was okay that she be kept in the dark about what was going on? She knew that violence and the Disciples went hand in hand, but this was on a level she never expected. What had her father been into that this could have happened? She would have liked to have imagined her father dying peacefully somewhere, much older than he was. When she heard of his death, she had thought that he had gotten into some sort of accident, but now, with the addition of an assassin who seemed all too willing to kill her, she was beginning to believe that something far more sinister had been at hand.

  And then there was Griffin. Who was Griffin? Where did he come from? He seemed devoted to the Disciples, but of course he would be—what else could you really do in Brazos after a certain age? It was one of the reasons why Natasha left. There was truly nothing for her that wasn’t going to end on the back of someone’s motorcycle, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever be the kind of person for that. Griffin, on the other hand, seemed absolutely born on the back of a motorcycle, and with his good looks, he probably was going to end up fathering a whole pack of kids who would hop on there just as quickly as he probably did.

  As frustrating as Griffin was, she couldn’t deny how incredibly attractive he was. How many girls must he have on the hook right now? They were probably all gorgeous, tough biker chicks, and Natasha certainly wasn’t that type, so why did she think that she might be his? She knew she was no slouch in the looks department, but she also knew that she could never really carry off that slinky badass vibe that girls who ran with bikers seemed to have.

  Instead, she allowed herself to lean against him a little harder than she would have otherwise. She could hear his heavy breathing as he drove, stopping once again, taking a turn somewhere else.

  She could recognize places now, the closer they got to the center of Brazos. She didn’t often visit during her holiday breaks and usually kept visits as short as possible, especially after her mother had died, opting instead to stay with friends or whomever she might have been dating at the time. The thought of it now made her sad, as she wondered what had her father had done during the holidays. Most likely, he spent it with the Disciples…if they even celebrated such things.

  ***

  Griffin wondered what would happen if Natasha turned around at that very moment and started pressing her body against him. It was a fantasy, of course. In his daydream, she would look at him with those bright amber eyes, half-lidded with pleasure. She would press her body against his unt
il he grew hard. With those quick little fingers, she would unbutton his fly, take out his dick, and stroke it until it grew harder.

  With a free hand, he would move down to her panties, already beginning to show from her hiked up funeral skirt. He would rub her on the outside of the underwear until he could feel the wetness through the thin fabric. Then he would move those panties aside and slide one finger inside of her, listening to how she must sound when she’s experiencing pleasure. They would kiss even as he was driving, until she would move her hips a little bit, brace herself against the handlebars, and lower herself onto his hot, throbbing cock.

  They would move together on his bike, putting all of that anger and frustration and annoyance they had towards each other to much better use. He would make her scream into the night, her golden hair whipping around his face as he made her climax over and over, and then, when she was good and ready, he would let himself go…