by Naomi West
I stole closer. A big tree stood on the left-hand side of the house, and I hurried up to it, using it to shield me from the sight of anyone who might be looking out one of the dark windows. I peered out around the trunk, giving the house a final once over. I never pretended that I was a saint. There were plenty of laws that I'd broken without a qualm. But I'd never been a housebreaker. Getting a person nicely bombed on homebrew was one thing, but taking a person's stuff—that didn’t sit well with me. In this case, of course, I wouldn’t be taking another person's stuff. Sheriff Dupont had already done that. I was just taking back what was mine, but I didn’t have a lot of experience in breaking and entering. Really, none at all.
The window remained dark and still, and there was no sound. I started out from my hiding place.
"Hello."
I nearly leapt out of my skin. Not just because of how unexpected the voice was, and not just because the voice was an attractively feminine one, but because that voice came, not from the house, but from above my head. I took a step back and looked up into the tree. There, sitting astride one of the branches in a pair of skinny jeans and a denim jacket, her slim legs kicking girlishly, was a very pretty redhead, staring down at me with a smug smile on her face.
"Aren't you a little old for climbing trees?" It was hard to know what to say in this situation, since I had no idea what this situation was.
"Aren't you a little 'not related to me' to be on my property?" the girl retorted archly.
She was a smug little bitch, and probably quite complacent because she was ten feet above me and safely out of reach. Even had I not been able to see her by the light of the moon, I would have guessed that she was a redhead—redheads were always trouble. Especially the pretty ones.
Another area in which I was no saint was women, pretty redheads especially. In other circumstances, I might have taken a bit more interest in the woman, but I had a job to do, and I needed to know if that was still an option with little Miss Pert engaging me in conversation.
"Who are you?"
"Cassidy."
That lit up something in my brain. I knew of Riley, but I remembered someone mentioning that there was another daughter, called Cassidy, who came and went. Just my luck that tonight she had come.
"I'm Archer." Maybe I shouldn't have told her the truth, but it was usually easier than lying. Besides, if she had wanted to scream then she could have by now. Her old man's truck was right there, so he was obviously at home. All she would have to do was yell for Daddy and things would get suddenly much worse for me. But instead she sat there, kicking her legs and chatting to me. I wasn't sure how this was going to work out, but I was oddly curious to find out.
"That's your first name?"
"Yeah. Archer Cyprian."
She giggled so hard, I thought she might fall out of the tree. "What a truly ridiculous name for a biker."
"How do you know I'm a biker?"
"I saw you ride up."
I nodded. There seemed little point in denying it now. Of course, there were bikers other than Battle Pride in town, but she was probably smart enough to put two and two together.
"I like your bike."
I just listened, letting her talk, seeing where she was going with this.
"Looks big." Cassidy enunciated the word with relish. "I mean, I've probably seen bigger, but still—yours looks bigger than average."
I still just let her talk. I was getting a pretty good idea of her now. Some girls, good girls especially, found the biker thing very sexy—something for which I was pretty grateful. For a sheriff's daughter who maybe wanted to take a walk on the wild side, then what could be better?
"Still," said Cassidy, continuing with this little double-meaning fantasy of hers, "I think I could handle it."
"Do you?"
Cassidy grinned. "How about you take me for a ride?"
"Over my dead body."
It could have been me who said those words—no way was I taking Ben Dupont's daughter joyriding at night—but, in fact, the voice came from behind me. I spun around, and Cassidy started in her seat as we both saw the shadowy figure of Sheriff Ben Dupont standing by the corner of the house. He had a shotgun that was definitely not department issue in his hands, and I didn't like the direction in which it was pointed.
"Who in the hell are you?"
"Dad!"
"I'll deal with you later!" Dupont snapped at Cassidy, his eyes never leaving me. "What are you doing out here with my daughter?!"
"He's my boyfriend."
Fortunately, the moon was at my back, keeping my face in shadow, otherwise I'm sure Ben Dupont would have seen the expression of dismay on it. What the hell was the girl talking about?
"You’re what?" The shotgun was shaking in Dupont's hands as he spoke. I almost felt sorry for the old bastard.
"Archer is my boyfriend. That's why Logan left. And probably why he took my money as well. I told Archer to wait for me, but I guess he just couldn't go one night without me."
The expressions that crisscrossed their random paths across the sheriff's face were pitiful to behold: anger, confusion, shock, fear, sadness. His little girl had taken up with a biker, and he didn't know what to do. Frankly, I'd rather have liked to put him out of his misery, as this charade had already gone too far for me. But if I wasn't there to pick up his daughter, then the question of what I was doing was bound to come up. So, for the time being, I had to play along.
"Why are you up a tree?" It probably wasn't the first question in Dupont's mind, but, of all those that were clamoring for attention, it was the one he was least afraid to ask.
Cassidy flicked her dad a wicked stare. "Haven't you ever done it in a tree? It's awesome." There was a cruel streak in the girl. Clearly, she took after her father.
I was expecting a big speech from Dupont, or, possibly, a load of buckshot, but instead he looked defeated. "Go on, then. Go. Do what you want. Go ahead and ruin your life if you must. I'm done with you."
It was too dark for me to clearly see Cassidy's reaction, but I thought she had been expecting something else as well. She rallied, gripped the branch she was on with both hands, and swung beneath it with impressive athleticism before dropping lightly to the ground.
"Cool. We're off." She grabbed my hand. "Don't wait up."
With Ben Dupont still staring, I had little choice but to go with her as she led me off in the direction of my bike.
"Is he still watching?" whispered Cassidy, her voice breathless with excitement.
I glanced back. "Yeah."
"Looks like you're going to be taking me for that ride."
I tried to think of any way of getting out of this without letting Sheriff Dupont know that I had actually come to rob his house. Which was another good point—I hadn't done what I had come here for, and time was running short. Tonight had not gone as planned, and the only thing I could do now, though you could hardly call it a win, was get out of there without the sheriff's daughter riding pillion.
"He is going to freak out tomorrow!" Cassidy enthused.
"I don't know," I muttered. "I think you broke him."
"He deserved it."
I shrugged. I wasn't about to defend Ben Dupont, the man who was trying to put me and pretty much everyone I knew behind bars for as long as the law would allow, and a little longer if he could manage it. On the other hand ... I glanced back and was satisfied to see that Dupont had gone.
"Right. He's gone. Time for you to get your sweet little ass back inside."
Cassidy wiggled her backside in a way calculated to blow the self-control of any red-blooded man. "But there are so many better things you could do with my sweet little ass."
"If you don't get back home then I'll tan it so you won't be able to sit down for a month," I threatened.
It was an empty threat. I didn't enjoy hurting defenseless girls, and I had a serious problem with those who do, but even so, it backfired. Cassidy giggled delightedly, pushed herself up against me, and whisper
ed, "Promise?"
Having her young, taut form tight up against me, the smell of her perfume in my nose, and a mass of red hair before my eyes was not helping me to think straight, but, thankfully, I was yanked out of it by the sound of my phone. I pushed the eager little minx away and got out my phone. It was Joe. That couldn't be good news. He knew what I had been planning tonight and never would have called me unless it was an emergency.
"What's up?"
"Black Daggers, at Fran's place."
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
I hung up instantly and turned around to find Cassidy already perched on my bike.
"I don't have time for this."
Cassidy nodded. "Sounded urgent. I wonder how much time you would waste trying to get me off this bike when you could be already on your way. I won't go easily, you know."
This girl was turning into a serious pain in my ass. She was right. I didn't have time to pry her loose from the bike. I'd already seen how she could cling onto a tree branch, and it was impressive. Joe and the rest of Battle Pride needed me, not to mention Fran. Clients like her were hard to come by.
"You'll do as you’re told?" I asked, as I strode over and swung into the seat.
"Probably not. I don't usually." I could hear the giddy excitement in her voice. God save me from wannabe bad girls. She was going to get a lesson in reality before the night was out.
"Hold onto me tight." This time, at least, she did as she was told.
Chapter Three
Cassidy
The ride into town was the most exciting journey of my life. Also, the fastest and the roughest journey, as the bike tore over the rough ground, bouncing me up and down so much that it seemed Archer might have been right about me not being able to sit down for a month. But that wasn't what made it exciting. I held onto Archer as tightly as I could, clinging on for dear life, but also relishing the feel of him tight against me. My hands slipped into his jacket to feel cut muscles through his T-shirt. My face was buried against his shoulder, and I breathed in his masculine scent like it was a drug, making me giddy. My breasts were crushed hard against his back, and the whole of my torso rubbed against him as we rode, sending hot, urgent messages up and down the pleasure receptors in my body until I felt like one big nerve. The bike throbbed between my legs, seeming like a part of Archer himself, an extension of his body. The world sped by, but I barely noticed it, locked into my own private little world of heat and ecstasy.
It felt all too soon when we skidded to a halt, and Archer pulled away from me as he got off the bike.
"Stay there, and keep your head down!" For once in my life, I did as I was told, partly because the tone of Archer's voice told me that he meant it, but also because the fight that was going on was pretty scary. I may have had a little bit of a fascination with danger, but I wasn’t not an idiot. This wasn't a brawl outside a bar at closing time amongst a few drunks slurring, 'Were you looking at my girl?’ This was vicious, bloody, and real. I had no idea what was going on, or why these two groups of large men were whaling on each other, but there were clearly no holds barred. But if the reality of the fight scared me, watching Archer wade into it provoked a different reaction altogether.
I might have had a bit of a rebellious streak, but I had never made a habit of picking up bikers who showed up pretty suspiciously at my dad's house. At this point, I still didn't have any idea what Archer had been doing there, but, whichever way you looked at it, it didn't look good. But even allowing for my fascination with bad boys, there was something about Archer.
Still, watching him strolling into a fight like he owned the place was pushing some very specific buttons on my libido that were a whole lot easier to explain. He was a devastatingly masculine and dominant presence. A hulking figure swung a tire iron at his head, but Archer simply ducked, popped back up, and knocked the hulk off his feet with a well-aimed blow to the jaw. Someone slashed his arm with a knife, and I gasped as I saw Archer wince with the sharp pain. He jinked left as the attacker stabbed forwards, then grabbed the man's arm and twisted it till the man screamed and dropped his knife. With a well-placed knee to the stomach, Archer knocked the wind out of the man, then spun him around by his arm into the side of a parked car, so hard I thought he might leave an imprint in the bodywork.
As I watched, he fought his way through the throng, seemingly with a definite destination in mind. Finally, he reached a strikingly ugly man who had one of Archer's bikers in a headlock. Archer grabbed the man's shoulder and yanked him backwards, startling him so much that he let go of the biker. The ugly man took a swing, but Archer was far too quick on his feet, easily dodging and returning a blow of his own that sent the ugly one staggering backwards. Before Ugly had a chance to recover, Archer lunged forwards, grabbing the man by the throat and slamming him back into the wall.
"I thought I was clear last time we spoke." I shouldn’t have been able to hear him speak, but Archer's presence seemed to silence the rest of the fight, at least to some extent, and his words, though not shouted, carried a sort of weight that made them heard. "This place, Fran's place, is under the protection of Battle Pride." I felt a fresh tremor of excitement. Battle Pride. Archer was literally one of the men my dad had warned me about. "And if nasty little villains like yourself show up to cause trouble, or try to shake Fran down, then we will give you a beating you won't soon forget. You understand?"
I wasn't sure the man would be able to speak with Archer's hand tight on his throat, but no spoken response was necessary. The man's eyes gave his answer loud and clear—he understood.
I wanted to go to Archer as soon as the fight had ended, and the ugly man and his cohorts had fled, but he looked busy. There was something curiously businesslike about the way he dealt with the other bikers. He was the boss, no question about that. A woman in her early forties came out of the bar, and Archer spoke to her for a few minutes. I watched closely. There was something about the way in which they spoke, an undemonstrative intimacy, that suggested that they had known each other a while. She seemed to be thanking him.
Once their conversation was over, Archer strode back over to me. I felt myself going a little weak in the knees as he approached.
"Right. Let's get you back home."
"You're bleeding."
"Don't change the subject."
"You can't ride a bike with blood pouring out of your arm."
Archer glanced at where the knife had cut him. "Hardly pouring."
I rolled my eyes. "Are we debating the rate at which you're losing blood?"
"I've ridden with worse than this."
I believed him. "I'll do a deal with you."
Archer looked like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "A deal? What do you think this is? You're going back to your dad's right now, if I have to tie you to the bike. And, knowing you, you'd probably prefer it that way, you little freak."
"No, no," I held up my hands. "I'll go back to Dad's place, and I promise I won't make a fuss, if you let me take a look at your arm first. That cut needs cleaning and dressing, and, given where it is on your arm, it'll be difficult to do yourself. Let me clean and dress it, and I'll go home quietly and do what you tell me."
"Meaning that,if I don't let you dress the cut, you won't go home quietly?"
I nodded. "You would have to tie me to the bike. And, yeah, I probably would quite enjoy it."
Archer looked at me for a long time, his chiseled features and dark eyes impossible to interpret. Finally, he spoke. "There's something a bit wrong with you, isn't there?"
"Maybe."
"Come on."
He led me around the back of the bar to a battered motorhome, resting on bricks, that looked as if it had been there since the Second World War
"This is where you live?"
"Fran lets me stay here when I'm in town."
"Where do you actually live?"
No answer. He opened the door, and I followed him in. Although I was theoretically here purely on an errand
of mercy to help with his injured arm, I couldn't suppress the slight frisson of excitement I felt passing into Archer's home. I let my eyes linger way too long on the unmade bed that sat in the corner. Being with him there, in the confined space, seemed to focus the effect he already had upon me. Such a small room could hardly contain the charisma that Archer exuded, and I felt it like a physical thing pressing in upon me.
