Road Warriors (Motorcycle Club Romance Collection) (Bad Boy Collections Book 4)

by Faye, Amy

  I wake in the night, though. Something moves in the bed. Shakes me awake. A hand. The hand's attached to a woman. Maguire leans in and whispers into my ear.

  "You want to get out of here?"

  I nod my head.

  "Come on."

  She sticks a key into my cuffs and undoes them. Easy as that. I'd imagined it would be harder, but I guess she's a cop, and that's how it goes sometimes.

  My wrists hurt. They always hurt more, somehow, after the cuffs come off. As if now that I've got a little freedom, my wrists are going to make me suffer for putting them through that kind of hassle.

  Some clothes are folded at the foot of the bed. They look like mine, more or less. I fit them on quickly and quietly. I don't know what's going on, but I'm not going to ask questions.

  She beckons me over to the door. I follow. Not loud, but I could be quieter. Every step makes me wince. I should be damn quieter, but I just… can't. The boots keep making noise on the floor, no matter what I do.

  Danny Ball's asleep in a chair outside. He doesn't move as we walk by. I try to keep my steps extra quiet, and I don't wake him up. Thankfully for me, at least. I don't know how it's going to affect his career, if we get out of here.

  But I know how it's going to affect mine.

  When we've turned the corner, Maguire stops sneaking so much. We straighten up. I don't have a mirror, but I'd say we almost look like two perfectly normal people walking through a hospital. Sure, it's late, but I have to hope we can get out of here.

  Nobody stops us. I expected someone to. I've been stopped just visiting hospitals before by over-zealous nurses who think it's their damn job to play security. But this time, when I'm breaking out of a prison bed…

  Now's the time that they've decided that it's my business whether or not I walk out of the place.

  It shouldn't feel this easy. Shouldn't feel this calm. But it does, somehow, as we're walking out. I don't know what the hell is causing any of it, but I'm pretty satisfied either way.

  Because as we walk out casually, we get out the door, and Maguire pulls me in for a kiss, and that makes the past couple of days pretty damn worth it. Now we just have to get real gone.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  MAGUIRE

  I suppose that the best time to leave was when we did it, anyways. I suppose that at night, that would be when Ryan would know the right people to talk to. He'd know where to go, how to get there.

  I'm in the passenger seat. I'm not sure if that's totally wise, honestly, but it really doesn't matter all that much in the end. I could have driven, if I chose to, but I wanted to let him do it this time, and he did.

  The car pulls up in front of the house. An hour to get his stuff together. He comes out with two bags, drops them into the trunk, and I guess that's him ready to go. It occurs to me suddenly that he has no idea where my apartment is.

  He takes the bike, though. Of course he takes the bike, I should have expected it, but somehow it hadn't occurred to me. I move over to the driver's side and he follows behind.

  Walking into the apartment, it doesn't take me long to realize that I don't know… honestly, I have no idea what I'm taking. What I want to take. I grab a bag and throw some clothing in it. Enough to last me a week or two, I suppose.

  None of it was ever that important to me. I never needed anything here. I was always at the office, so there's really very little in the apartment that I need.

  The thought sends a chill down my spine. I have to stop myself from getting too morose, to find a way to put a tent-pole to stop my sagging mood as the night goes on. There's hope, though. I at least have that much.

  I don't know what's going to happen in the future, but I know it's not going to be that I throw myself into my work, running after another pretty-boy gangster.

  The bag's pretty heavy. I sling it over my shoulder and carry it down. Ryan's waiting on the Indian.

  "Okay, now follow me," he says softly. He waits until I'm in the car to kick-start the Indian to life. He's already spent a minute getting it turned around before I came back outside, so it's no trouble to let out the clutch and get the bike moving.

  He takes it real slow until he sees I'm behind him. It wouldn't be any good to get lost. If I'm following, I'm following. The night's getting pretty late, though.

  Danny shouldn't have done me the favor he did, but I can't take it back now. Any minute now, he should 'notice' that we're gone, and then it's up to us to get the hell out of Dodge before they can find us.

  Won't take long after that until they drop it. He eases himself onto the highway. I don't know about him, but I settle into the drive. It helps to take off the edge of tension that I've got building up in my chest.

  Then, a mile or two before the border, we pull off to the side. There's tracks worn in the road, not so visible that you'd notice just driving by. It feels like we're following them, but I have a suspicion that Ryan knew the route before they were there.

  He seems to be going by windage. We turn back south at a particularly nasty-looking tree. The tracks turn with us. A mile or two more, and you can see a chain-link fence that's been poorly-repaired from someone cutting it right in half and splitting it a mile wide.

  Ryan's bike slows to a stop, and he gets off. He points back at the trunk as he walks up. I pop it and when I see him again he's closing the trunk, a pair of bolt cutters in hand. It doesn't take long to get the fence popped apart. He pulls it open by hand, holds it for me.

  This is really the moment of truth. I don't know that there's going to be any coming back from this. I knew that I couldn't go back from the minute that I put those keys in his handcuffs, but now it seems to be a real, conscious choice.

  Am I doing this?

  I close my eyes and ease onto the gas. The car rolls forward, slips through, and my headlights illuminate into the dark night. It doesn't occur to me until I'm all the way through that maybe it'd be smarter to leave them off. That way, nobody comes to investigate the far-off lights heading right through.

  Oh, well. Too late now. Ryan heads back and jumps onto his bike. It growls loud enough that I feel it in my chest as he comes through behind me, and gestures me to follow. He drives through the night, mostly without lights.

  Twenty minutes later, we're finally back on a real road, and then thirty minutes after that we're in a town. Ryan smiles and presses a kiss against my lips as we sit in a Mexican cantina as the sun rises.

  I don't know what our plans are. I don't know if Ryan knows, either. But I know that whatever they are, we're going to figure them out together.

  Rough Hand

  Bad Boy Fighter Romance

  Amy Faye

  Published by Heartthrob Publishing

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  Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…

  "Have you ever been fucked before, Caroline? Have you ever had a man take you?"

  "No," she said. There was more to it, when she'd planned the response in her head, but when her mouth started moving it came out short and didn't have the protest that she'd intended.

  "But you wanted to. You've been wondering what it's like for so long that you don't even remember when you started. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll stop."

  He rounded the sofa, his cock starting to grow. Even flaccid, he had a size that was a little bit intimidating, but as he stared at her it grew. He seeming to see right through her defenses and into a private world where she had wondered very much what it would be like to have him take her. It made her shiver.

  "You should go get dressed," she offered. It wasn't a refusal, though, and deep down she knew it.

  "I could do that. But I don't want to disappoint you."

  "Who would be disappointed?"

  He leaned down over her, his face filling her vision and the rest of him filling her mind. Her body tingled, every nerve in her body waiting
for him to touch her. She held herself still, held her body stiff and forced herself not to reach out to him. But she desperately wanted to.

  "Touch it," he whispered. "Touch me. You can, you know. Nobody would have to know. Nobody would judge you."

  "You're a tenant, and I'm saving myself."

  Shannen didn't scoff at her. He didn't laugh. He didn't even smirk. He pressed his lips against her jaw and she didn't pull away. Then he put those same lips, surprisingly soft for a man who was, in so many other ways, so hard, right by her ears.

  "Are you sure? Think about it. Think hard. Think about what you're missing. About how good it would feel to have this cock inside you, fucking you, filling you up in ways that you never even dreamed of."

  "You're very full of yourself," she said. The defenses were crumbling, and it was all that she could do to keep her hands pressed hard into her own hips.

  "I can back it all up, if you'll let me," he purred, and Caroline shivered. God, the offer was tempting.

  "You'd better," she breathed.

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  1

  Caroline's third day at the hospital wasn't all that different from the first two: crazy, way over her head, and yet, for the third day in a row she seemed to be almost keeping up.

  Her supervisor was a matronly woman named Sarah. She looked like a nurse was supposed to look. No, that wasn't quite right. She looked like a nun was supposed to look in an old-fashioned hospital, like you saw in paintings.

  The similarities to what nuns were supposed to be like ended approximately there. On the other hand, Caroline's experience with nuns in Catholic school had taught her that some things weren't what they seemed; Sarah may not have been what nuns were supposed to be like, whatever that meant, but she was a dead ringer for every nun that Caroline had actually met.

  She had sharp senses, so that any little thing Caroline let slip or said out of turn seemed to make her supervisor prick her ears up. Of course, with Caroline being a student, and as new in the hospital as she was, she was never out of Sarah's earshot, which meant that she heard nearly everything.

  More than that, her supervisor had a bedside manner that was as polite as could be; at least, on the surface, which was where it really counted. Below the surface was another matter entirely, and she wasn't afraid to show her hand if she thought that someone was talking back.

  She would put on a sweet smile, and then call them 'dear,' and then remind them who decided which needles got used when it came time to draw blood or give injections.

  That had a tendency to shut people up real quick, Caroline noticed. She wasn't sure how much of Sarah's attitude was because of who she was and how much was the result of the job, but she had no trouble believing that the older woman hadn't exactly struggled to get 'into character', so to speak.

  So when her face darkened as they walked down the hall, Caroline picked up on it because for all of Sarah's skills, abilities and experience, subtlety wasn't particularly one of them.

  "Is something wrong?"

  Sarah's face brightened for the exact span of time that it took to turn to Caroline and answer. "Nothing at all, dear. You're doing fine."

  Caroline wondered if she was starting to pick up on some of Sarah's sharpness of hearing when she heard the older woman mutter softly to herself. "You'll see soon enough."

  Whatever it was that she was going to see, it wasn't hard to figure out what it was going to be. Sarah stopped outside of a patient room and held herself upright with one hand on the wall, and took a breath.

  "Ready?"

  Caroline nodded and followed her supervisor inside. The bed was empty, which was a surprise. This was intensive care; most of the patients here were too injured to move, and if they could, then they rarely made any effort to do so.

  Sarah sucked in air through her teeth and bit off a curse that began with "God." Then she turned and looked at the bathroom. The door was open and the lights turned off. She pressed the intercom button by the bed and spoke into it with her voice hard and frustrated.

  "Has anyone seen the patient in 314-A?"

  A moment passed before there was a response. "Mr. O'Brien has been in his room all day, as far as I know. Why, is he not there now?"

  "No," Sarah responded, as if that was a curse word, too. "Let's go look for him, I guess."

  Caroline watched Sarah leave. There was something about the room that was setting her on edge. Something she couldn't quite place. She swept aside the curtain. An elderly woman slept in the bed beside the missing patient's.

  She turned. There was no use in looking blindly, she'd always felt. When you looked, you should look someplace specific. The place that you most expect to find someone. In this case, she expected that he couldn't have gotten far. The bedpan by the bed seemed to confirm this idea, if the nurses didn't expect him to get up to use the bathroom in the night.

  She wet her lips with her tongue and closed her eyes a moment and thought. Where would she go? And why? If he was a prisoner then there should at the very least have been a policeman guarding the door. If he wasn't, then he was, in theory, free to leave any time.

  Why would he go out of his way to escape in secret? She frowned. Because they wouldn't let him go, maybe? Why would that even be?

  There were a thousand reasons, she knew. The nurses wanted the doctor to release any patients that were outgoing. If he were at risk, or his wounds hadn't healed properly, then the doctor would refuse. If he had indicated any intention to harm himself, then he wouldn't be allowed to leave until a 48-hour observation period was up.

  She didn't think he would kill himself, though. Nothing about the man had seemed suicidal. The thought suddenly occurred to her, all at once.

  There was still a stack of personal belongings on the bedside table. Which meant, wherever he'd gone, he hadn't gone far. She frowned and walked over. A phone, plugged into the wall as if he weren't worried about it.

  A western novel, the spine broken in so many places that it was a wonder that it had managed to stay together this long. And beside it, a clipboard. She frowned. The clipboard seemed odd.

  She took a deep breath. Odd, indeed. That one was an easy problem to solve, though. She turned it over, and confirmed what she already expected to find. It was a hospital clipboard. She couldn't read the initials, but that was typical. The nurses scrawled rather than wrote them half the time.

  She took a deep breath. So he was gone with a nurse, then. At least he wasn't at risk of hurting himself. She went to the locker room. It was only a few rooms down, and there was a map on the wall. The layout of the hospital was still new, and she didn't really know the quickest route to the nurse's station.

  As she opened the door she heard the noise before she realized what it was, and her momentum carried her inside, the door closing behind her. Whatever noise she made, which sounded impossibly loud to her, it didn't interrupt the hard, husky breathing coming from further inside. Breathing punctuated with a woman's voice, hoarse and muffled.

  The woman was another newbie, Caroline thought. She'd been there longer than Caroline, but she wasn't anywhere near an institution of the hospital. And as her breasts swayed forward with every thrust of the man's hips behind her, Caroline thought that she wasn't likely to become one.

  He was wearing nothing at all, a hospital gown discarded on the ground, and it gave her a view that she didn't want to see, and one she couldn't look away from. He was tall, with dark hair that glinted the bareliest hints of red as it moved in the light, his cheeks high and defined, a well shaped mouth, and a jaw that narrowed to a square, blocky chin.

  Not only that, but he barely had an ounce of fat on him; she'd seen less-defined physiques in anatomy textbooks. Every muscle tightened and relaxed in concert as he moved. His fingers dug into the nurse's hips, his arms nearly pulling her feet off the floor with every thrust.

  The nurse yelped, and Caroline yelpe
d too, in surprise as much as anything.

  The door hadn't gotten their attention, but that had. The nurse scrambled to cover herself, but the man behind her, his chest wrapped up in thick gauze bandages, thrust again, and the nurse let out another hoarse moan. The man's pace never slowed as she watched. Caroline realized dimly that her mouth had dropped open but she couldn't stop.

  Then he pulled himself free and let out a groan as he spent himself on the nurse's backside.

  "I know," he said, his voice conversational and not at all embarrassed as far as she could detect. "I need to get back to my room right away, and I've been a very bad boy."

  Caroline swallowed and stared up at him, and tried to ignore the tingling in her lady parts. She raised her voice enough to be heard from, she hoped, quite a distance.

  "I've found him!"

  2

  Caroline's eyes scanned over the bills, strewn out across what was supposed to be a dining table. She hadn't eaten at it in some time, and she wasn't sure when she was going to.

  Dad had always insisted on sitting to eat, on the two of them eating together, sitting, like a proper meal, like a proper family. Maybe Mom would have joined them too, once, but if she had then it was a long time ago. Too long for anything but vague memories that were long past faded, like every memory that she had of Mom except for little snippets.

  A day where she'd been making eggs, and they'd been wildly out of date, and the stench of sulfur filled the tiny apartment that she remembered, in some dim part of her mind, having lived in when she was not only too young to recall her age, but at an age where numbers still lacked meaning.

  Memories of Mom giving her un-toasted Pop Tarts because that was how Caroline preferred them, and it was how she still preferred them. Memories of a Christmas tree too big for the little apartment.