by Nikki Groom
I open my mouth to speak, but for the first time in my life, I have nothing to say. She brushes past me, with a smirk on her face and a sway in her hips and despite being speechless, I’m wrestling with the Neanderthal man in me that wants to spin her around and steal that smirk right off her lips with mine. That would not be a smart move in front of the guys.
She walks to where the bikes are parked all in a row, and lightly strokes the handlebars of each one as she takes slow, deliberate steps forward.
“Which one is yours?” she says glancing at me with a gentle smile. “No, wait, don’t tell me…” She shakes her head, and a mischievous look comes to her eyes. She presses her index finger to her lips—her perfectly manicured red nail matching her painted kissable lips. Lips that would wrap perfectly around my cock. I squeeze my eyes together and shake the thoughts from my head. She’s trouble, dangerous even, and I need to keep my head in the game.
“This one?” she asks, moving on to the next bike without waiting for my answer. “Not this one, or this one,” she says, passing the guys’ bikes.
When she comes to stand in front of mine, I hold my breath. She looks over at me, her eyes flashing humor and challenge, before tossing her wild black hair over her shoulder and trailing her fingertip seductively over the body of my ride as she peruses it, bars to tailpipe and back again, then settling her gaze back on mine. She stands to the side, placing both hands on the handlebars, flexing her long, slender fingers, testing how it feels under her grip. I watch with fascination, trying to figure out if it’s arrogance or sheer naivety that’s giving her the courage to put on a show like this. Because that’s exactly what it is, a show, a show of strength, and power, and fuck me if it doesn’t make me want to clear the guys from the yard and bend her over the back of my bike to show her who really has the power.
I give her a look of warning as her foot comes up off the ground, and I know exactly what she’s going to do next. Not only do I want to bend her over the back of the bike and show her why it is such a bad move—or maybe a genius move that’s causing a fucking frat party in my jeans— I want to have her chant the golden rule over and over as I drive into her.
‘Never, ever, sit on, or mess with a man’s ride.’
But she can’t hear the thoughts running rampant through my head, and lifts her leg over the leather seat. I stare, mesmerized and speechless, and Ruck mumbles, “Oh, fuck,” from behind me. Her pants tighten as she lowers herself onto my bike, leaning forward with her hands on the bars, arching her back just enough to push her tight ass into the air, and presenting me with an eyeful of her cleavage. Giving me a raging hard-on that’s going to take an ice bath to get rid of.
“You want me to send her packing, bro?” Ruck asks.
“No,” I bark.
I won’t have Ruck or anyone else touch her, and besides, I’m enjoying the show.
As much as I’m captivated by her, it’s getting me weird looks from the boys, and it’s not something I would put up with from anyone else, let alone a woman, ever. I’m highly aware that the whole yard has stopped what they’re doing to watch us, and I can’t let it go on much longer. I force my feet forward, slowly, stalking her like I’m a wild cat and she’s a timid animal that I’m about to devour. But she’s not timid, far from it.
“This one is yours,” she says quietly, her gaze never leaving mine. I stop in front of my bike and narrow my eyes at her.
“Off,” I order firmly. “Now.”
Her red lips part as she inhales, pushing her chest forward just a fraction, but enough to make me glance down to her cleavage. Soft, creamy skin, curves and supple flesh that scream to be tasted, making my mouth water, but I force myself to look back up to her eyes, even though all I want to do is rake my gaze across her body, followed by my hands, and my mouth …
“I’ll do you a deal.” She looks at me thoughtfully with a devilish glint in her eye and pouts those good-for-cock-sucking lips. “You can keep my gun if you really want it that bad. But …” She glances around the yard, seemingly loving the crowd she’s drawn. “I want your bike until you get my car fixed.”
Is she out of her goddamn motherfucking mind?
The yard erupts with coughs and splutters of disbelief, before turning into belly-aching laughter. I’m raging in every sense of the word. My blood is white hot with anger and lust, and it’s pumping around my body faster than the lead that’s fired out of a well-oiled machine gun.
I walk around the side of the bike, giving her a twisted smile and resting my thigh in front of her knee. I raise my hand slowly, looking deep into her eyes, and as I trail my knuckles gently over her sharp, striking cheekbone, she tilts her head a fraction, her body wanting to lean into my gentle touch but her mind telling her to stay strong. I let my knuckles wander down her cheek, and slide my hot palm around the back of her neck. She lets out a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her pulse races through her body. Then I weave my fingers through the hair at the nape of her head and pull, hard. She gasps, her hands coming up and grasping my arm trying to pull me away. I lower my face closer to hers, tilting my head with a cruel smile playing on my lips.
“Never, ever, mess with a man’s ride…” I hiss.
“Get off me,” she demands through gritted teeth, still wincing at the pressure I’m applying to her scalp.
I tug her head backward, and she sucks in a deep intake of air but doesn’t fight it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s enjoying this. Dilated pupils and rapid, shallow breaths tell me that maybe she’s even turned on by this. And if she is …Fuck.
I brush my lips over hers, unable to resist just a touch, a tiny taste of her, taking just a fraction of what I want and messing with her at the same time. “You’re lucky I’m not tearing your hair from your head, girl,” I tell her, tightening my grip by just a small amount but making it so she knows not to fuck with me. “Now get off my fucking bike.”
I release my grip, and her gaze falters as I pin her with a hard stare. God, I hope she takes my silent plea and gets the fuck off my bike. The boys probably think I’m crazy for even letting her get this far. For allowing her to goad and tease me to see how far she can push me before I snap, and I really don’t want to have to hurt her to prove a point and keep my rep around here.
She heeds my warning and slowly rises off the bike, swinging her leg over and hopping off. Her chin is raised, and her nostrils flare with anger and defeat, but she doesn’t challenge me. Clever girl. Instead, she straightens her back and glances back at me before walking off, swaying her ass from side to side, knowing everyone is watching her walk away. I let her get a few strides away, mesmerized by the motion of her fluid pace and captivating defiance. It takes a brave woman to turn her back on a yard full of men—men like us. It’s then that I realize the yard is still silent. The guys are all watching her just like I am, and I want to cut their eyes out with a knife. I don’t want them looking at her like that. I feel the need to claim her, even if she doesn’t want to be claimed.
I rush up behind her, reaching out to wrap my arms around her waist and lift her off the ground. I didn’t dismiss her. I never said she could leave. We’re not done here, not yet.
But she’s faster and more intuitive than me, and before I can grab her, her elbow jabs backward and connects with my nose with a crack.
“FUCK,” I roar. The gasp that comes from the watchers in the yard echoes around my head—the pain is instant both to my now bloody nose, and my ego.
What the fuck is this woman doing to me?
I ignore the stream of blood pouring from my probably broken nose for the second time in as many days and make a grab for her. “Bitch,” I mutter through bloody teeth, wrapping my arms around her waist. She might be fast—she might be really fucking strong for someone of her size, but the rage and determination running through me overpowers all of that. She pounds my arms with her tiny fists. She screams at me to let her go. She even flings her head back in an attempt to flat
ten my nose a little more. No chance.
“Let me fucking go!” she screams as loud as she possibly can.
“Shut the fuck up, you stupid little bitch.”
“Fuck you,” she spits, making me laugh as I carry her across the yard.
Chapter 9
His muscular arms squeeze around my ribs so tightly I can hardly breathe.
“Put me down, asshole,” I tell him, kicking my legs fiercely and struggling in his grasp. Surely, the more I struggle, the harder it has to be for him to keep a hold of me like this. I don’t give up fighting, either. I won’t give in to him. It’s not who I am, and just because he has a handsome face, it doesn’t mean I’ll go weak at the knees and let him do what the fuck he wants to me. “I am not one of your biker whores,” I yell, thrashing and throwing my head back even as he kicks the door to the club open with his boot. It cracks as it hits the wall and bounces back into his shoulder. He doesn’t break stride or falter, kicking every door open as he marches through the bar and down a corridor reaching a room that’s familiar to me.
I'm bundled through the door, held tightly against Ramsey's chest, fighting him, fighting to breathe, and cursing myself for not seeing this coming and being unable to get myself out of his hold.
He shoves the door closed behind him with his boot and strides across the room, dropping me face first onto his bed with his weight following instantly, pressing me to the mattress while he pulls my arms tightly behind me. I wince as he forces my wrists roughly against the middle of my back. I'm not stupid. I know I can't get out of this hold, but it doesn't stop me from trying. I twist my body, kick my legs wildly, and throw my head back in an attempt to bust his nose again. But it's all futile. He straddles my ass, pinning me down with his hard, heavy body, and holds my wrists effortlessly, pushing them further up my back the more I fight, causing so much pain to shoot through my arms it feels like my shoulders and elbows will dislocate at any second. “You’re hurting me,” I cry, trying one last time to release myself from his hold.
His breaths are loud and fast in his chest—then I hear him laugh softly.
“What's so fucking funny?” I spit out. Incensed at him, by him.
“You.” He chuckles. “You come in here, all boots, tits, and ass and you think it makes you a tough bitch?” he says, adjusting his grip.
“I think you’re forgetting I busted your fucking nose, asshole. Twice.”
“Lucky shots.” He sniffs. “I think you're forgetting who's face down on my bed, under my control, helpless as to if I choose to break your fucking arms or shove my dick in your ass.” His tone changes, deeper, darker, growling as he grinds his hips into me.
Would he really rape me? Would he rape me…there?
I shudder, feeling the small girl from thirteen years ago creeping out of hiding.
He’s right. I am helpless. Just as I was back then.
I’m in a biker’s den, I have no cell, no gun, and no one knows I'm here. If I went missing, Vaughn would come looking for me, wouldn't he? But how would he even know where to look? He's got enough money to have people searching for me all over. But these are outlaw bikers, don't they kill people slowly and painfully and bury their bodies in the woods, for fun?
“Just get it over with,” I say quietly, coping the only way I know how. Shutting down in the face of such brutal fear. Taking my mind somewhere else—anywhere but here. Physically, I survived it once. I could survive it again. But mentally, I’d be stone cold dead.
Ramsey chuckles again. “You think I want to rape you, darlin’?”
The lighter edge to his voice brings me back to the present. “That's what you just said.”
“If I want to fuck, I can click my fingers and have a whole fucking harem knelt at my feet, ready and willing to suck my dick. Do you think I need to get my dick wet bad enough to rape a woman?”
“Isn't that what you bikers do? Rape, pillage …”
“Pillage?” He scoffs, and I'm just about getting sick of hearing him laugh at me. “We don't live back with the Vikings, sweetheart.”
“Well, whatever the fuck it is you do, just fucking do it, get it over and done with and leave me the fuck alone or bury my body in the woods,” I say, hysteria starting to creep into my voice. In all the situations I've been in, the danger I've exposed myself to, always coming out on top because I knew it couldn't be any other way, my martial arts training keeping me light on my toes and quick with my reactions, this is by far the worst because it came so unexpectedly. I got complacent. I let my guard down. Part of me, a deluded sliver, let me think that because of the way I seemed to affect this man, that I had the upper hand. But his strength was too much for me to fight. That, and the fact I wasn’t ready for him.
I sag with relief when there's a knock at the door. That is until the sick, tormented part of my brain makes me question if the other bikers have all come to help him. Will they take turns to rape me? To tie me up and use me until my body is broken and my soul extinguished, and there's nothing left for me but to leave this earth.
“What?” Ramsey barks with agitation.
“You okay, bro?”
“Fuck off.” He shouts to the person behind the door. Maybe they're not going to use me as their plaything after all.
“What's happening?”
“We’re having a fucking picnic, now Fuck. Off!” he yells, his voice bouncing off the walls.
Footsteps trail down the hall, getting further and further away until they're gone completely, and we’re in silence with just the sound of our breaths filling the air. Ramsey lowers his body over mine, his chest pressing against my still restrained hands, his lips hovering close to my ear.
“Who are you?” he whispers.
“I told you,” I whisper back, our hushed tones treacherously caressing each other in the dim light. “I’m Sadie. Nobody, really.”
“You one of The Wolves girls?”
“Who?” I ask with a frown.
“Did Rev send you?” His body tightens as he speaks, but his voice is still low.
“What are you talking about? I don’t know anyone called Rev.”
He pushes his face into my hair and inhales. “Then what are you doing here?”
I sigh. “I told you. I want my gun and my car. That’s all.” I’m more than aggravated at this back and forth, but what else can I do other than comply.
He takes a breath, sitting back on his haunches, holding my hands behind my back but not as tightly as before. I stay as still as possible not wanting him to tighten his grip again. “How do I know if you’re telling the truth?” he asks.
“You don’t. You just have to trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” he grumbles.
“Well, then I guess we’re stuck here all night, then.” I roll my eyes, even though I know he can’t see me. “Look,” I say, frustrated that I can’t turn to look him in the eyes while I speak. “If I wanted to fucking kill you, I would have done it by now. I could have stood at the gate and put a bullet in your head, but I didn’t. I came here, unarmed, to get back what’s mine. That’s it. Nothing else. No sinister intentions. I just want my stuff.”
He’s quiet for a few moments, and I’m about to open my mouth to add to my case when he speaks. “Okay.” His weight leaves my body as he jumps off in one swift move and stands by the bed. Pain shoots up my arms and through my shoulders when I try to move them, so I take it slowly until my hands are by my sides, and I can push myself up off the bed.
“Here,” he says, offering me his hand.
“No thanks,” I reply with a shake of my head. When I’m upright and sitting on the edge of his bed, I roll my shoulders and rub the back of my neck trying to ease the screaming muscles.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,”
His apology sounds genuine, and the softness in his eyes tells me that he’s not lying. But I can’t figure him out. One minute he’s looking at me like he wants to rip my clothes off, and the next he’s yanking my hair and aski
ng me about wolves. “Who are The Wolves?”
“You ask a lot of questions; you know that?”
“I know.” My mom always said that knowledge is power, so naturally, I find out as much about people and situations as possible.
A well-educated woman is a dangerous one.
“They’re a rival club.”
“A motorcycle club?”
“Yes.” He relaxes his hip, standing with his thumbs in the belt loops of his jet black jeans. I look him up and down. For a biker, he’s pretty clean. I’d expected them to be dirty and covered in oil, maybe even a bit fat, or hairy, or … old. But he’s opposite to all of those. He’s clean—so clean I can smell his aftershave from here. His facial hair is neat, but somehow still rugged, and his hair, it’s short at the sides and longer and more wild on top, but it suits him perfectly. His t-shirt is crisp white and a stark contrast to his black jeans and well-worn soft, black, leather cut.
He tilts his head and smirks as I look him over which makes me jump start my words again. “A-a-and you thought I was one of their girls because …”
“Because you’re becoming as much of a pain in my ass as they are,” he huffs, stalking across the room and pulling open a cabinet. I eye him warily. Although I really don’t think he’s going to hurt me, my senses remind me that I don’t know this man. I haven’t the first clue about this outlaw biker, and for all I know, he could be grabbing a gun to finish me off. Even if this was the case, I’m helpless to it now. I’m here, and even if I ran for the door, he could fire a shot at me faster than I could run. I hear glasses clink, and he comes to me, holding out a tumbler with a large measure of amber liquid. I look up at him, wide eyes and a thousand questions. “It’s not poisoned,” he says with a smirk.
I hesitate for a second, thinking what a dumbass he is for telling me that. Like he would tell me if it really was poisoned. He takes a swig from the glass then holds it back out to me. But his face drops before I can take the glass and he starts to gag. Strangled choking noises come from his throat as he stumbles forward, spilling some of the liquid, and bracing himself on the bed next to me.
