TANGLED WITH THE BIKER_Bad Devils MC

by Kathryn Thomas

  I smile, turning to him. “Fuck.”

  Chapter Thirty Four

  When we’re dressed, we emerge from the gazebo.

  Maddox and I stand in the cool night air, grinning at each other like we always do. I want to talk now, and I can see that he does. It’s become a ritual, after all: sex and then talk. But I know he has to get to work, so I don’t ask him to sneak off with me. The people in the garden don’t so much as glance in our direction. We got away with it then.

  “You should go and enjoy the party,” Maddox says. “I need to check on the men. Make sure everything is running smoothly.”

  “Okay, then,” I say.

  “Don’t be sad, Red. I know it hurts that your man can’t be with you all night, but I’ll come check on you when I can.”

  I thump him on the chest. “Shut it,” I say. “How you treat me during sex isn’t how you treat me when we’re not having sex, remember?”

  “Oh, you’d tear my eyes out if I did that.” Mason smiles. “Wait a sec.”

  He reaches inside his jacket and takes out a small flash drive.

  “What’s this?” I ask as he hands it to me.

  He smirks. “Just take it. There’s a computer upstairs, second room to the left in the left wing. I’m sure Mr. Mason Abraham won’t mind if you take a look.”

  “Hmm, okay,” I say, taking the drive and sliding it into my cleavage. “Maybe I’ll steal Nat away from Markus for a few minutes and check it with her.”

  “They’re hitting it off, then?”

  “Yes, you little matchmaker.”

  When we get back to the main room of the party, Mason leaves me to talk with his men.

  I walk around the party, a glass of champagne in my hand, searching the crowd for Nat. As I search, I bump into a woman. She’s a curvy, hourglass-built woman, her face is round and pale, and her eyes are wide, startled, and green. Her hair is bleach-blonde, dyed, with pink at the ends. She wears a forest-green dress to match her eyes and dark green heels. When I bump into her, she grins. “Not to worry, Miss Chase!” I guess she’s about my age, maybe a year or two older, but certainly no older than thirty.

  I make to ask her how she knows my name, but she taps me on the shoulder and points through the crowd to an old man, squat and wide-bellied, gray hair creeping around a bald dome, wearing suspenders with a three-piece suit. He clutches an unlit pipe in his hand and waves it as he talks.

  “See that lovely old man?” she whispers in my ear. “That’s Mason Abraham, the owner of all this…” She waves a hand around the mansion.

  “Ah,” I say. “And you are?”

  “Me? I am his girlfriend.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I mutter.

  She nods, grins at me, and then says, “I must leave you now. My beloved wants me.”

  I look to Mason, who is waving at the blonde-pink-haired woman.

  “Okay, see you.”

  The woman dances away, weaving through the crowd. I watch her for a few moments, wondering why I immediately like her. Perhaps it’s her energy or her smile. Or perhaps it’s because I can imagine the number of humiliations she has to endure being married to a man as old as Mason.

  I push the thoughts from my mind, turn away, and search for Nat.

  A flash drive. What could be on it?

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Maddox

  After I check with the men and have been told that everything is all right, I stand at the back of the large hall and watch the party. Everything seems to be moving along as boringly as they usually do. Some of the partiers are drunk, but that’s to be expected. A few drunk people aren’t a problem. The men stationed outside have told me that nothing strange as happened out there. Just rich people turning up in rich people’s cars.

  As I watch, Mason Abraham climbs the staircase and stops in the middle. He taps his champagne glass with his pipe. The band stops playing and the ruckus of the party quiets as everyone turns to the old billionaire.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” Mason says, his voice a long, drawn-out rasp. Where’s his girlfriend? Where’s Cassandra? Seeing the old man with Cassandra gives me the feeling of snakes crawling over my skin. Not because I care about Cassandra being with an old man, but because I worry about the old man. Perhaps he thinks he has a piece of harmless eye candy; he doesn’t know how mad she is.

  “We are here today to raise money for the noblest of causes,” Mason goes on. “The education of those in the third world in matters concerning computers. Computers, you see, are one of the most important tools in the twenty-first century.” More important than food, eh, old boy? “And if the poorest in the world are excluded from their use…”

  I zone out from the speech and glance around the room. Everyone stands in small huddles, looking up at the old man. I watch for guns under jackets. Watch the people’s hands; make sure they don’t stray toward their pockets for no reason. I watch the staircase on either side of Mason, making sure nobody sneaks behind him. Watching all this is what I get paid for, and so I watch carefully. Mason’s voice goes on and on, and I watch.

  I watch him so closely that I don’t even realize when Cassandra comes up next to me. I only notice her when she taps me on the arm. I spin, ready to fight, and then my hands fall to my sides when I see her grinning face. Cassandra, a woman who once ran into the winter air stark naked and stole my bike, smiles up at me. She places her forefinger on her lips and nods toward Mason.

  I inch away from her, but she closes the gap, inching toward me. I want to scream at her, push her away, but I can’t do anything. Overreact, and we lose the job, the men lose their pay, and The Miseryed lose their reputation as men who can be trusted when it matters.

  Finally, the speech comes to a close. “So once again I’d like to thank you all…”

  Almost as soon as Mason begins to climb down the stairs, the patrons explode into life again, talking loudly, laughing. The band starts up, and the room is once more filled with their jazz.

  Cassandra grins, that mad grin I came to know so well when we were together. Her hair is dyed, but apart from that, she looks the same as I remember.

  She smiles. “So, lover boy, aren’t you happy to see me?”

  ***

  Cassandra leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. I don’t pull away – if she causes a scene, I’m screwed – but I don’t make to kiss her back, either. I just stand there like a statue, wincing at the touch of her lips. When she senses this in me, she pulls away quickly and squints at me.

  “Is something wrong?” she asks.

  “Nothing is wrong with me,” I reply, keeping my voice conversational. Inside, anger bubbles. She just kissed me on the goddamn cheek! But outside, I am calm, the leader of The Miseryed. Professional. “How are you?”

  “Don’t I get a kiss?” She turns her cheek toward me.

  That’s too much. “I have a cold,” I grunt. “I’d hate to give it to you.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I do.”

  “Oh, my sweet lover boy, are you angry about the bike?”

  I shake my head, laughing gruffly. Calm, calm. “Weren’t you cold? Naked, middle of winter.”

  She trails her finger down her opposite arm. I think it’s meant to be seductive, but all I can think about is how she looked folded up on the floor, naked, mad and covered in her own blood. All I can think about are the twin cuts on my chest. “Oh, Maddox, I was cold. But the thought of you kept me warm. The thought of you always keeps me warm. I can’t help but be warm with a strong man like you in my memory.”

  I shiver; I can’t help it. She notices and snaps at me:,“What’s wrong with you? You’re being all… distant.”

  I was always distant with you. If you could see how I am with Eden, you’d know I was distant with you. I was never, not once, close with you. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see this is all in your head? I want to say that and more to her, but I have to remember that she’s the billionaire’s girlfriend—have to remember h
ow much of a scene Cassandra can make when she wants to. I bite back my words.

  “Just working,” I mutter.

  “I sold the bike,” she says. “I stole some clothes first, of course. And then I sold the bike and reinvented myself. Oh, I still have the same name – my name – but look at my hair. Don’t I look different? A real punk chick.”

  “Different, sure.” My hand taps against my thigh. I know the feeling well. My body craves adrenaline, craves a fight. Cassandra just grins at me. If she were a man, I’d take her outside, and we’d fight. But you don’t hit a woman, ever. That’s rule number one.

  “Don’t I look lovely, though, Maddox?” she says, waving a hand down the length of her green dress.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Oh, Maddox!” She throws her hands up, narrows her eyes, and sighs heavily. “What is this? Where’s the loving Maddox I remember?”

  That was all in your head, you crazy bitch. The loving Maddox you remember was never real, don’t you understand? The loving Maddox you remember was a creation of your burnt-out psyche.

  “I’m working,” I say. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “Oh, what do you think will happen? Mason’s as quiet as they come. A nice, quiet old man. No one wants to hurt him. He’s very boring.” She leans close to me, as though we are accomplices. I shift away; she follows. She follows until I am pressed against a wall, and she is standing right beside me. I have to fight the urge to shove her away. “He looks very pathetic in bed,” she goes on. “I have to pretend I like it, of course. But there’s only one man who can really give it to me, you know. Can you guess who it is?”

  She asks the question in what I guess is meant to be a sweet, seductive voice, but it makes my skin crawl: a thousand cockroaches wriggling under my suit.

  “It’s you, silly,” she says when I don’t reply. “You are such a big, strong man.”

  “I’m busy,” I grunt.

  “Busy? With what, waiting for that sweet little princess, Eden? Who is she, by the way?”

  “Eden?” I snap, turning to face her fully. My hands twist into fists, and I begin to shake. I lean forward, my voice ice-cold. “You don’t need to worry about Eden,” I snarl. “She’s nothing to do with you.”

  Cassandra throws her head back and giggles, but quietly, so she doesn’t disturb the speech. When she lowers her gaze, she wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “I already know everything about her,” she says. “Sweet girl. Feminist, isn’t she? A nice, strong, smart girl? A bit thin for you though, Maddox? I thought you liked fleshy women.”

  “Leave her alone, Cassandra,” I growl. “Or I swear I’ll—”

  “Careful,” Cassandra says, and all the playfulness drains from her voice like water from a jug until she’s emptied, nothing left. “Or maybe Eden will learn everything about you, Maddox. Every dirty little thing.”

  “You’ve got nothing,” I mutter. “Nothing at all.”

  “Maybe not. But a girl can be wonderfully inventive, you know.”

  “You’re a crazy bitch,” I say, keeping my voice quiet because a man and a woman walk right by us.

  “Maybe.” Cassandra shrugs. “Listen, I have a proposition for you. If you leave with me, right now, I’ll forget all about her. I’ll leave Mason, and you leave sweet little Eden, and we can be together. You know it’s what you really want. She’s too good for you, too sweet.” She clutches her hands to her chest, eyes watering. “We can be together again.”

  I shove past her. “No,” I say, as she takes a step back. “I don’t want you. You need help. I’m going back to work.”

  “Fine,” she whispers. “You’ve made your choice.”

  I pace away from her, anger rolling through me in waves. Goddamn crazy bitch. The cuts on my chest burn again, as though they’ve just now been reopened.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Eden

  Just to get him alone again… just to sink back into pleasure…

  Our sex goes over and over in my mind as I search the party for Nat. I keep thinking about how he pushed me forward, about how he made me beg, and about how much I loved it when he made me beg. I think about the conversations we’ve shared and the way he’s changed me—and yet still allowed me to retain who I am. I think about wolfish eyes and the way he handles me when he’s horny: like he owns me. And you like you be owned, don’t you? That’s part of the fun.

  My boyfriends before Maddox – and I guess he is kind of my boyfriend – were quick, stunted affairs. One was a painter, another a weight lifter, another an accountant. But no matter what their job was, the same problem always came up: boredom. Perhaps it’s a strange thing for a feminist to say, but they were always too nice, too timid, and too polite. They would never have pushed me into a gazebo and pulled my underwear down. Most of them asked my permission before leaning in for a kiss.

  Still, I’ve never gone for the bad boy before Maddox. Even though all my boyfriends have been wet blankets. But I’ve never had a chance with a bad boy like Maddox.

  I stop at the edge of the room as the billionaire gives his speech, sipping my champagne, reflecting, remembering, and scanning the room for Nat. The room is overflowing and finding a single person is difficult. I can’t even see Maddox.

  And he is a bad boy. There’s no denying that, is there? He is definitely a bad boy!

  I still find myself shocked that I’m with him. That I’ve slept with him. That we fuck and talk. It’s still strange to me, in the way that any unusual turn of events becomes both normal and strange over time. When I’m with him, it feels like the most natural thing I could do. When we’re apart, I’m shocked all over again. Eden Chase with a bad boy, Eden Chase with an outlaw, Eden Chase with a cocky, arrogant biker!

  Mason talks for a few minutes, and then he limps down the stairs. The party reignites. The guests laugh, shout, dance, and drink. The band plays. Waiters and waitresses circulate. I look across the room one more time for Nat, but I still can’t see her. Probably run off with Markus, I think, because I can’t see the big guy, either.

  So I shift through the party, sliding between groups of guests, and then head for the staircase, for the computer room, the flash drive pressing into my cleavage.

  ***

  No room in this mansion is small, but if there were a contender for a small room, it would be this. It’s about the size of my apartment living room, a cubbyhole compared to the epic scale of the rest of the place. On the far end is a desk, with a computer screen, a mouse, and a keyboard. The tower rests underneath the desk. The walls display abstract art, for which the billionaire clearly has a taste. Otherwise, it is bare. The computer hums. The tower is on, but the screen is off, blank.

  I lean down, take the flash drive from my bra, and slide it into the PC tower. Then I lean back up and press the button on the monitor—

  What the fuck!

  The screensaver is on display, and the screensaver makes my head ache. I close my eyes, bring my hands to my temples and rub, and then open my eyes again. No change. I tap my fingernails against the desk, grind my teeth, and stare at the screensaver. It’s not on a slideshow: just that one photograph. Surely he knew what the screensaver was? I think, anger growing. Surely he knew, otherwise, why send me specifically up here? He was determined to get me into this specific room, wasn’t he?

  Bile rises in my throat. Don’t be silly. You’re not going to vomit.

  But it rises and rises, and I panic. Heart pounding, head aching, I spring from the chair and sprint from the room, stumble down the hallway and fall into the bathroom. I stumble to the toilet and kneel down; vomiting violently into the bowl, telling myself all the while that it’s the champagne. I’m not this dramatic. I’m not this reliant on a man. I don’t care that much, do I? But he wanted me to see it, I think, and fresh sickness makes my body contort.

  Get a hold of yourself, Eden! I snap in my head. Get a goddamn hold on yourself! You’re not some weak-willed woman, are you? Come on!

&n
bsp; I take a deep breath and stand up, take some toilet tissue and wipe my lips. Then I lean down in the sink and turn on the tap, sipping the water.

  I keep telling myself that I’m not the sort who overreacts to something like this, but perhaps it’s all the worse because of that. I have never before opened myself to somebody, never before let in a man more than an inch. And when I do, he—

  He what? Plays some kind of sick trick on me! This computer terminal, specifically!

  I return to the room and walk to the desk, grinding my teeth, but otherwise under control. Come on, stop it!

  But when I look at the picture again, I go cold.

  It’s a photograph taken on the beach in daylight. Maddox is on his back, and the woman sits on top of him. They are kissing passionately, Maddox’s hand on the woman’s ass, grabbing the flesh. The woman’s hair is a different color, but her build is the same, and I recognize her instantly.