My Forever Cocky Biker Encounter (Concrete Angels MC Book 1)

by Siobhan Muir

  I took one step and someone knocked on the door. My first instinct was to drop and scramble back into the bedroom, but I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes, willing my heartbeat to steady. It’ll be okay. They won’t hurt me. Or at least they wouldn’t hurt me physically. Words and innuendos work just as well. Like at the FBI.

  I shook my head as the knock sounded again. Just answer it and get it over with. I strode to the door and checked the peep hole. What the? Grasping the knob, I pulled the door open.

  “Hey, Ms. Hunter. I just wanted to check on you. May I come in?” Michael’s rich British accent slid over me and soothed some of my jangled nerves.

  Don’t fall for it. It’s a trick.

  I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

  He held up a real silver tea service on a tray and I blinked. “I have some tea to share if you’re interested. I thought it would help. Please?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

  He tilted his head, compassion rolling off him like a balm. “Because it didn’t take a genius to see you were very upset and suffering effects from some trauma.”

  “Who told you that?” Oh fuck, had they gotten a hold of my file?

  “You did.” He nodded to the tea. “I’ll just leave the tea and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. We can talk about anything you like. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  Before I could stop him, he’d stepped through the doorway and headed for the table. I squawked in protest and turned with him, and for just a moment I could’ve sworn I saw a huge set of silver-black wings folded on his back.

  Wait, wings?

  I blinked and the feathered appendages disappeared. Like they were never there. Man, maybe I should drink the tea. I closed the door and strode to his side until I could look into his face. Who was this guy? He smiled at me as he set out the tea cups—real crystal with sterling silver bases—and poured tea from the pot before handing one to me.

  “Cream or sugar?”

  I shook my head. “No. Why are you here?”

  He pulled out one of the two chairs and settled into the second one. “Join me. I’m here because we’re truly worried about you. What happened in the clubhouse? Did someone do something to you?”

  “No.”

  I sat down and wrapped my hands around the tea. The heat seeped into my palms and some of the tension in my shoulders released. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t let my guard down around this man. He might seem friendly, but so had Dirk at the FBI.

  No, I’m not thinking about that.

  “You know, when I first came to the Concrete Angels.” He paused and snorted, rueful amusement curling his lips. “I didn’t trust anyone either. They appeared to be an unruly bunch of heathens bent on threat and destruction. Especially Loki and his then second-in-command, my older brother Luke. But you’d be surprised at how much these people care about each other and look out for all their members. I was.”

  I snorted and shook my head. “I know what you’re doing, Michael. Establish a rapport so the person you’re trying to convince relaxes.”

  His smiled. “Is it working?”

  “No. You’re trying to sell me a load of horseshit. I’ve seen your Scooters and how they treat people, women in particular. I’m a pair of tits and a pussy to them. The only thing stopping them from raping me is my own defensive abilities and the contract I signed. And the only reason the contract stops them is because they’re afraid of what Loki will do if they break it.” I dropped my gaze to the tea in the cup. “No one cares about me but me.”

  He lifted his hand and extended his arm until I met his gaze again.

  “If you touch me, I’ll stab you with the knife I always carry on me.”

  He pulled his hand back and sipped his tea. “Good to know. I guarantee if any of the Scooters touch you, they’ll be dealt with.”

  “Uh-huh. Pretty words. But I know how the “Old Boys Club” works. Either they’ll get a slap on the wrist or you’ll warn me to be more careful.” I shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be gone in a few days and then it won’t matter. You won’t have to require them to change their behavior.”

  “You seem pretty convinced that’s how the Concrete Angels work.”

  I barked an incredulous laugh. “I’ve lived it. Women live it every day, even when men deny that’s what’s going on because they can’t see it. The Concrete Angels aren’t different than any other organization run by men. Bros before women.”

  “I believe the phrase is ‘bros before hos.’”

  I scowled. “I know what the correct phrase is. I just don’t think of myself as a whore. Go figure.” I stood and pointed at the door. “Now get out.”

  “Please, Ms. Hunter. Let me help.” He didn’t move from the chair.

  “Why?” I raised my chin and stared him down.

  “Because you’re hurting.”

  “Yes, I am hurting. I’ve been lied to, kidnapped, railroaded, and threatened. And now you come in here with a pot a tea and a smile and think I’ll just bare my soul to you because you try to sweet talk me into believing you give a shit? Hate to burst your ego bubble, but I’m not your typical gullible bimbo.”

  “That’s not the kind of hurting I was referring to.” He met my gaze and despite my refusal to back down, he still seemed to see into my soul. “I’m talking about what happened in the clubhouse.”

  Fear spiked through me, but I shrugged. “What about it?”

  For a moment, frustration filtered through his expression but it disappeared as he raised his eyebrows and spread his hands. “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

  “Why would you want to?” I raised my own eyebrows.

  He tilted his head with a half-smile. “It’s what I do. I’m empathic and when someone’s hurting, I tend to move heaven and earth to help the pain stop.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. To his credit, he didn’t stare at my boobs. “Why should I trust you?”

  “Because, like you, I live by my word and follow the rules. If I say I’m going to do something, I do it.”

  Damn, he looked so sincere. I wanted to believe him. Hell, I wanted to tell someone about the assault in the broom closet. Someone who’d believe me. But I’d learned the hard way that no one would.

  They’d pointed out all the reasons I’d caused the assault and said it was my fault. Clothes, hair, perfume, being friendly. All were threats against the “innocent” men just minding their own business. They couldn’t be blamed if they were tempted by a harlot wearing a business suit with her hair in a ponytail who offered a cordial smile to them every morning in the breakroom. She must have been parading around, offering herself like a tasty treat.

  I didn’t realize I was crying until Michael rose and took a couple of steps toward me. “Ms. Hunter.”

  “Don’t. Don’t touch me.” I couldn’t stop the tears but I could stop the contact.

  “Please, come sit down again. Have some tea. It’ll help even if I can’t.” He gestured to the chairs but didn’t offer to touch me again. His mouth and shoulders tightened as if he wanted to gather me into his arms, but he stepped back and sat down. “Please, Oriana.”

  It was the first time he’d said my name, but the soothing quality of his voice made more of my resistance fade. I’d been carrying this secret around for two years and it’d grown unbearably heavy. I wanted to give it to someone else to carry, but no one had backed me up. I was the pariah and the one with nightmares, but everyone said it was my fault. More tears slid down my cheeks as I returned to my chair. He refilled my mug with warm tea and waited for me to say something.

  “I’m so tired.” I held my cup to anchor myself in reality, but reality sucked just the same as the past. “Tell me again why you want to help me? You’ve known me all of two hours.”

  Michael’s lips curled into a sad smile. “It’s what I do.”

  I nodded. “Right. You’re in a notorious biker club and you help people. That�
�s great. Tell you what. Why don’t you take your vague responses right on outta here and I’ll just get settled? Mmkay?” I was tired of carrying my secrets, but two could play the vague game.

  “You carry a lot of anger around with you.”

  I barked an unhappy laugh. “Yup.”

  “You don’t want to tell me the reason?” he asked.

  “You don’t want to admit why you’re really here?” I countered.

  “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

  I nodded. “Fabulous. Thanks for the tea.” I didn’t have time for a game of ‘guess my special talent’ that men liked to play. “The door’s that way.”

  He laughed, a delighted sound despite my rude dismissal. “You don’t give any quarter, do you?” He shook his head, but his smile remained. “All right. Here’s the truth. I’ve had a lot of experience with combat veterans and domestic violence victims, and I can recognize the signs of PTSD from violent trauma. You have a lot of them. Being brought against your will up to a motorcycle club’s compound probably doesn’t engender trust of your ‘friend’ and hosts.

  “But I also recognize a soul desperately asking for help. My guess is you’ve been isolating yourself and hiding from life since the trauma you experienced.” He held his tea cup up, the delicate crystal and silver appearing fragile in his big hands. “I can give you the help and recovery you’ve been seeking.”

  I snorted. “What, with drugs? I have a shrink for that.”

  He shook his head. “No, as someone who can listen to your story without criticism or disdain.”

  Glory, that one sentence damn near broke me. Yearning hit my heart like a freight train and I wanted to blurt out everything that had happened, releasing the anger, pain, frustration, and hopelessness onto someone else’s shoulders.

  But could I trust Michael? Could I give him the ugliness that had been wearing me down for the last two years? I could barely eat or sleep, my friends and family had retreated, and I worked alone. You’re gonna have to trust someone sometime. Yeah, but was it Michael?

  Why not? He doesn’t know me. Maybe it was better to hand it to a stranger rather than someone who had preconceived notions of who I was supposed to be.

  “I don’t know if I can tell you. I’ve been holding onto it for so long.” I shook my head and closed my eyes as the tears flooded out of me. “It was at my previous job. I loved it there. I loved what I was doing. I thought I was helping people.”

  “In the FBI.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “Yeah.” It didn’t surprise me he knew. I suspected Loki had a dossier on me, I just hoped it didn’t include too much of my life. “Please don’t tell the others. I don’t need to be ostracized for that, too. It’s my past, and I was damn good at it, but it’s over now.”

  “Why did you leave the FBI if you loved it so much?”

  “I couldn’t stay. Something happened and I was blamed for it even if it wasn’t my fault.” It wasn’t my fault, but my coworkers and family and friends didn’t see it that way. “After a while I couldn’t stand to be around the silent looks and the gossip.”

  “Who actually did the crime?”

  “My supervisor, my boss. He—” I couldn’t say the words. They stuck in my throat so hard my voice came out in a low wail. My tears sent a fresh wave down my face. “No one believed me. They all talk a good game about reporting incidents, but when it’s someone highly respected and decorated, they questioned my memory, my wardrobe, my professionalism. No one could believe such a high-ranking officer of the law would commit such an illegal act.”

  I raised my gaze to meet Michael’s blue eyes full of compassion. “He did it to me, but he still has his job. He took more than my autonomy. He took my happiness, my strength, and my job away from me. He took it all. Oh glory, he took everything.”

  Sobs clobbered me for the second time that day and this time I let Michael gather me into his arms when he got up. I couldn’t hold in the grief at the loss of so much. I’d been as strong as I could throughout the process of reporting my superior for rape, but in the end it had been too much for me to stay. Some of my coworkers had pitied me. Others openly disbelieved my story. But the memories of that dark place with my hands cuffed behind my back were etched in my memory, eating away at my sanity one black moment at a time.

  Michael let me sob away against his chest, his strong arms holding me as he murmured soothing nonsense into my hair. It felt so good to be held against another human being, not in a sexual way, but with comfort and compassion. I clung to him with the determination I used to have before the rape and the sharp edges of my agony wore down in the face of his empathy. He’s using emotional sand paper. The idea made me smile.

  It’s called love, you idiot. I lost my smile but didn’t doubt the thought. I hadn’t been loved by anyone in a long time, including myself, but Michael offered it without reservation. I opened my eyes and found myself encased not only in his arms, but silver-black feathers. I must have jerked as I blinked because when I looked again, they were gone and only his arms remained around me.

  I raised my head and met his gaze, blinking owlishly.

  “Feeling better?” He didn’t smile, but the question didn’t feel hostile.

  Surprisingly, yes, I was. Better and lighter. At least until the door to my cabin opened and Scott stepped inside. He growled and slammed the door behind him.

  “What the fuck is going on here?”

  Chapter Four

  Scott

  Schnoz promised! He promised he wouldn’t do anything to snag Oriana’s attention. But when I used the master key to come into her cabin and found her wrapped in his arms, gazing at him with adoration, I just about lost my shit and my lunch.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” The words were out of my mouth before I took in Oriana’s tear-stained face.

  “Scott, you gave me your word you’d wait until I got back.”

  “Why, so you could move in on my—”

  “On your what, exactly?” Oriana’s knife-edged gaze slashed to mine. “I’m not your anything, Scott. And how the fuck did you get in here? I didn’t invite you. Get out.”

  Yeah, this wasn’t exactly how I’d thought things would go. I didn’t like how close Schnoz had gotten to Oriana, but I really didn’t like her kicking me out and not him.

  “Oriana—”

  “I said get out.” She at least stepped out of Michael’s arms and headed for the kitchenette to rinse out the teacups.

  Michael shot me a look and shrugged when I scowled at him. He nodded to the door with a look that said he’d follow me and I shook my head.

  “Are you listening to me, Scott, or is your ego too big to hear through? Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

  I rolled my eyes but nodded. “Fine, I’m getting out. You better be comin’ too, Schnoz.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I won’t be a moment.” Michael nodded, frustration filling his eyes.

  I wasn’t sure if he was pissed I caught him making moves in Oriana or if it was something else, but I would be happy to set him straight the moment he came outside. I left reluctantly but would wait for him under the Ponderosa to kick his ass. I scowled, seething, but the vanilla scent combined with the dry heat and pine calmed me down a little. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  Which whooshed out of me the moment Michael slammed me up against the trunk.

  “What the fuck, Schnoz?”

  “I should bloody well ask you the same thing!” He snarled at me, his huge nose in my face. I’d never seen him that angry and unease skittered through me. “I was this close to getting Oriana to open up, you stupid git. What were you thinking?”

  “That you were making moves on her.” I met his anger with my own.

  “Oh for glory’s sake. I gave you my word.”

  “Yeah, well, it looked like you weren’t upholding your end of the deal there, asshole.”

  “I was comforting her, Scott.” He rolled his eyes but didn’t
let me up from the tree. “She’s had trauma, you wanker, and while she didn’t say the word ‘rape,’ I’m pretty sure that’s what it was.”

  “What?” That stopped me and my stomach sank. “Rape? You mean she’s broken?”

  “No, you asshole. Stop thinking with your dick for five minutes.”

  If I wasn’t against the Ponderosa’s trunk, he would’ve cuffed the back of my head.

  “She’s stronger than you or me, but sex isn’t something she takes lightly. She has to trust her partner enough not to hurt her. So, when you do get to have sex with her, it’ll be on her terms and with her on top.”

  “How do you know that? Did she tell you?” I was still trying to process the word ‘rape.’

  Michael sighed and shot a look around at the yard. It sat deserted. Even the Scooters had retreated inside from the afternoon’s heat.

  With one last look around, Michael leaned forward and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against mine. I couldn’t go anywhere with him holding me in place, so I closed my own eyes before I went cross-eyed. I’d never noticed Michael’s scent, but for just a moment he smelled like the climbing jasmine flowers in my mother’s serenity garden.

  The vision that filled my head at his touch consisted of darkness and the musty smells of stored chemicals. Metal handcuffs cut into my wrists as my arms strained behind me. Panic and helplessness surged as I tried to scream around the rag stuffed into my mouth. Then pain flared lower down in my body, burning agony I couldn’t stop.

  I yanked my head away from Michael and met his sad blue eyes.

  “What the fuck was that, Michael?” My voice came out shaky and panicked.

  “That’s a fraction of what Oriana experienced. I was trying to help her get through it.” He released me and stepped back. “That’s what she sees in her nightmares and every time she steps into a dark room.”

  “Like Neo’s lair.”

  “Right. It triggered her.”