by Anne Marsh
“Just try?”
“Fuck.” Rev’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I’ll do what I can, but I’m not a miracle worker. You need to accept the fact that your brother has pissed off a whole lot of people.”
I can’t be Rev’s hostage or his insurance plan for Rocker’s good behavior forever, which means I need a plan. The only thing I can think of, though, is that I still have my phone. As soon as I’m alone, I can warn Rocker and dial for help.
When we slow down, however, reality is waiting. Two big, ropey young men saunter forward when we pull up in front of a warehouse. Didn’t know MCs came with valet parking. When I shift, looking around and trying to get my bearings, I can just make out the Strip, off on the horizon. When the sun finally sets, the whole sky will light up, but the artificial world of the casinos is so distant it might as well be on another planet. Not that the Strip isn’t about money and power—it absolutely is—but the players there are less blunt about it.
“Is this the secret clubhouse?”
Rev grunts, which I decide is an affirmative.
Vik joins us and immediately passes a very familiar bag to Rev, who takes it and heads for a door about twenty feet away. Guess he figures I have no choice but to follow him. Well, fuck him and the Harley he road in on, because I’m not feeling real submissive right now.
Ergo, I stall. “You packed for me?”
Vik smiles slowly. “Had some time to kill and didn’t think I was invited to the roadside party you were hosting earlier. Let me know if you’re issuing rain checks.”
My brain stutters to a complete and mortifying halt. Not only does Vik know what Rev and I just did, but he’d be happy to join us for some kind of kinky three-peat?
“Some bikers like sharing, baby girl.” Vik whispers his next filthy suggestion against my ear as his big shoulders and body block out the rest of the world.
Catching up with Rev suddenly seems like the smarter plan. I hotfoot it over to where he waits by an industrial-strength door with a big metal grille.
“Don’t fuck with her,” he growls at Vik. The other biker flicks Rev a two-fingered salute and then saunters away. Rev shoves the key in the lock, opens the door and hesitates. Makes a girl wonder if he’s hiding dead bodies in there because Rev is not a guy who hits the pause button on life often.
“It’s not much.”
“This is a kidnapping, not a five-star getaway.”
“Uh-huh,” he says and heads inside.
I’m not a Four Seasons gal. My finances won’t stretch to even a Motel 6, which means my vacation options are limited. Rev’s place turns out to be an enormous loft. The walls are old brick and light pours in from a trio of skylights high above the floor. Rev could make a killing if he put this on the market—and if having a biker MC as your neighbor wasn’t considered a drawback.
Still, it’s gorgeous. The light is awesome. And...
“I thought you said this was your place.”
Rev shoves his keys into his pocket. “Problem?”
Absolutely. I have a long list, rank-ordered from easiest to fix to outright impossibility. “Where’s the furniture?”
He shrugs. “Got a bed and a couch—what else do I need?”
I snort and he swivels to stare at me.
“Classy,” he mutters. I flash him the bird.
“Don’t be fooled by the tiara.” He’s not kidding about the lack of stuff. All I see is empty space. Rev’s place is one big room. I spot a small kitchenette at the back and another door that looks like it leads to a bathroom. A circular metal staircase leads up to a loft. The air smells like lemons and it’s freakishly clean for a guy. Maybe he has a service?
He glances around. “Kitchen’s there. Bathroom’s on this floor—bedroom’s up the stairs. Got clean towels in the bathroom. Not sure the sheets are as clean.”
“I’m not staying. I have work.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he snaps.
“So we’re having an extended slumber party, just like that?”
Because...no.
“You stay here,” he repeats. “Take a break from the party gig for a few days.”
“No.” I can maybe miss a couple of events, but there’s only so long my girls can cover for me.
“Like it better when you say yes,” he says roughly. “Might want to work on that.”
Rev hasn’t hurt me yet, but I’d be stupid to trust him. Nothing about this situation is right. Kidnapping does not a dream date make. Sure I cut a deal with Rev that he’d let my brother leave without any bullet holes, but Rocker is free and clear for the moment and now I’m stuck here with a biker who is at best crazy and at worst homicidal. It’s the story of my dating life—pretty on the outside and batshit crazy on the inside.
I need a plan, preferably a really good one. The bathroom door gives me the first inklings of an idea. Bolting won’t get me far. Rev outweighs and outguns me, and I’m not desperate enough yet to hunt for a fire escape or a convenient window. Dropping from an upper-story window in a loft would kill me. My phone, however, is a lifeline.
“Permission to pee. Sir.” I snap him a mock salute and gesture toward the bathroom.
Rev nods, so score one for me. Unfortunately, however, he falls into step beside me. Maybe he senses I’m up to something. Maybe he’s got a thing for dirty kink, or maybe he just really doesn’t have any personal boundaries. I throw out a hand at the door, slapping my palm against his chest.
“Personal space, big guy. You stay out here.”
“The door stays open,” he growls.
“I don’t pee for an audience.” Frankly, there’s no way I could unclench with that kind of pressure. There’s nothing sexy about using the bathroom in my book.
He curses. Worse, he actually has to think it over.
“You’ve got two minutes,” he snaps. “And then I’m coming in after you.”
Two minutes is better than nothing, so I nod and hightail it inside his bathroom, slamming the door behind me. It’s spotlessly clean, but missing any kind of pictures, knickknacks or hand towels. It also lacks a window, which may explain his willingness to let me pee in private, and the lock is one of those stupid flimsy things set into the doorknob.
“Wouldn’t bother with that lock.” Rev’s voice vibrates through the door. “It’s been busted for months.”
Shit.
I have one chance.
I slam up the toilet seat since he’s clearly listening, and then I fish down my bra where I keep my phone and an emergency twenty-dollar bill. I message Rocker with shaking fingers.
ME: At Hard Riders clubhouse? Kidnapped by bikers. Need help ASAP.
ROCKER: Fck.
ME: Not kidding here.
I bring up the maps application, grab my address, and paste it into the text window. Rocker may know where the Hard Rider clubhouse is, but I’m not taking chances.
ROCKER: Gotcha
ME: Dialing 911 now
ROCKER: Hold that thought? Cops in club biz not a good idea. Sit tight and do what you’re told.
ME: That’s your plan?!
ROCKER: Cops can’t help. Safest for me 2 if you stay quiet.
ME: 911 seems like better plan. Cops have guns and can help. Thought I taught you about Officer Friendly?
Rev slams a palm against the door. “Thirty seconds, princess.”
ROCKER: I have their boy. We’ll trade. Make it up to you later.
* * *
This is not a Pokemon card swap—this is my life. I glare down at my phone, torn. And what kind of life does Rocker lead that he’s entirely unsurprised to learn I’ve been taken hostage by a hostile biker gang? That he actually recommends I not call 911? And that he kidnapped a Hard Rider club member? I may not be a patch holder or own a bike, but I know a felony when I see one. I bring up my con
tacts, my fingers hovering over the 911 emergency contact info.
I should dial.
The bathroom door slams open. I back up as far as the too-small space will permit, but Rev’s hard gaze narrows in on the phone in my hand. He moves so fast, I don’t have time to flinch. His arms come around me, his hands twisting the phone out of mine as he drops the phone on the ground and rams his boot heel down on it, disconnecting my distress call.
“Get your ass in here, Vik,” he hollers as I buck and twist against his hold. He kicks what’s left of my phone out into the main room and then lifts me off my feet, bouncing me over his shoulder. The impact knocks the breath out of me—the man’s shoulder is as hard as the rest of him—but I’m done playing by Rev’s rules. I open my mouth and scream.
The front door flies open and Vik hurtles into the loft. He palms a gun as he comes toward us. Adrenaline pumps through me in a sickening rush. This is it. And because that pisses me off almost as much as it scares me, I scream louder. I’m not going out on a whimper.
“Fuck, she’s loud.” Vik stoops to collect the phone.
Rev slaps a hand over my mouth. I try biting him, kicking with my feet, but he simply shifts his palm to cover my mouth and my nose, cutting off my air supply.
“Fight me now and it won’t end well for you,” he growls. “You don’t have to get hurt if you do what you’re told. Nod your head.”
Since I’m seeing spots, I nod. I’ll recant later. Booted feet eat up the floor that spins nauseatingly beneath me. He removes his hand from my face, but doesn’t slow down as he takes the stairs two at a time. I don’t think Rev is an ax murderer, even if he is stupidly loyal to his MC, but this isn’t the time to be taking anything on faith.
I open my mouth and Rev bounces me again.
“Really wouldn’t do that,” he says quietly. Despite hauling my ass up the stairs, he’s not out of breath and unwelcome excitement pings through me. My libido has a horrible sense of timing.
He follows his warning with a slap to my butt that sends another tingle through me, the kind that homes in on my clit and reminds me that Rev has a dirty side. Vik shouts something about getting rid of my phone and then a door slams.
There’s only one room at the top of the stairs, a wide-open loft with skylights in the twenty-foot ceiling. Spider-Man I’m not—I’m stuck unless I can get down the stairs. Rev drops me on the bed and stands over me, hands on his hips.
“We need to discuss the value of keeping your word.”
“Or maybe you should look up the definition of felony.”
This is crazy wrong, but a delicious shiver runs through me as he frowns. He’s big and pissed off and I like this? Okay. I like him—and the only feelings he has for me are the wrong kind of possessive.
“We’ve got trust issues, princess.”
“You think?”
“Yeah.” He leans down, bracing his hands on either side of my shoulders. “See, now I don’t trust you, and that means we’re gonna do shit the hard way.”
He drops onto the bed, swinging a leg over my hips. I squeak. It’s embarrassing as hell, but the small, startled sound escapes from my mouth before I can bite it back. I blame it on the impressive bulge in his jeans now on eye level. He kneels over me, braceleting my wrists with his hands and drawing them up over my head.
Pinning me in place.
Is this another dirty game?
Why am I so stupidly conflicted?
“Rev?”
“Right here, princess.” He reaches over and yanks open a drawer in the bedside table. Handcuffs. The man has handcuffs in his bedside table. Not like I was expecting him to keep the Bible there, but I’d have guessed porn. Maybe a paperback or a strip of condoms. I start wriggling in earnest because this is the opposite of safe. Those cuffs look like the real deal rather than a toy.
He tightens his grip on my hips and the bulge in his pants is definitely bigger than before. The cuffs click shut around my wrists.
Shit.
“Can we discuss this?”
“Time to do that, princess, was when we struck a deal that you’d come quietly.”
For a moment I think he’s done. Part of me is disappointed, but most of me is going for the gold in relieved. There’s no relationship future when you end up tied to the bed without a safe word. I’ve coached girlfriends through shitty dates; I know how this goes. The minute Rev whipped out his shiny toys was the minute any chance we had together was over.
He stares down at me for a second, then curses.
“We’re back to the trust issue,” he informs me and then pulls a hunting knife out of his right boot. I shove away from him as far as the cuffs will let me go.
“Sorry, princess.” He brings the knife down and I freeze. Can’t even suck enough air in for a scream because no one can get here quick enough to rescue me. The blade slides between my bra and my T-shirt, the fabric parting far too easily. Cool air hits my bare skin. Shit. Shit.
“Don’t scream,” he repeats, his voice low and menacing. “No one’s gonna hear—or care. You’re my property now.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Okay. I’m a coward. I thought I knew Rev, but apparently I have no idea who he is or what he’s capable of. He told me he wasn’t a nice guy—and he didn’t lie.
He peels my clothes from me, running his hands over the ruined fabric and coming up with my spare cash and keys.
The bed rustles as he shoves upright, then one big hand cups the side of my face. He brushes a kiss over the top of my head.
“Coulda kept your clothes on if you followed the rules. Might want to think about that, princess.”
Chapter Twenty
Rev
THIS IS THE problem with hostage situations—they go FUBAR, leaving you holding the pieces. Evie’s collateral damage and I don’t like it. Hard Riders MC doesn’t want to hurt her, but Sachs is ours and we’ve got a bigger problem in the form of the Colombian cartel anyhow. Hard to justify putting one person first—no matter how badly I want to fuck her. Nice to see the greater good bite me in the ass.
When Rocker finally calls me, I make him wait before I answer. “You know I’m not gonna talk to you about shit.”
Guess his Colombian buddies haven’t taught him any Spanish yet, because I understand every curse he aims my way.
“I want your word that Eve doesn’t get hurt,” he says.
There’s a pause I don’t try to fill. Let Rocker imagine what could happen to his sister while she’s our “guest.”
“You know I like her,” I say finally. “She’s a great girl.”
“Promise me,” he growls. “There’s shit going on here that’s out of my control. I can tell you that Sachs is safe enough for now, so make me the same guarantee about Eve.”
“You don’t want to demand I set her free immediately?” Have to admit, I’m kind of curious about that.
“The Colombians and I are not BFFs.” He gives a grunt that might have been a laugh. “It’s better she’s not running around on her own.”
“An eye for an eye. You know how I work.” Even as I tell him this, I try to imagine hurting Evie. Epic fucking fail.
Another curse. “I hear you, but that’s my sister. You hurt her, I hurt you back.”
“While Sachs is with you, I keep Evie in my bed. Sooner you let him go, the sooner Evie can get on with her own life.”
Eve
Being kidnapped is actually pretty fucking boring.
Turns out, I’m used to working and panicking about not working just doesn’t fill enough time. Plus, Rev’s underfurnished bachelor pad is not my idea of fun. The man could give Marie Kondo a run for her money in living minimalist because he owns no stuff. No books, no DVDs, no electronics. It’s like he uses the place for sleeping, fucking and nothing else.
The one highlight? The handcuffs are back in hi
s bedside table. I woke up unlocked and I’ve stayed that way. I’d like to think if he tried tying me up again, he’d be in for a world of hurt. That I’d kick, punch and fight my way to freedom. It’s hard to avoid reality, though. He’s big, stronger, and he has a gun. If he wants to cuff me to the bed, he can.
When the door opens, I’m actually relieved.
Yes. I’m that bored.
Rev saunters in, carrying a plastic grocery bag. I’d like to ignore him and the delicious odors emanating from the bag. After all, I’m camped out on his couch because I’m desperate for a change of scenery. Downstairs, upstairs on the bed, or in the bathroom—those are my choices, and this is the safest one. I’m wearing a pair of yoga pants and a tiny pink tank top. Apparently when Vik packed for me, he either overlooked the bra drawer in my dresser or he couldn’t be bothered, because there’s not a bra in sight in my bag. I’m also barefoot because apparently shoes of any kind were also not on the packing list.
I bolt upright. “I have a job. You can’t keep me here.”
He walks right on past me and into the kitchen. The fridge door opens. Shuts. There’s a faint clink as he twists off the top of a Budweiser. I’m not the neatest person in the world—I’m messy and I own it. But Rocker and his friends make me look like Martha fucking Stewart, as do my previous boyfriends. Rev likes things clean. And organized. I don’t have to look to know that his bottle cap has gone straight into the trash.
He reemerges, bottle in hand, and sets the bag on the counter. “Dinner.”
Great. I merit one word.
“How was your day, honey?” I blow him an exaggerated kiss, and score one for me, because his face darkens. “I missed work, thanks to a kidnapping asshole.”
“Eating’s optional,” he growls.
How can he be so thoughtful and such a pig at the same time? And yes, I want to pick a fight with him. I’m missing work, Rocker’s in trouble and something has to give. Surely Rev can’t really keep me locked up here like some kind of medieval hostage. I’m aware that his MC is a law unto itself, but I do have friends—and that job. When you don’t show up at a birthday party, the mom who was left in the lurch with her little darling sobbing her disappointed heart out will track you down and kill you. Plus, I have employees who like their paychecks. Eventually, someone’s going to notice I’m gone.
