by Nia Farrell
“You’ll never know until you try,” she said. “Look, I know what it’s like to hide. I did it to keep from being hurt again, but you know what? The main one I was hurting was me. It took months of therapy to finally figure that out. It just seems to me that you’re hiding, too. The world needs to see this.” She swept her arm across the four walls of his room. “If you want me in your life, I’m not going to let you hide. Not from me. Not from the world. Are you ready for that?”
Was he? Fuck if he knew. The only thing he was certain of was the inexplicable but undeniable connection he felt to this woman, the electricity that sparked between them, and a chemistry that was explosive enough to be off the charts. Ready or not, she was here. He wasn’t fucking going to let her go.
“I’ll deal,” he said. He wasn’t going to promise anything beyond that. “It’s cooled down outside. I’ll get you a shirt to wear as a jacket.”
He found a lightweight flannel shirt and had Sara put it on. Turning up the end of the sleeve, she buttoned it in a clever way that made it look like a French cuff.
He crooked a grin. “It never looked that good on me. Damn, girl.”
She was set on resisting him, but she finished sheathing her claws at his compliment.
“Ready to roll?” he asked her, filling his pockets and grabbing his helmet.
“Sure.”
“Next stop, Angel Ink.”
Chapter Twelve
Sara clung to Flynn on their ride for warmth as much as safety. She felt like she’d been caught in a storm with everything that had happened tonight, swept up by the whirlwind that was Flynn McGee.
Her car was still parked in front of the shop. Not that she’d expected it to be towed where it was the weekend, but hit-and-runs were all too common. She held her breath, wondering if her driver’s mirror was still attached and her bumpers and paint were intact.
Coming closer, it looked fine. The only thing out of place was the paper under the driver’s side windshield wiper. Shit. It would be just her luck to get a ticket for something. Parking overlong or too far from the curb or who knew what else.
Flynn saw it, too. He parked his bike in the open spot ahead of her car and helped her off. Finding her keys, she shouldered her purse and headed for her Honda, not objecting when Flynn walked with her. Up close, she saw that the piece of paper stuck under her wiper looked like a 5x7 blank notepad page with writing on the underneath side. Worst case scenarios ran through her mind. She had herself convinced that there was damage to her car that only daylight would reveal.
She turned the paper toward the street light, expecting to see a name and a phone number with a brief apology. Instead, she saw this:
I KNOW WHO YOU ARE
“What the…?” Sara shivered. Reading the words again, she felt like she’d stepped on a grave. She was suddenly grateful for Flynn’s continued presence. At least she wasn’t alone.
“Flynn? I don’t understand. The note says I know who you are. I mean, who leaves a note like that? Maybe they think I’m someone else.”
Flynn cursed under his breath. Scanning their surroundings, he grabbed her arm and pulled her after him toward the shop. “You need to come with me,” he said tightly, his voice low and urgent. “I’ll explain inside.”
“Flynn, you’re scaring me.” More than scaring her. The concern that she saw on his face was unsettling.
He unlocked the door and pushed her inside ahead of him. He put the key in the lock but didn’t turn it. It was like he didn’t know if the inside was any safer than whatever dangers were out there.
Pulling off his helmet and taking out his cell phone, he dialed a number. “Yeah, Crash? This is Flynn. I need you to pull up the security camera footage for Angel Ink. Play it back until you see someone entering the front or rear of the building ahead of us, or until you see someone out front putting a note on a car. I need it pronto. You know what’s going on. I’d check it myself, but I’m not putting Sara at risk, going back to my office without knowing the building’s clear.”
Oh, God. That did not sound good.
Sara kept her purse on her shoulder and hugged it, holding her breath, waiting to hear what Crash saw. Meanwhile, she listened to every little noise that a building makes. It was probably only five minutes, but it felt like an eternity before the answer came back.
“Fuck.” Flynn hit his fist against the doorframe. “Let Papa Bear know. I’ll tell Sara. And Crash? Until this is over, keep Rose safe, you hear? Right, man. Will do.”
Flynn locked the door and motioned toward the chairs in the reception area. “Have a seat, babe. There are things you need to know.”
She clutched her stomach and pressed against it, praying that she wouldn’t be sick again.
“Back in 2011, the Blackwater Demons were thorns in everyone’s sides, not just ours. When you were taken, a war had just broken out, and the Avenging Angels were watching to see what happened. By the time it ended, all of the Demons were gone but one. You were the last girl kidnapped by the Demons’ collection crew,” he said, “but not the last one to be taken. Three years ago, their President Reaper and the few Demons who were left kidnapped Mama Mare, our President’s old lady. By the time we got her back, only Reaper survived. Earlier this year, he took Isabella and another woman. For whatever reason, he has his sights set on you now, too.”
A stalker.
She had a stalker.
A rapist who kidnapped and brutalized women.
“We need to call the police.”
Flynn shook his head. “No, sugar. It doesn’t work that way. You haven’t received a threat. The police can’t do squat. Even if you know you’re at risk, until you have proof that the legal system will accept, there’s nothing that they’re going to do about it. Trust me. Too many women have tried.”
She fought against the panic that threatened to take her.
“Breathe!” Flynn barked. “If you feel light-headed, put your head between your knees.”
She wasn’t quite there yet. Inhaling a shaky breath, she exhaled, pushing every bit of air out that she could and taking a deeper breath. Holding it, she pushed it out and inhaled again, using a breathing technique that she’d learned for her anxiety. A few more breaths and she felt calmer and more focused.
“What can I do?” she asked Flynn, at a loss on how to keep herself safe. If the police wouldn’t help, what chance did she stand against a kidnapper and rapist?
“Reaper’s wanted by the mob and by us. I promise you, now that he’s surfaced, it’s only a matter of time before someone finishes him. Rose ID’d him from the security camera footage. Besides you, she’s the only girl taken by the collection crew who lived to tell the tale. Her fiancé Crash is keeping her safe. So far, they haven’t heard anything from Reaper, but if he knows your car, he knows your name. I fucking guarantee, he knows where you live, too. So unless you have home security as tight as Fort Knox and an armed bodyguard, there’s no way I’m letting you go home alone. Your only chance is to let me and the Angels protect you until Reaper’s gone for good.”
This couldn’t be happening. And yet it was. Given her options, if she wanted to stay safe, she had only herself and the Angels to depend on. Her brother and Aunt Ruth loved her, but she wasn’t about to put them in danger. She needed to stay away from her family, not lead Reaper to them.
She looked at Flynn. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”
He shook his head. “No, sugar,” he said. “I’m sorry. And before you have a chance to figure it out, yes, when I met you, I knew that Reaper was still alive, but I swear to God, I didn’t think you were at risk. Isabella, yes. He targeted her once, acting alone without his club, right after he’d taken Lee Rimmer. But you never saw him. It never got that far. I guess he doesn’t like it that you’re the one who got away.”
I know who you are.
“One of two,” he amended. “You and Rose. Every woman is at risk but especially the both of you. You’re coming back to the clubhouse with m
e.” He said it in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’ll take you to get whatever you need from home, but I’m gonna carry if we go there. No fucking way am I going in unarmed.”
“Tomorrow’s fine,” she murmured, thinking how stupid it would be to go into a dark house and think nothing would happen. “We can go in the morning. I’ll feel better if we wait until it’s light.”
“Agreed. I want you to make a list, either tonight or in the morning, of what you want. What you need. I can get a couple of brothers to ride with us,” he said. “We’ll take your car. Load it up. I’ll make room for your stuff. It will be crowded but nothing we can’t handle. And I’ll talk to Hawk and make sure the sweetbutts stay in the clubhouse lounge. You won’t have to worry about sharing the bathroom with any of them.”
“Thank you.” She hoped to God that was true. Sharing a bed with Flynn was enough of a challenge. They’d never spent the night together. She should warn him what to expect.
“You should know that I take meds for my anxiety and to help me sleep. But that doesn’t stop the night terrors from coming. I’ve checked into getting a PTSD service dog to help—and I probably will, as soon as I can afford it. I’ve got a folding lounge chair that I can sleep in if we need to bring it. I guess tonight will be the real test. Just be warned, if I share your bed, it’s more than likely I’ll be waking you up when you need rest the most.”
Flynn didn’t seem fazed. “You got meds with you, or do we need to go get them? I can call a couple of Angels and have them come with us.”
“No, I’m good. I always carry a week’s worth in my purse, just in case. I got stranded by an ice storm once without them and learned my lesson the hard way.”
Poor Aunt Ruth, Dell, and Gabe had been the ones to listen to her then. It was their most memorable Christmas together, and not in a good way.
“We’ll come back tomorrow for your car,” said Flynn, “with the troops. Right now, let’s get back to the clubhouse. Tomorrow morning, we can eat in or I can take you somewhere. Your call. See what you feel like and that’s what we’ll do.”
He looked out the picture windows in the front of the shop and scanned the street before opening the door. Locking up behind them, he strapped on his helmet as they walked. “One more ride tonight should do it,” he joked. “Hang on, babe.”
Sara did, breathing in the scent of leather, exhaust fumes, and the shampoo Flynn used on his hair. He broke every posted speed limit by at least five miles an hour, but he didn’t blow through stop signs and got them home, safe and sound.
The action in the clubhouse lounge was in full swing. Maybe it was because they were inspired after an evening in a strip club, but there were an awful lot of nude female bodies being passed around by the men. The St. Andrew’s cross on the far wall was occupied by a redhead getting taken from behind. Mad Dog was sitting with Isabella on his lap.
She was naked, too.
Oh, dear.
Flynn curled his free hand around the back of her neck and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Do you want to watch?” he asked.
Did she? She was curious, but she didn’t know if she was ready to be a voyeur.
“Another time,” she whispered. “It’s been an eventful day. I don’t know how much more excitement I can handle.”
“Do you want a drink? It might calm your nerves.”
“I can’t,” she said. “My meds….”
“Carly has canned soda and juice at the bar. Tomato, orange, and whatever else bars use for mixed drinks.”
“Actually, a clear soda with lemons or limes in it would be nice.”
Flynn grinned. “Coming right up.”
He guided her to a pair of seats beside Jack Daniels. Nodding to the older man, Flynn waved a hand and got Carly’s attention. “The lady needs a clear soda with lemons or limes in it and I’ll take a beer. Tap is fine. We’re taking these to my room. I’ll get your glasses back to you. Angels’ honor.”
Carly looked at Sara. “Regular or diet?”
“Regular,” she said. Artificial sweeteners were hard on the kidneys. She avoided them when she could.
Carly smiled. “Coming right up.”
She fixed Sara’s first, pouring the soda over ice in a tall glass and adding slices of lemon and lime to it. She gave it to Sara with a straw and a small stack of bar napkins.
Pulling down a clean pilsner from the shelf, Carly filled it to the top with beer and set it in front of Flynn.
It was so full, there was no way he could carry it without spilling. Seeing the problem, Flynn took a drink, checked the level, and took another sip. “There. Now we can go.”
Shouldering her purse, Sara picked up her soda and the napkins. “Thanks, Carly. We’ll get these back to you.”
Carly waved them off. “Just leave them on the bar next time you’re this way.”
Sara followed Flynn upstairs and down the hall to his room. He no sooner set down his helmet and glass than he turned to leave again. “Hawk was in the lounge. I’m gonna have a talk with him about visitors and the bathroom, let him know you’ll be here for a while. I’ll take my key. Lock the door behind me. I’ll let myself in as soon as I’ve talked to Hawk.”
As much as she hated to be left alone, she hated the thought of sharing a bathroom with one of the club sluts even more. “I’ll be okay. Just…hurry back.”
Taking her glass from her hand, he set it beside his own, cupped her face in his hands, and brushed a kiss across her lips. “I won’t be long,” he rumbled. “Save my beer for me.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his grin. “Your beer is safe.”
The lines of his mouth flattened when he got serious again. “And you are too. I promise. Now, gotta go. Lock the door. I’ll be back.”
She watched him leave. Flipping the deadbolt and looking around the room, she decided that she’d take her meds and stretch out on the bed. She set the far pillow upright to use as a backrest, slipped off her shoes, got her pills from her purse, and went back to Flynn’s desk. A practical joker would have dumped some of his beer down the drain and let him think that she’d drunk it. Instead, she left it exactly where it was and took her own glass to bed.
The chilled carbonated drink was exactly what she needed. Taking her pills first, she enjoyed the blend of fruit flavors that Carly had added. Sipping slowly, she savored every mouthful after that, hoping to make it last.
She only had a fourth left by the time Flynn came back.
“Sorry.” He pulled off his boots and set them by the side chair near the door. Grabbing his beer, he joined Sara on the bed. “I take it, you’re a left-sided sleeper.”
Sara shook her head. “No. I just assumed that you slept on the right. That’s where your nightstand is.” Her side was nearly against the wall, with barely enough room to walk sideways.
“Good guess, Sherlock.” He sounded suitably impressed. “But if you sleep better on the right, I can deal.”
“No! No. I don’t want to put you out any more than I am. It’ll be okay. I’ll just sleep facing you, is all.”
“Well, bummer. There goes my element of surprise.”
She covered a yawn. “Sorry. I may drift away here soon. It was late enough, I took my meds so they could start working.”
He looked at the glass in her hand. “Why don’t you finish that, and I’ll set it over here. Do you want a T-shirt to sleep in?”
Shoot. She hadn’t even thought that far. It just showed how rattled she was.
“Yes, please. I’d appreciate it.”
Flynn set his beer on his nightstand and padded over to his chest of drawers. Opening the second one, he pulled out a black V-neck tee and brought it back to bed.
Sara finished her soda while he was gone. She traded him her empty glass for his shirt. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
Sliding off the bed, she unlocked the door to the bathroom and slowly cracked it open, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that it was empty. Locking the door to Hawk’s
room first, she bolted the other door, voided, and washed her hands in Flynn’s sink, using her finger to scrub at her teeth. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do until she could get her toothbrush from home.
Sara stripped down to her panties and slipped Flynn’s T-shirt over her head. It was big enough to cover her hips, reaching the top of her thighs. When she had folded her clothes, she unlocked Hawk’s door, slipped back into Flynn’s room, and locked the door to the bathroom from his side to ensure their privacy.
It was so much like college…except she had shared a bunk bed with a journalism major who preferred a lofty berth. Tonight she’d be sleeping double with a tattooed biker who might just sleep in the nude.
If she was lucky.
Flynn had shut the overhead light off and was turning down the bed. She swallowed her disappointment that he was wearing silk boxers and consoled herself with the view. His magnificent miles of ink were just waiting to be explored again. His barbells glinted in the soft glow of his lamp.
Shaking her head like an Etch A Sketch to clear his image from her mind, she crab-walked along the wall, put her folded clothes on the floor by the head of the bed, and climbed up onto the mattress. Taking hold of the top sheet, she pulled it to her waist, rolled to her right side, and lay her head on the pillow, adjusting it to fit her neck.
Flynn got into bed, too. Tucking his bare feet under the sheet, he ran his assessing gaze over her. “You good?” he asked. “Ready for lights out?”
He sounded like a camp counselor. “Yes,” she said, smiling at the mental image that formed. “Yes. I’m ready whenever you are.”
Reaching, he snapped off the light and lay down on his back, putting his hands on his chest.
Sara looked at him lying there and silently questioned why she felt so…so disappointed.
So rejected.
She guessed that she thought sharing a bed meant having sex.
Evidently, to Flynn, it meant sleeping.
But then, they’d already had sex, hadn’t they? At Angel Ink and here. Was he proving a point? Showing her that he could control himself? That he wasn’t the satyr that she imagined him to be?
