“What can I say? You give a convincing argument.” He wiggled his fingers at her, prompting her to remove the cuffs.
After another moment of hesitation, she exhaled a sigh of surrender and grabbed the connecting chain. “Don’t make me regret this,” she warned. With her free hand, she clicked on the cab light and pulled the keys from the ignition. Without the heater running, a chill instantly began seeping into the SUV, making him acutely aware of his missing coat. His injured shoulder protested the movement when she lifted the cuffs toward the light, extending his arms as she worked to fit the key in the lock.
He held his breath, biting back a pained groan, but a different groan entirely escaped his throat when her fingertips skated over his wrist. How such a simple touch could light him up with need was beyond him. But there was something about this woman that did it for him. Maybe it was her fiery spirit, maybe it was the memory of how good she felt in his arms, how delicious she tasted. Maybe it was that challenge of finding a woman who saw past his bullshit and wasn’t afraid to call him out on it. But whatever it was, Aiden wanted her—bad—and the idea of working Ryann out of his system as they made their way to New York and parted ways sounded like a bravo idea to him.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, struggling with the lock. “I can’t see the hole. Can you move closer this way?”
Her small hand gripped Aiden’s waist as she attempted to guide him closer to the light. Not a small feat, considering he filled over half the cab, leaving Ryann little room to maneuver. The cusps of her nails bit into his flesh, sending a jolt of awareness straight into his cock, his response to her immediate and maddening.
Exhaling a frustrated growl, he attempted to turn in the seat, knees wedging against the door as she fumbled with the lock. “Good thing you weren’t Houdini’s assistant,” he grouched, bending forward. He had his face in the dash, legs tangled, one shoulder pressed against the freezing window, arms twisted back—and a partridge in a pear tree.
She laughed, which did nothing to give credence to the sincerity of her apology. The airy, feminine sound lit up his nerve endings, sending every pounding pulse point straight into his groin. Despite the pain in his shoulder and throbbing of his crimped hard-on, he found himself desperately wanting to hear that laugh again, and he was willing to endure this sick version of Twister to get it.
“I’m almost there . . .”
Oh, good Lord . . .
“Can you just . . . ? Yeah, that’s it. A little higher . . .”
Aiden bit his bottom lip to hold back his tortured groan. Seriously, could she not hear herself speaking?
“Wow, you’re flexible . . .”
“I think that’s my line, sweetheart,” he murmured, unable to help himself. He chuckled at her startled gasp. “Oh, come on, you really didn’t think I was going to pass that up, did ya?”
“You’re an ass.”
But her insult was only half-hearted and just breathy enough to let him know he wasn’t the only one feeling the heat. A moment later, the cuffs sprang free. “Thank God,” he grumbled, wincing as he brought his arms forward and began rubbing the circulation back into his wrists. “I’ll be right back.” Anxious to stretch his legs and put a little distance between him and his hot redheaded abductor, Aiden bailed out of the SUV and double-timed it into the station.
Ryann prayed she wouldn’t regret letting Aiden go. He’d made a convincing argument, though, and it wasn’t like she could keep him bound the entire trip back to New York. She’d done the right thing, she told herself, giving him the benefit of the doubt. She just prayed he didn’t prove her wrong. She had a lot riding on this, and if Aiden decided to screw her over, it’d likely be a mistake she might not live long enough to regret.
With eyes heavy-lidded from fatigue, Ryann struggled to keep her gaze fixed on the storefront window as she waited for Aiden to return. She yawned, battling the exhaustion riding her hard. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep going without some rest. Perhaps an energy drink would help. Getting out of the SUV, Ryann entered the store and headed to the coolers. It took her a moment to find the Monster she was looking for. Of course, it would have to be the one on the top shelf. Standing on her tiptoes, she was reaching for the can when an arm stretched over her head and plucked the soda from the rack.
Startled, she stepped backed, stumbling into a wall of muscle. “Shit, you scared me,” she said, pressing her hand over her thundering heart as she turned to face Aiden. Only, it wasn’t Aiden trapping her between his body and the cooler. The man standing over her was a few inches shorter but just as definably muscled. The tattoos sleeving his arms ran up the sides of his neck, disappearing into a beard that twined into matching braids hanging several inches from his chin. How was it possible that the ink Aiden wore could look so hot on his muscle-roped arms and so terrifying on this man? Perhaps it was the grim images of death trekking up his arms, or maybe the Welcome to hell sign collaring his throat. Not a great selling point there. If this guy was going for panty-dropping tats, this one was a swing and a miss. He had more piercings than she did—the bullring looping through his septum was especially lovely, but it was hard to beat that spike poking out of his bottom lip.
“Excuse me.” Ryann stepped to the side, no longer caring about her Monster when she had a real-life version standing in front of her. But Sons of Anarchy followed her step for step.
“Hey, baby, what’s the rush?” His arm shot out, blocking her retreat as he planted his palm on the glass door. “Don’t you want this?” Anarchy held up the Monster and waved it at her.
“Keep it.” She ducked beneath his arm, but the one holding the can caught her around the waist. He pulled back, jerking her against him.
“Where you goin’, sweetheart?” he purred next to her ear.
She cringed as his breath blasted her neck, the stale scent of cigarette smoke assaulting her nostrils. “Let me go,” she demanded with more bravado than she felt. Ryann’s heart crashed inside her chest, her thoughts stuttered with surreality as adrenaline flooded her veins. This wasn’t happening . . . And yet, there was no denying the tattooed arm banded across her stomach, wedged high beneath her breasts, squeezing the air from her lungs.
The malevolent chuckle rumbling behind her sent a surge of bile coursing up her throat. He growled something, but she couldn’t hear it over the thundering of her heartbeat. Her panicked gaze darted around the convenience store, searching for someone, anyone, who might help her. Where was the clerk? Better yet, where was Aiden?
She spotted two men that looked a lot like the one who had ahold of her standing off in the corner, amusement dancing in their insidious stares as they watched their friend manhandle her, and she knew the only assistance they’d be giving would be to hold her down. The post behind the cash register was vacant. Where was that attendant? Shouldn’t someone be here?
“Let me go!” Ryann hissed as she began struggling in earnest, which only seemed to excite the man behind her more.
“Ooo . . . you are a feisty one,” he growled in her ear. “Must be that red hair. I can’t wait to find out if you’re just as fiery down here.” Anarchy’s hand slipped between her legs and grabbed her crotch, jerking up so hard her feet left the ground. The mocking laughter of his friends filled the store. A moment later, it was cut short by a feral growl. Her assailant tensed behind her.
“Get your fucking hands off her.”
Anarchy didn’t even have a chance to comply before Ryann found herself torn free of the man and stumbling forward. The can of Monster hit the ground and popped, sending a fluorescent green geyser shooting in the air, spraying energizing soda all over. She turned around just in time to see Aiden slam Anarchy into the cooler—head first. His knee came up at the same time, nailing the bastard in the ribs and dropping him to the ground. The guy hit the floor and curled in a ball, moaning just as his buddies decided to join the fray.
They dove for Aiden at the same time. She slammed her hand over her mouth to hold back the scream threatening to tear from her throat. Ryann stood there in shock as she watched this MMA fighter take on two men. Not a flicker of fear or hesitancy crossed his handsome face. Despite the terrifying situation, she couldn’t help but notice the fluidity in the way he moved, and the skill in which he fought, timing his strikes and dodging their blows.
When a flash of steel caught her eye, true terror froze the blood coursing through her veins. Before a warning could pass her lips, Aiden sent out an impressive hook kick that caught the guy in the wrist. The sickening crunch of bone accompanied his pained cry as the knife clattered to the ground and skidded out of sight.
She had to do something! Call the police! The still rational part of her brain screamed at her nonfunctioning limbs. Ryann reached for the cell in her back pocket and her hand connected with her ass. Shit. She must have left her phone in the car. Forcing her feet into motion, she ran for the counter, praying they’d have a phone at the register. As she rounded the corner, her foot hit something wet and she slipped. Ryann clutched the counter to keep from going down as her foot went out from under her. Scrambling to regain her balance, she looked down and locked gazes with a man lying on the floor, his sightless eyes staring back at her. A crimson stain saturated his chest, and his life’s blood was seeping out in a large pool beneath him, ending in a skid mark beneath her foot.
Oh, God!
It all clicked together—what she and Aiden had walked in on. She reached for the phone to dial 911. A deafening gunshot startled her, and she dropped the receiver.
CHAPTER
11
As the third guy hit the floor, knocked out by a solid uppercut to the jaw, the first man—the one who’d had his hands on Ryann—got his bearings. He staggered to his feet, and it wasn’t until he pulled his hand out from behind his back that Aiden realized the bastard was armed. Fuck. He dove for the guy, catching his wrist, forcing his arm toward the ceiling just as a shrill scream shattered his senses. Aiden’s focus shifted, centering wholly on Ryann as bone-deep fear rocketed through him. The gun went off, the explosion so close to his head that the ringing temporarily deafened him.
Oh, God, Ryann!
As they hit the floor, Aiden turned, making sure the asshole took the brunt of the fall. He slammed the guy’s gun hand onto the ground—once—twice—before knocking the nine-millimeter from his grip. The weapon skidded under a stack of metal shelving.
He hit the man with another solid blow that slammed the back of his head into the floor. This one knocked him out, and Aiden was on his feet, running in the direction from which he’d heard Ryann scream. As he came around the corner of an aisle, she was hanging up the phone. Her vibrant emerald eyes were wide with shock, her pallor washing out the pink flush of her lips as she clamped them together with the effort not to cry.
“Ryann . . .” He rushed over, taking her face in his hands and tipping it to meet his searching stare. “You’re bleeding. Where are you hurt?” he demanded, inspecting the crimson along her jaw. Her appearance alarmed him. When she didn’t answer right away, he began patting her down, hands sliding along the slender column of her neck, onto her shoulders, then down her arms. Shit, she was so small, so fragile . . . Just the thought of that bastard’s hands on her sent another rush of fury flooding his veins. The possessive surge was a wholly unwelcome feeling, but one he wouldn’t take the time to consider right now. His hands circled her ribs beneath her breasts and slid down her waist, his eyes searching her face for any sign of pain.
“It’s . . . it’s not mine,” she stuttered, grabbing his wrists and halting his inspection. “It’s him.” She pointed behind the counter. “I dropped the phone. There was blood on it.”
Stepping around her, Aiden peered over the counter and found the source of Ryann’s scream. Muttering a curse, he turned toward Ryann and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. Holy hell . . . they’d blindly walked right into a robbery. What horrible fucking luck! He hadn’t even noticed the guys when he’d come in here and beelined it to the head.
Ryann’s arms wrapped around him and he moved her away from the crime scene. Each step she took left a crimson stain on the floor behind her. “Did you call the police?”
She nodded.
One of the guys moaned and Ryann flinched. “Hey . . . you’re all right. He’s not going to hurt you. Why don’t you go wait in the car? I’ll stay in here until the police arrive.”
“I thought . . . when that gun went off . . . I thought you’d been shot.”
Her concern for him made something in his chest tighten. Uncomfortable with the foreign sensation, Aiden cracked a joke, playing off the feeling as posttraumatic stress. “Worried about me, were you? Not looking forward to explaining to my mom that I got shot on your watch?”
She let out a half-hearted laugh—poor attempt that it was. And honestly, there was nothing humorous about this situation. An innocent man was dead, and if he hadn’t gotten to Ryann when he did . . . Unconsciously, his grip on her tightened, pulling her petite, curvy frame tight against him. What was it about this woman that moved him so deeply? Whether it be his passion, his anger, or his protective instincts, every emotion seemed heightened with her.
“That’s not funny, Aiden,” she chided, making no effort to move out of his embrace.
“I know, Madeline Kruze is a scary woman, huh . . .”
This time her laugh didn’t sound quite so forced. Given the choice between serious or joking, Aiden would choose the latter every time. The defense mechanism worked beautifully at keeping people from getting too close without realizing he was maneuvering them—always the jovial smartass.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she chided. “I was referring to you being shot. But now that you mention it, she is pretty terrifying.”
She glanced at him beneath her long, dark lashes. Her top lip twitched as if a small smile were threatening to make an appearance. Was she seriously teasing him back? Honestly, if Ryann wasn’t working for his mother, if they’d met under different circumstances, he could seriously dig her. She was so different from the women he was used to hanging with. Ryann was gorgeous, smart, and tenacious. How such a tiny thing could have nerves of steel was beyond him, but any woman who could walk in on a robbery and not lose her shit deserved tons of respect in his book.
Did that mean when this was all said and done, he wasn’t going to fuck her over? No, but he wasn’t going to enjoy it half as much as he’d planned to when he’d been handcuffed in her car. Bottom line, he wasn’t going back. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to marry Cynthia Moralli.
The distant whir of sirens grew louder. “I think the police are here.” It was with more reluctance than Aiden wanted to admit that he let her go and took a step back. “You don’t have to stay in here,” he told her again, knowing that in about two minutes this place was going to explode into chaos. He wanted to protect her from any further trauma, but in stubborn Ryann fashion, she shook her head.
“I want to stay with you.”
The siren outside abruptly cut off, and red, white, and blue lights strobed through the store window. Several car doors slammed outside, and before he could warn her, the front door flew open and four officers stormed inside.
“Get on the ground! Get on the ground!”
Aiden raised his hands and locked them behind his head as he knelt on the ground. An overzealous cop charged over to him and helped him the rest of the way by slamming his chest into the floor. And for the second time in as many hours, Aiden found himself in cuffs again.
“What are you doing?” Ryann cried, looking shocked and outraged.
It wasn’t anything Aiden didn’t expect to happen. He didn’t exactly look like he was out selling Girl Scout cookies. And these officers had no idea what they were walking into. For al
l they knew, he was the shooter. But if Quick Draw McGraw here didn’t get his booted heel off Aiden’s spine in the next two seconds, he was going to get pissed.
The three other officers swept the aisles, guns drawn, calling out their findings. “Clear! Clear! Clear! Three men down! All clear! Medic!”
Ryann was in Quick Draw’s face. “Get off him!” she yelled. “He’s not the guy! It’s them!” She pointed down the aisle where the three men each had an officer checking them out. “The man they shot is behind the counter.”
Apparently, Ryann had a trusting face because the cop removed his foot from Aiden’s back and holstered his gun. A medic appeared in the doorway and the officer waved him over. They both left to check behind the counter and Ryann knelt on the floor beside him.
“Are you all right?”
He craned his neck to look up at her. Her brows were drawn tight with concern. “I’m swell. I get off on being cuffed, so this is actually working for me.”
Ryann let out an unladylike snort and rolled her eyes. “Get up here.” She grabbed his arm and tugged him to his feet. “Are you always such a smartass?” she grumbled.
“Always.”
The cops had the other three men on their feet, each shoved against a section of the cooler as they were cuffed and read their Miranda rights. Quick Draw called out that their victim was DOA. When he came back over, the officer began hammering Aiden and Ryann with questions.
“You mean to tell me you took all three of these men down, by yourself?” The officer asked Aiden, looking skeptical.
“He’s an MMA fighter,” Ryann interjected.
If he didn’t know better, he’d swear there was a hint of pride in her voice. Could it be possible that this woman actually approved of what he did for a living? And why did the idea of Ryann’s approval give him so much pleasure? He’d stopped caring a long time ago what other people thought of him. He was done trying to please people in what would ultimately result in one more failed attempt to earn love and acceptance.
Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) Page 9
