CLAIMED BY THE BAD BOY: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (Bloody Saints MC)

by Zoey Parker

  He hadn’t always lived here. When I was just a kid and my parents had died the way of all good and decent folks, in a car accident that was in no way their fault, he took me in. At the time, he lived in a little shithole down south that was next to an alley that always smelled of piss and unwashed bodies. I shuddered at the memory of it and was grateful for the reminder of why I was doing all of this.

  I would never go back to a place like that, and neither would my uncle.

  As soon as I got to the door, I winked at the doorman and gave him my name. “Abby Woodard. I’m on the list.”

  He glanced at it quickly, though it was just a formality. Then he waved me through.

  As soon as I entered the house, my senses were assaulted. The music blared through hidden speakers and lights flashed from every which direction. They were multicolored and caught the sequins of my dress until I felt like I was a lit-up Christmas tree.

  I hadn’t taken two steps in before someone shoved a drink in my hand. It was some guy—I didn’t know him, though he looked familiar enough that I could have come across him before. He babbled about movies and my latest, telling me I was wonderful and that I deserved to be in good stuff not this Hollywood crap. I did my best not to roll my eyes at him. That Hollywood crap paid my bills.

  Biting my tongue, I forced a smile and let him prattle. I was really just here for appearances anyway.

  It seemed like the guy was going to go on forever. “…think you’d really enjoy my latest pitch. All it needs is a sexy leading lady…” But then I was saved by none other than the host herself.

  “Abby, darling!” cried Riley as though we hadn’t just seen each other about twenty minutes ago. She gave me a huge hug and did the air kiss thing again. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it.”

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but refrained. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world! You always throw the best after parties, everyone knows that.”

  She beamed, pleased with the compliment. “Well, you know, I try. I just want everyone to have a good time.”

  We both knew she was lying through her teeth, but didn’t comment. These parties were about showing off. “I’m sure everyone is,” I told her, making my voice purr with false sincerity.

  “Congratulations, by the way,” Riley said to me. Her tone matched mine, but her eyes narrowed cattily. “That was a big award to get your hands on. And so young, too.”

  Stretching my face into a smile, I said, “Thanks. I know you worked so hard for it this year, and I just want you to know that I still think you’re amazing. And you’ve got plenty of time still.”

  Her expression froze, letting me know that she had caught the hidden barbs between the lines. Riley was an actress, too, but she had very little talent. Her money came from her parents, not her acting, and it meant that while she had oodles and oodles of it, she had yet to earn any of it. It also meant that she hadn’t earned any awards either. It irked her, not because she was all about the achievement or anything, but rather that she didn’t like the idea that other people had things that she did not.

  Brat, I thought spitefully.

  “Yes, well, you know how finicky the audience can be these days,” she said smoothly, her tone cool. “All that women’s crap they’re talking about is just a fad. A new bandwagon to jump on. It’ll pass and people will start watching real movies again.”

  I nearly choked on a snort. Her definition of real movies consisted of half-baked plots that had to do with pretty girls dying or running around half naked. Sure, maybe I didn’t always star in the classiest of movies—god knew that I’d done my share of bad ones in the beginning—but now that I had some money and some weight to throw around, I could be choosier. And I could do things I actually wanted to do. Those shitty movies Riley always starred in? She liked those movies. She was trash in the truest sense of the word.

  “I’m sure they will,” I answered simply, then I forced my drink into her hand and apologized profusely as I told her I had to go. That I had at least one other after party that I just had to attend. She scowled as I walked away, tossing her fake red hair over her shoulder and snapping at the first person she saw.

  I did my best to avoid people as I made my way through the room. I smiled for a few cameras and made some small talk, because it was unavoidable, but I kept it short and sweet. I didn’t want anyone saying I was rude; that could be a career killer. Still, I had a suddenly desperate urge to get the hell out of there and go home.

  I burst through the backdoor and made my way through the garden, heading for the walkway that I knew wound around the entire estate. It was a long walk and my shoes pinched uncomfortably, but I didn’t care. I was more interested in getting away than dealing with this dumb party. Besides, the long walk would give the impression that I’d stayed longer than I actually had.

  As I made my way through the garden, which was of course beautiful because only the best gardeners and designers were allowed to work for the Rankins, I began to pat down my dress in search of my cell phone. These days, I always had it. A girl could never be too careful, and I had good reason to feel that way.

  I realized too late that I didn’t have it. Probably, it was sitting in the back seat of my car where I’d thrown it after deciding against bringing my purse inside with me. The purse was a tiny clutch and I hated just holding things, so I’d opted to leave it behind. This dress, for all its twelve-thousand-dollar cost and multitude of flashy, curve-hugging sequins, did not have any space to speak of. There were no pockets; that was unfashionable. And there was no way to hide the phone in my panties or something, because it was tight enough at the hips and thighs that I could barely wiggle much less wedge a cell phone in there. My cleavage was the only other option, and my large breasts were already on the verge of breaking loose as it was, so I’d chosen not to risk an incident.

  All of this boiled down to one thing: I had no phone.

  No phone to call if things went bad. No phone to give off a GPS location. Not even a phone to provide a flashlight in the improbable event that the power went out.

  “Shit!” I said loudly to myself.

  I quickened my pace as I realized that I’d put myself in a precarious position. I had no chance to call my driver to let him know that I was coming and everyone assumed that I was still inside at the party. Sucking my lower lip into my mouth, I worried at it, biting at the plump, lipstick-covered skin.

  I rounded the corner and breathed a sigh of relief. I could see the mass of cars parked outside the house, even spotting my sleek little black one.

  See? Everything’s fine, I told myself, letting out a shaky little laugh. I was so paranoid these days, but…could anyone blame me?

  I’d slowed down to a more reasonable pace, one that didn’t make my ankles feel as though they were about to break in half at any given moment, and was making a beeline for the car. That was when I noticed it. The soft plod of shoes switching from grass to pavement. The breathing of a person close enough behind me to sense if even I couldn’t see them. And the rising of the tiny hairs on the back of my neck that alerted me that something wasn’t right.

  My body tensed and I sucked in a harsh breath as I readied myself. Then, I bolted. I ran as fast as I could, but I’d waited too long. Between my stupid sequined dress and those damn uncomfortable heels, I wasn’t in any position to be sprinting across the lawn. He must have been dressed a little more sensibly, because before I reached the parking lot full of cars, he grabbed ahold of me.

  I let out a single scream, but it was cut short as a clammy hand slapped across my mouth. I tasted salt and skin, making me want to gag. An arm wrapped around my middle, strong enough to hold me even as I thrashed about, trying to dislodge myself.

  But it was no use. As I struggled and tried to bust free of him, he merely dragged me along. I expected us to go back toward the gardens, but instead he pushed me forward toward the cars I’d already been aiming for just a moment ago. Hope sprang up in my breast. Maybe someo
ne would see me!

  Those hopes were quickly dashed, however, as I realized that there was no one in sight. I searched frantically for a single soul and way off in the distance, I caught sight of several streams of gray smoke lifting up in the dark night. Whatever big shot star came to this after party with a driver would likely find them there.

  Like my driver.

  I tried to scream against the man’s hand, but it barely made a sound and was swallowed up by the blaring music of the party so nearby. I continued to struggle, but it, too, was useless. The man dragged me to a car that I didn’t recognize. It looked like any car. Four doors, black, stock silver rims. Not good, I decided. If anyone did actually manage to see me getting thrown into a car tonight, they wouldn’t be able to tell it apart from any other black four-door car.

  Not that anyone would see me, I realized grimly. No one was watching, no one was paying attention. I’d craved a moment away from the madness of the party and the paparazzi all night and now I got it.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  I was graced with one last chance to save myself. When the man got to the car, he had to take at least one hand off of me to open the door. He must have realized it and made an executive decision, because he decided to remove the hand that covered my mouth. Probably, he thought the same thing I did: there was no one around to hear me.

  Still, as he reached for the door to the little black car, I let out the loudest, shrillest scream my vocal chords would allow.

  “Shit!” the man said—the first and only thing he’d said to me thus far. His voice was just like the car: bland and unrecognizable.

  He managed to jerk the door open and brought his hand back to my mouth, cutting off my scream. I thought I was done for as he shoved me head first into the backseat of the car. Because of the awkward position, my body was forced to bend at the middle and I found myself slamming to the leather interior. That was where I saw the rope and the duct tape, the handcuffs and the silky red scarf that I could only hope was meant for gagging and not something…kinkier.

  The sight of these things made me struggle harder, panic setting in. I wiggled and kicked out my legs, anything to allow me a chance to break free. Now that I was in the car—except for my legs which were dangling out the door, flailing wildly—it was pretty clear that he had me. Whoever he was, whatever he wanted, I was his.

  Oh god, I thought, trying to brace myself for the very worst and failing miserably.

  And then, he was gone. I blinked twice just to be sure I was correct, but I noticed that all of a sudden his clammy hands on me were missing. I shoved myself back and out of the car, unwilling to scramble out the other door even if it would put me farther from my assailant. I would not get locked up in his car.

  I landed on my pinching heels and took five steps away from the car before I bothered to look and see what was going on.

  Another man had grabbed my attacker, gripping him by the collar of his shirt to yank him away from me. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and darkly tousled hair that fell into his wickedly dark eyes. The muscles of his arms rippled beneath a ripped t-shirt that was stained with grease and oil as he threw a hard punch into the other man’s face.

  I heard something break, probably his nose, but I didn’t even look at the asshole who’d come after me. My eyes were riveted on my savior. His jeans were tight against his firm rear and his upper thighs that led to boots that were likely steel-toed. Tattoos worked their way down his strong arms and I saw an earring glitter in his ear.

  All of this should have painted one very clear picture for me: trouble. The kind of trouble I’d spent my life getting away from. But even as I thought that, believed that, I couldn’t resist the urge to drag my gaze across his firm body. I worked with sculpted, well-oiled men on a regular basis. The kind who ate only chicken breast and had personal trainers and were so busy worrying about what they looked like that they didn’t care what I looked like.

  But this man…I could tell he wasn’t like that. There were holes in his jeans. He’d cut off the sleeves of his tee. His boots were scuffed and his hair was wild. No, this man was strong because he was the kind of man who got into fights.

  I let out a strangled breath, clutching at my chest in a vain attempt to get my heartbeat to slow again. I felt as though a shot of adrenaline had been stuck directly into my heart, wiring me and my whole body on high alert.

  My rough and tumble savior punched my attacker once more, causing him to go down. That was when he finally looked at me and the spike of intensity that shone in his smoldering eyes was enough to make my knees weak. I tried to write it off as simply stress over being attacked, but deep down, I knew it had to do with the way he was looking at me.

  I licked my lips and opened my mouth to say something. I thought it was going to be a thank you or something, but instead it came out as a sharp, “He’s getting away!” as I pointed.

  My kidnapper had picked himself up off the ground and was running at full speed away from the two of us. He wove between cars and dove through bushes before finally leaping over the fence that surrounded the property. I felt a spike of annoyance.

  “You let him go?” I demanded angrily, still off kilter thanks to my rapidly pounding heart, his devilishly good looks, and the fact that I’d nearly been kidnapped in some rinky dink black car. I promised myself I’d have it traced and figure out who was after me, but that would be later. Right now my focus was purely on this rugged man in front of me.

  A single eyebrow rose in my direction as he stared me down. “You’re welcome,” he told me sardonically, wiping at his stained clothing as though to brush away invisible dust.

  My cheeks flushed beet red, but I held on to my anger to avoid the fact that I was being rude. “He tried to kidnap me and you just let him run off?”

  He rolled his dark eyes at me, then let out a sigh. The sound of his breath slipping from between full lips, a scar running vertically down the top lip on his left side, made me shiver. “Whatever, princess. Get back to your party.” He nodded his chin in the direction of the house which still blared loudly behind us.

  I sucked in a deep breath, then forced myself to be calm, cool, and collected. “What do I owe you?” I said, deciding that treating this clinically was the best remedy.

  He blinked at me. “What?”

  “What do I owe you? I insist on paying you for your services.”

  He gave me a half-surprised, half-disgusted look. “I don’t need your damn money. Be more careful and next time don’t go prancing around alone at night.”

  “I was not prancing—”

  But he was already walking away. I watched him go despite myself, staring at his rear, which was shaped perfectly by those tight jeans. He slipped onto a motorcycle and revved it as I shouted after him, “You ass!”

  He rode off and I told myself good riddance, but there was no denying that now that he’d gone, fear wrapped its cold cloak around me once more. I wrapped my arms around myself and hurried toward the trails of smoke where I was sure my driver was. He’d be fired tomorrow, but tonight I couldn’t help but be relieved to know that he was around.

  I should have known better, I thought to myself, gently chiding. How can I be so reckless with a stalker after me?

  Chapter Two

  Kade

  My motorcycle rumbled beneath me, drowning out the sound of the city. I was downtown and traffic wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t good. I’d had to stop a half a dozen times already and the sun beating down on me had made this usually pleasant trip miserable. Normally, I went to the shop earlier on in the day both to avoid traffic and the heavy California sun. But I’d had a late night last night and had chosen to sleep in a little this morning.

  “What do I owe you?”

  I shuddered at the memory of her sultry voice, letting it slide down my spine and drop into my gut, swirling around there until I felt myself get half hard with just the memory of it.

  I didn’t recognize her, though
I was pretty sure she was someone famous. That was the neighborhood for it and there was a huge party not twenty feet from us. For all the good it had done her. Probably a hundred or so people up there in that house and not a one of them had heard her scream or noticed her being unceremoniously thrown into a car, her silvery dress splitting up the side to reveal the glowing and smooth skin of a toned, long leg.

  I shook my head, trying to clear it of the memory of her voice, but of other things, too. Like how she smelled of some kind of flower, just light enough that I almost didn’t notice, but when it did it hit, I felt like I’d been drugged. Or the low dip of her cleavage, her perfectly round breasts barely covered by the twin panels of her slinky party dress. Or those full lips as they raged and pouted.

  On a scale of one to stupid, it was well into absolutely moronic to remember her like I did. The fact that she was in that area at all last night meant she was far out of my league.