Outlaw (Satan's Saints MC)

by Bella Love-Wins

  “Uh,” I utter under my breath, holding back all the different sounds I really want to make after seeing this sexy God of a man.

  “Are you okay, miss?”

  His concern seems genuine. I struggle to shake off whatever dizziness is clouding my vision from looking up too fast into the stunningly handsome stranger’s face.

  Wait. Is he really that tall? So tall that I’m getting dizzy looking up at his face?

  Or am I just plain dizzy?

  My wobbly gaze trips back over him.

  “Do you need a doctor, honey?”

  I grit my teeth against the question. Maybe I don’t like the term ‘honey’ either. I summon the strength to pull away, ignoring every molecule in my body that’s itching to keep holding onto his chest. With a few shaky steps backward, I’m pressed up against the wall beside the elevator.

  “I’m fine, thanks. Really,” I insist, and the elevator dings, thank God.

  “Okay. If you say so.” The gorgeous man smirks and motions for me to step in the elevator. “After you.”

  Suddenly the large elevator is a whole lot smaller with the two of us in it. The doors slide shut, and I think I manage to hit the button for the residents’ underground parking level, grasping the gold bar that circles all along the car at about waist height. What the hell is going on with my balance? It feels like I’m underwater. The world around me is ducking and weaving, bright colors shimmering and then becoming so clear it hurt my head.

  “What floor?” he asks.

  “Sorry?”

  “Where are you headed tonight?”

  “Huh?” I blink, making an effort to understand and process his words. “Oh, uh…”

  Even with a bad case of dizziness, I hesitate. He shuffles awkwardly from one foot to the other beside me, so close that his leather cut brushes my bare arm. Something about the leather he’s wearing sparks a memory, but it’s too far away for me to grasp.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  My eyes can’t focus long enough to look up at his face. God, I can hardly move my head as he turns toward me and places a hand on the small of my back.

  “I’m…fine.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  There’s a reason he shouldn’t be touching me, some obscure fact that’s more than being a stranger. Alarm bells go off in my head. I glance down at the swimming carpet and behind me, vaguely noticing that there’s a goddamned dart sticking out from my hip.

  Holy shit.

  Did this guy just dart me?

  “Please,” I whisper, unable fully form more words as my mouth goes dry. “I’m okay. Just leave me alone.”

  The world around me is more and more hazy, merging together as I try not to buckle beneath this man’s steady, firm grip that helps to hold me upright. His touch feels equal parts hot and cold, and I can’t catch my breath because of it. Does he have something to do with me being attacked and darted? A jagged stab of fear makes my gut cramp. I push him away, but touching him is like trying to push through a solid wall, and he only holds on harder, speaking in low tones that warp in my ears.

  Then I notice the skull-shaped insignia on one side his vest, and a ‘President’ patch stitched on the other.

  Shit.

  The head honcho of the Satan’s Saints Motorcycle Club, one of the most dangerous MCs around, has just wrapped me up in his arms.

  “Lady?” his voice echoes, and his warm breath caresses the shell of my ear.

  That’s the last thing I register in my haze.

  Chapter 4

  Silas

  The woman’s knees buckle, and her body goes limp as I scramble to catch her, tightening my grip on around her waist before she crumples to the elevator floor. As I shift the brunette in my arms, a whiff of her sweet, floral-scented perfume curls up into my nose. I clutch her to my chest. She’s out cold. My muscles bunch, but it’s not from her waifish weight. My gut instincts rise to the surface just beneath my skin. It’s well-honed from doing club business over the years, where ‘kill or be killed’ is like second nature. Every second of the short elevator ride feels more. My eyes trail up to the cameras mounted on a corner of the elevator’s ceiling. When I glance down, my fingers are tightly molded around her waist, knuckles white.

  I need to calm down and get a grip.

  She barely said a word to me, I have no reason to help her. But I pluck the dart from her upper thigh. A quick examination gives me nothing concrete to go off of. It’s a typical tranquilizer dart. Pocketing it, I realize that whoever did that to her is now coming for me too.

  The elevator car groans to a stop as I weigh my options. The first stop is on the fourth floor parking level where my bike is parked, but I need to find this woman some help from the front desk clerk, who’s practically my best bud now. I press the main floor button and wait.

  Hopefully, the damn doorman is still on his shift, because things are about to get ugly. If he’s around, I plan to make him earn his keep by hiding the pretty, unconscious lady somewhere until the cops and ambulance show up. My fingers instinctively do a quick check of my handgun tucked into the back of my jeans under my cut.

  A simple in and out meeting to firm up a deal.

  Yeah right.

  I brush back a lock of hair covering her face, and gently prop her up against the back wall of the elevator car. No one’s around to watch my six, but if I stay in this confined area, I can keep her safe.

  Fuck, I need to keep her safe.

  Why? I have no fucking idea.

  My vision tunnels as the elevator doors peel back. My vision tunnels, the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and my heart is pounding hard with the single goal to stay alive.

  The four men I’ve never seen before are standing in the middle of the lobby. They see the elevator doors start to open and head toward us. The fucking bellhop is probably hiding in the back room. No one’s at the reception desk.

  “Stop right there, Mr. Corrigan,” he shouts from a distance.

  How the fuck does he know my name? It doesn’t matter. I’m not up for sticking around to find out. Four to one isn’t bad odds, but with a passed out woman behind me, I can’t control it all. It’s time to swallow my pride and bug out fast. My finger punches the ‘close door’ button, and the lead guy breaks into a run to catch the door while it’s still open. The three guys behind him all reach into their jacket but they’re all too far away. The doors finally jolt close and once it take off, I hit every button above the fourth floor before the high-class elevator stops.

  That should keep them guessing where we got off.

  Carrying the woman, I hurry across the walkway connecting the fancy condo to the parking garage next door. While those goons are climbing the stairs and stopping at every floor trying to figure out where we are, I’m already back on my bike with this stunningly sexy, passed-out stranger in my arms.

  That’s one way to spend an evening.

  Chapter 5

  Sabrina

  I jerk back into awareness. The hangover from hell is banging at my temples, and a ridiculous amount of wind is gusting across the sides of my face and back of my neck. Except I’m warm, and rumbling vibrations are coming from under my backside. And what is that rugged, musky, masculine scent over my nose? Confused, I flutter my eyes open. My face is nestled in a neck I don’t recognize until I look lower and see the black muscle shirt. A little lower still, and I realize I’m sitting facing said guy, with my legs wrapped around his waist, my torso practically molded to his body, and his chiseled arms on either side of me. On his bike. Which is speeding along what looks like the I-15 interstate.

  Oh shit.

  No.

  I was not just kidnapped by the guy on the elevator.

  Holy crap.

  I was.

  I tilt my head up to check his face and see if I’m right about who I’m with, only to end up staring into the blue-eyed abyss of the badass I was trying to avoid on the elevator. A scream nearly leaves me hoarse, but sexy pa
nts danger dude doesn’t stop the bike. He just tilts his head down, raises one eyebrow and gives me a smirk.

  “Glad to see you’re awake,” he booms out over the deafening sounds of the bike’s engine plus the wind on the open road. His voice rises in gruff timbers that send a trail of goosebumps up and down my flesh. “You’ve been out for a while. I kinda liked the company, to be honest. Well, my dick sure enjoyed it.”

  “Pull. Over. Right. Now!” I scream into his face, because our lips are a few inches apart, given that I’m straddling his lap. I guess I should be grateful that he took the time to buckle a helmet on my head. “You can’t just kidnap me!”

  “You got me confused with the other guys. The ones I took you away from just now. They shot that nasty tranquilizer dart in your tight, round ass. Remember them? They’re the men who were trying to kidnap you.”

  “And why am I on your bike?”

  “I helped you get away. Hush. It’s hard to talk with all this noise.”

  He turns abruptly as I grope for his shoulders and grip his waist with my thighs with all the strength I could muster. How in the hell did he manage to keep me on his bike like this while I was unconscious? And did he just make that deep turn on the last corner on purpose?

  Heat flares beneath my cheeks. I grit my teeth and prepare to give him another piece of my mind. “Look, whatever you want, you’re not going to get it from me. Just drop me off at a pay phone, and I can make it from there if you’re worried about saving gas. You can’t take me against my will like some…some hostage.”

  Our eyes lock as his infuriating grin grows wider, framed by the beginnings of dark stubble.

  “You’re not exactly in a position to be making demands, honey. Now stop talking and let me drive.”

  The bike speeds up, and I squeal, resisting my instinct to bury my head into his neck again. This thug has no idea who he’s dealing with. If it’s money he wants, or extra leverage by using me for some kind of arms deal transaction, he’ll be sorely disappointed. I’ll make my getaway and that would be the end of it. I’ve been backed into a corner before, and with characters much worse than this biker.

  His bike slows down, and as the stranger coasts his motorcycle, our destination in the middle of the desert comes into view when he makes a full stop and leans the bike on its kickstand. As the vibrations die down, I can still feel them thrumming against my skin. Or maybe it’s the attraction that takes over me when his rough fingers trace beneath my chin. I swallow hard just as he unbuckles my helmet and eases it off.

  “The way I see it, you were nearly hijacked by a squad of goons who know where you live. Going home isn’t your best bet.”

  “Yet coming here, wherever here is, is a better alternative?”

  “Exactly. But try not to make me second guess my decision to help you back there.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not coming with you. I don’t even know who you are!”

  “Listen, you feisty minx. You’re with me until I figure out who can keep you safe.”

  “I can take care of myself. I don’t need your help.”

  “There’s strength in numbers. I’ve got numbers, Sabrina.”

  “If you didn’t intentionally kidnap me, how do you know my name?”

  “I picked up your purse. It’s behind us in the seat compartment. What do you prefer that I call you? Sabrina? Miss Temple? Your highness?”

  Shit.

  He may not have kidnapped me, but he must know who I’m now.

  There goes the element of surprise.

  Or maybe not. He used the last name ‘Temple’.

  When this is over, I need to hug Daddy for getting me this fake driver’s license.

  “Fine.” I look around, then I remember where I’m still sitting and jerk back into the bike handles to put some distance between us.

  “Welcome to your new place for the next while.”

  Mr. Sexy Pants plucks me off the bike, and when I turn around, I get my first good look at the place. “Where are we?”

  “My clubhouse.”

  The building is a large, old, two-story log cabin styled structure. It’s packed with people standing around outside. Loud country music blares through speakers, and noise is coming from everywhere. Every guy is holding either a cigarette, a beer bottle, or some woman’s ass. Women in hooker couture are walking around like queens while men are playing cards, shooting darts, admiring guns, or working on their motorcycles. Every guy has a weapon bulging from somewhere on his body, and some have rifles hanging across their backs. It’s like I stumbled onto the set of a very seedy motorcycle club movie. And it doesn’t account for what or who is inside the huge, rustic, log building that stretches out into the desert.

  No, this is not going to be anything like staying at the Four Seasons.

  “This place is…big,” I say, searching for something nice to way as I straightening my knee-length red dress. I paid good money for this and now it’s trashed. A bunch of wrinkles and creases mar the delicate silk after that bike ride. “Do I get to know your name? And can I have my purse too, please.”

  My eyes skirt over the large, well-lit parking lot, A few interested parties are staring us. Well, they’re staring at me. I avoid their gazes by glancing up at the sky. There sure are a lot of stars out tonight, and if I never believed in a higher power before now, I might be inclined to start now so I can pray for a miracle. Lord only knows why this stranger decided to become my captor. My new focus is to figure out how to escape from this fresh hell of hooligans.

  He clears his throat and brings me out of my escape-planning daze with a subtle tap on my shoulder. I glance over at him. He’s leaning against a split rail fence with his arms crossed, head slightly cocked as if studying me too.

  “It’s Silas.”

  He takes a step forward, offering a handshake. I blink, staring at each thick, hard muscle from his forearms to his biceps and shoulders. I remind myself that he might say he’s my rescuer, but can still be the devil in disguise. Everything inside me tells me not to shake this man’s hand, but if I’m to survive this, I need to resort to a bit of chameleon-styled acting to live another day. Giving myself a mental shake, I extend my hand for a supposedly friendly shake.

  The second my fingers brush his hand, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Heat creeps into my cheeks. I have to swallow to keep myself from drowning in his gaze again. Maybe the flash of desire has more to do with the effect of the dart’s contents on my nervous system than the way he stares at me, like he wants to eat me whole.

  “Sabrina.”

  “I knew that already, but thanks for the reminder.”

  His hot fingers continue to hold on, so I take a step closer. If he finds me attractive or sexy or wants to keep me in his bed for a night, it could be the easiest leverage to get the hell away from this place.

  Fuck and run.

  Yes, I can manage that with this hot biker.

  I layer on the charm. “You don’t look like someone who has to remember a woman’s name that often. I figured I’d help you out.”

  “Feisty and smart. I like it.” He flashes me a grin that makes a shiver lick down my spine until my toes curl in my high heels. A shot of warmth pulses in my lower belly.

  This can be the easiest escape ever.

  I might like it.

  “Mmmm,” I hum without realizing, then I give him a frown.

  Christ. I can’t believe I have to make an effort not to be so into him.

  Should I be this polite with someone who may have drugged me less than two hours ago? He denied having anything to do with it. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s not guilty as sin. The thought makes me pull away. It could be my imagination, but he clings to my fingers a few seconds too long. His brow furrows, flexing his hand and returning it to his side. Whatever I feel, it might be mutual. Something has happened on both sides of that handshake that neither of us anticipated. I’m not the only one caught off-guard.

  “Can I have my purs
e now, please?” I ask. Being civil never hurt anyone.

  “Sure.”

  He takes several steps towards the back of his bike, opens a compartment hidden beneath the seat, at which point, I see my clutch on top of a black briefcase. Oh, so this is the briefcase-full-of-cash guy who was shouting out on the other side of my condo unit wall. He snatches up my black beaded clutch purse. The tiny thing looks oddly strange in his huge hand. A second after I register the sight of him with my things, he wastes no time, opening the small purse to check the contents.

  “You won’t be needing this.” He pockets my cell phone, and the next thing I know, my clutch is hurtling through the air toward me. My fingers catch it just in time to avoid a fumble and grip the beaded accessory to my chest.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Give me my phone back!”

  He’s halfway across the parking lot toward the clubhouse when he pivots around to face me, his face half in shadows. “Yeah. That’s not gonna happen, sweetheart.”

  I know I should keep it cool and maintain the act, but his attitude is getting to me. “Don’t you sweetheart me, you thug! You can’t take away my only form of communication and expect me to be okay with it. I’m not just going to roll over and play dead for you.”

  “I have my reasons for taking this away.” He keeps walking as if I hadn’t said a word to him.

  “You said you didn’t kidnap me, but you’re starting to act like you did.”

  He doesn’t break stride as I struggle to walk across the gravel in my black stilettos to catch up with him. I only just wore these Christian Louboutin’s once before, and now they’re ruined. Just like my dress.

  Crap.

  And what is this man’s deal, anyway? Does he expect to keep me here? What is his end game, and what will happen to me while I’m cooped up in this place? A million scenarios cross my mind, but a brief stint as his sex slave doesn’t sound half bad.

  “Look, as long as you’re here, we have to cut your contact with the outside world. Someone out there wants you, and we don’t want them finding you here. These are my people. I keep them safe. That’s my job. And I guess it’s my new job to keep you in the clear too.”