by Lexy Timms
A few minutes later, the roar of motorcycles interrupted the pity party.
I didn’t even bother wiping my face. Every ounce of energy allotted for that day had already been consumed on campus while I pretended that things were fine. The charade had gotten old. Whoever was riding up could see me just as I was.
My heart did a little jump in my chest and a lump formed in my throat when I turned around.
Bikers.
Badass bikers.
Dangerous-looking badass biker.
Fuck me.
A bunch of hardened bikers were riding up my quiet, suburban, off-campus cul-de-sac. Although the authorities ruled the collision Mom was in as an accident, my father insisted she was murdered by a rival gang, and that they could be coming for me next. If it was that gang riding up my street, what was I supposed to do? I had no means to fight them off or escape, and dammit I couldn’t find the right freaking key to the front door of my street-level apartment.
I froze when they slowed down and parked in the free space behind my Ford sedan, but a wave of relief went through me when I saw their badges, clear even in the dim street light.
Rugged Angels.
Dad’s motorcycle club.
Their arrival wasn’t totally welcome, of course, but at least they didn’t show up here with intent to kill. There were five of them, and the one who had parked closest to the walkway climbed off his Harley while the others waited on their rides. This guy approaching me was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair that was buzzed short. Stubble dotted his jaw, and his face was somber, but even in my distressed state, my hormones reacted.
“Kim?” he asked, pronouncing my name in a gravelly tone that had me near fixated on his lips.
I cleared my throat, rubbed the tears off my face with the back of one hand, and sniffed. “Who’s asking?”
God, that sounded pathetic. I couldn’t even begin to try and act tough.
“Kane Angelo. I’m President of the club now.”
He stepped closer, stopping only about a yard away while behind him his cronies stepped off their bikes and surveyed the area around them.
“How can I help you, Mr. Angelo?”
“You’re in danger,” Mr. President continued. “You need to come with us.”
“No thanks,” I replied simply, turning my chin up to look him straight in the eyes. A few strands of my hair had gotten stuck to my wet cheek, and I did my best to look noble as I tucked the blonde strand back into place.
“This is serious. I can’t leave here without you.”
“And I just told you I’m not going. It sounds like we have a problem, Mr. Angelo.”
He looked back at his crew for a moment then turned to me again. “Why are you fighting this… why so resistant?”
I laughed but there was anger rising in my chest. “Why am I so resistant?” I hissed. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because my father is the reason my mother is dead. How about that? You and your reckless motorcycle club are to blame, and while I’m at it, all you people have ever done is bring hell and hardship to my mother’s life... and now mine. How’s that for a reason?”
He looked at me for a moment, the silence stretching between us as his hazel eyes stared me down, trying to read me. I stood stoically, not willing to give in, not in the slightest. I think I threw him off with that reply. He had nothing to say, and knowing I’d one upped him felt good in a really sadistic way. I was hurting, so I figured, why not lash out and make a few people miserable while I was at it.
Silently, he reached a hand into one side of his cut. I heard a zipper slide along, and then he pulled out a small object. As he opened his hand to display what he was holding my entire body jerked.
“That’s my dad’s. My mom and I picked that out for him. I didn’t know…” The words came out croaked, in a voice that was strange and shaky.
“Your old man wanted me to show this to you. You need to trust me. We need to leave now.”
“God, he held on to it for all this time?” I was still mesmerized by the pendant.
“Get inside and pack some things.” This time there was an edge to his tone that startled me.
“No,” I rebuffed.
Confusion flashed across his face. “This is crazy.”
“Look. I’m not crazy, okay. I won’t be any safer with you people. You guys attract trouble.”
“What you said right there is…look it’s fucked up okay? You have no idea what’s coming your way. No one else can protect you.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I snapped. “I already spoke to my father this morning, and last night, and yesterday. There’s nothing that you can do or show me that will make a difference. I’m. Not. Going. Get it? I can manage fine on my own.”
“He gave me this to show you because you’re in danger, Kim. This isn’t a joke.”
“Says you.”
Running a frustrated and pissed off hand through his buzz cut, he spat out, “Your dad’s been shot.”
I bit my tongue. Shit. That shut me up real fast, until I asked, “Is he…” I couldn’t even say the words. My throat seized up just thinking about it.
“Your old man is alive. He’s hurt bad, but he’ll live.”
Now I was out of snappy things to say. If they got to my father, getting to me was going to be a breeze. Crap. The sexy, mean-looking guy standing in front of me was right. I could barely get my apartment door open or function. How was I supposed to defend myself from a gang of gun-toting Rugged Angels rivals?
Fuck.
Admitting I was wrong was damned hard.
“Fine,” I grumbled.
He gave a satisfied nod. “Good. You have ten minutes to pack a bag or two before we get going.” He looked back at his men again, then back up the street. “It’s not safe here. This place is too wide open.”
I turned my back to him, finally picking the key that opened the front door. Before I stepped inside he put his arm up in front of me so I couldn’t go in.
What the hell?
“Hold on. What are you doing?” I sputtered.
“We’re coming in there with you while you pack.”
“What, so that I don’t run away?”
“Something like that. We need to check the apartment before you go in there too.”
I groaned and pointed to the switch to turn on the living room light, making space for him to enter in front of me. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Big Tom, Kyle,” he called out in the direction of his crew. “Check out the apartment.”
I crossed my arms and snorted. What kind of a name was Big Tom, anyway? Mind you, one of the two men that approached looked like a close to seven foot walking wall of muscle and danger. He must have been Big Tom.
Once the bikers searched the tiny one bedroom and confirmed no one was lurking around waiting to off me, Kane gave me the go-ahead. Stomping my way into my bedroom, I grabbed the duffel bag from underneath my bed and began jamming clothes in it.
“No,” Kane said gruffly. “Not that. Find something smaller.”
I turned to him. “What?”
“That bag. It’s not going to fit on the bike. Don’t you have anything smaller?”
“Whoever said anything about going with you on anyone’s bike? I’m taking my car.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Says you,” I answered, turning to continue filling my duffel bag.
He looked around the room for a second, and picked up a small backpack hanging on a hook behind my bedroom door. “Here. Use this.”
I ignored him and continued what I was doing. In no time, he was standing beside me, reaching his hand into the open drawer. He picked up a pair of jeans. “I got your pants. Which drawers have your tops and underwear? Assuming you wear any.”
I just looked up at him. “Really?”
“What?”
I dropped the duffel bag and dragged the backpack out of his hand. “Don’t touch my things.”
“Look. You’re wasting preci
ous time, Kim, but you don’t have to understand. You just have to do what I tell you, and do it fast. Got it?”
I opened the drawer or folded t-shirts and tank tops and mumbled, “Whatever.”
Kane stepped back to the door, and after a minute of welcome silence, he said, “Nice room.”
In my periphery I noticed his gaze roving over the free-standing Chinese partition screen in the corner, and the white lights strung around the window. He nodded over at a picture of my mom and me that was stuck into the edge of the wardrobe’s mirror. “Is that her?”
“Yes.” The word was thick and hard to get out past the tightness that formed in my throat.
“No pictures of your old man?”
“What do you care?” I snapped. “It’s none of your business anyway.”
He was silent for a while, but then added, “I’m sorry about what happened to your mother.”
I kept my gaze on the clothes. I knew it would help if I just said ‘thank you’ and left it at that. The problem with that was I’d have had to admit she was really gone. I couldn’t. The loss was too recent. The wound was wide open. I said nothing.
“So you just don’t like bikers, huh? Is that it?”
“Actually, yes. That’s exactly it. God, you’re chatty, aren’t you?”
I grabbed several shirts and jammed them in the bag. I was trying not to show how scared I was. After my dad had phoned me to tell me I wasn’t safe, I had considered leaving town. Fury got the best of my fear, and in my anger with him, I convinced myself I could handle it. No way was some biker drama pushing me out of my life. I was in my last year of nursing school and I couldn’t just drop out and let years of work go down the drain.
Now this Kane guy was telling me I needed to go if I wanted to stay alive. My father was shot. I had no choice. I had to trust these men, but I didn’t have to like it. Especially not Kane, with that self-assured, domineering attitude he had when he walked up to my front door. He seemed confident to the point of cocky, the same biker machismo and arrogance my mother left behind. Hell, that alone was reason to despise him.
My hands swept over a hot pink shirt stuffed into the back corner of the drawer, and I almost cheered out loud at the discovery.
Perfect.
Quickly, I unbuttoned and stripped off the white button down shirt I was wearing over my camisole, and pulled on the hot pink one in place of it.
“You like it?” I asked, turning to Kane.
His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth drew into a thin line after he read the sparkly pink and purple words emblazoned across my chest. Property of No One.
I bought this many years back when I started to get a grasp of one of the traditions in the biker world, the one where motorcycle club members’ girlfriends and wives would wear ‘Property Of’ clothing to indicate which biker they belonged to. My mother had a slew of ‘Property of Banner’ shirts she kept in the bottom of her chest of drawer for years. I’d never been quite as relieved as when she’d thrown them all away. She should have burned them, actually, in order to really seal the deal, but she was hesitant to act on my suggestion.
I’d gotten my own custom made t-shirt years ago, but hadn’t worn it since I was in my late teens and making a serious habit out of being rebellious. Today, it was a little tight around my chest, but it was perfect in serving its purpose and getting a critical message to President Kane Angelo.
“Are you ready?” he asked, ignoring the question. “It’s dangerous to be hanging around here.”
“Let me grab my underwear.”
I turned around again and selectively snatched panties and bras, making no point to hide them from him. I didn’t go for this guy. Or maybe I did.
Shit, maybe it was both.
His presence and his reason for being here infuriated me, that was for sure. Yet I was grabbing only my best undergarments, ones with lace and tiny strings. The comfy underwear with Tweetie Bird and Hello Kitty logo got pushed to the back corner. They weren’t coming along for the runaway party.
I made a quick stop in the bathroom for my toiletries and I was ready to go. Grabbing a stray hair tie that was laying on the sink, I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. My bangs were going to whip around like crazy on the bike, but there was nothing I could do about that. As I looked as my pre-on-the-run self in the bathroom mirror I caught his reflection. He was at the door waiting for me. Our eyes locked, and even when he saw that I had noticed him staring, he did not look away. Those eyes of his raked over my body, and when our eyes met again in the mirror’s reflection, he gave a cryptic laugh.
Son of a bitch.
The guy was probably wondering whether or not he would try to bed me less than fifteen minutes after meeting me, and less than twenty-four hours after my mother’s private cremation.
Dirty bastard.
My mother had done her best to shield me from the biker life after she left my dad, but I had seen enough back then. I knew some of the Rugged Angels had their own codes of conduct when it came to life, business and family. One of those codes was sex was pretty much acceptable at any time, in any place and with any woman they wanted.
“Think again,” I muttered, hoping it was low enough that he couldn’t hear me.
I grabbed the toiletries bag and went through the place again to switch off the lights, finally heading out of my apartment and away from the normal life that my mother had worked so hard to help me experience. Things were changing, and there was not a damn thing I could do about it. Not if I wanted to survive.
Chapter Five
Kim
“Where are we going?” I asked, sliding my hand into each side of the backpack, and centering it across my back. I followed Kane down the walkway. The four other men were waiting on their motorcycles, each looking in a different direction, with what could best be described as heightened security concern.
“To a safe house.” He stopped at his bike and handed me a helmet. “Here, put this on.”
“Seriously?”
“What?”
“I thought hardcore bikers in this state were too cool to wear helmets.”
“Are you twenty one or over?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re not a biker, are you?”
“No.”
“Have you been on a motorcycle at all in your adult life?”
“Well no, but…”
“Then put it on.”
I snatched the helmet from him and my fingers briefly grazed across the top of his hand. That brief accidental contact sent a shockwave of electricity up my arm. Kane didn’t seem to have the same reaction. He didn’t seem to notice at all. He turned around and climbed onto his bike as I bit my tongue and put on the helmet.
“So you’ve never ridden before at all?” he asked over his shoulder after I had climbed on behind him.
“Yes. In my teens,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Just checking, because your arms aren’t around me.”
“I’m getting to that.”
I resentfully looped my arms around his trim, fit waist.
With his feet still on the ground, he let go of the handlebars and gripped each of my wrists, which were now on his abs. He pulled them around him more tightly.
“Hold on like this, okay? Nice and snug, so we don’t have to scrape you off the interstate.”
In my testy mood, I gripped him and held on as tight as possible, aiming to hurt him or at least cut off some blood circulation. What I did had no effect on him. Not only did he seem unaffected, he seemed to like it. And dammit, my body was reacting to that contact. He was warm and cozy, and he smelled like cedar and fresh air and leather and pure maleness.
From the bike next to us, the younger, dark haired guy that had gone in to check out the apartment snorted.
“This one seems to like you, Kane,” he said, not even looking at me.
Anger surged through me. I leveled my gaze on him to reply but Kane beat me to it. “The firecracker’s got attitude, Kyle, an
d she’s kinda cute.”
I bit my tongue, ready to deliver a cutting comeback when the bike moved off. Soon we were zooming across the parking lot and down towards the highway, leaving me with plenty of time to think while sitting on the back of Kane’s bike. The two pressing concerns I couldn’t get away from were about my parents. My mother had already been cremated, but the memorial service her best friend had organized was scheduled in two days. What was going to happen with that? Was I going to be able to attend, or was I going to miss it thanks to being stuck in some wretched biker gang safe house? What about my dad? Would he survive his gunshot wound, and if he did, was he planning to be there?
My stomach turned. Running in to him wasn’t something that I ever thought I could look forward to, but today I was ready to overlook the resentment. I desperately needed someone in my corner.
The safe house turned out to be a modest one-story ranch style house in the middle-class suburbs of Tucson. The neighborhood was quiet when we rolled up, save for the barking of a couple dogs. The men moved forward quickly, rolling their motorcycles up the paved side driveway of the house to park in the backyard. Kane pulled a key out of one of his pockets and jiggled the back door open. There was something eerie about the place. It was early at night, but the neighborhood was too quiet. A prickle of fear surged me forward, and I brushed into his back by accident as we stepped inside.
“Oops. Sorry.”
“You didn’t get enough of hanging on to me on back of my bike, did you?” Kane answered.
Geez. I was sure to be engaging in a lot of eye-rolling with this guy.
We got inside the house through the kitchen. Wow. It looked as if it hadn’t been decorated since the seventies. It was a bit like my grandmother’s house before she passed, complete with pastel-colored appliances, tiled wood floors, plug-in candlesticks, crocheted dining table placemats covers, and decorative porcelain ashtrays. I could have walked into a time capsule and just didn’t realize it.
The living room was similar. It had all the necessary furniture, but was devoid of art or anything else that normally showed a personal touch. The rest of the men came inside behind us, and tramped through the kitchen to get to us.
