When I see him, I’m going to wrap my hands around his throat, punch him in the gut again with that damn leg he bought me for Christmas, then scream in his face.
“Well, looks like you’re a free woman,” Officer Daniels slides the key in the cell and slides the door open.
Don’t get sassy, Mary.
“You look familiar,” another cop says, his blue eyes narrowing as he evaluates me.
I swallow, hoping he doesn’t stare at me too long. Not a lot of people know who I am, but there are a few sprinkled about who recognize me. I zip up my leather jacket, and that’s when he shakes his head clear, scoffing at himself. “Never mind, you can’t be her. That’s impossible.” He tilts his head down and goes back to what he was doing.
Blowing out a breath, I start walking the green mile toward the exit when I remember I have a court date. “Officer Daniels? When will I know about the court date?”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. Knives took care of it when he paid your bail.”
I freeze. His words encase me like an iceberg, and if snow could fall right about now, I’d be making snowballs and launching them at the cop. “You’re going to have to repeat that. What?” I say with a bit of a bite.
“Oh yeah. You could have left days ago, but Knives wanted you to stay. We listen to the Kings. We know who really pays our bills.” He walks around his desk, picks up a file, and doesn’t pay me any mind as if what he just said doesn’t make me plan Knives’ murder.
“He’s a dead man,” I say through tight teeth. I cannot believe the bail was paid days ago. My fingers twitch, and the fury inside me is boiling over. I’m about ready to take his ninja star and stab him with it. I stomp toward the door and slam the bar against it, opening it with so much force it bounces off the brick wall and nearly hits me again.
The sun is too bright after being locked inside for two days. I lift my hand and block the yellow light out of my eyes.
“Hey, Hellraiser. Damn, you look like shit.”
I scan the parking lot for the bane of my existence, and when I see him, I fly down the steps. He looks cocky sitting on his motorcycle, all leather cut, muscles, trimmed beard, the sides of his heads shaved with a bit of hair on top, and a mischievous smile to wreck my heart. “You! Why would you do that?” I poke a finger against his chest.
His hard, broad, muscular chest. A real man’s chest. It isn’t shaved, not baby smooth, but hairy, all the way down his abs, and I itch to run my fingers through it.
Not that I’d ever admit that out loud to anyone.
“Here. Put this on,” Knives says, completely ignoring the anger and the poke against the chest. My eyes land on the tattoo below his neck that says ‘Judge Me.’
Oh, I’m judging. He doesn’t have to worry about that.
“Did you hear me? Why would you do that, Knives? I am not a person you can fuck with whenever you want. I have feelings. Everyone makes mistakes, and you walked out on me when I needed you. You wouldn’t have done that to one of your MC brothers.”
“Don’t for a second compare yourself to them,” he says. “My brothers know when they make a mistake, but you don’t. That’s the difference, Mary. You’re doing it for the good to fuck yourself over. My brothers land in jail because they are breaking laws for the better good. What the hell are you doing to better yourself or the world? Nothing.”
“I—”
He stops me from saying anything else by pushing the helmet against my chest. “You, nothing. You have no reason to defend yourself. You’re putting yourself in harm’s way, and guess what? You were safer there in that jail cell than you were in your car. And guess who could sleep at night? Me. The club. The people that care about you. Shut the hell up, Mary. Put the helmet on and get on my bike.”
If my ass wasn’t burning from the spanking he just gave me, I’d sass him and tell him I’d rather walk, but the hard glint in his eyes tells me there is no room for discussion. With a nod, I slide the helmet on my head and swing my leg over to mount the bike. I’m squeezed tight between Knives and the backrest, my tits snug against his back. I inhale a sharp breath as my nipples harden from the contact. I dig my fingernails into my thighs to stop myself from wrapping my arms around his waist.
He revs the engine, but we don’t move forward. He reaches behind his back and grips my hands, pulling my arms around his waist.
Just like I didn’t want.
“You’re going to have to hold on a lot tighter, Hellraiser. Lean when I lean, and don’t distract me. You want freedom? You’re about to experience it.”
I have no idea what Knives means about freedom, but if it feels anything like his abs do clenching under my fingers, I want it. Once he feels like I have a good hold on him, he punches forward, and the bikes jerks, which pushes me against his backrest more. I hold on tighter, my fingers toying with this shirt, and the motion, along with the air breezing by us, has his shirt inching up his torso. My fingers graze against his bare stomach, and the coarse hairs I love so much tickle my palm. I gasp and do my best not to move or explore, but being this close to him without fighting feels different.
It’s just like that moment we kissed. Seems like we only ever get along when we’re touching each other.
That’s not a good thing.
The bike vibrates between my legs and tickles my swollen clit. Every bounce of the bike, every vibration from the bike speeding up, nearly makes me whimper and fall apart. With the throbbing between my legs, it is hard to figure out if the rumbling is actually coming from the bike or the man in front of me.
We zigzag through the parking lot until we are at the stop sign that takes us to the main road. He takes a right, passing the strip where all the fun is. Even though I’ve been in Vegas for almost a year, I have never been to the strip. Maybe I’ll go and get a job; there are plenty of jobs I can do to put distance between me and Knives. Eventually, I’ll move out of the clubhouse, and they won’t ever have to worry about me again.
It hurts to think about, but I feel like the Kings got stuck with me. They aren’t. I can take care of myself. It might not seem like it, but I can if I have to.
And I really think I have to, because something is changing between me and Knives. I’m not sure what it is, but it can’t be good.
Nothing good can be built from hate.
And Knives hates me, that much I know.
We make our way to Loneliest Road, a long stretch of narrow pavement that cuts through four-hundred miles of the United States. There is desert on either side of us, mountains and forests. It’s beautiful. Getting lost in the desert, the horizons of the sun, and the sand disappearing between my toes.
It sounds like heaven. A real break from life. I have been running from the truth for so long that I don’t know what it’s like to stop and think about what I want. I haven’t pressed reset on my life since I’ve been here. I think maybe it’s time I move on, somewhere, and do something.
I don’t know what, but it’s got to feel better than being a burden.
I hold onto Knives tighter when he speeds up, and the grumbling of the engine whips through the air.
I expect for him to slow down, but he doesn’t.
The bike goes faster, quickly gaining more speed until I’m worried Knives is going to lose control and we’re going to wreck. I squeeze his waist and raise my voice, “Stop it, Knives! Stop. You’re going too fast!” I try to yell over the rush of wind we are slicing through as we fly down the road.