“You gotta piss?” I ask her as I pull her helmet off. Her hair is damp, slicked to her forehead and neck.
She nods.
I help her off, but before she starts toward the station entrance, I grab her elbow and head for the doors with her. She’ll have to get the key to the bathroom from inside.
She looks up at me with those big brown, innocent eyes, so full of uncertainty. Chick’s life is in my hands, and she damned well knows it.
“You don’t go anywhere without me,” I tell her.
“Are you going to stand over me while I do my business, too?”
“Keep shooting your mouth off like that and I’ll find a better use for it, Wildcat.”
Her brows shoot up so high that I’m surprised they don’t fly off. She’s always looking at me as if everything I say and do is a shock to her. It’s great.
“Please stop calling me that,” she mutters.
“Would you rather I called you “Thief?”
Her lips press together. “I hate you, you know.”
“Good.” I run by fingers up her nape, enjoying the angry way she tosses her head. “It’ll make it more exciting.”
She gives me a questioning look. She can’t be that naïve, can she?
I have Pip go in and get the keys for me and then I take her to the door to the john. Once the door is unlocked, she starts in, but I yank her back out.
“Not so fast.” I go in first, taking a look around. The bathroom has only one window, a slit that’s too small to squeeze through even for her, and no doors.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Making sure you can’t give me the slip.” I step back out and wait for her to go in.
She drops her shoulders. She doesn’t meet my gaze, her eyes on my throat. “So that’s how it’s going to be?” You’re going to watch everything I do, every place I go?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going to try to run.”
“And I should trust you why?”
Her eyes shoot up to mine then. For half a second, she searches them. As if looking for compassion, some hope she can latch onto. Then she tears her eyes away and deflates, looking lost again.
What does she see when she looks at me?
“Spider, what are you going to do to me? You can’t keep me locked up for the rest of my life. Are you going to kill me?”
“Make it fast,” I tell her without answering her questions. I shut the door before she can reply.
I hear her muttering in agitation inside and smile.
“What are you going to do with her anyway?” Striker asks, coming to stand beside me.
I take out a pack of smokes and light up. “Haven’t decided yet.”
If I’m rational about this and leave my raging hard dick out of it, I can’t keep her. She’s a complication, and I can’t afford complications in my life.
After what I’ve done to her, letting her go is not an option. Regardless of her promise not to say anything, I wasn’t patched in yesterday. She’ll run to the cops the minute I’m gone.
Which leaves only one option left.
That solution shouldn’t bother me. As the Sergeant At Arms for the Outlaws, I’m used to doing some of the club’s dirtiest work. I’ve kept the club armed with the best weapons for seven years. I deal with the worst scum in the world, men who aren’t afraid of death, or making their living off it. So why do my fists clench when I realize I might have to kill her?
“Aren’t you the one who always says women are a liability?” Striker asks quietly, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Always asking the hard questions, the fucker.
“You think too much. Go jerk Pip’s chain or something.”
Striker claps me on the back with a knowing smile and walks off.
Asshole.
I thump on the door. “Hurry it up in there.”
She grumbles something I can’t make out. Then I hear a faint tinkling of breaking glass.
My senses go on high alert.
A second later, the door opens. There’s a bulge inside her sock.
“Sorry I took so long.” But the smile she gives me looks as fake as a painted whore, and her voice trembles.
I grab her wrist and yank her outside, then shove her back against the wall, pinning her between it and my frame.
She gives a started gasp, her eyes huge. I put my hands on the wall to either side of her head and get in her face.
“What…what are you doing—”
I press into her, letting the trembling in her body fuel the need that burns up my insides. Slowly, I bend down and pull the sharp shard of mirror glass from inside her sock.
Her head drops back against the wall.
Putting one hand beside her head, I hold the shard of glass up in front of her eyes.
“I can’t decide if this makes you brave, or just stupid.”
Her grabbing that glass suggests she isn’t as ignorant as she was when I first saw her. However unfamiliar she is with bikers. she’s figured out that we’re dangerous.
She closes her eyes and says nothing. Waiting to see what I’ll do.
“Open your eyes.”
She does, but she averts them. That is starting to piss me off, and I don’t know why.
I hold the shard closer to her face, and she meets my gaze. “Do you know how to use this?”
Again, silence.
“Do you know how to kill a man?”
She presses her lips together as if willing herself not to speak. There’s a terrific strength in that silence. It’s almost warlike. Except this is the same woman who demanded to know where I was taking her right after I threatened to shoot her. If I scare her enough, she’ll shatter. If I push her hard enough, she’ll lose control.
I grab her hand and close it around the shard, putting the glass to my throat, right at my jugular.
“Can you kill me?” I ask her.
She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Her hand stays where it is, but it’s shaking. It’s a useless grip that could only cause harm if I’m not paying attention.
After a second, her grip on the shard goes slack. I take the glass from her and toss it away.
Then I slip my hand around her throat.
Her eyes snap to mine, and they’re filled with panic.
There she is. There’s the soft spot.
The scent of her fear is sweet, and I inhale it, running the tip of my nose along the side of her neck. She tenses, and I wait, my fingers tight, leaving her suspended in that moment between hope and fear before I slowly slip my hand under her skirt.
Her breathing stills.
My fingers slide inside her panties, cupping her ass and grinding her into me. There’s a sharp inhale when my cock rubs against her pussy. I pat the rest of her down, running my palm over each of her breasts, her back, like I’m frisking her.
Half of the places my hands are going she couldn’t hide a weapon without risking cutting herself, but I like having my hands on her. Like letting her know every inch of her is mine to do with as I please.
“Are you going to kill me?” she rasps, desperate.
I still don’t know, but I’m not going to tell her that. “Not yet.”
Her pupils dilate until they turn her dark eyes black.
With my fingers on her nape, I paint her plump, pink mouth with the pad of my thumb, watching her lips part in response. A growl escapes me at the sight of it. “Fuck. I want your mouth around my cock right now.”