“Were you this controlling with your daughter?” I demand, eager to hit him where I can tell it hurts.
He releases my hair and smooths it down. “Worse.”
A sick feeling washes over me.
Did he hurt her?
What kind of asshole’s arms did I land myself into?
“We ride out early tomorrow. Sleep,” he orders, his arm tightening around my middle.
I stay up the rest of the night, staring into the darkness, wondering what the hell I do next.
The men—bikers from what I now know are the Royal Bastards MC—gather outside of some guy named Animal’s clubhouse. It’s nicer than the Roaring River MCs shithole, but it doesn’t take much to outdo that place.
I glower at everyone, my eyes flicking to the open truck door. Koyn stands in front of the truck, talking lowly to the guy I’ve determined is his brother. Their similarities are uncanny. The huge difference is Koyn bears a huge, scarred “X” on his face. I could sneak over there, climb in the truck, and haul ass out of there before anyone knew what hit them.
Then what?
Outrun an entire club of pissed off bikers?
And I still don’t know where I’d go.
I never thought much past Junior.
“Putnam, hmm?” a deep, dark, and sultry voice practically purrs. “To get involved with a shit like him or his son, you’d have to be quite the girl yourself.”
I snap my head to meet the green-eyed gaze of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. His dark hair is styled in a just-fucked kind of way—for all I know, he probably was just fucked based on his smirk. He quirks his lips up and a dragon tattoo on his neck seems to ripple and move as though it’s alive on his skin. I become fixated on the intricate green and black ink that covers most of his neck. The dragon’s mouth is open, all razor-sharp teeth, and rather than fire, smoke billows out, covering his exposed flesh to his jaw, stopping abruptly. From the jawline down, he’s a total typical biker with leather and black and swagger. His face is straight out of a magazine or a freaking cologne ad.
“You shouldn’t stare, jailbait,” he says, his smile widening to reveal a perfect set of white teeth.
Bikers aren’t this hot.
Hell no.
They stink and belch and are hairy.
“Still not done,” the man says, his perfect brow arching up. “Stare all you want, little one, but Prez is going to lose his shit in three, two, one—”
“Dragon,” Koyn growls. “I need your hog.”
The purring, seductive dragon man whines, making him less biker and total runway diva. “What? Why?”
“I need to think. You can ride bitch with Copper.”
Dragon’s smile becomes predatory. “With jailbait here? Want me to sit her in my lap and keep her safe?”
Koyn’s jaw ticks and before he can respond, another goddamn beautiful biker steps over to us. Tall, massive, his golden blond hair glistening like the sun.
“Dragon,” the guy warns. “Prez’ll drag your ass behind your own bike by your hair if you keep that shit up.”
“Don’t give him any ideas, Filter,” Dragon complains to the golden god of a man.
Filter smirks. “It’s my job to give him ideas.”
Koyn holds out his hand and Dragon tosses his keys to him with a grumble.
“Hadley’s with me,” Koyn tells them, surprising the hell out of his guys based on the widening of their eyes.
“You’re gonna put this young bitch on the back of my bike and haul her around like she’s your old lady?” Dragon asks, bursting into a fit of laughter.
Koyn grabs Dragon by the front of his shirt and drags him until they’re face-to-face. Dragon’s hand is already around a knife at his belt, but he makes no moves to stab his prez.
“I’ll never have an old lady,” Koyn rumbles. “Stop fucking with me.”
Dragon relents. “I know, Prez. Sorry, man.”
Koyn releases the grip on his shirt and then clutches Dragon’s shoulder in a brotherly way that has me confused as hell. Two seconds ago, I was sure someone would get slashed to death. Now they’re looking at each other like they’re best fucking friends.
“Get her a helmet,” Koyn barks out to Filter. “A jacket too.”
A cacophony of rumbles vibrates me to my bones as I stand beside Koyn on the nice, new Harley he pretty much stole from Dragon. I’m supposed to be looking for escape options, not noticing how domineering he looks straddling the big, noisy piece of metal. His thighs strain against the blood-stained denim, showcasing the solid muscle beneath. Everything about Koyn is huge and hardened. To some outside girl, he’d be terrifying.
Especially to some girl whose boyfriend he killed.
But I’m no outside girl.
I’m embedded so deeply in the MC world, I will never get out. Outside of the protection of the lawless, I’ll be thrust back into society. Been there, done that. Not doing it again.
So, rather than be terrified of Koyn, I pull on my helmet and straddle the bike behind him. It’s a smaller bike, meant for a guy like Dragon, so I feel as though I’m perched on a tiny piece of leather real estate. I’m forced to lean in, pressing my tits against this man, and spreading my legs for him just so I don’t slip off the back and become sexy-ass roadkill.
He grips my wrist, pulling my body closer, and then molds my arm to his body. I mimic the action with my other arm until I’m hugging him like a koala on a tree. His body radiates warmth that soothes the shivering parts deep inside me. I hate admitting it, but he does provide a sense of comfort for some insane reason I don’t want to mentally examine right now.
The crux of the matter is…I have daddy issues.
And Koyn is one hundred percent a daddy.
He takes off, kicking up gravel in his wake, and speeds down the driveway. The roar of the bikes behind us makes me relax. So often, I’d lose myself to daydreams on the back of Junior’s bike. He’d ride me around everywhere, taking me to eat and to see cool shit. Sometimes we’d even fuck on his bike. All those moments are gone. I’ll never get them back. Tears burn at my eyes and I close them. I don’t want to see the Arkansas trees—all brilliant with orange and brown and red and yellow leaves—whizzing by. I don’t want to appreciate their beauty.
It seems unfair that I’m having to hold on to my boyfriend’s killer.
Hold on to him or die.
Like I’m forced to choose him over myself.
I don’t get fucked-up Magna vibes off Koyn. I’m fairly sure he’s not going to drag me all the way back to his clubhouse just to torture me or kill me or fuck me. He would’ve done any of those already if it were on his villain agenda.
But something lurks within him.
A calmness that is felt before a catastrophe. Dark. Sinister. Foreboding. It seems to vibrate through him. As if it is magnetic energy making all the hairs on my arms stand on end. I can feel it through every molecule in my body. Buzzing. Humming. Warning.
Dad was that way.
A series of calms and storms. Whipping and thrashing. A constant back and forth like on a boat in choppy waters until I was damn near seasick from it all.
Dad’s storms weren’t ones I could ride like a wave until I hit the shore.