Bounty:Fury Riders MC(9)

By: Zoey Parker

Why was a man like him in a place like this? He could have been gracing a magazine or billboard, but instead was in some headquarters or lounge for what was obviously a motorcycle club. It made no sense to me.

He smirked, one corner of his mouth going up. Like he could ready my thoughts. I blushed.

“You feeling better?”

I nodded, taking a chance on speaking. I hoped my voice didn’t give away the sudden heat between my legs. “A little. Thanks.”

“Good.” He leaned forward, his hands on the bar. “Then why don’t you try telling me what you were doing out there tonight?”

I was at a loss. Could I trust him with what I had seen? From the way he beat that other guy up, there was no love lost between his crew and theirs. But what if there was some code I wasn’t supposed to break? What if he ended up getting into trouble over what I told him? I didn’t want that to happen. He’d saved my life.

He saw my hesitation and the way his brow furrowed told me how frustrated he was. He opened his mouth, but anything he had to say was cut off by a half dozen men flooding out of the room from which I’d heard the laughter and noise when we first came in.

“Hey, you’re finally here! Been waitin’ on ya.” The men all acknowledged my hero, whose name I still didn’t know. Then, one by one, they turned to me.

“Who’s she?” one of them asked, and his tone wasn’t exactly kind.

“Not sure yet.” My new friend came out from behind the bar, taking me by the waist. “But I’m gonna find out.” My eyes went wide and I looked at him in abject horror. So this was why he brought me here? Just as I opened my mouth to cry out in protest, I caught the look he gave me out of the corner of his eye. That look told me to keep my mouth shut, so I did. He had a plan, and I was supposed to trust him.

How could I do that when I didn’t know him?

Still, I did what he wanted and allowed him to lead me to a back room. The other men whistled and shouted, and my cheeks burned just knowing what they were thinking. I wanted to spit in their faces and call them white trash and every other insult I knew, but fear and the iron grip around my waist kept my mouth shut.

He led me to what looked like an office and hurled me inside. Only when he closed the door behind us did I whirl around on my new captor.

“What the hell are you trying to pull?” I spat, glaring at him. “Making them think I’m some kind of…of…”

“Whore?” He looked amused, smirking again.

“Whatever,” I said. “I’m not like that.”

“Oh, I can tell what you think you’re like,” he said. “Believe me, it comes through loud and clear.”

I narrowed my eyes. No matter what he had done for me, it didn’t give him the right to talk to me that way. “Oh? Illuminate me.”

“You’re a princess,” he said, shrugging, before taking a seat behind the paper-strewn desk. I wondered what all those papers contained. This was hardly a legit business.

“A princess?” My laugh rang through the room. “Hardly. I work for everything I have. And I have a clear conscience when claiming it on my tax return. Can you say that?”

“What’s a tax return?” I glared at him, and he laughed. “All right, all right, truce. Stop biting my head off. The last thing I remember, I was saving your ass. Unless you’ve already forgotten about that. I’d be more than happy to drop you back off where I found you.” He rubbed his temples. “You’re already more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Oh, I am? Nobody told you that you had to come in and ‘save my ass.’” I regretted saying it as soon as the words came out. I should have been apologizing to the man, and instead, I was antagonizing him. He was pushing my buttons. I was allowing it to happen.

“You’re right. Nobody did. Lucky for me, it wasn’t too hard to do. And lucky for you, too.” He winked.

“Lucky for me?”

“Yeah. If he had beaten me, he would have been in a much…feistier mood when he got back to you.” My mouth went dry at the thought, and my eyes went round. I felt the blood drain from my face. He nodded at my reaction. “You see what I’m getting at.”

I sighed and pointed to a chair as a way of asking permission to sit. He nodded. I arranged myself in the chair. It was a struggle to keep from falling into it. I knew I had a thousand-yard stare going on, looking right through my anti-hero, through the wall, back to that street where my attacker could have raped me.

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