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After the disastrous confrontation with her father, Cassie had wanted nothing more than to forget the day. So what had she done? She’d driven to a seedy bar she’d never been to. No rich assholes there to recognize her. Then she’d proceeded to drink her troubles away while not paying attention to her drink but paying plenty of attention to the handsome guy who’d offered to watch it while she went to the bathroom.
One stupid, fucking mistake and now she was contemplating offering her body to a man who curdled her insides.
Cassie willed her churning gut to remain calm and ignored the internal voice screaming at her not to abort this mission. A quick glance down her body revealed the purple bra and panty set she’d purchased just three days before was a hot mess. Filthy from all that she’d been through, it would have to do. Her less than hygienic state hadn’t seemed to deter any of the guards from pawing at her. Hopefully it wouldn’t turn them off when it came to having sex with her. Her stomach lurched at the idea.
You can do this. Shove the revulsion in a box and store it on the highest shelf.
Just as she was about to call out to her babysitter, the door to her room swung open.
“You!” she said on a gasp as the handsome young man from the previous night filled the doorway. He stepped forward and she huddled against the headboard.
Who was he? Why was he there? For a split-second last night, she’d been positive he was about to protest her treatment, but then he’d kept his mouth shut, proving he fit in with the others.
Her heart sank.
God, were they moving her already?
“What’s your name?” he asked, not moving from his spot. Despite his scowl, and the authority radiating from him, his voice didn’t convey the threat she’d felt from the other men.
“C-Cassie,” she said. “Cassandra.” She held as still as possible as if not moving would somehow make her safer were he to lunge for her.
“Will anyone have reported you missing?”
She studied him. He gave off a different vibe than the other men. The sense of fear and imminent danger she’d been battling for the past day faded in his presence. Something about him, made her feel…at ease? Safe?
No. Those ridiculous thoughts were dangerous. What? Because he was handsome, muscular, and sexy she shouldn’t fear him? Perhaps he wouldn’t harm her outright, but he was still one of them. His leather vest boasted the same patches as the men who’d been holding her there for the past day. Wouldn’t these guys die before betraying their motorcycle clubs? Or was that just in the made for TV version?
Still, as foolish as it might be, something compelled her to tell the truth. “Um, I’m not entirely sure.” She cleared her throat and fought to hold his intense milk-chocolate gaze. “Normally, I’d say yes. B-but I, uh, had a falling out with my family. Which was why I was at that bar and distracted. The guy slipped something into my drink and…” She shrugged, shifting her attention to the wall.
What’s the very first thing all women are told before going to a bar for the first time? Don’t leave your drink unattended. And what did she do? She chatted up a guy who seemed so…interested in her. He’d boosted her freaking ego and she’d allowed him to watch her drink while she hit the restroom to refresh her makeup.
Stupid, naïve mistake.
One she now paid for dearly.
The man nodded, face tightening as though he didn’t approve. Then why was he with them? Wasn’t this what his club did? Could he be different from the rest? Could he be an undercover cop?
God, she really had seen too many made for TV movies.
“Your folks rich? Powerful?”
Well, there it was. One of the bikers willing to take her money, perhaps? It was a nail in the coffin on the undercover cop theory, but, maybe she could work this to her advantage. Her palms grew slick and she wiped them as best she could given her limited range of motion. She had to play this right. Make it worth a huge betrayal to his club. “Yes, they have money. They’ll pay you. If you let me go, they’ll pay you.”
Would they? Did she even speak the truth? As she’d been storming out of her father’s house, he’d called after her, screaming that she was no longer in his will. No longer welcome at her childhood home. Not that she’d taken a dime from him in ages; most of her money came from a trust set up by her grandparents. They’d known what a controlling asshole her father could be and what a money-grubbing shrew her stepmother had proved to be. Despite the animosity between them, the notion of being exiled from her family cut deep. Not because of the money, but since they were all she had. A father, a stepmother. No other blood relations.
