Page 6 of Pride

I shook my head in an effort to clear it of my lustful visions. “Yes,” I responded. “Thank you.”

He bent down and picked it up. “Ever ridden on a bike?”

He was intimidating. Not the scary kind. The holy shit this guy is hot kind. I swallowed hard and gave an affirmative nod.

“Yeah,” I lied.

He pushed the door open and gestured toward a black Harley sitting beside the door. “Guess we’ll get a beer somewhere else, huh?”

He’d just saved me from being gang raped and possibly killed, and acted like it was nothing. I admired the black and chrome motorcycle and feigned indifference. “Guess so.”

He tossed the barrel of the shotgun toward the far end of the parking lot. It bounced across the gravel with hollow clanking sound, eventually coming to rest in the weeds of an adjoining field.

Without expression, he tilted his head toward the motorcycle. “Saddle up.”

I had no idea who he was, where he was from, or why he stumbled into the bar when he did. I really didn’t care. I did know that he saved me from being gang raped by no less than three sickening pigs, and I was beyond grateful for that.

I got my sunglasses out of my purse and raised my leg over the seat. “I’m Anna.” I lowered my tone to a whisper. “Anna Marie Mc Cay.”

“Knox,” he said. “Fisher Knox. And you better hold on, I ride hard.”

I never would have guessed.