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That’s reassuring. “Let’s go.” Ripley takes me by the forearm, guiding me outside. Opening the truck door, I attempt to climb in when hands grip my ass, hoisting me inside.
“Hands, asshole,” I snap.
“Cool your tits, princess. I wasn’t copping a feel.” Lying piece of shit. The atmosphere is tense inside the small confines. His eyes keep glancing across the bench seat to my bare legs. I want to tell him to keep his eyes on the damn road, but whether Fisher was being honest about Ripley not being allowed to touch me, there are no guarantees now that I’m alone with him.
We drive for what feels like forever back the route we came until he turns off toward an industrial estate. “Where are you going? I’m done. Take me home,” I choke out, fear seizing my lungs. I don’t want to go wherever the fuck this is.
“You’re done when Fisher says you’re done. Now, shut the fuck up. You talk too much.” I haven’t spoken once the entire drive.
He pulls the truck over at a factory, and I squint, shielding my eyes with my arm as lights from other cars blind me. The rumble of bikes sound from behind, then the crunch of gravel under their tires as they approach.
“Let’s go,” Ripley demands, getting out of the truck. Opening my door, I not so gracefully slide out of my seat. Fisher strides toward me, rain soaking us both. He reaches out, taking my hand, and pulls me inside the building with him. It’s a packing warehouse. Machinery and huge packing counters fill up the center of the space. Tapping my ass in the direction of a table in the corner, Fisher says, “Go sit.”
My insides collide, sending nausea up my throat. Why the hell am I here? Two men carry the Royal Bastard's unconscious form inside and dump him on one of the counters like a slab of meat.
“Strip him and getting him hung up,” Fisher instructs.
Oh my god, I don’t want to be here.
The men make quick work of stripping the man, and I can’t look away despite knowing I should. Muscle, tight beneath tanned skin, shows a body that works out. Lean. Strong. His abs are defined even while they’re relaxed. Tattoos cover nearly his entire chest. And holy hell—
“Damn, this motherfucker is packing a concealed weapon,” one of them calls out, chuckling.
“Why the fuck you looking at his dick? You want to play with it, you cock gobbler?”
You couldn’t gobble that beast. It would restrict your airways. That man is hung. My pussy clenches involuntarily.
“Can you two stop fucking around? We have company on the way,” Fisher barks.
Lifting the now naked man, his large cock slapping against his thigh, they take him to what looks like an industrial fridge and disappear inside.
I pace the factory floor, this must be a place Fisher uses as a hub for some of his business. Waiting to find out the Royal brother’s fate and my own is a form of torture. Rain batters the building, sounding like white noise from a TV being left on the wrong channel. Shivers chase up my arms, the cavernous space freezing cold. It smells of death in here, and I’ve been here for hours. If there are issues between the clubs, I’m not aware of them, but why else would they take a Royal Bastard brother? If they find out I’m kin to the Royal Bastards, things could go really freaking bad for me.
A flurry of movement comes from the locker door three guys went through not ten minutes ago. The man in a suit is ushered out by two big brutes.
I make myself as small as I can, not engaging eye contact as they race pass me. “What happened?” Fisher barks from across the room. He’s been talking with three of his brothers for the last hour, and more keep showing up.
“Get her out of here. Take her through the fire exit doors,” Fisher barks to Ripley, jerking his chin to the back of the factory, right next to the industrial fridge the Royal Bastard is in.
Ripley shoves my back to get me to move. Fisher and his brothers follow the departure of the man in the suit. My heart races. Sweat beads my forehead despite the chill in the air. I’m not sure why Fisher brought me with them to this factory or what he plans to do with me, but letting this creep take me out of here isn’t going to end well for me.
If I survive this, I could call Jameson and tell him about the brother, but it will be all-out-war, and I don’t know if there are more of Fisher’s brother’s here. It’s a big factory. And I’d have to explain how the hell I got myself into this mess.
