AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her mind took a moment to catch up even while her body fought the man hovering over her. She was back in the now-reclined chair, sprawled out with her legs spread. Lance stood between her legs. His slacks were pooled at his knees, and his dick, harder than she’d seen it in years, pointed up toward his stomach.
“N-no,” she rasped through ruined vocal cords as he reached for her shorts. “No!” She swatted his hand away.
His laugh made her blood run cold. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me from taking what’s mine, fiancée.”
As soon as he said the word, a strange sensation registered on her left hand. She glanced down to find the enormous engagement ring she’d left in their house back on her finger. Her stomach jolted at the sight of it. “No,” she whispered.
This wasn’t happening.
When his hands touched the button on her shorts, she completely lost it. Screaming, kicking, flailing her arms, she tried everything to keep him from touching her. No one would hear the weak cries coming from her sore throat, but she managed to clip his lip with the toe of her sandal.
“Fuck,” he shouted, taking a step back.
She froze as he pressed a hand to his mouth, then drew it away covered in blood.
“You fucking bitch.” He spat, spraying her shirt with red. He jammed his knees into her legs, pinning them to the chair. Then he grabbed her hands and wrenched them above her head in an unbreakable iron grip.
She struggled, thrashing back and forth in a wasted effort to escape.
He reached for her shorts with his free hand, but she couldn’t block him this time.
“No,” she whispered. “P-please.”
He let out a dark chuckle. “Told you, you’d be begging me.”
With a rough jerk, he pulled her shorts down enough to expose her underwear. “Cheap shit,” he said with a dissatisfied grunt.
“After fucking a biker, I bet your pussy is just as cheap as the fucking panties. Too bad the motherfucker isn’t here to see how a real man fucks his woman. Bet he could use the lesson, seeing as how you came crawling back to me.”
Tears leaked from her eyes as her chest heaved with more terror than she’d ever experienced. But she fought like hell. “Get the fuck off me!” She bucked in the seat.
Damn, even the adrenaline firing through her blood couldn’t keep her from hurting. Her wrists burned like hell where the skin twisted and stretched beneath his forceful grip. Her throat felt like it’d been rubbed raw on a cheese grater. The pain in her cheek disappeared beneath a pile of other aches, and her shin bones felt seconds from cracking, wedged between Lance’s knees and the wooden base of the chair.
All her struggles earned her were more bruises and abrasions. She could barely see through the tangle of hair hanging in front of her eyes. Her voice weakened with each attempted scream until it was barely above a hoarse croak.
“Done yet?” Lance’s smirk held amusement. His dick hadn’t softened a bit during his struggles. The sick bastard was as turned on as she’d ever seen him.
Hot and bothered by the fight.
Aroused by her pain and fear.
Slumped in the chair with her top riding up and a leering Lance above her, a strangled sob burst forth. There was nothing she could do to stop him.
Would Scott be able to look her in the eye again?
How could he want her after this?
Why the hell hadn’t she just stayed in his bed?
I’m sorry, Scott.
She squeezed her eyes shut as Lance lowered himself toward her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
BY SOME MIRACLE, Scott and his brothers made it to the airport without a trail of cops flying after them. He’d pushed his bike harder than ever before, topping out at ninety-eight on the highway. Cars honked, trucker drivers flipped him off, and one soccer mom in a minivan screamed obscenities out her window, but he’d rocketed by so fast that all he’d caught was the word ‘motherfucker.’
His brothers stayed hot on his ass the entire time, risking their licenses, hell, probably their freedom at those speeds.
When they reached the airport, they were forced to slow down. Scott wasted ten precious minutes finding a place to leave his bike. The second he killed the engine, he called Curly. “Get us on a flight?” he asked as he sprinted toward the terminal without bothering to look over his shoulder. The pounding of boots behind him let him know Tracker and Lock hadn’t fallen behind.
“Nothing ‘til fucking tomorrow,” Curly said, voice thick with disgust.
“Shit! Fuck. You tried every fucking airline?”
“Yeah. I’m working on chartering a private jet, but even that shit’s booked. I know this is time you don’t have but give me fifteen minutes. I think I’m getting somewhere with this fucking asshole agent.”
Christ. Scott came to a complete halt near the parking garage’s exit. A private jet costs big money. Money Scott would never have. Curly had it, but that didn’t mean the prez was under any obligation to shell it out for Scott or Liv. “Thank you,” he said, sincerity thickening his throat. Those two words didn’t begin to convey his appreciation, but he had no idea what would.
