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“You were leaving when I opened the door,” he pointed out gruffly.
“So? I wasn’t staying here forever. I’m hungry. You left almost three hours ago.”
“When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed.” His voice was a deep growl, like he was used to giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed without question. There was a prideful arrogance and confidence about him that I didn’t like but couldn’t ignore. Despite the fact that he was being irritating, I found the growling sound sexy as it rumbled through his chest.
“I don’t follow your orders. And anyway, I’m not staying here long.”
There wasn’t much of a reaction to my words except for the tightening of his jaw and the hard edge that seemed to settle over his shoulders. He pushed off the door and slowly strode forward. The movement was intentionally intimidating but I didn’t move. Standing my ground, I looked up and into his icy blue eyes, daring him to make me do a damn thing.
“We need to talk,” he finally replied. “And you won’t be going anywhere until I say so.”
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I blew out a breath and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Well, get on with it.” I might as well find out what he wanted. This conversation was nothing more than a pissing contest and he would make sure he won. I might as well pamper his over-inflated ego long enough to find out what was going on.
“Where’s Trish?” He seemed happy with the fact that I didn’t try to argue but his question caught me off guard.
“Huh?”
“Tricia. The blonde bartender that works at the Blacktop. Where is she?”
“Home?” I asked, shrugging. “How the hell should I know?”
“No,” he replied slowly. “She’s not.”
Shit. What did she do? And why the hell were the Royal Bastards interested in Trish? Her relationship with the prez Grim hadn’t ended well. As far as I knew, there hadn’t been any contact since. “Look, I’m not her keeper, okay?”
“When is the last time you spoke to her?”
“Outside of the bar, around nine p.m. or so. She said she was going home.”
The biker scowled. “You’re sure that’s what time you saw her?”
“Yeah,” I replied testily. “It was my break.” This guy would be hot as hell if he wasn’t so demanding. Those piercing eyes of his were shockingly pretty, not to mention the chiseled line of his jaw and the beard that was long enough to tickle the insides of my thighs. His dark hair fell over his right eye, thick and straight but not too long, just enough to give him a sensual and dangerous edge.
“How long have you been working at the Blacktop?”
“Almost a year now.” I didn’t see why this was important. “Does it matter?” I stood up, brushing my hands over my black yoga pants. “Could I speak to your prez? He knew my sister.”
A snarl ripped from between the biker’s lips as he bolted forward, slamming us both against his bedroom wall. “Why would you need to talk to my prez?”
Holy fuck. This guy was psycho. And he had a temper. “Listen,” I gulped, realizing I still didn’t know his name. “I just want to ask if I can hang out until I can contact my friend to pick me up. I need food and a place to lay low for a few days. I can’t go back to the Blacktop after what happened.”
Remember the dead fucking bikers, asshole?
He blinked, keeping a tight grip on my wrists as they pressed against the cold wall. “Why?” he asked, his voice low and strained. “Why now?”
I didn’t understand his meaning. “I’m scared,” I admitted. The Scorpions already killed my sister and threatened Trish. If they knew I was alive, they’d kill me too. There was no way I was going back to the Blacktop. I needed to find Tricia and get as far from Tonopah, Nevada as possible.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, his head lowering until our eyes locked. “You look just like her, smell just like her. Fuck, you’re her goddamn ghost.”
My sister? “I don’t –”
My sentence was never finished. Warm lips cut off my words as they crashed down on my own, dominating and owning my surrender as he viciously stole my resistance. Heat pooled in my core at the same moment bright bursts of light seemed to explode in front of my eyes. It was cliché as fuck, but this man could kiss me into submission without hardly trying. In all my life, I’d never been so thoroughly ravaged as our tongues tangled and a low moan ripped from my throat.
I forgot I didn’t know this man. He was a stranger and his motives were unknown. Stupidly, I completely melted in his arms, clutching at the bulging muscles of his forearms until there was a brief knock and he broke the kiss with a muffled curse.
“Mr. Whitman? Bodie?”
Eyes wide, I shoved away from the man who stared down at me with a mixture of surprise and remorse, anger and frustration. Above all, there was a guilt that I didn’t comprehend until this exact moment.
