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The minute I slid the gas nozzle back into its housing, the guy with the crack pipe seemed to jump in front of me out of nowhere.”
“Where you going? You wanna give a guy a ride?”
“No, sorry,” I stated firmly.
When he didn’t move, I tried to step around him. He cut me off and kept talking. “You don’t look like you’re from around here. Are you just passing through?”
“Look, I don’t have time to talk to you. Please move. You’re making me late for an appointment.”
He shoved me back against my car and slipped his hand around my throat. Both of my hands came up to wrap around his wrist just as he began to squeeze.
“Why is it that pretty bitches are always so stuck up? You don’t have to treat men like garbage to feel good about yourself.”
When he eased his grip, I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. I tried again. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“Please don’t treat me like shit,” he sneered.
He lowered his head toward mine. It took me a minute to realize the crack addict was about to try and kiss me. Panic surged through my chest. I lifted both hands and clawed furiously at his face, leaving a bloody trail of scratches down his cheeks.
He grabbed my hands and pinned them down. I could see a wild kind of fury in his eyes. “You want to play games, bitch? I can play some fucking games.”
The throaty roar of a motorcycle filled the air and the man accosting me moved his body closer, pinning me so hard against the side of my car that I could hardly breathe. I hadn’t had the presence of mind to knee him in the groin when I had the chance and now there wasn’t enough space between us to execute the maneuver.
A few seconds later he was gone, ripped away from me by a huge, hulking biker, who slammed him down onto the ground and kicked him in the side before walking over to me and looking me over with a critical eye.
“Are you okay, Ms. Agazzi?”
Ignoring the man groaning in pain on the pavement for the moment, I looked up at the biker. “Who are you and how do you know who I am?”
“My name is Marcel Pierce, but everyone calls me Mason. I’ve been assigned by my club president to be your protector while you’re in our neck of the woods. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, cher.”
He had a Cajun accent as thick as gumbo, I brought one hand up to rub against my chest. “How did you know I was in trouble?”
“Your fiancé shared your location with me. Once I saw you were headed to the south side of Griffinsford, I got here as soon as I could. Luckily, I wasn’t at the clubhouse. It would have taken much longer to reach you.”
I nodded. “Nicco explained that he’d do that to keep me safe. I believe he texted me your number at some point as well.”
“Hopefully, you won’t be needing to call me. I plan to stick to you like glue until you get back to LA. Are you okay to drive?”
“Yes.” Gesturing to the guy who managed to make it to his feet and was now trying to fire up his crack pipe again, “I just wasn’t expecting to be jumped the minute I rolled into town.”
“Of course not. This is a bad neighborhood. You ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all. If you’d like to follow me, we’ll go directly to the clubhouse so you can get settled in.”
I nodded again. I didn’t give a moment of consideration to calling the police because I didn’t want to take the time to file a police report on a guy who was just going to be released in the morning and end up right back here with his pipe in hand. It seemed like a waste of everyone’s time.
My hand was trembling when I reached for the door handle. I jerked it open and climbed inside. Once the door closed behind me and I hit the locks, I felt safe again. I started my car and eased out of the parking lot behind Mason.
Something about following him down the long, lonely secondary road was hypnotic. The way his bike tilted to the right and left as he hugged the curves seemed almost sensual. Mason was different from the men I grew up with. He wore a leather cut with his club’s logo emblazed across the back instead of a suit. He had a slow Southern drawl that was easy on the ears. Unlike mine, his brown hair didn’t have a hint of auburn about it. In fact, it almost seemed to have golden highlights that glittered in the sun and his skin was tanned. Though I wasn’t sure if this was natural, or because he spent so much time outdoors.
I remembered his worried hazel eyes and the way his hand came out when he first approached, as if he wanted to touch me to assure himself I was okay. He stopped about five inches from my arm and slowly lowered his hand. For a second it was like my brain misfired and I actually wanted him to touch me, to reassure me and become my safe place. It was strange, but thankfully the moment slipped away.
***
We arrived at the clubhouse almost thirty minutes later, and despite Nicco filling me in, it was nothing like what I expected it to be. From the outside, it looked more like a pub with a large commercial garage attached. Mason helped me lug my suitcases out of the trunk and carried them in for me like they weighed nothing.
The interior looked like a cross between a gentleman’s club and a sports bar, but instead of sports memorabilia hanging on the walls, it was all motorcycle gear. It was neat, clean, and a pretty redheaded bartender was serving drinks behind a log bar. She looked over at us as we passed and winked at me in a way that was more friendly than flirty. I found myself smiling back before I could stop myself.
Mason picked his way through the multitude of leather-clad bikers and led me upstairs. As I looked at pictures depicting these men at biker rallies, cookouts, and other life events, Mason was giving me information to help me adjust to living on their premises.
