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‘None as pretty as you, though,’ he added. My gut twisted painfully at his words. I want you to look pretty. His father’s words came back to haunt me.
He was silent for a beat. And then, ‘I didn’t catch your name.’
I weighed my decision for a few moments before deciding he’d find out as soon as he spoke to his father, anyway.
‘Mariana,’ I said softly. ‘People call me Ana.’
‘Ana,’ he said, smiling. ‘Welcome to the United States. The land of the free and the home of the brave.’
‘Really?’ I asked dubiously. ‘You’re quoting “The Star-Spangled Banner” to the girl who your father owns like a slave?’
‘For now,’ he replied.
‘For now, what?’ I asked, confused. ‘You going to start quoting Backstreet Boys next?’
His grin was maddening and thrilling all at once. ‘For now, my father owns you. But my father isn’t here,’ he said, gesturing with his open palms around the motel room. ‘It’s just me and you. And I like you. You’re feisty. I think I might just keep you for myself.’
I swallowed thickly at what that could mean.
* * *
Outside, the bikers were getting restless. It was hot, and I could see beads of sweat glistening on Dornan’s forehead and cheeks. ‘Straight home, boys,’ he ordered, making a twirling motion with his index finger. Within seconds the air was filled with the deafening noise of over a dozen Harleys gunning it down the road.
Dornan handed me a black helmet and I lifted it onto my head without arguing. It was weird, but I was so relieved to be away from Murphy, and so far from Emilio, that I was willing to do whatever Dornan said. Which made no sense at all because his reputation preceded him. He was a bad motherfucker, as bad as they came, and he was merciless. I had heard stories of the things he’d done, the ways he had killed people. His trademark was decapitation: cutting off the heads of the people who’d pissed him off and sending them to whoever needed to be sent a message.
I really hoped I wouldn’t piss him off.
The inside of the helmet was blacked out, so I started to push the visor up with my hand.
‘Leave it down,’ he cautioned, grabbing my wrist as my world was engulfed by darkness. ‘You try to open it while I’m riding, and I will pull over and hit you until your eyes swell shut. You hear me?’
I nodded, causing the too-large helmet to rattle around on my head, and he let my hand drop.
‘Hold on, little lady,’ he said, guiding me onto the back of a bike. ‘We ride fast.’
A nervous thrill ran through me as he slipped onto the bike seat in front of me, reaching behind and curling his fingers around the backs of my knees. I yelped as he pulled, wedging me firmly against his leathercovered back.
He wasn’t lying. As the last of the motorcycles tore out of the lot, we joined them, the drone so loud it felt like my teeth were coming loose.
I hung on to the man in front of me as tightly as I could, wanting to cry as I dug my nails into his washboard abs.
I didn’t know if I was driving to my actual death, but part of me was dying as the wind tore at my loose hair and froze my neck.
I might just keep you for myself.
His words tore at the very fabric of my existence as I turned them over and over in my mind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DORNAN
She was pretty, but he’d seen pretty. Dornan Ross, vice-president of the Gypsy Brothers motorcycle club, had seen hundreds of pretty girls, broken and abused, usually by someone else but occasionally by him. As soon as the little minx had opened her mouth, his dick had twitched in his jeans at the thought of all the deplorable things he could do to her. She had sass, and spunk, and something else that he couldn’t quite figure out.
She’s a survivor. The phrase jumped into his head. She wasn’t like the girls they typically had under these circumstances.
Women in the Gypsy Brothers world were divided firmly into three camps: Old ladies, who were wives or partners of the bikers and not to be shared around. Usually, they weren’t welcome at the club, but occasionally they wheedled their way in. Then there were party girls, who were usually young and fucking stupid, and would pretty much let you stick it anywhere you wanted. Dornan had his favourites, the ones he used and abused, and he didn’t feel guilty about it one little bit, because they chose to stay. They each got their pay-off in some way — drugs, protection, the thrill of danger. Sometimes they left the club, and other times, if they were found to have divulged club information — hell, even if they had seen something potentially incriminating — they were taken up to the roof of the clubhouse and given a bullet. Quick, efficient, and more often than not, nobody even reported them as missing, let alone actually missed them.
Yeah, it was a pretty bleak way to handle things, but the smart ones stayed alive because they knew what would happen if they stepped out of line.
