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I was fucked.
Chapter 2
Something must be wrong with this woman. She followed us outside, climbed on the back of my bike, and didn’t even fight.The fuck?
Her small hands trembled as I glanced down, catching the rope that bound her slender wrists, securing her arms in place as they wrapped around my stomach. The proximity forced her pussy up against my ass, and those generous tits smashed into my back, stirring my dick in ways I didn’t need.
She was a fucking distraction.
It didn’t help that she had this innocent, pure, damsel in distress thing goin’ on. Exactly the kind of shit that I fell for right before my dick did all the thinking. The last woman who conjured this type of reaction fucked around behind my back and left bad blood in the club. Didn’t need a repeat of the past or the shitstorm that followed.
My heart slammed into my chest the second I saw her, gaining my attention in more ways than one. My blood roared in my ears and then traveled straight to my cock, twitching in my jeans. I wanted her beneath me, taking my dick like a good girl. Maybe while she sucked off one of my brothers, I always liked the idea of sharing a woman.
And this one seemed feisty enough to handle it.
She was beautiful. Big green eyes framed by dark lashes. Plump, sexy red lips. High cheekbones dusted with natural color as if kissed by the sun. Long, thick, vibrant dark brown hair interwoven with red almost reached her waist, curling at the ends.
Fucking stunning.
She’s a looker, that’s for sure.Too fucking pretty if you asked me. Nothin’ but trouble. And I was the stupid fucker who decided to take her to force Amelia’s cooperation.
Toned, sexy legs rode snugly against my thighs, reminding me of the skimpy shorts she wore. I hadn’t missed the tight t-shirt or the swell of her tits either. At least she had the sense to wear boots today because I didn’t want to worry about her feet during the ride or the risk of a burn.
Glancing over my shoulder, I caught the skull-printed bandana still covering her eyes. Yeah, we covered them on purpose. Her breath puffed the material with every rise and fall of her chest, billowing softly in the warm breeze. She didn’t need to know how to locate us if shit went down or she escaped. I highly doubted Reaper would ever allow it, but precautions were taken to ensure she knew as little as possible.
Roaring through the city streets on the way back to The Twisted Throttle, we ignored the speed limit, our bikes rumbling the ground as we sped toward home. We only felt truly alive when the wind rushed through our hair and the powerful machines beneath us heralded our freedom. A giantfuck youto society as we lived how it pleased us.
The only thing ruining my mood was the brunette on the back of my bike. I didn’t fucking like this. We didn’t deal in flesh. I drew the line at human trafficking. Buying and selling people was bullshit. I made the goddamn rule when I became president of this club.
Now I fucking broke it.
Fucking hell.
By the looks I kept gettin’ from my brothers, I could tell they weren’t happy either. It was one thing to pick up pussy, but we didn’t pay for it. I never had to, and sure as fuck wasn’t startin’ that shit now. And selling it? Profiting from those forced against their will? Fuck no.
We rolled up to the gates of the compound, bikes idling while one of the prospects opened up, allowing our passage through to the lot. Once I slid to a stop in the first space closest to the door and reserved for the president, I shut off the engine. There wasn’t a point in the blindfold anymore or binding her wrists, so I reached for my knife, slashing the ropes apart.
A gasp of surprise escaped her quivering lips as I stood, hauling her ass up next to me. With a quick yank, I rid her of the blindfold and tossed it toward Raiden, who effortlessly caught it.
“Take her to the spare bedroom and lock her in. We’ve got shit to discuss in church before we deal with this new development. Post a prospect outside her window and another outside her door.”
I didn’t look at the girl or acknowledge her presence, even when I felt the intense glare that she sent my way. Strolling inside the clubhouse, I ripped off my gloves, hollering for my brothers to join me.
“CHURCH IS IN SESSION,” I announced, banging the gavel. “Shit didn’t go down as expected, and we need to discuss how we’re moving forward,” I began.
When we first formed this club in 2002, I wanted a memento to remind me of the club we strived to become. I knew the road ahead would be difficult. MCs like us always got a bad rep. As outlaw bikers, we faced a fuck ton of obstacles forging our way and building something that we all could be proud of.
In the first church held in this building, construction was still underway for most of the compound, and we voted on a symbol. A single emblem representing what each of us felt would best signify the goals, attitude, and unwavering loyalty to the men who’d become our brothers.
The Reaper.
An easy decision. No one opposed the dealer of death. We embraced the reaper and wore him with pride.
My gaze lowered to the gavel in my hand, carved from solid quartzite, one of the most durable rocks in existence. The entire end had been carved into a reaper’s head, complete with a skeletal face and hood—a reminder of the club’s insignia.
“First order of business, that fucking hit on our shipment this morning.”
We arrived back at the compound with the girl only to discover more shit had gone down in our absence.
