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Slash had the toughest, most ferocious, intimidating presence of any man I ever met. Even more so than those bikers from the Bladed Serpents, Angel Mackenzie, or my stepdad. Maybe it was because I knew he wasn’t cruel or vile as those men had been. There was a goodness in him I’d seen every time we spoke. An awareness of the bad shit in this world, and he didn’t want to add to it.
The contrast fascinated me. A biker who protected his club and family to the point of violence but left it as a last resort. Men like him were rare. I knew that too well.
“You okay?” he asked when we pulled into a dark alley and paused, shutting off the engine as he walked his bike backward, stashing us away as we waited for the Bladed Serpents to give up the chase.
Was I okay? It felt surreal. Everything from the moment I walked into my house, and Fred hung from the arms of those Bladed Serpents MC members until I ended up on this bike.
Havoc and Gunner weren’t with us. They rode past the alley, and I wondered if they were trying to lead the Bladed Serpents away from our trail.
I heard multiple bike engines and more than two riders.
“I didn’t want to risk you getting hurt,” Slash added, like he felt guilty for what went down. None of the blame belonged to Slash or his two MC brothers. “I’m gettin’ you outta here and safe as soon as I can.”
His voice was a low, throaty rasp, knocking together giant boulders as they collided in the darkness, grinding into gunpowder and grit until they knocked against my ribcage and threw sparks. Those sparks crackled inside my belly and ignited a low, slow burn that sent shimmering heat waves straight to my core. I had to stop my hips from rocking against his ass.
This. Man. He made me want reckless, wicked things.
“You don’t have to explain. I understand, Slash.”
He grunted. “Gunner and Havoc are trying to lead them away from us.”
“I figured.”
Every inch of him was hard in ways I didn’t consider until now. Thickly veined, tanned forearms covered in dark ink. That broad back that shielded me against the world. Even his ass as I pressed against his jean-clad bottom and clenched his hips with my thighs.
“We’re gonna be a minute, sweet girl.”
Sweet girl.The endearment rolled off his tongue like thick honey and coated me in a heap of sticky goodness—a whole lotta sugar and a little sting as he reached for my thigh and squeezed. Just enough sensuality to ensure I knew this wasn’t friendship. Slash wanted me, and he didn’t hide it.Good.
I knew if he turned and chanced a glance in my direction, I would see his dark brows and black beard, the long slope of his nose, and those obsidian eyes that burned deep into my soul. I saw the savage hunger inside when he first arrived at the club and entered the room with the auction. He’d stared at my body with raw need. I wanted him to act on the fantasies he’d conjured in his head.
Just because I was young didn’t mean I wasn’t sure about what I wanted or who I wanted to be with. Since I saw Slash in Embry’s kitchen, I had been struggling with the arousal he awakened in me.
I almost leaned forward to whisper in his ear.
A motorcycle rumbled to a stop at the end of the alley. It wasn’t Havoc or Gunner.
Shit.
Chapter 7 Slash
As soon as the bike approached the mouth of the alley and paused, I felt Molly tremble.
“Not letting them take you,” I swore, gripping the handlebars tighter; so fucking glad I cut the engine when I did. There wasn’t a reason to search back here. A NO OUTLET sign had been posted beside the narrow opening that led to the rear of the building we faced. I’d tucked us behind a couple of dumpsters, noting the commercial business wouldn’t have nosy neighbors or pets that could alert the BSMC of our hiding spot.
Gunner and Havoc would lead them out of Vegas toward Henderson, possibly splitting off with one of them heading toward the FRMC clubhouse. That should be fun.
I almost laughed at the thought until I remembered why we were hiding from these dumb fucks. A hot wave of protective anger flooded me when I thought of Molly being auctioned off. Sweat dampened the back of my neck as I focused on the surrounding building and road. I was tall enough to look over the dumpster if I stood and hopefully catch the stationary headlight facing the street, rolling away from our position.
“I need to get a better look,” I whispered before rising off the seat and creeping around the dumpster. From this angle, I had a better view, watching as the bike idled.
Another Harley joined him, slowing the growly engine beside the first guy. They spoke for a couple of minutes before they turned to gaze down the alley. Fuck!
My gaze swept over the bulky cardboard that someone had broken down behind the dumpster, several metal barrels, and stacks of plastic crates. There wasn’t much that could conceal us, but I could move quickly without making too much noise and cover the open space.
Without delay, I crouched, moving fast as I tried to shove the first barrel. Nope. It was filled with something heavy. I couldn’t get it to budge and abandoned that idea, rushing to the crates. In a stroke of luck, I realized they were already stacked together and would be easy to maneuver. I began shifting them in front of us, sweat dripping down my neck and slithering down my back as I carefully placed the crates as closely as possible, covering the gap that would expose us.
I heard footsteps and voices as I backed away from the last stack, hoping they didn’t try to shove those rows in front of us. They’d topple and reveal our position without any hope of escape.
