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Authors: Sarah Castille
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rescue you?”
A good question. And not one for which she had an answer. Once Maurice arrived, it would be all over. Good-bye Holt and his tickling fingers, his searching eyes, his jealousy over a man who was not even remotely attractive. Good-bye heart-thumping escapes and breath-stealing motorcycle rides. But really. What was she thinking? Maurice would be worried sick when she didn’t answer her phone. He would probably swing by her apartment and call the police when he realized she was missing.
“Maybe you should call him,” Naiya said. “I don’t have his number. It was in my phone.”
“You sure?”
No, she wasn’t sure, but calling Maurice was the right thing to do. “Yes, of course. He’ll be worried about me.”
Never one to give up without a fight, Ally said, “I’ll take my time. Just in case you want to get some biker lovin’ before we get there. What’s there to lose? You’re not having sex with Maurice, so technically it’s not cheating. No ties. No heartbreak.”
Naiya’s stomach did a curious flip. But aside from the fact Holt was injured and clearly desperate to get rid of her, she couldn’t imagine being with someone as dominant and controlling. Too much like Viper and the bikers she had worked so hard to leave behind.
“Maybe he can’t,” she whispered into the phone. “He was tortured, Ally. He’s hurt pretty bad.”
“I’ll check him out when I get there. Give you the scoop.”
“Very professional.” She snorted a laugh. “I have a feeling he’s not going to let you do a full examination. He’s not like any biker I’ve met before. I think the pain and torture softened him up, and he’ll be back to his no-good, ruthless, womanizing, murderous, misogynistic biker self in no time.”
She gave Ally directions to the motel, warned her to make sure she wasn’t followed, and then hung up the phone. Now what? Her stomach rumbled, giving her the answer. Maybe there was an all-night convenience store nearby or somewhere she could grab a few sandwiches. Holt clearly was in need of a good meal. She pulled open the door, only to freeze when she heard Holt call out behind her.
“Where are you going?”
“Food.” She looked back over her shoulder at the badly beaten man wearing only a towel and a scowl. How long had he been standing there? What had he heard? “Maybe get you some clothes.”
“My job.”
“Get over it. You’re injured. That means you rest, and I look after you. Grumble all you want, but there’s not much you can do about it, and if you try to stop me I’ll box your ears.”
His lips quirked, amused. “Box my ears?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks heated. “My grandmother used to say it. I didn’t want to threaten real violence because you’ve been through enough.” Her gaze took in the dark red wheals on his chest, the long thin marks of a whip, and the countless bruises, cuts, and burns. Softening her voice, she said, “You really need a doctor, Holt. I think some of those cuts are infected.”
“I’ll be fine. But you won’t be if you go out there.”
She supposed he was right. The Black Jacks had chapters and support clubs all over the state and a quick email or text with her picture was all it would take to alert them to be on the lookout. “I won’t go into town. I’ll just go to the restaurant attached to the motel and see if they’ve got anything left over from the day.”
“I’ll keep watch from the door.” He walked toward her, taking slow, measured steps, and she struggled not to look down.
“In your towel?”
“Gotta gun. If I wave it around, no one’s gonna be looking down.” He leaned against the doorjamb. Maybe he wasn’t concerned about her safety as much as he was worried about her leaving. After all, he’d been in that dungeon alone for a long time. And although he seemed okay, he had to be suffering the effects of the torture and isolation, maybe even fear. Just like her.
“I’m coming back, Holt.”
His
A good question. And not one for which she had an answer. Once Maurice arrived, it would be all over. Good-bye Holt and his tickling fingers, his searching eyes, his jealousy over a man who was not even remotely attractive. Good-bye heart-thumping escapes and breath-stealing motorcycle rides. But really. What was she thinking? Maurice would be worried sick when she didn’t answer her phone. He would probably swing by her apartment and call the police when he realized she was missing.
“Maybe you should call him,” Naiya said. “I don’t have his number. It was in my phone.”
“You sure?”
No, she wasn’t sure, but calling Maurice was the right thing to do. “Yes, of course. He’ll be worried about me.”
Never one to give up without a fight, Ally said, “I’ll take my time. Just in case you want to get some biker lovin’ before we get there. What’s there to lose? You’re not having sex with Maurice, so technically it’s not cheating. No ties. No heartbreak.”
Naiya’s stomach did a curious flip. But aside from the fact Holt was injured and clearly desperate to get rid of her, she couldn’t imagine being with someone as dominant and controlling. Too much like Viper and the bikers she had worked so hard to leave behind.
“Maybe he can’t,” she whispered into the phone. “He was tortured, Ally. He’s hurt pretty bad.”
“I’ll check him out when I get there. Give you the scoop.”
“Very professional.” She snorted a laugh. “I have a feeling he’s not going to let you do a full examination. He’s not like any biker I’ve met before. I think the pain and torture softened him up, and he’ll be back to his no-good, ruthless, womanizing, murderous, misogynistic biker self in no time.”
She gave Ally directions to the motel, warned her to make sure she wasn’t followed, and then hung up the phone. Now what? Her stomach rumbled, giving her the answer. Maybe there was an all-night convenience store nearby or somewhere she could grab a few sandwiches. Holt clearly was in need of a good meal. She pulled open the door, only to freeze when she heard Holt call out behind her.
“Where are you going?”
“Food.” She looked back over her shoulder at the badly beaten man wearing only a towel and a scowl. How long had he been standing there? What had he heard? “Maybe get you some clothes.”
“My job.”
“Get over it. You’re injured. That means you rest, and I look after you. Grumble all you want, but there’s not much you can do about it, and if you try to stop me I’ll box your ears.”
His lips quirked, amused. “Box my ears?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks heated. “My grandmother used to say it. I didn’t want to threaten real violence because you’ve been through enough.” Her gaze took in the dark red wheals on his chest, the long thin marks of a whip, and the countless bruises, cuts, and burns. Softening her voice, she said, “You really need a doctor, Holt. I think some of those cuts are infected.”
“I’ll be fine. But you won’t be if you go out there.”
She supposed he was right. The Black Jacks had chapters and support clubs all over the state and a quick email or text with her picture was all it would take to alert them to be on the lookout. “I won’t go into town. I’ll just go to the restaurant attached to the motel and see if they’ve got anything left over from the day.”
“I’ll keep watch from the door.” He walked toward her, taking slow, measured steps, and she struggled not to look down.
“In your towel?”
“Gotta gun. If I wave it around, no one’s gonna be looking down.” He leaned against the doorjamb. Maybe he wasn’t concerned about her safety as much as he was worried about her leaving. After all, he’d been in that dungeon alone for a long time. And although he seemed okay, he had to be suffering the effects of the torture and isolation, maybe even fear. Just like her.
“I’m coming back, Holt.”
His
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