Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Not again. She knew that darkness. It lived in her nightmares, flitted through the shadows, crawled through her skin even on bright sunny days. Instinct told her to run, but her feet remained frozen to the floor.
“I’ll buy you that drink.” A statement, not a question. His cold, domineering tone reminded her of her father.
A shiver coursed up Lana’s spine, and she shook her head to loosen her tongue. “I’m meeting someone.”
His rough, gravelly voice deepened. “Right now, you’re meeting me.” His gaze crawled over her, unleashing a wave of cockroaches under her skin. By the time his eyes returned to her face, a cold, sticky sweat covered her body.
With all the faux bravado she could muster, she gave him a tight smile and took a step back. “And…the meeting is over. Nice to meet you. Goodbye.”
His arm shot out, grabbing her shoulder, holding her in place. “Usually when I see a cop, I get an itch in my trigger finger. I look at you and I get an itch somewhere else. Ditch the boyfriend. One night with me and you’ll forget he exists.”
An itch? She suspected it might have to do more with his extramarital affairs and visits to the Seymour Street brothels than a desire to hump and pump with a curvy redhead in a dirty cop costume. Talk about putting a girl off.
Rex smiled, all nicotine-stained teeth and ashtray breath. “Yeah. I can see it in your eyes. You know what I’m talking about.”
What did he see exactly? Fear? Disgust? Or her desperate need to find the number for the local STD clinic?
Lana gave him a vacant smile as she considered her options. Option #1: Find a boyfriend. Heart thumping, she looked around the bar for a pseudoboyfriend—someone big, strong and sufficiently threatening. No one measured up except…maybe…Master Tony? She raked her eyes over the tall, broad frame of the club’s owner, but when he turned to greet someone at the door, she gave a little sigh. He had been less than pleased the last time she’d sneaked into the club. She doubted he would help her once he discovered she’d sneaked in again.
Option #2: Run. Excellent option. Lana wrenched herself from Rex’s grasp and took a step toward the door.
Damn.
Three bikers, two wearing the Hades patch, and one so young he had to be a prospect, were making their way through the crowd toward Rex. Blocking her path.
Lana’s pulse pounded in her ears. Rex was bad enough. But four bikers? It was almost like being back in the Wolverines’ clubhouse with Levi all over again.
The tallest of the three had swept back his long, dark hair and tied it at nape of his neck in a ponytail. Dark eyes, olive skin and a broad, hard body to match the strong planes of his striking face. Yum…even though he was a biker.
“Ryder.” Rex shook the hand of Mr. Deep, Dark and Delicious.
Ryder’s gaze flicked to Lana. He tilted his head to the side, giving her first a considered look, and then a sympathetic smile. He turned back to Rex. “I thought we were here for a meeting, not to pick up fender fluff.”
Lana grimaced at the backhanded compliment. She knew the slang. He thought she was pretty. Anything less and she would have been a “fender bunny” or even worse, a “mattress cover”.
Lucky her. Well, at least he hadn’t made fun of her hair. Usually men made some reference to the inferno on her head—Carrots, Ginger Snap, Big Red, Fire Bush, Rusty, Copper Top, Flame Brain, Matchstick Head or her current favorite, Red Zilla.
“You know what they say, ‘red in the head, fire in the bed’.” The second biker, a bruiser with crazy dreadlocks gave her a lascivious wink and an oh-so-enticing crotch grab.
“Good one, Bones.” Rex thumped the thick-necked thug on the back. “I was thinking that myself.”
Lana rolled her eyes. Oh ha-ha-ha. So funny. As if she hadn’t heard that one before. Some day she’d meet a man who could insult her hair with some originality.
“Leave the girl alone. We’ve got a meeting to get underway.” Ryder gave her a wink and stepped to the side, clearing her path to the door.
Rex gripped Lana’s arm just as she took her first step to freedom. “You jealous, Ryder? Been a long time since you had a back warmer.”
“Maybe he’s fucking bent.” The prospect, a blond Adonis who looked like he should be playing high school football instead of pledging to join a biker gang, gave Rex an obsequious smile and was rewarded with a slap to the head.
“You’re an idiot, Kickstand,” Rex growled. “You don’t disrespect a full-patch brother when you don’t even have the right to breathe without his permission.”