I reached down to her. "Come on."
"What?" Her voice was high, shaky. She looked like I just asked her to eat a bug.
"Come on!" I was louder this time. She had to get the idea I was serious. We needed to leave, immediately.
She was still cringing away from me like I would burn to touch. Part of me wanted to leave her there if she was going to be that way about it. Screw her. Let her find her out way out of this hell hole. I wouldn't be there for her the next time she got into trouble.
"I just want to go home!"
I just bet she did. I kinda wanted her to go home, too. She was already more trouble than she was worth.
I looked around again, half expecting to see a motorcycle speeding toward us. We had to get the hell out-odds were slim this asshole was by himself. "Right now, you need to get out of here and go anywhere else. You have to come with me. Now. Before they find you."
"Who?"
"I'll tell you, just come now." I was starting to get seriously pissed. I wouldn't ask her again. A few more seconds, I'd be on my bike. I didn't owe this girl anything. Especially when she looked at me like she thought I was less than nothing.
It was fascinating, watching her face as she changed her mind. She wasn't stupid. I saw her take something from the ground out of the corner of my eye, then she was up and running behind me.
"This?" she asked, pulling up short when we reached my bike. I rolled my eyes, climbing on and starting the engine.
"It's this or your ass. So get your ass on it." She got on behind me, clumsy like she'd never ridden before. I wasn't surprised. She was a princess.
"Around my waist," I barked, shoving her arms down from where she'd grabbed me around the chest. "Not too tight. Try not to kill me." Then we took off. I heard her squealing behind me, where she pressed herself against my back. I didn't hate the feeling.
Who the hell was she? What had I gotten myself into when I picked her up off the ground? And why did that asshole want to hurt her? I hoped it was something as simple as him wanting to rob or rape her-not that rape was simple, but it would mean she was a stranger.
Otherwise, she was fucked, because the Vicious Wolves didn't back down once they got their teeth into someone.
I wasn't sure where to go. If they were following us, the clubhouse would be the safest place. It would also be the worst. I didn't want a war tonight.
My eyes went between the road in front of me and my mirrors. I needed to know if there was any chance of being followed. I couldn't lead anyone to the rest of my club. They knew where our headquarters was located, but leading them there after I beat the shit out one of their guys would be a bad move.
After five or six blocks, I could see there was no one, and I dropped the speed a bit. The last thing I needed was to get pulled over with blood on my knuckles.
"Where are we going?" She sounded panicked. I didn't blame her, but she could have at least sounded a little grateful. I didn't have to help her. I didn't answer. She'd find out soon.
Chapter Four
Erica
I was fairly certain I'd throw up all over the back of his leather vest by the time my misadventure was over. I wanted to close my eyes and take deep breaths, but every time I closed my eyes, I felt myself getting dizzy. It was being on the motorcycle. I couldn't seem to get used to the feeling. The panic probably wasn't helping.
It was a struggle not to lean the side of my face against his back, just to rest my head and calm myself. Who knew how he would take it. Besides, what I'd seen him do to that man didn't give me confidence, even if the pig deserved it.
What had I seen before that? Was the man in the alley dead? I shuddered, my arms tightening around the stranger's waist. How could one person be so evil and cold toward someone else? But there was no doubting what my eyes had seen. The knife had disappeared into the man's stomach like it was butter.
It could have disappeared into me.
"I have to throw up," I moaned, fighting the wave of nausea.
"We're almost there." He barked it like I was an inconvenience. He didn't have to take me with him. Now he was treating me like a piece of garbage.
"I mean it! I have to puke!"
"Calm down. Take a breath. You'll be fine. I can't stop right now." His words were almost lost in the wind, and I had to lean into him to pick them up. I smelled sweat, blood, and aftershave. It was a unique mixture, and it didn't do much for the nausea.
But I did as he said and took a deep breath. Then another. I told myself to calm down. I didn't get hurt except for the scrapes along my hands from the glass on the sidewalk. That was nothing. The man in the alley was probably dead. I had a boo-boo.
The thought made me laugh. I was becoming hysterical. Calm down, girl, I thought, taking another breath. You're fine.
Was I? I didn't know this man from Adam, and I'd seen what he could do with his fists. What would he do to me?
No. Don't even think about it. He didn't have to save me. This wasn't the jungle-he wasn't taking me for himself. He was ensuring I didn't get hurt. I could call a cab when I got to wherever we were going. It wouldn't be a big deal. I could go home and crawl into bed and consider staying a children's photographer for the rest of my life because nothing was worth the feeling that I was about to die.
I thought about my camera, back in the pocket of my hoodie. If the memory card was destroyed or somehow stuck inside, there was no chance of using what I had on there. It would all have been for nothing. What a joke. What a cruel, senseless joke. It reminded me of the end of my favorite episode of "The Twilight Zone," when the man with the thick glasses finally had time to read all the books he ever wanted … before his glasses fell to the ground and broke. I felt like that man.
We sped on and I looked at the man who had saved my life. Who the heck was he? Why me? Was the Universe throwing me a bone to make up for my broken camera by sending a man to save my life? He didn't look like an angel, and I didn't think angels typically beat men unconscious. I'd never forget the way it felt to see another person's face getting punched in like that. Not that he didn't deserve it-he totally did, and then some. But it was nothing like what I'd seen in the movies. Visceral and loud. I had heard his nose break. It wasn't a sound effect. I'd heard the real thing. My skin crawled.
We were moving out of the city, into the outskirts near the river. My instincts went into overdrive. This was even sketchier than the blocks I'd been walking on earlier. It was darker, more rundown. Empty warehouses and factories stood out against the cloudy sky, their windows long since broken. Empty docks stretched out to our left, lining the river. This used to be a thriving port, but the advent of air travel slowed things up considerably. Now it was more of a hangout for homeless people and drug dealers. What the hell were we here for?
The air was damp, chilly, especially with the river so close by. He wasn't going to dump me here, was he? Or worse? Was I wrong all along? Was he only taking me for himself?
Then we pulled up to a lit building, with a row of bikes like his lined up in front. The building didn't inspire much hope, but there were at least signs of life coming from inside. Was this his hangout? I didn't want to see what awaited me inside.
As it turned out, I didn't have a choice in the matter. He pulled up at the end of the row of motorcycles and turned off the engine, pushing down the kickstand before resting the bike on it. I was stock still, frozen in place. I didn't want to move for fear of what would happen next.
"You have to get off if I'm gonna get off," he said, his back still turned to me.
"Huh?" My eyes were going in all directions. His words weren't sinking in.
"I said get the hell off the bike so I can get off, too."
The tone of his voice cut through my shock, and I put down one shaky leg to balance myself as I swung the other over. I watched him do the same thing, though he looked considerably more in control of himself than I was.
"You okay?" he asked. He took my arm, shaking me a little.
I thought about the blood that had to be on his hand, and I remembered what I'd seen him do and what might have happened to me. I ran to the side of the building and bent over, throwing up as quietly as I could.
When I finished, my knees shaky and weak, I thought I might burst into tears. None of this was supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to be here. I was a nice girl, a good girl, never mixed up in anything even remotely shady. This building, the bike I'd ridden, the man I held onto, was all part of a different world. I wanted to go home and pretend none of it ever happened.
"Finished?" He was behind me, and I could have died from embarrassment. Nothing like a stranger listening to you throwing up to make you feel about two inches tall.