I walked a couple blocks away from the club, until the silence of the night had once again muffled the music and voices. Settling to a seat on the curb, I dialed his number. But just as the dial tone caught and started to ring, a loud mechanical roar came ripping through the still night. I looked in annoyance to my left.
A motorcycle was trundling down the road, piloted by a man in a dark leather jacket. As he drew closer, I could see that he had short, dark hair and arms thick with muscle and veins. He looked completely at ease and brimming with confidence as he drove in my direction.
The racket erupting from the engine was deafening. It was loud enough to blot out the sound of the phone in my ear. I could just barely hear the dial tone still strumming.
The biker slid past me and as he did, he glanced over in my direction. I looked up just in time to catch the surprised look on his face. He was close enough that I could see he was shockingly good looking. His sharp jaw was stubbled with a thick beard and inky tattoos peeked out from his shirt collar and sleeves. His body was chiseled. He wore a cocky smirk that made something deep in my stomach twinge.
I wondered why he was looking at me so strangely. As if the initial clamor wasn't loud enough, he'd come to a complete halt. Even at a stop, the motor of his bike was sufficient to drown out the phone call.
I gave him an angry wave. I was in no mood to deal with this B.S. I was on the verge of a breakdown. Between my stubbed toe, my rejection at the door of the club, and the sudden downward spiral that this night had taken, I was feeling lower than low. I just wanted to go to sleep and forget that anything had ever happened. A warm shower and bed were the only things in the world I wanted right now. So why was it proving so damn hard to get there?
"If you're just gonna sit there, can you at least turn that thing off?" I yelled across the road to the biker where he had parked and sat, idling. The phone kept ringing. The biker didn't respond. "Hello?" I repeated at the top of my lungs. "Are you deaf?"
Without a word, the man leaned forward and twisted the key to kill the motor. Silence stole back over the street, just in time for me to hear a voice in the earpiece. "Hello?" Daddy said. "Cor? Is everything -"
The phone went dead. I looked down and saw the screen telling me that the device needed to be charged. I let out an agonized groan.
"Great, just fucking great," I muttered to myself. "Exactly what my night needed." I set my phone down on the sidewalk and buried my face in my hands. Before I could stop them, the tears came fast and hot. I felt ridiculous. I was one of those girls, the ones who end up crying hysterically by themselves in the gutter after a bad night at the club. I felt stupid, useless, pathetic, but none of that could stop the tears pouring down my face.
After a long minute of sobbing, I became aware of quiet breathing in front of me. Just as suddenly as they had started, the tears stopped. I looked forward and saw boots on the pavement. The frustration evaporated. Anger rushed in in its place.
"Thanks a lot, asshole," I said sarcastically, looking up at the biker. "Couldn't even hear the conversation, and now my phone's dead. I really appreciate you helping to make this night a big success for me."
He didn't say a word. I screwed my eyes up and glared straight into his face. But as I did, I felt my resolve soften just a bit. He was more than good-looking; he was straight up gorgeous. His nose was a perfect arrow and those eyes were pure chocolate, deep and warm and teasing. He had an amused smile on his face. I couldn't decide if I hated it or loved.
"What's so damn funny?" I demanded. "What are you even looking at me for?"
"You're Growler's daughter, aren't you?" he asked quietly.
My breathing seized instantly. Daddy's warnings echoed in my head on full blast. Maybe this was what he'd been warning me about.
"Who's asking?" I said. My voice had dropped to a whisper. Instinctively, I drew my knees into my chest.
"You don't have to look so scared," he remarked, shifting onto his heels. "I ain't gonna hurt you. I work for your dad. I'm Croak."
"That's a stupid name," I said in a hushed tone, looking away from him.
He chuckled. "Fair enough," he said. "Is yours that much better?"
I hesitated before answering, "I'm Corinnne."
He nodded. "Corinne, that's right. I couldn't remember your name, but I knew I recognized you. Your dad keeps pictures of you in the office at the clubhouse."
I groaned. "I've seen those pictures; they're horrible."
"They aren't too bad," Croak said. "You've grown up a lot since they were taken, though." He offered a hand towards me where I sat huddled on the curb. I reached up and grabbed his fingers. They were rough and callused. I could feel his strength despite his gentle grasp as he pulled me to my feet.
"Thanks," I said, keeping my eyes downcast. I fixed my shirt. I was suddenly aware of how naked I looked under this man's gaze. He seemed to be able to peel away my clothes with just a glance. My fingertips were still warm where he had touched me. I rubbed them together unconsciously.
"What are you doing out here, anyways?"
"Long story," I answered. "Bad night. Couldn't get a ride home."
He frowned. "Didn't your dad warn you to be safe? There's some trouble stirring up with the club. I would've thought he would tell you not to be alone."
"He did," I admitted. I raised my eyes to meet his. "But I'm not a little girl. I can take care of myself."
He didn't look away from me. His brown eyes stayed trained on mine until I couldn't take it anymore and I broke the contact. "I'm sure you can, Corinne," he said. "I'm sure you can."
"What's it to you?"
"You're my president's daughter. If he cares about you, so do I. And I know he cares about you a lot. So, you know - transitive property."
I laughed out loud. That was the last thing in the world I'd expected him to say. "Transitive property?" I giggled.
Croak raised an eyebrow. "I'm a biker, not a dumbass," he reminded me. "I know shit."
"Oh, yeah?" I challenged. "Like what else?"
"Like that you shouldn't be sitting on a curb by yourself at three in the morning," he retorted. "Although, to be fair, even a dumbass knows that. So what're you?" His eyes shined with mirth as he looked calmly at my face.
I had half a mind to slap him right then and there. But there was something about that cocky smile and the twinkle in his eyes that made me squirm with an unfamiliar warmth instead. It was a feeling every bit as strong as hate, but just a little bit different, like hate's cousin. The intensity and heat, though, was the same.
I turned on my heel abruptly and started marching down the street away from him. Fuck this; I'd walked home if that's what it took. I sure as hell wasn't going to stand around and let this man insult me, however good looking he might have been. I didn't have to put up with his crap.
"Where you going?" he asked as I walked away.
"Home!" I called over my shoulder.
He didn't say anything. I snuck a glance back over my shoulder and saw him walking towards his bike. Good, he'd given up. I didn't give a damn if he really did work for my father. Let him go tell Daddy what'd happened. Maybe he'd yell at me, but I didn't care. Croak was the straw that broke the camel's back, and he'd used up the very last drop of patience I had. I fully intended to walk the five miles home.
I rounded the corner and kept moving. Behind me, I heard the distant chuckle of Croak's motorcycle. I hoped he ran along and got back to whatever it was he'd been doing in the first place.
Which is why I frowned when the sound got louder. I looked back and saw him swooping around the corner, leaning his back low and gunning the throttle. He flew ahead of me, then swerved across, cutting me off. His back tire stopped mere inches from my feet.
He held a hand out towards me from where he sat on the back of the bike. "Alright, I'll give you a ride home," he said. "You coulda just asked."
"No chance," I fired back. "I don't want a ride home from you. I don't want to go anywhere with you." I brushed aside his outstretched hand and resumed walking down the sidewalk.
Suddenly, his arm shot out and wrapped around my waist. I shrieked as he flipped me up and around onto the back of his bike. It took me a moment to realize how strong and deft he'd been to manage to do all that without leaving the seat of the motorcycle. He gunned the engine and we slid back onto the road.
But as soon as I came to my senses, I started bucking. "Let me off!" I cried. I battered my fists on his broad back. Croak barely even noticed. "Let me the fuck off of this thing!"
I heard him laughing. "Squirm all you want, princess," he said, "but you're gonna fall off if you move around too much. And I ain't slowing down."
He was telling the truth. The ground beneath me was whisking by at a crazy rate of speed. If I fell, I'd be roadkill.
For the time being, I was stuck.
Chapter 7
Croak
We pulled up outside Corinne's digs. Corinne had stopped beating a rhythm on my back after I'd told her that she'd bust her ass and get some serious road rash if she kept it up. She'd settled down right quick, thank God. Not that it hurt especially bad. She was a little thing, although she'd tried her damndest to knock some sense into me. The world had been trying that for twenty-five years, though, and she wasn't about to be the one who succeeded where all my teachers and mentors had failed.