He licked his lips. “I’ll take care of you without taking care of myself, got me? But not here. Last thing I need is for one of my brothers to walk in here when my tongue’s buried in your pussy. They might get the wrong idea about sharin’, and there ain’t no fucking way on earth anyone gets near this pussy except me.”
Suddenly embarrassed by the fact that someone could walk in on us, I looked away from him, trying to resist the urge to stare at his dick some more. “Okay. Um, where am I going? Do I get to go home?”
“Sorry, Swan, but I really don’t know. You’re in a real fucked up situation, but I’m going to do my best to get you out of it.”
I blinked up at Smoke, trying to fight off tears. I was so wound up that my emotions felt raw, exposed. The fear that I’d managed to keep at bay so far was trying to return and I needed to distract myself. As far as distractions went, Smoke was a pretty good one.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Because the president wants me to.”
“Great,” I said with a weak smile, wondering who the hell the president was.
“And because I want to.”
I liked that answer better.
Smoke pulled out a key for the handcuffs and leaned over. While he undid them he said in a low voice, “I want you to know that I’ll still take care of you regardless of what does or does not happen between us. It’s my guys’ fault that you’re here, and I’ll deal with them, but I gotta be honest, babe, you’re up shit creek without a paddle right now, and you didn’t do a damn thing wrong. The situation sucks, but that’s the way it is.”
I rubbed my wrists, scowling at the red marks. “You say that like this is the first time. It’s not. The first time my sister screwed me over was when I was fourteen and learned about her. In a misguided bonding effort my dad sent us both to the same camp for a few weeks in the summer where Sarah made my life hell by pretending to be me. Called people names, wrote swear words on walls, started fights, made out with boys and girls then lied about it so well that I was always getting in trouble for her. My sister is a psycho.”
Smoke shook his head, grinning. “She is, but she has a good heart underneath all that. Sarah’s just had more shit to deal with than most people.”
I stared at him, then frowned. “Bad shit happens to people all the time and they rise above it. They strive to become something more than the sum of those mistakes. That’s the difference between the strong and the weak.”
For a long moment he stared at me, his face unreadable. I thought I caught flashes of anger, hope, lust—lots of lust—then some intense emotion that eventually softened his expression in a way that made me flush. Even his mouth softened, and when he slowly licked his lower lip I had to bite back a whimper. The look in his sable velvet eyes was intimate and I found myself relaxing enough that my heart stopped racing.
“You’ve got an old soul, baby.” He rubbed my wrists then softly kissed each one, and I sighed at his gentle touch. “Come on, Swan, you gotta meet the president.”
Unable to help my inner bitch, I glanced up at him. “Of the United States?”
He grinned. “Nope. His name is Beach and he’s president of the Iron Horse Motorcycle Club. Your relative took off with four hundred thousand dollars of the club’s money and a bunch of other shit that did not belong to her. She’s also endangered the president’s old lady and that shit does not fly.”
Chapter 4
I don’t know what I expected of the club president, but a really good looking man in his late thirties, clad in a white t-shirt and black leather vest that was loaded with patches, and my sister’s name tattooed on his neck wasn’t it. He had nice, thick light brown hair with a little bit of gray. On most guys the gray would have made him look old, but on this man it just added to his air of authority in some way. He had the deepest blue eyes with dark tanned skin complimented by his very lean, nicely muscled body. I had to admit, he was hot in a suave ‘James Bond’ way even in the biker thug clothing. Something about him was still ... like he was waiting to pounce. As I followed Smoke into the room, the guy who had to be the president did a double take and the coldness in his gaze faded, making him appear human instead of scary.
The man whose name was evidently Beach—it said so on his vest along with a patch with the word ‘President’ on it in big letters—said in a deep, raspy voice, “Damn. I’ve seen pictures of you, Swan, but actually seeing you. Damn. You look so much like your sister.”
I blinked at him, taken aback by the genuine emotional pain on this man’s face. “So, you know I’m not Sarah?”