“On the bikes or he dies right here and now.” Beck sits up, maneuvering the man with almost no effort, the muscles beneath his shirt sliding around, pressing against the red cotton fabric and threatening to split it wide open. I take another step forward. “I bathe in blood, baby, so I ain't scared to shed it. Get on the Goddamn bikes or I'll slice his throat for fun.” The riders mount their motorcycles, but they don't look happy about it. Brotherhood. At least they really believe some of what they preach. “I'm going to wait here for awhile. You're going to ride away, and then I'll release him, just like that.”
“How the fuck can we trust you?” one of the men snaps, his vest blowing in the light breeze. Beck's grin gets even wider, stretching the skin on his face.
“You can't, brother. But you're stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea, so what are you gonna do? You outnumber us two to one, so maybe you'll win. Maybe. But I'm a bit pissed off today. Sure you wanna test me, cupcake? Is some stolen pussy worth the life of your friend? You tell me that.”
“Fuck you, you back country piece of shit,” the man says, starting up his ride and waving his arm at his fellow club members. “Buy yourself some time now, but don't forget the clock is counting down.” And then they take off, moving like a flock of birds down the narrow streets. True to his word, Beck waits in silence, still smiling, until the sound of the bikes fades away. Not a moment later, he releases the man and shoves him forward, rising to his feet and putting his boot on his back.
“Triple M might not be a big group, but it don't fuckin' matter. You know why?” The bearded men jerks away from Beck and stands up, rubbing at his throat with a scowl. “Because they got Beck fucking Evans. Get the hell out of here.”
The man climbs onto his bike and leaves, dropping us into a moment of silence. And then, cheers. Whoops and calls spill out from the windows of the building as Austin climbs the remaining steps and moves over to Beck. He just happens to be sliding the bloody blade along the denim of his jeans.
“Better get the fuck out of here, Pres,” he tells his friend as I lower the gun and glance around the neighborhood. Looks like most of the houses are abandoned, leaving a literal suburban ghost town populated solely with nomadic bikers. “That display of bravado is only goin' to work once.”
“You crazy son of a bitch,” Austin says, shaking his head and gesturing at the group with a wave of his arm. “Gonna get your ass shot one day. I swear to Christ … ”
“Don't swear too hard or your grandma will spin in her grave. Let's go.”
Beck gets out a cigarette and waits while the garage doors are lifted and the members of Triple M start up their rides. His eyes swing over to me, panning in almost slow motion until his gaze rests on my face.
“The gun, Evans,” Austin whispers, but he doesn't need to worry about me. Beck already knows that. He walks slowly back into the yard, cig hanging from the side of his mouth, leaning over so that his voice is pouring into my ear, that slow drawl crawling into my brain and making my lashes flutter.
“Look at you, Miss Hathorne. Ain't you a peach?” And then he reaches down and takes the gun, tossing it down the hill towards Austin. “Hold that for me for a moment?” Beck asks as my thighs clench tight and my nostrils flare. Oh God.
“No, Beck. Goddamn it. You just said yourself, we ain't got the time.”
“Won't take long,” he growls around his cigarette, still grinning. I start to back up towards the yard as he stalks after me, penning me in inside the gated area. I look up at Beck's face and reach for the cigarette. His hand snatches my wrist hard and slams it against the fence boards behind us.
“What won't take long?” I ask him as he moves forward, forcing my legs apart with his knee. Boom, boom, boom. I can barely hear anything over the sound of my heart. That facial expression is back again, hidden under a layer of unbridled lust. I see what it is now: interest. Beck is interested in me. How, why, I don't know. But I like the attention.
“This,” Beck says, reaching down to undo the zipper on my borrowed leather pants. They fit like a glove, making this sort of thing a hell of a lot more difficult. I should've known I was working with an expert. He slides the pants down, kicking the gate closed with his boot as he bends low, locking my ankles together in leather. When he stands up, he leans in close, cigarette smoke whirling in the air between our faces. “I can't wait to fuck you again.”
“I can barely walk as it is,” I whisper, but that's not entirely true. The pleasure pumping through my blood has already numbed me to any soreness down there. And I'm already wet and ready for him. My fingers come up and crawl beneath his shirt, scraping against the solid muscles there, wishing they belonged to me instead of being borrowed. I feel like I'd never get tired of touching them. My mind goes back to yesterday, to the memory of fucking him against the diner. I told myself I was doing it for survival purposes, but in reality, I think I just wanted to. Just like I do right now.