TORTURE ME_ The Bandits MC(93)
When we got to the parking lot outside my building, I expected to see a motorcycle waiting on us. I’d never ridden a motorcycle, and I wasn’t too keen on starting today, so I was thrilled when he pulled out his keys and unlocked the doors of a black Suburban with blacked out windows. The lights flashed to let us know it was unlocked, and relief washed over me.
I started to think that maybe I had unfairly judged this man.
Chapter 2
Gage
Kings of Hell HQ was in one of the older buildings in downtown Chicago. We’d picked the building because of the old-timey look and feel it had. Years before we came along, the bottom floor had been converted into a mechanic shop with offices and apartments above it. We painted the bricks on the first floor black and painted our name in flames across the top, crossing over the line between where we’d painted and where the old red bricks had faded into a dingy, almost brown color.
Motorcycles lined both sides of the street, leaving the driveway into the garage open so we could pull our cars inside or take in work, which we occasionally did for friends and other connections.
Julia gasped when she realized where we were going as I pulled the Suburban into the bay of the garage to park it.
“You’re in the Kings of Hell?” she asked, appalled.
I couldn’t help but laugh at her reaction. “Honey, I’m not just in the Kings. I’m the MC’s president. I guess you could say I’m the King of Hell.” I killed the engine and opened the door to hop out.
“Take me back,” she said, not budging from her seat.
“I’m sorry?” I turned back to look at her.
She crossed her arms in the thin long-sleeved sweater she wore, looking straight ahead through the windshield. She looked like a child at that moment, not like the world-renowned foremost expert on Russian language and culture from the University of Chicago.
I shook my head and closed my door. I walked around to her side of the car and opened her door. “Don’t be silly, Dr. Danvers. You’ve already accepted the money I handed you, and you agreed to come with me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said without looking at me. “I didn’t know what I was getting into. You were not clear enough, apparently, when you were describing the opportunity.”
While she talked, I took another moment to let my eyes roam over her body, from the heels she wore to her bare legs reaching up and underneath her pencil skirt and, again, the thin sweater that hugged her arms. I looked up to her young face and her golden brown hair pulled up in a bun. It was a shame I’d hired her for this job. I would have enjoyed helping her unwind that mousy little body of hers and getting her to let her hair down.
“No,” I told her with a sigh, “I’m sorry.” I reached across her to unbuckle her seat belt so I could pull her out of the car.
She raised her hands and sat back. “What are you doing?”
My arm brushed her sweater as I reached across her, pressing against her stomach as I unbuckled her. I felt the unexpected curve of her breasts just above my arm, triggering an equally unexpected desire.
I pulled the seatbelt back from her, dismissing what I felt as just a trick of the way she was seated. Surely she wasn’t hiding curves like that under her conservative clothes.
“Get out of the car, Dr. Danvers,” I told her, stepping back from the car and holding my arm out to help her down.
“I’m not happy about this,” she said, taking my hand with one of hers, wrapping her small, thin fingers around mine as she stepped out of the Suburban.
“Just like I’m not happy about having to hire someone to translate for me,” I replied. As long as Dimitri had been stateside, and as long as he’d been on our radar, I did not expect him not to be able to speak English, but once we got him to HQ, we discovered he couldn’t speak a lick of it.
“I can only imagine what someone like you could want me to do here.” She crossed her arms again and looked around the garage.
We kept the two bays of the garage stocked with tools and spare parts in case we needed to do any mechanic work. Most of our stock was in the pit area beneath the bay, where we would go to get access to the underside of cars we worked on, instead of having hydraulic lifts to raise the cars. It was much safer and gave us a basement for other jobs as well.
“Where is everybody?” she asked. “This place is dead, and yet, there are bikes all along the street.”
As if in response, a thud came from upstairs. “Something tells me everyone is upstairs,” I answered her absently. I started to walk towards the office and the stairs leading to the pit and basement.