Ride Hard Page 4

  “It’s for your own safety, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “You’ll do and say as you’re told,” he repeated. This time more firmly.

  “Then?”

  “Then you are your father’s problem.”

  Chapter 5

  Chaser

  Taking the key from the old lady behind the counter, I pushed out of the motel office and into the sunlight.

  Sloane was standing beside the car, her arms resting on the hood and her cheek pressed against the metal. Her ass was sticking up in the air, and I tilted my head to the side. Round, tiny, and good for slapping. Her jeans left little to the imagination, too.

  I crossed the pavement and she raised her head as she heard me approach.

  “Get up,” I commanded, opening the rear door and yanking out her duffel. Fuck, it weighed a ton. How many books did she shove in there?

  “I hope you requested two singles,” she said, snatching her bag off me.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I drawled. “You can have the bed and the bugs all to yourself.”

  “What a fucking gentleman.”

  Ignoring her, I popped the trunk and got my own shit. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I locked the car and went to find the room. It was only lunchtime, but after driving all night and beating the shit out of that guy, I figured it was best to keep our heads down for the moment. We would get back on the road tomorrow.

  Room number eight wasn’t far away. Unlocking the door, I was aware of Sloane behind me. She was a master shit talker, all bravado, but it had me wondering what kind of bite she had under all that or if there were any teeth at all.

  Kicking open the door, I let her go in first. She dropped her duffel on the floor and glared at the scene before her.

  The place reeked of mothballs and damp. The whole motel had seen better days, and so had the upholstery.

  All these rooms were the same no matter where I went. Cheap-ass floral curtains, scratchy duvet covers, mold in the showers. Plumbing clogged with lime and rust buildup. I’d forgotten how precious women could be about this shit.

  “This is what seventy bucks gets?” She sounded mortally wounded, and I snorted.

  “Sure you don’t want a cuddle?” I asked, baiting her. “We got a double.”

  “Eat shit.” She rolled her eyes and dragged her bag further into the room where she flung herself onto the floor and pulled out the contents.

  I glanced over my shoulder at the empty lot before closing the door and turning on the light.

  Sloane was illuminated by the cheap fluorescent, and for the first time, I saw her clearly. No half-light in a dingy strip club, no orange streetlights, no dark corridors. I hadn’t bothered looking too close outside, not when the sun was on her. One glance at her milky skin had turned my gaze right back onto the road.

  Five days and we would be back in LA. I could do it in two, but I needed to stay sharp. Last night had shown just how brazen the assholes who were after her could be.

  Back roads, inconspicuous motels where they didn’t ask questions, and everything in cash. No planes, trains, or buses where ID was required and security cameras were on twenty-four seven alerts. Drive within the speed limit, keep our heads down, and be on the look out for trouble.

  Grimacing, I had a bad feeling the trouble was already in the room.

  Sitting on the end of the bed, I opened my own bag and took out the gun Sloane had shoved against my head the night before. Pulling out the magazine, I checked the bullets. Glancing at her, I frowned.

  She’d split from Fortitude when she was eighteen. Just upped and ran away. Everyone knew it, and the one thing the boss had never explained was why she left in the first place.

  Narrowing my eyes, I watched her go through her clothes and smooth out the creases before refolding everything. Everyone was guilty of something. Maybe you could trust them for now but never forever.

  Sloane, or whatever she called herself now, was a runner. She’d already tried to slip away once, and lucky me…I would have to watch her like a hawk. I was forbidden to harm her, and that meant restraining, hitting, locking her in the trunk, and using her for sex...even if it was her idea. If I touched her or delivered her with a scratch that was my fault, the boss would string me up and flay me alive.

  “What the hell are you looking at?” Sloane demanded, dropping the little dress she’d had in her hands and glaring at me.

  Scratch the part where I mentioned sex.

  She was headstrong, argumentative, and oblivious to how much danger she was in. Fuck, she didn’t even seem bothered by the fact she’d almost been raped and murdered in a back alley behind a strip club. Or finding her neighbor dead in the hallway of her apartment building—at least on the surface. If she knew what those men were capable of, she would be singing another tune.

  “You’re still staring at me,” she said with a snarl.

  “I’m having a shower,” I said, ignoring her sharp tongue. “Then I’ll get us some food. Don’t think about leaving.”

  She eyed the gun in my lap, and I picked it up and slammed the magazine back into the grip. When she twigged I was taking it with me, she glanced at the car keys. I was taking those, too.

  Opening the bathroom door, I curled my lip. It was fucking tiny in there. Throwing a glance over my shoulder at Sloane, she smiled sweetly.

  “Don’t let me keep you,” she said with a pout.

  Slamming the door closed, I shut her out and ran my hand over my face. Not even a day had passed, and already I wanted to throttle the bitch. Throttle her while my cock slammed into her pussy more like it.

  Turning on the shower, I undressed as steam filled the room. Seeing there was blood splattered on my T-shirt, I cursed and tossed it into the trash. Ginger would come looking for me, that was a certainty. That was if my knife hadn’t ripped the muscle in his leg.

  Revenge was a never-ending cycle unless someone worked up the balls to be the bigger man and end it. You didn’t have to be a genius to know when you ran with bikers, there was never a bigger man. Ever.

  Wiping the condensation off the mirror, I stared at my reflection. Pretty boy Chaser.

  I’d been a part of Fortitude Motorcycle Club for seven years. It was a long-ass time on the road doing what I did. Hunting down the scum of the earth, settling scores, working the other side. I was the nameless ghost who walked in, fucked shit up, and walked out golden…all in the name of Fortitude.

  There was a reason they called me Chaser, and that was it. I chased blood and money, and nothing else.

  I was the guy in the corner you didn’t mess with. I was the guy who didn’t blink when I took the shot. I was the guy who didn’t give a fuck about how many people I’d killed. I was the guy who worked best alone. I was the guy who the boss trusted to get his little girl…who wasn’t so little anymore.

  All I cared about was the job. All I cared about was the job.

  Glancing down at my cock, I grunted. Just try to fucking remember that.

  Stepping into the shower, I unwrapped the cheap and nasty motel soap and scrubbed.

  God dammit, my balls were tight. I couldn’t go back out there sporting a motherfucking erection. Sloane would have a field day.

  Fisting my shaft, I squeezed, then stroked. Slow at first until I got in the zone. Imagining I was sliding into a wet pussy, my breathing quickened as the water pressure beat down onto my sensitive crown. Yeah, just like that. Wet and tight…

  Slapping my palm against the tiles, I lowered my head and pumped faster. Sloane didn’t seem to know how fuckable she was. That blonde with the big tits had practically molested her the first night I’d walked into Teasers. Pulled out her hair and tied that little knot in her already skimpy T-shirt. Immediate hard-on right there.

  I imagined my hands on her little waist, pulling her onto my dick, right down to the balls.

  Biting my lip, I swallowed my grunting as I came and aimed downward. An orgasm pulsed through m
e, making my muscles tense as I held onto the sensation as long as I could. When I was finally empty, I kicked the water in the bottom of the shower and washed it all away.

  Watching my cum as it swirled around the plug and disappeared down the drain, I curled my lip at the accurate metaphor for my life. I would’ve preferred to leave my juices some place else, but I was on a job, and until it was over, down the hole my manhood went.

  When I finally emerged from the bathroom, my cock nice and soft again, Sloane was still on the floor where I’d left her.

  “You spend a lot of time in the shower,” she said. “Were you rubbing one out or something?”

  Chapter 6

  Sloane

  I should’ve made a break for it, but I didn’t know where the hell we were. Outside, there was nothing but trees and road.

  And it wasn’t until Chaser had turned on the shower I realized he’d stolen my money and my purse along with my fake ID. He was a real piece of work, that one.

  I had zero illusions that this was one of those fun cross-country road trips. We weren’t going to Dollywood, or hunting for country music stars in Nashville, or stopping by the Grand Canyon and throwing a few coins in the slots at a Las Vegas casino. I was Chaser’s cargo, for lack of a better word.

  Despite the eventful night and long-ass day, I wasn’t tired. I would usually be awake right about now, pulling beers behind the bar at Teasers.

  Yvette must be worried about me. When I don’t show tomorrow, she’ll beg the boss to check the security footage. Then they’ll see the moment where Pube Face attacked me out back.

  Rolling my eyes at the darkened roof, I studied the rise and fall of the popcorn ceiling. I knew the last thing the club owners would want was police sniffing around. Not when there was a borderline illegal brothel operating in the private rooms.

  No one was coming for me. At least, no one good.

  Rolling over, I squinted, trying to make out Chaser’s features in the dark. He’d made a makeshift bed on the floor out of the spare blankets and pillows in the closet. I’d complained until I was blue in the face, but he’d still turned out the lights not long after the sun had dipped below the horizon.

  His chest rose and fell, the gun lying on top of his sternum, his right hand curled around the grip. At this angle, he didn’t look like the hard-ass biker bounty hunter I assumed he was. He looked like…a boy. Nothing but a boy with a toy gun.

  Sighing, I rolled over onto my other side. I was stuck for the moment—until I could swipe my money and ID back off him—but it wasn’t that bad. Was it? He hadn’t tried to lay his hands on me, which was a first. And he’d saved me from Pube Face.

  Maybe I could convince him to take me some place else, far away from my dad.

  “Sloane.”

  My eyes cracked open, and I moaned. Chaser was standing over me, backlit by the window, which was full of dawn-like rays of sunshine. It felt like I’d only just fallen asleep.

  “Get up,” he barked, pulling the comforter off me.

  “Hey!” I scrambled, trying to yank it back up.

  Luckily, I’d slept in a T-shirt long enough to cover all of my assets, so there was nothing much for him to see. Didn’t stop his gaze flickering to my bare legs, though.

  “You’ve got ten minutes. By the time I get back from the office, I want you ready.”

  Before I could open my mouth, he strode from the room and slammed the door closed behind him. A few doors down, a dog barked. So that explained the short white and ginger hair stuck to the comforter. Doggy motel.

  Snatching the clothes I’d laid out last night, I darted into the shower and had a quick scrub. If I wasn’t out and dressed in ten, there was no doubt in my mind Chaser would be in here dragging me out by the hair…even if I was naked and covered in soap suds. What a spectacle that would be. I wondered if it would get him hard.

  I dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans, a beat-up black T-shirt—that was grayer these days—with a picture of an American eagle printed on the front, my faded denim jacket with the ripped pockets, and boots. Glancing in the mirror, I fluffed up my hair and pouted. Glancing at the little pouch of makeup, I rolled my eyes. What was the point?

  When I emerged from the bathroom, Chaser wasn’t back yet, so I grabbed my bag and went outside. Standing by the car, I surveyed the lot and the road beyond.

  There was nothing but pavement and patchy forest. There had to be a town nearby for there to be a motel of this size, but it wasn’t much of anything. If I ran now, I might be able to hitch a ride on a tractor and get dropped off at the local doomsday cult compound. Considering where Chaser was taking me, I wasn’t sure which one was worse.

  The blinkers flashed orange, and the locks clicked as they disengaged. Glancing around, I saw Chaser through the window of the office, chatting up some old lady. Wrenching open the door, I slipped into the front passenger seat.

  Opening the glove compartment, I rifled through the contents, but I found nothing useful. Not even a spare pair of sunglasses. Like he would leave me out here alone if he didn’t already know there wasn’t a shred of hope to be found tucked under the front seat.

  The driver’s side door opened, and Chaser got in.

  “Looking for something?” he asked.

  “I was looking for something to bash in your skull with,” I retorted.

  “Good luck with that.” He put the key into the ignition and turned the engine on. Throwing his arm back, he curled his hand around the corner of my seat and looked over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking space.

  He turned onto the road, which looked a little like a highway, and gunned it.

  “Put your seatbelt on,” he ordered, reaching over me and tugging at the belt. His forearm brushed over my breasts, and I tensed, a rush of something I didn’t want to feel zapping through my nipples and into the danger zone.

  Slapping his arm away, I wrenched the seatbelt across my body and clipped it in place. “Happy?”

  “I’m far from fuckin’ happy,” he drawled.

  Glaring at him, I studied the side of his face, searching for a flicker of something I could manipulate, but all I found was hostility. There was annoyance around the corners of his mouth but mainly hostility. Great.

  “What are you looking at?” he snapped.

  “So if you work for my father, you’re in his gang of losers,” I declared. “You don’t look like a biker.”

  “Looks can be deceiving. Who knew all that bitch was under all that?” He waved his hand at me, circling around and around.

  “This is a reaction to all that.” I made the same motion but ended with giving him the middle-finger salute.

  “How old are you?”

  “Why do you want to know? Guys like you who ride in biker gangs don’t have the word jailbait in your vocabulary. Any hole will do. Am I right?”

  “Underage pussy doesn’t do it for me.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  He narrowed his eyes and turned back to the road. “You’re twenty-five.”

  I snorted and kicked my feet up onto the dash.

  “Get your feet down,” he snapped, shoving my boots. “Last thing we need is the cops pulling us over.”

  “Where’s your bike, huh? And your leathers? Since when do bikers ferry around cargo in a Honda Accord?”

  “I know you’re trying to bait me, sweetheart,” he drawled, not taking his eyes off the road. “It won’t work, so do yourself a favor and shut your mouth.”

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “Where’s your bike?”

  He glanced at me from out the corner of his eye but didn’t reply.

  “Fortitude Motorcycle Club is full of shit. Do you even know what fortitude means?” I went on.

  “Courage in pain and adversity.” He deadpanned me.

  “Are you really that brainwashed?” I asked, curling my lip. “You’re spouting off the company motto like it’s religion.”

  “It’s a family.
”

  I snorted, then laughed. That was the most epic piece of shit I’d ever heard in my life. A motorcycle club was a family. What kind of fucked up brotherhood that believed in shit like courage through adversity dealt drugs to addicts and broke up legitimate families through their need to pad their wallets? That wasn’t a family. Not by a long shot.

  “Some family,” I declared, wiping a tear from my eye. “You’re all a bunch of hypocritical bastards.”

  “You wouldn’t know, sweetheart.”

  “Yeah? I was forced to grow up with that shit. You aren’t a woman, so you would never understand what it’s like to be forced to run with the dick club.”

  He was grinding his teeth, signaling he didn’t agree with a word I was saying.

  “You believe in it all, don’t you? The motto, the brotherhood, the criminal activity. You don’t give a shit who you hurt.”

  “Shut up, Sloane,” he barked.

  “So when a father tries to use his little girl to get to his rival, as in whore her out like a common piece of trash with a hole ripe for the fucking, that’s okay? The precious daughter of your king, the fortitude in Fortitude MC, is just a piece of ass that’s only useful when it suits him. And you want to take me back to that?”

  Chaser’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  “Daddy’s got a job for you, sweetheart,” I drawled. “Suck that man’s cock, and maybe he’ll pledge his allegiance. Let him do you up the ass, and he’ll give me his entire territory. Note I said me and not us. What would I get if I said no, Chaser?” He scowled but didn’t take the bait. “What do you think he would’ve done?”

  “I said shut the fuck up.”

  “He would’ve knocked my teeth out and locked me in my room without food or water for a week, that’s what he would’ve done.” I snarled, anger welling up so hard I almost felt like snatching the wheel and running us off the road.

  “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I will throw you in the trunk.”

  “You fuckers are meant to protect your women. Not whore out your own children.” I snorted. “I wish that’s where it ended.”