BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books (46 page)

Dash is the first to act, and the only one with a wardrobe to spare; he yanks his coat off chivalrously and goes to her. She shrinks back from him, the show of strength she's been putting on completely evaporating, but Dash wrestles her into it without any further protest. Her hands shoot across her chest to hold it in place.

"Gracias,"
she murmurs, although I'm not sure she means it. It would seem like she's not sure, either. "Yes. The auction. For my birthday, I am to be sold by the cartel to the highest bidder in the Devil’s Bastards Motorcycle Club as a show of confidence in their continued business allegiance. I can see now that the two of you…will not be participating?"

"Not much of a birthday present," Dash mutters. He shoots a look at me

"No, we won't be participating." I take a step closer to her, and the girl doesn't shrink from me as she did from Dash. "Gabriella…" I begin slowly. I'm not sure where I might need to begin, how far back in the history of human rights we need to go. "It's illegal to sell a human being to another human."

"I know. I'm being trafficked." She pulls a face to convey to me that she thought I was smart enough to know that already and is extremely disappointed in me. "It's something I have been told my whole life would happen to me on my eighteenth birthday."

"You don't have to stay here," Dash asserts. I shoot him a look, but of course I was thinking the same thing; he just got around to saying it first. "You can come with us."

Gabriella blinks. "What? Just like that?"

"Just like that," I emphasize. This girl's testimony could potentially help bring down the entire operation. The Mexican cartel is usually so carefully guarded, I can scarcely believe our luck in finding a potential witness. "It's your choice, of course. Just know that if you stay here, I can't guarantee what choices you will be allowed to make in the future."

I'm tempted to not allow her to make a choice at all. I could knock her over the back of the head with my handgun and drag her out of here, and I doubt Dash would stop me. Still, I listen to my own words now, and meet her gaze levelly.

"Who are you people?" she demands suspiciously. "This isn't some kind of test, is it?"

"No test." The broad, masculine hand that had once steered me unnecessarily now settles itself on the small of Gabriella's back. She starts, and turns sideways to look up at him.

Anyone who knows me personally would never accuse me of being a romantic, but there's something about the picture these two make that has me wondering what the future holds. "You can stay with me while you get on your feet," Dash continues.

I doubt it's going to be as simple as that. Instead, I say, "And I'll be around to make sure he behaves." If the girl is used to the kind of men I think she's used to, then Dash's offer might frighten her more than it will encourage her to leave. I step forward; in lieu of the badge I wish I still carried, I draw my gun. "I'm a cop," I tell her. "You can trust us.
Both
of us."

"Why are you here?" Gabriella asks. She looks from Dash to me and back again. "To take down the cartel?"

"Yes." I holster my gun once more inside the hidden strap on my thigh and straighten. "Well, sort of. To do that, I need evidence." It's too early to try and pressure her into committing to give testimony, I decide. I may be single-minded when it comes to upholding the law, but that doesn’t mean I'm as compassionless as people think…at least, since meeting Wolf Larson, I'm not. "We snuck in here with the intention of finding a sample of the synthetic drug the cartel has been dispersing along the coast through the Devil’s Bastards. If I'm able to bring something,
anything
into a lab at…the precinct…" I
can't claim that mine will be willing to take it at the moment.
"...then we'll be able to better man ourselves and halt their operation in their tracks."

"And you?" Gabriella's dark eyes return again to Dash. "What's your role in all this?"

Dash shrugs. "I'm her ride out of here. And yours, if you want it."

Gabriella tugs his jacket closer over herself and appears to ponder her options. I shoot a wary look over my shoulder toward the closed door. We're running low on time, I can feel it, and I'm an impatient woman by nature without finding myself in the lion's den. To Dash's equal credit and discredit, he appears willing to give this girl all the time in the world.

Finally, Gabriella turns to the elevated cot and slips her hand underneath the pillow; when she draws it back again, she's tightly gripping a sandwich bag full of fine powder. "Is this what you're looking for?" she asks tentatively.

I start. Dash might not recognize what she holds, but there's no mistaking it's the synthetic drug we're looking for. I take an impulsive step forward, and she doesn't draw back; after what feels like an eternity spent studying me, she finally holds it out in offering. I take it, slipping the packet into a secure spot between my cleavage.

"I…I stole it." Her eyes flicker between us. "I
want
to get out of here. I've prayed to every saint I know, even the ones I don't believe in, to deliver me from the cartel. And when I didn't think that was working, I lifted some product. I thought I could use it to drug the man who bought me, then use what remained of it to fund my travels once I managed to escape.

"Well done," Dash says approvingly.

Just then the door behind us opens. All three of us wheel to find the Bastard who had been guarding the hallway standing before us, another man flanking him on his right.

"Sorry, time's up," he interrupts us. "I've got another party interested in testing out the merchandise before—"

In all of my short acquaintance with Dash, I have never seen him move so quickly. No sooner has the man reappeared, a lascivious smile already tainting his expression, than Dash is moving toward the door. No one has time to react, least of all the intruder; one levelled drop kick, and five fat fingers are crushed beneath the swinging door. I swear I hear wood splinter from the impact—then again, it might be the crunch of bone

I don't feel like sticking around to find out.

The Bastard emits a shrill scream as the door swings open again. Now that I'm over my initial shock at Dash's violence, I'm completely on board with going to war, and I don't have to look far for motivation. Gabriella's terrified face is enough to remind me what's at stake here.

"Move! "
I order her, catching her hand and hauling her after me. I draw my gun so fast it might as well have always been there, serving as an extension of my arm, and a tool to punish those that would take advantage of the weak.
This
is why I police, and to hell with any badge.

I raise my handgun and fire off a single shot, burying a bullet in the shoulder of Gabriella's "prospective customer.” The man careens backward with a yelp of his own and goes down on one knee. A kick from one of Dash's weighty boots takes him down the rest of the way.

The biker lets himself out into the hall first, surveying both ways, before signaling us an all-clear with a silent gesticulation of his arm. A fired gun, while probably not as rare as one would think inside a DBMC bar, likely means it won't be long before others start streaming into the back hallway to see what's happened.

"Move," Dash echoes me. "The emergency exit. Go."

As the three of us run, I feel Gabriella reach out from beneath the shelter of my arm. She pulls up short; I'm just about to yank her forward, when I realize she's messing with a panel on the wall. She shoves up once roughly, and a blaring alarm goes off; above us, a bright, rotating light flashes.

"The fire alarm!" I say. "Good idea!"

The barest of smiles has time to form on her face before we're off again. Dash holds the door open for us, ushering us out into the cool night air. Together, the two of us lead Gabriella to Dash's bike.

"We can't all ride out of here," I state the obvious. "Even if your bike can support the weight of three of us, they'll catch us."

"The girl's light," Dash argues.
"You're
light. It'll hold."

"But it doesn't have to." I cut a quick look behind us into the darkness surrounding the distant bar. Is it just me, or has it deepened already with the bodies of others? I didn't realize their leather jackets could appear blacker than the night. I try not to swallow, because I'm afraid my throat has stopped working properly; I don't want it to betray me, not now when it's so imperative I lead us through a change of plan. It's only a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, before they discover the two injured men in the back. Discovering their walking, talking, prized piece of property is gone can't have gone far.

"It's all right. I can do it. I can get out of here," I say with more confidence than I feel. It must work, because after letting vent a gusty sigh of frustration through his nose, Dash turns to our damsel and grabs her around the waist. She cries out in protest, but it's over almost as soon as it's begun, and she's now sitting astride the bike. She draws her quaking knees in close.

"Put your arms through the sleeves," he suggests. "It's going to get cold out there on the road."

She does as instructed, then turns to me as Dash pushes her legs apart and seats himself between them. I can see the panic in her eyes. "When you said you'd be around—" she begins to say.

"I meant it," I emphasize. "But you don't need me. They may not look it, but these are good men." Affectionate gestures don't come naturally to me, or so I always thought…but I lay a hand on the girl's cheek then. "You're going to be all right. You're with a Robber Baron now. He may look scary, but he'll protect you."

Gabriella surprises me then with her next question: "Are the two of you…?"

"What?" I lift my eyes and scoff as Dash revs the engine; I'm sure he hasn't heard. "Me and Dash? No…we're not whatever
you're
thinking."

"Good." She wraps her arms around his waist, a bit less tentative this time, and leans her cheek in against the indent in his back. I don't have time to waste analyzing what her words mean—they roar out of the darkness and peel down the road into the night, leaving me stranded and alone. Just the way I wanted it.

But I realize then that I don't
want
to be alone, not really. An image of Wolf's face swims before my eyes; rather than push it aside, I keep it with me as I hold my handgun aloft and steal off into the nearby woods.

It's my mission now to survive the night alive without being captured by Devil’s Bastards. All I have to do is evade them until dawn, and then…

WOLF

"I just fucking knew she was going to pull something like this!" I shout as I shove my helmet down over my head. I've barely let Dash get a word in yet about what happened, but I already know—I knew all along. I transfer my Bluetooth over from my phone to my helmet as I stride out to the garage.

              "She's a brave woman." Dash's voice echoes into the receiver implanted in my helmet. "She made a huge sacrifice for us, Wolf."

             
"Us?"
I repeat. Adrenaline enables me to practically yank my bike up one-handed as I give the kickstand a boot. "Lane gave up her spot? You got a new pill riding on back?"

              "I'll explain it all when I get back to the Clubhouse," Dash says, "though I assume I'm not going to find you there."

              "You assume correctly, Dash old buddy." I mount and peel out of the driveway, shooting a spray of gravel like bullets beneath my spinning back tire. The automatic gate recedes before me, too slowly; I barely manage to avoid crashing into it on my way off the property, but I'm no stranger to making tight, last-second fits. The engine's buzz raises itself to a roar as I tear down the highway after the insane woman I love.

              "Is she suicidal?" I find myself muttering. I forgot that I'm still on the line with Dash.

              "She gave up her spot," he insists. "And she's a capable woman."

              "Even the most capable woman stands no chance going it alone,
on foot,
against the worst the DBMC has to offer," I growl.

              "She's likely taken cover in the woods somewhere around the dive," Dash continues, ever the one to be level headed and on track. "She won't be able to make it far on foot in that getup she's wearing, and she knows it. If you want to find her before they do, your best bet is to start looking within a radius of…"

              "I already know," I interrupt him, watching a little red light blink in the upper corner of my helmet. "That tracker she planted on me when she came to find the Clubhouse? Let's just say I returned the favor."

              "The gun…" Dash sounds approving. "You want Bentley in on this? I can call him."

              "Nah. Leave the head honcho out," I say. "I'm almost there."

             
I didn't pay my guy in Silicon Valley nearly enough for this little all-in-one invention,
I think, as the little light begins to blip with increasing frequency. I notice another light growing on the road up ahead, and the expected happens—Dash flies by me going in the opposite direction, lifting his hand in a low wave, signaling his recognition of who I am. I like to take his flippant little biker acknowledgement as a good omen for the chaotic outcome I'm sure to be driving into. We pass each other in a flash, but it's enough time for me to note who he's got on back: a young woman, probably late teens or early twenties, wrapped in his jacket and clutching onto him for dear life. Now
there's
a story I look forward to hearing, if any of us survive this night.

              I'm so busy watching the tracker signal that I almost miss what's going on around me. The trees flash by me in a blur, until they look like just one long wall on either side of me, and the road before me a corridor. The highway is abandoned, although I assume it's only a matter of time before the DBMC is out in full-force…

              Then I hear it: the pop of a gun. Once, twice, and once more, echoing through the trees. I know the model instantly—I've heard it before. The tracker in my helmet flickers with each shuddering shot.

              "Damn it, Lane!" I curse as I pull up short, thrusting my heels down into the hard terrain of the road to aid in my change of course. Either she's been discovered, or she's squeezing a few off to draw the Devil’s Bastards away from Dash and his new girlfriend to aid in their escape. I wheel the Nighthawk around and launch it over the ditch separating the road from the trees.

              I don't know this terrain, and I’m still getting used to the new bike I got to replace the one the Bastards found at the warehouse. The Hawk rocks and lurches beneath me; I crank the handle to put on more speed. It's certainly not the most reckless thing I've ever done, but with the visor of my helmet obstructing my peripheral vision, it certainly isn't the smartest, either—

              A figure stumbles out of the trees in front of me. I have only seconds to react; I yank the Hawk up hard, like reining in a mustang hell-bent on killing its rider, and destroying everything else in its path. The figure dives out of the way as I take a hard left away from them, upending and sliding along the forest floor. The bike unseats me before I hit the ground, which is probably a good thing—otherwise, I risk becoming a very expensive smear on the path. I can't help the explosive groan of pain that escapes me as my shoulders hit the ground. Momentum propels me into an uncontrolled roll, but the next flash of canopy above me reorients me for an instant. I plant my feet and rise up, still skidding, but at least I'm upright for all intents and purposes. I catch myself against a tree as the Nighthawk careens into the darkness and smashes against another tree. I cringe at the noise it makes, but the headlight is still on and trained toward the sky—if anything is broken, at least it still might drive. I turn away from it, eyes hunting the darkness for the person I nearly took out.

              "Houdini!" Lane shouts. Once my eyes find her, there's no avoiding how blessedly whole—and sinfully sexy—the figure is that rushes to meet me.

After a moment, I burst out laughing at hearing her revert to my old name. The laugh that escapes me is as wild as the woods she's found herself lost in: half-delirious, half-relieved. I straighten and push myself off from the tree. I've barely recovered my balance before she's throwing her whole weight against me with a sob.

"Easy,"
I hiss, but there's no way I'm letting her go now that I've found her again. I wrap her in my arms and hold her prisoner momentarily against me. Never have I felt such a strong soul so ready and willing to succumb. I entertain the thought of being humbled by the way she lets me hold her, until I feel the press of the handle of her gun against the small of my back. "Wait, is that thing still loaded?"

"I'm all out of bullets," the weeping woman reassures me as she drags herself away again. The moonlight reflects back to me in her unlikely tears. I realize she isn't crying because of her ordeal, but from the utter relief of being reunited with me again. I reach up with one gloved finger and carefully whisk any lingering moisture away from her flushed cheeks.

"You're not alone," I assure her. "I'm with you, Lane. Until my dying day."

"Then let's get the hell out of here," she suggests, some of her usual briskness returning, "before that day is today."

              "I assume you got all your evidence?" I ask as I move to reclaim my bike from where it lays on its side. I pull it upright, but there's not much I can do to assess the damage in the dark. Lane flanks me, and I notice her adjusting the cleavage of her dress; I wonder what she could be hiding in there. The Great Houdini certainly isn't afraid to find out.

              "Yeah, I got it," she states. I get on first to stabilize the bike, and she clambers on behind me. "But I also have the majority of the Devil’s Bastards after me tonight. Do you really think we can outrun them all?"

              I laugh again, the roguish sound echoing inside my helmet.

              "Of course we can," Lane mutters. "Also, why does your voice sound like your voice?"

              "No use activating the distortion. Pity, it's kind of fun." Before taking off, I reach back into my saddlebag, and pull out a small, reinforced canister of gas. "So if there's no question we can outrun them, what question are we left with?" I ask as I pass it back to her. Lane studies it, intelligent blue eyes taking in options as she turns the canister this way and that.

              "You got a book of matches?" she asks finally.

              "I might," I concede. She tosses her blond hair over her shoulder once, and when she suddenly grins, I have a feeling that it's more than my heart that's going to be melting tonight. "You got a play, Little Laney?" I ask as I rev the bike.

              "We did pull the fire alarm while we were escaping," she muses as we take off back toward the road. "It would be wrong to not fulfill expectations."

              "I couldn't agree more," I say.

              "And cop or not, it would be wrong to let all that illegal product in the bar's backroom out onto the street."

              "How will you sleep at night?" I lament.

              "Well," she states as we lurch back out onto the road. I feel her arms loop around me, and I clench my knees over the gas canister balanced between my legs. I turn the bike around, and we take off down the road in the opposite direction of the Clubhouse—south, toward the bar. I see lights in the distance, and put on an extra burst of speed.

"I'm going to sleep
very
well," Lane tells me.

#

"I have you exactly where I want you," I growl seductively. Okay, so maybe I'm laying it on a bit thick; but can anyone really blame me, considering the female feast that's laid before me?

The newly reinstated Lane is stretched out on the bed beneath me, not a stitch of clothing on her. My eyes rake her form lasciviously as I take a moment to enjoy looking over my conquest. Her toned stomach stretches down toward the flat plane of her pelvis, and the bald, smooth lips of her womanhood. My legs straddle hers, and I brace myself on my haunches to take in the rest of her with a lusty, approving look. My eyes climb to the taut little hills of her breasts, the pale pink nipples tightening and darkening beneath my gaze with evidence of her arousal. They look as delicious as cherries ripe for the plucking, just waiting to be mouthed and tasted by a true connoisseur.

Past her breasts, I spy the fine line of her collarbone, and her lovely, flushed face is watching me impatiently, expectantly. Her arms are stretch above her head, her back forced to arch beneath her so she remains comfortable; I've placed a pillow beneath her. Ever thoughtful. Above the crown of her head, her blond hair spills like a halo around her awaiting face; above that, her wrists are bound, locked inside a pair of glinting silver handcuffs and hooked around the bedpost.

"Can you please spare me the roleplay?" Not exactly the sort of begging I wanted to hear from my ladylove, but Officer Lane isn't the sort to go in for a lot of exposition when all she really wants to do is bang. I've learned that the hard way, 'hard' being the key word I suppose.

"What roleplay is that?" I come back at her, stretching forward so I can test the rigidity of her arms with my own two hands. I relish wrapping my fingers around the much smaller width of her wrists, pushing and pressing with my thumbs. God, she has the smoothest skin of anyone I have ever met. I could just touch her like this all day and be satisfied.

              Lane squirms beneath me, and I decide in the next moment that I am sorely mistaken in what it will take to satisfy me; I sit down astride her to keep her from moving too much, and her silken stomach slides up and down beneath me, stimulating my stiff member. I groan as she darts a tongue out to lick her lips. "Come on. I let you cuff me. Isn't that enough without all the gloating and theatrics?"

"No fucking way," I answer her as I lower myself to lavish my lips in the valley between her breasts. I hear a little moan catch in her throat. She never lets herself cry out if she can help it, not until I'm buried deep inside her.
All in good time.
"I'm going to enjoy this. And so are you. How does it feel to be cuffed, Officer Lane? Little Laney?" I smile into her breasts as she stiffens in disproval at the nickname, but we both know it isn't going away any time soon. I slide my cock against her skin, aroused by the feeling of her so close, of the skin-on-skin contact and our combined heat. Friction can be handled slowly, and so can Elizabeth Lane. "What's your hurry?" I ask casually. "Last I checked, you had already caught your man." I trail my lips up the hill of her breast and wrap them around one tight, too-perfect nipple, flicking my tongue out for a taste of the pebbled flesh. I suck harder, and she gasps beneath me, half-rising off the pillow in response.

"Then why... does it feel like... I'm the one who's captured?" Lane pants.

"Because you are," I point out. She moans in disappointment, unable to press my mouth back to her aching breast with her own desperate fingers, so I comply with her wordless demands and return to pleasuring them.

"And just what does a criminal like you intend to do with me?"

There's my girl
. "No roleplaying, my ass." My mouth pops free, and I watch her breast slip down and settle back on her chest with a little quiver. "You want to know what I intend for you?" I ask as I lean up and over her. Lane presses her cheek into the pillow and eyes me coyly. "I'm going to fuck you while you’re in your own cuffs, so that every time you look at them you're reminded of the man who turned them against you. I'm going to take you the way every man you've ever arrested and ever will arrest wishes he could: hard, and fast, and mewling for more."