Running Wild (Hell Ryders MC Book 1) (20 page)

Great.

“Allie?”

Shit. She recognized that voice. She turned and smiled. “Hi, Keith.”

He smiled. “Thought it was you.” He shifted his gaze to Tiff and greeted her.

She made introductions. He politely greeted them, then asked her to dance. She spared a glance at Mia and Lynn who were smiling like idiots. Then she turned her gaze to Keith.

“She’d love to dance,” Lynn answered for her.

She would scream at Lynn later. Lynn had good intentions, but she didn’t want to dance with Keith. It’d only serve to remind her he wasn’t Jace. Still, she couldn’t be rude to the guy. He did nothing to deserve it. Having no choice, she stood and headed for the dance floor.

****

Trig strode in, his eyes scanning the bar. The place was big, considering the small town of Wadden. Decked out in beer bottles, domestic, imports, some he’d never even heard of. Booths lined each wall. In the back end, several pool tables were assembled. The bar lay in the center of the room and wrapped around, circled by high-top tables, dozens of them, except for a section on the right side where there was a dance floor.

Immediately, he spotted Cuss who sat with Tiffany, Mia, and Lynn at a high top near the bar. Cuss’s back facing the door, a beer in hand. No sign of Allie. His anger grew to new heights.

He fisted his hands and took ten long strides to reach him. “Where the fuck is Allie?” he barked to his back.

Cuss stood and turned, hardened his gaze, then snapped back, “Brother, get you’re in a pissy mood ’cause you’re usually in a pissy mood, but I ain’t in the fuckin’ mood to put up with your shit.”

“Where the fuck is she?”

Cuss nodded toward the dance floor. His gaze shot to the right.

There she was.

Allie. Allie with her beautiful face and fantastic legs. He had a great view of those fantastic legs that went on for miles because she wore a short jean skirt and “fuck me” heels, one of the pairs with the red bottoms he’d seen in her enormous closet in New York, one of the pairs he’d told her to bring.

She was dancing with the college boy with class he’d seen her with at Anthony’s, the one she claimed she wasn’t interested in. The lucky bastard spun her. Her dark, thick, silky hair swirled around her, hitting him in the chest. She stumbled and fell on him. The man’s arm snaked around her waist holding her against him. She laughed, loud.

“Fuck.”

She fucking ditched him for the college boy with class. She knew he was trash, and a woman like her didn’t fuck a man like him. If a woman like her managed to fuck up and fuck a man like him, she never went back for seconds. She gave him the brush-off and hooked up with a college boy worth her.

He knew this, and still, it didn’t lessen the envy tightening his gut, didn’t lessen the searing pang throbbing in his chest and burning its way up his throat. He did nothing but stand there enduring the awful aches, watching her dance with the college boy when not a day before she’d given herself to him. He watched and watched, and then something inside him snapped. Before he realized what he was doing, he was standing behind her, close enough he smelled that fantastic perfume she always wore.

“Outside. Now.”

Chapter Twenty

“Outside. Now.”

A chill shot up her back. She stiffened then turned and tilted her head up to meet his eyes. Her breath left her.

Jace, but he looked different. A five-o’clock shadow marred his face, his hair disheveled. His jaw set in anger. It wasn’t the reason he looked different. His expression, something about it seemed ravished.

Keith grabbed her hand and pulled her away from Jace. “Can I help you?”

Bad idea. A really bad idea. Jace was beyond angry, so angry a vein in his neck pulsed. She turned to Keith. “It’s okay. I know him. Thanks for the dance. See you around?”

Keith spared a glance at Jace, then reluctantly released her hand and nodded.

Allie watched him go then turned and shot daggers at Jace. She crossed her arms over her chest so he couldn’t see her shaking hands. “Can I help you?”

His eyes narrowed. He took a step in her direction. “Outside. Now.”

She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “No.”

He leaned into her until nose to nose. “Don’t try me, Allie.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Trig.”

His jaw twitched; then in one swift movement, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing her against the length of him and lifted her off the floor. Her stupid body molded against his, willingly. Still, she fought, pushing at his chest and wiggling in his grasp.

He leaned into her ear and menacingly whispered, “Stop fightin’ me. Your skirt’s riding up and if any of the assholes in here get a peek, I’ll slam their fuckin’ heads into a brick wall.”

His breath at her ear, she shuddered. She sent up a silent prayer hoping he hadn’t felt it, hoping he couldn’t hear the sound of her heart pounding. She took a deep breath, then whispered in a soft voice, “Okay, but I can walk.”

“Sorry, Allie, lost that privilege. Now, I carry you.”

He walked out of the bar, her body tightly pressed against his, feeling every muscle across the expanse of his chest contract as he moved. When they reached outside, her skirt had ridden up.

“Stop.”

He stiffened. “Been through this—”

“My skirt.”

With his free hand, he tugged her skirt down, his fingers grazing her thigh, pooling heat in her middle. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, fighting to ignore her body’s reaction.

“Good?” he asked in a soft tone.

She nodded.

He released her slowly, allowing her body to slide down his. She shuddered, like every other time she couldn’t help herself. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she scrambled away.

“Get on the bike,” he said between clenched teeth.

She wanted to say “Hell no,” but he was back to angry, so she tried to appease him by staying calm. “No.”

His eyes narrowed. “Get. On. The. Bike.”

She should’ve known better, bikers didn’t take no for an answer, no matter how nice she said it. Her eyes narrowed. “No way in hell am I getting on the back of your bike.”

He fisted his palms. “You’re gonna fuckin’ do it, or I’ll do it for you.”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “No.”

“Tryin’ my temper, Allie.”

“Not getting on the back of your bike, Trig.”

He closed the distance between them, leaned into her. An inch away from her lips, he said, “You want me to touch you again? You want me to feel your tight little body against mine again? I’ll tell you it fuckin’ turns me on. Way the fuck on. I know you like it too, so if that’s your game, I’m down for it,
baby
.”

He was being a dick. He’d never been a dick to her before. She was so ashamed of what happened, so ashamed she let herself believe he cared, and now he’d reminded her of her mistake, calling her “baby” and saying it cruelly, tainting how he’d said it the night before.

Her face flamed. She felt the rush of tears coming and swallowed. “You’re an asshole.” She meant to say it with force, with the anger burning her throat, but it came out weak and trembling.

“I’m an asshole who’s lookin’ out for you. You’ve had too much to drink, and every-fuckin’-one of those men in there….” He pointed toward the bar. “…are waiting for the smallest signal to get up your skirt. I’m not having it.”

Did he think she’d fall for that crap? “Don’t know if you’ve fucking noticed, but I’m twenty-five, and I can fuck whoever I want.”

His eyes widened, shock flashing across his face. His jaw twitched. “You won’t be fuckin’ anyone. Not on my watch. Not ever.”

“What are you so afraid of?” she asked in a mocking tone. “That they’ll fuck me and leave me like you did last night?” She shouldn’t have said it. It would only prove how much he hurt her.

His eyes widened further. In a tight voice, he said, “I didn’t—”

She cut him off, unwilling to hear any of his lousy excuses. “You’re not my father, and you’re not my brother. Even if you were, you have no say in who I fuck.”

His eyes hardened to slits. “You’re not a tap.”

No, she was not sexually liberated. She didn’t have it in her, couldn’t give herself to someone she didn’t care about. “It didn’t stop you from fucking me.” She hated she felt guilty for bringing it up again. It wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t make him feel bad for taking what she’d freely offered.

“I didn’t fuck you, Allie. I fuck taps. I don’t fuck you.”

He could deny it all he wanted, but he fucked her because she’d been there and willing.

“You’re
not
a tap.”

He said it to make her feel better. She didn’t believe it for a second, but arguing with him, wouldn’t get her anywhere. “Okay.”

“Don’t fuckin’ do that shit. You know I hate it when you wave a white flag.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, Trig. I’m fine with Cuss. He drove us here, and he can drive me back.”

“You aren’t going anywhere with fuckin’ Cuss. Now. Get. On. The. Fucking. Bike.”

“I’m not getting on your bike.” She turned away from him toward the bar.

Before she could take a step, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed her back against the length of him. Against her ear, he whispered in a menacing tone, “I’m
not
fuckin’ playing games, Allie. I will fuckin’ make you get on the bike if you don’t do it yourself.”

She glared at no one in particular since she was still in his grip turned away from him. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m wearing a skirt. Even if I wanted to, I can’t get on your bike.”

He sighed heavily and released her. “You fuckin’ walk away from me, there will be consequences, Allie.”

Resigned, she turned to face him. He removed his cut then handed it to her. “Wrap it around your waist then get on the fuckin’ bike.”

Allie wrapped it around, turned to his bike, and stared at it for several minutes wondering how she’d manage to get on it without flashing him and everyone else in the parking lot. She took a deep breath and walked to the bike. Before she made an attempt, he threw his leg over it. Sitting astride, he offered her his hand.

“No one’s lookin’. Put your foot on the peg then throw your leg over.”

Putting her hand in his, she put her heel on the peg and lifted herself. A second later, she slipped, probably a combination of the six-inch heels she wore and inexperience. He twisted his upper body, wrapped his arm around her waist, catching her. Her body hit his, and the breath rushed out of her.

His mouth at her ear, he said, “Got you. Now lift your leg.”

She did.

“Good, baby.”

He said it in the softest voice, like the night before. Her stomach fluttered.

Releasing her slowly until her butt landed on the seat, he turned, grabbed her legs, and unexpectedly pulled her toward him. Her hands gripped his shoulders to steady herself. Tucked against his back, he tightened his cut around her legs, grabbed her arms, and wrapped them around his waist.

He shifted his head to look at her. “Keep your hands tight round my waist. Keep your feet on the pegs. Try not to move them. Don’t want you getting burned on the exhaust.”

She nodded though she wasn’t sure how to manage any of the things he said considering she was terrified. She’d never been on a bike before, not even Tyler’s.

Jace started his bike. It was loud, so loud even if she screamed, no one would hear her. The vibrations on the motor rumbled between her legs. She would blame the bike for the burning desire in her stomach, heating her center, but she knew better. It wasn’t the bike. It was Jace. Crushed against him, her cheek against the muscles on his back, her arms tight around his waist, she felt his abs.

They moved. She jolted against him, her fingers gripping the skin on his stomach. His hand was over hers a second later. His fingers grazed hers, caressing her, almost like telling her it would be okay.

No wonder she let herself believe he was different. He constantly did things like that. If she wasn’t so terrified, she’d be angry.

They continued moving, out of the parking lot and onto the street, not fast but not slow either. When the air hit her face, she relaxed. She finally got it, the appeal of riding.

The wind in your face.

The rush of adrenaline.

Freedom.

At twenty-five, almost twenty-six, she’d never felt that free. Not once, not ever, but knew she
needed
to feel that every day.

In no time, they pulled up to her apartment building. Jace parked in the space beside her Camaro and turned off his bike. He grabbed her hands at his waist before she could release him, and gave them a squeeze. She jerked away, then attempted to get off the bike. Her leg hit the hot chrome exhaust. She winced.

“Fuck,” he cursed. At hyper speed, he hopped off, put his arms under her swiftly, picked her up off the bike, and carried her up the stairs to her apartment. “Keys.”

She reached into her pocket and handed it to him. He opened the door, walked inside, and set her on the countertop. His gaze met hers, and then he barked, “Don’t. Move.”

He closed and locked the door. She unwrapped his cut from her waist. The next instant, he was beside her, lifting her leg to analyze the burn. The mark was red and already swelling. He let out a string of curses and then met her gaze. “First aid kit?”

“In the bathroom under the sink.”

In seconds, Jace returned, set the kit on the counter, and opened it. He rifled through the contents until he found burn ointment. He spread it lightly over the swelling and bandaged it. His narrowed, pissed-off eyes then met hers. “If you wouldn’t’ve been in such a fuckin’ rush to get away from me, it wouldn’t’ve happened.”

Like he could blame her for wanting to get away from him. One minute he did and said the sweetest things, and the next he was pissed off and being an asshole. “Leave. Cuss is supposed to watch me, not you.”

He slammed his fists against the counter beside her so hard it trembled under her. “I’m supposed to watch you for the next week. Your brother’s orders.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. She had to look at him and smell him for an entire week and pretend she wasn’t hurt, pretend he hadn’t used her?