“Nothing’s there, Hound. Calm down!”
For the briefest moment Elliot clung to the hope that the man would somehow overlook him, but then their eyes met just as Elliot was tipping back, torn between falling to his death and having his foot bitten off.
Things happened so fast they became a dark mess in Elliot’s brain, but one moment he was falling to his death, and the other—the blond guy was staring down at him, and the firm presence of a wooden floor beneath Elliot’s back provided all the stability he needed. The lamp overhead was on.
A growl reverberated in Elliot’s ears, startling him so much he instinctively curled up and hid his head, only to realize the sound was coming from beyond the closed door.
Had he fainted?
The guy frowned at him and crossed his arms on his chest. The black leather vest he wore meant one thing—Elliot had been caught by one of the bikers.
“You are in deep shit,” the man said and despite likely being barely of drinking age, he pulled Elliot up with ease, only to shove him at the wall.
Searching for a lifeline, Elliot noticed the ‘Prospect’ patch at the front of the guy’s cut. Maybe there was still something to be won here?
“Listen, man,” he tried a more dazed voice. “I’m not sure where I am. I might have taken the wrong pills.”
The prospect snorted, and twisted Elliot’s hands back before cuffing them so quickly and efficiently Elliot’s muddled brain couldn’t keep up. “Pills? Really?”
“I… I mean no harm—”
“I know who you are,” the prospect said and pushed Elliot toward the door. “I was specifically told to look out for someone like you.”
Elliot dreaded a meeting with the Rottweiler outside, but right now the sharp teeth seemed like a walk in the park in comparison with the threat of biker fists. At least when the prospect hauled him out into the corridor, the beastly dog was tied to a pipe and could only bark in fury.
Elliot was now deeply regretting his moment of madness. He should have known there was no way the motorcycle club would risk having random people over without employing an adequate amount of security. “I could just go. I’m sorry for all of this. I think I’m in over my head.”
The prospect pushed him toward the double doors with steel locks that could have guarded a safe of gold, not a biker clubhouse. “You’ll explain yourself to Knight. He’ll enjoy getting to know you better,” he said with a sinister undertone to his voice even as he opened the bolts.
Elliot’s stomach twisted, and he wished he hadn’t stolen that drink because it was coming back up his throat. Last time they met Knight tried to shoot him, and no matter how many dirty fantasies he’d had about the guy, none of the imaginary pleasure mattered in real life. He’d been warned to stay away, and yet here he was, caught red handed.
The cuffs on his wrists were too tight to slip out of, and the guy behind him might have been a prospect, but he clearly knew what he was doing.
The doors opened, and Elliot was back in the hallway full of rooms that only contained mattresses. With his mind in a frenzy, he spotted two women passionately making out by one of the walls. But as the prospect grabbed his shoulder and forced Elliot to walk past the couple, the sense of doom was slowly but surely settling in Elliot’s stomach.
Instead of back to the concert hall, the prospect kicked open a door to a brightly-lit corridor with posters on the walls. He led Elliot through to a room at the end where music combined with laughter and lively conversation. And yet despite the merry atmosphere, each step toward it was making Elliot’s knees softer.
His mind came to a halt when the prospect shoved at his back, making him stumble into a spacious room filled with dark sofas and low tables crowded with cans, bottles, and snacks. Several scantily-clad women accompanied men in cuts decorated with the Kings of Hell MC logo - a grinning skull with a crown on its head.
But out of the group of a dozen people, Elliot’s attention focused on the man with a long mane of hair, who rested his scruffy cheek on the bosom of a pretty redhead. Elliot’s stomach turned, and his legs felt as if they were shackled, but when Knight met his gaze and his carefree smile turned into a stern grimace, Elliot might have puked if he had had anything more than a bit of alcohol earlier.
Knight pushed the girl off his lap, drunk two shots from a tray in the middle of the table, and stood up, rushing through the room. A punch was coming, and Elliot was too afraid to watch anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut and dipped his head between his shoulders, even though he knew it wouldn’t actually help him.