I pace back and forth. Victor is in the bathroom, preening himself. I contemplate making a run for it instead of accepting my spot in a gilded prison where he can do whatever weird things he wants to do with me. Part of the fun for him is doing what he wants with someone who doesn’t want it done to them, and I’m equal parts terrified and horrified to find out just what that is.
But if I run now, Wildfire, and Blaze, will be in trouble. Victor’s threat against the Wildfire MC is ever-looming, and I don’t want to betray them. Not after the kindness they showed me.
Victor comes out of the bathroom, shirtless, a towel over his neck but still wearing khakis. He’s surprisingly well-built, and if his personality wasn’t absolute trash I guess someone could consider him handsome. Not me. I’m practically gagging at the idea of his hands on me.
In fact, I can’t imagine liking anyone other than Blaze touching me ever again. He’s who I want, the only one I want. He has things Victor could never have, even with all this money, and he’s kind and sweet, and has more soul than this man will ever possess in his life.
“Why aren’t you in the dress I gave you?” Victor looks at me, very cross with me. It’s his default state.
“I didn’t know I was supposed to put it on. I didn’t think we were going anywhere.”
“You need to look the part, Baylee. I want you to be my pure, innocent virgin.”
The dress he gave me is not what I’d call my style. It’s cut very short, white and frilly, looking like something you’d stick on a bridesmaid at a wedding.
“Put it on. Now. And let me watch.”
I shudder as I walk over to the dresser where it lies. I pick it up, and dread taking off my clothes in front of this man. All I am to him is an object to fulfill his twisted fantasy.
“Put it on. Or I’ll put it on you myself.”
I lay it down, my hands going to hem of my t-shirt. I take a deep breath, trying to build up the courage to go through with this. I should just get it over with. Blaze won’t know where to find me. I’m a sitting duck, completely at this asshole’s mercy.
“Do I have to get the knife? Undress.”
A chill goes down my spine, but I’m distracted by sudden pounding on the door of the penthouse.
“For the love of... of all the times to bother me.” He storms toward it. “Go away, just leave whatever you’re delivering at the door.”
The knocking continues. I raise an eyebrow. It’s a rough, fast knocking.
“Fuck off!” Victor yells.
The knocker doesn’t get the message. Instead he knocks harder, and then he kicks the door in. It flies open.
It’s Blaze. There’s an incredible anger on his face, a righteous fury that’s even frightening to me, even though I’m definitely not his target.
“Who the fuck are you?” Victor yells, before Blaze storms in and seizes him by the throat and slams him against the wall. There’s a technique in the way he does it, one that suggests he’s done this before.
“Your reckoning, you piece of shit,” Blaze hisses.
From the door, two more leather-clad men enter. I recognize one from coffee on the back porch, but the older one is unfamiliar to me. He has a smile on his face, chuckling to himself.
“You’re those bikers,” Victor says, barely able to talk through the chokehold Blaze has him in. “You’ve just signed your own warrants, tomorrow every single one of you lowlifes will be in prison.”
I stand back and watch. I’m not usually one for violence, but I’m also not going to disagree with choking out Victor, not with what I know about him.
“I doubt that,” Blaze snaps back.
A worry hits me. That Blaze has come here recklessly. That my needing rescued yet again has driven him to a terrible mistake. We can’t be together if he’s in prison, after all.
“Simple-minded fool,” Victor spits.
“He may well be,” the older biker says. “But I can do the thinking for him.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Scar, President of the Wildfire Motorcycle Club, nice to meet you, and no, I don’t have a business card.”
“President? Hah, that’s precious.”
Despite Victor’s apparent muscles, he’s not doing too hot getting out of Blaze’s chokehold. He punches and kicks at him, but Blaze endures. Guess he focused too much on his glamour muscles.
“Victor Gabriel, you’re a man with enough skeletons in your closet to build an army,” Scar begins. “There’s so much dirt on you that I’m surprised your legal opponents haven’t brought it up yet.”
Victor grunts. “I’m just a better lawyer.”
“I guess you are, because damn, man. It doesn't take long to find someone who doesn’t like you, and for criminal reasons.”