Taken by the Bikers (Screaming Eagles MC)

“Nope. I kind of like holding you.” He takes me right up a set of stairs into the building next to the garage.

Despite the hour, there's obviously something going on, because loud music and yelling voices are only a little muffled before Wild Child opens the door. Once he does, you'd swear I was entering a nightclub. “After you, ladies.”

“Fuck off,” grumbles King.

We walk right into a fistfight.

4

EMILY

“Take that back, you little shit!” The speaker, more like roarer, is a bear of a man, in just about every sense of the word. His shoulders are broad enough that you could hang a sail from them and all he's wearing are his boxers. He's furry all over and his long hair and beard are wild. He swings a fist the size of a Christmas ham at a guy that's barely half his size while a crowd of burly bikers cheer him on.

What did we just step into the middle of? I try to get a good look, but I'm still hanging from Hero's arm, and I can only twist myself so much. Wild Child sees it and pats me on the head. “Nothing to worry about, baby, we're going to watch out for you.”

Ugh.

The smaller guy in the fight, a trim bunch of wiry muscle, dodges at the last second, right towards me. Throwing my hands up over my face, I squeak. Hero yanks me out of the way just in time, shielding me with his body. The wiry guy bounces off him like a billiard ball and rockets off in a different direction with a taunting laugh. The huge guy charges after him.

“You get him, Bear,” yells Wild Child with a broad grin while King shakes his head. Hero finally puts me down, but I don't think it has anything to do with his arm being tired. He could probably hold me until next week, but it's nice to have ground under my feet again. Especially if I need to jump out of the way.

The room looks like a cross between a rec room and a sleazy lounge. Heavy metal blares from massive speakers hung under the ceiling, there's a football game on the gigantic big screen TV and a long bar is covered with empty bottles. While the city sleeps, the party here is in full swing. Wrapped around many of the cheering bikers are barely dressed women, and these guys aren't shy about taking their liberties, that's for sure. In fact, as I look past them to the back, next to a fiery-haired, shirtless biker who looks passed out, there's a couple who's actually… I look away, my face burning. She's wearing a skirt, so it's not like I saw anything directly, but there's no doubt what's going on back there.

These people are animals!

Maybe I am too, because I can't help glancing back for a second look, while I try to imagine what it would be like to be so unashamed. She doesn't look much older than me.

One of the women, in a long tank top and looking suspiciously like she's not wearing anything else, sidles up next to King, wrapping herself around his arm while she glares at me. “Where you guys been? I missed you. Janey wants her three studs at once.”

Three… at once? My eyes flit between King, Hero and Wild Child, who glance at each other with what? Amusement? Resignation?

But holy shit, she can't be serious, can she? I could hardly imagine taking on one of those guys—I mean right now, I'm not thinking about it at all, obviously, but…

Well, I wasn't, but now I am. God. I'm being kidnapped and that's what I worry about?

But what would it be like?

“Not now, Janey.” King pushes her away, looking annoyed. “Club business.”

Her glare only deepens and she doesn't let go. Does she think I'm competition? She can have them. All three of them, if she wants. I had my fantasies, but the kidnapping pretty much knocked those dead. Well, mostly. I glance between the three of them guiltily. No, definitely dead. Not going to allow myself to think anything else until I'm out of here.

Liar.

“Bear! Snark! Jesus fucking Christ on a motorcycle!” The voice sounds like a rock quarry crushing machine, deep and raspy. “Can't I leave you two alone for a fucking minute?”

To my amazement, Bear, who's obviously the big guy, and Snark, the not quite so big guy, jump back from each other immediately. They even have the surprising grace to look mildly ashamed.

Coming down from the upstairs is a biker who's the very definition of grizzled. His tanned skin is wrinkled and leathery. His hair is more salt than pepper, and long, tied back with a black thong. His nose has been broken at least once, but I bet it's more. He wears his beard and mustache cropped short and bristly. Despite his worn appearance, he's still in some kind of shape, though. His black T-shirt is stretched thin around his biceps and over his chest, and his weathered jeans fit as if he was thirty years younger.