The Biker's Plaything (Straight to Hell MC 1)

“She alive?” asked Reaper.

“Don’t worry about it. She won’t be for long.” Lord headed toward the house, but Bobby Joe Ranger came stumbling off the porch, pulling on a plaid shirt as he neared.

“Good morning,” said Bobby.

Lord nodded toward the cruiser.

“Oh. Yeah, she’s just where you told me to leave her.”

It had been a frigid night. Maybe the girl was already dead.

The cop walked along a beaten path, his keys jangling in one hand. He unlocked the trunk and flung it up, a huge smile on his face. “It was so damn easy. I picked her up as soon as she left work last night.”

His VP stepped forward first, glancing into the open trunk. There was no sound, no movement.

“Boss, how old you say this chick was supposed to be?”

He narrowed his eyes, looking over at Brick. “Why?”

“She looks young.”

Richard Prixman had been older or at least he had some fucking city miles on him. Lord expected a woman in her thirties, but when he joined Brick at the open trunk, those big green eyes staring at him were pure innocence.

He looked over at the cop. “How old is she?”

The cop handed him her license. “Just turned nineteen. Works at a local bar. No record. No location on the mother.”

Lord looked at the license, then back at the girl. “Get her out of there.”

Brick and Stump unceremoniously dragged her out, dropping her down on the dirt by his feet.

“She’s a big bitch. It wasn’t easy getting her in there by myself,” said Bobby.

Lord froze in place, staring at the cop, suddenly feeling the overwhelming urge to punch the smug look off his face.

“Lord?”

He returned to the present, squeezing and releasing his fist to calm himself down. Stump stood next to the girl, a questioning look on his face.

This was the day he’d been waiting for, so why did it feel all wrong?

Lord walked over to his men and the girl sitting on the dirt, the sound of each booted foot distinct in the early morning hush. He crouched down, his leather jacket creaking as he leaned over his knees. He reached out one arm, using a curled finger to tilt her face toward him.

“What’s your name?”

“I told you it’s her, Lord. There’s no mistaking it,” said the cop.

Lord whirled his head to the side. “Did I fucking ask you a question? Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.”

He returned his attention to the blonde.

“What’s your name?”

She swallowed hard. “Ally.”

“Ally what?”

“Ally Prixman.”

He nodded. “Then you’re exactly the girl we’ve been looking for. Do you know why you’re here?”

She shook her head. “I’m guessing this is because of something my dad did?”

Why was he noticing the bruise forming on her temple or the way her full lower lip quivered? He usually started these interrogations with a lot less conversation and a lot more pain.

“Richard Prixman. You don’t look anything like him,” Lord said.

She shrugged. “He was a sperm donor, that’s about it.”

Lord chuckled, so did Brick.

“Well, regardless of how you two spent the holidays, he’s still your blood, and that motherfucker screwed me over.”

“What did he do this time?” she asked. “And who are you?”

He smirked, and it wasn’t the kind before he gutted a man. It was a real fucking smirk because, for some odd reason, this girl amused him.

Lord stood up, stretching out his legs. He motioned for Stump to get her to her feet.

He paced back and forth.

“Your father tried to sell me out. He abused my trust, and I don’t take that lightly.” He stopped, running one hand through his hair. “As for who I am, sweetheart, have you heard of the Straight to Hell MC?”

****

Of course, she had. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

She knew her father had dealt with a lot of unsavory characters, but nothing like this. Did he not realize what he was doing? You never crossed an MC, especially not one notorious for bloodshed and making people disappear. She’d worked at Riches Bar for a while now and heard a lot of talk. There was no way she was naïve to what the hulk of a man in front of her was capable of.

And Ally didn’t need to know this man’s rank. Without a doubt, he was the one in charge, the prez of the club. He moved with confidence and restrained power. For a biker, he was ruggedly attractive, even with the grisly scar on the side of his face. Or maybe in spite of it.

She couldn’t tell how much of him was covered in tattoos but she saw ink peek out from under his sleeves and collar. He was huge and hard with muscle. A short beard covered a strong jawline. How could such a delicious-looking man be the one to end her life?

Becky would kill her if she knew how wet Ally was for a dirty biker, one ready to slaughter her for sins she never committed. Unless…