Viper (Hell's Handlers MC 9)

A lonely existence.

Throughout her schooling, she’d lived off the money her grandparents left her in a trust upon their deaths, but she planned to support herself with only what she earned once she graduated and began her own career. “Or I will if they won’t. I have money. I can pay you myself.” Not nearly as much as her father, but enough to keep his attention…hopefully.

He tilted his head and stared at her. Under his assessing gaze, she felt as emotionally stripped as she was physically.

He really was attractive. Not like any man she’d ever felt an interest in before. The few she’d dated had been so proper compared to him, so stuffy. Ralph Lauren polos, khaki pants, weekends spent golfing while days were spent in boardrooms or courtrooms. And of course, she couldn’t forget the Sunday brunches at her family’s ritzy country club of choice.

She’d bet this guy had never come within one hundred yards of a swanky country club. He was more the beer and pool type at a rundown bar. He was…well he was an outlaw biker, clearly. Everything about him radiated raw power from his height, to the rigid set of his jaw, to the bulging arms folded across his chest, to the hard glint in his eyes. She bet there wasn’t a thing in the world this man feared.

Must be nice.

And there she was, dirty and mostly naked on a bed without chance of escape. The most vulnerable position a woman could be in. Yet, she felt less fear now, even with him staring at her than she had since she’d been taken. His gaze heated her unclothed skin, eliciting a full-body tremor. Her nipples tightened and Cassie nearly died from the thought of him noticing her body’s mortifying reaction to his presence. She hugged her knees tighter to her chest. At least they’d left her legs unbound so she had some way to cover her near nudity.

“Shit,” he suddenly said as he shrugged out of his leather vest. After tossing it on the bed, he drew his dark hooded sweatshirt over his head.

Cassie flattened herself against the headboard as her heart went haywire.

Fight or flight instincts tried to kick in, but, bound as she was neither prevailed. Her insides shook with gale force and dizziness made her draw her legs up tighter as though to anchor her in place. She shook her head back and forth as though pleading for mercy would actually work. Gone was the bravado of a few moments ago. Now that the opportunity to seduce one of the bikers was upon her, the concept seemed so repulsive she couldn’t stomach the thought, despite how attractive the man was.

“P-please,” she said, still shaking her head. Later, she’d hate how her voice shook with desperation, but now all she could think about was preserving her dignity.

He didn’t seem to have heard her speak. He just went about his task of removing the hoodie. Just as he pulled the thing over his head, Cassie opened her mouth to beg him once again, but instead of getting naked and advancing on her, he stayed where he was and tossed her the sweatshirt.

Her jaw dropped.

“Put it on,” he said, gaze like steel.

God, how she wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth of that soft fabric covering her cold body. It was a toss-up as to whether she rejoiced more at the promise of warmth or shielding her nudity. Not that it mattered since the sweatshirt would kill both of those birds.

“Um, I, uh, I can’t…” She held up her arms which were bound in front of her then chained to the bedpost.

“Fuck, sorry,” he said, stalking toward her. She resisted the instinct to shrink even farther into herself. He didn’t stop until he was right up in her personal space. The scent of tobacco and some kind of manly deodorant surrounded her. God, that was an arousing smell. Beneath her bra, her nipples ached.

Clearly, she needed food, about three days of sleep, and a psychologist. Terrified one second, aroused the next. What the hell was happening to her? Some kind of Stockholm syndrome? That had to be it. There was no other reason for her to be drawn to the man whose true intentions were unknown to her, but most likely wouldn’t be good.

“W-what’s your name?” she asked more to distract herself from the inappropriate lust than to really learn his name.

“Viper.” He drew a long blade from a sheath on his belt.

Cassie couldn’t help the gasp that slipped through her lips or the way she flinched and jerked away.

He raised his hands to shoulder height, knife and all. “Just gonna cut the plastic cuff off you, babe. That okay?”

Babe? What? “Oh, uh, yes, please,” she whispered.

He gripped her arm under her left elbow. The gentle way his large hand cupped her arm had emotion clogging her throat and tears wetting her eyes. She was totally losing it. She’d managed to keep it together through slaps, drugging, and groping, but a caring touch nearly unraveled her.