Maverick (Hell's Handlers MC 2)

“Fuck off. How many blonde bitches you think are staying in this shithole by themselves? That’s gotta be her. Besides, he didn’t tell us to bring a fuckin ruler. Grab her and shove her in the trunk,” the big guy whispered.

The clueless woman teetered across the gravel parking lot on five-inch heels. She was way too close to Lefty’s goons for comfort. Walking as though she never considered that strolling through a parking lot alone at night could be dangerous, she paraded toward the line of rooms.

“Let’s go,” Short and Stout said.

The two men wandered out into the lot toward the woman. On reflex, Stephanie reached for her center console where she’d been stashing her service weapon while with the Handlers. Without making a sound, she lifted the cover and stuck her hand into the console.

Empty.

Goddamn bikers!

No weapon. Nothing but her five-foot-three-inch self with some basic FBI hand-to-hand combat training. Probably no match against two large thugs. She could call the local PD, but by the time they got there, it would be too late for the woman who was unlucky enough to have the same hair color as Stephanie.

Well, as dangerous as it might be, there was no way she could sit by and let another woman be shoved into the trunk of a car. Especially when the intended victim was her.

“Hey!” she shouted as she sprang from the car and charged toward the men whose backs were now to her. Element of surprise was the only thing she had going for her.

“What the fuck?” Both men stopped advancing and turned toward her.

Waving her arms like a lunatic, she ran straight toward Lefty’s thugs. “Run!” she screamed at the woman. “They’re going to fucking kidnap you. Run to the office!”

The shorter man grunted and launched toward the woman. Eyes wide and mouth gaping, she let out an ear-splitting shriek, kicked her stilts off, and sprinted for the motel’s lobby. Screaming her face off, she was just a few feet ahead of the goon, but it should be enough to make it. No way would he run into the office where the receptionist and her boyfriend were there to witness.

“Fuck!” the other thug said as he stared at her. “It’s you we fucking want.”

Stephanie skidded to a stop, turned, and started to run back to her car. Lefty’s man reached her before she’d taken two steps, grabbing the hood of her sweatshirt and giving a hard yank. As she flew backward toward him, panic started to cloud her thoughts.

If they got her in that trunk, she was beyond fucked. They’d try to use her as a bargaining chip to get something out of the Handlers.

She almost snorted out loud.

Like that would work.

On instinct, she leaned forward to counteract her body’s backward momentum when she realized she hadn’t zipped her sweatshirt.

Both arms slipped right out, sending her sprawling toward the ground. She hit with the force of a monster truck, sliding forward through the gravel. Her chin smacked against the ground, rattling her head, and bits of dirt and rock tore into her palms. Her knees and stomach burned like she’d been dragged across a carpet naked.

Shit. That was gonna hurt tomorrow.

She sure as hell hoped she lived to experience it.

“You fucking bitch,” Big and Tall growled, and advance on her again. Scrambling forward on stinging hands and knees, she managed to rise to her feet and race the final few feet to her car. Her heart pounded so wildly she felt it in all her pulse points like a chant, urging her forward.

Thank God, the keys were in the ignition. She slammed the door shut and started the ignition in one move. Just as the engine turned over, a hairy fist reached through her open window and grabbed her by the ponytail. The thug wrenched her sideways like he was trying to pull her through the window. Her head jerked and slammed against the window frame.

“Fuck!” she cried as tears filled her eyes, a combination of pain and intense fear.

Stretching her right arm as far as she could, she was just able to wrap her hand around the gear shift. She slammed the car into reverse and jammed her foot on the gas as hard as possible. The Accord screeched backward, kicking up dirt and gravel.

The thug screamed when his arm smashed into the window frame. Stephanie bit her lip to keep from crying herself as her head moved with his arm. Within seconds, he was unable to maintain his grip against the moving car, and he released her. It wasn’t time to celebrate yet. She shifted into drive and peeled out onto the road as fast as possible.

Both men stood in the parking lot, shouting obscenities before jumping in their car and shooting off after her.

As she drove thirty miles above the forty miles-per-hour speed limit, she fought to control her breathing and keep from completely freaking out. At that moment, she had three choices. Drive straight out of town and hope she could lose them. Drive to the local police station. Or drive to the Hell’s Handlers’ compound.