She pulled off onto the little narrow dirt road she’d scouted earlier, just in case she was recognized. She knew they’d come after her; after all, she was the daughter of their mortal enemy. She drove the truck as far down as the narrow road allowed, right into a thick grove of trees. The track had long since been abandoned and it was overgrown with shrubbery, vines and trees. She parked, hastily got out and covered the pickup with the branches and vines she’d cut earlier in preparation.
When she was positive the truck couldn’t be seen from any angle, Breezy crawled through the driver’s window, reached into the back and pulled a blanket around her. She couldn’t stop shivering. Even her teeth chattered. She let herself cry, but she did so silently, and she told herself she wasn’t crying for lost dreams or heartache. She had so little chance of being successful and yet she had to be. There was no room for failure. None.
She closed her burning eyes and leaned her head back against the seat, trying not to think about Steele. She didn’t know any other name for him. She’d only known him as Steele. She should have realized that if you’d been with a man for a year and he hadn’t told you his given name, he wasn’t into you. But she’d been young and desperate, and he’d been the white knight. She’d been so stupid. She hit her head on the back of the seat multiple times wishing she’d been smarter. Wishing she’d been born into another family. Another life. Wishing time hadn’t run out on her.
It took only a few minutes before she heard the roar of pipes as motorcycles moved in force down the highway. It sounded like an army was coming after her. Out of stark fear, she slid down farther on the seat. It was going to be a long wait until night. She’d had no choice. She knew clubs. She knew on a Sunday morning, after partying all night, they would be sleepy, and she’d have her best chance at getting away if she was recognized. She also knew she didn’t dare go out on the highway until nightfall. She hadn’t slept in nearly forty-eight hours, and this would be her only chance for a long while. She closed her eyes and willed herself to stop thinking about anything she couldn’t control and go to sleep. It didn’t work, but she tried.
* * *
• • •
Lyov Russak—Steele, the vice president of Torpedo Ink—whistled loud and long, raising his hand high, pushing his way through the soft flesh of women to spin his finger in a circle, indicating to Absinthe, who manned the monitors, to close the gates fast. He shoved his way to the surface, cursing in his native language as he got to his feet.
Her voice. He’d never forget that voice. Breezy Simmons. His Breezy Simmons. The girl that had forever made him a sick fuck who still, to this day, thought of her, dreamt of her and pretended every woman he tried to be with was her. That was how truly fucked up he was.
He had never confessed to his brothers that he had somehow, inadvertently or not, become the very thing they despised. The thing they hunted. He was ashamed of that. Ashamed, not because of the terrible mistake, but because he couldn’t get the way she felt wrapped around him—and his cock—out of his mind. It was nearly all he thought about, and that made him the sickest fuck out there.
She was even more beautiful than he remembered. She’d matured. Her figure had matured. He’d just caught a glimpse of her, one small glimpse, but his body had recognized her almost before his brain had. All that thick, tawny hair, those large green eyes. So green it was like looking into an emerald sea. His entire body clenched, and he pushed aside the women lying sprawled over top of him.
The Demons had come for the weekend, bringing their women with them, and the two clubs had partied hard. He’d drunk too much, the way he usually did at these events. He’d indulged far too much in his attempt to be with women, the way he also did at the events. The endless cycle that got him nowhere because he fucking lived in hell. The woman who could have changed all that was leaving. Walking away from him—again. No, make that running away from him. It wasn’t happening, and he didn’t care how much of a monster that made him. She wasn’t getting away from him twice.
Across the room, Ice and Storm were pushing women off their cocks and rising to their feet. Keys and Player untangled from the women they’d been with and rushed the door with the twins. Steele was right behind them, practically shoving them out of the way just in time to see the gates slam shut, effectively stopping pursuit as her truck backed out onto the street in a furious rush.
“No. Fuck no.” He swung his head toward the prospects. “Get after her. Don’t fuckin’ lose her. I mean it. You stay on her.”
It was definitely Breezy. She was older. Three years older now, but it was her. She’d stared at him in absolute horror, and he couldn’t blame her. What the fuck? He’d looked for her covertly, after Torpedo Ink had completed their mission and taken down the Swords president and weakened their club, but she’d dropped off the face of the earth. That had been the plan—for her to disappear—but he always thought he’d be able to find her. And he’d tried—God, but he’d tried.
When he’d driven her away, he’d told himself he wouldn’t look for her, that he’d let her go. He’d lost that battle with himself, not that it had done him any good. He had searched, over and over, but he hadn’t found her. Now she’d walked right into his lair and he wasn’t about to let her get away.
“She left something for you, Steele,” Ice said, shoving his hand through his hair. He shook his head absently at the woman who tried to drape herself over him. “Sorry, babe. Time to leave.”
“I could stay with you,” she whispered, her hand sliding down his belly toward his cock.
He gave her a friendly slap on the ass as he expertly avoided her hand. “Sorry, babe. Need you to get on home, wherever the fuck that is.”
Ice turned away from her, striding across the room to the bar where he’d seen Breezy put something. He picked up the envelope and turned it over. It was plain white. No writing on the outside.
Steele took it out of his hand and went striding out of the common room to the hall where their private rooms were. He needed to get dressed fast and get on his bike. Find her. He had to find her. He hesitated as he grabbed a pair of jeans. He couldn’t go to her stinking of other women. She’d know. She’d smell them on his skin. Urgency made him yank up his jeans and drag a shirt over his head. She already knew. She’d seen the women piled on top of him. He could explain later. Right now, the most important thing was to make certain she didn’t get away. He grabbed his colors and slid into them, feeling whole the moment he put them on.
Ice, Storm, Maestro, Keys and most of his other brothers joined him as he half ran out of the clubhouse to his bike. The Demons had rallied, news sweeping through the compound that something was up, and they were supportive of their new allies, immediately offering help. Player was already directing the search, sending bikes in various directions. The prospects had said they’d seen her truck turning south, toward the Bay Area, so that was the direction he was going. Absinthe had gotten her license plate number off the camera continually sweeping their parking lot.
Steele threw his leg over his bike and had it roaring within seconds. Then the wind was in his face and his brothers were at his back as he tore down the highway looking for his woman. He’d been the one to end things, and it had been ugly. Really ugly. Deliberately ugly. He’d said things to drive her away—and she’d gone. She’d managed to take pieces of him with her. She’d stolen those pieces from him, and he’d known when she left, he wasn’t going to get them back.
He’d been angry. He’d been afraid for her. He’d been so shocked that just by being with her he’d become everything he most despised in the world—a predator. It hadn’t mattered how it had happened; he’d only known it couldn’t continue and he’d sent her away. No, he’d driven her away.
He increased his speed, straightening out curves and hurtling down the highway as fast as he could travel without putting himself in the ocean. He was risking doing just that, but to find her, t
o see her again, was worth anything. Then Keys and Maestro slid up next to him, moving in perfect unison with him, and he realized he wasn’t risking just his life—he wasn’t alone. His brothers were with him every step of the way. Lately, he’d come to realize, Keys and Maestro guarded him the way Reaper and Savage protected Czar. He didn’t need or want it, but they stuck to him like glue. He slowed a fraction, just enough to be safe as they searched for the one woman he knew had cut out his heart and kept it.
* * *
• • •
Breezy slept fitfully, waking at the least little sound, such as a branch scraping across her rust bucket of a pickup. It sounded like a saw rasping over the paint and yanked her out of her dozing over and over. She climbed out of the truck only when it was absolutely necessary and she had to use the bushes. Each time, she forced herself to drink more water. She’d given up eating, but that only made her feel slightly faint. She wasn’t hungry anymore, but thirst persisted in spite of her desire to ignore it. She drank water, and that meant more trips outside the truck, which meant she was at risk.
She watched the fiery ball of the sun begin its drop into the sea. The sky turned all shades of golden, and then orange spread through the low clouds drifting overhead. She had to admit, as sunsets went, it was pretty spectacular. She could have settled here in Northern California. She didn’t like big cities, and this area was far from that. Truthfully, she needed to be in a city, to disappear. There, no one cared or noticed a waitress working in a diner. In a smaller town, like Caspar or Sea Haven, everyone would notice.
She had been so careful, keeping her head down, working, nothing else. Just staying off the radar and as far from the club life as possible. Still, she’d been pulled back despite everything she’d tried to do to prevent that from happening. The life was insidious, and once in, it seemed there was no way out.
She was crying again, and that always gave her a vicious headache and annoyed her. She had stopped crying three years earlier after she’d spent weeks giving herself a headache and little else. She’d stopped, gotten on her feet and taken care of business. She’d been proud of herself for every accomplishment. Then her world had fallen apart and she’d had no choice but to make certain Steele got that letter. Everything depended on him getting it and following the instructions. That was important and yet she knew following instructions was very unlike Steele. She didn’t even know for certain if it would matter enough to him that he’d do it for her.
The sun plunged into the sea and she immediately began preparations for leaving. It was nearly time. She climbed out of the window and began removing the branches and vines from around her pickup. She had to back the truck straight along the road for a good thirty feet before there was a wide enough area for her to turn around.
She made it the thirty feet without using lights as the darkness was only just beginning, inky streaks running through the very dim light. As she started up the road, heading away from the ocean and toward the main highway, she saw that a small tree had fallen across the dirt track. It didn’t surprise her, given the wind. Fortunately, the round trunk looked more like a sapling than a mature tree, one she could handle by herself.
Sighing, she turned on her headlights to illuminate the area, so it would be easier to shift the fallen tree. Pulling gloves out of her glove compartment, she pushed open her door with the soles of her boots and slid out. She was tired, afraid and anxious to be gone from Torpedo Ink territory. Just the thought of that dangerous ride along the highway was terrifying. She planned to take the Comptche-Ukiah road leading away from the coast. It would take her off the highway. They probably thought she hadn’t done any research or planned ahead—after all, she was a stupid female to be used for carrying drugs or weapons or prostituted out on behalf of the club. She couldn’t actually think.
Bitterness nearly choked her. She detested MCs and all they stood for. She crouched, took a breath and reached down for the trunk. The moment she had her hands on the tree, arms reached around her, caught her wrists and yanked them behind her back. She rose up fast, throwing her head back to try to make contact with her attacker’s head. He grunted when she smashed into his chest, but he had already secured her wrists with zip ties.
“How many times did I tell you to look around? You forgot all my training, babe.”
Furious, and more than a little scared, she spun around and tried to kick him the moment he let her go. She had forgotten, damn him. He blocked the kick hard, numbing her leg when he defended himself by striking down on her shin to deflect the blow. She tried again, and he blocked a second time with equal power.
The breath hissed out of her lungs and she bent forward as far as she could, drawing her hands up as high as possible, intending to slam them back down as she came upright fast in order to break the zip ties. He’d taught her that as well. Before she could straighten, his hand was on her back, holding her down.
“Breezy, you’d better calm down before you get hurt.”
Her breath hissed out of her lungs. “Go to hell, Steele. You have no right to lay one finger on me.”
“That’s not exactly true, sweetheart, and you know it,” he said.
“I’m not part of your club. I’m not part of your life in any way. Just get the hell away from me.”
He didn’t let her up, his palm pressing her down while he texted one-handed. “You always were a smart little thing. I looked at the tapes we had of your ride.” He sounded derisive. “Babe. Really. You’re driving a shit truck. It’s a rust bucket if I ever saw one. There was no way it could have gotten that far ahead of us, even if we were a minute or two behind, which the prospects were. That meant it was a process of elimination on which road you’d turned off onto. I also remembered you as being extremely patient when you needed to be. That meant you were going to hide out until nightfall. It gave me plenty of time to track you down.”
“Let me up.”
“Ask nice.”
For one moment, she was afraid she might spontaneously combust—and not in a good way. She stayed quiet. He had to let her up sometime.
“I’m not real happy with you.”
Staying quiet went right out the window at the bite in his voice. “I really don’t care whether you’re happy or not. Let. Me. Up.”
“You ask nice. You don’t want to play hardball with me, Breezy, because you won’t win. Not when I’m this pissed. Didn’t have much to do when I found the truck but wait for you to wake up, so I read the fuckin’ letter.”
Her heart jerked hard. Fear shot through her and she went very still, no longer resisting or struggling to get free. If anything, she tried to make herself smaller, frozen like a little mouse with a big predator about to pounce.
“I read that fuckin’ letter eighteen times, Breezy. Eighteen. I showed some restraint by not going near the truck because I might have strangled you. I still might.”
His palm moved up her back to settle slowly around the nape of her neck, his long fingers curling around either side of her throat. “You get how really fuckin’ pissed I am with you?”
“You get how I really fucking don’t care?” she spat back. Let him kill her. She was dead anyway. “You threw me out, Steele. I begged you to let me stay with you. It was humiliating, and I still did it. Then I begged you to go with me when it was obvious you wanted me gone. You made it abundantly clear that I was nothing to you. A whore for the club that kept you warm at night. I can repeat verbatim what you said to me, if you’d like. So don’t get all self-righteous on me.”
The fingers tightened, digging into her throat. The thumb pressed into her chin. His other hand bunched her hair in his fist and slowly pulled her to a standing position. She stared up at his set features. He was even more gorgeous than she remembered, and she dreamt of him every night. Every night. That made her a masochist.
Unlike most of the others he rode with, he had few scars on his face. They were m
ostly on his body, covered with ink. She knew every scar, every tattoo. She had traced every one of those scars and tattoos with her tongue. With her fingertips. She’d memorized them until they were etched so deeply in her brain, she could have drawn them and gotten every detail perfect.
She wore his tattoo on her skin. He’d had his friend ink her for him, a tattoo of his design, right across the top curve of her butt, an intricate pattern that she always thought was beautiful. She had a love/hate relationship with that tattoo. The ink beads dripped down onto her buttocks, both cheeks, but high up, the intertwining lace wove his name there, declaring her his property. His. She’d loved that. It had meant something back then. Now, not so much.
She’d been shaking, and he’d held her hand and whispered to her, beautiful, loving things, things that had made her laugh or want to cry with happiness. All the while his friend Ink had tattooed the custom design on her. It had felt intimate. Loving. She often thought of that day and the way, for the first time in her life, she’d felt important and loved by someone.
“Untie me.”
He shook his head slowly. “You’re coming back to the clubhouse with me.”
She flinched. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to go anywhere near that place again. “Once was enough, Steele.” There was sarcasm in her voice. Maybe bitterness. “One look, one smell, and I knew I was so finished with that life. You managed to fall right back into it once I was gone, or were you still participating while we were together? I should have known it would take more than one woman to satisfy you. You always had such an appetite.” She made that as nasty as she could manage.