Ride Hard

I set the lamp on the mattress and inhale deeply, this weight lifted off me. I feel relief, pleasure even. But then reality slams back into me. If he’s dead, what am I to do with the body? The police will take me away, even if it was done in self-defense. And how can I prove it was? How can I prove anything?

And as I stare down at his lifeless body, at the blood pooling around his head, all I can think about is one thing, one person.

Him. A motorcycle club president. A prisoner.

He can help me, can help me clean this up.

I turn and look toward my bedroom door, hear Mama’s machines finally pierce through the haze that surrounds me.

He can help me, and I just have to accept that at the end of it all, he may kill me.Chapter TenRideSleep.

I never get much of it. Too much shit moves through my mind at night. And being a prisoner in this damn house makes sleep impossible. I’m not closing my eyes in this shit hole. I’m worn out; that’s for damn sure. But planning Einstein’s death keeps me focused.

That’s the main reason I’m wide awake when the girl comes back in. Her face is pale as a ghost, she’s trembling, and it looks like her lip has been cut, like someone hit her. That infuriates me, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why I give a shit about her.

Her hair is mussed, and not in the sexy way that suggests a woman has been sleeping with her man. She looks terrified. If that isn’t enough to set off warning bells, the way her nightgown is torn and hanging off her arm, exposing the swell of her breasts, has red flags coming to attention inside me. My entire body tightens as I sit up straighter.

“What’s wrong?” I growl, rage pushing through me, because I’m pretty sure I know what’s happened before she even opens her mouth.

“I need your help,” she says so quietly I almost don’t hear her. I doubt she realizes her voice is trembling, but it is.

I shouldn’t be worried about the girl, but I am. Still, there’s not much I can fucking do unless she lets me go. I rattle my chain to emphasize the point I’m kind of stuck as I look at her.

“Not much I can do, darlin’, unless you’re going to set me free.” I lift a brow in challenge.

She looks at me with her wide eyes, terror still in them, and it’s so stark on her face that it makes me sick. And then I see a single tear slide down her cheek. Although she isn’t bawling, I know her tears are from fear and not because she’s sad.

She’s petrified, and I know it’s because of that junkie bastard.

I’m so going to enjoy killing this motherfucker, Einstein. He’s always been a waste of air.

“You have to help me,” she says again, panic making her voice crack.

“Maybe.” I shrug, lying through my fucking teeth. I’ll help her, but first she’s got to set me free. I can respect she doesn’t trust anyone, especially me. That pays in life, but I’m going to teach her to rely on me. I don’t stop to think about my plan—maybe because I don’t want to figure out what’s going on with me. There’s something about this girl that makes me care. That’s a weakness, and those have no place in my world, but I’ll deal with it later. “First, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

“I killed him,” she whispers, her eyes so wide they look like saucers. Her body begins to tremble as if she just realizes the weight of what she asked.

“You killed him?” I ask but keep my voice calm and clear, even though I’m surprised as hell. I can tell she’s gone a few rounds with that fucker. Fuck, did he rape her? Is that why her hair and clothes are like that?

“I didn’t mean to.” She shakes her head back and forth furiously, as if she’s trying to convince herself it’s not real. “It was an accident. He was… he was trying to….”

“Did he rape you?” Fuck, my voice is a rough growl of danger as I utter those words.

“No,” she says quickly, more tears tracking down her cheeks. She reaches out and grips the support beam beside her, as if her knees are threatening to buckle. “He didn’t rape me,” she denies, her voice dropping low. But it’s still high pitched, her fear taking root inside her and refusing to let go. “He tried. I fought him and….”

“You killed him,” I say matter-of-factly. Good. Let that fucker rot in the ground.

“Yes.”

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, thinking it sounds like she’s already solved her own problem.

“You have to help me hide the body,” she announces and takes a step closer to me, her expression and voice so clear, so resolved, that I’m almost afraid I don’t understand her. She stares at me expectantly.