Ride Hard

Ride called them club candy, and although I don’t know MC terminology, it doesn’t take a genius to understand what that means.

Ride is a few feet away speaking with a couple guys, but I notice he keeps looking at me. He is so much bigger than everyone else, tall and muscular, the air around him powerful and authoritative.

When I set him free and we found ourselves in the room looking down at Einstein, he’d asked for a cell phone. Then he called up his crew. The truth is, I thought they’d kill me as soon as they showed up, but instead, they cleaned up the body, got rid of the blood, and here we are, my future looking so different than I ever thought it would.

I never even imagined I’d get away from Einstein, not until he overdosed, he killed me, or Mama passed away.

Those had been my only options for getting out of this shithole.

Ride comes over to me, this hard look on his face, which I am starting to understand is just how he appears. He’s the leader of this club, this motorcycle gang or whatever they call themselves. And it’s clear the authority that comes from him, the respect these men and even the women have for him, is practically tangible.

He stops a few feet for me, and despite the fact that I’m standing two steps above him on the small front porch landing, he’s still taller than I am.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “You had no reason to help me, but you did.” I really want to cry, not just because Mama is gone, not just because everything has gone shit side up, but because I am scared. I’m nervous and frightened and don’t know what to expect. “I’m sorry about everything Einstein did to you.” I swallow roughly. “I’ll be on my way. I won’t bother you ever again.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, and the corner of his lip turns up. Something in my belly twists at the sight of that smirk. “Did you think I did this expecting nothing in return?”

My heart starts racing double-time and I swallow again, my throat so tight I think I’m choking for a minute. I run my palms up and down my thighs, my skin suddenly sweaty, my nerves working overtime. “What do you mean?” My voice is so low it’s barely audible, but when he smiles wider, I know he’s heard me.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says and takes a step closer, his chest almost brushing against mine. “I’m not a good man. I’m as bad as they fucking come. Not counting the fact that I was chained up in your basement, I just did you a solid, a big fucking one, in fact.”

Fear takes hold of me and I hold my breath, knowing where this is going, but unable to say a word, unable to stop it.

“I helped you out. Oh yeah, sweetheart, you fucking owe me.”

I lick my lips, the flesh suddenly dry, my tongue feeling so thick I don’t think I can actually say any words.

“I don’t have any money,” I whisper, my tears overflowing my eyes now, slipping down my cheeks. I reach up and angrily brush them away, pissed at myself for giving him the satisfaction of watching me break down, of seeing me weak. “I have nothing to offer. I have nothing.” I emphasize that last part and stare into his icy, dark eyes.

I hate myself for feeling any kind of attraction to him. He’s evil, degraded, but he’s right—I do owe him. If not for him, the police would already be here and I’d be thrown in the back of a cruiser, being hauled away to jail. It didn’t matter if it was self-defense. I killed a man. So yes, I do owe Ride a hell of a lot.

I wipe more tears away and take a deep breath before exhaling it out slowly.

“Langley,” he says softly, his voice deep, husky. “It’s not money I want, baby.”

My heart speeds up at the tone of his words, as I think about what he means.

I know what he means.

No, it’s not money he wants.

“I want you.” And then he smirks again as if cementing the deal.Chapter FourteenRideI watch as Langley’s pupils dilate, her eyes still shimmering with tears. She’s taking off my cut, handing it to me, but she stops before her arm is fully outstretched. It’s as if she finally takes in my words.

I feel like a fucking asshole for baiting her, but she makes it too damn easy. I count as the seconds tick by, maybe three heartbeats at the most. Then, it’s as if a hard outer shell slides over her pretty face. I don’t like it, but I grudgingly respect it.

“Now?” she asks, her voice shaking but devoid of emotion.

Fuck, she sounds like she’s getting ready to face a damn firing squad. If that’s not a blow to a man’s ego, I don’t know what the hell is.