“What’s your name?” he asked, not moving from his spot.
“C-Cassie,” she said. “Cassandra.” She held as still as possible as if not moving would somehow make her safer.
“Will anyone be looking for you?”
She studied him. He might not harm her outright, but he was one of them. Wouldn’t these guys die before betraying their motorcycle clubs? Or was that just in the made for TV version? Something compelled her to tell the truth. “Um, I’m not entirely sure.” She cleared her throat and fought to hold his intense milk-chocolate gaze. “Normally, I’d say yes. But I had a falling out with my family. Which was why I was at that bar and distracted. Your guy slipped something in my drink and…”
He nodded, face tightening as though he didn’t approve. Then why was he with them? Could he be an undercover cop?
“Your folks rich? Powerful?”
Ahh, so one of them was willing to take money. Not an undercover cop. “Yes! They’ll pay.” Would they? Her father had cut her off, told her she was no longer in his will. Not that she’d taken a dime from him in ages, most of her money came from a trust set up by her grandparents. They’d known what controlling assholes her parents were. Throughout her schooling, she lived off that money but planned to earn her own once she graduated and began working. “Or I will if they won’t. I have money.”
He tilted his head and stared at her. He really was attractive. Not like any man she’d ever felt an interest in before. Raw power radiated from him. She bet there wasn’t anything in the world this man was afraid of.
Must be nice.
His gaze heated her unclothed skin, eliciting a tremor from her.
“Shit,” he said, shrugging out of his leather vest. He tossed it on the bed then drew his hooded sweatshirt over his head.
Cassie flattened herself against the headboard. Gone was the bravado of a few moments before. Now that the opportunity to sex her way out of this was upon her, the concept was repulsive, despite how hot he was.
But instead of getting naked and coming for her, he tossed her the sweatshirt, making her jaw drop.
“Um, I can’t…” She held up her right arm which was bound to the bedpost.
“Fuck, sorry,” he said, stalking toward her. 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 peaked.
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.
“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. “Just gonna cut the ropes off you, babe? Okay?”
Babe? What? And how on earth was someone so hard able to hold her arm so gently? “Okay,” she whispered, emotion clogging her throat. She’d managed to keep it together through slaps, drugging, and groping, but a caring touch was nearly her undoing.
“Won’t cut you, I promise.”
“Okay,” she said again, at a loss for anything more substantial. The blade sliced through the tight ropes with just a few vigorous back and forth saws. The moment her hands were free, she sighed and rotated her sore wrists. “Why do they call you Viper?”
“I’m mean as fuck and strike fast.”
Okay then. Her eyes widened then almost fell out of her face when he started to work the sweatshirt over her head. Once she’d pushed her arms through the very long sleeves, she swallowed and said, “Thank you.” Warmth immediately surrounded her like a comforting hug. The fabric smelled just like him, and the metaphorical hug became a little more intimate. And arousing.
“You’re free,” he said.
Cassie’s heart stuttered. “W-what? Are you serious?”
Viper nodded. Yeah, the man was serious. She had a feeling he was always serious. “You have anywhere to go? Anywhere I can take you?”
Did she have anywhere to go?
No, she did not. Not two days ago, she’d found out her married father was screwing her best friend and had been since she turned eighteen. And how did she find out? Well, that would be because her four months pregnant ex-friend showed up at her apartment sobbing and begging for advice. The entire story spilled out in a torrent of tears and hysterics. Cassie supposed if she’d been a better person, she’d have felt some compassion or even pity toward her friend, but she didn’t. She’d felt rage, hatred, and betrayal.
After kicking her bawling friend out, Cassie had turned her fury on her father. All that accomplished was being told she was acting like a child and to grow up. Excuse her for thinking her fifty-three-year-old father knocking up her twenty-one-year-old best friend was fucked up.