by Debra Kayn
Did she work for them?
Was this a way to test him?
Grace showed up at the cabin. At first, he thought it was an innocent meeting. But if the controller sent her after him, that meant they were actively looking for him. They knew he was alive. They'd want to kill him.
There's no fucking way they'd allow him to go rogue. He knew too much. He was too dangerous. He was a loose cannon.
He stepped toward the bed, his anger growing.
"You can't be Mr. Bowman." Grace shook her head. "That's not possible."
He leaned onto the bed, fisting the blanket. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I told you—"
He grabbed her upper arms. "Who sent you?"
Grace's head wobbled on her shoulders, and he stopped, realizing he shook her. His body trembled in frustration. Everyone close to him was currently dealing with the changes hitting them left and right, front and back. If he and the others were in danger, he needed to know.
"K-Kyle Bowman." Tears slid down her bruised, swollen cheek. "I swear on my life."
He stared into her eyes. She gave him nothing but lies, and yet he wanted to believe her. He wanted her to be innocent in the deadly game the Alpha Bio Project played with them all.
But he trusted no one.
Stone cold sober, unaffected from the drugs of the past. Unaffected by the training provided by the AB Project. Unaffected from killing and burying someone he was told to trust, he found himself living for himself.
He wanted what he wanted, and he was going to take it.
"Damn you." He pulled her toward him, capturing her mouth.
Ignoring the stiffness of her lips, he cupped the back of her head, keeping her close. He showed her what she was doing to him.
The frustration. The anger. The lust. The passion.
Using his thumb, he pressed down on her chin, forcing her mouth open. He gave her his tongue, took her tongue. He kissed her deeply, consumed by the taste of her.
He took her down on the bed, cradling her head in his arm. Then, unable to keep his hands off her, he let go of her chin and grabbed her hip, needing the curve through her shorts, pulling her tighter against him.
She left her mouth open.
He took full advantage. Exploring. Feeding. Using.
His cock hardened, pounding in the confines of his jeans. He pressed that part of him against her stomach, needing the relief and coming away more frustrated.
She had on too many clothes. He longed for the days of going naked twenty-four/seven. He should've taken her when they were at the cabin.
Grace groaned and pushed against his chest. He lifted his head to find tears welling in her eyes. Panic stared back at him. She slid away from him, scrambling to her feet, holding her ribs.
Her shoulders heaved with the gasps escaping her. He slid his hand into the front of his jeans and rearranged his cock before he followed her.
He wasn't done.
She held up her hand, warding him off. He tilted his head, wanting to argue with her. She hadn't bit his tongue to stop him. She'd let him kiss her.
"I can't breathe," she whispered, bending at the waist. "Hurts."
He guided her to the bed and sat her on the edge. Squatting in front of her, he moved her hand away from her side and cupped her ribs. He lightly trailed his fingers over each bone. They all seemed in place. None of them protruded or overlapped.
Taking the hem of her shirt, he lifted. Her head came up, and she stared at him. He flicked his gaze down, letting her know he only wanted to look.
There was an abrasion on her side about four inches long. Probably Four kicking her with his boots. Standing, he went into the bathroom and found one of the larger towels. He ripped it lengthwise, making sure the strips were slim enough to cover her from under her breasts down to her waist.
He returned to her. "This should make your ribs feel better."
Not asking her permission, he lifted her shirt to her armpits, baring her bra. He took in the silky beige material cupping the fullness of her breasts and wished it were his hands holding her.
Reaching around her, he bound the towel around her ribcage, tying a knot in the middle of her upper abdomen. He raised his gaze. "Take a breath."
She gritted her teeth and inhaled, exhaling quickly afterward. He lifted her chin, trying to read if she had more pain or less with the bandage. It was hard to tell because there were still tears shining in her gaze.
"Better?" he asked.
She nodded, pulling down her shirt. "Much."
"Keep that on when you're awake for the next couple of days. It'll make moving around more comfortable." He gazed at her covered breasts, wishing he would've taken her shirt off completely. She had a beautiful body.
Cushioned in the right spots and soft. So fucking soft.
"Thank you." She looked at the bed, pursing her lips to the side. "I'm dizzy. I need to lay down."
He moved to help her. She raised her hand again to stop him from touching her at the same time someone pounded on his front door. He straightened, all attention going to who was outside his fucking house. Caught up in kissing Grace, he hadn't heard anyone ride up.
He stepped over to the window and peered out. J.J. had parked her car in the driveway.
"Are you going to leave?"
"No." He turned around and walked around the bed toward the hallway. "Stay in the room. Don't come out."
Leaving Grace in the bedroom, he went to answer the door. J.J. stood in front of the house, frowning up at him.
"What's up?" he asked, not inviting her in.
She held out a cash bag. "No one has picked it up in several days. I thought I'd run it over to you since the gate's locked at the clubhouse, and I can't get ahold of anyone else."
"Thanks." He took the bag and tossed it onto the couch. "Is that it?"
"What's going on?" J.J.'s spine stiffened. "Every biker is gone. The Shack and diner are closed. There are people parked two RVs to a campsite, and Hank is nowhere in sight. All the tourists are going crazy, running their off-road machines where they don't belong, leaving trash by the river, and the parties go on and on through the night, the locals are complaining. I can't even tell you the number of people who came into the store wanting to purchase a fishing license, only to learn that no one was around to issue them one. They get pissed off at us, even though that's not our job."
"Is that all?"
J.J. gaped at him. "Are you serious? Jesus, Keenan, the town is falling apart, and everybody blames those of us who work at the store. Pete Carlson even hung around because he was afraid one of the tourists would hurt the cashiers. That's not cool. You or Demon need to do something about the chaos."
"I'll handle it."
"When?"
God damnit. All he needed was a few more days. Hopefully, by then, he could start helping a few of the other AFMC members get to their new normal.
"Tomorrow." He looked over her head, unsure if he would do a damn thing. "I'll go down to the river and talk to the campers."
In the distance, he caught movement. Scanning the area, he went beyond the empty acre in front of him and zeroed in on the clubhouse. The damn fence blocked most of his view of the grounds.
He couldn't be sure what he saw, but there was something out there. He hoped like hell it was a deer or moose wandering through town and not someone from the project.
"Keenan?"
He snapped his gaze back to J.J. "What?"
"What happened to you while you were away visiting relatives? You came back different." She frowned. "You haven't come over."
"Busy."
"Too busy for me?" J.J. shrugged when he refrained from answering. "Okay. So, yeah, let Demon know the town needs help from the club before everything falls apart."
"Will do."
J.J. shook her head and walked away from him, heading to her car. He stepped inside and shut the door. Right now, he needed to take care of Grace and get back to what he'd started.
; In the bedroom doorway, he stopped. Grace slept propped up in bed with two pillows behind her. She hadn't undressed or slipped under the covers. The attack took everything from her.
He stayed with her, putting his plans for what he wanted to do to her on hold.
Chapter Seventeen
Keenan walked into the house and dumped a backpack and large tote on the floor of the kitchen. Grace got up from the table, recognizing her belongings from the Jeep.
"Thought you might want a change of clothes." Keenan hooked his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.
She studied him, looking for an ulterior motive for doing something nice for her. Had he pushed her Jeep over a cliff to get rid of the evidence that she was missing? Had he burned her tent, so it looked as if she had never stayed in the campground?
His gaze intensified. She sucked in her bottom lip. Over the last four days, she hadn't begged for her release. She hadn't searched for something to use to break out of the house. She hadn't spent any time thinking about what she'd do to kill him.
Mainly because her ribs made moving around difficult, and she'd spent that time sleeping, healing, and taking care of herself.
When she woke that morning, she felt ninety percent better—physically. She could take deep breaths, put on her shoes, and it felt wonderful to finally wash her hair when she took a shower while he was gone.
Mentally—she was shot.
"Thank you." She reached for her bags.
He picked them up before she could grab the handles. "I'll put them in the bedroom for you."
She followed him, eyeing the back of his vest, letting her gaze lower to his ass. He hadn't tried to kiss her again since the night of the attack. Part of her was relieved he kept his distance, and part of her was curious about why he hadn't tried again.
Those all-consuming thoughts bothered her. She shouldn't want him to kiss her.
He put her bags on top of the dresser. "Use whatever space you can find to put your clothes away. There are extra hangers in the closet."
The idea of moving in unsettled her. She'd rather live out of the bags as if at any minute he'd remove the locks on the doors and let her walk out.
She looked inside of the tote. Tears blurred her vision. It was only her clothes. Not even her best ones, but those outfits she'd brought to traipse through the forest in search of a fisher to photograph belonged to her. She brought the top shirt up to her nose and inhaled deeply. The slight meadow scent of her favorite laundry soap from back home clung to the material, reminding her of her sister.
Keenan fingered her hair, brushing it back from her face. She glanced at him and lowered the shirt. He would never understand what she was going through.
Out of everything she wanted, it was her sister who she needed.
Around all the confusion of who exactly had hired her to come to Avery Falls and Keenan's real name being Kyle Bowman, she wanted to be around someone who loved her unconditionally and wouldn't lie.
She wanted to feel safe again. To be somewhere that she could close her eyes and not worry about someone attacking her.
"Gracie?" he whispered.
At her nickname, she couldn't stop the tears. She turned away, shoving the shirt back in the tote.
Keenan wrapped his arms around her until he held her back against his chest. With her face hidden from his view, she closed her eyes and let the strong arms comfort her. Somewhere between being attacked and Keenan kissing her, she'd let her guard down around him.
She was tired of hurting and being scared. Even though he was the one keeping her from going home, he was the only person she could rely on to keep her safe, feed her, take care of her.
"You're going to be okay." He pressed his lips against the side of her head.
She could almost pretend to believe him. Desperate for someone to help her, she found herself turning to the very same man who'd put her in danger.
"Why did you bring me here?" She braced for the answer.
Ever since she'd found out he was the man behind hiring her—or she was told it was him—she wanted to know the reason why. Why was she brought here? Who was responsible? Why her?
"It wasn't me." His chest expanded before deflating against her back. "But I know who is responsible."
She turned in his arms, hopeful that this nightmare would soon end. "Who?"
He stared into her eyes and slowly shook his head, refusing to answer. She shoved against his chest. He tightened his arms.
Fighting a losing battle cut her to the core. She pushed against him, ignoring the twinge in her side.
She grunted, balling her hands and bringing her fists down on him. "Let. Me. Go."
Hatred heated her veins. Scorched and burned, she pushed with all her might.
His arms dropped away. She stumbled backward in shock.
"You can tell me it wasn't you who is responsible for hiring me, but it is you keeping me here. It isn't someone else locking me in the house." She trembled. It's you."
His eye twitched, only fueling her temper. How dare he care if she yelled at him. She wasn't going to be nice because kidnapping her was his fault.
"I don't even care why I'm here. I only want to go home, and you are the only one standing between me and the door. So, you can blame this situation on whoever you want. I don't care about your life or what is going on with you. I don't want to be a part of your sick game anymore," she shouted.
He grabbed her upper arms and dragged her against him. "You'll care if they get their hands on you."
He shook with warning. Staring into his eyes, she wanted to find out what he knew. He wasn't telling her everything. He knew why she was here.
"Who are you talking about?" She glared furiously. "That man from the other night? You killed him."
His eyes hardened. She couldn't let herself forget Keenan was more than capable of murder.
"There are more men besides that one." He pushed his wild hair back off his face.
"More?" She blinked, trying to read between the lines. He wasn't telling her enough. She needed all the details to keep herself safe. "Why do they want to kill me?"
He stepped away and stood at the sink, looking out the window to the backyard. "I'm not sure they do."
"Great." She scoffed. "They prefer to torture women, and what? Beat them up?"
Keenan refrained from commenting or giving her any more insight. She touched his back, needing to see his face, needing to push the subject.
He slowly turned. The unemotional mask he often wore back on his face.
"Why me?" she asked. "I'm not even from here."
"I don't know." His breath hissed through his teeth. "But for whatever reason, they brought you here because of me."
"How do you know that?"
"Because for the last eighteen years of my life, they've had complete control of everything I do," he said, ending hoarsely as if pained.
She grabbed his arms. "The motorcycle club?"
"No, the AFMC is...was the only thing keeping me sane," he whispered. "I'm dealing with something more powerful, more dangerous, and even sicker than me."
She gulped at the ominous acceptance coming off Keenan. While she had no reason to trust him, he was the only one she had.
Chapter Eighteen
"For now, I will address any problems at four o'clock each day. Until then, I expect everyone to follow the rules set forth at the campground." Keenan stood on top of the picnic table at the RV Park. "Please, do not overstay. I expect you to pull out on the day you were scheduled to leave by ten o'clock in the morning. Other campers have reservations and have pre-paid for their spot. Let's show some courtesy to those, like you, who enjoy recreating in Avery Falls."
"The restrooms need toilet paper," shouted a woman in the crowd of campers.
"I'll get right on that." He looked over the frustrated faces. "Is there anything else?"
Several of them turned away, walking back to their recreational vehicles. He jumped down to the ground and walked
to the storage shed. There wasn't much he could do to pacify those frustrated with the amount of service they were getting. The Avery Falls Motorcycle Club members were in no condition to be around others, much less be seen in public.
He unlocked the door to the supply shed. Inside, he grabbed two big containers of toilet paper. The way he threw supplies toward the tourists, gave away free rentals, and ignored the rules that were broken, it wouldn't take long for everything they'd built in the recreational hub to implode.
Dropping off the paper products in the men's side of the restroom, he walked to the women's side and set it beside the door without going inside. Done with the task, he jogged to escape those milling around, looking to complain to him.
Once he checked in at the clubhouse, he needed to get back to Grace at home. He hated leaving her alone for too long. If one of the others got to her before he could get back, they'd kill her.
He hopped on his motorcycle and slowly rode across the gravel, glancing at Hank's motorhome, knowing his MC brother was holed up in the clubhouse with the others. Sometime in the next couple of days, he needed to take the ATV, ride up to the cabin, and check on Trip and Speeder.
But he wanted to find his president first. Yesterday, when he checked in at the clubhouse, Prez was nowhere around. He was glad Prez had taken his advice and found somewhere safe. He needed to make sure the president of AFMC held strong throughout the switch.
Stopping at the gate to the clubhouse, he parked. It was faster to keep his Harley outside than take the extra time to man the gate by himself.
"Keenan?"
He turned around, searching the area for the soft voice. Not seeing anyone, he said, "Yeah?"
"It's me. Trina."
He moved away from the gate. "Where are you?"
Speeder's daughter stepped out from behind a tree at the fence line, twenty feet away. He stilled, letting her approach. She was supposed to stay with Bonnie and her sons while Speeder was gone.
"What're you doing here?" He lowered his brows. "You're not supposed to be hanging around the clubhouse while your dad is gone."