by Amity Cross
Next, he tipped boiling water into a glass, then dumped the scissors and needle inside. Turning back to the first aid kit, he retrieved a little bottle of rubbing alcohol, unscrewed the cap, and then promptly tipped it over the wound on his arm.
He grunted, his forehead creasing, and I felt like throwing up on his behalf.
“Do you want any help with that?” I asked, edging around the table and sitting beside him.
“No.”
Rubbing the last of the alcohol over his fingers, he retrieved the scissors and the needle from the glass and began threading. Then, without even blinking, he shoved the tip of the needle through his skin and sewed up the path the bullet had carved across his upper arm.
“Who are you?” I whispered, watching as he threaded the needle through his flesh. Back and forth, doing fancy little knots before starting on the next.
“Right now? I’m pissed off.” He grunted as the thread dragged and pulled the wound together.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Ignoring me, he tied off the last stitch, cut the thread, and wiped the blood off his skin with a piece of cloth from the kit. Finally, he slapped a sticky wad of gauze over the top.
Staring at his chest and torso, I could now see several other scars. Pink, puckered lines that’d been sewn together by someone who had either zero finesse or was Chaser’s handiwork. My mind went back to the gunfight at the gas station, and I realized something very important about the biker. He knew how to shoot. It wasn’t just simply point and fire kind of bullshit. No, he knew how to shoot to kill.
Without a word, I reached over and cleaned up the mess on the table.
“Sloane.”
“What?” I picked up the glass and dumped the contents into the kettle before zipping the first aid kit closed.
“I dropped the ball today.”
Freezing, I looked up, our gazes meeting. Something had changed. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“It doesn’t matter,” I murmured. “We got out of it.”
“We shouldn’t have been in it at all.” His eyes were sad, his mouth curved downward.
Chaser admitting he’d made a mistake? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who owned up to anything unless it was winning.
Leaning closer, I picked up his hand and grabbed the cloth. Wiping at the blood on his forearm, I sighed. What a fucking mess.
“Sloane…”
“Shut up.”
“Sloane.”
Glancing up, I sucked in a deep breath as I realized how close we’d actually gravitated toward one another. I practically sat on his lap and his lips… My gaze shifted to his mouth, and everything went haywire.
Heat surged between my legs, my nipples tightened, and I slid my leg over his and climbed onto his lap. Just so…
Burying my fingers into his hair, I tugged his face upward as his palms settled on my hips. Grinding into him, I swore he was hard. His eyelashes fluttered, and I lowered my lips toward his. I bet he tasted like blood and whiskey…
Our breath mingled… Then he turned his face away and pushed me back.
“Why won’t you kiss me?” I exclaimed, humiliation and frustration pulsing through me.
“You’re still the daughter of the president…” he began, not even looking me in the eye.
“He’s never been my father.” I snarled. “He wants me back because it’ll save his precious reputation. It isn’t a gesture of fatherly love, Chaser.”
“Orders…”
“Fuck orders. I have no allegiance to Fortitude.”
“I do.” He stared me down, his eyes burning with anger or desire, I wasn’t sure which.
“Is it voluntary?”
He glanced away.
“Chaser…”
“Get off me, Sloane.”
“I see the way you are when you talk about them,” I went on. “Your lip curls and your mood goes south. Big time. You hate them.”
“You don’t know anything.”
He grasped my waist, and in one deft move, he tossed me off his lap and onto the bed behind us. Landing on my back, I was dazed for a moment but shoved to my feet as he did the same.
“I know enough to see this isn’t all there is to you,” I exclaimed, getting up into his face. “You accuse me of being a petulant little bitch? Look in the mirror!”
“Don’t push me, Sloane.”
“Or what? You’ll spank my ass like a little baby?”
He growled like a beast, a sexy as fuck grunt that had my knees trembling, and pushed me back against the wall. My head cracked against the plaster, but I didn’t feel it. I was too aroused to care. Pain was borderline orgasmic right now.
His eyes burned into mine. “Lay. Off.”
I had this overwhelming urge to sink to my knees, pull out his cock, and just go for it.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’ve been acting like a bitch on purpose.”
“I never said…”
“Yeah, you did. Pretty much.”
His eyes narrowed, and the air charged between us.
“Give me something,” I pleaded.
“I took a bullet for you.” His expression softened. “I took a bullet for you, Sloane. Do you believe me now?”
The phantom sound of the bullet ricocheting off the brick wall echoed in my ears, and my resolve cracked. He’d been shot because of me. That bullet was meant for my head. They were hunting me like a feral dog behind a dumpster.
A sob escaped my lips as the gravity of the shit storm I was in the middle of hit me. Like, finally hit me with its full force square in the chest. My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall.
I’d almost been raped. I’d almost had my throat slit. They’d tried to get me in my apartment. They’d shot at me. Who were they? Fucked if I knew, but that made it worse. Faceless men were after me. They could be anywhere or anyone.
Chaser sat beside me, his wounded arm on the other side as the tears fell down my cheeks.
“Go away,” I said with a sob. “I don’t need your crap right now.”
He said nothing, nor did he move. He just let me cry. A biker wouldn’t sit there and watch a woman ball her eyes out, attempted murder or not. Chaser wasn’t a biker, or at least, I didn’t think he was.
I sniffed and let my head fall onto his shoulder.
“Sloane?”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m sure you are.”
I didn’t know what to do anymore, but the one thing I was certain of was the fact I couldn’t run on my own. Chaser said it himself. He took a bullet for me. I guess that meant he was the only person who gave a stuff, even if he was only here because he was ordered to.
“Chaser?”
“Yeah?”
“When it comes to my life, I guess I trust you with it now, but…” I trailed off, not knowing how to voice the next part or if he’d even go for it.
“But what?”
“There’s got to be another way…”
“There isn’t,” he replied. “The best chance you’ve got—”
“Is with my father,” I finished for him. I snorted and nestled closer, pretending not to notice when he tensed. “I beg to differ, but I’m pretty sure my best chance is with you, Chaser.”
“I’m temporary,” he murmured.
“You don’t have to be.”
The air cooled, and he pushed to his feet. “I’ve gotta clean up.”
“Chaser…”
He ignored me and strode into the bathroom. The door slammed, signaling the conversation was over.
And just like that, all traces of the caring Chaser were gone, and we were back at square one. I was still a package addressed to my father. Nothing had changed, which meant I should’ve got in the car while I had the chance and left Chaser here to rot. Now I was stuck.
Snorting, I let my head fall back against the wall. All roads lead to Fortitude. I best remember it.
Chapter 11
Chaser
Turning on the shower, I stuck my arm underneath the flow of water and scrubbed the dried blood away.
The bullet wound stung like a bitch, but at least it was only a graze—that had required four stitches—and I didn’t have to get out a pair of pliers and fish around in my bicep.
I still felt the ghost of Sloane’s body sitting on my lap. Her little waist, her ass, her… Fuck. It would’ve been so easy to take her, to lose myself in her pussy. It had been too long since sex had meant something for me to throw an innocent woman away on an empty fuck.
Hissing as the stitches pulled, I jerked my arm back and shut off the water. Picking up a threadbare towel, I patted my skin dry.
Sloane wanted a way to escape, and so did I. Until now, I thought it wasn’t a choice on the table. In a way, it still wasn’t. They were still after her, which meant I had to see this through, no matter which way this went.
I could drop her off at the Fortitude compound, or I could fuck off into the middle of nowhere with her. I was a master at finding people. I knew their tricks. I could find, but I also knew how to hide.
Snorting, I pulled on my jeans. I’d known the woman for a week, so her tears meant shit. Who knew if they were genuine or another ploy to make me drop my guard so she could sneak away.
If I listened to her, I would have two criminal organizations hunting my ass, not one.
Helping her? It was bad news. I’d already been shot once.
When I went out into the room, Sloane was in bed, bundled up in the duvet.
“Chaser?”
I grunted. We were already a day behind schedule. By tomorrow night, if we got on the road at first light and made up the distance, we would add another. At least we would be going in the right direction. The longer we were out here, the more risk there was.
“Can you sleep beside me tonight?” she asked.
The fuck.
I glanced at her, then at the bed.
“Please.” She pouted.
Sighing, I sat next to her, my back resting against the headboard.
“You can get under the covers,” she murmured.
“I’m not into molestation,” I drawled, staring across the room.
Sloane sighed and rolled onto her side so she didn’t have to look at me. It was only the near-death experience driving her sexual appetite. High adrenaline always brought people together. They fucked, then that was it. Everything after the money shot always fell apart. Always.
I had a different bullet waiting for me in California if I crossed the line. The fuck wasn’t worth it.
Sloane jumped at the sound of a door slamming somewhere in the motel complex, and I raised an eyebrow. Man, she was jumpy. It was annoying as shit. Her mouth didn’t match her brain.
“It’s just a door,” I said.
“Shut up.” She hissed. “I’m freaking out here.”
“Glad you finally admit it.”
“Wouldn’t you rather console me so I’m not a blubbering mess the next time a bullet flies at my head?”
“I’m not training you to become a ninja, so forget about it.”
“You can shoot…”
I grunted, signaling I didn’t want another deep and meaningful conversation. She would not learn a single thing about me. Information could destroy a person inside and out. Fact.
“Not just any kind of shooting,” she went on, not getting the hint. “Anyone can point a gun and pull the trigger. You knew where and when. You shot to kill.”
“An eye for an eye.”
“Then you sew your arm up without anesthetic like it’s nothing.”
I scowled, but she was still facing away from me.
“Then you push away the chance at a free fuck. All the bikers I’ve ever known would’ve bent me over there and then.”
“You better shut your mouth, Sloane,” I said.
“You’re not Fortitude.”
I tensed, causing my arm to sting like a little bitch. “Go to sleep before you say something you’ll regret.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered, nestling into the pillow. “I won’t tell.”
Smart-mouthed little… Grinding my teeth, my mind rolled over and over. I won’t tell, I won’t tell, I won’t tell… Tell what? That I followed orders down to the letter? Shit, I’d earn myself a fucking raise and a vacation in Tijuana when we got back to Fortitude.
Hands off, Chaser.
Aye, aye, President.
The moment Sloane was asleep, I went outside and changed the license plates on the car. Tomorrow, we were going back on the road to California, aka Fortitude.
Chapter 12
Sloane
I didn’t want to wake up. Not today.
Still, my eyes opened to a semi-dark room. Either I was done sleeping or something had woken me.
The sound of typing echoed through the motel room, and I rolled over, my mind surfacing into wakefulness.
Chaser was sitting at the table. He was fully clothed, and his hair was damp from a shower. But that wasn’t what made me sit up. He had my computer in front of him, the screen glowing as he not so gently smashed at the keyboard.
“What are you doing with my laptop?” I demanded.
“You need to call your blonde friend,” he replied, not even bothering to turn around.
“My blonde friend?”
“The one with the boobs.”
“Excuse me?” It was way too early for him to insult the fairer sex.
“You need to call her.”
“Why?” I groaned and rubbed my eyes. They were full of grit after crying myself to sleep last night. “You were the one who told me I couldn’t be Sloane anymore.”
“She’s filed a missing persons report.”
“Huh?”
So Yvette gave a shit. I’d believed it was only a marriage of convenience for covering her constant lateness, and here she was going to the cops. Thinking about Mrs. Adelstein and the security footage behind Teasers, I screwed up my face. Kinda stood to reason someone might report something.
“The sooner, the better, Sloane.”
“You smashed my cell,” I said. “How am I supposed to call when I’ve got no phone?”
He tapped the table and kicked the second chair out from underneath it.
Sliding out of bed, I knew I would not like what I saw. He had a phone this entire time, along with my money, and it was a glaring indicator to my dependence on him. The illusion I had any say in what was happening was about to shatter, and boy was it going to be spectacular.
A cell phone was sitting facedown on the table next to my laptop. Looking at the screen, I saw it was plastered with a police report with my face on it. Missing person, indeed.
“They have Wi-Fi out here?” I drawled.
“Sit down, Sloane.”
Sitting, I glanced at him out the corner of my eye. All traces of yesterday’s hero were gone. The kind words, the hint of desire, the push and pull. He was so closed off he bore a striking resemblance to a vault in Fort Knox.
Picking up the phone, he turned it on and handed it to me. I stared at the screen, earning myself one of his trademark glares.
“I don’t know her number off by heart,” I complained. “Nobody knows phone numbers anymore. It’s not nineteen ninety-five.”
Showing me the laptop screen, my mouth fell open. There was an address book that must’ve synced from my cell to the computer at some point. There was an entire list of everyone and everything I’d ever called or texted. It felt like he’d glanced up my skirt, the pervert.
“You went through my stuff?”
His eyes narrowed. “Call her, and don’t let on about…”
“About what? Because I’ve got a lot to say about the dead bodies, the kidnapping—”
“Sloane.”
“Fine.” Tapping in the number, I pressed the call button and slapped the phone to my ear.
It rang three times before Yvette picked up.
“Hello?�
��
“Yvette, it’s Sloane.”
“Sloane! Where are you?”
“I’m around,” I replied, glancing at Chaser.
“It’s been a week, Slo.”
“Sorry. I was busy.”
“Busy skipping out on me?”
“It’s complicated.” Chaser nudged me with his boot.
“I saw the security footage from out back,” she began, her speech stilted as if she was reading from a script, and my hackles rose.
“A guy tried to grab me when I went to take the trash out,” I said, attempting to throw her, and whoever was listening, off the scent. “It was nothing. He was off his face and couldn’t even stand up straight. You know what people are like at Teasers. He ran off, anyway.”
“You should’ve reported it,” Yvette complained.
“Maybe, but it was nothing. I’ve had worse. So have you.”
“Still…”
I paused, listening to the background noises. There was someone there, heavy breathing and shuffling papers. It wasn’t Yvette.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” I said after a moment.
“Where are you, Slo? Are you coming back?”
“Nah. I didn’t think anyone would miss me.” That was partially true. I’d never allowed myself to get too close to anyone considering who my father was. A broken childhood instilled certain fail-safes in my brain.
“I miss you!”
“Well, when I get settled, I’ll call you. Maybe you can tell me how Brittany’s going and all the gossip from Teasers.”
“Slo? Where are you settling?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ve just gotta find a happy medium, you know? Work, cheap rent, internet access.”
“You still studying?”
I glanced at Chaser. “I’m trying to.”
“I’m worried about you, Slo.”
“You don’t have to be. I’m cool. Totally sweet or whatever the kids are saying these days.” Chaser made a cutting motion across his neck. “Listen, I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you soon, okay?”
“You better.”
“See ya.”
Hanging up the call, Chaser took the cell out of my hands and opened the back. He took out the SIM card and snapped it in half.