“Call 911,” I say, worried about somebody else coming around that corner and hitting us.
“I'm on my way, Lyric,” Royal says, but I can barely hear him over the rushing sound of wind and the roar of an engine. Is he on his phone while he's riding? How does that even work? “Hold tight, love.”
The man at the driver's side door reaches down and unbuckles my seatbelt.
“There's a woman in here,” he calls out. “This is definitely McBride's truck, but I don't know who the fuck this is.” A big hand grips my shoulder and shakes me. “Hey you, you Royal's old lady or something?” Old lady? My eyes go wide and I try my best to focus on the guy's face. He's got dark hair and a long beard, but I don't recognize him. Is he one of Royal's guys? If he were, would he really be asking me that?
“Doesn't matter,” a second voice says. I look up, but all I can see is a cracked windshield and sand. Lots and lots of sand. Fucking dunes. “Bring her with us. We gotta get these trucks out of here before somebody calls the cops.” The first man grunts and climbs up into the truck, shoving me into the passenger seat and grabbing my phone. Without taking a second look at it, he pokes his head out of the truck and chucks it as far as he can. I don't have to look behind me to know that it's tumbling down towards the ocean.
“What are you doing?” I ask, still not quite understanding what's happening here. “We should call the police.” A pair of motorcycles revs up behind us and the man who smashed out my window, gives them a quick hand signal. What are they doing? Why isn't anyone calling the cops? I struggle to sit up straight, my chest aching where the seatbelt snapped tight. I'm going to have some serious bruising to look forward to.
The bearded man starts the truck, leaning over enough that I catch a glimpse at his back. Mile Wide, it says, not Alpha Wolves. And there's a picture of a winding road and a sunset. Ukiah, California. Ukiah? Who the hell are these guys?
I reach down for the door handle, but a rough hand on my arm jerks me back.
“I don't want any trouble, you hear me? You play nice and this'll go a lot easier for you.” I turn slowly and stare at him as he backs up and starts following the black truck down the road. “You Royal's old lady?” I just keep staring at the guy, my heart pounding hard and my throat tightening with fear. Am I … is he kidnapping me?
“Where are we going?” I ask, backing up against the passenger side door. What would happen if I opened it and let myself fall? Would I live? Would I roll off the edge of the cliff and never stop falling? I swallow hard as the man revs the engine and keeps close to the other truck.
He doesn't answer me. Big surprise there.
I swallow hard and try to take him in. He's big, as tall and wide as Royal, but older, definitely older. Still strong though. I can see the big round curves of his biceps. He could probably knock me out with a single well-placed punch to the head.
“You want to tell me why you're driving Royal McBride's truck?” the man asks again, clearly annoyed with my lack of answers.
“He left me the keys,” I whisper and the man laughs, running his hand over his beard as he glances over at me.
“You his girlfriend or something?” The look on his face says that's not necessarily a good thing. What are these guys planning on doing with me?
“I'm his old lady,” I whisper, keeping my hands tucked under my ass. I don't know if … old ladies wear rings or not, but … they must, right? They're still somebody's wife. Janae had one, didn't she? “And he's on his way here.”
“Lucky us,” the man says, getting a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting up. I stare at his face, wondering if I picked the right answer. “Guess he'll be wanting you back then.”
I wait until we turn the corner, heading away from the road and towards Mill Creek, the houses growing farther and farther apart, the trees looming over us.
And then I lift my leg up and kick the man as hard as I can in the face.
The truck swerves dangerously, forcing him to slam on the brakes as I reach for the door handle and pull, intending on dropping straight to the pavement. I figure my riding clothes were made to protect me from a motorcycle accident, so why not this?
A sharp pain in my skull snaps my head back as the man wraps his fingers around my hair and pulls.
“Let fucking go of me!” I scream, kicking and flailing, clawing at his hands as he tugs me towards him. And then I just start screeching, as loud and piercing as I can get. The noise echoes around the cab and the man starts cursing, getting out that gun I saw earlier and pressing it tight against my temple.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps at me. “Jesus Christ.”
“Let me out right now and you can keep the truck,” I say which only makes him laugh.
“Get your ass up and close that door. If you try to make a run for it, I'll shoot you in the leg and take you back home, let the boys pass you around a while. You understand me?” I swallow hard and nod my head, hating the way the gun feels pressed against my skull.
When the man finally releases his grip on my hair, I sit up and bury myself in the corner of the cab. I should've brought my Glock, I think again as I glance at Royal's dash and wonder if he'd keep a gun in there. The man's still looking at me though, so I just close my eyes and let loose a few tears. They're real enough, but I'm not giving up yet.
“You're a feisty one, that's for sure,” the man grumbles, waving at the black truck as it circles back around and flashes its lights at us. The motorcycle riders are still behind us, watching and waiting as my kidnapper pulls forward and continues on his way. He whispers something under his breath, but I can't quite hear him over the pounding of my heart. Oughta be fun. I think that's what he says. I don't really care to find out.
My tongue runs across my lower lip and tastes blood. I must've bitten it when we crashed.
Think, Lyric. Think, think, think. Royal says he's coming, but how will he find you now?
I open up my eyes and glance at the glove box again. If I open it and there's nothing in there, I'm screwed. This guy might punch me out or make good on his threat and shoot me in the leg. What other options are there? I think through a thousand scenarios, but none of them seem right.
In a split second, I make a decision and reach for the glove compartment, wrenching it open and finding a hammer hidden inside. Better than nothing. I snatch it in my hand and manage to take a swing before my guy realizes that yes, I really am stupid enough to try again.
The hammer hits him in the arm and he grunts, but it's not enough. He swerves a little, his right hand flying out to snatch the weapon from my hand. He can't hold me back, drive, and go for his gun at the same time.
I let go of the hammer and dive forward, my hand reaching for the gun at the same moment I feel a hard elbow to the gut, knocking the air right out of me as the truck swerves again, skids, clips the edge of a massive redwood tree.
I kick and flail like my life defends on it, fighting the man for control of the gun. He's bigger than me, stronger, more experienced, but none of that matters right now. In the close confines of the cab, the wheel clutched in one hand, he's handicapped enough that he either has to stop and deal with me or continue to struggle.
I get an elbow to the face—hard—and my vision blurs, blood streaming from my nostrils as I blink back stars and dig my nails into the man's skin. The truck's slowing down, skidding to the side of the road with a rumble, and I register the exact moment that the parking brake is slammed into place by his boot.
He throws me off, reaching into his jacket for his gun.
I tried, I think as I kick my leg out and he grabs it with his left hand, aiming the gun at me with his right. Fuck, I really, really tried. Tears pierce my eyes as a million thoughts scatter through my mind, but I don't stop fighting. I won't. Not until it's really all over.
A shot rings out, echoing in the quiet forest air, the damp scent of the woods drifting through the shattered driver's side window.
My kidnapper pauses at that, just
long enough that the roar of a bike comes up on us, tires squealing and skidding across the pavement. I hear another shot, my body going completely still, hoping that whatever it is that's happening is enough to distract my guy from killing me.
This time when a hand comes through the window, I recognize the tattoos. Royal. He unlocks the door and wrenches it open in a split second. The man's quick, turning his gun on the Alpha Wolves President in an instant, but it's too late.
Royal snaps his wrist aside the same way he did to me in the bedroom the other night, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and yanking him out of the truck. I sit there, completely stunned, my eyes wide as I watch him crack the man in the face with his ringed right hand. What a broken, beautiful man, I think, echoing my very first thoughts of Royal as I watch him slam the guy into the side of the truck, his fist coming forward again and landing another hit.
The black truck from before is pulling up, a few guys spilling out the back as it skids to a stop. I open my mouth to warn Royal when another shot goes off and one of the men drops to the dirt. He doesn't take notice of any of it, hitting my kidnapper in the face so hard that his head snaps back. The man tries to fight back, swinging my borrowed hammer around and managing to clip Royal in the shoulder. He may as well have clocked a hunk of cement.
I watch in openmouthed shock as Royal grabs the guy's arm and twists it, loosing the hammer enough that it falls and he picks it up, swinging it in a graceful arc that hits the bearded man right in the side of the temple. He stumbles and then collapses against the base of the redwood tree that we clipped, blood streaming down the side of his face.
“You alright, Pint-Size?” Royal asks, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, his full lips parted as he pants and stares at me like he thought he'd never see me again.
“I'm fine,” I whisper and he nods once, bending down and grabbing the gun from the forest floor. Royal crouches low and moves to stand behind the open driver's side door, lifting the gun up and aiming it through the open window. Without a second of hesitation, he points it at the driver in the black pickup as the man tries to speed away, and pulls the trigger.
The truck swerves and skids, slamming into another tree while the guys that just climbed out of it struggle to find different cover. Royal keeps his eyes on them, pulling the trigger systemically and without restraint. He doesn't rain bullets on them, just watches and waits for the right moment.
That's the first time I realize exactly how dangerous he really is.
And the first time I realize that no matter how ridiculous it seems, how little time we've actually known each other, how strange a match we must make … that I'm in love with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Royal
This is such a shit fest, I think as I take a small step back and lower my gun. But at least I got my girl. A quick glance over at Lyric and the rapid thumping pulse of my heart starts to slow. When I first heard her scream, something broke inside of me, something that I don't think I ever want fixed. A change came over me, made me realize that someday is today.
Don't know Lyric Rentz all that well. Don't give a bloody fuck. I want her and nobody's going to stop me from getting what I want, not Mile Wide, not the mayor and definitely not my own stupid bullshit. If things between us don't work out down the road then fine, but fuck. Just thinking about that phone call, how I almost didn't call her back, how I almost acted like a petty bitch. Big wake up call.
“The boys are en route,” Glacier says, a freakish smile stretched across his angelic face, blue eyes bright, the tattoos on his neck obscured by the dark spray of blood. “Ten minutes or less.”
“Good.” I toss my stolen gun onto the floor of the truck, my eyes sweeping across Lyric, dressed head to toe in leather, her green eyes wide and struggling to blink back surprise. There's some blood leaking from her nose, but otherwise she looks okay.
I turn and grab Lyric by the boots, pulling her body along the seat until she slides out of the truck and I pin her against it with my body. Her legs wrap around my waist reflexively while she threads her fingers behind my neck. I don't waste a single second, thrusting my tongue into her goddamn mouth and letting her know something I should've suspected since the first moment she caught my attention back at the clubhouse. Mine.
She lets me kiss her for a few seconds before her grip tightens and her body rocks against mine, feeling the hard, ready bulge in my jeans, tasting the desperation in my mouth.
Glacier makes a coughing sound behind me, but I ignore him. What's he going to tell the boys? That I kissed a sexy girl? Made her moan? That I know how to handle a woman like a fucking boss.
“You,” Lyric begins, trying to pull back enough to talk. I grind her harder against the side of the truck, tasting blood and wild things and that distant sweet scent of wildflowers. “You,” she begins again and this time I let her, pausing to set her down on the wet dirt. “You came for me.”
“The hell did you think I was going to do, Pint-Size? Of course I'd come. Nobody ever said Royal McBride would abandon a damsel in distress.”
“But … you were so angry,” she says, eyes flicking back to Glacier, brows raising. I see that little chill go down on her spine. Yup. She feels it, too. Total psychopath. “I mean, you had a right to be, but …” She pauses and runs her hands over her face while I curl an arm around her waist and tug her against me.
“Hey red coat,” Glacier says, moving around us and leaning against the truck, so I have to look at him. “I know you Brits aren't used to winning wars, but we got a situation here.”
“Fucking Yank piece of shit,” I growl, glancing up at the few boys that happened to be right there when I jumped on my bike and took off like a bat out of hell. The rest are on their way. “How's it looking, Smoky?”
“They're all dead,” he says, like he's disappointed. Would've been nice to have someone to talk to about this, dig up some more information. Clearly, Mile Wide isn't done with us. Good, because there's no way in hell they're walking away from this. Club justice is going to come down hard on these motherfuckers.
A groan from behind me brings both Glacier and me whipping around, another gun in my hand, snatched from the shoulder holster under my coat. He's brandishing his hammer, the end already dark brown with blood.
The man I hit in the temple is still alive, struggling to stand as he braces himself against the tree.
“Take him back to the clubhouse,” I tell Glacier. Getting information out of unwilling participants is another one of his hobbies. Doesn't relish it like he does the chase, but I'm sure he'll still have a damn fine time. “Figure out why Clayton Moore sent his boys up here to die. And load some of these bodies up before you go. Should be a tarp in the backseat.”
“You got it,” Glacier says as I turn back to Lyric and block the man from her view with my body. She looks up at me with those big eyes of hers and searches my gaze for something. Whatever she sees there makes her relax a little.
“Who are these people?” she asks, gesturing a hand towards the open truck door and the bodies beyond it. I notice she doesn't look. “What's going on?”
“Later sweet stuff,” I tell her, stepping back and waving for Smoky to come over here. “We've got to clean up this mess before anybody stumbles onto it.” Smoky jogs over, his brother—blood related sibling this time—right behind him. Everybody calls the guy Mug because his face is the ugliest damn mug you ever did see. “Call back to the clubhouse and have Dober send a couple of guys out here in one of the loaner cars. We need someone to get these bikes and the other truck out of here.”
“Got it,” Mug says, his cell already in his hand, his bright red hair a jarring sight against the green and brown of the trees. Yep. Another goddamn ginger in my club.
“How do you want us to clean this up?” Smoky asks, giving Lyric a long, lingering look. This is club business, and she's a witness to all of it. Fuck, even if I didn't like the girl, I'd have to make her my ol' lady just to keep
the Wolves off her ass.
“Spread 'em out. Park a few in the usual spot and dump the rest in the bay.”
Lyric swallows hard, her body stiffening as she listens to me lay out the facts.
“I'm taking Ms. Rentz here back to my place.”
“Smartest damn thing you've done all week,” Smoky says with a shake of his head. “You're not the sergeant-at-arms anymore, remember? You're the fucking president. Get your ass out of here and wash your damn hands. If I need something, I'll call you.”
“You're a fucking dick, Smoky,” I say, pulling Lyric along with me and pausing next to my bike. Even in my panic, I had the good sense to bring my Swinger so she'd have somewhere to sit. Good for me. I grab my helmet and slide it over Lyric's head. It's way too damn big, but better than nothing. I reach up and tighten the chin strap while she stands there and stares at me with a curious facial expression. “Let's get the fuck out of here, Pint-Size.”
“Why am I still alive?” she whispers, her body beginning to tremble. “How am I still alive?”
I slide my fingers away from the chin strap and down the sides of Lyric's neck until they're resting on her small shoulders.
“Because you're a feisty little tart, that's why,” I say, a grin curling across my lips. “Because, whether you like it or not, you were born for this life, baby.”
The ride back to my place is like a balm for my soul, soothing away the violent seething urges that have been plaguing me since last night. By the time I pull into my driveway and climb off the bike, sliding a pair of shades from my face and tucking them into the front pocket of my cut, I feel better.
I shouldn't, but I do. What the hell is up with that? If I thought I had shit to deal with before, this crap with Mile Wide is even worse. And it's just beginning.
Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 70