Exposed: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance (Fury Riders MC)

by Sophia Gray

  That was pretty easy to believe, so I forced myself to go with that.

  “What do you want?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Seriously? You haven’t figured it out? And I thought you were supposed to be some smart, educated lady.”

  I swallowed down my suddenly dry throat. “Listen, you don’t have to do this.”

  He actually laughed at me. Leaning towards me, he grinned. “Oh, but I want to. And pretty soon, you’ll want me to, too.”

  I highly doubted that, but I didn’t say as much. Instead, I started struggling against my restraints again. He eyed them for a moment, then glanced back up at me. “It’s going to be tricky with your clothes on.” His eyes paused on my crotch. “Well, the bottom half of them anyway. What do you think we should do about that?”

  I was about to open my mouth and spout off about how he should just get the hell away from me, but I paused. An idea slowly began forming in my head. It was a risky one and, already, it had fear rising in my breast, but I reasoned that it was no more dangerous than what was already happening.

  At least this idea had the potential of letting me get the hell out of here.

  Biting my lip, I did my best to wipe the disgust off my face. Clearing my throat, I tried to make my voice pleasant. “Well…we could…take them off.” I nodded towards my lower half. “I mean, my pants, that is.”

  His eyebrows shot up high on his brow, then lowered in suspicion, which was smart of him. My change of heart was a complete one-eighty, and I wouldn’t have bought it, either. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?” I pursed my lips together to keep from answering him. “Well, joke’s on you lady.” He opened his palm in front of me and let a set of keys drop down between his thumb and forefinger. “ ’Cause I have the keys. And I am going to take off your pants—but that’s it.”

  I blinked at him. Wasn’t that what I’d just basically told him to do? “Um…”

  “That’s right,” he continued like some evil genius about to give a monologue. “I’m going to uncuff your legs, and then I’m going to take off your pants. I’ll bet you’re not even wearing panties. But you know what I’m not going to do? I’m not going to undo your arms. I’m going to leave them cuffed to that chair while I fuck your brains out. How does that sound, sweetheart?”

  It sounded utterly disgusting. It sounded bad enough that the urge to vomit was almost too strong to resist. But I managed to control my building nausea because he was going to do just what I wanted. Well, not the taking off my pants part, but I was hoping that he wouldn’t get that far.

  I wanted him to uncuff me, and while I wished he would release my wrists, too, I thought maybe my legs would be enough… Maybe.

  God, I hope it’s enough.

  Kneeling down in front of me, he paused with the key near my left foot, then he looked up at me. “I should tell you before we begin, I’m packing more than my cock.” He lifted up his shirt to reveal a pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans. I wanted to snort and tell him that he’d probably shoot his package off keeping it there, but honestly, I was scared, and I kinda hoped that he would…

  I didn’t know what I’d been thinking, but somehow, I’d convinced myself that if I could just get free, that would be my biggest hurdle. I should have anticipated that he’d have a weapon, but I didn’t.

  It’s okay; everything’s okay. I can do this.

  Seemingly pleased with my complacency, he nodded and went back to my foot. I heard him as he messed with the cuffs, then felt as they slid away from my ankle. One down, one to go. He glanced up again, his eyes narrowing.

  “Remember,” he said. “I’ve got the gun. You’re the one stuck to that fucking chair. Don’t try anything funny.”

  I remained silent as he got to my other ankle, but I was bursting with nervous energy. This was it. Once he did this, I’d have to move fast…and hope I was quicker than he was to pull that gun. I felt him slide off the second metal cuff.

  This was my chance. It was now or never. I felt him begin to tug off my shoe. Mustering up my courage, I took one deep breath—then kicked. My leg pulled up and back at the same time so that the top of my foot made contact. The hit was lucky, catching him just beneath the jaw. I heard a cracking sound that I really didn’t want to think too much about, then he fell back to the floor. His body made a heavy thud as it crashed onto the concrete.

  I stared at him with wide eyes, disbelieving. I kept waiting for him to move, to get up and curse at me, maybe even to lunge towards me and wrap his hands around my throat to throttle me. Or maybe to simply pull that gun, aim, and fire.

  The thought that I would die at any moment made me tense up, bracing myself as I waited for it.

  But death never came. That asshole never got up. He lay there on the floor, his head pushed back slightly at an awkward angle, his face pointed away from me. He looked…

  Don’t say dead, don’t say dead.

  I told myself that he was fine. The hit was lucky and had knocked him out. Or stunned him. Whatever. It hadn’t snapped his neck, only forced him to hit his head on the concrete…right?

  It was convincing enough that I could force my body to move again.

  “Keys,” I told myself. “I need the keys.”

  Getting my feet free had helped with my mobility, but I still had the little problem of still being stuck to the damn chair to deal with. If I didn’t get those keys, I was going to have to figure out how to move while still attached to the chair. And it was a heavy, solid wooden chair. No way could I manage to carry it up the stairs, strapped awkwardly against my back.

  I needed to find those keys and get the cuffs binding my hands released.

  My eyes tried to gloss past the unconscious man on the floor. Unconscious, not dead, I tried to convince myself, but that was difficult when I didn’t see his chest rising and falling. Swallowing heavily, I looked away, then jerked my gaze back.

  “Crap.”

  The keys were right there next to him, by his feet where he must have dropped them as he fell. Biting my lip, I worried that I had just royally screwed myself.

  Tentatively, I started to stretch out my legs. Overhead, sounds continued to rumble and pop, but I was focused solely on those keys. If I could only reach them…

  I extended my leg as far as it would go but only just barely touched the keys. I cursed and tried again, but the toes of my shoes only grazed the slivers of metal. Slouching down in the chair as much as my bound arms would allow, I tried to reach once again.

  I got a little closer, but then I had the issue of getting the keys to me. I quickly realized that I wasn’t going to be able to kick them over. But maybe I can grab them?

  Kicking off my shoes, I reached again. This time, I was able to get my toes on the metal. I gripped them just enough to pull them towards me. “Yes!” My small victory buoyed me. But now the really difficult part came. How was I going to get the damn keys to my hands?

  Since I wasn’t a damn contortionist, it was unlikely that I was going to be able to twist my legs around behind my back. I was going to have to try and throw them to my hands. And I was only going to get one shot.

  Praying for a little luck, I tried to throw the keys with my foot. It ended in disaster.

  I heard the keys as they clanged against the concrete floor, and I winced. There went my only chance. “Shit!”

  Now what?

  Twisting my head around as best I could, I tried to see where they’d landed—not far from the chair. Maybe I could move the chair enough to get to them. I started rocking. Using my freed feet, I pushed the chair back on its legs and began to wiggle-walk towards the keys. The noises upstairs grew louder. Nervousness swamped me. Would they be coming down for me? Was Diego coming back—or another one of his men—this time to succeed where Leo had failed?

  I had to swallow back my fear, but it still made my movements jerky and uncoordinated. I wobbled the chair, then leaned back a little further trying to get my fingers close enough to the ground to gr
ab the keys.

  “C’mon, c’mon!”

  I ended up shifting to the side, balancing on one leg, as I reached for the little pieces of metal. I stretched out my fingers as much as possible, determined to get myself out of this damn mess.

  Just as I felt my fingers brush cold metal, victory within reach, I leaned back just a little too far, and the chair leg gave out from beneath me. With a cry of surprise, I slammed down to the hard concrete floor. I landed on my side, seriously bruising my left arm and shoulder, not to mention slamming the side of my head against the hard floor.

  For a long moment, my head swam in a sea of darkness.

  Oh, that was not good. Really not good. Nausea briefly flooded my system as I tried to breathe and blink away the blackness all at the same time. I groaned.

  I didn’t know for sure how long it took for my vision to clear. When it did, I still felt unsteady. I blinked several times until the room came into clearer focus. That was when I really registered the spots of pain. I told myself they weren’t too bad, but my shoulder felt bruised and sore, and I knew I had a nice little knot on my head.

  Great. I probably have a damn concussion.

  I hoped not and promised myself that I get checked out as soon as I was free of this place, but concussion or not, I didn’t have time to sit around and see if I was feeling okay. I needed to take this opportunity and run with it, fast and hard.

  “Please tell me I didn’t fall past the keys…” I muttered to the empty room.

  I couldn’t turn my head enough to look behind me, so I just started feeling around with my fingers again. Miracle of miracles, I found the keys. My heart leapt into my throat as hope sprung up within my chest. Maybe I would get out of here!

  I fumbled with the keys, dropping them twice. Each time was a stab to my heart. But I continued to struggle until I finally felt the key click into place. One twist and my left hand was free. My eyes widened; I couldn’t believe it. I was actually going to make it.

  Shaking off the cuffs, I jerked my right hand—cuff and all—through the chair so that I could move off of my left shoulder. Free from the chair now, I hurriedly got to my feet. Then I nearly crashed back down when my vision started to swim.

  Concussion, remember? Take it easy.

  I gave myself enough time to take several slow, steady breaths, then I made a break for the door. I didn’t even pause to get my damn shoes.

  Chapter Twenty

  Pax

  “Fucking piece of shit!”

  I fell back to the floor harshly, a grunt leaving my chest in a whoosh of air. The back of my head clunked against the damn floor, but otherwise, I was unharmed. Instantly, I reacted to the hand that had clamped down on my shoulder and dragged me down. I reached up for it, wrapping my own hand around the man’s wrist. Twisting it around awkwardly, I jerked him forward so that he had to fall across my body towards the floor.

  The man slammed down onto the floor with an oomph. I followed through, twisting his wrist harder until he started hollering.

  “Fuck, man!”

  I kept applying pressure until I heard a snap. His screaming increased, louder than before. But even as he screamed, his skin went pale. His voice fumbled, and I heard him mutter something that sounded like “Jesus.” He looked about ready to pass out, but I helped him along in that respect. I cocked back my arm, balled my hand up into a tight fist, and then swung it forward. It made harsh contact with his face, and I felt something break beneath my knuckles.

  His head fell back, and his whole body went limp, motionless.

  “Dick,” I muttered, picking myself up off the floor. I reached my feet just in time to see Diego Huxton coming up from those stairs by the kitchen.

  Guess I’d picked wrong with the second floor, I thought almost idly.

  Even as the thought went through my head, the rest of my body was already reacting to Huxton’ presence. I didn’t want to give that cocksucker even a half a second to get the drop on me. I charged at him, crossing the expanse of the living room quickly as he reached behind him to the waistband of his jeans. I knew he was reaching for a gun, and I knew I couldn’t let him get to it.

  As I raced, seemingly in slow motion, not moving anywhere near fast enough, I saw him pull the gun out from behind his back. Gritting my teeth, I braced for the bullet, hoping that I might still be able to catch him before it went off.

  I didn’t.

  The shot came, and it was instinct alone that saved me. My body dodged to the right as he leveled the barrel at me. A searing pain shot through my arm, but it wasn’t enough to stop me. I slammed into Diego Huxton’ chest, colliding with him, even as he was about to shoot again.

  “Fuck!” he yelled, trying to get the gun pointed at me again as I slammed him into the wall.

  But my hand was already wrapping around his wrist, gripping tightly and shoving it against the wall to keep him from shoving that fucking gun in my face again. He spat at me and cursed, but I ignored him. I shoved his hand against the wall and then again until his fingers spasmed and he released the gun.

  It clattered loudly to the floor, and for a brief second, both of us seemed to think that it would go off. But it didn’t. Now that he was unarmed, I cocked my arm back and readied myself to put him down, just as I’d done his man on the floor, but Huxton took the opportunity and used his free hand to plant against my chest and shove. I stumbled back. The man was strong, and while I thought I was stronger, that didn’t mean he didn’t pose a certain challenge.

  Recovering my balance quickly, I went to charge for him again, but Huxton was already shoving off the wall and diving for the gun. I intercepted him, catching him in the midsection once more, sending us both tumbling to the ground this time. We rolled there, him reaching for the gun and me trying to hold him back. Briefly, I thought of going for either his gun or mine—my Benelli had fallen to the ground as I tangled with the jackass by the stairs—but I didn’t want to give him my back.

  And I admitted it, I wanted to make him bleed with my own two hands.

  We grappled on the floor, him trying for the gun and me trying to just get the better of him. We tumbled and moved until I finally got on top of him. Grabbing at his collar, I yanked my fist back and sent it flying towards his face. He moved his head to the side just as the blow landed, and I ended up doing little more than grazing the edge of his jaw. The rest of my fist continued to the floor beneath him, and that fucking hurt.

  But I didn’t slow down, neither did he.

  Realizing he was going to have to get me the hell off of him to get to his damn gun, he put three quick jabs to my side. He hit a kidney, the impact shooting intense pain up through my body. I groaned and for a second, felt like I couldn’t even move. He shoved me off of him and made another dive for the gun.

  Even dazed, I knew I couldn’t let him get his weapon. I reached out with my hand and snagged his ankle. I jerked him back, causing him to slump forward and catch his chin on the hardwood floor. He spit out blood, probably from biting his tongue, but didn’t stop from going for the gun. He tried to kick me off, jerking his leg in my grip and shoving it back at me. I dodged a kick to the head and jerked at him again.

  The hardwood floor worked in my favor, his clothes sliding easily on the smooth surface. I yanked him away from the gun and then tried my damnedest to get up onto my feet. I made it to my knees and crawled over Huxton, flipping him onto his back. From there, I threw another hard punch, this time making contact with his face. But when I went to hit him again, he caught my fist and bucked me off of him.

  I went down on my back. He scrambled up, once more going for the gun, and I had half a damn moment to think that he was nothing but a chicken-shit, too scared to fight me like a man, desperate to get his damn weapon because he didn’t think he could win without it.

  Then I had to shove the thoughts aside because I had to make sure he didn’t get to that gun. If he did, it wouldn’t matter how much stronger I was.

  My arm and back stin
ging from the grazes of bullets and my kidney still sore, I leapt across the room for the gun in the hopes of reaching it first. We landed at about the same time, one on top of the other, and grappled for the gun. Neither of us were quiet able to reach it, but my fingers grazed the still warm metal of it. It wasn’t enough to grab the gun but it was enough to bat it away. I sent it sailing across the floor to disappear under a piece of antique furniture.

  “You fucking bastard!” yelled Huxton, but we didn’t spend a lot of time chit-chatting.

  He threw a hard kick to my stomach, knocking the wind out of me, then got to his feet. He pulled his leg back to let loose another kick, this time with more force thanks to his standing position. But I rolled away and quickly got my legs beneath me.