On the Run (Big Mike and Minnie Book 1)

by Kelly, Susan Amanda

  “Was your mother owned?” He stabbed a finger into the air to make his point.

  Her mother had been a hellion. The stories her father told about her seemed to be more about him trying to keep up with his wife, than contain her. “No, but-“

  “Minnie, bikers might call their women their property but it’s not the same as ownership.”

  “You’re delivering me to my brother as a favor.” Her fingers fumbled to re-button her jeans. “You’re returning me to my owners. You’ve granted me a week of freedom before you let them lock me up. Forever. They’ll never let me come back here.”

  “Minnie, I’d come and fetch you. Once this is over and it’s safe in New York for you, I’d-“

  “I’m not swapping one jailor for another. Anyway, you’d look ridiculous in the front row at the Fashion Week shows,” she finished, as if that settled it.

  “What the hell is Fashion Week?” he raised his voice for the first time, his frustration evident.

  “Exactly,” she said.

  He opened his mouth as if to speak but then shut it.

  “I need to get back to the hotel. I have a date with a pop star to make myself pretty for.”

  “The hell you do-“

  “We made a deal, Big Mike. Or didn’t we?” Between them lay the knowledge that her father and brother lied to her about their reason for not wanting her to return to New York. Was Big Mike a liar too?

  Big Mike’s face was impassive, but Minnie spotted a tiny tic at the corner of his eye and his jaw was clenched.

  “Buckle up,” he said. The van engine sputtered to life.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Big Mike looked down at his fork. He contemplated using the utensil to kill Minnie’s handsome pop star date, Fable. This evening was a PR stunt, not a date, he reminded himself, and stabbed at a heart-shaped radish in his overpriced salad. It skittered off his plate onto the floor.

  Big Mike addressed his dinner companion, Evan. “What’s wrong with a vegetable looking like a vegetable?”

  Evan nodded. “I hear you, man.” Evan was Fable’s bodyguard. Big Mike and Evan were seated at the table nearest Minnie and Fable. Ringside seats. The waiter had lit the candle in front of Big Mike and had suggested the Love Platter For Two. He and Evan had nodded in chorus, when they discovered that the itemized list of the Love Platter boasted ‘two enormous, man-sized steaks’. Heart-shaped steaks. As requested, Big Mike’s steak was rare and bleeding on his plate. Big Mike sliced off a chunk and chewed on it. Excellent steak. He also couldn’t fault his dinner companion — Evan was a nice guy. He had served in the army and had some sensible opinions on maintaining Kalashnikovs. But watching the two lovebirds — fake or real — at the next table gave Big Mike heartburn.

  Brooding, he looked across at Fable and Minnie. Minnie quickly averted her eyes from him and laughed at something Fable said. Minnie’s frequent, furtive glances were the only thing that kept Big Mike in his seat. That, and the knowledge that if he knocked Fable out, picked Minnie up, used a tablecloth to cover up all of the bare skin she was flaunting, and carried her off to his borrowed van to finish what they started, he would be proving her point about bikers. Ex-bikers.

  Fable lifted Minnie’s hand to his mouth. He pressed a kiss on each of her knuckles. She looked at Fable like he had just invented fire. A camera flash popped. Fable and Minnie were a photogenic couple, both glossy and golden with vivid blue eyes. These photographs would force Graham Fother’s photographs off center stage. Fable’s tongue flicked out over Minnie’s knuckle. She simpered. Big Mike pushed his plate away. He’d had enough of watching this pretty, blonde boy who looked barely old enough for the peach-fuzz on his cheeks, molest his woman. His woman. Christ, he was thinking of her the way an outlaw biker would. The sudden realization that he had no intention of leaving New York and Minnie, hit him. His woman. Big Mike slumped back in his seat.

  Evan masticated on his salad. “Not hungry?” he said.

  Big Mike picked up his fork again. “How can you work for someone who doesn’t use a surname?” He was going to be spending this night buried balls-deep inside his woman. He hung on to that thought.

  “Yeah, he’s a real douche. But he pays well. When Uncle Sam gives you a pink slip, you gotta find a way to put food on the table.” Evan forked a celery heart into his mouth. Big Mike guessed Evan’s trip home would involve a stop for a drive-thru burger and fries. It would take a lot of calories to fuel that bulk. Evan was shorter than him, but wider. The width maybe owed too much to fat and not enough to muscle, but Big Mike couldn’t fault the way Evan’s eyes continually scanned the restaurant, alert for any danger to his client. He wasn’t privy to Big Mike’s homicidal thoughts else he’d identify Big Mike as the most immediate threat to Fable.

  “It gets worse,” Evan said, jerking his head in Fable and Minnie’s direction.

  “How?” This evening couldn’t get any worse.

  “About now, Fable always sings to his date. Their panties practically peel themselves off.”

  Big Mike’s fork bent under the pressure of his fingers.

  On cue, Fable started to warble. Big Mike recognized the song — he had heard it in an elevator earlier in the day.

  Big Mike took his napkin off his lap and crumpled it onto the table. He dropped a bunch of bills on the table. “Evan, it’s been a pleasure. Dinner is on me. Feel free to eat my dessert when it arrives. My guess is it’s heart-shaped.”

  “No doubt.” Evan nodded, his eyes knowing, “It’s not a good idea to mix business and pleasure, friend.”

  Fable hit a high note. Big Mike pushed his chair back and stood.

  Minnie saw him coming. Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath. It was probably a preamble to a lecture. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to sit through another moment of this. And he wasn’t behaving like an outlaw biker. An outlaw biker would bend her over the table and fuck her in front of her date to make it real clear who she belonged to. No, he was going to extract her from the restaurant and then bend her over.

  “Up! We’re leaving,” he said to Minnie.

  “Eh?” Minnie’s eyes skittered about, looking for a threat. He was the threat.

  He took her arm and lifted her to her feet. Minnie grabbed at her bag, a spangly red clutch that matched the dress she was almost wearing. There was more fabric in the bag than the dress.

  Fable stopped singing and scrabbled to his feet, “But, but… you haven’t heard the chorus yet.”

  “A security emergency,” Big Mike said curtly, suppressing the urge to punch his pretty face.

  Big Mike frog-marched Minnie through the restaurant.

  “Call me,” Fable yelled after them.

  “Only if you want him dead,” Big Mike said to Minnie. She had to scamper to keep up with him. She was wearing impractical shoes, again.

  She was unusually subdued all of the way to the elevator and even when he bundled her into it. The interior of the elevator was clad in copper, their reflections blurring and melding in the sheets of metal. You couldn’t see their faces properly in the metal, only that he was wearing dark pants and a white shirt, and she was wearing a flame red dress that sparkled when she moved.

  “There is no security emergency, is there?” she said, looking up at him. One of her straps slid off her shoulder so her dress dipped over the plump fullness of her breasts. Big Mike pushed the strap back in place. During dinner, he had watched those sparkly straps slip off first one shoulder and as soon as she pushed it back in place, then the other. Minnie faced him. “This is high-handed, biker behavior, Big Mike. I should be angry.”

  I don’t give a damn.

  She sighed. “But Fable is so dull. Grammy blah… blah… blah. Top ten blah… blah… blah. International tour blah… blah… blah. My eyes were practically rolling back in my head.”

  “You were listening to him like there was going to be a test afterwards,” he said, backing her up against the elevator wall.

  “He’s
perfect for me,” she said. “Like Leonard. Perfect for me.” Her hand came up to rest on his chest. “But only on paper.”

  He picked her up and kissed her. He kissed her because he was angry and aroused and frustrated and he wanted to taste her again but he kissed her mostly because it would have been easier to stop breathing than not kiss her. She didn’t push him away. Her arms wrapped around his neck. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Her mouth opened under his. She ate at his mouth, as hungry for him as he was for her. He pressed her against the elevator wall. His mind short-circuited. The ride down was a blur of heat and skin.

  Ding.

  When the elevator door slid open, he felt as if he were swimming up from deep water. Minnie’s spangly, red dress was bunched around her waist. Her breasts were bare, the nipples sweetly puckered and wet from his tongue. His hands cupped her ass under flimsy panties. Her panties had not peeled themselves off for Fable but they would for him. Soon. As soon as he got this damn door shut.

  Ding. That noise meant the elevator door was open. That noise meant they had reached the foyer. The foyer of a hotel. The busy foyer of a hotel. He moved to block her from view, the gesture instinctive. But he was too late. A flash lit up the inside of the elevator, turning the copper walls to gold.

  He watched horror dawn over Minnie’s face, her synapses firing just a little slower than his. Sweet Heaven, he realized her hand was down the front of his pants. He loved that. There was another flash. Her expression morphed into panic. Still using his body to block her from view, he stabbed blindly at the button behind him. The door slid shut.

  The press had just gotten a photograph of Minerva Coolidge, half-naked, with her hand down his pants.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no,” Minnie heard. Then she realized she was the one saying it. The elevator doors slid shut and the elevator started to descend to the parking garage.

  “It’ll be okay,” Big Mike said. He was still holding her up against the elevator wall. Her legs were still wrapped around him, her ankles hooked behind his buttocks.

  “Don’t tell me it’ll be okay,” she yelled. “Those photographs will be all over the internet within half an hour. They’re worse than Graham Fother’s photographs.”

  “Unh,” he said, his eyes half-closing. “Your hand… Minnie.”

  She realized her hand was buried down the front of his pants, curled around an enormous erection and she was squeezing it. She snatched her hand away. His belt buckle clattered. Omigod, she had undone his pants in an elevator.

  “Put me down,” she said, striving for calm. His hands were cupping her ass, his fingers under the lacy material of her panties. “Oh no, oh no, oh no. I’m wearing Delilah’s Intrigue panties. There’s a ‘morals’ clause in the contract I signed with them. I can’t do anything to tarnish their brand.” Why did she care if people could see the label on her underwear? Everybody would be distracted by the sight of her rooting in Big Mike’s pants.

  “Down. Now,” she said, dropping her legs from around his waist and slapping at the muscled arms that held her up so easily. “I can’t think with your… you pressed against me.”

  He set her down, carefully. He stuffed his white shirt back into his pants and fastened his belt with quick efficient movements but his eyes were fixed on her bare breasts. He looked… starved. His broad cheekbones were flushed. His eyes glittered. His mouth was moist from hers. He stood too close to her.

  “Stop looking at me,” she said, hauling her dress up and tying knots in the broken shoulder straps. “I can’t think. Step back. I can’t breathe with you looming over me,” looking at me like I’m oxygen and you’re suffocating. “We need to take a deep breath and calm down.”

  The elevator doors slid open. Big Mike stepped in front of her, facing outward, his bulk hiding her from view. She resisted the urge to slap the back of his head. It was a little late to be thinking about her modesty. The barn door was open and everything in the barn right down to the last weevil, had bolted.

  “It’s deserted,” he said. “C’mon. The van is on the level below, but we’re better off walking down to it. We don’t want to risk being caught in the elevator together by a photographer when the doors open.” He took her hand in his. His hand was huge. It engulfed hers. She didn’t know why she was holding his hand other than that her heels were really high and he was walking fast. Her heels tapped a staccato beat on the concrete.

  “I have to call my agent. She’ll know what to do,” Minnie said.

  “Call from the van,” he said.

  “We can salvage this.” Her mind veered wildly from one improbable solution to another. “I fainted. You were resuscitating me.”

  “Through your breasts?”

  “We need solutions, not smart comments,” she said. Her mind flashed back to the feel of his mouth on her breasts and she yanked it away.

  “There’s no mistaking what we were doing in that elevator,” Big Mike said.

  “I was pictured having dinner with Fable, minutes before,” she wailed.

  “I guess he’s not going to expect your call.” The words were smug and final.

  “We can tell people that you were overcome by my beauty. I’m very beautiful. You lost control-”

  He stopped. “You want to tell people you weren’t a willing participant?”

  “No, not explicitly. This is damage control. We only have to hint it.”

  “Damnit, Minnie!” He ran his hand over his bald head. “How do you explain your hand wrapped around my cock?”

  “There is no need to be vulgar about this,” she said, her cheeks heating. “I’m trying to find a way out of this. For both of us.”

  “I don’t need a way out of this. It’s simple. You’re my woman. We got carried away in an elevator.”

  “I’m not your woman.”

  “So call it ‘dating’ then. A term that civilians understand.”

  A civilian was a derogatory term outlaw bikers used for anyone who lived within society’s laws. “We’re not dating!”

  “Your choice,” he said and shrugged. “But family folk might be judgmental if they read, over their breakfast Cheerios, that we were strangers who met in the elevator and then you put your hand down my pants.”

  “I want to wear the Delilah’s Intrigue Dream Bustier,” she wailed. “They only want you to look like a slut in their underwear. They don’t actually want to put a slut in it! They’re not going to give the Dream Bustier to some ho who everyone thinks is doing a celebrity and her bodyguard. In the same night. In public.” She groaned. “I’ve dreamed about that bustier for the last year. I’ve worked so hard. Today is the first day I’ve skipped a workout. I’m so sick of kale. Do you know how many times I’ve skipped dessert in the last year?”

  “No.”

  “Every time,” she said. “I now wish I had eaten every crumb I turned down. My career is over. I might as well go home to California. The only work I’m going to be offered is in porn movies.”

  He reeled her in, using her tethered hand to draw her into his arms. She went. She had no idea why she wasn’t kicking and spitting, but she dropped her head against his broad chest and let strong arms enfold her. He nuzzled the top of her head. “It was hard watching Fable paw you and not hurting him.” He kissed the top of her head.

  She sighed and nestled closer. He was so warm and solid. “Michael, what am I going to do?” Minnie said, her words muffled.

  “I have a believable story for you. Tell everyone that we used to date. We broke up. You went out with Fable on the rebound. Tonight, I persuaded you to give me another shot. It explains Graham Fother’s pictures and the pictures in the elevator.”

  She pulled out of his hold far enough so she could lean back and look up at his face. “That’s not bad. We can spin this. You felt your life had no meaning without me in it. Readers will understand when they see pictures of me next to you. You begged me to try to put together the tattered shreds of our relationship ag
ain. You started drinking heavily. I felt sorry for you-”

  A tiny, vertical line appeared between his eyes. “Leave me with a shred of dignity-”

  She shushed him. “We’ll need to give an interview. One of the big papers. And an influential blogger. You’ll need a suit or something that will cover you up. I don’t want anyone asking questions about bikers so you can’t let anyone see your tatts.” She pulled out of his arms, rummaging in her clutch bag for her phone. “My agent should be able to find out who buys the pictures — it’ll be a single large bidder. It always is. My agent can persuade them to delay printing or posting the pictures in exchange for an interview. We might even be able to persuade them to print the less damning ones.” If any of them were less damning. Her phone rang as she pulled it out. She looked at the incoming number. She almost dropped it.

  “Oh no, it’s Daddy.” Her eyes met Big Mike’s. “He can’t have seen those pictures yet, can he?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Minnie stood frozen, her ringing phone in her hand. Big Mike reached for it but she turned her shoulder, protecting it with her body. He was displaying typical high-handed, take-charge, outlaw biker behavior. “You put your hand down a man’s pants and the next thing, he’s answering your phone.” That didn’t quite come out how she intended.

  “So answer it,” Big Mike said. He leaned back against one of the thick, white pillars supporting the low ceiling. He looked past her, scanning their surrounds, more from habit than any expectation of a threat, she assumed.

  She connected the call, steeling herself in case the conversation was going to be about her and Big Mike behaving like two horny teenagers in public. “Daddy?”

  “Minnie? Angel, tell me you’re safe,” his voice was hoarse.

  Relief. That didn’t sound like an over-protective father who had just seen photographs of his daughter rutting in public. “I’m fine.”

  “I want you on the next flight back home,” Daddy said.