by Brook Wilder
She moved out of the greenhouse and towards the truck, almost full and ready for shipment. It was a big, seventeen-foot moving truck that had been repurposed with the Honey Bud Farm logo. While it showed plenty signs of wear, it didn’t matter, as long as it got her away from here. Carla walked back to where the final bags of dried and processed plant were stacked against the side of the house that held the office. She heard a raised voice and paused.
“Damn it, Eric. What the hell is wrong with you! You knew there was a shipment due to be delivered today!” Maurice’s angry shouts were easily heard from where Carla was working just outside the open window to the office. Nervously, she crossed her fingers, and prayed her plan would work.
“What do you mean it wasn’t posted on the schedule? It has to go out today, you asshole. I don’t care if you’re camping in the middle of god-damned nowhere, just get here. Now!”
There was another long stretch of silence before she heard Maurice slam the receiver down. A moment later, he stormed out of the front door, his face beet red with anger and sweat drenching his face as he mumbled under his breath.
“Hey, Maurice, is everything okay?” she asked, desperately trying to keep her voice normal, all the while hating to even bring his attention to where she still stood on the side of the house. He turned to her, his eyes automatically swept over her body and, as he spoke, the words were directed more at her breasts than at her.
“Fucking Eric. He says he can’t deliver this shipment but it has to leave today. We’re on a tight schedule,” the last words were almost a shout as he swept a meaty hand over his face, wiping away some of the sweat but not all. Carla took a deep, fortifying breath. Now was her chance. It was now or never.
“Maybe, uh…maybe I could deliver it?” she said as nonchalantly as she could. “I’ve driven a truck before,” she lied through her teeth and kept her eyes on the knot she was trying to tie in the bag in front of her, praying that he would believe her, that he wouldn’t see the way her hands trembled.
Maurice stared at her for a long time, one of his eyebrows arched doubtfully and she wished he would say something, anything as her heart rate doubled, and then tripled, pounding like a race horse in her chest.
“Fine. Here, take it.” He tossed her the truck keys and she fumbled at them, barely catching them. “The address of the dispensary is in the truck. Just deliver it and come straight back,” his gaze changed, his dark eyes heating as they stayed glued to her breasts, “You still have other work to do.”
His tone left her no doubt that she had no interest in the kind of ‘work’ he was talking about and she hastily grabbed the last of the shipment, loaded it in, and locked the back before she scrambled into the cabin of the truck.
She sat for a moment, looking at the unfamiliar dash, but it seemed simple enough, just like a regular car. She adjusted the mirrors and almost jumped when she could see Maurice, just standing there watching the truck with his beady eyes. It took several tries but she finally got the key in the ignition and started the rumbling engine.It was loud and clanking for a moment before it settled into a steady hum. She put the truck into gear and sighed in relief as it started moving easily down the long driveway.
In ten minutes, the farm was lost to view and she made her mind stay blank until she had pulled safely onto the highway and was rolling steadily down the right-most lane. Only then did the thoughts clamoring inside her burst to the front and she was almost overwhelmed at the fact that it was actually happening. She was actually doing it. But what was she going to do now?
She knew someone south of Denver, a friend of her cousins, who dealt marijuana, so maybe she could get a hold of him? Carla had wracked her brain and that was the only idea she’d been able to come up with in the short amount of time. She prayed she would be able to come up with something better over the next few days, because the last thing she wanted to do was go back to Honey Bud Farm, and Maurice.
Carla had only been on the highway for a scant twenty minutes before she saw something small that was moving slowly into her lane. Way too slow. She was on it almost before she had time to brake and the screech that accompanied her foot slamming down was almost deafening. She slowed down barely in time to see that it was a motorcycle going almost thirty miles under the speed limit, and Carla gave a massive sigh of relief that she hadn’t hit him.
The driver was big, bulky in a way that spoke of serious muscles under the black patch covered leather jacket he wore. His helmet obscured his face but she could see the long hair that hung out of the bottom. There were words, a logo of some sort, emblazoned across the back of the jacket, but she wasn’t close enough to read them, and she didn’t want to be.
She quickly flicked her turn signal on, needing to switch lanes to get around the slow moving rider, but a glance out of her side view mirror showed four more bikers blocking the lane to the left, and several more behind. What the hell?
Carla gnawed at her bottom lip in worry. She’d heard of other farms that had been robbed of their shipments but had never imagined it happening to her. Fear and panic had her frozen behind the wheel but as several more motorcycles joined the one in front of her, she didn’t have much of a choice. She slowed the truck down, her mind working fervently to try and think of a way out of this, but she was surrounded.
Inch by reluctant inch, they forced her closer and closer the side of the road and, as the big wheels hit gravel and started to slide out, she knew she had to break or risk losing control of the big truck altogether. She was covered in sweat and shook uncontrollably as she hit the brake and slowly came to a screeching halt. Her hands were glued to the steering wheel and her mind reeled with what they would do to her.
Before she had any time to conjure up more scenarios, each worse than the last, the driver’s side door was flung open and she found herself staring into eyes so grey they were almost silver. He held out a hand to her, and she could feel her body move of its own accord.
What the fuck are you doing, Carla! her mind shouted at her, but her hand paid no attention. It still slid into his, curling into his palm as his warm, callused fingers closed around hers and tugged her lightly towards him.
Time slowed for an infinitesimal moment as he grasped her by the hips and helped her down from the too tall cabin of the truck. He slowly let her slide down the front of his body and Carla couldn’t help but notice the hardness of his chest, the ridges of his abs beneath the soft black t-shirt he wore under his open leather jacket. Her breath caught in her lungs as her heart began to race once more, not in fear, but from something altogether different.
He led her by the hand to the side of the road, away from any oncoming traffic, even though at this time of day she hadn’t seen another car since she left the farm.
“Just stay right here, and you won’t get hurt, okay?” his voice was deep, and rough, rumbling like the engine of one of the motorcycles, and it helped to soothe her in ways she didn’t understand. She stood there, nodding slightly, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He grabbed her chin and tilted her face up to meet his, and, at her height of five four, it was a long way to look. He must have been over six feet and everything about him shouted pure male.
His features were sharp, from his jawline to his nose, slightly crooked from being broken more than once, it looked like. Under dark slashing eyebrows, his eyes, more grey than silver now, swirled like storm clouds. It was a fighter’s face, a warrior’s face. Everything except his lips. They were soft and full, almost too full compared to the hardness of the rest of him, but so sensual that it was impossible for Carla to look away.
“I need to know you understand, that you’re not gonna try and pull some crazy shit and get someone, or yourself, hurt. Promise me you’ll stay here, that you won’t move. Give me your word,” his tone was rougher now and her eyes jumped from his lips to his eyes, flashing silver again as they caught the morning sunlight and held it. Slowly, she nodded her head, wondering at the bad ass biker that seemed to put so m
uch store in her word.
“I promise,” she whispered softly, and as she said the words she knew she meant them. She would stay right there, just like she said she would and he nodded before walking away, back towards the truck, as if he’d never expected anything else.
Carla sighed in dismay as she watched them open the back and cheer at the fortune in weed tucked safely inside. She watched them take her only chance at freedom, at escaping Maurice, but she kept her promise, and she stayed.
Chapter 3
Joel looked over the haul with approval. This was their biggest score yet and, with the market hungry after the dry spell of winter, it was sure to go for big bucks after they smuggled it across state lines. It had been an easy job, easier than some of the gang’s past hits where trucks had gone so far as to have armed guards to protect their cargo. He felt a twinge of guilt as he thought of Viper. The last job had gotten him a hole through his arm and he’d been pissed that Joel had kept him sidelined for this job. But as VP of the Dirty Cruisers, his orders had weight and when Carrigan, their president, backed his decision, Viper didn’t have a choice.
He knew it hadn’t been his fault, but when his men got hurt, he took it personally. He was the lead out on these jobs, and they were his responsibility. The thought had his gaze swinging once more to the delicious looking creature still planted exactly where he’d put her half an hour ago. She hadn’t move a single step, keeping true to her word, and something about that had warmth firing through him. He was dominant, always had been, always would be, and there was something about the girl that had all his cylinders firing. He wasn’t sure if it was the submissive way she followed his orders, or the strength that constantly shone in her sapphire blue eyes, even despite the fear she let show in the way her hands had trembled in his.
He shook it off and turned his attention back to the task at hand, but it was damn hard. Harder than it should have been. But even still, he could see her, that long, mink colored hair tied back in a braid, with soft tendrils floating loose to frame her face, a perfect oval. The freckles that danced across her pale skin, like soldiers marching from one cheek, across her straight nose, to the other. Dark brows arched above those eyes, so blue he’d been lost for a moment when he’d first swung open the door to the truck, and felt the fear in them hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.
Joel might have been the youngest VP ever of the Dirty Cruisers biker gang, and was known for his ruthlessness and no holds barred attitude, but he couldn’t stand the thought of someone hurting a woman. The idea of someone beating up a woman just because they could, of hurting someone weaker than them, made him clench his fists in rage. He would give women pleasure, give them the ride of their life, and then leave the next day without a second glance, but he made damn sure they both knew the score from the first.
There had been a few instances when he’d first joined, rising through the ranks quickly, when a few of the members had thought to get a little too rough with their ladies. Joel had put an end to that quickly and mercilessly, leaving one man in the hospital, but the rest of the gang had gotten the picture real quick. He wouldn’t stand for that shit, and despite their rough reputation, most of the men in the gang felt the same way. They had their own moral code, and they lived by it. It was the only way it worked, the only way they could survive.
“Hey, Joel, we’ve got everything tagged and bagged. We’re almost ready to head out,” Tucker’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and Joel looked up at the big man as he approached, his step slow and measured, just like everything else about him. He was a giant, at six foot seven he was taller than Joel even, and about twice as wide, he’d had to rip the sleeves from his leather just to wear it and the vest still pulled tight across his wide frame. He wasn’t fat, not by any means, just big. He’d grown up self-conscious about his size, and he’d learned to be cautious with his movements, as well as his words, thinking through everything before acting. It was a rare trait in the biker gang world, where most were fueled more by instinct that reason, and it was why he was Joel’s second hand man. He trusted Tucker implicitly.
“Okay. Good. I don’t want to spend any more fucking time here. It’s too open. Anyone could drive by.”
Tucker nodded once, moving as if to turn back to the truck but then stopped and gestured with his head in the direction of the girl, who still hadn’t moved.
“What about her?”
“What about her?” Joel asked, repeating Tucker’s question and the man just shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Are we just gonna leave her out here, all by herself?” Despite his looks, Tucker was about as soft hearted as they come and Joel just clapped him on the side of his arm. It was like hitting a rock wall.
“Don’t worry. Someone will come by and she’ll be able to hitchhike back.” Tucker eyed him dubiously and he sighed, “Don’t worry, Tuck. I’ll take care of it.”
Satisfied, Tucker turned around and walked ponderously back to the truck to oversee that last bit of inventory and then lock the truck up again after storing his bike inside. Tucker would drive the shipment to the clubhouse that was tucked away on a secluded stretch of highway that wound around the mountain range surrounding Denver. He didn’t trust anyone else to do it, because even thought Tucker was a softy when it came to some things, Joel wouldn’t bet against him in a fight. Tucker could throw a punch with the best of them and Joel had seen him drop a two hundred and fifty pound man with a single blow.
Joel watched as the truck pulled away, shooting gravel out behind it as it pulled out onto the road, surrounded by a convoy of bikers to make sure it arrived safe and sound to the clubhouse. Excitement pumped through him. It was a bigger score than even he had hoped for and it would bring a pretty penny in for the gang.
As the sound of the bike’s engines faded to a distant drone, he walked over to where his bike was parked--the only one left--and swung a leg over.
“Hey! Hey, you!” a feminine voice called out and it tugged at him, pulling him towards her despite himself. He rode the bike slowly over to where she was still standing, still unmoved, and that strange heat fired through him again. Joel wondered if she would behave as well in the bedroom and the thought had an image rising in his mind instantly. An image of her body, all curves and softness, naked and wrapped around him as he told her to bend over, as he commanded her body to bring them both pleasure.
“Hey, guy!” she yelled again, and he could see the nerves in her blue gaze, the uncertainty in the way her shoulders hunched, making her tiny frame seem even smaller, even more delicate.
“It’s not ‘guy’,” he snorted as he pulled the bike up short in front of her. He held out one hand, and she stared at it in confusion. Joel jutted his hand towards her again and arched a dark brow at her questioning look. “Give me your phone.”
“What? Why?” she said, stammering slightly at his command and his body tightened, every muscle tense and his brain calling out to show her, to teach her how to follow his demands without question, to give her a punishment that would leave them both out of breath and full of pleasure. A punishment she would enjoy. He felt his body harden painfully at the thought and cursed under his breath, reigning in his instinct, trying to get himself back in control. There was just something about the curvy brunette that had his dominant side going wild. He wasn’t sure if it was those big blue eyes that looked innocent, and at the same time challenging, or the lush pout of her lips, slightly open and just begging for a taste of something sweet. Joel barely held back the groan. What the hell? He was acting like a randy teenager with his first lay.
He was usually more in control than this. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d reacted to a woman so intensely. It wasn’t that he didn’t get action. He got plenty. Because of his looks, or his position in the club, there was always a woman or two willing to get between the sheets with him. Or against the wall. Or, his personal favorite, in the special harness he’d fabricated that gave him total access while keeping h
is willing victim restrained.
The picture of this girl tied up and open, dripping her honey on his hand and begging for him to fuck her exploded in his mind and he took a shaky breath. Shit.
Get a hold of yourself, Joel.
The feel of her tentative touch brought him crashing back and it took him a moment to remember that he’d asked for her phone. She placed it in his hand like an animal wary of a trap. Oh, she had no idea.
“What’s your name?” he asked roughly as he took the phone and opened it. There wasn’t a passcode or anything on it and the screen came to life as he scrolled to her contacts.
“Carla,” she whispered, her blue eyes so big they seemed to drown out the rest of her features and he had to tear his gaze away and back to the phone as he punched in his name and number, and hit save before tossing it back. She caught it in fumbling hands and stared at him again with the look of a lost child. He shook his head, knowing that he shouldn’t, but he was unable to stop the words from spilling out of his mouth.