MINE: Fury Riders MC

by Sophia Gray

  My gaze wandered to the front of the car. I saw a cellphone sitting in the middle console and a cross charm hanging from the rearview mirror. The passenger seat was empty, but there might have been something underneath. Not that I was in any position to check or ask.

  Slumping back, I resigned myself to waiting. Whatever I was going to try to do to get myself out of this, it wasn’t going to be from inside this car. There was nothing to work with unless I was hoping they’d look at the porno magazine together and distract themselves long enough for me to run off. And I didn’t think that was going to happen anytime soon.

  Sighing, I tried to stay calm. And I tried not to think about Ciaran.

  How he’d been running towards me, like he really did care.

  How he’d been shot in the back.

  How he’d gone down, blood pooling around his body.

  I clenched my eyes shut tightly. So much for not thinking about him. Letting my head lean back on the leather seat, I took a deep breath to calm myself and remembered I was sure it was the arm or the leg. He was shot somewhere where he’d definitely survive.

  I was sure of it.

  …

  Eventually, the car ride came to an end. We drove through the city and out the other side it seemed, because when we pulled off the highway it was onto an old road that didn’t look like it was very well maintained. The snow had been cleared, but not by the state, it didn’t look like, but rather some big truck with a plow attached to the front.

  The road was bumpy and I jerked my arm to the door to brace myself. The sudden movement caught the attention of my unfriendly guard. “Easy, sweetheart,” he warned in a low and deadly voice, pulling the gun higher as though to emphasize its presence.

  Like I needed emphasis.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, then felt angry with myself for apologizing. Really, who the hell was he that I had to apologize to him?

  The man with the gun, my mind supplied dryly.

  I forced myself to look away from the gun and out the window in the hopes that I would see something to indicate where we are. Mostly, I just saw wilderness. As the bumpy road continued to toss us around carelessly, I looked ahead to spot the place we were probably headed. I was surprised to find it was a log cabin, not so unlike the one Ciaran and I had shared.

  We drove a ways still until the car finally came to a stop around the back of the cabin. The lights were glowing from inside the building, but I couldn’t see any people or movement to indicate someone was home. I was sure, of course, there was. This one wouldn’t be deserted like the one I’d found for Ciaran and myself.

  The driver got out first. His door opened, letting a quick, chilling breeze sweep through the car to take away what the heater had left inside. I shivered, then the man with the gun made a motion for me to move. “Go on, let’s get a move on,” he said in a snide tone that I didn’t like now any more than I’d liked the first time I’d heard it.

  The door opened on my side, sending another wave of frost through me. The driver had opened my door for me. How sweet. I glanced back at him, then at the gun. With a sigh, I did as I was told and slid across the seat until I could get out of the car.

  The snow wasn’t too bad here. Probably it had been cleared away on and off over the course of the storm, because I could walk through it without too much difficulty.

  We approached the back of the cabin, the guy with the gun behind me and the driver walking just ahead to lead me. He opened the door, then motioned for me to come inside. I couldn’t deny the warmth radiating from the cabin appealed to me, but that was just about all that appealed to me.

  The cabin was much bigger than the little resort one I’d found a few days ago. It looked more like a lodge complete with elk heads mounted on the walls and a bear skin rug. There was a large fire going in the main room, which was large and open. There was a couch facing it and two adjacent chairs, their backs to the staircase that led to the upper level. It looked like there might be a basement, too, but I really didn’t get a good look.

  There was a kitchen that was separated by a breakfast bar complete with stools and it was large enough that three or four people could cook in it comfortably.

  Better than I would ever be used to.

  There was a hall along the kitchen and adjacent to the stairs that looked like it led to more rooms, but we walked right past it to join the only man who was in the living room. He was an attractive man, I supposed, but I didn’t feel any pull towards him. Not like Ciaran. If anything, there was something evil that seemed to waft off of him like a bad smell.

  Evil’s too strong a word, I told myself, but it was the only one I could come up with.

  “Please, sit,” he commanded when he spotted me. His eyes glinted and he smiled like I was his favorite guest. Which, under the circumstances, maybe I was, though I hardly considered myself a guest. Guests could leave. It was pretty damn clear I couldn’t.

  All the same, I obeyed orders. I tucked my dress beneath me, then sat in one of the two vacant chairs. I could have sat beside the man who’d spoken, but I valued my life and didn’t want to push my luck. He grinned at me as though he had read my mind and knew exactly what I was thinking. It didn’t make me exactly like him.

  I cleared my throat, but didn’t say anything. I couldn’t force words up my throat and out from between my lips, so I just sat there silently waiting for him to…do something.

  We sat in tense silence for a while, then finally he spoke. “Do you know who I am?” he inquired, his voice calm, almost even happy, though there was clearly something off about it.

  I shook my head. I had some guesses, but I’d never seen this man before in my life.

  He nodded as though not surprised. “Of course. I don’t know if Ciaran’s told you about me or not, but I suppose a polite host should introduce himself, shouldn’t he?” The man smiled broadly and offered his hand. I eyed it suspiciously, unwilling to take it. He laughed a little at my apprehension. “Oh, c’mon honey. My skin isn’t poison.”

  Only because I was in his house and there was a man behind me with a gun, I reached for his hand. It felt clammy but warm, and I shook quickly before jerking my hand back to me. His left slower, but he seemed unconcerned with my reluctance to shake. Like he knew I was scared of him and liked it.

  Bastard, I thought.

  “My name is Shane McCarthy.”

  He said the name as though it was supposed to mean something to me. Which it did, but for no other reason than Ciaran had told me about him. He was the man who had given the order to kill Ciaran’s mother—or at the very least okayed the action. More than that, he hadn’t even cared that it was his own mother, too.

  He said that damn name like it was something to be proud of. But it wasn’t. Feared, maybe, but not proud.

  Something in my expression must have showed, because Shane’s smile lengthened. “Ah, then you do recognize the name.”

  I had decided to keep my mouth shut and await help or rescue or something, but for some reason I couldn’t resist saying, “Yeah. Ciaran told me all about you. About how you’re a monster.”

  Instead of looking offended by my comment, he looked almost amused by it. Like he was pleased I had said it and maybe had even been hoping I’d been told as much. The thought sent a chill through me. What sort of man hoped people knew he was a monster? The same sort of animal that killed his own mother, I thought grimly. It was a terrible thought, but it did well to remind me of what sort of man I was dealing with.

  “Is that what he said?” Shane asked lightly.

  I snapped my mouth shut and folded my arms across my chest. It occurred to me that maybe I’d had it right the first time when I decided not to talk. I’d clearly fucked that up pretty quickly, but I could start now.

  He didn’t seem in the least bit miffed by my sudden silence. All he did was shrug at it. “It’s okay. I’m sure my dear brother—did he tell you that? That we’re brothers? Regardless, I’m sure my brother told you all about my
faults. My shortcomings. My monstrosity.” The whole time he spoke it was with a calm, casual tone that said he wasn’t concerned about any of this. If anything, he seemed pretty content with the whole situation. “But I don’t suppose he mentioned any of his own, did he?”

  I grit my teeth to keep from responding. I sensed that he was trying to goad me into talking, into saying something I might regret, but I wasn’t going to do it. I bottled up whatever answers I might have had and waited as patiently as I could for him to continue speaking.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  “How about him murdering my man, did he tell you that?”

  Yes, as a matter of fact he did, I thought proudly. I felt a little better knowing the thing Shane was going to try to use against me wouldn’t work because Ciaran had already trusted me enough to mention it. It made me feel stronger, more secure about it.

  Maybe Shane sensed that pride in me or read it in my face, because his grin widened. “Oh, he did, didn’t he?”

  I looked away, because I was tired of how easily he seemed able to read me. Instead, I stared at the flames licking at the wood in the fireplace. It was something alive to focus on, something moving and distracting, and hopefully it would keep Shane from reading my face like an open book.

  “Did he tell you it was a trap? An ambush? That I set him up?” Shane asked these questions with what could have been sympathy. Like maybe he was expecting me to confirm Ciaran had told me these things.

  And he had. I glanced at him, a frown forming on my face. This was the wrong thing to do, because Shane grinned wider still.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said, mock sadness filling his tone. “And I understand. Really, I do. You’re a beautiful woman and I know how my brother feels about beautiful women.”

  A trickle of cold was beginning to work its way through my body. I didn’t want to think about what he meant about that. Just how many women had he been with? And did it matter? He’d already just as much as admitted he didn’t love me. What more of an answer did I need than silence?

  It doesn’t matter what he thinks about beautiful women. He protected me, and I know what kind of man he is. He isn’t the kind of man who would kill someone if he had another choice.

  I pushed away that trickle of cold doubt and told myself I wouldn’t be swayed. I wouldn’t care what this asshole said because I knew he for sure was a monster. I had proof of that. Everything else was just hearsay and more than likely an attempt to turn me against Ciaran. And I wouldn’t let that happen.

  “He wants you to think he’s some sort of hero, you know,” Shane continued, oblivious to my internal debate as well as my ultimate decision on the matter. “He wants you to think he’s the good guy in all of this, but he’s not. He’s as much of a monster as any of us. You think his little club doesn’t do illegal things? You think he’s never broken the law? You obviously know he’s already killed. What makes you think my man Macalister was the only one?”

  He let those words sink in and I did my best to push them aside. I shook my head and refused to take the bait, but now it seemed like Shane was getting upset with me for not listening. For not following through with however his little mind had played out this scenario. No doubt in that vision I was in tears, sobbing about how I had been so wrong.

  Well, not today or any other day.

  Maybe Ciaran had killed people before. But I couldn’t believe he’d done it in cold blood. I wouldn’t believe that. Because the man I’d come to know was kind and warm, if a little rough around the edges. He was the kind of man who loved his mother and who took no pleasure in killing a man. But he took a lot of pleasure in making love to a woman.

  Can you call it making love when only one side is in love? I wondered unwillingly.

  Forcibly, I shoved that thought aside. I reminded myself that Ciaran had done his best to take care of me and he didn’t have to do that. I couldn’t hold it against him for not falling for me as I’d fallen for him.

  Shane stood angrily and stomped over to me. He leaned down so he was hovering over me, his face pressed up close against mine. Not quite touching, but close enough that I could smell his breath and feel it on my face. “Did he tell you he was the good brother? The favorite? Did he tell you he was the hero? Did he tell you Macalister was an accident? Well, let me tell you something, sweetheart, he lied. He lied through his teeth. He’s as much of a monster as I am. Can’t live the same streets and end up different. It doesn’t happen.”

  I couldn’t help the shudder that ran through me. Everything about Shane was wrong. And strangely enough, that was the only thing comforting about all of this. I could feel how wrong Shane was. I could feel how much I didn’t like him, didn’t trust him. And I felt the exact opposite for Ciaran. For him, I felt trust and warmth.

  No. He wasn’t a monster as Shane claimed. He was a man. A good man whom I trusted. I wouldn’t be swayed by this jealous, psychotic man.

  Taking a breath as though to calm himself, he pulled away from me. I was instantly relieved. He smoothed back his hair, then put on a fake smile that was evidently supposed to make me think he didn’t care about any of this.

  “I guess you want to know why you’re still alive?” he finally asked, sounding almost breathless.

  I was sticking to my no speaking guns, but I didn’t have to answer it seemed. He was all about the monologue and answering his own questions without the least bit of prompting from me, and I was happy to let him do it. The longer he wasted blathering away the longer I had to…

  To what? I realized shakily.

  I didn’t have a plan.

  I didn’t know how to get out of here—and there were the two guys from earlier by the door. I didn’t know where I would go and how far I would get even if I could get out of the cabin.

  And there was no one coming to rescue me.

  My shoulders slumped a little at that knowledge. I was screwed. There was no way I was getting out of this. The knowledge weighed heavily on me and it was nearly enough to make me cry. Ironically enough, it was Shane’s next words that had me perking up and gave me hope.

  “You’re alive because I need you as bait,” he told me. He’d gone back to his seat, but seemed to decide he was too worked up to sit down, because he ended up pacing between the couch and the fireplace over and over again. “You see, I want my brother dead. Really dead. And if I can shake up a few of his boys and send them running my way, well, that’ll be a good bonus. But mostly I want Ciaran dead, and I want to see him suffer. Do you know how you make a man like Ciaran suffer? You steal something important to him. So that’s what I did.”

  I almost pointed out that if Ciaran was truly the monster Shane was claiming him to be, then he wouldn’t be the kind of man to come running to save some girl’s life, but I was too stuck on what he said.

  Was I really important to Ciaran?

  I’d spent this whole trip here, this whole experience, being positive that Ciaran wasn’t coming for me. And not just that, but that I wasn’t important to him. Was it possible I was wrong?

  Don’t get your hopes up, a little voice in my head warned me. And it was right. After all, what sort of weight did a madman like Shane really hold? I’d already decided most of what he’d been rambling about tonight was a lie, why should this be any different?

  Yet I wanted it to be different. More than anything, I wanted this to be different.

  “Why did you kill that woman last night?” I found myself blurting, even as I promised myself to stay silent. I winced as soon as I said it, because he hadn’t killed that woman himself, but also because I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know I’d seen it. Or how much it had affected me.

  But it was too late for that. He stopped pacing and swiveled around to face me. His eyes narrowed a fraction and his lips tugged down into a frown, but just as quickly as it came, both tiny movements were gone. His face was calm, almost serene all over again. He smiled at me and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Who?” he inquired ch
eerily. When I didn’t answer, he supplied for me, “Mrs. Sullivan, then?”

  I didn’t have to confirm it; we both knew who I was talking about.

  He let out a sigh, then shrugged his shoulders, as though he regretted it, but not really. It was the sort of regret you felt when you got a hole in a sweater you sort of liked, but hardly wore. It wasn’t important, but it upset you a little bit. Not even upset, but irritated. As though this was a minor inconvenience and ultimately you were going to have to go and get another sweater. But that was the only reason you were bothered.

  And this was the woman who had raised him.

  “Sorry about that,” he told me. There wasn’t anything close to sincerity in his voice. “But the woman was business. Just business. That’s the price you pay for being involved with the likes of us. Surely you’ve come to realize that by now?”