Page 35 of StoryTeller's Tale

She kisses so well and fits in my arms. She’s curvaceous and has the type of body that I discovered I like. I love her hair, the colour of her eyes, and her taste in books.

Again, I shake my head, more vigorously this time. I know nothing important about her. If I was looking for a partner in life, I’d want more than eye candy to hang on my arm, and thousands, if not millions of women could have my cock interested. It’s probably easier to list the types that turn me off.

Sheri’s looking at me oddly, and I realise she probably answered my question while I’ve been setting things straight in my head. “I’m sorry?” I sheepishly admit I hadn’t been paying attention.

Her brow furrows. “I just said I’ve never had a relationship that really worked out.”

I glance around, peering up at the ceiling as though it holds the answers. When I hear and see nothing to suggest we’re running out of time, I decide continuing the conversation is better than us just sitting, ruminating about our fate, outcomes I’m unable to influence right at this moment.

I cross my legs at the ankles and get as comfortable as I can. “What do you expect from your relationships?” I wait to hear her tell me about her requirements for the white picket fence, the man with the good job, fancy car, and ability to support her and the two-point-four kids I’m sure she’ll think they should have.

Her brows have drawn down, and she bites at her lip. Her mouth quirks as she starts. “Well, for one thing, I don’t want someone who thinks they should control what I think or what I do. I’m a person in my own right, not a possession.”

“Is that a dig at the ol’ lady label?” I know there’s a twinkle in my eyes as I ask.

She’s straight off the mark. “I don’t want to be anyone’s property. I have my own thoughts and ideas. I don’t want to be someone’s little woman. I want a partner, someone to be by my side, not walking in front or behind me. I don’t want to be tied to the kitchen, nor have kids hanging on my apron strings. I want to have fun.”

“And what’s your idea of fun?” I raise a brow toward her.

She sighs deep and gives a charming self-deprecating smile. “I read a lot.”

“You go out with friends? Party?”

Not wanting to meet my eyes, she looks down at her hands. “I kind of keep to myself.”

“By choice?” I press, interested.

“Of course.” But the way she refuses to meet my eye suggests circumstances have forced the way she lives upon her.

Something clenches inside as I realise I’d love to see her truly happy, hear her laughing, and watch her smile. “You ever want to get some excitement in your life?”

Her attention comes back to me. “Of what type?”

I chuckle softly. “Babe, you just went to a massive signing of motorcycle club books. I’ll take a leap and suggest you like what you’re reading. Ever think of being in the starring role yourself?” She catches my eye, flushes red, then quickly looks away.Oh yeah, she does.“You dream of riding on a back of a bike? Heading off into the sunset? You dream of a biker sweeping you away?”

Her deepening blush shows I’m right on the money. I start to grin, but a closed look comes into her eyes.

She pulls her shoulders straight and her voice sounds prim. “I think I’ll forgo any fantasies I might ever have had about bikers. Now I’ve met them for real, going forward, I think I’ll steer clear of any coming my way.”

I don’t blame her, but something inside me wants to show her that not all bikers are like the Dominators, and some might even have her best interests at heart. A strange desire to break her out of her shell and show her some real-life excitement start to fill my mind.

She seems deep in thought, so I pause my questions for now, even though she intrigues me, and I want to know more about her.

Minutes pass, the voice in my ear is silent, but the basement is full of sound, mainly women weeping. As something else comes to my mind, I open my mouth to ask her, but before I can speak, heavy footsteps sound on the stairs.

Immediately I stand, my hand going for the gun in my cut, but of course neither are there. Nor is the spare in my ankle holster, or my knife that I keep on my belt.

I’m completely helpless and I hate it.

Especially as it’s Knuckles who’s first through the door, with Tats and Fang following closely.

There’s the soft swishing sound as all the women move to the rear of their cages. There’s a collective indrawn sigh as if all are holding their breath, worrying who’s now going to be taken and used, or worse, whether their time is up, and the Dominators will be moving their captives on to their buyers now.

Even I feel uneasy though my fear isn’t as great as theirs. How could it be? I’m not going to be raped. I might have death coming for me, but I’ve long been prepared for that fate.

My shoulders draw back as Knuckles makes a determined line straight for our cage.

Keeping my worry off my face, I cockily tilt my head.

---