Page 1 of Never Distract a Biker

Prologue

Scarlett

My breath hitches, and without a second thought, I bolt. The door to my bedroom slams shut behind me, and I drag my dresser to barricade it. My heart pounds like a war drum as I make a beeline for the remaining wads of cash hidden under my bed. I know it’s foolish not to head straight for the window, but I need this money to survive. Especially since I don’t even know why I’m being chased.

I’ve just returned home from my mother's funeral, my heart heavy with grief. The day had been emotionally draining, and all I wanted was to collapse into my bed and let the tears flow. But as I stepped into my apartment, exhaustion turned to shock. The once-cozy space has been trashed, with furniture overturned and belongings strewn across the floor. Just as I turned to stepback into the hall, a wall in the form of a man blocked my path. Without thinking, I dashed to my bedroom; my mind fixated on the leftover cash under my bed.

They’ve already gotten to it. Panic sets my heart hammering. It has to be under the bed. Nights of stripping and dangling from a pole can’t have been for nothing. The floorboards are cold against my palms as I shove my hand deeper. But dread coils in my stomach when my desperate search yields nothing.

"Please, please," I whisper, ignoring the banging on my room door. But the space under the bed mocks me. My hands shake, and my breath comes in short gasps. It’s gone—all of it, every penny.

"Are you looking for this?" A voice grates like gravel down my already frayed nerves. I jerk upright to see another strange man holding my bag of cash. He kicks the dresser aside with alarming ease, and his colleague enters the room.

The men, with muscles like mountains and faces meant for shadows, look unruffled. My grief is momentarily swallowed by fear. They loom in the doorway—two towers of muscle and menace, their features grim and unreadable. Power radiates from their broad frames, and the air thickens with threat.

"Hello, Electra, there’s nowhere to run."

Shit! They know my stage name.

The knowledge that these men traced me from the strip club chills my spine.

"Who are you?" I choke out, backing up until the wall presses cold against my back. My eyes dart between them, seeking answers in their stony faces. No flicker of sympathy, no hint of humanity. Just cold, hard strangers in my ravaged home.

"Wrong question," the one on the left says, his voice dark as the abyss. His partner remains silent like an ominous statue. They look like they could snap me like a twig without a second thought.

Fear ignites my veins, and I lunge for the window. But they’re faster, their bulk a shadow that engulfs me. Arms like steel bands wrap around me, hoisting me into the air as if I weigh nothing. The rough fabric of a facecloth scratches against my skin; its chemical stench invades my nostrils, turning the world hazy and indistinct. My mouth opens in a silent scream, lungs burning for air that won’t come. Darkness creeps at the edge of my vision, swallowing me whole as I lose consciousness.

Consciousness returns to me in fragments, accompanied by a throbbing pain in my head. The musty scent of my environment is foreign, sharp, and uninviting. My mind spins as I blink away the fog clouding my sight. Shadows morph into shapes, then into the stark reality that I am tied to a chair.

"You’re awake. Good." One of my kidnappers speaks in a heavy accent, his tone void of warmth.

“I’ll get thePakhan,”the other says, leaving the room.

Fear and the reality that I’ve been drugged and brought here send me into a frenzy. I start tugging on the ropes restraining me. These men could do away with me, and no one in this cold world would notice my absence.

My mind shoots to the little life growing within me, and I struggle even harder. What effect would the drug have on my innocent child?

“Well, hello, Electra.” A new voice, somehow even harder than the first two, greets me as its owner enters the room.

I raise my head to scream, but the sound dies in my throat.

It’s him.

The stranger who took my virginity and fucked my brains out in a car park. The man I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since that night—even as guilt and shame clouded my memories of him. The man who left a hundred thousand dollars in my locker.

This must be a fucking nightmare or a joke, but no one is laughing.

There, staring down at me with deep blue eyes, is the man whose touch had set my skin ablaze. Now, those same eyes watch me with an intensity and animosity that sends ice coursing through my veins.

Terror knots my stomach as he steps closer. "Who are you? And what do you want?" The question claws its way out before I can shut up.

He doesn’t answer immediately; he just sits and watches me with those unnervingly familiar eyes. When it feels like I am about to burst from the uneasiness, he opens his mouth.

“I’ll ask the questions,” he says calmly, yet the dread in his voice screams at my face. “And you are going to tell me who you truly are and who you work for.”

“But you know where I worked,” I say, my voice quivering.

“Worked?”

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