Page 25 of Wild Ride

He’s hot as shit.

But the sight of him doesn’t scare me. Instead, it sends me into a blind rage. What the actual fuck? Glancing over to the door, I frown at the sight of the still-closed and locked door.

“Know the girl at the counter,” Bullet announces, no doubt noticing the way I’m staring at the door in complete confusion.

Shifting my attention back to his, I cross my arms over my chest, trying to hide the fact that I’m not wearing a bra as I wait for him to explain to me exactly what the fuck he’s doing here. I watch as he slides his tongue along his bottom lip. Unfortunately, it’s hot as hell, so I’m forced to clench my thighs together at the sight.

My betraying body is starting to take over my brain… again. As much as I try to fight it, I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to, not with both of us in this room… with a bed—alone. We didn’t do it in a bed last time, and now I’m thinking of all the fun ways for him to do me in that bed, ways that I can’t even imagine properly because I don’t know enough about sex.

God.

I hate myself instantly.

As if he doesn’t even recognize my internal struggles, he continues speaking. “Need to have a conversation about a few things with you before you show up for lunch and meet everyone.”

My head snaps up and my eyes meet his. Parting my lips, I can’t help but wonder how the hell he knew that I was invited to said meeting, lunch, whatever it’s called, with the rest of the crew. He chuckles, and his gaze dances before he continues. As if he knows exactly what he does to me.

Which he probably does. It’s not like I hid the way I wanted him, the way he made me feel. I couldn’t even if I tried. Not earlier today and especially not after I’ve had him inside of me. I want it again. My brain knows it’s bad, but my body is stupid as hell because I want him so badly that I can’t even see straight.

“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice coming out barely above a whisper—traitor voice.

“Need to talk to you,” he states, then dips his chin toward the end of the bed.

I almost laugh at his suggestion for me to sit anywhere on that bed with him. There is no way I can do that and not touch him, not feel him, not kiss him. At the very least, I won’t be able to concentrate on anything he’s saying.

Instead of laughing or sitting on the bed, I walk over to the little table and chairs where the box is resting on the tabletop, tug a chair out, face it toward the bed, and slowly sink down. I don’t cross my legs even though I’m itching to. Instead, I keep my arms crossed over my chest and watch him.

“Talk,” I state.

I’m trying really hard to stay pissed off at him while wanting him inside of me all at the same time. I’m not sure how well it’sworking, especially since he is smirking at me like he can read my whole mind, every dirty detail of it.

BULLET

I try not to point out the fact that I know she wants to ride my cock. But it’s really hard not to say something when she’s looking at me from across the room, her nipples hard beneath her tank and her thighs clenched together, no doubt because her pussy is aching for me.

“One of our guys, Piggy, did a little digging into your cult,” I begin. “Seems it’s not just about helping one another, peace, love, and fucking.”

To her credit, Dakota’s brows snap together, and what I can only describe as confusion washes over her face. I give her a moment to think about what I’ve just said, but her expression doesn’t change. It’s clear she has no goddamn clue what I’m talking about, and if she’s acting, she needs to go to Hollywood right fucking now because she’s that good.

“I’m not sure what you’re saying. I mean, they had to have a business of some kind because I worked in the office filing papers.”

I snort. “Yeah, well, they were in the business of skin,” I mutter. “Young skin.”

She shakes her head, her lips parting before she snaps them closed again, then reopens them before she speaks. “I don’t understand.”

“There a lot of young girls around there, babe? More than young men?”

Her eyes search my face, but I don’t think she’s really seeing me. She’s thinking, cataloging every woman part of that sick andtwisted man and his following. She’s thinking of every single woman there, and then her eyes meet mine.

“There were a lot of women there, but they all seemed to want to be there,” she whispers. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I shift so that I’m sitting on the edge, my feet on the floor. Resting my elbows on my thighs, I turn my head until my eyes find hers and hold them for a moment before I speak.

“I’m telling you that he’s been taking young girls and turning them out.”

Her confused expression doesn’t change as she continues to stare at me. “Prostitutes, babe. Although I don’t think you can refer to turning out a kid as prostitution. I think it’s just trafficking.”

“Kids?” she asks.

---