Page 9 of Biker's Babygirl

“Hey!” I call out, not caring about being quiet any longer. “Wait up, kid!”

But the boy doesn’t heed my direction, and in fact, sprints in the opposite direction.

Shit. This kid is trying to fucking kill me. For a second—which is just about all the time I have to debate it—I consider giving up. But then I discard the thought and change directions too, charging with all my strength.

He suddenly comes to a complete stop and I almost barrel straight into him. I’m able to put the brakes on just in time to stop a collision, which only makes my anger surge higher. I can tell by the heat on the nape of my neck that I’m probably beet-red as I glare at him.

He at least has the sense to look ashamed.

Good. He should be.

“Listen, Mister?—”

“No, you listen,” I snap, my patience worn past its breaking point. “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing skipping school and playing in these woods, but there are dangerous creatures in these parts?—”

“You have no idea,” he mumbles.

I glare hotly until the young man presses his mouth into a thin line and drops his gaze. “It’s bad enough you made me chase you through these woods, now you’re gonna sass me, too? I have half a mind to take my belt off and teach you some manners.” It was an idle threat, of course—I don’t believe in spanking children. But I pack enough growl behind the words to make it sound like it wasn’t.

“Ah, listen, Mister, I know I shouldn’t have run?—”

“You’re damn right you shouldn’t have!”

My words must be getting through, because the kid drags his sneaker across the ground, staring at the forest floor. “I just?—”

Right at that moment, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my gut clenches. One of the first things you truly learn in the service is to trust your gut. It’s a lesson that’s only been reinforced by my time in the medical field. I reach over and put my hand over the kid’s mouth and when the boy looks up, surprised, I put a finger to my lips. When he nods his understanding, I remove my hand.

But it’s too late. In mere moments, I hear growling, and then an angry, snarling coyote is standing right in front of us.

Shit.

Ginny

“It’s fine,” I whisper, mostly trying to reassure myself. “You brought a gun, right?”

“It’s back with the others.”

I groan, which he must have taken as criticism.

“Hey! If I hadn’t had to chase you all over these god-forsaken woods...”

But I don’t answer because it doesn’t matter. Technically speaking, if he hadn’t come, I wouldn’t have run away, but then again, if I hadn’t been in the woods in the first place, I would be dead.

Looks like I’m dead no matter what I do,I think with a sudden sad pang of realization.It’s just meant to be. Maybe I can make it so that this nice man—I’m sure he is a nice man, even though he yelled at me and threated to spank me—doesn’t have to die, too.

But before the beginnings of a plan can form in my head, the man faces the animal. It is snarling, showing large, sharpwhite teeth as it growls. Muscle Man assumes the same posture, hunching over and snarling back at it.

“What... what are you doing?” I ask weakly.

He doesn’t answer. He raises his tone to growl louder at the wild animal, who tenses at the confrontation.

“You’re... you’re crazy,” I offer again, at the same time wondering if I should make another run for it.

But if I do that... will the wild animal chase me? Or will he take the man instead? Because, let’s face it, there’s no way he wins this and comes out alive.

I feel an odd twist of guilt in my gut at the thought of abandoning him, but even so, what else could I do? There’s no way I’m going to imitate him and pretend to be an animal!

Muscle Man is crouching now, his muscles tensing threateningly toward the animal as he snarls and growls.

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