Page 81 of The Biker's Brother

When Edge’s dad had sent him to Brant, he’d been delighted to find his way to the SSMC and thought he was going to live the life of a one percenter. But under Brant’s leadership, the club was becoming a legitimate enterprise, a network of businesses run by people who just happened to ride bikes.

Hobbyists. The word sounded vile even inside Edge’s brain. They’d become hobby riders and he’d never had the chance to pursue the life he was born for. Until Michaels had sent a guy to recruit him.

Edge was going to end up with as much money as the club made in a year, just for doing what he’d love to do for free.

The door wasn’t locked. Bitch must be feeling right at home.

Cami didn’t hear Edge come in. She’d dozed off and, even though the music was down the hall, it was still loud enough to block out ordinary sounds. Like footsteps.

She woke when the pillow was jerked out from under her head. The guy named Edge, the one who was just naturally repulsive, was bending over her, his face just inches from hers. He smelled like stale cigarettes and sour milk.

“Hey there, beauty. Your husband has a message for you. He says to tell you it’s not about the money.”

The lamp gave off enough light to see the look on his face and it told Cami all she needed to know. The guy was there to kill her.

He knew the moment she registered what was happening, and relished the fear in her eyes. It was a major turn on. And if he wasn’t in a hurry, he’d have had some real fun with her.

When she tried to sit up, he moved fast, pressing her back down with the pillow over her face. At the same time he straddled her body to hold her in place.

Her muffled screams weren’t heard by anybody but her. She fought to get free but the guy was stronger than he looked. Her legs were useless since he was sitting on them. She didn’t even know if she’d managed to scratch him through his clothes, but her efforts hadn’t resulted in any change in the pressure being applied to the pillow. Her nails had been cut short as part of her makeover.

When her lungs started burning because of lack of air, her body convulsed, trying desperately to find oxygen. Her useless screams were coupled with tears, but somehow, in the midst of that, she managed to regret that she was going to die without that kiss.

When the last of the guys had christened Brandon’s new cut with slaps on the back, he looked around, again, for Cami.

As a few people had gravitated back inside, to the bar, Rita had returned to her station. When Brandon couldn’t spot Cami outside, he went in.

“You seen Cami around?” he asked Rita.

She shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Might be in her room.”

Brand headed down the hall. He knocked, but there was no answer. Realizing that she might not have heard because of the music, he opened the door.

Just in time.

Cami felt the sudden absence of Edge and the pillow simultaneously. He’d left his position, sitting on top of her, as quickly as if he’d been jerked away. When she first tried to inhale, nothing happened. Her lungs and throat seemed to have stopped working. But after several agonizing moments while her heartbeat thundered in her ears, she heard a sound accompanying air being quickly drawn over vocal cords.

That was followed by her body involuntarily squeezing air out and dragging it back in. After several repetitions her mind began to clear so that she could process something besides a desire to live. When she was breathing normally again, or close enough, she looked around.

Brandon had Edge on the floor next to the bed and was beating the man with his bare fists. Blood had splattered on his face, but neither that nor the look of rage detracted from his beauty. To her it made him even more the bigger-than-life guardian angel who kept her safe, who’d saved her from Trey Michaels at least twice. Maybe more that she didn’t even know about, because he’d been smart, and dedicated, and resourceful, and committed.

She sat up and tried to speak.

“Brandon.” Her voice sounded like a crow’s whisper. “You’re going to kill him.”

Brand stopped long enough to look over at her. He’d been so outraged that the weasel on the floor under him would put his hands on Cami. He couldn’t even get his brain to process that Edge wanted to kill her. But that was exactly what had happened.

Thank God…

He looked at her beautiful face. Her eyes were wide and haunted-looking, her mascara smeared around her eyes.

Dragging his gaze away, he pressed his fingers to Edge’s throat. “Too late,” he said simply.

There was no pulse. Brandon had pounded Edge with so much force, one of the blows had driven nose cartilage up into his brain. No doubt that was what had caused blood to spray all over his face and clothes.

“He’s dead?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Brandon said, failing to give a shit. “But you’re not.”

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