Page 11 of Tracked By Hound

“The ladies downstairs made it.”

“Ladies?” I ask, trying to play it off, but I find curiosity clawing at my chest, half terrified of his answer. “I didn’t know the Steel Rebels had women in the club.”

“We don’t,” he says, stopping at the window and drawing the curtains to allow in sunlight. “Barely any women apply to be a prospect for our club. They seem to prefer the all-female MC further south. Ever heard of the Iron Lilies?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“It’s an all-female club in Springfield. One of the largest in the state.”

“Huh,” I muse, and as intriguing as it is to learn about this particular subject, I find my mind wandering to the initial point. “So, uh, what about the ‘ladies’ downstairs? They’re not… OhGod, taking women and holding them here as collateral isn’t a common thing for the club, is it?”

“No.” He chuckles, the first sign of humor on his face since I woke up, and I find that I love the deep sound of his laugh. “They’re members’ partners—girlfriends and wives.”

“You guys have…wives?”

This time, he laughs fully. The sound starts low in his chest, a rumble that vibrates through the air. His head tilts back slightly, exposing the strong line of his jaw as he lets loose. The sound makes my stomach flutter and a strange warmth spread through me. I watch as his whole face changes, eyes crinkle at the corners, that hard steel softening and sparkling with amusement.

God, he’s beautiful. A sight so magnificent I am robbed of the ability to think, breathe, or do anything but…stare.

“Contrary to what most people think, bikers are not nomads. Quite the opposite. We settle down, marry, and have kids.”

“And do you want that too?” I blurt out. “A wife and kids?”

The laughter dies from his face, and there’s a sudden shift. The warmth in his eyes slips away, and I want to take my words back. Anything to bring the light back to his expression, but I see him shut down. Shut me out.

What’s wrong? I want to ask. I question what soft spot I unknowingly poked, but I know I will not get an answer from the man. Before I can say something else, he nods toward the tray of food. “You should eat that before it gets cold.”

“Will you join me?”

“It’s all yours,” he says, his voice neutral, creating more distance between us. A part of me wants to climb off the bed andwalk to the man who's standing at the other end of the room. Uncertainty over whether my actions would be welcome is what keeps me glued in place.

I nearly laugh at my own thoughts. I’m not exactly on a honeymoon, now am I? Less than a day ago, this man nearly shot and killed my brother. I’m here, not as a guest or a girlfriend, I think bitterly, but as collateral. It’s best if I don’t forget that.

Still, I find myself wanting to be close to him.

A dull ache settles in my chest as I attempt to remind myself of my place here. Sure, he indulged me last night, but that doesn’t exactly have to mean anything. It was special to me because it was my first kiss, but Hound probably has a revolving door of gorgeous women. They probably bump into each other as they come and go from his place in droves. A man like this, built like a woman’s wet dream, could have his pick, so why would I think myself special?

The sadness begins to morph into resentment and perhaps a little bit of jealousy. The urge to pull the covers up to my chin and turn my back on him is strong, but I refuse to mope. I need to call my brother and assure him that I’m fine, and my manager to let him know I haven’t been kidnapped on my way to work or anything crazy like that. Well, not exactly anyway.

“Is it okay if I contact my brother?” I ask, my voice with a little bite in it, but I can’t exactly push the thought of other women in bed with Hound out of my mind. Up until a few hours ago, I did not know of his existence, and now, after a kiss and a mind-blowing orgasm, the man has somehow imprinted on my mind.

Get a hold of yourself, Chelsea!

And yet, when he turns around at my question and those stormy gray eyes land on me again, I find my body craving his touch. Which only serves to frustrate me further. “You’re not a prisoner here, Chelsea. You can contact your brother anytime you want.”

We both know that’s not true. At least the first part of his statement, but I don’t mention that as I reach for the nightstand and grab my phone. I expect Hound to stand guard and listen in on the call to make sure my brother and I aren’t concocting a plan to break me out of here, but he excuses himself, giving me privacy.

I stare at his broad back until it disappears and the door closes softly behind him. With a sigh, I dial my brother’s number. Ransom answers on the first ring, his panicked voice breaking through the speaker and nearly splitting my eardrum.

“CJ, are you okay?”

I pull the phone from my ear before he can do any permanent damage to it and put him on speaker. “I’m fine, Ransom,” I say, climbing off the bed and heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

“Did that monster touch you? I swear to God if—”

“No,” I cut in, cheeks flaming at the memory of Hound gripping my butt and rubbing his manhood against my sex, the friction working wonders for clit. But it wasn’t just sex, there was intimacy, those gray eyes heated as they locked on mine, threatening to take me apart and then put me back together.

And Christ, I would have let him.

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