Page 32 of Dirty Salvation

Rider Marinos might present a mean image to those who didn't know him, their opinions and whispered rumors were not wrong about, he'd buried more men than he could count, but he was never black or white, his moral compass was surrounded by murky underhanded gray areas.

The biker with a heart was probably going too far. But he did care. Hecareda fucking lot for Zara, he was realizing with startling clarity that stung his chest.

Hadn't he always. He'd just buried it.

Now she was here. And he was caring too much as if it was the first time all over again.

She'd plagued many of his dreams over the years. He'd wanted her, taken her and discarded her in a fucked-up way because he was too pussy to admit he liked a woman for more reasons than just a simple fast fuck.

As if reminded of the last time his dick had been wet by her it kicked to life behind his zipper demanding the same wet warm attention, making him crave her again. Grinding the heel of one hand on his crotch to calm the ache Rider took another long gulp of the whiskey, it's familiar burn racing to his gut.

Dick ignored.

Fantasies ignored.

He was a filthy bastard without an ounce of good intentions picturing her in his shower. Imagining the slow rivulets of water sluicing down over her naked body. She would be using his soap, the unscented white bar that sat on the shower ledge, a strange possessive sensation swept over him.

She'd smell like him.

Fucks sake. He pressed the heel of his hand against his zipper again, telling that hardening bastard to shut up.

He was sat chicking out over his past one nighter.

If he looked down to see he was growing a pussy, he wouldn't be surprised.

He pushed Zara out of his mind for the moment, choosing instead to take up drinking professionally, at least for the next hour.

Now wasn’t the time to try and recall the exact sound she made when she came underneath him or how her pussy sucked him in, drowned him in blissful heat.

She’d however, done something more impactful for him than provide him with a few moments’ worth of dirty fantasies of old.

She’d pressed home the urgency of their situation.

And it wastheirsnow. Not just a vendetta club-to-club.

That shit-for-brains Hades had performed something to warrant Rider's utmost attention. He would hunt that bastard to the ends of the earth, he would make him his only goal in life, to bring death to his door in the most painful of ways, to shove justice for Zara so far down his throat Hades' would shit it out even as he hurtled his sorry ass into Hell.

Forty-five minutes later, Rider was outside his room, swaying in his heavy-duty leather boots, effects of his fast drinking session taking full hold of him when he rested his shoulder to the doorframe to stay upright, thumbs hooked into the waist of his jeans trying to talk himself out of going inside.

After more than half bottle of whiskey, a whole shit ton of sexual fantasies and murderous thoughts later he was no clearer on the new shitstorm.

Advice from his VP would be to dump her at a local woman’s shelter and let her dice fall where they may.

Fuck. That.

He’d scraped the girl off once before against his own wants, and somehow, she was then led into the hands of monsters.

Three years. God fucking damn it.Three years.

He only made the same mistake once.

His room was cast in near complete darkness except for the shine of the moon from the one window that didn’t have a curtain only a broken roller blind that was stuck midway, he’d been meaning to have it changed, but not on his list of priorities Rider had left it to hang broken, now he was reluctantly thankful he didn’t when the light hit his bed perfectly to show how Zara was sleeping with the covers buried essentially masking her face.

Had the light bothered her? Some reason that had him frowning.

Closing the door with a quiet click, he toed off his boots, picked up both and carried them over by the tv, under his arm he carried a lone pillow and a dark gray wool blanket, the kind you get in jail only less itchy. He fucking hated those jail blankets, he was sure they kept them so as no one got any sleep down in lockup.

Cops were sadistic motherfuckers.

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