Page 14 of Rider Daddies
“Yeah?”
“Do you regret it?”
“Uh, yes,” I force myself to stay. “Totally regret it. Biggest regret of my life.”
Ryder continues staring at me, the smirk starting to disappear from his face. Silence stretches between us but our eyes stay connected. I don’t particularly know what the deal is here, but there must be a reason why these guys are living out in the desert, miles away from civilization. As a lawyer, I’m technically allowed to raise this issue with government officials, but I don’t want to do that. Not unless they piss me off, anyway.
I don’t feel good about lying to them about my name last night, but I didn’t have much choice. My career at Gardener Legislation & Co. might be no more since Tristan is senior management there, but there are tons of other law firms. I’m not about to jeopardize my career by getting my name tangled up with outlaw bikers.
So I don’t feel bad about lying.
They lied to me too, about all of this being lawful. Nothing screams legitimacy quite like sharp knives and sex on the tables.
The door flies open, revealing Ash and Saint. They come to an abrupt stop in the doorway, surveying Ryder and me. Tension between them is high. They’re definitely competing for me. Last night, I got the feeling that they wanted me to pick one of them. But how the fuck am I supposed to do that when they’re all equal amounts of handsome?
I don’t care how greedy it is. I want all three.
“What are you two assholes doing here?” Ryder says, turning around to them.
“We came to check on Lacey,” Ash says. “I’m not surprised you got here first.”
Saint crosses his arms over his broad chest. “We also came to tell you that the morning meeting is about to start.”
I wave them goodbye and watch them all walk out, asses round in tight denim jeans.
As I sit back into the bed, their footsteps fade down the corridor. I finish the coffee and set the mug on the nightstand, jumping up. Maybe I should get out of here. Escape while I still can. Other women were present last night at the party. Were they here by choice, or did the bikers drug them and force them here? I wonder if they were once normal women like me with jobs. My stomach turns. I already lost Tristan, plus the life I had mapped out in my head. I can’t afford to lose myactuallife too. They haveknives.What other weapons do they keep stored here? Rifles? Shotguns?
It’s best that I get out of here, while I still have a choice…
But I don’t want to go. Not yet.
The distant chatter falls silent in the main room as their leader begins his speech. Instead of pushing up the window, making an escape, I take the coffee mug and flip it, pressing it against the wall. I stick my ear next to it, listening.
“…runaway bride from last night will have to remain here.”
“That should give everybody time to have a good go on her.”
There’s a flit of laughter, but it’s quickly stamped out by the scraping of a table leg.
“I’ll chop your fucking hand off and shove it into that hole in your face.”
“Simmer down, gents,” continues the speaker. “You know how it is with outsiders. As innocent as the woman probably is, we can’t be having our clubhouse name getting out onto the streets of Vegas. One slipup is all it takes.”
My pulse increases. Shit. It’s one thing to not want to leave, but another to be told you can’t. I’m about to take the mug away from the wall, but another topic is brought up.
“As for Manual Lombardi, rumor has it he’s still on the loose.”
“We haven’t heard a wink from him in the past six months,” informs another man. “I was under the impression that law enforcement ended up catching him.”
“I know,” says the leader. “I was also under this impression. But I have reason to believe he’s still perusing through the streets of Vegas, making his way out to smaller, isolated towns to areas that are less policed.”
The conversation then moves on to the latest operations. Positions, etcetera. I listen closely as they talk about fleets.About other things I don’t understand. They must have struck deals with people. Clients. People who turn to them for help. It sounds to me like their main service is helping people to dispose of their dirty laundry.
When the speaker finishes up the meeting, I spring back to my original position on the bed, coffee mug back on the nightstand. Footsteps in the hall grow louder. God. Why is it that when you need to act casual, your body responds awkwardly? I throw a stiff leg over the other, posture way straighter than it needs to be.
The door opens again, revealing the brothers.
I give them a smile. Judging by their reactions, I think what I actually give them is a grimace. “Hi.”
