Page 44 of Rider Daddies
I kneel up on the seat and take a look out the window, my heart sinking when I see nothing but darkness. No headlights. No movement. Nothing.
I sink back into the seat, wanting to crawl into the leather and never return. This man is dangerous, the bikers are well aware of this, yet they’re not doing anything about it. They’re not chasing me. There’s no urgency.
Because it’s not worth it to forfeit the club.
I shut my eyes, a sharp pain cutting through my chest. It hurts more than the pain in my elbow.
Manual was right. They might pretend to care, but at the end of the day, they always choose themselves.
They might go far to get laid, but they’re not gonna risk their brotherhood. Their words were empty. They were just trying to charm me into the bedroom.
But can I blame them? When I first entered the club, there might as well have been a big red flag pitched outside in the sand wafting back and forth.
I knew this was going to be trouble.
But I entered anyway.
I didn’t trust them, not once, so I’m unsure why I’m getting so hung up over the situation. I shouldn’t be getting mad at them, but for some reason, I’m fucking seething. The blood running through my veins feels more like lava, my entire body burning up, both from painandanger.
Porca puttanas, the lot of them.
Would it have changed things if their names were inked into my butt cheek?
Probably not.
I clench my eyes shut. This is my fault. I should have escaped. I was never imprisoned, not really—the doors were unlocked. I had many chances to leave and get away, but I chose to stay just because I wanted a good, regrettable fuck to set me straight again.
But it’s their fault for being so effortlessly charming.
I take another look out the back window.
Nope.
Not a soul out there for miles.
Face it—nobody was ever coming to save me.
Men are predictable. The more I get involved with, the more my belief is proven to be true. They only look out for themselves in this world. Whether it’s their lust or how much cash they can get their hands on, everything is rooted in selfishness.
It’s a man’s world, and I’m just living in it.
I’ll be the first to prove that wrong.
Game on, Manual. Give me everything you’ve got.
What doesn’t kill you makes you fucking stronger.
8
LUCIA
Manual and Tristanmight not be the end of me, but this sickening mildew will be if I don’t get my ass into gear and escape this hellhole.
Except, I don’t have full control over my muscles. Not yet. I open my eyes and take a better look at my surroundings. Everything is black. The walls, the carpet…everything.
Or is that just because I can’t see?
It takes all of my strength just to raise my hand and rub my eyes so I can get them to focus. My head is dizzy, like the earth is spinning at a speed far too fast for me to keep up.
