Page 14 of Her Nosey Biker
What the actual fuck?
I come sliding in on my bike just as a dark figure emerges from the side of the house. Before I can mutter a word, I hear a gun cock, and then a gas can thrown to the side. I watch a tiny light come from the darkness and realize in fear, it's a flame. Before I can beg, plead, fucking fight, the figure drops it, and a line of flames licks a path all around the house.
“No!” I scream and run for the door, knowing I need to get to Grace. Before I can move, though, the fucker fires the gun into the air and then brings it down. This time, instead of pointing it back at me, probably knowing I’d still try it, still rush him if he’s what's stopping me from getting to my girl, he instead points the gun at Finick.
Oh, this motherfucker isn't looking to make it out of this alive. He’s sealed his fate.
“I’d hoped you’d get here to watch the main event. The barn was just the pre-show,” the dark figure says, pointing his gunright at my chest. His voice is low, deep, and familiar. No, it can't be. He should be…
“Thought I was dead, didn't ya? Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I was actually the only one meant to survive that day. Though y’all pulled off my ‘death’ so you weren't completely useless."
“Remi? What the actual fuck?” I’m completely blown away. He’s right. As far as we all knew, he was dead along with the rest of our team. Drake and I were the only survivors.
“Three years. It took me three fucking years of working undercover until I finally got the call. It was finally payday, and the only thing I had to do was walk you guys right into that trap,” Remi growls, waving the gun at me. I’m trying to move around him, closer to the door, but the fires are getting higher and higher. “You never figured it out. Drake, though? He knew… the fucker…”
I shift closer.
“One more and I’ll put a bullet right through her,” he says coldly, and the truth hits me like a dagger to the heart.
My dog, my loyal companion, my savior countless times… or the love of my life, my saving Grace.
How could anyone choose?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GRACE
I’m smiling and humming again as I brush my hair out in front of the bathroom mirror, thinking of the homemade dinner I have planned for Jarron. I’m going all out, lit candles and all. He’s made every moment I’ve spent with him feel like a core memory, the best memories. I’m hoping to add just one to his collection. My hands are still wet from the shower, and my brush slips from my hand, falling into the sink with a loud bang. I wince but stoop and pick it up. As my eyes return to the mirror, I see two dark, unfamiliar eyes staring back at me.
I scream, but it's muffled by the man's hand as he quickly places his hand over my mouth. I fight with everything in me. I fight. I scream behind his hand, but it does nothing. My kicking, scratching, and punching do absolutely nothing either. He’s so strong, and as I meet his eyes in the mirror, I notice he’s not even struggling. I’m putting up the fight of my life, and he’s not even breaking a sweat. It’s as if I’m a tiny kitten fighting a big ass polar bear. What’s even more surprising is that when I meet his eyes, I don’t see a hint of evil or anger. I’m startled to see… is that sadness?
I’m so startled that I’m momentarily paralyzed. I stop fighting for only a moment, but that moment gives him the time he needs. Not noticing the big bay window is wide open, he simply steps out, me in tow. Oh my lanta, what the heck? I always thought I would be impossible to kidnap without at least two feral men. It turns out that all it takes is what looks like a wounded bird, and here I am, compliant. Once again, I repeat my efforts to break his hold. Again, though, my struggling is for nothing.
With each step we take further from the cabin, further from the first and only home I’ve ever known, my heart cracks more and more. When we reach the edge of the woods, tears are flowing freely down my face. Then it dawns on me. I’m making it way too easy on this turd. Drawing my eyebrows down in determination, I lift my foot high with my next step, then bring it down hard on his toe.
“Ha, take that,” I say, muffled behind his hand. Until the feeling in my foot returns and it starts to sting… badly. I’m guessing those were steel-toe boots, and I’m still barefoot, not even given the chance for slippers.
“Would you chill the hell out?” he says in such a calm and was that… offended manner?
“Excuse me? You just kidnapped me, dragged me out of my home kicking and screaming, and now you are telling me to calm down?” I feel my eye twitching.
“Saved you,” he says simply.
“Saved me? What the heck do you mean, saved…” Before I can finish my sentence, bright lights flare up and take over the night sky as fire erupts around the house.
“NO!” I yell out and run toward the flames, but again an arm comes around me. And that darned hand.
“Again with the screaming,” he sighs, and I swear I can feel his eyes roll. Is this guy serious right now? He’s acting like thisis some typical day at the dang office or something. “Listen, if I take my hand off again, you’ve got to promise you won't scream. Fuck, I would have bet my rank Goins would have picked a girl with some semblance of stealth.”
He mutters that last part, and I narrow my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest and murmuring some not-so-nice things about the guy. I’m the perfect and only woman for Jarron Goins, dammit. Then I realize he didn't use his club name or his first name. This has to be a military brother, and there's only one that I can remember being alive. As his hand leaves my mouth and he slowly releases me, I take a slow step back and turn to look at him.
“Drake?” I ask hesitantly. From what little I know about this guy, he’s not the biggest fan of Jarron. Actually, the word I remember hearing was ‘dangerous.’
“Don't worry. I’m not here to hurt you, Squeaky. If I had wanted you dead, I could have done it before you caught me in the mirror,” he says, shrugging and then turning back toward the house, completely at ease with that entire statement.
“You can't just say that to people… wait, did you call me squeaky?” I ask, the nickname finally registering.
“Yeah, you have a squeaky voice about you. Might try toning it down. Actually, turning it off would be nice.”
