Page 2 of The Biker's Captive
He stands like a biker, his feet planted solidly on the ground, unfazed by the carnage that surrounds him. Like he welcomes this destruction.
A shiver goes down my spine as I watch him turn around slowly toward me. I’m both curious and terrified to see his face.
The man’s smiling, as if he’s enjoying all this. And as he turns around, headlights from the upturned bike catch his eyes. Illuminated in the darkness, they look pure black.
The man’s eyes lock on mine, and I hold my breath.
He stops in his slow spin, and for a moment we stare at each other.He’s got short, cropped hair and the hint of stubble clinging to his solid jaw.
It’s not an unpleasant-looking face, and if I wasn’t so terrified I might even find him attractive, in a villain enjoying watching the world burn kind of a way.
Someone picks up the bike that's on the ground, and the man’s face falls into shadow. But he doesn't stop staring at me.
With his eyes locked on mine, he presses one finger to his pursed lips. I can’t hear him, but I know he’s telling me to shush.
Indignation rises in my chest. I’ve just been in an accident that mangled the shit out of my car, and this guy’s trying to silence me.
I’m about to call out to the man, but there’s something about his look that makes me pause. The smile’s gone. His brows are knit together, and he’s lost the basking in disaster look. Instead, he looks concerned, almost fearful.
His hands come up in a placating way, and he takes a step towards me as if I’m a wounded animal he has to approach carefully.
There's a shout from behind him, and the man turns away.
My attention snaps to another man rushing to scoop up white bricks that are scattered in the road. And as he picks one up, white powder cascades out of it, catching in the air and blowing on the wind. His face contorts in anger, and he gives a pained wail.
Then it clicks. The white bricks, the money, the powder, the men in their biker cuts.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
It’s a drug deal, and I’ve crashed right in the middle of it.
Since I crawled from my car, everything has been in slow motion, but all of a sudden, it speeds up.
I look for the man trying to shush, me but he’s gone. As far as I can tell, he’s the only one who noticed me. The other men are too busy scooping up drugs and chasing money across the road.
I need to get out of here before they see me.
Staying close to the ground, I slither across the tarmac, trying to put as much distance between myself and the crash as possible. There’s a ditch on the side of the road and beyond that a thicket of bushes. It’s not much, but it’s my best chance of cover.
Pain courses through my leg when I move but I grit my teeth, forcing myself not to cry out.
I'm almost at the edge of the road when a yell goes up behind me. Turning, my gaze snaps to the source.
A short, stocky man with big, angry eyebrows faces me from the other side of the road. He wears a biker’s jacket, but the patch is different from the other man’s.
He looks straight at me and his lips curl, barring his teeth. He takes a step toward me, pulling a gun from his hip.
A shock of terror jolts my body.
The wreck of my car lies between us and he’s holding his side as if he’s injured, but I still know it won't take him long to reach me.
I’ve witnessed something here that I shouldn't have. I know how things like this work. They can’t have any witnesses.
I pull myself up, ignoring the throbbing pain in my leg.
Run, Willow. Run.
I take a step forward and my leg gives way underneath me, sending me crashing to the ground. I hit the tarmac and feel the jolt through my whole body.
