Page 4 of The Biker's Captive
I saw the moment she realized what she was caught in the middle of. I saw the realization on her face and then the terror.
She's a civilian caught between two gangs. It's been a long time since I left the military, but I still have an urge to protect civilians, especially pretty, curvy ones.
As we climb further into the hills, we leave the freeway far behind, and I’m confident now that no one is following us.
I left four of my brothers at the wreck, but they were all on their feet and in one piece. The Pres would want me to protect a woman. The other guys can deal with The Reapers.
Twenty minutes later, I've got a dead arm as we pull onto the gravel road that leads to the cottage. Dense trees surround this private road, and the nearest neighbors are miles away.
It’s the club cottage, not my own, and the location is a well-guarded secret. There’s no way The Reapers will find her here.
We pull up to the cottage, and I kill the engine. The noise of the woods closes in, insects chirping in the night, the rustling of leaves from the wind, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs.
It's peaceful up here. My escape, and also where I do my best work for the club.
The woman groans softly as I lift her off the bike. Blood trickles down her leg, but she’s still breathing. She’s also still unconscious, and I hoist her over my shoulder so I can unlock the door and get us inside.
I carry her straight down to the basement. If anyone did follow me here, it's best to keep her where she won't be seen.
There’s a thin mattress on a bench, and this is where I lay her down. She doesn't stir, and I take a moment to sit back and look at her properly.
My breath catches in my throat.
The brief glimpse I got of her in the headlights showed she was a beauty, but down here in the full light, I can see how stunning she is.
The woman’s hair hangs in a thick golden rope which I pull over her shoulder. Tendrils have escaped the plait, falling around her temples and framing her plump, pale lips and impossibly smooth skin.
She’s got to be almost twenty years younger than me, which makes the stirring in my pants slightly wicked, but I’ve never claimed to be a saint.
She's wearing a thin cotton dress over leggings. And God help me, I can't help staring at her plump breasts pressed up against the flimsy fabric, the outline of a white lacy bra showing through the thin cotton.
My dick stirs, and my blood heats.
A protective energy runs through me so sudden and powerful that I grip the sides of the bench.
One word forms on my lips.
Mine.
This woman is mine, and I won’t let any of my brothers see her.
I saw her, I rescued her, and I’ll keep her here away from prying eyes until she’s healed.
She moans softly, her lips parting in a groin-tingling pout. She looks so innocent, so vulnerable. A trickle of blood runs down her bottom lip, and I'm jolted back to reality.
This is no time to get off on her perfect plump body. This woman needs medical attention. She needs my help.
I know my way around the human body. I wish I could say it was from the military. But the things I'm tasked to do for my MC brothers have given me a good understanding of how a human is put together. Exactly how deep you can cut and where to cause maximum pain but not bleed out. I'm usually pulling people apart, not putting them back together. But the principles are the same.
A quick scan tells me her wounds are surface level, but that won't make them hurt any less.
I pull over my cabinet of instruments. I skip the top drawer, because I won't be needing those today, and pull open the second drawer.
There's a bottle of alcohol and a dirty bandage. I'm usually not worried if my subject gets infected. But tonight is different. I need to clean her wounds and disinfect them.
My eyes cast to her cotton dress. It needs to come off anyway to check her over, and it’s quicker than going upstairs to grab a dishcloth.
My hands cross the top of the dress and I pull. The fabric comes away with a satisfying tear.
