Page 14 of Wild Heart
I say a quick prayer for my former guards hoping my father isn’t being too hard on them.
After I scaled the fence yesterday, I jogged into the woods and took a path that winds around the mountain and comes out near the town of Hope and the train station.
With my hair tucked into a cap, I boarded the first train to Raleigh and then doubled back to Charlotte.
I wandered the streets until I found the perfect hotel. Nothing too swanky, nothing too cheap, and not too close to the train station. The proprietor didn’t bat an eyelid when I paid in cash.
All I need is a few nights at The Fuzzy Peach, and it should be enough to stop my father’s plans. There are plenty of classier strip joints in town, but my father or his business associates own half of them. This place was perfect, small and run down. Managed by a not too bright local who didn’t recognize me when I turned up looking for work.
As I strut down the stage to the sound of catcalls and lewd remarks, I’m questioning the solidness of my plan. The men are drunker than I imagined and less respectful.
One of them waves bills at me, and I ignore him. I’m not bending over for less than a hundred.
“Show us your tits!” someone yells.
I resist the urge to kick my heel in his face and instead turn around while bending my knees into a halfway slut drop.
From the direction of the mouthy guy, there’s the sound of a fist connecting to a face. A man screams, literally screams, and then some asshole’s climbing onto the stage.
I stagger backwards, blinking in the lights as the familiar shape of a man saunters toward me.
“No freaking way.”
Raiden, President of the Wild Riders MC and the man who’s haunted my dreams for the past two years is striding toward me, and he looks pissed.
There’s a commotion behind him, and a man with a bloody face lunges for the stage.
“What the fuck, man?” he yells.
Raiden cracks his knuckles, and I have time to register that he’s the one who punched the loudmouth. But it doesn’t explain what the heck he’s doing on my stage.
The relief I feel at seeing Raiden is all confused with anger that he’s ruining my escape plan.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss.
“What am I…?” His expression is thunderous as he grabs my wrist, his thick hand wrapping all the way around it. “What the fuck are you doing here, Isabella?”
He jerks me toward him, and if he wasn’t so angry it would be sexy. I bump into his body and up against his hard chest.
“You don’t belong here.”
He turns and drags me after him, and his hold on me is so tight I have no choice but to follow. I totter on my heels to keep up with him, and that fuels my anger even more. Isabella Berone runs after no man.
I flick my hair over my shoulders and try to maintain some dignity as I’m dragged off the stage and through the club.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” Raiden growls as he elbows his way through the crowd heading toward the exit. There’s a manin a wheelchair following close behind and pushing people aside who try to lunge for me.
“We’ll save you, sweetheart,” one of them calls.
I stick my chin up because I don’t need saving, and Raiden better have a damn good reason why he’s dragging me out of here.
I don’t get a chance to speak to him because it’s too loud, but I’ll give him a piece of my mind when we get outside. Hands grab at my flesh as I pass, and instead of resisting Raiden I lean into him and pick up my pace, running as best I can in these heels.
Damn him for making me run. I’m clinging onto him and letting him shield me as we near the exit, even as waves of anger wash over me.
We pass through plastic curtains that stick to my skin and come face to face with a bouncer. His arms are folded across his chest, and he’s as thick as a brick wall.
Raiden doesn’t even slow his pace.
