I should have known. Hank was not all in with what I was doing, and Eddie was definitely not in.
Not to mention, I’d heard talk on the set. Something was going down with Benito and the Chaos Motorcycle Club, and it’d been going down for a while. There were even some folks who’d been there when it all kicked off years ago, when the Club had interrupted production to save some girl from her porn debut.
Benito would not like something like that.
And apparently, he didn’t.
Also apparently, they didn’t like that he didn’t.
And word was—flying in the face of all that was holy with motorcycle clubs—Chaos being true to their name was tight with certain cops.
Shit.
I looked left and caught the sunglassed eyes of the biker beside me. He took his hand from the grip and made some motions.
I was not paying attention to the hand motions.
I was staring at his face.
I grew up with bikers. My dad was a biker. My oldest brother was a biker. They were not in a club.
What they were, were assholes.
But not a single one of Dad or Gunner’s friends were that flat-out, drop-dead gorgeous.
Shit, shit, shit.
He looked forward and he was no less fabulous in profile.
Great.
He also edged his bike toward my car so I had no choice but to pay attention to the road, and not his handsome face, and move from the center lane into the right lane.
Then I held my breath in order to stop myself from screaming when the two bikes at my sides forced me into the exit lane and onto the exit ramp to I-25, both of them riding partially on the shoulder (on one part of this journey, one side of that shoulder being narrow with a short wall protecting a drop off to a freaking highway), but mostly tight to my sides.
They were going to kill themselves with this shit.
Once safely merged onto the highway, I turned my head left and pounded on my window, doubtful he could hear it over his pipes.
Somehow I got his attention, and when his sunglasses fell on me, I shouted, “I got it, asshole! Just lead!”
My window was closed. His bike was loud.
He still jerked up his chin.
What he didn’t do was stop caging me in.
Motherfucker.
In this manner, they guided me onto 6th Avenue and all the way down that long, heavily trafficked, three-lane bastard into the foothills. I lost my side bikes on the small mountain town roads that led to back country roads, the guy to the left going forward to lead the pack, the guy to the right falling back.
It did not make me feel cozy and happy when we hit a gravel road, in the middle of nowhere, that was winding and ended at a remote cabin that did not look like it was set up to play its role as a vacation relaxation station.
More like where Jason might show with an ax.
The bikes stopped.
I stopped, cut the ignition to my Subaru, tossed open my door, hauled myself out, slammed my door and advanced fast on who I was guessing was the leader of the pack.
The guy who’d rode to my left.
He was off his bike when I got there.
He was also taller than I’d have guessed.
He definitely rocked that leather jacket.
And he had a great head of thick, dark hair that was overlong. So long one side of the front was tucked behind his ear and it was flippy messy in the back in a way that practically begged a woman to grab hold.
I did not grab hold.
I got up to the toes of my boots and shouted in his face, “You could have killed yourself, asshole!”
“Calm down,” he growled.
Oh yeah.
Growled.
His voice was deep and gravelly, rumbling up his chest and out his mouth in a way I could almost trace that shit.
I ignored this additional nugget of awesomeness that made this biker and yelled, “Calm down? Calm down? Are you insane?” I took a step back and threw out both arms. “I’m in the middle of nowhere at Jason’s Lodge o’ Ax Murdering Fun with a pack of bikers when I should right now be home, meditating or some shit.”
His head tipped to the side. “You meditate?”
I didn’t answer that.
I said, “Newsflash. When a bunch of dudes on bikes wearing leather jackets with patches surrounds a woman’s car, she’s not gonna go Thelma and Louise on their asses on the exit ramp off Speer Boulevard to I-25, which is right in the heart of the city, which means right in the heart of Denver traffic. She might hurt them. More, she might hurt herself. But most, she might hurt some unsuspecting single mom on her way home from work to feed her kids and later, lament her choice of their deadbeat dad who’s off banging his secretary.”
“It gonna sink in we’re here safe, so you can be done yelling at me?” he asked.
“Am I safe?” I asked back.
“You gotta ask that, you don’t know Chaos,” he retorted.
“Well, another newsflash, stud, I don’t know Chaos,” I shot back.
He leaned into me.
I smelled leather, fresh air, and the remnants of some sharp, tangy aftershave that I kid you not, actually tightened my clit.
Damn.
“Well, you’re about to know Chaos, so let’s get on to that,” he rumbled at me. “Get inside.”
“I want your promise right here you’re not gonna ax murder me when I go inside that cabin,” I snapped.
He sighed.
From around us, I heard a deep chuckle, actually a few of them.
“We’re not gonna ax murder you.” He sounded beleaguered.
He sounded beleaguered.
Right.
I was delaying getting home and meditating (and boy, did I need to meditate now) by yelling at this guy.
So I turned and cut a glance through all of the men, vaguely noticing they were all various forms of insanely good-looking (how did I not know this about the Chaos MC until now?) and stomped toward the cabin.
“Door’s the other way,” the leader of the pack called.
I shot a kill look over my shoulder and switched directions.
Once I rounded the corner I saw the cabin had a porch, no furniture on said porch, some cobwebs—totally ax murderer’s home sweet home material.
When I got to it and tried the knob, I found the door was locked.
I was hit with the scent of leather, fresh air and tang as the leader of the pack leaned into me.
I was also forced to endure the thrill caused by him murmuring close to my ear, “Key,” as he reached in and unlocked the door.
He turned the knob and pushed in.
I bolted in the open door to get away from him.
The place was dark and smelled musty.
The darkness disappeared when one of the guys switched on the single, exposed, high-watt, overhead bulb.
I turned on the pack.
Six of them.
Totally overkill.
“So, who put you up to this?” I asked, crossing my arms on my chest. “I know it wasn’t Hank. He’d consider it, but he wouldn’t do it. So my guess, it was Eddie. Wildcard Jimmy. He’s fed up with ‘crazy females who don’t think straight.’ And even though I know Jimmy’s a good guy, and I don’t know the stories, I do know they were crazy enough there were books written about them and still, that shit pisses me off because I know what I’m doing. But more importantly, I’ve got reason to do it.”
“Sit down, Rebel,” the leader ordered.
I looked behind me to see a basic wooden chair.
There were a couple more scattered around but that was the extent of the décor of the one room cabin, unless you counted the fact it had a sink, a small fridge, and a narrow two-burner stove.
I did not sit down.
I also didn’t ask why they locked this joint when there was nothing to steal, unless someone was emotionally attached to that scary, dusty stove.
I looked back to the leader and declared, “Let me share how this is gonna go. You’re gonna say a lot of stuff. I’m not gonna agree. Yadda, yadda, yadda. A lot of time wasted. We’ll part ways. I’ll do my thing. And like it is now, it’ll be none of your business. The end. So, let’s save a lot of time with you just letting me go and then you can run off and tell Hank and Eddie I was a good girl and listened.”
He got close while I was talking and stayed close after I finished.
So close, I lost track of what I was saying because I could smell him again.
And was again reminded how tall he was.
I was kinda tall, so him being so much taller than me meant he was tall.
It got worse when I noticed he’d taken off his glasses.
He had clear, light-blue eyes. Crystal clear. It was like staring into two shining gemstones.
Holy Mother of God.
“Sit down, Rebel,” he said quietly.
I felt it prudent to retreat from those eyes, so I took a step back, two, my leg hit chair and I sat.
One of the other bikers skidded a chair toward him, he caught it and set it facing me, close, almost where our knees might brush but not quite, and he sat.
I was right. Our knees didn’t brush.
I found this disappointing.
The others fanned around and stayed standing.
Okay, I had to admit, even though I felt in no danger since I knew Eddie (or Jimmy, or outside chance, Hank) was behind this and they might be ticked at me, but they liked me, the biker circle was intimidating.
“My name is Rush Allen,” the leader of the pack said.
“Well, you already know my name, so consider us introduced,” I returned.