Fucking shit. My heart sank. I held up a hand, silencing her, then walked over to the table and ripped it up. I crushed the whole bag into a tight ball and opened the door, hurling it into the garbage outside.
“If I take you out for something different, will you promise not to fuck me and try to run away?”
She shrugged. “Whatever. You know I won't. Even if your club isn't like the Deads, I know I'll have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life if I squeal or turn you guys in. That's not what I call freedom.”
My jaw clenched. She gave me the answer I needed to grab her by the hand and lead her to my bike. Didn't make me stop wishing the entire time that she saw me as something other than a cruel, calculating motherfucker.
Someday, I'd make her. One more promise piled onto my long list of impossible obligations.
We hit the local taco shack for a couple hours. I sucked on Mexican beers while I watched her pick at her food like a bird, but by the time we left, she'd finally eaten enough to make me happy.
I paid the tab and watched her slump across from me in her seat, her eyes half-closed, digesting more than just her food. Shit, the girl probably needed a solid year to process all the crap she'd been dragged through the last forty-eight hours.
I stared into my half-empty beer, watching the pale gold swirl, all I could do to keep my eyes off her curves.
My dick turned me into a monster. I couldn't stop imagining fucking her, even after all she'd been through.
And if we actually fucked, I'd be sure to fuck her over too. She needed something soft after the hell she'd suffered.
Too bad tender, gentle, soft wasn't in my damned vocabulary. The only thing swirling through my skull was rough, hard, and rougher. I wanted to take her so hard I left marks, stamped her skin from head to toe, let the entire world know she was mine.
I'd start by shredding her clothes and wrapping her hair around my fist. Meg's hot, virgin skin would burn beneath my lips. My entire cock throbbed each time I thought about dragging my mouth down her body, pushing my face between her legs, jerking her into my lips, tongue, and teeth by the ass.
Had she ever ridden a man's face before with her sweet cunt? Whether she had or not, there wasn't a fucking chance she'd ever had her * tamed with a mouth like mine.
I made women scream. I stole every molecule of air from their lungs. I caused them to pant 'til I let them attack my cock, and they fucked me ferociously, begged for my come, lost their minds before I finally gave it up.
This chick made me imagine the nastiest shit I had in years.
Her freak virginity made me want to claim her even more. If I got a chance, I'd shake every inch of her, fuck her over and over and over again, 'til every last trace of the dirty bastards she'd been forced to suck were gone forever.
“Skin? Did you hear me, or were you too busy playing with your drink?”
I looked up. The glass swirling lightly in my hand stopped.
Was she serious? Hell no, I wasn't listening.
Not when the pouty angel across from me turned my blood molten every time I looked at her.
“Sorry. I've been busy thinking about how we're gonna work this to get you back to your ma and pa sooner.”
Yeah, right. All I was really thinking about was hearing her call me daddy while she took every seething inch of me.
She smiled softly and shook her head. I'd put on a good front. “I said he never cared if I finished my food. Ricky, I mean. Look, I'm never going to kiss your feet for doing what you need to do. But maybe you're a little nicer than the last man who chained me up. Maybe.”
“Yeah, whatever, babe.” I'd rather have her kissing something else, but I kept that part to myself.
Reminding me of what the club had done – what I was doing to her right now – fucking gutted me. I hid that shit too. I couldn't go soft and let her assume anything. I also couldn't handle her getting under my skin, tempting me to do something stupid to get her home sooner, something that'd screw my brothers over.
Whatever morals I had died years ago, the first time I shot a rival man in the guts and watched him flop to death on the floor. Sure, the asshole deserved it, but you never come back whole from putting down a human being.
That's what I'd thought, kill after kill, growing a little colder every year, just like Dad. I hadn't known what the hell wrong was 'til I plucked her outta that whorehouse. I forced myself to look at her, even though my heart was filling up with black, toxic muck.
The woman across from me didn't deserve any of this shit, however I justified it. Two wrongs never made a right, but between me and the club demanding money from her folks, we'd kept her alive.
“I won't try to run,” she said, reaching for my hand. “There's nowhere to go without you. I don't know the rest of your biker friends from the pimp or the Deadhands. I shouldn't trust anything you say, but I want to believe, Skin, that you're not like them – I know you don't want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. That means something. Just a little bit.”