I moved my hand to my chest. The tender patch of skin under my palm proved the nightmare I’d been having wasn’t just a dream. Fear turned my stomach inside out, and I reached for the trashcan again. Nothing came up, but my gut insisted on going through the motions anyway. Dry heaves wracked my system before finally letting up. I slumped back against the pillow again, utterly exhausted.
“You’re okay.” His voice soothed my nerves, though in my situation, it should have done the exact opposite.
“Who are you?” I put my hand up to shade my eyes from the light behind him. My right eye refused to open all the way. “And where the fuck am I?”
He set the trashcan down and leaned closer. “I’m Six. You’re at the Mustang Mountain Riders’ clubhouse. Now how about you tell me your name, sweetheart?”
White-hot terror shot through my veins. I had to get away. My brother had warned me about the Mustang Mountain Riders, and I’d fallen right into their hands. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut tight and wish myself back into the woods.
“Your name?” Six tilted his head, studying me with eyes the color of a shot of my brother’s favorite whiskey.
My stomach twisted as a flashback from the night before hit me. The burn of cheap bourbon being poured down my throat… the smell of alcohol on the breath of the man I’d been promised to… the loud crunch as his fist connected with my jaw…
“If you don’t want to tell me, I guess I’ll just call you Bambi.” One of Six’s big shoulders rolled.
“Why Bambi?” Like hell I’d let the giant asshole give me a nickname that made me sound like his personal whore.
“Because you ran out of the woods and right into my truck like a doe with the devil himself on her heels.”
Despite the way my cheeks heated under his stare, he was a member of the Mustang Mountain Riders and by association, represented the enemy. I narrowed my eyes and steeled myself to argue. “Bambi was a boy.”
He shook his head, but I caught the hint of a smile on the edges of his lips. “It’s also the name of a stripper I met in Vegas once. You remind me of her.”
I wasn’t about to sit around and trade insults with the muscled biker. If I wanted any chance of surviving, I needed to get away from him fast. My best bet would be to get to the closest airport and hop on the first plane I could find. “Thanks for your hospitality, but I really need to get going. Do you have a phone I can use?”
He looked at me like I’d just told him a bad dad joke—slightly amused but not willing to play along. I tried to fling the sheet away so I could make a dramatic exit, but my arm didn’t cooperate. All I did was give it a gentle fluff. The plaid cotton fabric billowed up and gently floated back down to settle on top of me.
“Where do you think you’re going, Bambi?” With his brows drawn down over his dark eyes, he seemed more threatening.
“Away.” My head pounded. Each beat of my pulse sent a sharp spike straight through my skull.
“The safest place for you is right here with me.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the closed door on the opposite wall. “I’ve got a whole clubhouse full of guys who aren’t going to let anything bad happen to you.”
My gut told me I could trust him, but that went against everything my brother had ever said about the Mustang Mountain Riders.
“I can tell you don’t believe me, but you will.” He handed me a tall cup with a straw sticking out of the top. “Do you want some water?”
I reached out and flung the water back at him. “What I want is to get the hell out of here.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. I braced myself for the impact of his fist, but it didn’t come. Drops of water ran down his cheeks. He pulled his soaked shirt away from his skin then bent down to pick up the empty cup and set it on the nightstand.
“Yeah, you definitely remind me of the Bambi I knew in Vegas.” In one fluid motion, he reached over his shoulder and pulled his shirt up and over his head.
Sweet Mother of Muscle, the man was built. Even in my sorry state, I could appreciate the ridged abs and firm pecs. Didn’t lessen the ingrained hatred I held in my heart, though. Any member of the Mustang Mountain Riders was a piece of shit as far as I was concerned. My brother and his buddies had filled my head with stories about the havoc they’d unleashed around this part of Montana.
Six reached into a drawer then pulled a dry shirt on, covering up the dark ink that filled his back. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with something for you to eat. Scrambled eggs and toast okay?”
I didn’t respond, just glared at him through the curtain of red hair that fell over my face.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Don’t try something stupid like going through a window. We’ve got cameras set up to keep an eye on things, and you’ll have half my club on your ass before you make it five feet.” He nudged his chin toward the door. “Most of these guys would rather see you behind bars than in my bed, so I’d play it safe and stay put if I were you, sweetheart.”
“Bite me.” I held his stare, determined not to let down my guard until he’d left the room.
“Don’t tempt me.” He dragged his gaze down my body. “Something tells me you might just like that.”
Even though I was covered by a sheet and a soft fleece blanket, the heat in his eyes sent sparks flickering over my skin. Before I could come up with a snappy comeback, he disappeared into the hall, closing the door behind him.
I sucked in a ragged breath and tried to regulate my pounding pulse. There had to be a way out. I didn’t risk my life to break away from my brother and his psychotic friends to end up in an even worse situation.Think, Ginger, think.
