I hurl my knife right at the goon beside the front door, striking him in the gut. He goes down, dropping his gun. I then bum rush Goon Three. He panics, shooting at me three times.
The shots go wild.
I hear shattering glass and screams from the kitchen, but I don’t take my eyes off of my target. My shoulder hits him square in the solar plexus, taking him to the ground. Within twenty seconds, I have his gun, and he’s out cold, his hands secured behind his back with flex-cuffs.
I whirl back to find Cat tying up Goon One with a shit-eating grin on her face. “That was fun! Shall we take some pie to go?”
Chapter 12
“I’m no one’s bitch.”
-Cat
“I’m not getting on that thing,” I shake my head at Carlson -Ryker.
Ryker the Biker wants us to ride off into the afternoon sun on the back of his Harley. Well, I’d be on the back of his Harley, ridingbitch. And I’m nobody’s bitch.
“No fucking way,” I pull out my phone to call my boss.
Ryker plucks the phone out of my hands and shuts it off.
“What are you doing?”
He holds the phone out of my reach.Damn, he’s tall.
“You need to get rid of anything with tracking on it,” he shakes the phone at me. “Phones, pagers, your car.”
“Pagers? Who do you think I am? A 1980s drug dealer?”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Anything with GPS on it has to go.”
I know he’s right. My boss Thalia warned me there was a mole in the Marshals Service or the ATF. The same Thalia ordered both prisoners to be transported at the same time.
I sigh and hand Ryker the keys to my car. It’s a rental, but it’s tied to me.
“Fine, but I’m not getting on the back of that -donor cycle,” I huff.
“Kitten, we don’t have a choice,” Ryker opens the trunk to my rental car, places my phone inside, and grabs my duffel bag. “My bike doesn’t have GPS or any chips on it. And it’s maneuverable. In case we need to make a quick getaway.”
Ryker punches the button on the key fob to lock the rental car’s doors, drops the keys inside the trunk, and slams the lid shut. “There.”
I shake my head. “Knock it off with the Kitten shit.”
He smirks, and my Coochie Mama gets all flustered looking at his stupid face.
It’s not his face I’m interested in unless it’s between our…
“LET’S go then,” I clap my hands together and reach for the helmet.
Ryker shakes his head, plops a helmet over my skull, and tightens the straps underneath my chin. His fingers brush the skin on my neck, sending lightning bolts down my limbs.
I suck in a breath.
“Too tight?”
I shake my head.
“You ride before?”
