Black eyes locked with mine, and my breath caught in my throat as he held his hand out toward me and grated out, “Get on.”
I blinked.
“Get... on.. the fuckin’... bike,” he ordered, the shadows flitting across his face so dark that he looked almost demonic.
The two brothers riding with him cut their engines and dismounted. The instant they removed their helmets, I recognized one as Bootneck, Pagan’s SAA. I’d never seen the other guy, but he was big, good-looking, and built, with long, messy blond hair.
Pagan jerked his chin toward my office building, his eyes never leaving mine. “Make sure he knows what’ll happen the next time he touches what belongs to me.”
The thrill of his words made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and without a thought, I thrust my arm out and grabbed Pagan’s hand.
His fingers were scalding even though he didn’t wear gloves, and it had snowed. With a sharp tug, he pulled me close, his lips skimming the top of my head, not in a kiss exactly, but I felt branded all the same.
“Smart,” he muttered, his breath warm against my skin.
I threw a leg over his bike, lining myself up until I was flush against his back while he shoved his helmet back on. Leaning down, he rummaged in his saddle bag, then reached behind tohand me a scarf and a pair of men’s leather gloves, ordering, “Put these on.”
My heart fluttered because something in the gesture hit me deep inside, penetrating a place that had lain dormant since the day my da died. I’d been left feeling as if I were dangling over the edge of a cliff with nothing to grab onto that could stop me from falling. My daddy was always my safety, and since he’d been gone, I’d felt raw and exposed.
Until now.
I wrapped the scarf around my neck and slipped on the gloves before pressing my chest to Pagan’s back and resting my fingers against his rock-hard stomach.
Pagan gunned the engine, and a shockwave went through my body, making me lock my fingers together and hold on tight. His boot came up, and he took off with the growl of the bike filling my ears and the cold, icy breeze, thick with the scent of snow, whipping my face.
Turning my face, I rested my cheek on his back, drinking in the heat radiating from his body. I couldn’t work out how he stayed so warm; it was unnatural in a way. The air was frigid with cold, which was exacerbated by the thin blanket of snow covering the ground, but Pagan was like a furnace burning hot.
He weaved his bike through the heavy city in such a controlled way that even though the roads were covered in snow and ice, I trusted him implicitly. The city lights glittered in a haze, and I found myself grinning against the wind while a wild, kinetic energy thrummed through my blood.
We passed Coors Field and took a sharp left onto 20thStreet before flying past King Soopers toward the skate park. More familiar landmarks went by, and it was then that I realized Pagan was heading for my apartment building on Boulder Street.
He parked his Harley at the curb, the growl of the engine turning to a purr as it idled. The bike silenced as he cut the engine, and he removed his helmet before twisting his body and holding out his hand for me to take as I eased myself off.
He kicked the stand on with a flick of his boot and dismounted carefully, leaving his bike at a slight angle before turning toward me. His thumb and pointer finger gently pinched my chin, and he angled my face up and asked, “Did he hurt you?”
My heart flipped.
“How do you know where I live?” I asked, confusion lacing my tone.
“Aislynn, did he hurt you?” Pagan repeated.
Although his voice was level, I could sense the anger simmering underneath.
“No. Not really,” I replied.
He took my fingers and pushed the glove down to expose my wrist. “He left a mark.”
I pulled away and cradled my hand. “I’ll be okay. Look, Pagan. I don’t know why you’re here, especially after what happened the last time I saw you, but I’m okay.”
He turned his back on me and reached inside his thick, fur-lined leather jacket for his phone. When he spoke, it was in hushed tones.
“He hurt her wrist, so pay that forward. When that’s done, make sure he knows whatever happens to her will happen to him tenfold. Tell him, next time he touches her, he’ll lose his hands.”
My heart lurched.
Sweet Jesus.
Pagan ended the call without another word, not looking at me as he slipped his phone back into his jacket. I studied the lines of his face, taking note of the tension in his jaw and the lines of exhaustion creasing his eyes.
