Brandi stood her ground. She wasn’t the same girl Tool had helped years ago. She’d stayed in Lampsing because she had nowhere else to go—but deep down, she had also hoped, beyond all reason, that Tool had seen her as more than just someone who needed saving.
She still remembered the day he had given her a choice, when he had shown her that she was more.
Sitting at the bus station, waiting on a ride to Seattle, she had told herself she was safe, that the man who once owned her couldn’t hurt her anymore. It had taken everything in her not to run, not to let the ghosts of her past keep her trapped.
She had made amends with Wick, carving out a real life for herself. A life she was finally living. All but the relationship part. But that would come.
Freedom came with a cost, and for some, the payment was high. She had kept herself busy, kept herself out of trouble—though it had been easy enough when she was stuck at the clubhouse without transportation.
Still, thinking back to that night at the bus stop, when Tool had appeared beside her, reminded her just how deeply she had been drawn to him from the beginning. Everything about himhad made her nervous. She remembered every damn detail of that encounter.
“Brandi.”
She startled, her grip slipping from the plastic bus station seat as she whipped around. Her bag tumbled across the floor as she scrambled to right herself.
“Tool? What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer at first, just held out a hand to help her up. When she hesitated, he waited, unmoving. Finally, she reached for him, and he pulled her to her feet with ease.
“Come on,” he said. “I’m taking you back.”
Confusion and something else—something more painful—tightened in her chest. “Why? I mean… is something wrong?”
“Nope,” he said, snatching her bus ticket and heading for the counter. “You just need to stay here, that’s all.”
Brandi watched as he pushed the slip of paper across the counter, not surprised when the clerk handed him a full refund without question. Tool had that effect on people.
With money in hand, he turned, signaling for her to follow.
Brandi wasn’t sure what she expected when she stepped outside, but she figured there would be at least a few other club brothers waiting. There weren’t. The only vehicle in the lot was a single, gleaming motorcycle—a blood-red Harley with ghostly skulls licked into the paint.
A fine-looking bike, sure, but…“Where am I supposed to ride?” she asked, eyeing the machine warily.
Tool smirked, gunmetal-gray eyes glinting in the dim parking lot lights. He looked unfairly good like that, his long dark hair pulled back from his face, the sharp planes of his jawline catching the glow.
He unlocked his saddlebag and pulled out a small pad, sticking it onto the rear fender. “You sit there.”
Brandi blinked. “That? That’s not a seat.”
He ignored her, reaching down to push down the passenger footpegs. “This might go easier if you just trust me.”
Trust. That was a heavy word. Still, she hesitated. “I’ve never been on a bike.”
“Not a problem,” he said, already climbing onto the machine. He reached back, taking her hand and placing it on his shoulder. “Step up using the peg. Swing your leg over. Use my shoulder for balance.”
She braced herself, expecting to fumble, but somehow, she got on without making a complete fool of herself.
With her bag secured and his spare helmet fastened onto her head, she sat rigid behind him, hands hovering awkwardly.
Where did she put them? And how the hell was she supposed to stay on without flying off the back?
Her answer came a second later when Tool reached back, took her wrists, and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Hold on tight,” he said, voice rough.
Then they were moving, blasting onto Highway 1, the roar of the engine drowning out the sound of her thundering heart.
Brandi followed Tool into the room above the MC clubhouse, her steps slow, uncertain. He still hadn’t explained why he had come for her that night. Most men wanted something from her. Even Wick had wanted something from her—though in his case, it had been to help.
