“Look at that fine ass,” he murmurs, slapping my backside. I jump forward into the path of one of his goons and drop my bag.
One of his men picks it up, and I lunge forward, trying to grab hold of it. He steps back, snatching it out of my reach.
“No need to panic, darlin’, I got it,” says Reaper, taking the bag and unzipping it.
My skin crawls at his close proximity. I shake out my shoulders so it passes.Pull yourself together, Rochelle. You grew up around these types of men. You know the drill.
“Where would you be going with a bag full of clothes?” he asks, arching a curious brow.
“Well,” I spit, snatching the bag out of his grasp, “when you dirty fucking bikers get caught with your dick in some other chick, there’s no other choice.”
Reaper throws his head back, laughing. “Drifter fucking someone else? The man’s got bigger balls than I thought.”
I try to push past him, but he grabs hold of my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” he snarls.
I quash my fear. “Well, you don’t need me because Drifter and I are done. Over. Finished. You might have more luck with the club whore he’s screwing.”
“Darlin’, nice try, but you know as well as I do that he’ll do anything to get you back,” he says, winking. “And you walked right into my hands. It might be worth putting the lottery on tonight, fellas. I think our luck’s in.”
I try to pull away from his grasp, but he tightens his grip. “Let’s not play silly bastards,” he mutters, his tone bored. “You, my darlin’, are my leverage, so you’re not going anywhere.”
He turns to one of his men. “Get a van down here pronto before Drifter realises she’s missing. She’ll be my date for this evening.”
I close my eyes and take a steadying breath. I wasn’t about to wait for Drifter to come rescue me. I don’t need him. I didn’t before now, and I still don’t.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DRIFTER
We’ve been driving around for hours looking for Hell, but she’s nowhere to be seen. I even checked our bank account in the hope she’d paid for a hotel, but there’s been no movement on it at all, not even a cash withdrawal.
It brought me to the sad realisation that she didn’t really have a life outside the club. We were all she had. There are no friends she could call to come pick her up and no work friends she could ask to crash on their couch. And I never asked her in all these years if she wanted something different. I took control, assuming she wanted the same lifestyle as me.
And now, because of my fuck-up, what did she have left? She’s running from me and the club, and she’s got nothing else. I promised her father I’d take care of her, look after her, protect her at all costs. And, yeah, she’d been safe all this time, but was she even happy? Was she getting everything out of life she wanted? Or was I smothering her with the life I wanted?
The rain batters down against us as we ride around in circles. It soaks through my jeans, making me cold to the bone. It’s as ifthe weather itself is punishing me, like the universe doesn’t want me to find her.
Fuck. Maybe I don’t deserve to find her, and even when I do, I have no idea how the hell I’m going to fix this or make this right. Because there’s no excuse for what I did, and there is no way to right my wrong.
I indicate to the brothers to pull over in the car park, and as we do, my phone rings. I kick my stand down before pulling my mobile out my kutte just as it rings out again. I don’t recognise the number, but I pray to God that it’s Hell. I slide off my helmet, resting it on the back of my bike, and I accept the call and press the handset to my ear. “Hell, where are you?”
A sinister laugh rattles down the line, and my blood runs cold.
“Drifter, my friend.” I instantly recognise Reaper’s voice.
I frown. “I haven’t got time for your bullshit, Reaper.” I end the call, shaking my head in annoyance. But then it rings again, the shrill of the tone sounding out in the silence. I answer on a sigh, but before I can speak, he asks, “Lost a little puppet?”
I push off the bike, standing straighter. My shoulders tense, and the hairs on the back of my arm rise.How the fuck would he know?
He laughs again. “Don’t put the fucking phone down again because you know what I get like when I’m angry.” His voice is suddenly dark, cold and calculated, and I realise . . .he has her.
Anger swirls in the pit of my stomach, and I clench the mobile phone tighter. “You have my attention,” I mutter, tracing a finger over Hell’s name carved into my bike.
“Now, that wasn’t so difficult, was it? I hear you’ve been a busy man.”
My brows pinch together, and I realise he’s a fucking psycho as he switches personalities in thirty seconds flat.
“What do you want, Reaper?” I grit out.
