Trixie Lee was looking for a place to lay low. She knew that her time in town was going to have to be limited if she wanted to stay one step ahead of her father’s men. She just wanted a break—and God, what she wouldn’t give for a full night’s sleep. But right now, she just needed a place to lie low. Hell, right now, she would settle for a cheap motel bed and a door with a real lock. And maybe, the universe could add in a fucking moment where her shoulders weren’t pulled tight like a tripwire from constantly looking over her them for trouble.
Stopping into the bar hadn’t been part of her plan, but she was road weary and having trouble keeping her eyes open. She knew that a biker bar was just what she needed to wake her up a bit, to keep her going for at least a few more hours. She would just have a beer and then keep on going—at least, that was the plan—one drink, maybe two. She was lucky enough to find somewhere loud enough that no one would hear the sound of her thoughts, until that Neanderthal started talking to her. He ruined the once shot she had at relaxing for the first time in weeks, and while she found him funny and well, damn hot, she didn’t have time for either.
Trixie was interested in the biker’s story, though she never fully got it from him. The guy with the patch and one-liner comebacks that had her almost laughing—almost. The one who looked like he’d walked out of a bad decision wrapped in leather and sin—Cyclops. She’d caught the name tossed around the bar like a curse and a legend all at once. The way people said it told her everything she needed to know—he wasn’t someone to mess with.
Trixie shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and walked quickly down the cracked sidewalk, the cool night air biting her cheeks. She shouldn’t have lingered when she found that her two front tires were slit. She knew that only meant that danger was lurking—waiting for her to mess up again, and going into that bar was a major fuckup.
She shouldn’t have let Cyclops get close enough to her to hear his voice—low and husky. It was the kind of voice that could crawl right under your skin and take up residence there. He’s just a biker. A distraction. You don’t have time for distractions. But the truth itched forward from the back of her mind—it had been a long time since anyone had looked at her like Cyclops had. Not through her, not past her, but at her. Like he’d seen something in her, something real, and he liked it.
She really needed to listen to her inner voice because if someone had intentionally deflated her tires, then that only meant one thing—her father’s men had caught up with her, and there would be no more hiding from them, not even in a dive biker bar. She stopped at the corner and glanced back over her shoulder. Trixie had no idea where she was going. Hell, she was on foot, and she’d be no match for her father’s men once they located her. She wasn’t going to be able to outrun them, but she had no other viable plans.
“Idiot,” she muttered to herself. She kept walking as the wind picked up, carrying the faint rumble of bikes somewhere inthe distance. She tensed automatically. Every sound still made her heart stutter. Every shadow felt like it might be one of her father’s men finally catching up to her.
Her father didn’t believe in letting go of what he owned. And he believed that he owned Trixie, but she was determined that he’d never get her back. She knew too much about his business dealings now, and he wouldn’t allow her to live with that knowledge. He’d kill her or, worse, sell her off to the highest bidder, and she couldn’t let either of those options happen to her.
She rounded the corner, ducking into the dark alley behind a rundown motel. The sign out front saidVACANCYin broken neon. She’d pay cash. She always did, so there would be no paper trail and no questions. But as she reached for the door, something deep in her gut twisted. The kind of instinct she’d learned to trust over the years. She wasn’t alone. She spun around as her hand slid automatically into the switchblade in her pocket.
A single headlight cut through the darkness, the sound of the engine purred low—a predator circling its prey. They had found her, and no sleezy old motel room was going to protect her now. No, she was out of options, and the thought of going back to her father’s house made bile rise from her stomach into her mouth. She pulled her blade, ready to fight to the end, if that’s what it took, when a guy on a bike pulled up to the curb and tugged off his helmet.
“I noticed that you might need a lift,” he said. She looked him over as though he had lost his mind.
“And why would you think that?” she asked.
“Because I’m the club’s enforcer, and it’s my job to notice when someone’s tires get slashed around Road Reapers territory.” She wanted to point out that he sounded as though hewere boasting, but right now, she just didn’t care. She needed his help to get out of there in one piece.
“What do you want?” she snapped before he could say anything else.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“What do you want for giving me a ride out of this place?” she asked.
He grinned, slow and dangerous. “Relax, sweetheart. I don’t want anything.” She knew that trusting him was a risk, but she was out of options. It was either go with him or wait for her father’s men to pick her up and deliver her back to him.
She hated her fucking options. Hell, she hated him. But most of all, she hated the way her chest tightened at just the sight of him on his bike. He was riding in to save her, and he didn’t even know it. Maybe that made him a reluctant knight in shining armor, but she’d take it at this point.
“It’s just a ride, right?” she clarified, quickly looking around to make sure that they were alone.
“It’s just a ride,” he said.
“Good, because otherwise, you’re wasting your time,” she insisted.
His smile was mean, and she knew that she had pissed him off. “Sweetheart, if I was wastin’ my time, I’d already be gone.”
She got onto the back of the bike as he handed her the helmet that he had just taken off. “You’ll need this,” he insisted. She hesitated, and he shook the helmet at her as though silently telling her that there were no other options if she wanted a ride on his bike. She took it and strapped it on.
She wrapped her arms around Cyclops, and he smiled back over his shoulder at her. “You ready, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Name’s not sweetheart—it’s Trixie Lee. And I’m ready,” she lied. She wasn’t ready for any of this, but she had no other choice in the matter. She just needed to remember that Cyclops wasdangerous, and danger had a way of sticking to her like gasoline waiting for a spark.
Cyclops Universal Link-> https://books2read.com/u/mBkYNR
Coming in April, you won’t want to miss Property of Gorgon (Kings of Anarchy Book 1)! Yes, I’m going to be writing for the Kings of Anarchy, and I’m so stinkin’ excited! I hope that you all love Gorgon!
Gorgon
Manitoba winters didn’t care who you were. It didn’t care if you were born on this land, if your bloodline ran through it like a river, or if you were just passing through with a gas tank half-full and nowhere safe to sleep. The cold came anyway—quiet and ruthless. It slipped into your lungs, freezing your breath into crystals and turning the highway into a long, black ribbon of consequences.
Gorgon stood on the porch of the Kings of Anarchy clubhouse with the collar of his cut turned up and a cigarette unlit between his fingers. He didn’t smoke much, not anymore. But sometimes he liked holding a bad habit in his hand, just to remind himself he could still choose it if he really wanted to.
