Storm sighed, “Sure, that’s probably doable. What about the third favor?”
Viper came to his feet and moved forward to stand in front of Storm.
Looking him in the eye, he said, “I want you to stand down in a fight between me and another club president. I’m not asking you to pick sides. All you have to do is stand down and not join the fight.”
“I should have known the last one would be shady as fuck,” Storm grumbled.
“Agree to those three favors and you can take the girl with you right now.”
After a long, reluctant pause, Storm cursed under his breath and stuck out his hand. “Fuckin’ fine. I’m betting that I end up regretting this, but I accept your terms. The woman, for these three favors.”
“Secret favors,” Viper corrected. “The whole biker community doesn’t need to know that we’re making shady backroom deals.”
Locking his jaw, Storm shot Fuse an irritated look. “Sure, we won’t tell a living soul.”
Without even looking in my direction, Viper said, “Bring the girl. Give her to Fuse.”
One of Viper’s crew, the one who had his hands on me during the fight, came over, jerked me to my feet, and pulled me over to Fuse. When I was a few feet away, he gave me a hard push, causing me to stumble into Fuse. His hands came to catchmy fall. I should have been grateful, but my anger rose hard and fast because being bartered by one man to another felt awful.
Storm glanced at the man with arms around me. “Fuse. Get her outta here. Take her to the clubhouse. We’ll decide what to do with her later.”
Fuse mumbled, “Sure thing, Prez. And thank you.”
“We need to leave now,” Fuse said quietly to me. “You don’t belong here.”
That didn’t make me trust him. He was still the man who had bought me. He was still part of this.
I hesitated, my feet refusing to move at first.
“Nobody’s touching you again. I promise you that,” he tried to reassure me.
When I took a hesitant step forward, Fuse asked, “Do you have a bag or something?”
Viper chuckled at the mere suggestion that I might have a suitcase of clothing squirreled away someplace. I looked at Fuse bewildered, trying to wrap my head around why he would think that.
I settled on saying, “Do I look like a woman with bags?”
His eyes shot to one of the other brothers, an older man, who answered for him in a thick Irish accent, “Of feckin’ course this wee lassie doesn’t have supplies. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she’s being trafficked.”
Something about hearing him say out loud the same words I’d said inside my head for days made me tear up.
Fuse got a panicked look on his face, stepped forward, and swept me up into his arms. Before I could ask him to put me down, he was strolling out of the tent with me in his arms. If I didn’t hate him so much for buying me, I might have been able to appreciate his take charge attitude. But no, I just wanted him to stop for gas so I could escape.
The Irishman followed close behind as Fuse carried me to their bikes. We reached the area fairly quickly. The motorcycles were all lined up in tight rows across a part of the runway. Fuse stopped beside one and dumped me onto the seat. My hands flailed to keep my balance as I straddled the back of the large bike. He pulled a helmet out from his storage compartment and strapped it onto my head. I refused to look him in the eye, staring off to the side instead. I hated everything about this situation. Maybe if he wasn’t an outlaw who bought me at auction, we could have been friends but that was not in the cards. These men had taken away all my personal choice and that wasn’t okay.
He spoke as he worked on getting the tension right on the strap. His voice was rough but quietly soothing. “Look, I know you’ve had a lot to deal with today, but this will all be over soon. I’m taking you to the Dark Slayers clubhouse. You’ll be safe there until we can decide what to do with you.”
Great, more of these biker types trying to decide what to do with me instead of letting me decide anything for myself.
Swinging one leg over the bike, he settled onto the front of the seat and put on his own helmet before firing up the engine. When the engine roared to life beneath us, it was louder than I thought and the vibrations ran all the way up my legs. It was a strange experience. Several other Slayers showed up, mounted up, and started their engines as well.
Fuse reached back and gently took my wrist. He didn’t squeeze or force me, just guided my hand forward and placed it against his side.
“You’ll need to hold on tight,” he said sternly. “If you don’t, you might fall off when we accelerate.”
Since that thought hadn’t crossed my mind, I was grateful for the heads up. I firmed up my grip just in time. When the bike lurched forward, I guess my instincts for self-survival kicked in.I drew my legs closer to the bike, leaned forward until my front was flush with his back and locked my arms around his waist. Matching his position seemed like the best way to stay in place.
I felt the wind rush past me as we hit the road. I was thrilled to be leaving the rally with all the rough bikers packed into one square mile. I hadn’t seen any women there. Suddenly realizing I’d been the only woman on the site was a chilling thought. Every mile we put between me and that rally site helped me breathe a little easier.
