Motorcycle Man
Page 37

That was when I heard it, the familiar roar of Harleys. I turned and looked out the back window as I heard Hawk mutter, “What the f**k?”
I was right, Harleys and a lot of them. I saw Tack up front and it took everything I had not to cry out with joy or burst into relieved tears.
He’d been coming for me. Maybe he was the perfect man.
“One of you belong to Chaos?” Hawk asked.
“Um… I think that would be me,” I answered.
Aunt Bette twisted her neck and looked at me through the two front seats.
From her look, I was seeing that during our Nordstrom’s talk I probably should have told her Tack was the president of a motorcycle club. However, I didn’t expect us all to be kidnapped and then have Tack, and what looked like the entire club, come to my rescue (after an unknown commando rescued us, that was).
I looked out the windows and saw the Harleys overtaking the SUV, three bikes closing in at the front, two positioning on each side of the SUV, more at the back. I saw brake lights on the Harleys that held Tack, Brick and Dog in front of us, all of them coming on simultaneously as if they had biker brainwave synchronicity.
“Fuck,” Hawk muttered on an annoyed growl, he slowed and moved to the narrow shoulder. He didn’t try to evade them. He just stopped, commanded, “Don’t move,” into the cab and knifed out.
I watched as he met Tack in front of the SUV. There was a boot to boot, nose to nose conversation that didn’t look happy. Then Tack’s head jerked to the SUV, Hawk’s head turned and he looked our way. Then he lifted his chin and Tack instantly moved away from him, prowling to my side.
I had my hand on the door handle but before I could open it, it was opened for me. Then I found myself yanked out to my feet, the door was slammed and I was shoved back against it.
I lifted my eyes to his face, about to throw my arms around his shoulders and maybe dissolve into tears or perhaps declare that I was falling in love with him again because he turned my world to color and he’d been coming for me when his hand weirdly lifted to wrap around the front of my throat like he was preparing to strangle me and all movement and declarations of love died at this aggressive gesture.
“They touch you?” he barked, his tone sharp with what I belatedly saw in his face.
Rage.
I shook my head fighting the urge to shrink back. “No, not really, they… they just… just, hooded me, made me go unconscious, bound me and put me in a room. They did something to Lanie though.”
With a quickness that stunned me, he let me go, jerked his head at Dog who was standing beside him and then I watched him round the back of the SUV. Dog had hold of me by my upper arm and was dragging me toward his bike but I had my head turned and I watched Tack open Lanie’s door and yank her out.
Uh… what?
Dog tugged me to a stop by his bike and threw a leg over it.
“Climb on,” he ordered.
I kept staring at Tack who was now dragging Lanie to his bike.
Why was he dragging Lanie to his bike? Brick or Dog could take care of Lanie. Tack was supposed to take care of me. Wasn’t he? I mean, just that morning he’d declared me his woman. Didn’t he?
“Cherry, climb on,” Dog repeated but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Tack who was already on his bike, and Lanie, who was climbing on behind him.
“Cherry…”
I looked back at the SUV in time to see Hawk driving away with Aunt Bette who was giving me a sharp look incongruously mixed with a finger wave.
“Hey,” I whispered, feeling the need to say something like “thanks” to Hawk or “where the hell are you taking my aunt” but not able to get anything more out and not knowing what the hell was happening.
“Cherry, get your ass on my bike,” Dog demanded, my head swung back just in time to see Tack, with Lanie on his bike, arms tight around his middle, cheek to his shoulder, take off on a roar.
Bile filled my throat.
“Cherry –”
My eyes sliced to Dog.
“Right,” I murmured then I climbed on the back of Dog’s bike.
Chapter Fifteen
Three Hours
I woke when I felt hands turning me and my first thought was panic. Not exactly panic, as such. Extreme panic.
Therefore, I pulled violently free from the hands and scooted swiftly across the bed. Too swiftly and too panicked. I landed on my ass on the floor, cracking my head against the nightstand.
I didn’t react to either of these things. I heard movement on the bed so I twisted and scuttled backwards on hands and feet like a crab except not sideways. I hit wall and pushed up as the dim light coming from street lamps filled the room and I saw a big, shadowed man heading my way.
I raised my hand to ward him off, his chest hit it, hands spanning my h*ps and I heard, “Baby, you’re safe. It’s me.”
Tack. It was Tack. Not a bad guy there to hood me and hurt me but Tack.
I relaxed and the panic slid out of me.
Earlier, Dog had taken me to the Chaos Compound, dragged me with a hand on my upper arm to Tack’s room and he’d locked me in. Not a word of explanation. Not a, “Have you eaten?” Not a, “Don’t worry about your beloved aunt and best friend, all is well.” He just walked out, locked me in and I heard his booted feet walk away.
Now it was the dead of night and Tack was back from whatever he did with Lanie. Not me. Lanie.
Reminded of this, my hand stopped going slack at the knowledge that nothing else terrifying was happening to me, it strengthened and tried to push.
Tack wasn’t in the mood to be pushed away. I knew this because he leaned into my hand and my elbow buckled at the pressure just as the pads of his fingers bit into my flesh.
“Tack –” I started to say, what, I did not know, but he cut me off.
“Three hours,” he growled.
These words were so strange, said in a growl so low it was almost guttural, and his tone had changed so significantly from his previous quiet words, I stopped putting pressure on my hand and blinked at him in the shadows.
“Pardon?”
My arm got crushed between our bodies when his invaded my space and his hands slid up my hips, into my shirt, pulling it up, skin to skin.
“Three hours,” he repeated, his voice still that fierce, guttural rumble that kind of scared me and I didn’t know why. It was like the tone communicated that he was trying to control something, some emotion, and he was failing.
“Three hours?” I asked.
His shadowy face got close to mine. “Yeah, Red. Three. Fuckin’. Hours.”