If he had to make an example out of the Moroad member, he would.
Luckily, that month's extortion money was already safely split three ways between the Portland and Seattle Chapters, and the rest sent with a shipment of weapons on the way to the Mother club in Norway.
"We expected trouble to land at our feet," said Roar.
He rolled his lips over his teeth. "I never planned to stick my cock into the trouble."
"Fair enough." Roar slapped his hand down on his shoulder.
Peer stepped out onto the sidewalk and whistled. Brage whistled back, and he and Roar walked over to their MC brother.
"Brought you a burger. Peach is worried you'll lose weight standing around out here." Peer lit a cigarette.
"Dinah?" he asked.
"She's covering the bar. Marcus is sitting at the counter, listening in on her conversations, making sure she doesn't open her mouth."
Brage opened the bag and pulled out the hamburger. He ate away the frustration over having other men looking after Dinah. Things would've been different had she been authentic with him from the start.
Unfortunately, there was no place in his life, even in his bed, when she put getting dirty with a Slag enemy before him.
Family came first, and Slag MC was it for him. It was imperative they kept business going and money flowing toward Norway in the form of cash and weapons.
The door opened in front of the bar and a head of dark hair popped into his view. He lifted the burger to his mouth and took in the way Dinah turned her head, making contact with him, and disappeared back inside. She wasn't giving up. The moment he closed his eyes, she'd try and make a run for it.
"I'm going inside and keep Marcus company." Roar walked forward.
"Guess I better go in there and give Dinah her break." Peer dragged on his cigarette and flicked it to the curb. "Unless you want me to keep her working. I wouldn't mind—"
"Treat her like an employee." He wadded up the sack and handed it to Peer. "If I hear of anyone abusing her, they'll answer to me."
"Ja." Peer's gaze softened. "I'll pass on the info."
His MC brother left. The ache in Brage's shoulders remained. He understood why Slag members would like to punish Dinah, but he wasn't going to let them hurt her. If he had to spend the next year tagging her ass to protect her while they settled the trouble with Moroad and moved on to harass the next motorcycle club in the territory, he would.
A high whine of a motorcycle invaded the night sounds. He turned and gazed down the road. It was a foreign bike. The rider came into view and rolled past the bar, lifting two fingers.
Within seconds, another rider went by without even looking in Brage's direction.
Only joy riders out enjoying the streets, he grabbed the back of his neck and stretched his muscles. An hour on the asphalt would do wonders at working out the knots in his shoulders. Or, sex.
Sex had a way of fixing all his aches.
He pulled out a cigarette and took up position at the corner so as not to discourage customers from going in the bar when they viewed a biker loitering outside.
Chapter 13
Brage opened the clubhouse door for Dinah. She walked inside. Her possibilities to escape the situation she was in dwindled and she had no other option than to spend another night with him in his room.
True to his threat, Brage had made sure someone watched her every second of the day and night. Even working at the bar stifled her chances of escaping.
Her skin crawled. She shivered. There were at least a hundred Slag members milling around on the main floor of the clubhouse.
They weren't looking at her, but their hate toward her was apparent. The men's faces hardened despite having no expression. The women looked at each other, sending silent questions and contempt from one to the other.
Brage led her upstairs and opened the bedroom door. She hesitated at the threshold. It killed her knowing there was a lock on the door that would be used while she was imprisoned inside.
"Please, don't," she whispered. "Please."
His hand landed on her lower back. The slight pressure propelled her legs forward.
The door solidly thunked closed. She flinched, turning around. After the stressful and scary twenty-four hours, she could feel herself unraveling.
Brage sat down, took off his boots. She stared at his arms, flexing with the movements he made. It was easier for her to have sex with him when he remained a stranger—a very sexy, hot stranger.
The arousal and warmth he had elicited from her before her world blew up and she became a captive in a bad situation were welcomed and embraced.
Her interest in him now felt wrong and unwanted. It angered her that her body would betray her.
Brage stood, stripped off his vest and shirt. When his hands went to his belt, she half turned away from him. She wasn't going to undress for bed in front of him with the lights on.
Concentrating on the pile of black garbage sacks at the foot of the bed that held the belongings she'd brought with her from Idaho, she tried to figure out how to get out of her work clothes and into a shirt and a pair of joggers without flashing all her bits to Brage.
The metal of his buckle hit the floor. She glanced in his direction and bit down on her lip.
He stood naked and unashamed in the room. "You need to strip down."
"Not with you in the room," she said.
"I don't have the time or energy to argue with you." He paused. "Take your clothes off. There's a towel, if you want, on the top of the dresser. Use that to cover up. I'll be in the hallway waiting for you when you're done."
Her gaze lowered. His cock remained relaxed.
She cleared her throat, hit with disappointment that she could no longer excite
