It was why I was hesitating. It was exactly why I was hesitating. I was not made for country life. I was not made for desert life.
My skin was already dry as fuck out here and I’d been putting lotion on at least three times a day, but none of that mattered, not in the slightest. The only thing that does matter is the fact that I’m with Hawk.
What would happen to me if he didn’t come back? The thoughts wouldn’t leave my head. They wouldn’t go away, every second since he’d loaded on his bike and roared away, it was all I could think about.
“You girls look like you could be on a calendar.”
“Do they still make those?” I ask, glad to have a distraction from my own thoughts.
Mamba’s lips curve up into a grin. “Yeah. I don’t think that shit is going away, ever.”
“You know Playboy is going away,” I point out.
His eyes widen before he narrows his gaze. “They’re still going to offer special editions,” he snaps.
Pressing my lips together, I try not to laugh at him. The pure horror on his face, the defensiveness, I have a feeling that he’s been a lifelong member of the brown envelope bunny club, and he is going to stay that way, until he dies.
I hear something. It’s the sound of crunching metal, then I see a cloud of dirt fly into the air as I turn my head and look to the side.
“What the fuck,” Mamba whispers.
I don’t know what to do. I’m frozen solid, bottle of water in hand, ass wet as I sit in the pool. There’s another loud crash, then I hear men’s voices and they are loud. Then they get close.
“Get the fuck up, we’re going to my house,” Trista snaps.
She’s already standing in front of me. I look up at her, then back at the door. They’re going to burst through there at any minute.
“Go,” I hiss. “Just go, if they find me, maybe they won’t look for you.”
Trista opens her mouth to say something, to no doubt demand that I go with her, but Mamba already has her over his shoulder and he’s running, taking her to safety. Fuck me, that guy is fast. I watch him, mesmerized for longer than I should.
When I finally stand and look around for a place to hide, it’s too late. I hear the back door open. Spinning around, I see one of them. These are the men that I’ve heard nothing but horrible things about.
There is a clear insignia on the chest of his cut.
Donkey Puncher MC
Fuck.
Taking a step backward, I stumble. My feet burn on the hot sandy dirt, but I’m frozen. He’s going to hurt me, then he’s going to kill me. His gaze flicks down to my bandaged chest, then his lips curve up into a grin.
“You’re an Old Lady, yeah?” he grunts.
I don’t speak. I’m not able to. I’ve never been this scared before, I’m literally frozen in terror. This is a term that I didn’t quite understand, not until this exact moment. Even with the senator I wasn’t as completely terrified as I am right now. I was resigned with him, not scared.
“Fuck me, but you’re a pretty one. How do these weak fucks get such pretty cunts, hmmm?” he asks as he adjusts his dick.
I want to throw up, all over him. I want to puke, because the only way that I could possibly get out of this will be to fuck him. I already whored myself once with an old client to help Hawk. I gave myself to that border agent, free of charge, just to help his club out, now I may have to do it again to save my own fucking neck and the lives of whoever else is still breathing on the compound, to potentially save Trista.
“What happens now?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
His lips snarl up into an ugly smile. He would be marginally handsome, if he wasn’t so ugly on the inside, if he didn’t snarl with hatred. But he does, so he’s butt-assed ugly. I shake that disgust that I feel toward him away, because I’m a professional—or at least I used to be.
“I think you know what happens. Wanna save your people?”
“Let’s be real. You’re going to slit my throat whether I volunteer to spread my legs or if you force me. So just tell me how I survive this.”
He arches a brow, clearly impressed by my false bravado. I don’t cower to him, at least on the outside. Inside, I’m shaking like a fucking leaf as he watches me, his gaze searching my own, his eyes almost sparkling with anticipation of what’s to come.
He opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. Instead, he falls forward. Pinkie stands behind him, knife in her hand. I blink at her, then blink again.
“Bitch, get the fuck in Dragon’s office.”
I nod my head, my feet moving before the rest of me and I run. She ushers me down the hallway and toward Dragon’s office. The lights are off and I get down on my knees, crawling toward the corner of the room, the only place that I can think to hide. I hear the deadbolt click closed and yesterday I would have panicked, but in this moment, I let out a sigh of relief. I don’t mind being locked away from those fucking sick assholes.
I’m safe—for now, at least.
“Avah, is that you?” a female voice calls out.
“Yeah, who is here?” I breathe.
“It’s me, Maria. Is Mamba okay?”
I think back to a few minutes ago when Mamba took off with Trista over his shoulder. They made it into her house, past that I’m not sure what’s going on.
“Yeah, as far as I know.” I don’t want to give her any kind of false hope. The truth is all that I can give right now.
There’s a long moment of
