MarianaSeveral agonising hours later, with all of the pellets somewhere in the greater San Diego sewer system, I heard the beginnings of an angry buzz.
Motorcycles?
I swallowed the French fry I"d been chewing on and glanced at Murphy, who was sitting across from me, watching me with those weird blue eyes.
The buzz turned to a steady growl that threatened to shake the room.
I don"t know how I knew it was them. It just made sense.
"Gypsy Brothers," I whispered.
That got Murphy"s attention. "Oh, you know them, do you?"
I glared at him. "I know of them." If you knew of Il Sangue, it was kind of impossible not to know about the Gypsy Brothers motorcycle club. The two went hand in hand. Like clouds and rain.
Like blood and death.
Murphy"s grin grew wide as he observed my horrified face. He took one last swig of his beer and slammed it on the table in front of me, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I would have been so much nicer to you than them." He shrugged. "They"re gonna rip you apart."
The collective buzz reached its peak. I drew the curtain back and glanced outside to the s.h.i.tty parking lot, my heart hammering in my chest as I saw about fifteen bikers pull up on Harley Davidsons and dismount. They looked strictly business as most of them stayed close to their bikes, a few at the front of the pack approaching our motel room.
They looked fierce, but I"d grown up with fierce.
No, they looked terrifying.
Even though the bikes were silent, their buzz continued to resonate in my head. Panic grabbed my throat and squeezed. Just breathe, I told myself. Breathe.
Three hard raps. .h.i.t the door to the motel room, and I jumped out of my seat. So far I"d been able to hold it together, but now, with this fresh h.e.l.l outside the door, I was breaking apart.
I dropped the curtain and turned back in time to see Murphy opening the door. Three men in full leathers and open-face helmets strode in like they owned the place. h.e.l.l, they probably did. They sported identical patches on their leather vests, tapered triangles that rounded at the corners in black and white threads. I glanced at one of the patches nervously, mentally cataloguing the wings that framed a sword, a ribbon furling across the bottom with "Gypsy Brothers" embroidered in block letters.
The one who was clearly in charge — the one with the bright red and black patch that said "VP" underneath the Gypsy Brothers ribbon — knocked Murphy with his shoulder on his way past. Murphy clenched his jaw and stepped back. I smiled a little, my fear momentarily forgotten as I realised Murphy was s.h.i.tting-his-pants scared of these guys. I wondered if they"d ripped him apart before, and his warning was from personal experience.
The VP was as terrifying as he was handsome. He looked to be around thirty, maybe a little older, the few fine lines around his eyes and slight peppering of grey through the front of his hair only adding to his raw appeal. He wore three-day-old stubble like it was his b.i.t.c.h, his deep brown eyes so dark, they blended almost seamlessly with his black pupils. VP — vice-president? The way he carried himself made me wonder who could possibly preside over somebody like him. I must have been staring for a moment too long. I caught the glint in his eye as he stared right back at me, the raw power in his eyes almost like a jolt to my system. His wide, sensual lips tugged up at one side in amus.e.m.e.nt.
"Thought you said she was a screamer," he said to Murphy, never taking his eyes from me. "She looks more like a crazy one to me." When he spoke, his voice was like gravel. It was so deep, each of his words reverberated in my chest. It was the kind of throaty sound that would either terrify or rea.s.sure.
I wondered which one it would do to me.
My small smile turned to a look of derision as I glared at Murphy. "A screamer?"
"More of a moaner," Murphy said stiffly, like a geek trying to fit in with the popular guys.
"Too bad you"ll never know," I shot back at him. He narrowed his freakish blue eyes at me, and my skin crawled.
"Shut your mouth," Murphy said, but the biker in front of me seemed utterly absorbed in what I was saying. His mouth twitched at the side again, and he rubbed his stubbled chin with his fingers.
"What"s your name, sweetheart?" he asked, a wolfish grin spreading across his face.
I resisted the strange impulse to smile along with him. Just because he"s smiling doesn"t mean he"s a nice guy.
"Go f.u.c.k yourself," I replied. Go f.u.c.k yourself seemed to be my go-to response when cornered by strange men.
"Huh," he said, something I couldn"t decipher coming alight in his eyes. Anger? Excitement? Whatever it was, it thrilled down my spine even as it scared the c.r.a.p out of me. "I don"t blame you for being shy," he said, jerking a thumb at Murphy. "I wouldn"t want to spend one more minute with him than I had to, either."
I shot Murphy a f.u.c.k-you smile, and to my surprise, he grinned.
"Oh, honey," he said, shaking his head. "Good luck." He walked to the door, picking up his duffel bag on the way. "You"re gonna need it."
"Wait," the VP said, addressing Murphy but still not taking his eyes from mine.
Murphy stopped stiffly in the doorway, his gaze fixed firmly on his car outside.
"Did you touch her?"
Murphy chuckled. "Sure. A little. I didn"t sample the merchandise though, if that"s what you"re asking."
I glanced down to see the biker"s fist clench tightly.
"Did he hurt you?" he asked, his gaze intense enough to make the tiny fine hairs on the back of my neck p.r.i.c.kle.
I shook my head slowly, unable to form words under the pressure of his black eyes.
"Get the f.u.c.k out of here," he said to Murphy. Murphy was out of the door and shutting himself in the car before anyone else could stop him. a.s.shole.
"You two, wait for us outside."
Without hesitation, the two other bikers hauled out of the room, slamming the door in their wake.
And then, it was just me and the VP who thought I looked crazy.
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"My name"s Dornan," the biker said.
Dornan?My blood turned to ice in my veins as I realised who he was. Dornan Ross. I"d never laid eyes on him, but the chatter among the families of my father"s business a.s.sociates had painted a picture of cruelty and bloodshed that was just as bad, if not worse, than Emilio"s lethal reputation.
"Emilio"s son Dornan?" I asked, hoping desperately that I was wrong.
He gave a short nod. Great.
"Seems an awfully big party to greet one little girl, Dornan," I said, looking outside to the a.s.sembly of bikers. I desperately wanted to change the subject before he asked me my name. Before he asked me anything about myself. Because he was so suave, I was afraid I"d spill all my secrets before he"d even asked me. "You afraid I"ll do something?"
He dropped his gaze only to check me out. I felt naked under his eyes as he let them roam slowly over every part of me.
"Are you afraid you"ll do something?" he asked. He still looked amused. Beneath my latent fascination with him, I felt the vague stirrings of irritation at his casual nature. I was a piece of property, for s.h.i.t"s sake. And he was talking to me like he was about to hit on me in a bar and buy me a G.o.dd.a.m.n strawberry daiquiri.
"You do this a lot?" I asked abruptly.
He took a step closer. I took a step back. It was timed so well, it was almost as if we were dancing some sort of macabre waltz.
He laughed when we moved in unison.
"Depends," he replied, "on what this is."
"Pick up pretty girls for your daddy?" I shot back.
Something pa.s.sed over his face for a moment and settled in his eyes. Something hard. And then, I blinked, and it was gone again.
"Sure," he said, and his voice had changed somehow. Become more reserved, more guarded. d.a.m.n. The only person who"d shown me the tiniest bit of normality, and I had just alienated him. As usual, I was running off at the mouth before I thought about what I was actually saying.
"None as pretty as you, though," he added. My gut twisted painfully at his words. I want you to look pretty. His father"s words came back to haunt me.
He was silent for a beat. And then, "I didn"t catch your name."
I weighed my decision for a few moments before deciding he"d find out as soon as he spoke to his father, anyway.
"Mariana," I said softly. "People call me Ana."
"Ana," he said, smiling. "Welcome to the United States. The land of the free and the home of the brave."
"Really?" I asked dubiously. "You"re quoting "The Star-Spangled Banner" to the girl who your father owns like a slave?"
"For now," he replied.
"For now, what?" I asked, confused. "You going to start quoting Backstreet Boys next?"
His grin was maddening and thrilling all at once. "For now, my father owns you. But my father isn"t here," he said, gesturing with his open palms around the motel room. "It"s just me and you. And I like you. You"re feisty. I think I might just keep you for myself."
I swallowed thickly at what that could mean.
Outside, the bikers were getting restless. It was hot, and I could see beads of sweat glistening on Dornan"s forehead and cheeks. "Straight home, boys," he ordered, making a twirling motion with his index finger. Within seconds the air was filled with the deafening noise of over a dozen Harleys gunning it down the road.
Dornan handed me a black helmet and I lifted it onto my head without arguing. It was weird, but I was so relieved to be away from Murphy, and so far from Emilio, that I was willing to do whatever Dornan said. Which made no sense at all because his reputation preceded him. He was a bad motherf.u.c.ker, as bad as they came, and he was merciless. I had heard stories of the things he"d done, the ways he had killed people. His trademark was decapitation: cutting off the heads of the people who"d p.i.s.sed him off and sending them to whoever needed to be sent a message.
I really hoped I wouldn"t p.i.s.s him off.
The inside of the helmet was blacked out, so I started to push the visor up with my hand.
"Leave it down," he cautioned, grabbing my wrist as my world was engulfed by darkness. "You try to open it while I"m riding, and I will pull over and hit you until your eyes swell shut. You hear me?"
I nodded, causing the too-large helmet to rattle around on my head, and he let my hand drop.
"Hold on, little lady," he said, guiding me onto the back of a bike. "We ride fast."
A nervous thrill ran through me as he slipped onto the bike seat in front of me, reaching behind and curling his fingers around the backs of my knees. I yelped as he pulled, wedging me firmly against his leather-covered back.
He wasn"t lying. As the last of the motorcycles tore out of the lot, we joined them, the drone so loud it felt like my teeth were coming loose.
I hung on to the man in front of me as tightly as I could, wanting to cry as I dug my nails into his washboard abs.
I didn"t know if I was driving to my actual death, but part of me was dying as the wind tore at my loose hair and froze my neck.
I might just keep you for myself.
His words tore at the very fabric of my existence as I turned them over and over in my mind.