some guy you barely know in a dirty biker clubhouse really worth avoiding your father for?
That was a very good question. And one I didn’t want to find out the answer to. Maybe if I told him I only wanted to hide out here for a while, he’d let me?
I cleared my throat, trying to get the words out. ‘I...um...well...there’s kind of a reason.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Crash sat down heavily next to me on the bed, making me aware of him in a way I didn’t like. He was in the usual biker uniform of jeans, a T-shirt and the leather vest they called a ‘cut’ worn over the top, and I could feel the heat of his body next to mine. He wore a lot of aftershave and that combined with the reek of alcohol coming off him made me want to cringe. ‘If that reason is to suck my cock, then, baby, I’m here for that.’
Fear fluttered in my gut.
Yeah, I didn’t want to do that. Even the thought of it made me feel ill. I’d never done it before and I certainly didn’t want to start with some drunken biker, just because I’d apparently lost my mind and made a decision that was, in retrospect, looking to be the stupidest decision in the history of creation.
‘W-what if it’s...not that?’ I asked hesitantly.
‘Oh, come on...’ He leaned in, nuzzling against my ear, his beer breath wafting over me, deepening my discomfort with the whole situation. ‘Uh...what did you say your name was again?’
I hadn’t told him, and what’s more, I couldn’t. Because although he might not have known who Summer Grant was, I was pretty sure he was familiar with Campbell Grant, the police chief and my dad. Not that he’d necessarily draw a link between the names, at least not in his current state, but I couldn’t risk it.
Desperately I tried to think of another name I could give him, but for once my dumb brain was empty. ‘Do you really need to know that?’
He left a wet kiss beneath my ear that made my skin crawl. ‘Nah. Couldn’t give a shit. Just gimme a taste of that pussy.’
I cringed again, both at the crass way he was talking and at how he was leaning over me. ‘Hey.’ I tried to pull away from him. ‘What would you say if I...uh...didn’t want to have sex with you?’
He gave a drunken laugh, reaching for my hand. ‘Are you kidding me? Then what the hell am I supposed to do with this?’ And he pressed my hand right down over his fly, where I could feel him already as hard as a rock.
Wonderful. This situation was getting better and better.
I swallowed, my mouth dry, trying to resist the urge to jerk my hand away since I was pretty sure that would offend him and I didn’t want to risk that, not when I wasn’t sure what he’d do.
Instead, I left my hand there for a second, then carefully drew it back. ‘That’s, um...very impressive.’ I took a quick sip of my beer, grabbing a bit of that liquid courage and trying not to pull a face at the taste. ‘But maybe you could get someone else to do something about it?’
He shook his head and put a hand on my knee, sliding it up to the hem of my skirt. ‘Oh, no, baby. It’s a party and you’re the one in my room. You know what that means.’
I shifted my leg away, attempting to put some distance between us. ‘No. I have no idea what that means.’ Because, although I knew what it was that he wanted, I didn’t know how it being a party made any difference.
Outside, the thumping of the music had increased in volume, and there was lots of loud shouting and laughter. More immediate were the rhythmic noises coming from the room next door and someone moaning, while someone else cursed.
I could feel my face flushing.
‘Well,’ Crash mumbled, trying to slide his fingers beneath my skirt yet again. ‘Girls only go into a brother’s room for one reason and here’s a hint. It’s not to chat.’
I knew that. Of course I knew that.
But you didn’t think it through first so now you have to deal.
My heart shuddered in my chest, the fear inside me getting wider, deeper. Would he even let me go if I didn’t want to have sex with him? And if I got out of Crash’s room, what would happen then? I’d have to run the gauntlet of those men outside all the way back to the entrance of the club.
Yeah, you’re a freaking genius. Mensa would love to have you. Not.
I shivered, feeling like the biggest fool to ever draw breath. What had I been thinking? I hadn’t; that was my problem. I’d let my anger at Dad and at my own weakness get the better of me, and now I was here, being pressured into having sex with a drunken biker.
Awesome.
I pushed Crash’s hand away yet again, trying frantically to think of a solution to this particular problem. But sadly this was real life and it wasn’t quite as simple as a math equation. There were no rules I could apply here and way too many variables, and when you were battling panic, logic didn’t always work.
‘C-can’t we chat?’ I wriggled away from him. ‘Just while I finish my beer?’
But his hand was now sliding underneath my hoodie, over my bare stomach, and he was pulling me very close, his mouth at my neck. ‘Nah. I don’t wanna chat. C’mon, baby. Put those lips to work.’
I went rigid, my heart now climbing up into my throat. I could feel the strength in his arm going around me. I knew I couldn’t fight it.
Men, they were all the same. Even the ones who were supposed to be the good guys were assholes, and I knew that better than anyone.
In the corridor outside, a woman giggled, the deep voice of a man saying something in return.
‘Well, o-okay.’ I hated the way I couldn’t keep my voice from shaking. ‘But I’m a virgin, you know that, right?’ It had been my experience that once you said the ‘V’ word, men usually ran for the hills.
Sadly Crash didn’t run, though to be fair, there were no hills he could logically run to.
‘Mmm...’ he said. ‘Then maybe I can teach you.’ And he moved his hand up to cup my breast.
I don’t know what happened then. Something in me simply snapped, roaring in negation as his hand cupped me, and I found myself shoving him away hard before I could think better of it, yelling ‘No’ as loud as I could for good measure.
Then, as I was sitting there, trembling with anger and fear, the door to Crash’s room burst open with such force that it bounced back against the wall with a bang.
A man was standing in the doorway. A horribly familiar man.
‘What the fuck is going on?’ the man demanded, his voice deep and dark, rough and gritty. Then his strange amber eyes met mine and my heart clenched tight with a weird combination of absolute terror and utter relief.
Jake Clarke, aka Tiger.
I’d never forgotten the first day I’d met him. He’d been waiting for me outside my school one day, sitting astride his massive black Harley and smoking a cigarette. He’d worn battered blue jeans, a black T-shirt with a leather vest thrown over the top, and there were chains attached to his belt, huge motorcycle boots on his feet, brightly coloured tattoos wrapping around both his powerful arms.
He was as beautiful as the animal he was named for and twice as dangerous. Mean as hell and sexy as sin.
The sun had struck copper sparks from his dark hair, and when he’d seen that school was out, he’d thrown his cigarette down right there in the street and ground it under his heel. Then he’d looked straight at me.
And I’d forgotten where I was. I’d even forgotten who I was.
His eyes were amber, the colour of expensive whisky or newly minted gold coins, and they had pinned me to the spot. A golden arrow straight through my heart.
His