Page 59

“Liam?”

“Hmmm.” He gripped the handlebars, exhaling a sigh.

“Liam!”

“Hmmm?”

“Look at me,” she demanded.

He forced his head to swivel in her direction and found her glaring at him. Arms folded beneath her spectacular tits, foot tapping. Once she had his attention, she flung her arms wide. “I’m dressed in a wisp of French silk and a thong. No way I’m riding on that thing.”

He really was a twisted bastard because he didn’t hate the image she’d planted in his head. Vivian’s lace-clad cheeks on the back of his bike. Plump breasts pressed to his back. Bare thighs wrapped around him. Good chance he was going to hell since he couldn’t muster an ounce of outrage over someone seeing her there. Long as they knew she was with him.

“So what? You turning prude on me? Face it, Viv. You’re a born exhibitionist.” He cocked a brow and patted the cushion behind him. Lucky for her, he’d added the touring seat so his former Chosen, Alex, could ride with him. “Now, sit your ass down, wrap those beautiful legs around me, and let’s hit the road.”

She eyed the machine and bit her lip. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”

“Feels good between your thighs. Promise.”

“Fine,” she huffed, stomping to the bike and slinging her leg over the back.

“Feet up here and watch the exhaust.” He guided her foot to one of the pegs, then duck-walked to the opening of the garage. “When I start this bad boy, every fuckwad in this place will hear it and come running. That means we’re going to have to haul ass. Even if we get a bit sideways blowing out of here, know I’ve got you, and you’re safe as long as you stay glued to my back.”

“I trust you, Liam.”

That second showing of faith in him twisted that knife deeper into his gut. Experience had proved it wasn’t something she gave easily. Gods, but he was getting in too deep with her. Problems he’d sort out another time.

He gritted his teeth and started the bike. The engine turned over, rumbling like a great beast waking from a nap. Liam felt the same. Like a junkyard dog who’d been Vivian’s house pet for far too long.

With no time to waste, he nailed the throttle and sent them roaring down the driveway. Vivian held tight behind him. Over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of flames and racing bodies. Shouts rang out. Several of Zion’s men chased after them on foot. He gunned it and raced for the smashed open gate. Next to the guard house was the wrecked panel van they’d used as a battering ram.

Vivian’s slim body shook behind his. For a moment, he worried he’d finally pushed her over the edge.

Then her laughter hit his ears.

She swung one arm out, letting her middle finger fly, shouting, “Au revoir, fuckwads.”

The sound of his favorite curse on her crimson lips warmed his insides. Good for her. In the last twenty-four hours, she’d revealed more of the real Vivian Laurent than he’d seen in decades.

And damn if he didn’t like everything she was showing him. His deep chuckle mixed with her own, and they rocketed into the night.

Sixteen

Vivian stoodin the parking lot beneath the flickering light of a neon wolf. The sleeves of Liam’s leather jacket hung a foot past her fingertips. While it looked quite mouthwatering over his broad shoulders, on her, it was ridiculous. However, when the sight of her scantily clad body on the back of Liam’s bike had caused a ten-car pile-up, she’d had no choice but to cover up. As she’d pulled the jacket on, she’d imagined Armond lying on a moonlit beach in Italy, sitting up, grabbing his chest, declaring,“I sense a disturbance. A crime against couture.”At least it covered the purple and green monstrosity of a backpack she’d secured to her shoulders.

Vivian eyed the bar before her. Howlers was even rougher around the edges than its owner. Rust coated the corrugated walls, and the roof sagged like a sway-backed mule. The stale scent of grease lingered in the air.

Still, after miles spent on the back of Liam’s bike, circling and backtracking, circling and backtracking, then circling some more to make sure they weren’t followed, to Vivian, it was an oasis.

This close to dawn, the bar was vacant. Liam’s bike, along with one lone pickup truck, were the only vehicles around. “Are you certain this is a good idea? If they figure out who you are, they’ll come looking for us here.”

“We won’t stay long, just enough to regroup.” He unlocked the front door, scanned the interior, then motioned for her to follow.

Inside, the pungent scent of stale cigarettes and fried food hit her nostrils. With the lights off, the vintage jukebox illuminated the space with a dull orange glow. Blue rope lights illuminated the shelves behind the bar. Yard sale junk besieged the walls. Without a doubt, the world Liam inhabited was far different from her own.

The haven Vivian had created for herself was gone. Her beautiful gothic Victorian with its rich furnishings had fallen victim to Zion’s thugs. Dove and Armond were absent from her life. Even her hard-won allies had turned on her. She was adrift with no one to turn to, no one to rely on—but Liam. Strangely, the thought didn’t scare her as it should.

Her protector made a quick pass of the room. Seeming appeased that they were alone, he strode behind the bar, snatched up a glass, and poured himself a hefty drink.