Page 3
Story: Taken By the Outlaw
Inside, the other three men stare at me with varying expressions of disbelief and annoyance.
"Boss, you can't be serious," the bearded one starts.
"Did I ask for your opinion?" Clark's voice has turned to steel, and the man immediately falls silent.
Clark guides me into the van with a firm hand on my lower back, the heat of his palm burning through my cardigan. He follows me in, sliding the door shut with a sound of finality that makes my stomach drop.
As the van lurches into motion, I sit rigidly between Clark and the wall, trying to make myself as small as possible. The other men eye me suspiciously, but no one speaks. The weight of Clark's presence beside me is overwhelming—he's not touching me anymore, but I feel him like a physical force, pulling at something deep inside me.
"Where are you taking me?" I whisper.
Clark turns those ice-blue eyes on me again. In the dim light of the van, they seem to glow.
"Somewhere safe," he says. "For now."
"For how long?"
His gaze travels over my face, lingering on my mouth in a way that makes my cheeks heat. "That depends."
"On what?"
One corner of his mouth lifts in that not-quite-smile. "On how long it takes me to figure out what to do with you."
The way he says it—low, almost intimate—sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with fear. And that terrifies me more than anything else. Because whatever this feeling is—this strange, unwelcome pull toward this dangerous man—it's not something I understand.
And as the van carries me deeper into the night, away from everything familiar and safe, I have the sinking feeling that nothing in my life will ever be the same again.
two
Clark
I slamthe compound door behind us, my hand still wrapped around the librarian's delicate wrist. She's trembling, this fragile thing I've dragged into my world, but she hasn't cried or begged since that first moment in the alley. Something about that makes my blood run hotter. The boys are watching me, waiting to see how I'll handle this complication. They think I've lost my mind, bringing a witness back to our headquarters. Maybe I have. My thumb traces the pulse point at her wrist—rapid, like a trapped bird. I shouldn't notice how soft her skin is. I shouldn't be thinking about how those wide hazel eyes would look clouded with pleasure instead of fear.
"Boss," Mick approaches, keeping his voice low. "The fuck are we doing with her?"
I fix him with a stare that has made grown men wet themselves. "We're keeping her where she can't run to the cops."
"And then what?"
Good question. The job went sideways the moment this woman stumbled across our path. Three million in diamonds, the perfect score, and now a complication wearing a cardigan two sizes too big for her slim frame.
"Let me worry about that," I say, voice clipped.
The librarian—Emilia—hasn't said a word since we arrived. She stands perfectly still beside me, eyes darting around the main room of our clubhouse. Taking in the worn leather couches, the pool table, the bar along the back wall. The MC insignia painted across the concrete. The weapons placed strategically throughout. I watch her catalog it all, those intelligent eyes missing nothing.
Dangerous, that mind of hers.
I jerk my chin toward the hallway. "Dex, take her to the room at the end. Lock her in."
Dex moves to grab her arm, but I tighten my grip instinctively. He stops, eyebrows raising slightly.
"I'll do it," I say, annoyed at my own reaction.
Mick exchanges a glance with Dex. I ignore them both, pulling Emilia down the dimly lit hallway. She stumbles once, and I catch her against me, her body momentarily pressed to mine. The contact sends an electric current down my spine.
"Please," she whispers, the first word she's spoken since the van. "I won't tell anyone what I saw."
Her voice is soft, educated. Nothing like the rough voices of the women who typically pass through here.
"Boss, you can't be serious," the bearded one starts.
"Did I ask for your opinion?" Clark's voice has turned to steel, and the man immediately falls silent.
Clark guides me into the van with a firm hand on my lower back, the heat of his palm burning through my cardigan. He follows me in, sliding the door shut with a sound of finality that makes my stomach drop.
As the van lurches into motion, I sit rigidly between Clark and the wall, trying to make myself as small as possible. The other men eye me suspiciously, but no one speaks. The weight of Clark's presence beside me is overwhelming—he's not touching me anymore, but I feel him like a physical force, pulling at something deep inside me.
"Where are you taking me?" I whisper.
Clark turns those ice-blue eyes on me again. In the dim light of the van, they seem to glow.
"Somewhere safe," he says. "For now."
"For how long?"
His gaze travels over my face, lingering on my mouth in a way that makes my cheeks heat. "That depends."
"On what?"
One corner of his mouth lifts in that not-quite-smile. "On how long it takes me to figure out what to do with you."
The way he says it—low, almost intimate—sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with fear. And that terrifies me more than anything else. Because whatever this feeling is—this strange, unwelcome pull toward this dangerous man—it's not something I understand.
And as the van carries me deeper into the night, away from everything familiar and safe, I have the sinking feeling that nothing in my life will ever be the same again.
two
Clark
I slamthe compound door behind us, my hand still wrapped around the librarian's delicate wrist. She's trembling, this fragile thing I've dragged into my world, but she hasn't cried or begged since that first moment in the alley. Something about that makes my blood run hotter. The boys are watching me, waiting to see how I'll handle this complication. They think I've lost my mind, bringing a witness back to our headquarters. Maybe I have. My thumb traces the pulse point at her wrist—rapid, like a trapped bird. I shouldn't notice how soft her skin is. I shouldn't be thinking about how those wide hazel eyes would look clouded with pleasure instead of fear.
"Boss," Mick approaches, keeping his voice low. "The fuck are we doing with her?"
I fix him with a stare that has made grown men wet themselves. "We're keeping her where she can't run to the cops."
"And then what?"
Good question. The job went sideways the moment this woman stumbled across our path. Three million in diamonds, the perfect score, and now a complication wearing a cardigan two sizes too big for her slim frame.
"Let me worry about that," I say, voice clipped.
The librarian—Emilia—hasn't said a word since we arrived. She stands perfectly still beside me, eyes darting around the main room of our clubhouse. Taking in the worn leather couches, the pool table, the bar along the back wall. The MC insignia painted across the concrete. The weapons placed strategically throughout. I watch her catalog it all, those intelligent eyes missing nothing.
Dangerous, that mind of hers.
I jerk my chin toward the hallway. "Dex, take her to the room at the end. Lock her in."
Dex moves to grab her arm, but I tighten my grip instinctively. He stops, eyebrows raising slightly.
"I'll do it," I say, annoyed at my own reaction.
Mick exchanges a glance with Dex. I ignore them both, pulling Emilia down the dimly lit hallway. She stumbles once, and I catch her against me, her body momentarily pressed to mine. The contact sends an electric current down my spine.
"Please," she whispers, the first word she's spoken since the van. "I won't tell anyone what I saw."
Her voice is soft, educated. Nothing like the rough voices of the women who typically pass through here.