Page 7 of Her Outlaw Biker (Vanishing With the Rebel #2)

Clover

We’ve been riding for a while and the roar of Ghost’s monstrous bike is the only thing keeping me grounded—or maybe it’s the steady beat of his heart beneath my arms.

I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he regret burning it all down? Although it was just a trailer, it was his home for three years. He torched it up without a second thought.

I shiver at the memory, tightening my arms around him. The dry wind rushes around our helmets in a loud roar as the motorcycle races over the empty terrain. I can feel the tension in his muscles as he navigates us through the desert roads.

Maybe I should have asked questions. Maybe I shouldn’t trust him, but for some reason, I do. With my life. Ghost has proven himself more trustworthy in just two days than any other man in my life. Yet, I wish he would tell me what’s going on…why we’re on the run.

After a long ride, Ghost eases off the throttle and pulls into a dusty gravel lot. A neon sign flickers: MOTEL, with a crooked L that’s almost falling off. The sour-faced clerk must see something on Ghost’s face, because he slides a key across the counter without a word.

The room is tiny, cramped. And with Ghost’s large frame filling up the space, I can barely breathe. He takes off his jacket and lays it across the bed, then moves to close the curtains. My eyes track the way the muscles of his back move underneath his tight T-shirt.

Despite being exhausted from travel, I feel heat bloom between my thighs, a desire to feel him close to me again. Inside me again. But I’ve never initiated anything with a man before, and I’m not totally sure how to go about this.

“I—could really use a shower,” I say quietly, my voice trembling slightly.

He studies me with dark eyes, then nods. “Bathroom’s over there.”

I step toward the tile-slab bathroom, then pause, my pulse spiking. “Do you mind…helping me get out of this?” I blurt, my cheeks flaming under his hooded stare.

His jaw tightens, his eyes darkening with a consuming lust. He crosses the floor in two long strides and stands behind me, wordlessly pressing his fingers against the fabric at my shoulders.

Inch by inch, he peels my shirt from my body, then my bra, and then my pants and underwear.

His touch is feather-soft, but it feels like fire on my skin.

Once I’m standing naked before him, he lifts me, cradling my thighs as carries me across the room to the bathroom. I cling to him, dizzy with need and adrenaline.

He presses me against the bathroom wall, the tile cool against my burning skin, and he kisses me, slow and reverent. The running water splutters to life, soon transforming into a steady stream. Steam puffs around our bodies like a private fog.

His shrugs out of his shirt, then his jeans, and I watch him undress, my heart hammering loudly in my chest. When he’s done, he pulls me into the spray, one arm tight around my waist, the other braced against the wall behind me.

The water sluices over us, slick and hot.

I press against him, feeling every ridge of his ripped muscles.

His hands move to my back, sliding down to my hips, then lower, gentle but commanding.

I gasp when his fingers trail up my spine, then loop around to cup my breast. He teases my nipple with his thumb, a slow, circular motion that sends shivers through me. My back arches, my breath hitching.

“My little bird,” he breathes, voice thick. Then he flicks his thumb over my areola, trailing kisses across my neck, down to my collarbone.

Heat pools in my belly, and I wrap my arms around his neck. He grabs my ass and lifts me, and my legs wrap tight around his waist. He guides me to press my back against the glass shower wall, water streaming down both our faces as he kisses me again, harder this time.

He slides one hand between us, finding my wet heat, and strokes me through the slick arousal that’s gathered there. I cry out, pressing closer, our tongues tangling together.

His rough thumb circles my clit, and I moan as he eases two fingers inside me, slow, searching, as if he’s rediscovering me for the first time.

Every inch of me hums with pleasure. I moan into his mouth, thighs trembling as he finds a rhythm, curling his fingers to brush that perfect spot.

He kisses me deep, tongue exploring, swallowing my cry.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmurs against my lips.

I dig my nails into his shoulders, holding on tight. “Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He moves back a little, sliding out his fingers, and just as I start to mourn the loss, he pushes his cock into me, his hard length filling me up.

I gasp, clawing at his shoulders for balance, but he holds me up by my thighs and begins to move.

I close my eyes, throwing my head back against the shower wall as he starts to thrust into me, his strokes careful but urgent, bringing me closer and closer to the brink.

The water drums around us, washing away the night’s fear, gluing us together like nothing else matters.

When I come, it rips through me, bright, shattering, carrying him with me into his own release.

His name is on my lips, and he grips me like I’m his lifeline.

We collapse against the glass, breathless and trembling, the shower still running around us.

He sets me down gently on my feet and presses the warmth of his body against me, forehead against mine.

“You’re too good for me, little bird,” he says, his voice hoarse.

I don’t respond. Instead, I rise on my tiptoes to kiss him on the forehead.

His arms come around me, pressing us tightly together in a long embrace.

After a while, he washes my entire body, gently and thoroughly, and then his own.

He turns off the water and grabs a towel from the rack, drying us before we head back to the room.

After we’re both settled in bed, I turn around to face him, trailing my fingers over the hard ridges of his chest.

“Why did you burn down the trailer?” I ask quietly, searching his eyes as if they hold all the answers. “Why are we running, really?”

He shrugs, his body tensing against mine all over again. “We’re in danger, sweetheart.”

“What do you mean we’re in danger?”

“The Iron Vultures set you up,” he replies calmly. “And now they want both of us dead.”

“What?” I ask, blinking at him in shock. “That’s not true, Rigs—he—” I trail off, suddenly unsure of my truth. “Tell me everything.”

He remains quiet for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. “You sure?” he asks finally.

“Please.”

He exhales and leans back, facing the ceiling for a moment.

“Back when I was just Jack Maddox, I wanted to carry on my family’s legacy, serve my country to the the best of my ability.

My father and grandfather also served in the army and I thought it was an honor to follow in their footsteps… until my whole family was killed.”

I gasp. “What?”

His voice is flat, but I catch the tremor under his calm. I reach for his hand. He seems to hesitate for a split second, but then relaxes, letting me hold on.

“They were all found in our home. My parents…my grandfather…all dead, and it was labeled as a burglary gone wrong.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I mutter, swallowing around the lump in my throat.

He nods, his hand tightening around mine as if grounding himself.

“I started to dig around, and I discovered that my dad and grandfather were about to uncover a conspiracy within the army, and that’s why they were eliminated.

I tried to report my findings, but instead of getting justice, I was dishonorably discharged for insubordination. ”

My heart wrenches with anger at the unfairness. I press my lips together, blinking back the tears of frustration pulling at my lids.

He pauses, a soft, humorless smile curling at his lips. “Don’t cry for me, sweetheart. I’m no saint.”

“It’s just so unfair,” I murmur, sniffing slightly.

“Life’s a bitch sometimes,” he replies with a sigh. “I was so angry after my discharge, so devastated…I wanted revenge. I met Rigs in a bar one night and he told me about the Iron Vultures. I thought it was a good way to fight the system, so I joined. Biggest mistake of my life.”

He lets go of my hand and rubs his palms over his face. “Only got more blood on my hands. One night, we were scouting a target, and a kid—barely seven—got caught in the crossfire.” His voice breaks. “That wrecked me.”

“De he…did he die?”

He shakes his head, anguish in his eyes. “He made it, but barely. I anonymously donated everything I had for his treatment, but…I’ll forever live with the guilt of ruining his life.”

I move closer, brushing my cheek against his arm. “That must have been hell.”

He closes his eyes. “It was. After, I realized the Vultures were in bed with the same corrupt government I was trying to bring down. I was just a puppet on their string. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I just…disappeared.”

My throat tightens. “Three years.”

“Three years of living like a ghost,” he says. “Every day, I was just waiting to die…and then you showed up.”

I swallow. “I’m glad I did.”

He stares at me, uncertainty warring with something softer. “It’s got you into trouble now, Clover. The Iron Vultures are trying to take us both out…tonight.”

“I don’t care,” I whisper. “I’d run with you anywhere.”

I lean in and kiss him, soft but fierce. He responds, claiming my mouth, wrapping me in his arms, pressing me close.

When we break apart, his forehead rests on mine. “I wanted to tell you all that,” he says quietly. “But I was scared you’d leave.”

I trace the scar on his collarbone. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiles sadly. “Good. And I’m done running.”