Page 7 of Hot as Hell (Royal Bastards MC, Montreal, Canada #2)

Chapter Five

Charlie walked into the lobby of the hotel and barely passed the front desk before the manager stopped her. What he said next was unsettling. “What did you just say?”

The manager’s face drained of color as his hands gripped the edge of the front desk. His eyes darted nervously to the side, and he swallowed hard. “We’ve had nothing but complaints about noise coming from your suite since your sister arrived.”

Charlie’s confusion deepened as she stepped closer. “I don’t have a sister, and no one should have been allowed into my room,” she informed the man and watched as he paled even more. “You let someone have a key to my room?”

“Not me.”

“But someone that works here gave a perfect stranger a key to my room?”

“That’s… that’s impossible,” he muttered so low it was almost as if he spoke for his ears only. “We don’t issue keys without proper identification.” As he stared at Charlie, he asked, “Are you sure you don’t have a sister?”

Charlie felt a chill creep up her spine. The strange, disjointed feeling she’d had when she’d entered the hotel lobby. The eerie sense something wasn’t quite right… now it made sense, but it also made everything worse.

“I think I’d know if I had a fucking sister, asshole.”

Rushing towards the elevator, Charlie hit the button repeatedly until the damn door opened. Panicked, she rode the elevator to the fourth floor. When she stepped into the hall, she could see the door to her room was cracked. Digging through her purse, she found the pepper spray and flipped it on.

Using the tip of her shoe, she toed open the door. Tears came hard and fast at the disarray inside the room. Furniture was up ended; her clothes were strewn across every viable surface and on the floor. Strips of fabric were everywhere. Everything she owned looked ruined.

“Oh my,” the manager’s voice came from behind her.

“I think you should call your supervisor and the police,” she said through the tears.

“Do you think you’ve been robbed?” the manager asked.

Turning on the man, she walked right up to him where they were toe to toe. “I don’t know, but I want you to call your supervisor and the police. Now!”

Hemlock stood in the doorway and stared at the mess spread across the hotel suite. “What in the hell happened to your room, Charlie?”

Charlie closed her eyes. She did not need this shit. She did not need a man that she kissed once and almost killed to watch her fall apart. She’d already had enough humiliation with him for one night. Wasn’t it bad enough he’d seen her beat and dealt with the word vomit she threw at him earlier?

“The hotel gave someone a key to my room. The person in question said she was my sister. But I don’t have a sister, and I didn’t give anyone permission to have access to my room.”

“Don’t touch anything. I’m calling the cops.” Hemlock looked at the hotel manager. “Get your supervisor on the phone or have them meet us up here,” he ordered the middle-aged man.

As he dialed the police, Hemlock made his way across the room and onto the patio. Nothing had been touched outside. Waving Charlie to him, he had her sit down on a patio chair while he went in search of a blanket or a robe. Something she could wrap up in.

Turned out the hotel didn’t have working surveillance cameras, so the cops could not see who had come in or out of her suite. The only thing they knew for sure was which employee had given a stranger access to Charlie’s room.

After numerous questions making her feel like a suspect instead of a victim, the cops had asked her if anything was missing.

How the hell did she know? She’d been sitting outside waiting for them to let her look around. Picking through her belongings, she found a few items of clothing, and her one piece of nice jewelry was gone.

“Do you know of anyone that might have done this?”

“Yes. The same person who fractured my face. Ashley Case.” She watched the cop jot down Ashley’s name. When he handed her his card, Charlie rolled her eyes as she took it.

When the door closed, she looked at Hemlock, who was shaking his head. “What?”

“You don’t know how to play nice with others. Do you?” he asked with a questioning stare.

Charlie did not need his sarcastic commentary when all she wanted to do was stick her face into a pillow and scream. “You can leave,” she said while pointing a finger at the door.

Hemlock folded his arms across his chest and continued staring at her. If she thought he’d leave her there, Charlie was crazy. “I’m not leaving until we pack you a bag.”

“Why? I can’t afford to stay anywhere else.”

“Charlie, you aren’t staying here tonight. Not without knowing who came in here and why.”

“I have work tomorrow. At two different places.”

“No, you don’t.” She couldn’t work with her face fractured. By tomorrow, it would be even more painful than it was now.

“Hemlock, if I don’t work, I can’t afford to stay here and pay for that stupid apartment.”

Even knowing it would bite him in the ass, at some point, Hemlock offered for her to stay with him. His place had an extra bedroom and bathroom. Plus, he primarily stayed at the clubhouse.“Someone helped me once. I’m paying it forward.”

“How many times have you paid it forward?”

“Too many. I’m hoping eventually I’ll pay it forward to the right person.”

Was she actually thinking of accepting his help? She didn’t know him. Other than he was allergic to cinnamon. This was crazy. She was crazy even considering it. Screw it . “I’m taking you up on the offer only because I don’t think I feel safe here.”

“No strings attached. Just a place for you to stay for a while.”

“I can pay you something for helping me.”

“Let’s cross that bridge later.” Hemlock started picking up overturned furniture and clothes. Whoever had come in there had wanted to unsettle Charlie. Some items he picked up had been cut and ripped. This was an intentional attack on her.When he looked up, he saw she held a backpack to her chest.

“I’m ready.”

“What about the rest of this stuff?”

“I’ll come back tomorrow and sort it out. I’m too tired and my face hurts too much to deal with it tonight.”

“I’m off tomorrow. I can bring you back and we can take care of it together.” Why was he doing this shit again? Oh right, nice guy syndrome.

Scratching his chin, he looked at her attire and thought it wouldn’t do. Unfortunately, he was on the bike and not in the car. “Would you have a pair of sturdy boots?”

Charlie looked down at her well-worn converse, then back up at Hemlock. “No. Why?”

“I’m on my bike.” He saw the instant she changed her mind as she took two steps back. “I take it you’ve never ridden.”

“Nope, and I’m not gonna start tonight.”

He stepped around an overturned kitchen chair and dodged walking on her clothes, even if they were trashed. When he was toe to toe with her, Hemlock looked down, making sure she was paying attention to him. Giving her the most playful smile he could muster, he said two words, “Wanna bet.”

Easing back he waited for her to change her mind. He could see her wavering, but wasn’t sure which way she’d lean until she sighed. Not giving her a chance to decline, he said, “Let’s get going. We need to get some ice on that face of yours.”

Ten minutes later, he stood beside Charlie as she stared at his bike. “How do I get on it?” she asked as she stretched her neck to get a better look at it. “And where do I sit?”

Taking the backpack from her, he stuffed it into one of his saddlebags, then handed her his spare shell.

When she just stood there holding it, he took it and slapped it on her head.

Quickly he adjusted the straps and buckled it.

Next, he slid a pair of clear riding glasses onto her face. “Now, you’re ready to ride.”

Walking around to the left side of his sled (motorcycle) like he always did, he threw a long leg over and settled into the saddle.

Pointing a finger, he had Charlie do the same thing, except she didn’t know how to get on.

He almost dropped the bike when she attempted to kneel on the saddlebag to crawl on.

“Whoa ,whoa, whoa! Put your foot on this peg.” He drew her attention to the foot peg right behind his calf.

“Your left foot, push up and throw your right leg over. Once your leg is over, sit down on the seat.”

“You mean this vinyl do-ma-hickie?” she asked, her words laced with concern.

Cutting her a look, he wondered if she was serious. “It’s called a seat.”

“It’s called ridiculous.” Charlie snapped, staring at him.

Frustrated, tired, and ready to be home already, he pointed to the seat. “Charlie. Please get on the bike.”

“Fine, but if my ass hurts when we get to your apartment, I’m gonna need ice for it as well as my face.”

And he would need ice for the massive headache he was getting. When she was finally settled behind him, Hemlock reached back for her hands, bringing them around his waist. “Hang on tight.”

Firing up the bike, he felt the engine roar to life, the deep thrum of the motor vibrating through the frame, easing the tension that always crept into his shoulders.

The noise was a kind of comfort, familiar, steady.

When he revved it once, the sound of the engine swallowed everything, but beneath it, he heard Charlie’s laugh.

Crazy bitches are great in the sack.

Shifting into gear, the power of the bike surge beneath him, and the world outside blurred into a rush of wind and speed. His mind cleared. The road ahead, open and endless, was all he needed. Just the hum of the engine and the endless stretch of asphalt lay ahead.

Hemlock could feel the warmth of Charlie’s hands wrapped around him, and despite the tension he’d felt earlier, a flicker of something, maybe concern, maybe a flicker of amusement, softened his grip on the handlebars.

He twisted the throttle with a practiced ease, the rumble of the engine beneath them filling the air as they moved forward.

Charlie, for her part, was gripping him like a lifeline. Her fingers dug into his jacket, the leather creaking in protest. Hemlock smirked to himself. If she wasn’t careful, she might rip the seams right out of it.

“Just hold on,” he muttered over his shoulder, more to himself than to her.

But Charlie wasn’t listening; she was too busy trying to figure out how to balance on a bike she clearly had no experience with.

“This thing is an accident waiting to happen,” she said, but her voice was tinged with sarcasm.

He snorted, twisting the throttle harder, the bike roaring to life beneath them as they shot forward down the street. The wind rushed past them, and the noise of the engine drowned out anything else she might’ve said.

Charlie’s grip tightened, and Hemlock could feel the sudden shift in her posture, her body pressing closer to his, as though she were trying to make herself smaller, more compact.

For a moment, it felt like everything around them—the rush of air, the roar of the engine, the blur of the streetlights—vanished. There was just the two of them. The ride, the raw energy between them, it felt almost... right.