Page 47

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Rory

I’m having such a good time with the women from the club. We got our nails all prettied up, something I haven’t done in a very long time, and are now at a local mall. I’ve been teased unmercifully about Banshee and me, which means I’ve been red most of the morning. Now, after hitting up a few stores, we’re at the food court for some lunch.

“So, what’s between you two?” Ember asks as we search for a table large enough for the four of us. The prospect won’t sit with us; according to the girls, he’ll be at a nearby table so he can watch everyone around us for potential threats.

“I figured y’all would be able to tell me,” I retort. “After all, everything else has been dissected so far today.”

“You have to admit, based on how you two were last night compared to this morning, something happened. Y’all were so different, it was beyond obvious.”

I lost my heart, I think. Hook, line, and sinker.

“He said I was his,” I reply, shrugging.

Her eyes grow wide, but she doesn’t say anything until Sage and Sloane have joined us, then she turns to them and whisper-yells, “He told her she was his!”

“What’s the big deal?” I ask, getting a little aggravated. Although, I might actually be hangry. Guess until I have some food in my stomach, the jury will remain out.

“The big deal is these men of ours,” Sage says, pointing to the other two women, “are alpha assholes to the extreme most of the time.”

“Until they fall for a woman,” Sloane adds, nodding while removing the paper from her straw. “When that happens, it’s obvious to anyone who’s ever been around him.”

“So, y’all know Banshee?” I question, eager to hear anything there is to know about him, but not wanting to examine the reasons closely.

“No, not at all, but we’re great listeners,” Ember teases, giggling. “And we’ve all heard the guys talking about the three lone wolves from Roanoke who were stopping by on their way home. Only, when y’all arrived, only two of the men were that, while the other was obviously taken.”

“We just met like yesterday!” I exclaim, nearly choking on my soda at her words.

“They move fast,” Sloane says.

“Well, except when Ares thought he was being all noble and shit,” Ember retorts. “I ended up having to take things into my own hands, for heaven’s sake!”

“This is true,” Sage muses. “But in the case of Rory and Banshee, I think he was hit by Cupid’s arrow on the side of the road. Then, something happened after they went up to bed and now, she’s his, plain and simple. Doesn’t matter to these men that in the rest of the world, couples get to know one another for a bit longer. If they choose you, just hang on tight and enjoy the ride.”

I can feel my face heating up even further when I remember the ‘ride’ I got this morning in the shower, then I shrug. “Well, he may change his mind the first time I get my period. I tend to be… a bit irrational, or so I’ve been told.”

The other three women hoot and holler out their hilarity, causing the other patrons around us to turn and glare. I watch as the prospect stands and moves closer to our table, scowling at each and every one of them until they turn away and resume what they were doing.

“Damn, that’s pretty impressive,” I whisper.

“I think they teach it in Biker 101,” Sage replies, snickering. “Each of the men in the club has the ability to scowl at someone and cause them to change whatever they planned to do around without saying a damn word.”

“Maybe it’s the ‘mom’ look?” I ask, remembering how Grams was able to do that with me whenever I was trying to get away with something and she caught me.

Full-blown laughter rings out at my words until all three women have tears rolling down their faces. “The m-m-mom look,” Sage stammers out, only to break down in hysterics again. “That’s fucking priceless. Think I’ll tell Raptor to lose the ‘mom’ look the next time he glowers at me.”

“Yeah, let me know how that works for ya,” Ember teases, snickering. Glancing around, she says, “Okay, ladies, let’s carry on with our day, shall we?”

Within minutes, we have our table cleaned up and are heading to the next store, one that carries lingerie. I decide that I need to upgrade my wardrobe, although I suspect Banshee doesn’t particularly care one way or another.

I let my guard down. That’s the only explanation as to why I find myself currently tied up in the back of a non-descript van with Patrick driving while screaming at me. I’m trying not to listen to the cruel things he’s saying; instead I’m focusing on reaching my tactical knife, that’s in a small pouch by my feet. If I can just cut myself loose, I can get to my gun and shoot the bastard.

That’s my plan, which might be a bit muddled seeing as the asshole punched me in the temple and knocked me out. But Grampy was former military and he taught me everything he knew so I was able to take care of myself. As I feign still being unconscious, I continue working on the knots, which I’ve found are extremely simplistic in nature. With one hand now loose, I’m able to get my knife out and cut the rest of my bindings, despite the fact my head is throbbing incessantly.

“I see you moving back there, bitch!” Patrick seethes. “Stupid, good-for-nothing cunt.”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, not bothering to hide the derision on my bruised and bloody face. “I don’t understand, Patrick. You nearly killed my cat and me over a few scratches, then you burned my home down. What did I ever do to you to deserve any of this?”

“Because you have something that belongs to me,” he retorts, taking a turn so sharp I fall over.

“No, I don’t,” I insist. “The farm belongs to me, the only thing of yours that was there were your clothes, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t curse, it’s unladylike,” he orders, causing me to scoff.

Grams tried to turn me into a lady, but I prefer comfort over style, and thanks to Grampy, I can hunt and shoot with the best of them. My new guilty pleasure of pretty, silky lingerie crosses my mind, but Patrick doesn’t know about that since the prospect took our bags out to the club’s SUV shortly after we left the food court area. Sure, I can take care of a house, cook, and bake as well, but the term ‘lady’ will never apply to me.

Unless you’re Banshee’s ol’ lady. That thought no sooner crosses my mind than Patrick pulls down a long, bumpy, unpaved road, causing me to bounce all over the place and add more bruises to my already battered body.

“Yeah, you lost the right to have an opinion on what I say or do the second you put your hands on my cat,” I grind out through my clenched teeth. There’s no way I’ll give him the satisfaction of knowing I’m in pain. I suspect he’d get off on it and my days of ensuring that happens are long gone.

He stops in front of a decrepit looking house that appears as if a strong wind will cause it to collapse and turns to leer at me. Frissons of fear dance through me at the expression on his face; he looks nothing like the man I thought I knew. In his place is a cold, calculating person who has no problem hurting women.

“Any man who puts his hands on a woman is no man at all.” Grampy’s voice seeps into my subconscious. “The only time that should happen is out of love.”

“Like I said, you have something of mine,” he growls out, getting out of the van then opening the side door and yanking me out by my bicep before tossing me onto the ground. “Why do you think I pursued you? You’re definitely not my type at all, Rory ,” he sneers.

Hurt thrums through me; even though there’s no way I’d ever go back to him after what he did, I honestly thought at first, we were building a future together. At least when Grampy was still alive, that is, because he dropped part of his facade shortly afterward. I was just too numb and exhausted to notice, like I told Banshee.

Banshee. My heart starts to beat harder when I think of the tall, dark, and handsome biker who literally swept into my life and turned everything upside down. I briefly wonder if he’s been told I was kidnapped, and worry that Patrick might’ve hurt the other ol’ ladies or even the prospect.

“What is it you think I have?” I ask, keeping my tone even and almost conciliatory, as if I genuinely care at this point.

“My RV,” he announces, shocking the hell out of me. “Now get up and walk,” he demands, jerking me up onto my feet instead of waiting for me to get up myself. “And don’t try any funny shit. I have no problem blowing your fucking head off. You’ve caused me so many problems.”

“What do you mean your RV? ” I question, stumbling along beside him since he’s got my bicep in an ironclad hold.

“Just what I said. Stupid brother was supposed to make the payments while I got it all set up for our business,” he replies, opening the door of the house and shoving me inside. “Went to the auction that day and was going to buy it back when that fucking old man outbid me.”

My eyes widen at his admission as pieces of the puzzle slowly start coming together. It was maybe a week or so after Grampy came home with my RV when I met Patrick for the first time at church. Like I told Banshee, after that, he was suddenly always there, and we began dating. Hell, he often helped me and Grampy with the chores around the farm! I bet he was looking for the RV the whole time, and I’m suddenly happy that he never had access to the barn it was stored in, that’s for damn sure.

As I sit on the floor of the house, where he tossed me once we were inside, I work to reconcile who he portrayed himself to be in the beginning with the man standing over me now.

Gone is the put-together person and in its place is someone who looks like a street thug. Hell, he’s not as big as Banshee or his brothers, but despite the fact their sheer size alone is intimidating, I’m more afraid of Patrick than I am of any of the men I’ve met in the past two days.

“How did you find me?” I ask, trying to figure out what I did wrong.

“It took me some time since you weren’t using the card from our account, but I think it was yesterday? Maybe the day before? I got an alert on the bank app and traced the location. Started running the roads keeping an eye out for the RV. Saw you broken down on the side of the road, but by the time I got turned back around, those bikers were there,” he sneers. “So, I watched and waited, then followed you to their clubhouse, bitch.”

I want to cringe when it dawns on me the only reason he found me was something so simple. Up until I stopped for gas right before the radiator crapped out on me, I’d been diligent about using the other debit card. However, I had pulled out the joint one to check the balance and ensure some of my bills had cleared, and must’ve slid it into the wrong spot in my wallet. I barely hold back my shudder at the contempt in his voice, especially when he calls me a bitch. I mean, like most women, I can be one, especially when I’m on my period, but I truly do try to treat everyone the way I want to be treated. Plus, if I am cranky, I try to stay to myself.

“That doesn’t explain how you found me today,” I continue probing. I mean, just finding the clubhouse doesn’t tell me shit, actually.

“Followed that SUV to the mall and bided my time,” he retorts, before rearing his leg back and kicking me. “Now, tell me where the fuck my RV is at, I’ve got customers waiting on that shit.”

I shrug even though pain is thrumming through every nerve right now. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly I’m hurt. “No idea. I was told they were working on it, but I don’t know where it’s at,” I reply.

My answer sends him into a rage and before the darkness rises up and claims me, I send up a silent prayer to my grandparents to help.