Page 17 of Rider Daddies (Venom Vultures MC #6)

“Because…” I sigh. “That man is a conniving son of a bitch who doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants.

I just don’t understand why he would actively choose to dedicate a year of his life trying to get me under his wing.

We did everything together—like, we went to wineries, movie night every Friday.

He used to surprise me with flowers and take care of me when I was sick.

” I frown. “A man wouldn’t do all of those things and go to so much effort if all he wanted to do was suck me into a trafficking ring.

No offense, but he would’ve saved so much time and energy by fixing me up with a couple grams of weed. ”

The girl watches me for a moment. “But you don’t look like the kinda girl that gets into drugs. Your skin is too perfect for that.”

“No, I’ve never used in my life, but that’s beside the point. Manual or Tristan could’ve cut to the chase, knocked me out and brought me here a year ago. Instead, he had Tristan coax me into love for fucking three hundred and sixty days.”

She’s as stumped as I am.

The girl pushes away from the railing, crossing her arms over her chest as she regards me. “You do have a point, but when it comes to people like this, you can find a reason for everything.”

“Which is…?”

“What’s the reason for kidnapping a girl, creating a fake profile, and selling her body?

To a normal person, there isn’t one, but to men like this, the answer is very obvious.

They do what they do because they want to do it.

That’s the reason.” The girl bites her lip.

“Tristan or Manual, whoever’s idea it was to manipulate you into walking down that aisle, probably got a sick hit out of it.

Maybe they just wanted to switch it up. Play the long game for a change. ”

My stomach should be churning with hunger given that I haven’t eaten all day. Instead, it feels like it’s getting ready to send bile up my throat. I’m on the verge of vomiting out my guts.

Waste my money.

Waste my food.

Don’t fucking waste my time.

Ugh. I could gut Tristan like a fish and put his intestines over his head, make him wear them like a necklace.

God, I’m starting to sound like the bikers…

“I have an idea,” I say. “It might not work, but we have to try.”

The girl lights up. “What is it?”

I look over the railing, cautious that the security guards might have superhuman hearing.

“Inside.” I take the girl’s arm and force her into my motel room, sliding the balcony door shut.

Hello, darkness my old friend…

Seriously, some lights in here would be nice.

I flick the light switch repeatedly, putting the electricity failure down to old wires.

“You’ll be there all night doing that,” says the girl, dropping onto the bed. “Lights show that somebody is home.”

I sit back down on the ground at my spawn point, crossing my legs. “Motorcyclists.”

One word, so many possibilities.

The girl looks at me like I’m speaking a different language.

“They could help us. Before here, I was staying at a clubhouse. We don’t need to get into the logistics of how I ended up there, but they might be able to help us.” I bite my lip. “Is there an office?”

“First floor behind the receptionist desk.”

“Okay, great.” I stand up with a spring in my step. “I need to get myself behind that computer and send them a message.”

I halt. The thought of asking them for help has bile sliding closer and closer to my throat. They made it crystal clear that they protect their own no matter what. I still have the vision of Ash and Saint rushing over to Ryder, no regard for my well-being whatsoever.

I still don’t know why that boils my blood.

It definitely made me not want to see them again.

But we’re talking life or death here, not just for me—for the rest of the girls here too. Ego aside, the Venom Vultures are the only shot I have at shutting all of this down. They were trying to eliminate Manual six months ago. What’s stopping them from doing it now?

I tap my finger on my chin, running through a list of options on how this is going to work. “I need you to cover for me.

The girl tenses her shoulders. “If this fails?—”

“I know, it could all end tits up, but I’ll make sure you’re safe. All I need you to do is guard the front desk.”

“What are the chances of this working?”

Good question.

To be honest, seeing as the brothers didn’t even bat an eyelid in my direction until it was too late—it’s not likely. Ash fired a couple of bullets, but they were all shot from the comfort of his home. None of them rode after me.

They didn’t even attempt to get me back.

So much for wanting to claim me.

Are they seriously going to risk their lives to come and save me? To get a good lay? Let’s be honest—all they want from me is sex. Don’t get me wrong, the feeling is reciprocated…

But men who are trying to keep their name away from law enforcement aren’t going to risk it all just to get into my panties.

They know Tristan is a lawyer.

They know he could expose the Venom Vultures name in seconds.

To sum up—no, the odds are very slim.

But it’s all I’ve got.

I bite my lip. The plan does have one positive, regardless of which way the pendulum swings. It will show me the biker brothers’ true intentions.

Will they live up to the image of merciless criminals I have in my head?

Or will they surprise me?

“Why does this place smell like decaying cat piss?” I whisper as Allie and I make our way downstairs, one quiet step at a time.

“I don’t know,” she whispers back. “It’s been abandoned ever since the eighties.”

“This whole thing feels like an American Horror Story episode.” I look up and watch water drip, drip from the flight of stairs above us.

A thin strip of carpet protects our feet from making contact with the wood underneath, but it’s barely sanitary. I don’t know who or what has been walking down these steps before us, but they were definitely carrying some sort of disease.

“We should have worn socks,” she says.

“I’m not wrecking my one pair of socks,” I retort.

I take the lead, guiding us both down yet another flight of stairs. Given that our rooms were on the second floor, it’s certainly a trek.

We make it to solid ground and pad through the corridor. There’s so much mold across the ceiling that it almost looks like it’s been painted green. We pass more rooms and eventually make it to the front desk—unoccupied.

“It’s always like this,” Allie says, standing beside me. “Always too quiet.”

I take a look at our surroundings, locating security cameras. I look up and already see two staring directly down at me like two eyes.

Fucking great start.

I’m sure I’ll find a way to disable them if I can get into the office.

“It’s just through there.” Allie points at an ancient door behind the desk that I can already tell is locked.

Paperwork has been stacked into three neat piles on top of the front desk. Checking over my shoulder, I walk behind the desk and take a look at the text. The paper looks fresh, the only part of this motel that doesn’t look like it has deteriorated.

I skim-read. Most of what’s on here are names. Girls. Clients.

Holy fuck, they have some big ones. Ewan Webster? I’m almost certain Mamma has mentioned him before, a high-paying client for the company she works for in San Jose.

Looks like he has his fingers in a fair few pies.

There are so many names.

Too many names.

My pulse spikes. I don’t dare lift the pile and leave any trace that I was here, but I’m sure the rest of the documents underneath this one contain the same thing.

“How many people are involved?” I ask.

“Ignorance is bliss,” Allie says, walking around to the front of the desk.

I huff out a breath and turn around to the office door.

Here goes nothing.

I tuck my hand under my sleeve as a makeshift glove and try the door.

Locked, just as expected.

Minchia.

“Check the drawers,” she suggests.

Carefully, I pull them out one at a time, searching for a key. Nothing.

Same thing with all of the cabinets.

“What about on top of the desk?” Allie comes over to search. “Might be hiding in plain sight.”

It’s hopeless. The only object on top of the desk, aside from the pile of documents, is a stale mug of coffee that has been left to rot. I lift it up to see if anything could’ve been left under it.

“ Niente. ”

“We should get back upstairs,” Allie says, “before we’re caught.”

“No. We’re getting out of here.”

That’s when footsteps start to echo down the hall.

“We’re screwed,” Allie whispers, terror taking over every inch of her face.

“We’re not screwed,” I say, looking for somewhere to hide, because there’s a high chance that we might be well and truly fucked.

After assessing the very bleak surroundings, I duck under the front desk. “Psst,” I call. “Down here.”

“I don’t think you realize just how fucking bad this is going to end for both of us,” Allie whispers as joins me under the desk.

I ignore the nerves that are congealing in my stomach and stay down as the footsteps grow closer. Allie’s icy expression is not helping matters.

I can’t help but wonder—is this what my life has come to?

I moved away from home at the age of sixteen to study my ass off for years, almost marry a creep and spend the rest of my life in an abandoned motel waiting to be sold?

Maybe some people don’t get good endings.

I exhale a shaky breath and stay low as the footsteps get even closer. Each one knocks my heart off-balance, my pulse losing its tempo.

I’m angry at Tristan for lying to me, but I’m even more enraged at myself for not seeing the signs. Not like there were any to begin with…but I still should’ve fucking known. He’s a sick asshole who probably makes more money doing this than he does working his day job.