Page 22 of Riding the Line (Steel Saints MC #1)

I headed toward the kitchen, craving something sweet to chase the leftover adrenaline from the day. But something made me stop. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and a chill went down my spine. I glanced around my apartment. Nothing. But the darkness weighed on me.

Frowning, I went over by the stove where a pan I had cleaned this morning sat.

I made a show of looking in the cabinet for snacks.

I hadn’t seen anything, but every cell in my body knew something wasn’t right.

A cop’s instincts were what kept them alive.

I trusted mine, and right now? Red flags.

Which is why I was almost prepared for the figure that came lunging out of the shadows.

Almost. But not quite.

I grabbed the pan. A swing and a miss as the figure went low, tackling me to the ground. I hit my shoulder hard and used my bad hand to brace myself. “Fuck!” I hissed as the pain from my burned palm shot up my arm. But I didn’t have time to dwell.

He was on me in a second, hands closing around my throat like a vise. My vision blurred at the edges as I thrashed, groping blindly for the pan I’d dropped. There. I grabbed it, swinging it as hard as I could and knocking him in the head. He fell to the side with a curse.

That voice. I knew that voice .

I scrambled to my feet and, hurrying over to the light switches on the wall of the kitchen, I flipped every one of those suckers on. My apartment lit up like Las Vegas. My eyes adjusted to the light, and immediately I recognized my attacker.

Daniel was blinking hard, trying to force his eyes to acclimate to the sudden onslaught of light.

I had left my phone on the coffee table, where I had first tossed it when I came inside.

I cursed myself for not paying attention, for being so slack.

I had let my guard down. I just hoped it wouldn’t get me killed.

Turning, I ran to the living room, but Daniel’s dumb ass was a lot quicker than I gave him credit for. He grabbed me by my ponytail and yanked as hard as he could. I cried out, stumbling but managing to keep my footing. We circled each other.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Surprised that you’re this fucking stupid,” I snarled. “Would’ve thought you had learned your lesson when I set your damn Harley on fire.”

“Fuck you, bitch. You ruined my fucking life. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? No bike, no leather. I was this close to becoming a Saint, this fucking close and you ruined everything!”

“Maybe you should learn to listen, then. You did it to yourself.”

He lunged for me, and I darted to the side. I was still lightheaded from him choking me, and my reflexes weren’t as good as they’d been a few months ago. I had a rigorous workout routine as a cop—one I hadn’t thought to keep up, and now regretted.

When he pulled out a knife from under his jacket, I eyed it warily as he brandished it at me.

“I’m going to make you wish you had said yes, bitch. We could’ve had some fun. But, now I’m going to make you beg.”

I glared at him. “You fucking wish.”

This time, when he lunged, I wasn’t quick enough.

A trail of blood bloomed across my stomach as the long blade sliced through my thin top.

The cut was deep, and it burned like hell.

I tried again to make my way to my coffee table, to my phone, but he kept blocking me.

I knew under my couch, I had stashed a knife of my own.

I had to get there. I grabbed a decorative box off a nearby shelf—it wasn’t much, but it was heavy.

Wistfully, I thought of the 9mm I carried when I had my badge .

He darted forward again, leaning low like last time, and I sidestepped, bringing the box corner down with all the force I could muster onto his back. It broke apart with a resounding crack, and I cursed the stupid, useless thing. But it did the trick.

“Fucking cunt!” he hollered.

I remembered then that Braxton had told me they had ensured the apartments nearest to me were kept empty. Something about safety, and them being good for surveillance. I thought about how closely he watched me, and I prayed someone was watching now.

My blood was soaking my shirt, making me dizzy.

I stumbled, and Daniel smiled. Remember your training .

Go low . Lunging for his knees, I managed to knock us both to the ground.

Hoping I stunned him, I crawled desperately for the couch.

Fuck, I was so close. I felt him grab my ankle and yank me back towards him.

I screamed, in rage and in pain, kicking him in the face.

A sickening crunch. His nose instantly spurted blood, but he recovered quickly.

I didn’t withdraw my leg quick enough, and his face was twisted with a sick kind of joy when he stabbed me in the thigh.

I had been shot before. Punched in the face.

Knocked around. I was a cop—I could take a certain amount of abuse.

But everyone had their limit, and I was quickly reaching mine.

He pinned me to the ground, digging his knee into the wound on my leg, and I couldn’t help the strangled cry that tore from my throat.

His nose was definitely broken, and I took a little bit of solace in that.

And, from the looks of where my pan had caught him, he would be sporting a black eye tomorrow, too.

But at this point, I was more concerned about making sure I saw tomorrow at all.

I thought of Shelly—what I would give for some backup now.

Once again, I found myself underneath him with his hand wrapped around my throat. His knife toyed with the buttons on my shirt and I clawed at his face, getting in a few good swipes before he pressed the blade to my throat.

“Stop fighting me, damnit. ”

I laughed drily. “As if.”

My laughter just pissed him off more, and he drove the blade into my shoulder. Between the wound on my stomach, the wound on my leg, and now this… I had to do something, or I was going to die here.

He moved his legs to pin my arms down and cut my top open. A sadistic gleam was in his eye when he said, “What if I cut your heart out and left it for them to find?”

My eyes widened, and he grinned at me. I wasn’t sure if by “them” he meant he knew who I really was, or if he meant Mac and Dalton. Either way, the thought terrified me. Oh, God—everything hurt like hell.

Using every ounce of training I had, every ounce of fight left in me, I pulled my arm out from under him. The sudden movement threw him off balance, giving me just enough time to grab the switchblade from under the couch.

It was a small blade, and I was quickly losing strength, but when he turned to me, I jammed it into his side as hard as I could.

He roared and fell backwards, clutching at the handle protruding from under his ribs.

I rolled, crying out from the pain that being on my stomach put on my injuries.

I only had seconds. I grabbed my phone, which was thankfully on the edge of the table.

I had barely hit the buttons for a redial when Daniel stomped over and kicked me as hard as he could.

The phone went flying and I screamed in agony.

He picked me up, dragging me to the couch.

He leaned down. “Now that you’re a bit more relaxed, why don’t you and I have some fun?”

I screamed again, and again, fighting with every ounce of fading strength I had.

Images flashed in my mind.

The precinct. Faded flooring and flickering fluorescents.

My old apartment, only marginally less dingy than this one.

Laughing at the dinner table with the people I had grown to care for .

The look in Mac’s eyes when he would let his guard down.

Dalton’s easy smile and the way he held me as we watched the sun rise.

I could hear Shelly singing off-tune to an old Shania Twain song.

Through all of that, I felt his hands on me. When he bit me, I didn’t even flinch. He dragged the blade across my collarbone, the scratch offering up small beads of blood. I wanted to fight. Scream. Something.

But all I could do was give in to the black.

*

Maverick

I was almost back to the clubhouse when my phone rang.

When I had dropped Vixen off at the door, she had kissed me goodbye.

Confident, and sexy as sin, she had put those red lips on mine like she owned them.

Little did she know she owned damn near every part of me.

She consumed my thoughts. Her laugh, her smile, the sway in her hips when she walked.

The way she commandeered the kitchen at meal time.

She was a wildfire from the moment we met, and damn if I didn’t relish the burn.

Like my thoughts had summoned her, it was her name on my screen. I answered after the third or fourth ring, determined to maintain the air of indifference I tried keeping up around her. I was sure she saw right through me—but can’t blame a man for trying.

“What now, Vixen?” I frowned when that drawl of hers didn’t immediately come through the other end. “Vixen?”

Silence.

I was fixing to hang up, thinking she had accidentally dialed me, when a sound straight from my nightmares shattered the evening around me.

She was screaming. I could hear the fear and pain in her voice.

I recognized the sound because I had heard it dragged from the mouths of more men than I could count.

It wasn’t something I was proud of, but I knew the sound of terror by heart.

Hearing it from her? For the first time in a very long time, I felt weakened by fear.

I could barely think past the all-consuming desperation to get to her.