Page 4 of Shadow’s Protection (Hurricane Heat MC #1)

The minute we fully enter the space, through the smoke and blasting loud music, I can make out all the people.

There are so many bodies. And I’m not talking dancing bodies.

I went to a couple house parties in college, but never a frat party because that wasn’t my scene.

I was always the type who’d rather spend the night curled up with a good book than a frat boy trying to get his hand down my pants or up my top.

But this is like nothing I could ever imagine. There is a huge, and I mean huge , muscled guy with his jeans around his ankles sitting in a massive leather recliner. His head is thrown back and his eyes are closed. One woman is on her knees in front of his lap, and she is…

Oh, sweet Lord.

She is literally giving him oral sex right here in front of everyone while another woman holds her hair back.

I feel a rush of heat flood my cheeks, and I tear my eyes away from them. But when I look the other direction, I see a woman wearing only a thong bottom, her breasts totally exposed, as she lies back on a coffee table. Two guys and a girl are snorting something off her belly.

I swallow hard, and my legs start to lock up. Where the hell am I? Shadow may not be a serial killer, but what the heck kind of a place is this? A sex dungeon?

If I’m staying here, will I be expected to participate?

Everywhere I look, people are drinking, laughing, talking loudly, seemingly oblivious to the fact that there is a freaking tropical storm raging outside.

A couple of women wearing only push-up bras and underwear are playing strip poker with two fully dressed guys at a folding table.

I recognize the two girls from outside because they are now making out with each other, their hair drenched from the rain, while the one who didn’t vomit writhes in the lap of a heavily tattooed guy with a leather vest that matches Shadow’s.

Now that I notice it, a ton of the men here are wearing leather vests. They all seem to match, and?—

“Violet.” He says my name so close to my ear, I nearly jump out of my skin.

Before I can reply, we’re approached by a tall man with black hair and a beard—and so many tattoos, I can’t find any bare skin except his face.

The man is wearing a vest like Shadow’s and a glare that could melt the paint off my car.

I curl my toes, and a shiver of real fear shimmies down my spine.

I slide a little closer to Shadow, where I feel at least a little bit safer, as crazy as that seems. I guess it’s true what they say about the devil you know…

Shadow suddenly steps forward and clasps the giant in a half hug. It’s like watching tattooed polar bears prepare for a brawl. I’m not sure whether to be scared or fascinated.

“You back from work?” the new guy asks, his low voice somehow cutting through the noise.

Shadow shakes his head. “Didn’t go as planned. Unexpected development got in the way.”

The other man cocks his chin and narrows his eyes. He’s looking at me. Me . I’m the unexpected development.

“This is Violet,” Shadow says, jerking a thumb at me. “She’ll be crashing here tonight.” Then he turns to me. “Violet, this is Phantom.”

I don’t know if it’s the terror of the storm, the strangeness of my situation, or some deranged sense of self-destruction, but I laugh. I laugh . And then I start rambling. “Phantom? It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for having me. I?—”

The deadly glare on Phantom’s face has me zipping my lips so fast I can almost feel the words stop cold in my throat.

Phantom growls, an actual growl deep in his chest, and shakes his head. “She’s your problem,” he tells Shadow. “Unless you’ve got your hands full with Malcolm. Do I need to handle one of them?”

Shadow shakes his head and grabs my arm roughly. “I’ve got him and her under control. Natural fucking disaster out there. Work can wait one more day.”

Phantom grunts this time, definitely a very different sound, but Shadow seems to know exactly what that means.

“Let’s go,” Shadow says, tugging on my arm.

I follow him through the smoky room, unable to keep my eyes off the people talking, smoking, playing darts, and drinking. Oh, there is so much drinking. I see what looks like a serious bar, with refrigerators behind it and two really gorgeous women who look like they’re bartending.

“Hey, sexy.” A brunette with a dragon tattooed all the way up her left arm and shoulder leans forward on the bar. “Whatcha drinkin’, Shadow?”

I try to ignore the incredibly inappropriate pangs of jealousy that creep through my chest as Shadow talks to the skinny woman with what look like startlingly large boobs.

She’s pretty, like really pretty, and when she turns her back to us to grab whatever Shadow asked for, I can’t help but notice his eyes following her.

Ugh .

In my yellow sundress and cute sneakers, I feel about as out of place as a zebra in a lion’s den.

A sudden bubble pops inside me, that little bit of excitement about my new life bursting as I look around and realize, even at thirty-two years old, I’ll never stop feeling uncool.

Like I don’t fit in. I’ve been an outsider looking in most of my life.

The more I glance around, the more I see. Posters of motorcycles and half-naked women on the walls. So many guys, each scarier than the next, all dressed in denim and leather and wearing heavy boots… Motorcycle boots.

That’s when it hits me.

I’m not in a sex dungeon. These guys are bikers. This must be their…I don’t know what it is. Clubhouse? Hangout? What did Shadow call it before when he talked about living with his brothers?

I rest a hand lightly on Shadow’s bicep, and he turns in slow motion to look at me.

“Is this a clubhouse?” I whisper.

He lowers his brows. “What? I can’t hear?—”

The bartender takes two bottles and uncaps them for us.

She shoots me a look. “Where’d you find her?

She looks like a milk drinker.” She chuckles, and I feel the blush turn my cheeks a deep red.

I know I look out of place and it must be written all over my face, but there’s no reason for this woman to be petty.

“Just the beers,” Shadow snaps.

She pouts a little but sets the bottles on the bar, leaning over much farther than is necessary—I’m sure, so that Shadow and I can both see much more of her cleavage than I, for one, ever wanted to.

Shadow doesn’t seem at all fazed and grabs both bottles in one hand. Then he throws the arm holding both beers over my shoulder and steers me away from the smoke and the noise.

This close to him, I feel the heat radiating off his body.

Even though everything else is competing for my nose’s attention, I catch a whiff of musky, spicy cologne.

Somehow, even with the rain and the storm, getting blown in the face by trash and walking through a sauna of smoke and body odors, Shadow smells fantastic. But, like, it’s a good scent.

I try my best to keep my anxiety under control as we make it to a hallway, moving away from the main room.

I can hear people talking behind closed doors and making other, more private kinds of sounds.

There is water running, so there must be bathrooms nearby, and we don’t have to walk too far before we stop in front of a closed door.

An ancient-looking plaque on the front of the door reads Vice President . Above it, a newer-looking nameplate simply reads Shadow .

“You’re vice president of this club?” I ask. The corridor is quieter than the main room, so I don’t have to shout for him to hear me. “Is this place a clubhouse?”

Shadow turns to face me, his expression bordering on murderous.

I take a tiny step back. “This ain’t no clubhouse.

” He unlocks the door and, with the beers still in his hand, kicks it open.

The man must have something against doorknobs.

“Hustle up,” he says. “I want you out of sight and out of the way.”

I try not to let the comment bother me. I already feel like a burden and a lot out of place.

I try not to overthink anything, and I yell at myself to get out of my head and just follow him inside, wondering if this will be my room for the night.

If this is his room, where will he be staying?

I look behind me, trying to get a sense of the place, but just then, the lights flicker out and the room goes dark.

“Shadow?” My voice comes out like a squeak.

I hear him curse under his breath, and then I hear the sound of the glass beer bottles being roughly set down on something.

A quick flash of light from his phone beams a bright pinprick of light at the floor, and I take a nervous step toward him.

I drop my overnight bag and consider throwing my arms around him, but I stiffen and think the better of it.

What the heck is wrong with me? This man is a stranger.

But then I feel his hand at my lower back, and he pulls me close.

“We have a generator,” he explains. He turns the flashlight off and slides his phone into some pocket, but now, of course, I can’t see anything.

I can just hear the rustling of leather and fabric.

“It takes a minute to kick on. You okay?” he asks quietly.

I feel his soft breaths against my hair and the featherlight pressure of a hand at my lower back.

I can tell from his heat and his delicious scent that I’m close to him.

I lower my chin, and my forehead bumps into his chest. I leave it there for just a second, my eyes closed, the sounds of the wind banging against the building and the party noises filling the dark space.

Then, in a flash, the lights power back on.

I jump back and look into Shadow’s face. His expression changes from something soft and thoughtful to that angry mask again. He sniffs, then takes a step back. He points to a closed door toward the back of the room.

“Private bath,” he says. “Use what you want.” Then he looks away from me and points to a queen-size bed. “Sleep, watch TV, just do whatever.”

He picks up one of the beers and points to the second bottle with it. “That’s for you.”

Then he walks to the door like he’s going to leave me.

“Shadow,” I call out before I can stop myself.

His hand freezes on the doorknob. “What?”

“What if the power goes out again?” I can’t help myself.

I’m in a strange place, and back here, the sounds of the party are quieter, but I can hear every gust of wind and band of rain blasting against the walls and roof.

It’s like I’m in a snow globe that someone has shaken with all their strength, but instead of fluffy snow, there’s trash banging around inside.

“You’ll be fine. We won’t get any flooding this far inland. You’re safe.” He throws open the door and looks me straight in the eyes. “Violet,” he says.

My tummy flips over, and I shiver at the intensity of his voice. Maybe it’s the cold and the fear finally getting to me.

No, I think.

It’s not the storm. It’s him.

“Yes?” My voice is a whisper.

“Lock this door when I leave. And don’t open it for anybody but me. Got that? I don’t care what they say. Nobody but me.” His green eyes go cold as he waits for my answer.

“Yes, yes, of course.” I nod nervously, and he shuts the door behind him.

“Lock it,” he says through the closed door. “I’ll wait.”

I flip the dead bolt on the door and rest my head against the cool metal.

I’ve never been any place except a hotel that had a dead bolt on an inside door.

I’m not sure if that says more about this place and the people here than I want to know.

But once the door is locked, my shoulders sag, and I feel exhausted, cold, and alone.

Outside, the storm rages on, battering the roof and walls with water and wind.

I gather my strength and take a look around Shadow’s room.

His bed is neatly made, and the comforter and pillowcases look clean.

I wonder how many women from that party want to be in here tonight instead of out there.

I wonder how many have been and might still come back here at some point, looking for Shadow.

He’s a gorgeous man, but also scary hot. I can see all of the women wanting him. And why would he refuse? Maybe sex is part of what they expect to do when they come here to party. But there are a few pieces that don’t make sense.

He has a full-sized couch against one wall that looks super comfy. Soft brown leather, the broken-in kind. That answers the “who will sleep where” question. Maybe he has an extra blanket he can loan me. I can’t imagine I’ll ever feel warm and dry again.

I wander through Shadow’s room, lightly running my fingers over the dresser and side table, peeking around to see if there are cameras in the corners. I mean, why would he trust me, a total stranger, in his room if he has no way to watch what I do in here?

I shake my head at my own na?veté. These guys are bikers. They carry guns and have weapons and a fortified clubhouse or whatever this place is. I’m a soaking-wet school librarian wearing a sundress. What harm could I possibly do to them?

I give in to my impulse to check the place out.

I badly want to shower and change into something dry and fresh, but I’m afraid even the clothes in my overnight bag will be damp from running through the rain.

I open a few of Shadow’s drawers and am shocked to find socks and T-shirts all folded and organized.

He has no pictures on his walls, but I do spot a nice TV and headphones, which I might just use to try to shut out some of the noise.

Maybe I can curl up on the couch and watch a movie or something. Forget where I am and how I got here.

When I reach an armoire, I open the knob, expecting shirts and jackets to be neatly hung, but I’m shocked to see shelf after shelf of books.

I finger the spine of one and squint at the titles.

I’m a librarian by training, and this excites me.

I grab a book off the shelf and see it’s been read.

I open to a chapter that’s been marked with handwritten scribbles in the margins.

I note the case citations and quickly scan the shelf.

Every volume is a legal book covering criminal procedure, trial practice for defense attorneys, the Florida statutes, or some very technical aspect of the law.

I return the book to where I found it and close the armoire fast. A gun-carrying biker with a chest full of law books. Is he studying to be a lawyer, or…

Who is this man, and what the heck am I doing here?