HARD RIDE (The Slayers MC Book 2) Page 3

  “You’re going to let me out? Just like that? What makes you think I won’t run away?” She’s suspicious.

  The thought had crossed my mind. I wouldn’t put it past her to try and escape. She’s been trying to do it every single say since the day I plucked her from that school of hers, why would she stop now? “I never said I thought you wouldn’t run. By now, though, I think you know I’m faster than you.”

  I can hear her echoed exhale from the tiled chamber on the other side of the wall I lean against. “Fine. I’ll come outside. But only if I get to watch what I want.”

  The urge to see her skin again is strong. I decide not to fight it any longer and move to angle my body just right to catch a glimpse of the corner of the mirror. I see her elbow, her shoulder, the crook of her neck, her rosy pink cheek, and then… her dark chestnut eyes staring right back at me.

  We lock stares as she watches me watching her. My mouth grows dry as I realize she seems to like it. The loosely held towel being kept in place by her fingers is dropped, catching just above the swell of her tit, enough for me to see the round curve of the voluptuous breast.

  The material quivers as her fingers threaten to release it once more, to let it drop further so her chest will be on full display. My lips feel warm and wet before I realize I’ve licked them while waiting to see.

  It doesn’t move any further though, no matter how much I want it to. The only thing that moves now is the corner of her mouth, as it smirks.

  “Uh—I’ll just wait outside. I’ll leave the door unlocked. Come out whenever you’re ready.” I ramble while leaving. If I don’t get out of here now, my cock is gonna punch its way through my jeans.

  ~*~

  The woman on the television stares intently at the suave man with gelled hair and a shiny mustache. Her hair blows around her face, with a breezy wind tossing it about in what’s supposed to be a sexy way. Dramatic music cues in and the title of the telenovela appears on the screen. In Spanish. On the Spanish channel. Without subtitles.

  Catarina grins as we watch the old TV set, knowing full well that I don’t understand a single fucking word of it. I can’t sit through another one of these things. I’m guessing they’re some kind of Spanish soap opera. I had no idea there were so many of them. We’ve already watched two.

  Seeing as I couldn’t understand the shows, I’d pretend to watch them, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing me bored. Every few moments I’d steal a glance at her watching the screen. Her thick hair is drying naturally, with some type of curl to it.

  She didn’t have anything with her when I took her from her college campus except for the clothes on her back. Dawson had brought her some of his Ol’ lady’s, and she’s wearing them now.

  Molly’s a tiny thing and Catarina’s got more curves than those black cotton pants are used to hugging. It must be the Latin in her, with an ass that just begs to be smacked. I can practically feel it under my palm, soft and warm.

  “I’m gonna fix some sandwiches,” I offer an alternative to sitting through any more of this. Plus, it will get me away from her body for a couple of minutes.

  Dawson had been right about a couple of things. This girl is gorgeous. I can’t help it, I’m a guy, and it was the first thing I noticed about her when I started the mission to take her.

  I’d driven into the small town where her University was, just a few days before the actual grab. Every moment of those days was spent trailing her, watching her movements, studying her for when the best time to take her unnoticed would be.

  She seemed carefree, happy, running the trails of her school each morning, darting back and forth between all the buildings for classes all day. She seemed to be a creature of habit, which made my job much easier.

  Everywhere she went, she seemed to have friends. People who didn’t seem surprised to see her when she’d pop up. That type of schedule was a dream come true for me. I knew exactly where she’d be and when.

  If it were up to me I’d have spent more time watching her from afar, piecing together all the details of her life from the things I could see. She was smart. I knew that even before she would creatively devise ways to kill me.

  The heavy handful of books she’d carry around between classes were no joke. They were some damn intimidating subjects; ones I’d never even heard of. I’m an outlaw, not a scholar, but I’m as smart as I need to be. I wouldn’t last a second in one of those classes she filled her days with.

  Science. She seemed to really like that shit. There was one night she stayed late in some kind of lab, working on God knows what with all kinds of glass beakers and test tubes. I’d found a perfect place in the parking lot outside the building, holed up in the van, just watching as she’d pour this into that, each time getting more and more excited that she’d done it.

  The crowd in her classroom had thinned out eventually, but she stayed. She stayed until the room was empty except for her and the thought had crossed my mind that it would be a good time to take her. My hand even pushed on the car door handle to get moving and do it before I stopped when I saw that professor looking guy come back in.

  The way he looked at her, dressed in her white lab coat and plastic goggles. The way his eyes devoured her while he spoke. The way his hands would find a way to settle on her shoulder a second too long, or “brush” up against her while reaching for something.

  I didn’t like it. Not one fucking bit. I had become protective of her, or some weird fucking shit like that, while memorizing her life. Sure, I was there to kidnap her for the good of the club, but I had planned to do it as gently as I could. In that moment, though, I’d forgotten the original mission and was too busy planning on how to beat that professor’s ass instead. Even if it meant outing myself to her.

  I had invented some kind of story in my mind, some way I thought she’d be based on what I’d seen so far. Gentle, caring. She handled each one of those science specimens so easily, so carefully, that I couldn’t imagine her as anything but gentle.

  I knew she was funny, as every single one of her friends were made to laugh by something she’d said at some point. She was kind. I’d seen it first hand as she’d buy a cup of coffee for another person, or lend her notes to a classmate.

  Those were all the things I’d convinced myself that she was, based on everything I’d secretly observed for days.

  None of that prepared me for what I saw next. I was just about to haul ass into that building, to find the classroom and pummel that fucking professor the second he made his move. He’d used his finger to push away some loose hair from around her goggles, swiping her cheek in a way she didn’t like.

  She said something to him, I could see her lips move. I could see whatever it was, he didn’t like it. He was quick, pinning her up against the lab table, pushing himself into her. That was the moment I took off running from the van, forcing myself to watch through the paned glass window as I approached.

  Then, as quickly as it started, it ended. The meek little demure girl I had convinced myself she was, simply didn’t exist. Instead, some kind of kickboxer bad-ass super girl had reared her head, turning that professor into a punching bag. She was relentless, laying her fists, her feet, even her elbow, into him over and over again until he’d dropped to the floor and I could no longer see him from my place standing still in shock under a large oak tree outside the window.

  I was a lot of things in that moment. I was sad, mourning the girl I thought I had convinced myself that she was but really wasn’t. I was in awe of her strength and her determination. I was second-guessing how easy I had though it would be to take her, and lastly, I was… turned on.

  She was no wallflower like how I had imagined she’d be. She was a tough chick, a force that begged to be reckoned with, and I liked it. I was quick to get over the sadness for what she wasn’t, and excited for what she actually was.

  Little did I know exactly how much of a reckoning force she’d prove to be…

  My eyes cast down to m
y finger as I think this last thought, spying the dash shaped indentation from her tooth, that’s been there for hours now.

  I abandon the sandwich materials on the small working counter of the kitchen and walk across the room to the front door, feeling her eyes on me the entire way. I jiggle the handle to the front door, double-checking that it’s locked before smugly nodding to myself.

  I know she’ll try to run. A part of me wouldn’t respect her if she didn’t try, but, that doesn’t mean I have to make it easy for her. The telenovela is still playing in the background, offering incomprehensible words and laughter to the room, but she’s not paying attention.

  She’s watching me instead, scowling as I leave the door and move to go back to the kitchen.

  “Just in case you get any ideas,” I smile condescendingly at her.

  A flash of anger strikes across those deep brown eyes of hers and for a second, I think she’ll charge at me. She’s tried it before, but I’m a hell of a lot bigger and stronger than that scrawny professor was. It was kind of cute to watch her try and take me down, though. She’d bounce right off me like she’d hit a wall and then fall flat on her ass.

  I was a gentleman about it though. I’d always offer her my hand to help her up off the ground. That’s how she bit me earlier today.

  “I’m not eating another one of those awful sandwiches you make,” she informs me from over her shoulder as her eyes return to the screen in time to see some woman in an evening gown dangling dramatically from a cliff.

  I take a mental survey of the things spread out before me. Ham. Salami. Turkey. Swiss. What the hell’s wrong with this stuff? This is what I practically live on back at home. Well, this and the burgers and steaks down at the clubhouse.

  My mouth begins to water just thinking about the food I miss. Suddenly, this shit on the counter doesn’t look so good. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you then. There ain’t much else--”

  “--ISN’T! There isn’t much else here.” She corrects me.

  “Excuse me, Miss Valedictorian. There isn’t much else here.” I snap back.

  Catarina eyes me suspiciously. “How did you know I was a valedictorian?”

  That makes me laugh. “I didn’t. I guessed.”

  “Well, why don’t you use some of those detective skills on making dinner? Or will that be too hard for you?” Her words have bite to them.

  I don’t care how fucking hot she is. I don’t care how much my dick wants to oblige my president right now and to see how else I can make use of this girl’s bitchy mouth, because she’s about to get locked right back in that fucking room if she keeps mouthing off to me like this.

  I get that she doesn’t know who the fuck I am, and that she doesn’t know what happens to people who to talk to a Slayer like this, not to mention the fucking enforcer for the Slayers.

  My teeth grit together hard enough for me to feel my jaw pop as I try and control my natural instinct to show her what happens to people who act the way she is.

  She’s from a different world. She doesn’t understand what these patches on my back symbolize, and what I’ve had to do to earn them. If she had, she’d be on her motherfucking best behavior.

  I know the second I begin to educate her on the repercussions of her actions, I’ll be laying down one of the biggest cock blocks. One that I likely won’t be able to undo when I’ve calmed down and think rationally again.

  “Well, if you think you can do better, Miss High and Mighty, you’re welcome to try. That is, unless we’ve found something you don’t know how to do?” I bait her.

  “I’m Mexican. Of course I know how to cook. Things that actually have flavor and spice instead of the crap you’ve been making.”

  I’m sick of these sandwiches as much as she is. If she wants a decent meal, then she can take a stab at it and cook for me.

  Wait! Take a stab at it. I quickly search the few kitchen drawers while she makes her approach until I’ve found the one with the knives in it. Pulling the drawer from the track, I remove it from the cabinet and carry it high above my head over to the pantry where I shove it on one of the shelves and then lock them away behind the closed door.

  “How am I supposed to cook without a knife?” She crosses her arms defiantly and pops out her hip.

  Now it’s my time to bust her balls a bit. “Well, why don’t you use some of those valedictorian skills to figure it out? Or will that be too hard for you?”

  I playfully tap the tip of her nose with my pointer finger, enjoying having the upper hand for the moment.

  It doesn’t last long. She opens her mouth and air snaps her teeth closed near my finger.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CAT

  Let’s see… how can I make this toxic?

  The gruff, stupid biker sits in the kitchen chair behind me, watching my every move as I search the cupboards and drawers for anything useful. He thinks I’m looking for spice, salt, or cooking tools when in reality, I’m looking for anything but.

  This place is dirty, unkempt, but surely there must be some kind of cleaning product? Bleach? Ant bait? Roach poison? Antifreeze? Something.

  Every cabinet turns out to be useless as I conduct my search under the guise of preparing this Neanderthal’s meal. Ha! As if I’d actually cook for him! He was clever enough to hide the drawer of knives in the pantry, but I’ve been looking for something else that’s sharp and can be used as a weapon.

  So far, all I’ve turned up is a can opener.

  I give up on finding anything poisonous or sharp once it’s clear there aren’t any, and instead, think about how else I can use this bit of opportunity. Hmm… I could give him food poisoning. Undercook the meat? That might work but it would take hours to set in. By all luck, I could be locked back in my room by then and be worse off than I am now.

  He’d be stuck out here, writhing in pain and I’d be locked away with no way to get out.

  Ugh!

  “Don’t think about doctoring this shit up either, mamacita. Anything you cook, you’re eating, I promise you that. If I get sick, then you get sick.”

  It’s like he read my mind!

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I lie. The last thing I need right now is him getting suspicious enough to lock me away again. I’ve had enough alone time these last few weeks to nearly lose my mind! Not to mention the bland as paper sandwiches he insists on feeding me. I don’t think I could take another one.

  If my only hope of a decent meal is having to cook it myself, even if it means he’ll benefit from my efforts, then so be it.

  “There isn’t much here to work with, but I think I can throw a chili together.” I hope he doesn’t think I’m asking for his permission. I know guys like this. I’ve known them my whole life. Macho. Brooding. Bossy. Assholes.

  I thought I’d gotten away from them when I was finally able to talk father into letting me attend school here in the States. I’d finally been free from his guards, from his henchmen, and been able to live some sort of normal life.

  Sure, Diego had been sent along to Texas with me as a personal bodyguard, but he wasn’t unbearable. I was thankful that only one was sent. I’m sure that if it had been one of my sisters that was away at school, a small army of men would have been sent along.

  What am I saying? My sisters would never have been allowed to leave the family compound for something as silly as school. They’re much more important to Father, unlike me who doesn’t really count.

  I can’t let this imbecile know that, though. I have no idea who he is or why he’s doing what he’s doing. I know enough from the leather vest he’s constantly wearing to know that he’s no good. He may not be with the Cartel from what I can tell but whatever group he’s part of, these Slayers, according to the large patch that covers his back, I know they’re not exactly friends of my father’s.

  They must be using me as some sort of leverage, I silently reason with myself as I tear the red pepper with my fingers, since this jerk has deprived m
e off all knives. What would happen if they found out the leverage they’ve kidnapped to use against my father isn’t really leverage at all?

  I’m nothing more than a second-class citizen back home on the compound. The product of an adulterous affair between father and the daughter of one of his rivals, who was taken from her own father, my grandfather, in revenge.

  I never knew my mother, other than through the stories of some of the kind old housekeepers that I would gravitate to. They were the only ones that were pleasant to me, that offered me any sort of affection.

  I was told my mother was beautiful, but young, far too young to have lived the type of life father had forced her into. From all that I know, her family was all but wiped-out when father had sought revenge against them, slaughtered them, taken their crops and fields to help build his own drug empire.

  My mother, Juliana, was spared, if you can call it that, simply because of her beauty. Father is a loathsome, petty man, with a penchant for young, pretty girls. My mother was nothing more than a prize for him. A mistress, or amante, a concubina. She wasn’t there of her own free will, I know that much for certain. No woman could ever be there, lie with him, of her own free will.

  No one other than that wretched bitch of a wife of his, that is.

  My stepmother has never spoken to me. Not directly anyway. I was spoken about, spoken around, but never spoken to. That was one of the cruelest things among many that she had managed to do to me. I wasn’t even deserving of her direct words, or some acknowledgement in any way.

  I guess I should be grateful for her disdain for me… it was partially responsible for father agreeing to let me attend college in the U.S., far away from her, where I’m sure I only served as a constant reminder of my mother, a woman my father lusted after and made his, regardless of the vows he’d made to his own wife.