take her back to the clubhouse and figure it out later."
Ryker looked in my eyes and slowly nodded. "It's decided. We'll find the truth later."
I reached out toward Holly with my palm, everything a blur. She took my hand and I led her away from the other guys, Lynch seething. We got on my bike and we rode like hell away from that pit of death.
4
Holly
My body sank into the cool sheets, surrendering to the weight of his tanned, muscled body. My nipples stiffened, aching for his touch. His kisses turned to bites, sneaking their way down my neck, and all my muscles clenched. My fingernails left their mark on his back as his thick, swollen manhood pressed against me through the elastic fabric of my sweatpants. I needed him inside me.
Then I woke up and I remembered everything.
The room was small and dark, and the walls were paneled with wood. Real wood, not imitation, and it had a rich veneer as if it'd been there for generations. Motorcycle memorabilia hung on the walls, leather clothing hung sloppily in the closet, and a large, faded Union flag hung over the window, darkening the room. Some light peeked through, but I'd lost all sense of time. I felt hidden, secluded, as if I were a secret not meant to be exposed. I must've been here overnight. When they'd left me, I'd fallen asleep fast, utterly drained from the heat and the chaos of the day.
But I ran my hands over my body, and I was in one piece. Whole.
I thought back to yesterday. The junkyard. The bikers. The total mayhem and how suddenly it'd all happened. It was crazy. 24 hours ago, I'd just been the same old brainiac Holly doing my thing. Now I was in some criminal biker's bed, mixed up in dangerous business that wasn't my own. Oh, and responsible for starting a deadly gunfight.
They say life can change in an instant, and mine sure had. But that wasn't the worst of it.
The worst part was how he—this criminal biker—had instantly made me feel something I'd never felt before. Some deep, fundamental attraction.
What the hell was wrong with me? After being taken by a strange and dangerous man on a motorcycle, you'd think escape would be my plan. But for some strange, stupid, and completely illogical reason, I felt a compulsion to get a little closer, to take in a little more of that indescribable feeling he gave me.
It made absolutely no sense. I'd read about Stockholm Syndrome, where prisoners become sympathetic to their captors. Was that my problem?
Whatever. I felt dumb. This was probably the same effect he had on all women, many of whom were far more gorgeous than I was. I was being ridiculous, wasting my brainpower on something that didn't even matter.
Then the door unlatched, interrupting my train of thought. My impossibly handsome captor stepped into the room, all burly shoulders, arms, muscle, tattoos, and jawline. He shut the door again behind him. I sat bolt upright in bed, instinctively pulling the covers over myself, even though I had slept in my clothes.
"Was startin' to think you'd never wake up," he said. His voice was gravelly and weary, his mouth a grim line. His thick black hair hung down over his forehead, annoyingly attractive for being so unkempt. Dark circles shaded the areas under his eyes. His broad shoulders were still covered by his black leather cut, the front lapel emblazoned with the club patch.
"How long have I been here?" I demanded.
His eyebrow rose, his eyes scanning me. "Since yesterday evening. It's past noon. Been up all night waitin' for you to wake the fuck up."
"Oh my god," I said, an acidic urgency permeating my stomach. "I should be in class right now." I patted around my jean pockets, feeling for my phone, but my pockets were empty.
He reached into his vest pocket and produced it. But instead of tossing it to me, he put it back in his pocket. "Sorry. Had to make sure you wouldn't call the cops."
It dawned on me that class might be on hold for a while. "I just want to go home," I said.
"Yeah," he said slowly, his brow furrowing. "Can't let you. Not yet."
A hotness welled up inside me. "Am I being kidnapped?" I said, looking into his eyes angrily. I couldn't believe the mess I was in.
"Wouldn't toss around accusations if I were you," he said, crossing his arms and staring straight into my eyes. "Without