Masters of Menace: A Biker Erotic Romance (2 page)

The drive to Taco Bell—the only place I could think of that was open this late at night—was full of anxiety. For all I knew, I could be walking straight into a trap. After all, his crew obviously had a bone to pick with me. They all felt threatened by my research. He could easily be waiting to take me out.  I could feel the heavy presence of the gun in my car. Everything that thing stood for. I pulled into the parking lot and flipped my braid over one shoulder, checking my appearance in the rearview mirror. “You can do this, Sarah. Everything will go just fine and you will get the story you need,” I told myself. “You will get the answers you need. They are waiting for you just in there.”

I looked around in the parking lot and didn’t see any bikes parked in the lot. He wasn’t here yet. I ordered a drink and sat down in one of the booths, sipping nervously at the straw, watching the doors.

Where was he? How would I recognize him? I spun my phone around in my hands, wondering if I could get another text before he arrived. The door opened and a pack of college students wandered in, dressed in sweats and flip-flops. They chattered noisily about papers and tests, ordering a mass of cheap food. 

Distracted by their clatter, I didn’t notice that someone else entered and was coming over to my table. I jumped, staring up into a pair of chocolate-colored eyes shadowed by thick black locks of hair. “Can- Can I help you?” I stammered, both startled and overwhelmed by the intensity of his eyes.

“Are you Sarah Pruitt?”

I nodded dumbly.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He extended one tanned, well-worn hand to me. I shook it with the same silence as before. “May I?” he asked.

“Please,” I said, finally finding my voice. I couldn’t believe this young, handsome man was Michael Lawrence. This must be some sort of lackey he sent in to get a “feel” for me or something.

The top three buttons of his flannel shirt were unbuttoned and I could see the top of some sort of tattoo, as well as the statuesque quality of his pecs that shifted under his skin every time he moved. His skin was tanned a dark brown, giving him a Native American look. His left ear was pierced.

He wore a leather vest over his flannel shirt and dark blue jeans that hung off his hips in a faintly suggestive manner. The smell of gas and oil hung on him like perfume, intoxicatingly manly. I found my gaze wandering up and down his body, openly ogling him as I hadn’t done toward a man since I was in middle school.

“As you may have guessed, I am Michael Lawrence. And your life is in danger,” He said with as much earnestness as my closest friends would.

“Yes, from you,” I spat.

He sighed. “No, not from me. I’m trying to protect you, actually. Not that you would believe that, but it is true.” He ran one hand through his carelessly tousled hair. “Look, I know you won’t believe me, but I don’t approve of any of this violence that is going on. There was a rumor, and it got out of hand, and now I have reputation, and…” He cut himself off. “Why am I even telling you all of this? The point is, you are in danger and I’m the only one who can protect you.”

“If you wanted to kill me you should’ve just come to my house or something, instead of luring me our here and then to who knows where.”

“Are you listening at all? I don’t want to kill you.”

“Right, sure.” I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms. “Why should I believe you at all?”

“When have I done anything to you?”

Images of my father being lowered into the ground, of people in black standing around six foot deep hole, flashed into my mind, but I kept my emotions under control. “You killed someone I love.”

“I did nothing of the sort. I have never killed anyone—no matter what you or anyone else might say. Now, we need to get out of here soon before people realize where I am and who I am talking to. Your home should be safe, for now.”

I laughed outright. “If you think I’m taking you to my house, you have another thing coming to you.”

I couldn’t believe this man’s audacity. Did he really think I would just causally have him come to my house without any questions? Or believe this messed up story about him not killing anyone or endorsing violence? His whole life and livelihood revolved around killing people and creating havoc everywhere he went. If he thought I was that stupid…

“Look, we really don’t have time for this. I’ve tried to hold off my men as long as possible, but they are going to take things into their own hands. Your latest article… incited them.” He grimaced.

I heard the roar of engines outside and the low rumble of idling vehicles. They didn’t turn off, but a group of burly, dirty-looking men burst through the door. They were dressed mostly in leather and ripped denim.

“Shit,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “Too late. You need to do exactly as I say, and you might live.”

He stood up, motioning for me to stay seated. A thrill ran through me. This was just the situation I needed to be on sight for. I quickly memorized the scene: the people there, the innocent college students obliviously chatting in a large booth, the tired-looking employees behind the counter, the four gang members at the door, Michael Lawrence, and myself tucked against one of the windows. I reached for my purse and wrapped my fingers around my gun. If he thought I was going to sit here and play damsel in distress, he had another thing coming to him.

“Boys. I see you also were craving some of the cheap, craving-satisfying goodness that is Taco Bell. I will confess, you have found out my guilty pleasure. Don’t tell the rest of the crew; they probably would never look at me the same way.”

“Who you sittin’ with boss?” one of the men asked.

“Oh, her? She was just here and I thought I’d be friendly and introduce myself. One shouldn’t let beautiful women eat alone, especially not in a forlorn place like this.” He gestured to his surroundings.

Was this guy for real? Who talked like that? These thugs actually were
afraid
of this fop?

“No, you ain’t. This is her, the Pruitt bitch.”

“Ray, it is rude to curse like that in front of ladies—and in public.”

“I’ll talk however the fuck I feel like.” 

“And I feel like you need to settle down a bit.”

“Gentlemen, either take this off our premises or I’m calling the cops,” someone from behind the counter said.

Michael stared down the group of men. “Yes. Let’s take this outside.” Even though obviously at odds, the men listened to Michael and even held the door open for him. He didn’t make eye contact with me, but subtly motioned for me to leave through the other door as he walked away. I snuck out the side door and around to my car, ducking behind it to overhear the conversation. I was not going to let an opportunity like this go to waste.

“What do you plan to do? You can’t just let her keep writin’ this stuff about us!”

“Of course not, I’m going to get her to stop, but that doesn’t mean ending her life.”

“She deserves to have it ended, though.”

“No, no she doesn’t. She hadn’t done anything to anyone. Except maybe damage your pride a little bit, and perhaps that deserved to be knocked down a little. You know how I feel about the killings.”

“Killin’ is how you get stuff done though, boss, and you know that. There ain’t any better way of gettin’ your message across or making sure there are no unpleasant surprises at the end of the day.”

“You do realize we are in a public place and everyone can hear every word you are saying,” Michael said in a low voice. He glanced toward my car and I ducked back down. He couldn’t know this was my car. That would be impossible. Right? He had never seen my car before; I was just being paranoid. Although one look around the almost empty parking lot wouldn’t make it hard to deduce which car was mine.

“You ain’t tryin’ to protect her, are ya?”

Michael scoffed. “Why would I want to protect her? What has she done to benefit us? Nothing. I just don’t think you need to kill her.”

“Are ya getting’ soft on us, boss?”

“She’s still here somewhere.” One of them motioned to the window where I had been sitting. I cursed and tried to slip into my car without being noticed, but it was too late. They had seen me. “Get her!”

I dove into the car, seeing the flash of metal as a gun was pulled out from a jacket. The driver’s door was yanked from my grasp and I was pulled out on to the asphalt, hitting my head. The next few events passed in a dizzy haze, but a gunshot was fired, one of the thugs hit the ground next to me, and I was picked up.

When I next realized what was going on, I was on the back of a motorcycle. “What? Who? Where?” I muttered, clinging to whoever was sitting in front of me. I recognized his smell and could feel the ripple of muscle beneath leather and flannel. “Lawrence?” I muttered.

He didn’t respond and I realized he probably couldn’t hear me over the roar of the engine. I had no idea where he was taking me, but it wasn’t like I could escape now. I would just have to wait until we stopped.

The ride was a confusing mix of emotions. First and foremost, I was terrified. Not just a little apprehension about the situation, but complete utter terror. I was on the back of a motorcycle with a strange man who I had never met until now and who was I had been researching and trying to imprison for three years.

The more I thought about this situation, the worse it seemed. But if I drifted away from those thoughts, I found myself focused on my arms around his waist and my hands clasped over his abs, feeling them expand with his breaths.

The vibrating hum of the bike was soothing and I could almost see why people rode these things. My hair whipped behind, strands pulling loose from the braid. I reached up with one hand and pulled the hair tie out and wrapped it around my wrist. I then pressed my face into his back, letting the wind, the feel of the bike, the feel of him, take me away.

Then I remembered who it was and fear overtook me again—but almost a pleasant fear, the fear of the unknown and the exciting.

We arrived at an apartment building on the other side of town. It wasn’t anything particularly exciting or fancy. Just a normal building with normal apartments. A normal parking garage, a normal keypad entry, a normal everything, actually. I followed the elusive biker into his building and up to his apartment without question or comment, hoping everything would make sense in the near future.

He unlocked the door to apartment 30C and held the door open for me to enter first. I took a few hesitant steps in, pulling my wind-whipped bird’s nest of hair into a ponytail. He turned on the light to reveal a nice, but sparsely-furnished apartment. I was standing in a combined living/dining room.

I could see a kitchen in one corner and, through a door to my right, I assumed I would find a bedroom and bathroom. He hurried into the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything to drink? Tea, water, beer, lemonade?”

“No, thanks,” I murmured. This whole situation felt completely surreal. Who actually gets whisked away by a wildly attractive man she hates on his motorcycle and taken to his apartment where he offers you a drink? No threatening, no raping, no murdering, no mugging. Did this man understand how things were supposed to work in this situation? I decided there was only one way to find out for sure. I came around the couch and into the kitchen. “What do you want with me?”

“I told you already. I want to keep you safe. I want to make sure the thugs who work for me don’t kill you.”

“If you are so considered with my safety, why do those thugs even work for you?” I demanded.

He sighed. “Because I don’t really have a choice. Would you rather have a large group of organized criminals, or a large group of unorganized, self-serving criminals? I have managed to convince them that they are best served staying in the group than going outside it so I can keep this crime to a minimum.”

“A minimum?” I scoffed. “Even one death is too many.”