Sexy Bastards Anthology: Bad Boy, Biker, Alpha, Motorcycle Club, Contemporary Romance Collection (21 page)

Chapter 1

The water swirled below her feet. The moonlight shone down on the dark scene from behind her, highlighting each ripple and wave under the bridge, shining on every curve and twist as the water led its own life down the river. She wondered if it was happy with its choices. Was it okay to do the same thing day after day? Did it mind when people dumped shit in it, poisoned its pure essence without a second thought? Did it get angry when a storm came and blew the trees down, forcing it to create different pathways? Did it care when the sun came out and drank gallons and gallons of its water into the atmosphere? Or was it sublime in its happiness to be what it could be, what it was always going to be – a river.

And she was a fool.

A fool who could only think about a river as if it were alive – when she was desperate to no longer be in the same state. Only the process of getting from live to dead was what was stopping her. She’d been unhappy for so long… No. Unhappy wasn’t the word. She’d been in pain. Desperate. Beaten. Broken. She’d been at the end of her rope for the last year and it was only getting worse. Ending it all was the only answer.

But was it?

How could she be afraid that he’d still follow her to whatever lay beyond – and maybe she wasn’t afraid of being followed as much as failing in her attempt to end her life and him finding out what she’d tried to do. If he succeeded where she failed, her life would be worse.

A broken laugh escaped. “No, it couldn’t be worse,” she whispered to the dark sky around her. A dark sky getting blacker with every moment. The moon was going behind the clouds as if it too didn’t want to see what she’d do next.

What she didn’t want to do.

But it’s what she had to do.

There was no tomorrow for her. He’d kill her one day. Bury her deep and no one would know. No one would care. Except him. He’d smile at the world around him, keeping the secret from everyone and happy about it on the inside. To know what no one else would know – yeah, he’d love that. At the same time, he’d be on the lookout for his next punching bag.

She felt sorry for that next victim.

Still, if she jumped, her body would show up sometime. Someone might notice the bruises, the breaks, and investigate. She’d love it if they would take a closer look at Greg.

For herself, there was only an overwhelming sense of guilt. She should have left a long time ago. She should have walked out when it first started. Should have. Could have. But didn’t. And somehow over time, it became okay. It became her normal. And everything that had been normal before ceased to exist.

As she sat on the bridge deck staring into the darkness, she wondered if she could work up the courage to jump.

After all, she hadn’t managed to work up the courage to leave her husband. To leave the man who’d tried to break her spirit for so long. That was the part that really hurt. The bones, not so much. They healed. Her emotions, her heart, her own sense of self-worth and that horrific guilt – they never healed. The more she fought, the worse it all became.

But she always chose to survive. Meaning she always gave in, up until now, though usually not until she’d become bloody and beaten – the same point as always. He was away today. Off doing something with his buddies. Something illegal she hoped. Her dearest wish was that someone somehow would do something and change the situation for her as she didn’t seem to be able to do it for herself. And that made her feel worse. But the truth was her options were non-existent and if no one else could help, the river was looking like the best choice available to her. He’d threatened to do something so abhorrent to her if she tried to escape again that she knew her life was over if she failed this time. She had only one chance.

Her escape had to be permanent this time.

She’d run away – twice. Both times he’d found her. Dragged her back. Beaten her until she couldn’t leave again.

The water whispered beneath her feet.

Welcoming her.

Calling to her.

Telling her it would be all right.

Reassuring her that this was the correct decision.

To join it in the everlasting flow of life.

She really wanted to feel that connection. That peacefulness. She slid closer to the edge of the platform. It would take so little to go over the edge. She could swim – a little. Not enough to hold out against the cold and the darkness. She’d last a few minutes, maybe. But then it would be over.

It would all be over.

Music to her ears.

She couldn’t handle the pain.

It was better this way.

It would be best for everyone if she just slipped off the edge into the waiting darkness. No one would ever know.

She’d be just another lost soul.

With that thought firmly in her mind, the need to be free of pain and torment, the first real chance she’d had to make the change she’d needed to make, she scooted her butt to the edge of the platform and glanced around. “Goodbye world. You were beautiful once.”

With effort, she shifted sideways, holding her injured arm close to her chest.

And hesitated. Fear and doubt filled her.

Her mind cast one more beseeching question – surely there was another way?

A man’s voice called out to her. Panicked, she looked through the railing. Someone was coming. Was it him? Please no. She couldn’t be caught.

"Wait."

Oh thank God. It was a stranger’s voice.

"Let me help you," he said, running toward her.

She didn’t know what to do. Soon it would be too late to do anything. She shifted her position, trying to see who it was. Did she know him? Was he a friend of her husband’s? He reached for her at the same time and she caught sight of his profile in the moonlight.

A cry escaped and she jerked backwards out of his grasp.

And she fell sideways off the bridge.

She shrieked in terror as she free-floated down into the cold below.

Someone shouted above her. Calling out to her.

Terrified and full of regrets now that it was too late as to what could have been, she almost laughed. She hadn’t been able to do this on her own. Fate had stepped in and made the decision for her.

Too late, she wished there’d been another way.

Then she hit the surface and the water closed over her head.

The force of the fall… The shock of the cold… The awareness that this was it… rendered her unable to move. She sank into the darkness and deeper into oblivion.

Cash had caught sight of the woman on the bridge. Instead of seeming to be sitting and enjoying the view, she’d been too preoccupied with the water churning below for his liking.

He’d eased back the throttle on his bike and had approached quietly, slowly, not wanting to startle her into falling off.

The closer he got, the more fantasy-looking she became. Several times he caught himself looking around to see if she was really sitting out here in the moonlight. Long, curly blonde ringlets flashed in the moonbeams.

Then she’d turned her head, and the tears on her cheeks wouldn’t stop rolling, like diamonds twinkling in the half-light, but they weren’t shining happily. It was the shadow on her cheek that made him gasp. And the way she held her arm.

She looked… done. Broken. Beaten. At the end of her rope.

He parked the bike a good ten feet away on the opposite side and walked over to her, undecided how to approach. She looked ready to bolt, but there was only one direction she was going – and that was down.

He didn’t think she’d seen him. At least she never turned to face him.

She appeared to be caught in her own misery. Based on the facial bruises and injured arm, she might have a good reason to be miserable.

He looked around for a vehicle, wondering if she’d been in an accident. Was she in shock? Unaware of how close to the edge she was sitting? Could that be what was going on?

Instinctively, he knew it wasn’t that. She appeared too miserable for that. She was here on purpose. Then he caught sight of her shoes. Shoes she’d taken off and placed neatly off to the side.

Suicides always took off their shoes. He knew that. He’d seen that over and over again. He worked as an orderly in the hospital and had done many shifts in the morgue.

He’d seen his share of jumpers and floaters. Neither were pretty.

Both were permanent.

Shit.

He called out to her.

He watched as she shifted sideways, her gaze turning in his direction and some kind of shock slamming into her awareness. Fear shone from her gaze. No. She was terrified. She held up her hand as if to ward him off.

He lunged closer.

Startled, she shifted backwards and with a surprised shriek… she fell, toppling off the bridge.

Shit. He didn’t stop to think. He jumped after her.

He was a strong swimmer and had done more than his fair share of search and rescue work. He had no problem jumping off a bridge. For a non-swimmer, death was a certainty in this river at this time of year. For a poor swimmer, it was a likelihood. For him, nah, it wasn’t going to happen.

He hit the water cannonball style and let his body sink. His gaze open, he searched the murky darkness around him. He’d kept an eye on her as he’d come down and knew approximately where she’d be. Except the water was moving and she was sinking – and he was a moment behind her.

He spun around once, twice, then caught sight of her ahead of him. He kicked hard and caught her shirt in his hand. He tugged upward hard and sent her soaring to the surface. She lay lax in the water, not fighting for her life nor breathing.

Well, too damn bad. He wasn’t going to let her die. Not on his watch.

Not in this lifetime. He’d done a lot of shitty things in his life, but standing by and letting her go wasn’t going to be another of them.

He shoved her above him again until they both broke through the surface. He gulped down fresh air and immediately turned to the woman lying face up. He dragged her to the shoreline and started mouth to mouth. After several puffs of breath, she choked and coughed. He rolled her over and held her while she emptied the water from her lungs. Exhausted, she collapsed back down, her breath shaky but her chest rising and falling in a steady pattern.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” he said, standing up and reaching down to help her up

“No,” she said, shaking her head violently, her voice low, panicked. “No hospital.”

He stopped for a long moment and stared at her. “Okay, but you can’t be alone for the next couple of days. It’s a tough time for your body.”

She stared at him, her body starting to shake violently.

She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have saved me,” she whispered. “Now the pain will be worse.”

“No.” he said in a dark tone. “I don’t know who you are or why you jumped, but life is precious and there is always another option than jumping off a bridge.”

"My name is Willow, and I fell," she whispered. "You startled me."

"But you were thinking about it though, weren’t you, Willow?" Her silence was enough of an answer.

He bent and picked her up like she was nothing. In truth, she didn’t look more than 120 lbs. and was likely less than that. He figured she’d have to be about 5’8” – tall but lean. Her name suited her. She wasn’t muscled. She looked like a waif more than a woman, and now soaking wet and in shock, she looked even worse.

“My name is Cash,” he said suddenly. “Nice to meet you. Or it would be under different circumstances.” And he started up the hill.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked when she could. Only her teeth started to chatter at the end and the words came out in gasps.

“Somewhere warm,” he answered, shifting her weight in his arms. He easily climbed their way back up the side of the cliff. Quickly, he was on top of the old road not a hundred yards from his bike, his chest heaving.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please let me go.”

“Why? So you can go over again? I don’t think so.”

“You don’t understand,” she cried, her voice faint.

“No, I don’t. And as much as I’d like to hear an explanation, that isn’t the top priority. We need to get you dry.”

“And you?”

“Me too. But I’m tough. Nothing knocks me down." He suddenly stood her on her feet. “Now put on your shoes.”

She gasped and stared down at the shoes neatly sitting off to one side. Shoes she’d never planned to wear again.

Chapter 2

The shoes were her favorites. Soft, worn, fit her feet perfectly. Even had a soft side that fit the sore right foot that had been stomped on – again. She stood shivering in the dark, water dripping off her clothing, staring at her shoes.

She didn’t know if she should laugh in joy or scream in pain – instead, she started to bawl.

Before realizing what he was doing, the stranger bent down, scooped up her shoes and then her again, and walked her to the other side of the road. A big motorcycle stood in front of her. She shuddered. Greg rode a big Harley. He loved that whole tough ass persona and played the part when he could.

In truth, he
was
an asshole.

This guy, however…

She was dumped onto the front of the bike before he wrapped his arm around her. She woke up to her situation then started to struggle.

“Stop it. You’re past the point of fighting me.” His voice, harsh and grating, sounded more pissed off and angry than she was comfortable with. And she’d learned to be comfortable with a lot of anger.

His arms clamped around her and he rolled the bike forward.

“Hold on.”

And the bike fired up.

Shivering, sitting in the front with the wind blasting her face, she turned her head into the strong shoulder that held her. And realized his chest was huge – and steaming hot.

What had she done? Who was she with? And the real question – where was she going now?

Who was this hard stranger? Was he angry at her? Or at himself for saving her?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the engine noise and the wind rippling past her head.

He must have heard her, for he squeezed her tighter in his arms.

But he never said a word.

Ten long minutes later, he slowed the bike’s throttle to a dull roar in front of a house in a cul-de-sac with massive trees in the back. Then he drove up and around so the bike wasn’t visible from the street.

She was too cold and weak to fight him off, but knowing that no one else would know where she was, and how she came to be here, scared her shitless.

Her gaze darted in all directions, but there was no one in sight to ask for help. No one there to see her as he swung her up into his arms and carried inside the house.

Except… there was a sense of fatalism to her mindset. She’d been through so much. She’d survived so much. Could this man be any worse? He could – a part of her knew that. But he
had
saved her from drowning. Everything he’d done had been done with anger rigidly held in check. He hadn’t hurt her – in fact, he’d done the opposite – he’d cared for her.

With no other option, she let what would happen, happen.

Inside the house, still in his arms, the darkness appeared absolute. He strode forward confidently, never hesitating in the direction he was going. When a light flicked on, it was to show her the inside of a large bathroom. He stood her on her feet then bent over and turned on the taps, filling the bathtub with hot water.

For the first time, she could see his face.

And realized she recognized him. She quickly averted her gaze. She’d seen him talking with Greg once. Not sure of the relationship, she was wary of her own position now. If he knew Greg… that was all kinds of bad news.

If she was handed over to Greg after this, she’d never be given another chance to get away. And the beating he’d lay on her… Just like that, all the stuffing went out of her. She collapsed to the floor in silence and waited silently for him to do what he would.

Her mind was consumed with the pain of her failure. She should have gone into the river earlier, not waited to watch the moonlight on the ripples. There had always been a chance of a passerby coming along, stopping her. Had she been subconsciously looking for that?

Or had she been in such a mental fugue that nothing mattered at the time?

He grabbed her good arm and reefed upward until she stood on her feet, her injured arm jostled by his rough actions. She bit back the cry. He wouldn’t know it was hurt and she had no intention of telling him. He could be the same as Greg, who treated a weakness as something to take advantage of.

And she couldn’t afford to give him any of those.

He reached out, and she stood docilely as he stripped off her wet clothing. Her shirt was pulled over her head. She gasped quietly when her sore arm was pulled in a direction it didn’t want to go.

His forceful actions slowed, and he was calmer after that. More gentle. He unclipped her bra and tossed it on the sopping shirt beside her. Then he undid her jeans and struggled to pull them down her legs. The denim wouldn’t cooperate. Finally he managed to get them off. Now she stood in her cotton panties and nothing else. He didn’t hesitate. In a completely natural movement, he slipped the underwear off and down her legs. She stepped out of them.

“Get into the water.”

She struggled to move her numb feet forward. They didn’t want to move and didn’t appear to be connected to her legs. They were like walking on tree stumps with no give in the joints.

The stranger let out a strangled sound then scooped her into his arms and gently laid her into the warm water. Heat. Blessed heat sloshed up the sides of her body, giving her glimpses of the potential to come as it slowly realized that the deep freeze was over.

As she thawed, her body started to shiver. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably and she wrapped her arms around her chest.

He dropped a towel into the water behind her then lifted it and wrapped it around her shoulders.

She groaned in joy as the heat bounced against her icy-cold shoulders. But as she warmed up, her shivering increased. She lifted her gaze, now waves of misery riding inside them.

With a strangled sound, he stripped down and as she watched wordlessly, he climbed in behind her and wrapped her up in his arms.

Instantly, heat swamped her. Inside and out, warming up the cold places in her body and soul. He had to be freezing when he held her against his skin, he burned her so she had to chill him. But, it felt so good.

The water poured into the tub and with both of them in now, the water level had risen.

She was still shivering, the pins and needles increasing. It was hard to sit, but she had no energy to move. She lay in his arms and let the sensations flow over her.

Who was this stranger who moved her so?

Who cared for her needs so unselfishly?

Just because he knew her husband—did that make him the same? Not so far.

Finally the hot water soaked into her skin and her shivers abated. Yet the last of her strength had drained with it. She was so tired. Leaning her head back against his chest as the last shivers rippled down her spine, she closed her eyes and dozed.

When more water dripped on her chest and breasts, she never moved. When the stranger shifted back and lowered her head over his arm into the bathwater so her hair floated freely under the water, she never moved. When something soft stroked across her face, she lay quietly in his arms and let him do as he would.

She was past caring.

As nights went, this was the most bizarre she’d ever experienced.

Cash wasn’t used to seeing this type of acceptance in a woman – hell, in a man, either. It was both interesting and pissing him off at the same time. She shouldn’t be letting him do anything like this to her. He understood that the cold and the stress of the events had taken their toll on her and she was done physically, emotionally, and mentally, but this complete 'do what you will' acceptance wasn't normal. Some of it was probably due to shock.

He knew he could do what he wanted. She was completely naked, at his mercy and powerless to stop him. She wasn’t showing any signs of wanting to try. Like he’d seen earlier – she was obviously at the end of her rope.

Did she even know how vulnerable she was right now? Did she trust him? Or was she too far gone to care?

She lay damn near asleep in his arms in the warm water, content. What if she was in the arms of the wrong man… Jesus, it didn’t bear thinking about.

He studied her lax features. In deep rest, he could see a beauty in her high cheekbones, long dark eyelashes, and alabaster skin if he ignored the bruises. She was small, lean, and well-rounded, her plump breasts floating gently in the water, rolling from side to side with the movements. He ran his gaze down her ribs and hipbones, the sunken belly and dark triangle of hair. Her legs were lean and long, ending with small narrow feet. There were no physical imperfections, but she was covered in bruises and tiny scars.

Earlier he’d assumed the injuries were from the fall and his attempt to save her, dragging her to shore then hauling her up the hill.

Except as he peered closer, he could see the different colors of partially healed bruises. Not just on her ribs but her hips, her legs. Her arms. His gaze shifted to her neck and the fingertip-size circles fading around her gentle throat. His frown deepened. She wasn’t just bruised, she’d been beaten and from the multitude of bruises, she’d been beaten repeatedly over a long time.

He hadn’t turned on the main overhead light when he’d come in, so there was only a soft ambient light above the bath. Enough to show the damage, but not enough to give the full story. He reached out and stroked her plump breast, his finger circling a large gray bruise on the side.

Anger like he’d never felt before rose up in waves upon waves as he stared at the beautiful woman sleeping in his arms. A woman who’d had the shit kicked out of her. And not just once.

That had to be part of the reason for her jump off the bridge earlier.

In a voice harsher than he intended, he turned her so he could look in her face and snapped, “Who beat you?”