Chapter 7 Slash

As soon as the bike approached the mouth of the alley and paused, I felt Molly tremble.

“Not letting them take you,” I swore, gripping the handlebars tighter; so fucking glad I cut the engine when I did. There wasn’t a reason to search back here. A NO OUTLET sign had been posted beside the narrow opening that led to the rear of the building we faced. I’d tucked us behind a couple of dumpsters, noting the commercial business wouldn’t have nosy neighbors or pets that could alert the BSMC of our hiding spot.

Gunner and Havoc would lead them out of Vegas toward Henderson, possibly splitting off with one of them heading toward the FRMC clubhouse. That should be fun.

I almost laughed at the thought until I remembered why we were hiding from these dumb fucks. A hot wave of protective anger flooded me when I thought of Molly being auctioned off. Sweat dampened the back of my neck as I focused on the surrounding building and road. I was tall enough to look over the dumpster if I stood and hopefully catch the stationary headlight facing the street, rolling away from our position.

“I need to get a better look,” I whispered before rising off the seat and creeping around the dumpster. From this angle, I had a better view, watching as the bike idled.

Another Harley joined him, slowing the growly engine beside the first guy. They spoke for a couple of minutes before they turned to gaze down the alley. Fuck!

My gaze swept over the bulky cardboard that someone had broken down behind the dumpster, several metal barrels, and stacks of plastic crates. There wasn’t much that could conceal us, but I could move quickly without making too much noise and cover the open space.

Without delay, I crouched, moving fast as I tried to shove the first barrel. Nope. It was filled with something heavy. I couldn’t get it to budge and abandoned that idea, rushing to the crates. In a stroke of luck, I realized they were already stacked together and would be easy to maneuver. I began shifting them in front of us, sweat dripping down my neck and slithering down my back as I carefully placed the crates as closely as possible, covering the gap that would expose us.

I heard footsteps and voices as I backed away from the last stack, hoping they didn’t try to shove those rows in front of us. They’d topple and reveal our position without any hope of escape.

Molly’s eyes widened when I rushed toward her, pushing her back against the seat as I straddled my bike, covered her body with mine, and lowered my head. We had to remain still. If we moved, they’d hear us. We had to stay here, hope they didn’t see us, and only leave the alley once we were sure they wouldn’t hear or spot us.

There was enough moonlight to glow over the surface of her skin as my gaze narrowed to her face, sweeping over her high cheekbones and glossy lips and rising to stare into her beautiful hazel eyes. They seemed almost iridescent under the moon, framed by thick black lashes. But in those bluish-green depths, I could see her pleading for me to keep her safe.

I will, I swore, willing her to understand what I couldn’t dare to say aloud.

She blinked, and a single tear leaked from her eye and slid down her temple, disappearing into her hair. Aw, fuck. I hated to see a woman cry, especially Molly.

Babe, I mouthed, I got you.

The voices grew louder.

“Fuck, man. I could swear I saw them turn down this way.”

“There isn’t shit here except for this dumpster.”

“And the crates,” the first guy added.

Fuck!

Molly’s eyes widened, and she grabbed my leather cut around the shoulders, gripping it with clenched fingers.

She stared at me like I was her fucking hero, and something flared to life inside me. A tiny spark that dared to want to be her white knight and save her. But life wasn’t a fable, and I sure as fuck wasn’t a prince.

Molly wasn’t rescued by the good guys. She only traded one MC for another. The Feral Rebels might be dark and wicked, outlaws and rule breakers, but we lived by a code and stood by it. It was a hell of a lot more than she would have gotten from the Bladed Serpents.

The pile of crates only hid us if we stayed flat, so I pressed tighter against her chest, trying not to focus on how her nipples pebbled as they brushed my shirt. I swallowed as I realized they sharpened to points and poked through her bra, hardening to diamonds.

Fuck. Me.

This was the wrong fucking time to sport wood, but I couldn’t prevent it. My dick swelled, growing thick as the bulge grew and twitched, eager to sink between her thighs.

Goddamn. I was fucking screwed.

I COULDN’T GO BACKto Angel, the Bladed Serpents MC, or Fred. And that wasn’t the worst. No, it was that big biker, the one they called Scourge. I shuddered as I refused to think about what he’d done while I was on stage. The assaults. The screams. The dullness in that girl’s eyes. If Slash hadn’t intervened, Scourge would have kidnapped me. I would have suffered the same fate. Slash saved me from a brutal assault.

Slash’s big frame pressed to my body from shoulder to groin, trapping me between him and his bike. Our faces were only a few inches apart. The shadows concealed us for the most part and hid his features. I couldn’t tell what he thought, but I could guess with the way his body tensed.

When those voices grew closer, I trembled, clutching at Slash’s shoulders and leather vest. With my back resting against the seat, my feet didn’t touch the ground. It made me feel panicky until I realized Slash’s boots were firmly planted on either side of his Harley. He anchored me, and a little of the fear melted away.

I trusted him.

The second he realized it, his dark gaze swung back to me, focusing on my face instead of the heavy boots on the ground and the Bladed Serpents talking a few feet from where we hid.

Oh, God. They were too close.

My body shook as I remained motionless, not daring to move but too frightened to stop the shaking muscles or reaction of my body.

Slash frowned, and I didn’t blame him. He pressed tighter against me, giving just enough of his weight and body heat that I could feel the beating of his heart as it crashed against his ribcage. When I took a breath, my breasts flattened against his chest, my nipples poking into the thin material of his shirt.

I couldn’t help it. My back slightly arched with the contact.

The moon chose that moment to break free from a cluster of thick clouds, revealing Slash’s clenched jaw and the fierce determination in his dark eyes. We locked into a staring contest that ended when a rustle of clothing caught our attention.

Oh. Shit.

One of the bikers stood on the other side of the wall of crates. If he moved any of them, we would be caught and powerless to prevent another kidnapping. Furious determination settled over handsome features as Slash eyed those crates. He would kill to protect me. I knew that. He’d already done it before we left After Hours.

He panted quiet breaths, waiting, so fucking tense his body had gone stiff. And then I felt another part of him hardening, seeking the warmth between my thighs, unable to retreat but also unable to breach the barrier of my shorts. His cock turned to steel. The thick rod glided across my core when his body slightly shifted.

Oh. Sweet. Jesus.

His gaze snapped to mine. The heat, wow, the scalding lust in his eyes, ignited flames deep in my belly and sent a wave of lust plunging straight into my core as I grew damp with arousal.

One look. That was it.

He’d taken control and held all the power. Slash looked like he wanted to rip off my clothes and fuck me right here on his bike until he reduced me to a wailing, sweaty, limp mess. I would have told him to do it if the circumstances were different.

I nearly forgot about the biker feet from where we plastered to one another on the saddle of a Harley. I stared at Slash as if I couldn’t get enough of him, like studying his features suddenly became my life’s work. He was a dark god, a heathen with midnight hair and sun-kissed skin. Black ink spread over the sculpted, lean muscle on his upper body, stretching from the wrists to both shoulders. He had heavy brows, a thick, coarse beard, and lips that I wanted to feel brushing against mine.

He’d be beautifully captured in my sketchpad with charcoals.

Neither of us moved.

Slash inhaled a deep breath as my nipples puckered further. His cock didn’t get the memo that we were in danger, throbbing hot and insistent against my inner thigh.

I’d never been so turned on in my life. The fear had vanished as Slash slowly moved his hips, driving the bulge into my core as my head fell back, my throat exposed as his lips lowered, dropping a hot kiss to my skin.

“Anything?”

The question came from one of the Serpents when I realized he wasn’t alone.

“Naw. I ain’t seen shit back here. Just the fuckin’ rats.”

Rats? I shuddered.

Slash’s finger brushed my cheek, and I knew he meant it as a calming gesture. But. . .rats.

My body locked, every muscle refusing to work.

“They couldn’t have gone far. I swear I saw that fucker’s bike ride down this alley.”

“The big one with the beard?”

“Yeah.”

My vision tunneled as terror for the Bladed Serpents and the loose rats in the vicinity dominated my thoughts.

“Scourge wants the girl.”

“The redhead?”

“Wasn’t any other half as pretty.”

They spoke about me like I was nothing more than a warm slit to sink into, and to them, that was all I would be until the novelty wore off.

Slash slowly reached for my chin and grasped it, holding me hostage with his narrowed eyes and firm grasp. He didn’t need words to convey what he wanted to say.

I said I got you.

I’m scared,I mouthed back.

His upper lip lifted in a snarl.

Safe.

Not yet, I pointed out as my chin wobbled.

His thumb stroked my cheek. Trust me.

I do.

His confidence made me feel safe. I relaxed enough that my body lost a little of the tension.

“We need to check-in. Ratchet is pissed.”

That was the last we heard before boots scuffed the pavement, and the bikers left the alley. A minute later, they rode off.

Slash slowly sat up and pulled me with him, hugging me against his chest as I wrapped my arms around him, still needing the connection and his warmth.

When we parted, he stared with such intensity it still mingled with a hint of lust. There was something else there, hiding in the obsidian depths. I didn’t get a chance to ask.

“We need to find a motel,” he announced, rising off the saddle of his bike to clear a pathway from behind the dumpster.

Something scurried next to the bike, and I slapped a hand over my mouth, nearly screaming when I caught dark fur zipping along the ground. That rat was as enormous as a freaking house cat.

If I saw another one, I would probably run.

Slash hurried back to me, started the engine, and rolled forward. I huddled against his back, grateful to leave that smelly, rat-infested hole we had to crawl into for the last hour.

Once we got to a hotel, I needed a shower.