Chapter 4

Zoey

The deafening sounds of bullets whipping past my head fill the air. Their sharp cracks ring out and bounce off the remnants of the debris surrounding me. Each shot is like a burst of thunder, sending shockwaves through my body as I duck for cover. But it's not the danger and confusion that has my heart pounding. It's the imposing figure of the man standing over me. His intense gaze and steady stance exudes power and control, sending a chill down my spine, and making my blood run cold despite the heat of the flames still burning around us.

Sweat beads on my temples as I struggle to catch my breath. The acrid smell of burning wood and fear hangs heavy in the air as I try to make sense of the situation, unsure if this man is a savior or a threat. Everything about him is shrouded in darkness, from his jet-black hair to his vacant slate-gray eyes that seem to pierce through me. His heavy goatee and bronze skin only add to the intensity surrounding me. Even his voice rumbles like thunder, exuding a sense of danger that should frighten me. His long legs are encased in tight black jeans, leading to a broad chest that strains against the shirt and leather vest he's wearing.

As our eyes meet, his dark gaze bores into mine with an unspoken challenge. I can feel his heated gaze reddening my cheeks and making me squirm in my skin. I should turn and run away from him, back to the enemy I know, but instead I find myself drawn to him for reasons I can't put my finger on. My eyes graze over the leather vest he's wearing, adorned with patches. I'm transfixed on the intricate black and white design of a menacing skull with a long beard flowing down from its chin and wearing a crown. On either side of the skull are motorcycles emblazoned with wings. I speak the words silently in my head as I read the words embedded above it: Royal Bastards MC, and below it, Atlantic City NJ. The gritty, distressed look gives it a rebellious and rugged vibe that suits the man standing before me. My eyes continue to move over him until they land on another patch that reads Backdraft.

"Backdraft?" I speak out loud without even realizing it. "Is that your name?"

"Yes," is all he says before another round of gunfire flies past us and ricochets off the remnants of the shed now strewn around us in pieces.

Backdraft grabs my arm, forcing me to move with him again. I grit out my discontent but there's no real force behind it. There's no way my father and his men haven't noticed me clutching onto this man for my life and yet they continue to move in on us, not caring that I'm trapped in the crossfire.

I hate being Dominic Cassedy's daughter. I hate the confines he puts on me and I hate being hidden away in this fucking place, but my father is supposed to protect me. Justin, though unwanted, has always done the same. So why am I suddenly at the wrong end of their wrath? Nothing about this day or what I've seen makes any sense.

"We have to move. Are you with me or not?" Backdraft snaps his fingers in my face, breaking me from the thoughts scattering around in my head.

I have a choice to make but only one gets me my freedom. I will never find that here, not while my father and Justin run things. I accepted that fact a long time ago. While this may have started as a temper tantrum, it's now the only way I see to get out of here. Unless it gets me killed first. My argument dies on my tongue and I reach out in surrender. Backdraft takes me by the hand, his grip firm and comforting.

I peek over his shoulder, my heart racing at the distinct rumble of a dirt bike. The engine roars like an angry animal, tearing through the chaos as it approaches. Backdraft turns his head following my gaze at the same time I do.

A thick trail of dust and debris explodes into the air, leaving a hazy wake in its path. The smell of gasoline and burnt rubber mix with the pungent smell in the air as it hurtles past us. In a split second, the rider is on top of us. His outstretched arm snatches mine as he passes by. He forcefully jerks me backward towards him. The pain in my arm shoots through my body like electricity, radiating through my shoulder and lodging into my neck before the bike skids out from underneath him. I struggle to catch my breath as he grips onto me tightly as if I'm the threat. At the same time, he pulls a gun from his pocket and aims at Backdraft.

Tension coils in Backdraft's body as he grips the gun in his hand. With his finger poised on the trigger with deadly precision, he aims. Backdraft's jaw sets in a determined line and his eyes burn with a fierce intensity as the two men lock in a standoff with me in between.

"Back off," he growls. "She's ours."

I have never felt more like a piece of property than I do at this moment. I'd like to say the years that I have been here have been filled with love and kindness from my father and his crew, but I'd be lying to myself. None of them have ever harmed me physically, but I've always been in the way more than anything else. The only declaration of love shown to me is from Justin and that's more possession than love. The thought saddens me and stirs emotions I've locked away for years. There's more tenderness in the darkness glowering in Backdraft's eyes than I've ever seen from them.

Backdraft's eyes narrow as he glares at the man whose death grip is bruising my arm.

"Over my dead body," Backdraft snaps. "She's coming with me."

Backdraft's declaration snaps something inside of me. I turn, swinging my arm until my fist slams into the side of his face. His grip breaks and I fly toward Backdraft before he can get his hands on me again. At the same time, Backdraft's finger curls around the trigger.

There's no real sound as the gun recoils. Yet my head feels like a thousand bells are clanging at once in my ear, reverberating through my entire body. I struggle to keep my footing. I reach out and grab onto Backdraft. His large arms wind around me, holding me upright. With a snarl curling his lips, his deep voice rumbles through his chest and slams into my own. "Do what I say, when I say it, or neither of us is getting out of here."

All I can do is nod. As soon as his arms let me go, all I want to do is crawl back into them.

"Get behind me," Backdraft demands, pulling me around his side until his back is shielding me. Releasing the empty magazine from the clip, he shoves a new one in and slams the base into his palm to lock it in place.

When he starts firing again, it's as if something snaps inside of him. There's no dodging for cover, no hesitation. He unleashes a round of bullets, coating the crisp green field red. The roars ripping out of his chest rumble deep into my bones as he fires. I can't stop the tears from leaking out of the corners of my eyes as one by one they all drop. My insides twist into knots. I want to be free, and I can't deny the lust coiling my system for the beast shielding me, but I wasn't prepared for the emotions that overtake me as I watch the men I have spent most of my life with pay for my unhappiness with their lives.

When the only ones left standing are the two of us, Backdraft tucks his gun at his side and turns around. I've never seen eyes so cold as his glare meets mine. I'm not even sure he can see me through the cloud he's under but his stare burns into me.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he snaps a knife out from under his vest. The bright sunlight glints off the metal blade, flashing in my eyes and temporarily skewing my line of sight. When my eyes clear, his cold gaze is locked onto mine. My heart is racing under the trail of the blade as he drags the tip of the knife down my chest. I can't pull my eyes from the gleaming blade as he draws it lower along my stomach and then my thighs. Goosebumps shoot across my body as I watch, both terrified and turned on at the same time.

Something dark and primal flashes in his eyes and my breath catches in my throat. With a sly grin, he slices the blade through the fabric of my dress just above my knees. With his other hand, he rips the material with such force the shredded material of my dress flutters to the ground at my feet. His rough hands brush against my bare skin and waves of heat pulse throughout my body.

"Spread your legs, Little Lamb," he commands with a deep rumble in his voice, "and get on the bike."

He climbs on first, holding it upright between his powerful thighs, and reaches out his arm. With shaky legs, I swing one over and settle onto the seat behind him. He turns the gas and forcefully kickstarts the engine. The dirt bike revs to life with a deep growl vibrating the seat underneath me. Standing upright, he leans forward gripping the handlebars.

"Hold on tight, Little Lamb. It's gonna be a bumpy ride."

Shifting closer, I press my body against his back, wrapping my arms tightly around him. He calls me Little Lamb. Why does that make me feel like I'm being led to the slaughter?