Page 1 of Dark Biker Protector

Prologue – Chuck

I threw open the door to the hospital and rushed inside, sprinting towards the desk.

"Where is she?" I demanded, slamming my hand down on the counter, already out of breath. The receptionist slowly raised her gaze to meet mine, and I snarled at her.

"Where’s my sister?" I pressed her. Her eyes darted to the patch on my jacket, a reminder of who I was and just what I was willing to do to get what I wanted, and she seemed to think better of fighting me on this.

"Please, sir, take a seat," she assured me. "We’ll call you over when we have more information about--”

"Anna," I cut her off, slamming my hand on the desk. "Her name’s Anna. And I need you to tell me where she is. Right now. What room is she in?"

She stared up at me for another moment, but she must have been able to clock the anger in my eyes, the fury in my voice. I wasn’t going to walk away until I had what I needed from them, which was to make certain that my sister was okay.

Even though there was a nagging threat at the back of my mind that she was anything but okay.

I gritted my teeth as the receptionist quickly went through the files on her computer, tapping at the keyboard at a painfully slow pace. Couldn’t she go any faster? This was serious.

I could feel the eyes of everyone else in the waiting room pinned on me, obviously wondering what could have been so important that I was creating such as fuss. I didn’t give a fuck. Let them stare. This was my fucking sister, and she was more important than anything they might be thinking about me.

I drummed my fingers on the counter, trying to pull myself together. I never should have let her go back to him. I never should have let her leave my apartment after the last time she’d come stumbling in with a bruised cheek and bloodied lip, begging me for a place to stay. I had wrapped my arms around her and told her she never even had to ask; if she wanted to stay with me, I would always have a home for her.

Even if he seemed intent on destroying our relationship as best he could. No doubt because he was well-aware that I was the one lifeline she had out of all of this. The one person she could rely on to pull herself out of the nightmare that he had trapped her in. The one person who could actually stand up to him. All the rest of her friends had fallen away these last couple of years, unable to watch her destroy her life for the sake of this monstrous man.

Liam. That was his name. I could hardly even think of it without feeling my teeth grind together. The first time I met him I knew there was something off about the way he carried himself – squaring up to me like he knew I was a threat to his power over her, stepping in front of her when he saw another man so much as look in her direction. Hand on her waist, holding her close against him: not out of love, but out of ownership.

I had tried to tell her then that she needed to get out of there, but she wasn’t going to let that happen; she wasn’t going to let him slip through her fingers so easily. He just needed help, she told me.He just needed someone who could look at him and see the man he had the potential to be underneath the rough exterior. I tried to tell her that he would never change, that he was always going to have this stinking-bad attitude, but she wouldn’t hear a word of it. She had already decided that he deserved a chance with her, and nothing I could do was going to change her mind.

And things got worse from there. She dipped out on our usual weekly take-out and movie nights, and, when she did turn up, she had long sleeves on. Her wrists flashed memories of the bruises he had left on her skin. I tried to ask her about it, but she always brushed me off, telling me there was nothing for me to worry about, assuring me that she was okay – she just needed to be a little less clumsy, that was all, and things would be fine. I didn’t know how to help her. I didn’t know what to say.

I had never before in my life faced this kind of mess, and when she would lie to me about what he had done to her, what chance did I stand of getting through to her and making her see how truly fucked all of this was? It didn’t seem to matter how much I attempted to coax it out of her: she would always have an excuse ready to go, always a reason, no matter how crazy, that he had done this to her.

By the time she started telling me the truth, by the time she realized there was no way she could hide it from me any longer, it was too late. He had his claws in her, and nothing would have allowed her to escape him. She came to me in tears one night, begging for help, and of course, I took her in. But by the time I woke up in the morning, she had gone back to their apartment, where he would play sweet and kind for a few days, just enough for her to start to relax. Then it would begin all over again, his attacks even more brutal than before, a punishment for her daring to ever turn her back on him.

I knew there was something different about that last time. The morning after she had come to me in tears, she had walked away from my apartment with this resignation on her face, as though she had already accepted her fate and she knew there was no way she could get out of this.

I tried to get her to stay, but she wouldn't hear any of it. She wanted to be with him. Like some part of her was addicted to this back and forth, these endless fights that wound up with her more hurt than he ever could be. She never defended herself, and she never let me step in to do it for her. I knew I could have snuffed that asshole out in a matter of seconds, but she would never have forgiven me. No, she still thought she could change him, and nothing anyone could say would make her feel any different.

When I got the call from the hospital, while I had been drinking with the guys at the Kennels, I knew what it was about. I knew there was only one reason she would have allowed them to get in touch with me, and that was if she had no other choice. She had hidden so much from me, kept so much to herself for fear that I wouldn’t be able to handle it, but this, now...this was something else. This felt like so much more than everything she had endured before, and I knew, as I walked into that hospital, that things were bad.

Finally, the receptionist landed on her name, and glanced up at me.

"She’s in Room One-oh-One," she replied, spelling it out for me as though I might not otherwise understand her. She pointed off down a corridor, and I rushed along it as fast as I could, my heart thudding in my chest as I went. I couldn’t deal with this. I couldn’t hold back. I couldn’t stand the thought of what might have happened to her – what I might have been too late to prevent...

I counted out the numbers on the doors until I reached hers, hesitating before I pushed it open, unsure if I was ready for whatever was waiting for me on the other side. This was my sister, my baby sister, after all; I had been there for her as long as she had been alive. I had held her when she was a couple of hours old. I had helped her through the loss of our parents, through high school, through heartbreaks, through all of it. And now...

Now, I didn’t know if I could take what might be waiting for me on the other side.

A doctor arrived at my side a moment later, out of breath, as though he had been running to catch up with me.

"I think it’s best you wait out here," he told me, grabbing my shoulder to hold me back. I shook him off with ease and turned to him, narrowing my eyes.

"Why?" I demanded. Behind him, the large doors at the other end of the corridor opened, and I saw a few men stepping through. One pushing a large, empty bed, the others behind him, grim-faced, eyes cold and distant, as though this was the last thing they wanted to be doing.

"What happened to her?" I asked. "Why...why can’t I see her?"

I was starting to panic. More than panic. Terror had gripped my entire system, and I felt like I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t get in there and see my sister. I needed to hold her hand and let her know that I was here, that it was all going to be okay.

The other men paused outside her door. I stared at the bed. No, it wasn’t a bed, it was a stretcher trolley—gurney. And, on top of it, a body bag.

---