Page 17 of Knocked Up By the Bikers

“Is this what you were after the whole time?” I am on a roll at this point, my mouth practically functioning without me as I scramble to get my sweatpants and shirt back on. Spike promised me fresh clothes and underwear today. “To get in my pants? To fuck the mayor’s daughter?”

Sky sits up, his demeanor instantly changing. Caution defines his finely sculpted features as he carefully gets out of bed. “Where is this coming from, Ariana? I thought last night was mutual.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“I told you that,” he shrugs, and all that does is transfer the responsibility back to me. Entirely back to me, and my pride can’t accept that. There were two of us involved, and Sky needs to suffer, too. If I burn in hell over this, he needs to burn with me, dammit. “You wanted it. You told me you did.”

“Screw you, Sky! I’m your prisoner, it’s not like I have that many choices,” I retort and instantly regret it. We both know it wasn’t about that.

The look he gives me makes me feel awful, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just nods slowly and starts dressing while I watch, and I swallow my raw nerves, trying to find the right thing to say. “If that’s the story you’re telling yourself, Ariana, who am I to stop you?” He sighs deeply once his boots are back on. “I’ll send you breakfast in a bit.”

Now, I’m the one who feels awful.

I overreacted. I’m scared. Hell, I don’t know where this is going, where it’s going to end. Sky, Raylan, and Kendric kidnapped me from my own home, and now they’re holding me hostage so they can get my father to do something he would not do otherwise. These are hardened criminals. What was I thinking?

That’s the thing: I wasn’t really thinking, not with my brain, anyway.

Last night, I was a twenty-three-year-old virgin, bringing some of my wildest fantasies to life because the alternative was downright terrifying. But I wanted it. I consented to it. And the worst part is that I want more of it, so much more. My face burns as I turn away from Sky and face the window instead.

He leaves, locking the door behind him.

Tears stream down my cheeks as I cross my arms and stare at the empty parking lot. It was wrong, yet I loved every second of it.

How in the world did this happen?

7

Ariana

By the time Spike comes up with breakfast and a fresh change of clothes, I’m already bathed and dried, sulking by the window with puffy eyes. Except Spike isn’t alone. A young woman joins him—she’s tall, with long, luscious black hair and curious dark eyes. She reminds me of someone, though I cannot, for the life of me, think of who. Then again, my mind is a whirlwind of conflicting and contradictory thoughts. It’s a miracle I can even focus my eyesight on a single person at once.

“So, this is the infamous Ariana,” the woman says with a wry smile.

“Be nice, Shiloh; those were the terms and conditions,” Spike gingerly reminds her as he sets the food tray on the dresser and leaves the clothes on my bed. “For you. Shiloh wanted to come up and have a look at you before she goes out shopping for your stuff.”

“I wanted to make sure I got the right size,” she adds, measuring me from head to toe.

All I can do is give them both a faint nod. “Thanks. I don’t think it matters, however. It’s not like I’m going to survive this, anyway.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Shiloh replies, her brow furrowed, her tone clipped. “We’re taking good care of you, aren’t we?”

Spike gives me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce you. Ariana, this is Shiloh, my old lady.”

“His wife,” she specifies. “We’re actually married.”

“Good for you,” I mumble.

“She’s also Sky’s sister,” Spike feels the need to add.

That’s why she seemed familiar. Sky’s sister—I can see the resemblance now. The common features are the fine contours of their faces. They’re both cut from the same cloth, clearly. I wonder if she, too, is a monster or if she’s just a spectator to this entire charade. “And you’re okay with me being a prisoner here?” I ask her.

She shakes her head and crosses her arms while I notice her choice of clothes—a tomboyish ensemble of jeans and a '90s tee that is one size too small but brings out her curves and then some. Her arms are slender but toned and covered in rose tattoos. I spot dark smudges on the backs of her hands. A ring of keys jingles from a chain clipped to her leather belt. She comes across as tough, but her gaze seems soft, kind even, to a degree.

“I’m anything but okay with what they did, but I do understand why they did it. The mayor didn’t leave them with any other choice,” Shiloh sighs. “These are dire times, Ariana. But don’t think for a second that anybody is going to hurt you.”

“Your brother said I need to behave or else.”

Spike looks away, almost embarrassed. Maybe he knows something I don’t.

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