Page 10 of Under His Protection

“No. The Constellas own this place.”

The faint reminder of one of Dad’s old friends did nothing to reassure me.

“The Devil’s Brothers,” he clarified. “That club.”

I gasped, unable to hide my utter shock. “The motorcycle club?” I knew of them. I recognized the patches sewn on their leather cuts. I saw them drive their bikes by. All of them were raggedy meatheads, overly muscled and angry looking. “You lost me in a bet to someone in the goddamn MC?”

“Not just someone.” He looked back over his shoulder. “To their president. Their leader—Reaper.”

My rage hit a high and spilled over. Anger coursed through me, charging me with rabid energy to strike out. I punched, slapped, and kicked. Without conscious thought, I gave it my all to beat him. “You lost me in a bet with someone named Reaper? Are you insane?”

In any other circumstances, I would’ve rolled my eyes at the idea of my brother thinking he could bet on me. Like a human was a thing to possess and barter. That I could be owned and handed over in a transaction of debt. To normal, ordinary, and law-abiding people, it would’ve sounded ludicrous.

But a motorcycle club? An MC who was rumored to traffic women and children, not to mention drugs and guns and who knew what else?

This was real. Ricky’s “genius” idea wasn’t a joke, but a tangible, actual debt to uphold.

Fighting him off didn’t hurt him, but in my instant reaction to attack him, to strike at him for the sheer stupidity of what he attempted, I earned my freedom. He was too slow to block a kick to his shin, and as he doubled over and crouched from that impact, he loosened his grip on my wrist.

The second his fingers released me, I took off, into the gambling hall, through the hallways, and around corners. Running through the throngs of people, I tried to hide and get away from Ricky the best I could, but there were so many damn people in here. Every one of them contributed to this creeping claustrophobia that dizzied me.

They chatted and laughed. Drank and gambled. Some of the older servers from the Hound and Tea were doubling up here as waitresses hoisting trays of food and booze.

I slowed, unsure of where to go among all these richly decorated and fancy rooms of wealth and elitism. In the corner of another hallway, I spotted two grungier men and instantly identified them as my new owners. Men from the Devil’s Brothers MC. They didn’t wear their cuts, but they were recognizable, regardless. I knew it when they held up their phones and glanced back at me, as though they were checking the sight of me with an image on their screens.

“That’s her,” one said to the other.

His friend nodded, and they both pursued me.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “No.”

I turned and ran, but I didn’t get far. Slamming into a rock-hard body was a hell of a way to stop my stride. Firm fingers wrapped around my upper arms, but these hands weren’t gruff and possessive. This strong man merely caught me from the collision, preventing me from careening toward the floor.

Scents of sandalwood and cedar wafted from him as I lifted my face from his suited chest. While my heart hammered away, I dragged my gaze up to peer at this tall man who’d caught me. His hold on my arms wasn’t tight. He wasn’t trapping me here in place, but with the MC guys rushing toward me, I felt like I was stuck and vulnerable no matter which way I ran or where I stood.

“Are you all right?”

Oh, God. He had one of those gravelly, raspy baritones, so deep and low and full of command. I swallowed, trying to understand why his voice seemed so familiar. As I looked up into the ruggedly handsome face of Dante Constella, I knew why.

It’d been years since I’d seen him. Many years. Even though he looked older, I recognized him with a confusing and instant hit of comforting familiarity.

“Nina?” He narrowed his brown eyes. Surprise and disbelief showed on his lean face. “Nina Bardot?”

I nodded, immediately defensive. “You didn’t come to my dad’s funeral.” It was the lamest, stupidest fact to cling to, but it was the most recent detail that pierced through the panic claiming me.

He blinked, not wounded and owning up to my excuse of a greeting. “I didn’t. I’m sorry that I was away for business and only heard about his death earlier today.”

It hardly mattered now. Nothing mattered. A sense of doom seeped through me, almost rooting me to the spot. Nothing would matter in my life anymore. Not this unbelievably sexy man smoothing his thumbs over my arms, almost like an unconscious afterthought he had no control over. Not the shock of seeing this face from the past again, and like this, here. Not the disrespect of him not attending the funeral of one of his old friends, either.

All I could focus on was the time that slipped away. My freedom would end as soon as those MC men caught up to me. My idiot brother had signed me away to heathen bikers. And there was not a single damn thing I could do about it.

Dante gazed down at me, seeming to overcome his shock at encountering me. He swiped the tip of his tongue over the seam of his lips and furrowed his brow. “Nina?”

I jolted, blinking numbly as I took in all the rugged features on his handsome face. “Hmm?”

“I hope you’re not too busy,” he said.

I couldn’t help the incredulous laugh at that joke. Busy running from my life, maybe.

---