Page 16 of Their Princess

“You’re just pissed because she didn’t play your bitch like Kaos,” said Graff, shooting a smile back at Sas.

Sas’s eyebrows dipped into a V at the bridge of his nose. Why did that irritate him?

“Who the fuck is Kaos?” I smacked myself on the forehead. “Ya know what, never mind.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, shaking my head, and reminding myself that I didn’t give a shit who any of his whores were. With a deep breath, I reopened my eyes in time to see Graff return to Sas’s side.

“You just want your ol’ lady riding with you,” said Graff as he threw a playful punch.

“I don’t have an ol’ lady.” Sas sank into a crouch with his fists up.

For a big lanky motherfucker, he moved like the MMA fighters in the matches Cat and I liked to watch at the MGM Grand. I sighed. No more of that, I guessed.

“Yet,” accused Graff, but he backed away then and pulled a onie pipe and lighter from his pocket.

Sas laced his fingers and placed them on top of his head. His shirt and jacket pulled up, revealing his lower stomach and a trail of reddish blond hair led to the waistband. He cut his eyes over to me.

“She’ll never be my ol’ lady. Just my fucking wife.” My fiancé spat the word with venom and then turned his head and spat something brown into the dust.

“Disgusting,” I said, not wanting to admit that his words burned.

But I wasn’t his “old lady” or his lover. I was just a slab of meat passed around from one man on a power trip to another. My father sold me to these, these... savages. And the way he talked about women, Sas would probably hand me over to one of the other biker fuckers.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, raising my chin. I was trying to keep any dignity I could. “We’ll go to Vegas in a week for the wedding, and then it will just be a piece of paper. Maybe I’ll find a bitch of my own.”

Sas stiffened for a heartbeat and then held his hand out to Graff, palm up. But I didn’t miss the shock that crossed his eyes. I almost smiled. Apparently, he could dish, but couldn’t take his own shit.

“Where are we?” I demanded, eyeing the porta john in the distance. My bladder screamed, and seeing the lonely thing off between a couple of cacti made me cross my legs.

“Piss break.” Sas lit up and took a long inhale.

My lip curled almost involuntarily.

Sas pointed with the pipe and wheezed out. “Go on, princess.” Then he coughed on the smoke.

I squinted at him. “Serves you right.”

Graff and Rafe both chuckled, but I ignored them and stalked off toward the disgusting shitter. I had no clue how long this ride would be or when I’d have another chance.

When I finished, I pushed the door open with my elbow and tried to squeeze a drop of sanitizer from the empty pump.

Nothing.

Revolting.

Stepping outside, I finally breathed again. The air might be dusty, but nowhere near as rank as boiling shit.

When I looked back toward my undesirable caravan, they were all standing with their backs toward me and staring off into the distance. I paused, taking in the line of men, and no matterhow much I didn’t want to be here, I had to admire the view. Sas’s long and lithe legs, narrow waist, and the flare of his broad shoulders was something that a girl could stare at all day long. Graff stood a head shorter than Sas, but he was stacked like a brick house—wide shoulders, narrow waist, muscular legs that bowed slightly and made his ass look tight as hell. And then Rafe—Stop it, Adelina!No matter how much the Marines sculpted my uncle’s body, I didn’t need to be admiring him like that. I glanced around at the vast nothing except for plants that might kill me just as quickly as a sidewinder. No point in running. I’d die of thirst or a morbid encounter with some animal. That was if the bikers decided to let me escape.

And under the assumption I could escape, Rafe would hunt me down. He’d been on the search and rescue team in the military, so his nose was more trained than a bloodhound’s.

Resigned to staying with my unlikely protectors, I traced an imaginary line to a dust cloud they all seemed to be staring at. In the next few seconds, the roar of more bike engines reached my ears, and three new bikes crested the hill and pulled off the road where we had stopped.

When the bikes came to a stop, I recognized the guys as the ones Wilde had sent to follow the cartel truck that had escaped. They each kicked their legs over their seats and shook hands and fist bumped in the most cliché hey-bro manner I had ever witnessed in person.

As I approached, they joked with Sas... and Rafe. What the fuck was my uncle doing laughing with them? He supposedly belonged to the Mafia. Like me.

He was my only lifeline. My sanity. And I didn’t want to share.

The laughter quickly died when the bikers spotted me.

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