Page 15 of Grave Games

“Lifestyle? You talking about the biker lifestyle?”

“What other kind of lifestyle is there when it comes to Harley-Davidson?”

He paused to lift a brow at me. “News flash, Shy. I don’t like questions answered with questions. I’m just trying to get to know you, so let me do that, yeah? Let me get to know you.”

Annnd like that, I felt like a churlish jerk. “I just have a problem with the whole over-the-top machismo biker culture, where men are in a never-ending pissing contest, and women should be seen—usually with very little clothes on—but never heard. Women are never thought of as equals. They can’t even become club members or ride their own motorcycles, because apparently all the men’s dicks would fall off if that happened. I know you have a certain affinity for the biker world,” I added, sending him an apologetic glance. “But believe me, there’s nothing glamorous or romantic about it. It’s terrible.”

“Yeah?” He seemed to take his time, putting the rejected boot away. “That sounds like experience talking. Is it?”

I shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “I just know what I’m talking about. Not only are actual bikers generally crude and nasty by nature, but the people who are drawn to that lifestyle—and we’re talking about actual, genuine outlaws here—are nothing more than animals who get off on bringing pain to innocent people. I know you’re not like that,” I added quickly when he didn’t respond, “but you have to believe me that it’s not a world that normal people like us would ever want to get a close-up look at.”

“But it sounds like you did get a close-up look at it.”

“I-I did. A long time ago.” I kept my eyes on the shoeboxes so he wouldn’t read the grief and shame in my eyes. “My brother went off to college my senior year in high school and made a friend, who, come to find out, had major ties to one of the most dangerous biker gangs in the country. I didn’t know that, and I know my brother didn’t, because he never would have introduced us otherwise.”

“But he did.”

“Yeah.” I swallowed hard against the old, familiar rise of bile in my throat. “I was eighteen and extremely shy—literally never had a boyfriend and had only gone on a few dates that were painfully awkward. And this guy was so cool and edgy—he rode a motorcycle and had that biker look down, complete with jacket and boots and tattoos. I was such an idiot about boys back then that I thought that sort of thing was swoon-worthy. Stupid, right?”

“Considering the kind of boots I’m here to buy, I don’t think I should answer.”

Ha! “Out of the blue, just after graduation, this guy starts hitting on me hard. Apparently, no longer being a high school student meant that I was grown up to make decisions for myself.”

“Guess he didn’t want to worry about getting a jailbait rap,” he returned, then slid me an appraising look. “Though, I don’t know. You could definitely still pass for jailbait.”

Why did I have the urge to thank him for that? Why? “When he asked me out, I felt so flattered that someone so cool would even look at a wallflower like me. I said yes, and it was the worst mistake of my life.”

He went still and looked at me with such complete focus it was as if the rest of the world had ceased to be for him. “What happened?”

“The worst thing ever.” Ah, there it was. Size sixteen. They did make boots that big after all. “He put me on the back of his bike, which I thought at the time was wildly romantic because I got to hold on to him, and…”

“And?”

I swallowed hard, because this was the most difficult part. Not the torture or the fear, but this moment. The moment when I realized I’d been nothing more than a stupid little lamb who’d voluntarily walked herself right to slaughter. “He took me to this place where his dad worked. Come to find out, the dad worked at the biker’s club, where they were both members. And suddenly, I wasn’t allowed to leave.”

“Shit.” The look on his face startled me, switching from thoughtful to murderous in a blink of an eye. “That should never have happened.”

I thought back to those terrible three days that had ruined so much, and did some quick editing on what had been the worst time in my life. “My point is, it did happen. I was kidnapped by a biker gang, the boy who’d asked me out instigated the whole thing, and it all happened because some higher-up asshole wanted to force my brother into joining them. Ultimately Josh did join them in exchange for my freedom, and that was the last my family and I ever heard from him.”

“What does that even mean? Joining a motorcycle club isn’t like joining the French Foreign Legion, for fuck’s sake. He can call you, see you, whenever he wants.”

“But Josh doesn’t want to see us. He straight-up told me to never contact him again, no doubt because he blames me for ruining his life. Just like my parents blame me for being stupid enough to get kidnapped in the first place.” With a sad sigh, I slid the shoebox off the shelf. “After my dad’s initial explosion over the whole thing, my parents just got all… quiet. Silent condemnation, you know? The kind of silence that screams and screams until you can’t take it anymore. I moved out within days of being returned, and now my parents and I only stay in touch via emails and texts, that sort of thing.”

“Shit, Shy, I’m sorry to hear that.” He seemed to mean it too, as he shook his head and scowled down at the floor. “That never should’ve happened.”

“Well, it did, because that’s what real motorcycle gangs do to innocent, everyday families, Romeo,” I added, offering him a sad little smile. “And that’s why I’m so glad you’re not really a part of that world, because it’s a genuinely bad world to be in. Trust me, you’ve got more than enough bad boy in you to catch my attention. That’s the main reason I tried resisting you for so long. The first moment I laid eyes on you, all I could think was,uh-oh, badass alert. Avoid at all costs.”

“Yeah?” A slow smile bloomed, and I swear he actually flexed, the bastard. “How’d that work out for you?”

“I obviously have a type.” With my gaze bouncing from his face to his pecs I was sure he was still flexing and back again, I couldn’t help but lick my lips. “Anyway, here you go, the boots you wanted in size sexteen.Sixteen.”Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…

He burst out laughing and reached out. But instead of grabbing the box I held, he grabbed my wrists and pulled me in for a hard, quick kiss. “Jesus, you’re hilarious. I’ve got three guesses what’s on your mind right now, and the first two don’t count.”

“Maybe you’re a mind reader.” And maybe I was an idiot who wanted to see if the myth about the size of a man’s feet was true.

The wildfire that lit his eyes was a beautiful thing to see. “I don’t have to be a mind reader to know when my woman’s in the mood to get her ashes hauled.”

My woman?A breathless laugh escaped me as he bent to put his boot back on, and with a flash of relief I realized my breathlessness came from arousal and anticipation, not fear. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

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