Page 8 of Devil to Pay: Cutter

He takes a step forward.

I reach behind my back to make it look like I’m pulling a gun from the back waist of my jeans. He watches my hand, muttering, “Never mind,” then he turns back for his truck.

Could that have been a really stupid decision on my part? Possibly. But there’ve been way too many women who wished they’d turned down that ride right before some bastard ended their lives. I live to fight another day. Which, in actuality, means I start walking my ass along the shoulder, praying that I’m not too far from a town.

Funny thing about prayers, at leastmyprayers. They don’t ever come true. I’m about a quarter-mile down the road from the bike when I hear the rumble of several others heading my way. What are the chances that it’s not going to be the Death Bringers ready and willing to unalive me? But here’s the issue. On my side of the highway, there’s a drop-off because mountains. The forested hiding spots are on theotherside of the highway. There are four lanes of traffic still traveling seventy-plus miles per hour and a wide, concrete median between us.

As the bikers make their approach, I turn to face down the enemy and what the actual fuck? That’s pretty close to what I shout. “What the fuck?”

“You,” he says. He, as in, Cutter. Yes. Cutter.

“How in the hell?” I start to ask my question, but he kicks the stand and dismounts. The rest of my words get swallowed back from my fear.

“Stole from me,” he says. Yes. I did, and so I reach into my pocket to pull all the money but the one hundred fifty dollars from the gas station asshat. I earned that.

“I didn’t spend it yet.” I hold my hand with the bills out to him.

“Know you didn’t. Used my fucking credit card.” He drops his gaze to the money as he snatches the cash from my hand. “Followed your trail.”

“How?”

He shrugs and it’s incredibly sexy. “We know people.” The funny thing is, he looks not happy, but not really pissed, which he has every right to be. So I’m not wholly sure what to think of this version of Cutter.

“I didn’t spend much and I was desperate.”

“Man, bitch, Cut was good to you.” I look over to the man who’d called himself “Roughneck.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. But I didn’t have any other options.”

“You always have options,” Cutter says. And there it is. These words have bite to them.

“No,” I whisper. “I didn’t.”

“You could’ve talked to me.”

“I was a one-night fuck, Cutter. You don’t dump the shitstorm of your life on a one-night fuck.”

“But it’s okay to steal from them?”

“Of course it’s not all right. I never thought it was. Desperate times, desperate measures. Ring any bells?”

Cutter runs his hands over his face letting out a harsh breath that could almost be considered a sarcastic laugh. “Get on the bike.”

What?“I can’t. It’s like a quarter mile back down the road. It stopped running.”

“Mybike, Aja. Get the fuck on my bike now or I’ll drop you there myself.”

“You got your money back. Just leave me alone.”

He loses his cool shouting, “Are you fucking kidding?” while charging me. Cutter flips me over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold to carry me over to his bike, where he drops me hard on the back of the seat.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, almost crying by this point.

“Woman, you’re stranded on the side of a highway. You could get run down. You could get abducted, raped, and murdered. Or worse, trafficked, where you wish they’d just killed you instead. I’m not leaving a stranded woman to fend for herself, she stole from me or not.”

Tears begin to roll down my cheeks and I’m not sure if they’re from fear or relief. I hold on tightly to his waist once he climbs on in front of me and our biker parade gets rolling again.

“Where are we going?” I yell.

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