Page 4 of Axle
Something was off about him. Wait…I froze.
Holy fuck.
Not a man.
It was a fucking woman.
I crouched and slid my arms beneath her. She was light. Almost fragile. Not nearly enough muscle on her bones to be riding a bike this big. Especially carrying a duffel bag.
Her breath caught as I lifted her, but she didn’t wake. Her cheek pressed against my chest, her body curling instinctively into me like she knew she belonged there.
I tightened my grip.
Mine.
The word came out of nowhere—raw and primal. No sense behind it. No logic. Just gut.
My hand went to the chin strap of her helmet. It was too loose. Like she’d grabbed whatever was lying around and didn’t even know how to tighten it.
My instincts screamed that she was on the run.
I tugged off the helmet, and my breath froze in my lungs.
She looked like a dark angel, one made of sweetness and sin, rolled into one.
Long dark maroon hair, streaked with pink, was messy and matted with sweat. Her heart-shaped face was too pale, her soft lips cut and slightly parted like she’d been gasping just before she went under. Blood was smeared on her temple, a drip slowly making its way down to her high cheekbone.
I unzipped the jacket to check for more injuries and was shocked to find myself feeling a zip of attraction.
I hadn’t felt a spark of interest in a woman in a long fucking time. Even the pit bunnies had lost their allure in my early twenties. I wasn’t cut out for one-night stands or friends with benefits. But that worked for me because I was too focused onmy career and had no desire to deal with a clingy woman and the shit that came with a relationship.
Her thick lashes twitched faintly, then her eyes fluttered, giving me a glimpse of gray eyes—like the ocean in a thunderstorm—before they closed again. She wasn’t fully out, but also not fully in. Somewhere between consciousness.
My gut twisted hard, and my heart pounded. My reaction was visceral, strong, and like nothing I’d ever felt before.
Seeing her lying there—small, injured, and helpless—I wanted to wrap my arms around her and fucking keep her.
Get a grip, Novak. You don’t even know her name.
A shadow fell over her as a guy in a track vest stepped in to help, reaching for her arm. “Shit, man, is she?—”
I whipped around to face him, keeping her close and out of his reach. My fury surged hot and sharp.
“Touch her again,” I growled, “and I’ll break your fucking hand.”
He backed up so fast, he almost tripped over himself.
That’s right. Back the fuck off.
My angel stirred, a low whimper escaping her lips.
I needed to get her to a doctor, but without knowing who or what she was running from, I needed someone I trusted. Cage, my club brother, was our doctor. He even had his own clinic built on the compound, across a small parking lot from the clubhouse.
Without another word, I spun on my heel and stalked off the track.
I was halfway to the gate when I remembered the bag.
The one that flew off her back when she crashed.
