Page 4 of Her Outlaw Biker
“I…” My voice cracks. “I’m…”
I don’t even get to finish. Everything hits me at once—
The ride. The heat. The deal I made with the devil.
The threat Rigs made.
The fight.
Him. Ghost.
My knees buckle. The world tilts sideways.
“Shit,” I whisper, blinking fast as the darkening sky wavers above me. My body isn’t listening anymore, just folding under the weight of it all.
Then everything goes black.
Chapter Two
Ghost
Blondie drops before I can catch her.
One second she’s standing there, green eyes open wide, the picture of innocence. She’s shaking, spitting out some half lie about coming alone.
The next, she’s crumpling to the dirt like a marionette with its strings cut.
Shit.
I lower my rifle, but the tension doesn’t leave my shoulders. My pulse is still hammering from the ambush. I do a quick sweep of the ridge, finger tight on the trigger. No movement. No backup. Just the wind, the grit, and her.
I crouch beside her, checking for weapons first.
Force of habit.
My hands skim her sides, her jacket, her boots. Nothing but a Swiss Army knife tucked into her sock and a cracked phone in her jacket pocket.
She’s light. Too light. I can feel bone under that sass-and-flannel exterior, and up close, she’s even paler than she looked from the porch. Cheeks flushed pink from the sun. Perfect lips chapped.
She rode through the desert like this?
Stupid. Brave. Reckless.
I touch the smooth skin of her neck. Her pulse is beating fast…thready. Dehydration, exhaustion. Maybe shock. I catch the faintest bruise blooming across her ribs, probably from when that asshole grabbed her. There’s no telling what shape she was in before she got here.
“Damn it,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my scruffy chin.
What the heck is a girl like her doin’ out here?
She doesn’t look like a plant. She doesn’t look like much of anything, except too stubborn to quit.
Girl showed up shaking but stood her ground. Didn’t beg. Didn’t cry. Didn’t cower.
That rattles me more than I care to admit.
I slide my arms under her and lift. She’s limp, head rolling against my shoulder, but she’s breathing, although her breath is shallow and uneven. The adrenaline in my veins finally starts to fade as I carry her inside, the door creaking shut behind us.
The shade of the trailer is a relief from the harsh elements. Thought the days are hot, the nights can get cold out here. I set her down on the ratty couch and grab a towel to wipe the sweat from her brow. Her skin’s hot to the touch, fever-warm from the sun.
