Page 4 of Claiming Her

And just like that, she got it. Hannibal was playing a game with her. She’d met his kind before. Mess with the shy girl. The quiet girl. Why did people find it amusing to take broken things and crush them even more? She hated his kind. Christian had been one of those. He’d played with her heart, used her body, and thought it was all a big joke. Laughed when she’d called him on it. The first time she had defied her mother. Stood up for herself and her right as a grown damn woman to make her own love mistakes and not just continue to live vicariously through Andrea’s jail of pain.

Turned out everything her mom had warned her about was true. That was a big ass pill to swallow, but she’d chugged it down and taken it. If she claimed she was a grown woman, she had to ride the highs and the lows. But fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice. Then she was just a fool.

She strode to the door. “This was a mistake. You should leave.”

His eyes bugged out as if she were a crazy woman who’d lost her mind. But no, she’d already been there and done that. Lost her mind over a jerk who couldn’t have cared less. She didn’t know what game he was playing, but she wasn’t about to go there again.

Chapter 3

Hannibal studied the beauty, holding the doorknob like a shield as if it could protect her from him.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Not really. I want to start a business, but I never wanted strangers in my home. That was the reason I went to Skin Sins. Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“So it’s the stranger part that’s troubling you.” He nodded his head. “I get that. But come sit down. Get to know me a little, and then if you want me to leave, I’ll go.”

Angel dug her soft white gym shoes into the hardwood floor. Rocking back on her heels and twisted her fingers around each other. “I… don’t know.”

“You know. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.” He shook his head when she didn’t budge from her post. His lip quirked up at her fighter stance.Did she even realize she had one?

“Some people can ride with you for a hundred years. Through mountains, storms, deserts, you name it, and you never learn a damn thing about them.” Her hand dropped away from the knob while she listened. “Be careful of those guys. They’ll wear your colorsanda wire. Gathering evidence, waiting for the right moment to turn you in, or steal your stash—sometimes both. When you’re a biker, a real biker, you put your life on the line every day for colors and family. You learn who you can trust and who you can’t. One wrong decision and you end up in prison, or a coffin.”

“But sometimes, you meet a guy, and in twenty minutes, they go from stranger to brother. Someone you’d ride with and die for.” He bit the inside of his lip, waiting to see if the rabbit was going to exit the hole and take the chance. “You take the chance and trust your gut.”

“What if my gut is telling me to run away? That this was a mistake.”

“That’s the funny thing about guts. They speak to us all the time. Having a gut is having a coin with two sides. On one side is fear. But that’s not the place you ever want to act from.”

“And on the other side?” She walked closer and curled her hand around the high back of her recliner.

“Heart. Courage. Strength. When you have heart, you can ride on the back of somebody’s bike, the pavement flying by at a hundred miles an hour, and you can’t even see where you’re going.”

Her lip twitched. “Perfect description.”

“Yeah, like I said, I get it.”

“How old were you when you first started riding?” She sat down on the recliner, perching on the edge of the wide cushion.

“The first time I rode a bike, I was fifteen. My father was a biker with the Austin Arrows. According to his friends, he was a big man. Rough outside and in, hard as nails, until he met my mom. Fresh out of Catholic school, and working a summer job at a gas station. My uncles say he took one look at my mom, and he knew.” Hannibal held her eyes. Willing her to understand that this shit was deep—like father, like son.

“You didn’t know him?”

“Them.” He corrected. “They died in a car accident when I was two. My mother was the baby in her family, and my aunts took me in and raised me. They were straight-as-they-come civilians who wanted nothing to do with the life. But they never stopped my uncles from coming by to see me.”

“Your father had a big family?”

“You could say that. He had three brothers by blood and dozens more by bike. When they rode into our quiet neighborhood, I could feel their bikes rumble from a mile away. So many bikes it looked like a parade, bikes taking every spot on the block and around the corner.”

“How did your aunts feel about that?”

The laugh surprised him more than her.When was the last time a laugh had sucker punched its way out?“You can’t imagine the pursed lips, stiff shoulders, and iceberg glares. But they believedfamily is family. Their only request was that they didn’t put me on a bike.”

“But they did it, anyway?” Her brows flew up as if she had never heard of people breaking their word.

“Not at first, but by the time I was fifteen, I’d pestered them and begged by aunts enough that they agreed. And it only took one ride around the block. After that, I worked two jobs after school, saving money to buy a bike. Not just any bike, I wanted a big chopper. By then, I was nearly the size I am now. And I knew I wanted something that would stand up and hold me. I didn’t want a damn scooter. I wanted a bike.”

“The aunts probably had a fit. Icanimaginethat.”

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