Page 22 of Mex

“I have a fair idea.” I shrug, bringing my vodka to my lips and swallowing it down.

“My world is very fuckin’ different to yours.”

I snort. “Is it?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“So your club doesn’t run any kind of illegal business? You don’t do things you’re not supposed to? You don’t take lives when said lives double cross you? Don’t flatter yourself, biker, your world is equally as bad as mine.”

He doesn’t answer because he knows I’m right.

Different title, same lifestyle.

“How hard are you goin’ to make this for me?”

I tip my head to the side and stare at him. “You’re not taking me.”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ am.”

“And how, dare I ask, are you going to do that? See Trev over there? One cry of help from me and he’ll have this entire bar bringing you down in a matter of minutes.”

“Who said I was takin’ you from here?”

His voice is filled with challenge.

“You found me here, but you won’t find me again.”

“I know where you live. I know where your friends live. I know where your family lives. I know exactly where you hide and where you play ...”

“And yet,” I say, crossing my legs and leaning forward, “you needmeto find my mother.”

“Your mother is a different story.”

“Hmmm, convenient.”

“We can dance all night, sweetheart, or you can accept that one way or another, I will get what I want.”

I flash him a smile. “We’ll see about that.”

With that, I stand up and walk around the bar, disappearing out the back.

I’m not going to make it easy for him, but I’m not going to try too hard to get away. A bit of balance will do him good. Moving through the back area, I step out the exit that leads upstairs to a parking lot. The moment the fresh air hits my face, I close my eyes and breathe it in. I’m drunker than I thought, and as I sway on my feet, my head feels light and my stomach twists.

I know myself better than anyone, and I know that I didn’t drink that much.

That fucking biker drugged me.

“Come on, surely even you had to see that one comin’.”

Turning slowly toward the voice, I see Mex standing with his arms crossed, staring at me. Well fuck, he’s better than I thought.

“Well played, biker,” I slur, clenching my eyes shut for a second.

I hate being drugged.

Mostly because I despise not having control.

Big hands curl under my armpits as my legs grow weak. My vision blurs as Mex scoops me into his arms. “You’re good, but you’re not that good. I’ll get away. I always do.”

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