Page 6 of Bride for the Bikers

A moment later, we're outside in the crippling summer heat under the carport where the limo waits to whisk me and Devin off to our honeymoon. The shocked expression on the driver's face is almost comical, even in my position. She takes one look at us, decides she’s not getting paid nearly enough to be a hero and runs, leaving the car door open.

“The cops are already on their way,” Vincent yells, him and his men coming down the stairs, but slowly and keeping away. “Let her go.”

“Please,” I say, even though a small, guilty part of me feels relief at the idea of being stolen away from my own wedding. How messed up is that?

“You'll be fine. Just a little further,” the biker holding me says.

“Bikes are too far,” growls the serious twin. “We can't drag her through the whole damn city.”

The man holding me barks out a laugh. “We'll take the limo.”

“You fucking kidding me?” the serious twin groans.

“Do it.” And I guess if this guy says so, then they're all in.

I expected to leave the wedding in the limo, but this wasn't how I pictured it—at gunpoint with three violent bikers in the back and the fourth one behind the wheel. They push me in first, putting me in the seat that faces backwards. I reach for the door handle, but the serious twin grabs me before I can even try it, squeezing in next to me. The one with the scar that was holding me sits across from me, with the auburn-bearded biker next to him. The playful twin gets behind the wheel and floors it. The limo shoots out with surprising power.

The sudden lurch throws me right out of my seat and into the lap of the biker who dragged me here in the first place. He catches me with a laugh and holds me.

“You so eager to get your wedding night started that you don’t even wanna wait for the groom? What's your future husband gonna think?”

I try to push away, but he's too strong. “Let go of me.”

The limo corners hard, and only his grip keeps me from rolling right over into the other biker's lap. “Gonna keep you safe right here, babe.”

I dig my nails into his thighs, holding on for dear life as we careen through the city streets. Sirens sound in the distance, but are they close enough to follow? What happens if they catch up? What happens if they don't? When the bikers don't haveany reason to keep me alive anymore? I shut my eyes hard and squeeze as a wave of panic comes over me, making me shiver like I've got some kind of fever.

“Shh. You're gonna be fine,” says the guy under me, pulling me closer against him. He puts my back flush against his broad chest and his arms close around me, comforting instead of constricting. Powerful. Warm. “Easy, easy. I swear it. Hey, what's your name?”

“Huh?” The unexpected question distracts me, if only for a moment.

“I’m Shadow. What's your name?”

“Ha—Harper,” I get out through my chattering teeth.

“Nice. It's a pretty name. Pretty name for a pretty bride.” I shudder against him. Pretty bride? I'm still not ready for that, kidnapping or not. “Hey, we're not gonna hurt you, okay. Now, the big bruiser over there is Thunder, and the asshole driving the car that looks just like him, but without the common sense, is Lightning.”

“Fuck you,” snaps Lightning.

Then he gestures next to us. “And pretty boy over there is Outlaw.”

Outlaw smiles, and in spite of how terrifying he looks with all those tattoos, it's one heck of a smile, I'll give him that. He flicks his tongue, and a piercing sparkles at me.

“Um… nice to meet you?”

“Honey, we know you don't mean that,” Shadow says. “But we didn't have much choice. This wasn’t exactly the plan, but thetiming got fucked up and we couldn’t exactly let you get fucking crushed on your wedding day, right? We'll let you off as soon as we're clear so you call your Daddy and get a cab back.”

We corner again, the wheels screaming, and Shadow's arms tighten. Why is it that a man like him makes me feel safe, when a hug from my father does the opposite? What if… what if I didn’t call Vincent? What if I just went home and put all of this behind me? It's a stupid fantasy, because they could still execute me and leave me in the desert somewhere, but… maybe not? They’re obviously dangerous, but they don’t seem like monsters.

We leave the Strip behind, along with its fancy hotels and casinos, and head into much rougher looking neighborhoods. You don't think about stuff like that when you think about Vegas, but I guess every city has them, even the ones famous for their glitz and glamor. This feels much more like where Mom and I live, to be honest, a bit more like home. Poor neighborhoods, full of ordinary people, who don't have billions of dollars to spend on a chandelier that literally no one other than Vincent cares about.

I don't hear sirens anymore, so does that mean that we got away? Relief floods me at that for some reason. The sensible thing would be to actually want the cops here.

“We need to ditch this thing. A limo sticks out like sore fucking thumb,” growls Thunder. I'm not sure he communicates in any other way.

“Pull over there,” says Outlaw, pointing at a strip mall that looks like it's been closed for years. “Around the back.”

We come to a stop behind the building. Thick strips of paint are peeling off the walls and the asphalt is pocked with wispy, brown weeds growing through it. Outlaw pops open the door and a dry,hot gust of wind rushes into the car, making the AC kick into overdrive. “C'mon.”

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