Gideon: Ride With Me

Chapter Four

Liss

I didn’t think this through. I was supposed to leave Buckeye Junction, not get involved with a biker and his gang. Sure, the money would help. My finances were stretched painfully thin, but it was too risky to stay here.

As soon as Gideon wasn’t looking, I’d make my getaway. He couldn’t watch me 24/7. At some point, he had to sleep. That’s when I’d bail.

I trailed after Gideon as he led me into the parking lot. The sun had set while we were inside, but a strip of russet orange light still lingered on the horizon. Mid-June in Montana was pleasantly warm, but the nights held a chill in the air that made me shiver. He retrieved a set of keys from the pocket of his leather vest and slotted one into the ignition with a pointed look.

“This is the proper way to get a bike started.”

“Duly noted,” I replied. “Steal the keys before I steal the bike.”

Gideon laughed softly and shook his head. My stomach did a little flutter at that sound.

Probably just ate too fast, I thought.

And yet, my gaze lingered for a few moments too long on the laugh lines that crinkled at the corner of Gideon’s eyes. The faintest impression of a dimple was visible beneath his salt-and-pepper beard. I’d have to be stone-cold dead in my grave if I didn’t admit that this man was hot as hell. Even if he was twice my age.

Gideon straddled his bike as he started the engine with a low, growling purr. It really was a gorgeous bike—a deep lush red, with buttery black leather seats, and polished so well that the chrome gleamed with a mirror-like reflection under the glow of the street light.

Gideon unhooked the helmet dangling from the handlebars and passed it to me. I didn’t see a spare helmet anywhere.

“What about you?” I asked.

He shrugged.

“It’s a short ride. I’ll be fine.”

I took the helmet and tugged it on, fiddling with the straps. Guilt prickled the back of my neck. He was going through a lot of trouble on my behalf, and I couldn’t pinpoint why the hell he would do that. What did he expect in return? Sex? Is that why his buddies acted like he had some claim on me? Is that why Gideon growled at Spike like a wolf over his kill?

On the other hand, I had a full belly. I was freshly showered, with clean hair, and the layers of dirt scrubbed from my skin until I was scoured pink. And no one had breathed a word about me keeping their bed warm. Sure, Spike had joked about kinky stuff, but that was different.

When Gideon reached out, I automatically took a step back with a look of suspicion.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought I’d buckle those straps,” he replied. “You’ve been fucking around with them for almost a minute.”

I huffed, annoyed.

“Well, I can’t see them when they’re under my chin—”

This time when Gideon reached out, I let him hook a finger into the belt loop of my jeans and draw me toward him. I stood close enough that my hip pressed into his knee. The rough, cracked skin of his knuckles grazed my throat as he buckled my straps. I swallowed hard as an electric jolt of pleasure fizzled through my blood.

“Done,” Gideon declared.

He looked away but his hand settled on my elbow with a squeeze for a moment. I swayed forward on my toes, wishing I could lean into that brief contact. It felt…steady. Reassuring. Strong. I wasn’t used to touch like that.

“Get comfortable,” Gideon said, patting the seat behind him.

I hesitated as I faced my next hurdle. Hitching a ride with Gideon would require close quarters. There was no room for personal space on a motorcycle. I forced myself to move, swinging my leg over the bike.

Then I found myself facing Gideon’s broad back. Blackjacks MC arched across his shoulders in bold letters. Underneath the text was a depiction of a playing card—a jack of spades. Tattoo ink marked the nape of his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. He smelled incredible—warm leather, cigar smoke, and a musky, masculine cologne that had a lusty haze fogging the edges of my common sense.

“If you don’t hold on,” Gideon said. “You’re going to fall off at the first sharp turn we take.”

I curled my fingers into fists, steeling myself for the inevitable. I preferred to keep people at a distance. It was safer that way. I had a better chance of dodging a slap or a right hook when I could see it coming.

Finally, I wrapped my arms around Gideon’s middle. He was solid as a brick wall, surprisingly warm, and the urge to cuddle against him was stupidly irresistible. I’d never cuddled with anyone in my life. I wasn’t about to start now with a man I’d met less than an hour ago.

When Gideon guided his bike out of the parking lot and picked up speed, I breathed in deep. This must be what flying feels like—weightless, soaring. The pavement was a blur beneath us, and the wind tugged at my clothes.

After only a few short minutes, Gideon pulled up outside a small brick house with an attached garage. When he parked his bike and shut off the engine, my ears were still ringing from the noise.

“Home sweet home,” he said. “Doesn’t look like much, I know.”

I removed my helmet and tucked it under my arm, surveying the house for a moment. It wasn’t exactly homey, but there was something comforting about it. Worn in like a favorite pair of old boots that still proved to be sturdy and reliable after years of wear and tear.

I followed Gideon inside as he began turning on the lights.

“The guest bedroom is all yours,” he said, gesturing down a hall to the left. “It hasn’t been used in a while though, so give me a minute to grab some sheets before you settle in.”

I didn’t move from the threshold. A pair of old leather couches were in the living room to my right, with Harley Davidson memorabilia on the walls. I spotted a few pictures of Gideon with his Blackjack buddies—at a concert, singing at the top of his lungs with Baby Doll; scowling in the background as he played pool with Credence and Hot Shot, probably unhappy over his impending loss; surrounded by his club as he slid his leather vest on, shoulders squared and chin held high with pride.

My chest ached. These bikers were tight. Thick as thieves. What did that feel like? To trust someone the way Gideon trusted these people to have his back?

I tugged at my limp sleeve, suddenly feeling dirty despite my shower. I didn’t belong here. Maybe there was still time to run—

“Liss?”

Snapped out of my thoughts, I turned to see Gideon standing in the hallway. The light was low, dim, and the shadows made him appear more menacing than he really was. Tattooed, black leather, heavy biker boots, and those piercing dark eyes. I should have been startled. I should have felt some foreboding or misgiving that maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea to spend the night with a biker I didn’t even know.

But I’d faced more than my fair share of monsters in the dark.

Gideon wasn’t one of them.

“Why are you doing this?”

My voice came out small and vulnerable in the pause between us. At the Blackjack clubhouse, I could put on a brave face and trade sarcastic barbs with his crew. I didn’t have to think about where I came from, or why I was on the run. Now that I was in Gideon’s private home, I felt like I was intruding. An outsider barging into the lives of these people, this family that had been forged among them.

“Told you before,” Gideon replied. “I know a thing or two about runaways. I ditched the foster system when I was sixteen. Dumpster diving for my next meal still haunts me to this day. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

He stepped aside and gestured down the hallway.

“Come on. Time for some shut-eye before you try to steal my bike again.”

“I thought you said I had to steal your keys first,” I replied, trailing after him as he led me to the guest room.

Gideon patted the pocket of his vest.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“A hand job would do the trick. Or a blow job. Whatever turns your brain off and buys me a head start.”

Gideon ground to a halt so quickly that I almost bumped against his back. I retreated a few steps, startled.

“I didn’t bring you here for sex,” he said.

I snorted and rolled my eyes.

“Right. That’s why your biker buddies were calling me your girl. I’m not stupid. I know how these things work.”

Gideon shifted closer, gazing down at me as he arched an eyebrow. The heat that emanated from him was intoxicating.

Mother of God. That look made me want to act up and get into all kinds of trouble.

“You’re my guest,” he said. “Nothing more. And if I ever take advantage of your situation in exchange for sex, Crash will hand you a knife himself so you can keep my balls as your trophy. God knows I won’t deserve them.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting the dirty, filthy thoughts racing through my head. How much heat was he packing below the belt? He had that big dick energy swagger—the unwavering confidence that came with being hung like a horse. At his age, he probably knew what he was doing, too.

Did he leave his partners boneless with satisfaction? Did they come crawling back for more, frothing at the mouth for a man who knew how to wring every last drop of pleasure out of them?

Or maybe he was more the type to be hands-off, sitting back while his partners did all the work and thanked him for it afterward.

Either way, I wouldn’t mind indulging my curiosity.

“Is that clear?” Gideon prompted.

I gave a mock salute.

“Yes, sir.”

I could have sworn his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was on the verge of challenging my attitude. In the end, he said nothing.

The room was sparse, devoid of personal touch, but it was bigger than my closet-like room in the trailer I used to share with my brother. I dropped onto the edge of the bed, smoothing my hands over the sheets.

Gideon moved to the adjoining bathroom and flipped the light on.

“There’s a spare toothbrush, soap, and towels under the sink. If you need something that isn’t there, let me know. I can run to the drugstore on the corner. Feel free to raid the fridge if you get hungry. There are plenty of leftovers.”

A pause settled over the room. This was the part where I was supposed to say thank you. I curled my fingers into the sheets. Was this a dream? If I pinched myself, would I wake up? Why did it feel too good to be true?

Gideon stepped closer and cupped my chin in his hand. He tilted my head up.

I blinked in surprise at how gentle his touch was—firm, commanding, but gentle.

“Good-night, Liss,” he whispered.

When he pulled away, my lips parted at the noticeable lack of his presence. The phantom heat of his touch lingered on my skin. As he walked out, the room seemed achingly empty without his broad shoulders and heavy footsteps.

Automatically, I moved to the door and locked it, testing to make sure it was firmly secured. As a precaution, I grabbed a chair from the corner and wedged it under the door knob.

Considering how avidly Gideon had insisted I was his guest, I didn’t think he would try anything in the middle of the night. But it was better to play it safe than sorry.

Sliding my backpack off, I let it drop to the floor with a thud. My fingers strayed to my right boot, checking to see that the hilt of my knife was still there.

Too tired to shed my clothes, I sank onto the mattress with a sigh of relief.

Just a few minutes to close my eyes, I thought.

Then I would wait until Gideon was asleep. After that, I wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

***

A firm knock at the door made me jolt upright. I squinted as a steady stream of sunlight filtered through the window.

Damn it. I overslept.

“Liss?” Gideon called through the door. “I’ve made breakfast if you feel like eating something.”

I scrubbed at my face and ran my fingers hastily through my hair. My brain whirled as I recalibrated my plan. I was supposed to bail last night, but I’d clearly screwed that up.

What if I simply waltzed out of here and announced I was leaving? Gideon had no reason to stop me. I wasn’t a prisoner.

Although I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so deeply, uninterrupted. Growing up with a drug dealer for a brother meant I’d trained myself to be a light sleeper at an early age. I startled at every little thing that went bump in the night. I had nightmares that made me chug caffeine until I was a jittery wreck, wide-eyed and wired for days.

Except for last night. In Gideon’s house. On sheets that still smelled faintly of his cologne. That’s when I slept so well that I was practically dead to the world.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I said.

After Gideon’s footsteps retreated, I wrestled with the urge to stay. My brother would be looking for me. The longer I remained in Buckeye Junction, the greater the chances that I would cross paths with him. And that would be one hell of an ugly experience.

On the other hand, I was good at laying low. I knew how to make myself small, invisible. I could disappear for a few days, stock up on some cash at the Blackjack clubhouse. And I could get one or two more nights of good sleep before I moved on. That seemed reasonable enough.

I pushed off the bed and made my way into the bathroom. I still wasn’t used to seeing the haunted person that stared back at me in the mirror. My eyes seemed to be too big for my face, my narrow chin even more pronounced after years fighting for every scrap of food I could hoard away.

My hand strayed to my hair, fiddling with the short strands. It used to be halfway down my back in thick chestnut waves. Until I got tired of my brother using it to yank me around. Then I took a pair of scissors to it and hacked it off. I still wasn’t used to the weird feeling of my bare neck with no ponytail swishing against it.

While I splashed water on my face and finger-combed my hair back, the scent of fresh, hot coffee wafted through the air to greet me. My stomach rumbled. I still had a meager package of beef jerky in my backpack, along with the bag of chips and brownies I’d saved from my meal yesterday. The thought of a full breakfast was too tempting to resist, though.

“One day,” I said to my reflection. “I’ll stay for just one day to put cash in my pocket. Then I’m out of here for good.”

I changed out of my sweater, opting for my favorite Guns ‘n’ Roses t-shirt with a long-sleeved shirt underneath to hide the bruises on my arm. If I was going to tend bar for money, I needed to make a good impression—clean and personable.

Emerging from the guest room, I headed for the kitchen. Gideon stood at the stove, scraping scrambled eggs onto two plates, with sausage and toast on the side. Two cups of steaming coffee already waited on the table. His vest was draped over a nearby chair. I admired the unimpeded view of his shoulders and the snug fit of his cream-colored Henley.

“Hungry?” Gideon ventured, bringing the plates to the table.

“Starving,” I replied.

In more ways than one.

Gideon had been very clear that sex wasn’t up for discussion. But maybe I wanted to change that. God knows my previous experiences sucked—few and far between though they were. So what if he was twice my age? He looked really fucking good in those tight black jeans and tattoos. Since I was leaving town tomorrow, it wouldn’t mean anything. No strings attached. Just the way I liked it.

I took a seat at the table and picked up my fork, digging into the fat, greasy sausages. The first juicy, spicy bite had me moaning like a whore in church. Gideon chuckled.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said. “I don’t get to cook for company very often.”

“No girlfriend?”

He shook his head, stabbing at his eggs.

“Wife?” I continued. “Favorite hooker you see once a week?”

He flicked an annoyed look at me that said, stop with the smart mouth routine.

So, he was single as I’d suspected. I filed away that piece of information for later.

“In that case, it sounds like it’s high time you got laid.”

Gideon heaved a sigh.

“Don’t you start on me, too. Baby Doll has been riding my ass for months, trying to set me up with one woman or another.”

“No takers?” I replied, feigning shock, but secretly pleased that I didn’t have any competition.

He dragged his gaze up, assessing me with a no-nonsense look. I couldn’t resist pushing his buttons. Leaning in, I lowered my voice to a loud conspiratorial whisper.

“Wait. Don’t tell me. Are you and Spike having hate sex?”

Gideon grunted, annoyed, and shook his head as he scraped up the last of his eggs.

“You’re extra feisty this morning. You must have slept well.”

“Like a baby.”

He moved onto his sausages and toast, pinning me with a level stare.

“I was so sure you would have bolted in the middle of the night.”

A lump formed in my throat and the food turned tasteless in my mouth. How the fuck did he know that’s what I had intended to do? If I was getting predictable, that meant I was losing my touch. And if I was losing my touch, I needed to sharpen up.

Wolfing down the remainder of my food, I pushed my chair back and carried my plate to the sink. Two full meals in twenty-four hours. I was getting spoiled.

“I couldn’t pass up your offer for some spending money. Which reminds me. When do I start work?”

Gideon leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee.

“When we get there.”

I waited. He didn’t seem inclined to budge. I spread my hands in exasperation.

“Do I have to light a fire under your ass, grandpa?”

“No need to get your panties in a twist, sweetheart. It’s only nine o’clock. Blackjacks aren’t known for being morning people. Besides, Spike spent the night at the clubhouse with a few ladies to keep him company. He’ll be walking around bare-ass naked, so I’m doing you a favor by preventing you from seeing that.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” I said with a shrug. “If Spike has his junk out, I might like to admire the goods. Maybe even sample them. A girl has needs, you know.”

Gideon didn’t even blink, blowing on his coffee lightly to cool it.

“If Spike lays a finger on you, he’s well aware it will be the last thing he ever does before he meets a shallow grave.”

I clucked my tongue.

“Touchy.”

“Sit,” Gideon said, biting the word off. “Finish your coffee. And don’t ever mention Spike’s junk around me again.”

I slouched into my chair, pulling my mug closer and fiddling with the handle. I was restless, eager to move. Otherwise, I was a sitting duck and I hated that.

“Do you need anything?” Gideon offered.

I frowned.

“Like what?”

He rubbed his thumb over the lip of his mug. I followed the rhythm of his gesture, wishing I could shove that damn cup away and push my body into his hands instead.

“Girl stuff,” he replied. “Clothes, clean underwear, shit like that.”

I huffed.

“If I’m not allowed to talk about Spike’s junk, you’re not allowed to talk about tampons. It’s awkward as fuck.”

Gideon didn’t say anything more, but he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “God, I didn’t take you for the fretful mother hen type.”

“Just checking,” he replied coolly, unruffled by my prickliness.

I hunched over my coffee, hoping that would be the end of the conversation. Deep down, warmth nestled between my ribs knowing Gideon had been concerned enough to ask. No one had ever done that for me before.

I would definitely be doing everything in my power to fuck him senseless tonight.

***

By noon, I was successfully tending the bar on my own. Baby Doll and Hot Shot gave me a quick rundown, and within thirty minutes, I was running the show. It wasn’t complicated. The few club members who were present didn’t request anything fancy. It didn’t take a genius to figure out how to pour whiskey and pop the top off a beer bottle.

The challenge was keeping up with these bastards. They held their liquor well, and it seemed I had barely delivered one drink before they requested another. Three hours later, my feet were killing me, but the back pocket of my jeans was stuffed with tips.

Spike finally emerged from one of the rooms in the back. His unbuttoned jeans were slung low on his narrow hips, with no shirt, and a scantily-clad girl on each arm.

“It’s nice to see you’re wearing pants,” I said.

Spike slid to a stop.

“Is that disappointment I hear in your voice, baby girl?”

I breathed a faint laugh and kept busy by wiping down the bar.

“Just an observation. Gideon said you were probably going commando earlier, strutting around like you owned the place.”

“Well, air circulation is important. Every man in this room goes free-ballin’ at one time or another.” Spike stepped up to the bar and propped his elbows on the counter, leaning in. “You’re always welcome to join the party. I bet you’re a sight to see if you shed a few of those layers you’re hiding in.”

“Spike,” Gideon barked with a dark look. “Final warning.”

Spike turned around, lounging against the bar. Fuck boy oozed from every angle of his posture.

“I can’t decide if you’re a spoilsport or a cockblocker.”

“Both,” Gideon growled.

“I can fight my own battles, tough guy,” I piped up.

He accepted a cigar from Kingpin and lit it, inhaling deeply before he slowly allowed the smoke to seethe from between his lips like a dragon boiling with a belly full of fire.

“There are no battles for you to fight here, Liss. Besides, I’m doing Spike a favor by saving him from a broken nose.”

I grumbled and tossed my rag aside.

“I apologized for that.”

Gideon hummed a laugh.

“Actually, you didn’t, and I hope you never do. Keep that fight in your blood burning hot, but save it for when you really need it. In the meantime, Spike will mind his own goddamn business,” he added with a pointed look in Spike’s direction.

Spike backed away from the bar with a wink at me. I watched him herd the two women toward the door. Tattooed wings arched across his shoulders and down his muscular back. His hair was shaved into a mohawk, just long enough to be tuggable, which was probably intentional. Arrogant, cocky, and full of wiry sexual energy, he was the epitome of no strings attached.

But I didn’t want him, no matter how ready and willing he would be to bend me over the bar if I asked him to.

My gaze slid across the room to where Gideon was seated. Something about his presence made me feel safe in a way I’d never felt around a man before. If I wasn’t careful, I could end up getting my heart involved, and that would be messy.

Shaking my head, I gathered the dirty glasses and carried them to the kitchen. I nearly tripped over a haphazard stack of cardboard—stained, greasy takeout containers and beer boxes, mostly. After depositing the glasses in the sink, I gathered up the cardboard and pushed the back door open with my hip.

“Long time no see, Larissa.”

I froze at the sound of that voice.

Albie stepped away from the alley wall, emerging out of the shadows. He’d always been a scrawny bean pole with a nervous twitch ever since he started hanging around my brother when I was fifteen or sixteen. His baggy clothes sagged like a tent on his thin shoulders. It could only mean bad news that my brother’s snitch and errand boy had found me.

I did a quick scan of the area, but there was no sign of my brother in sight.

“What the hell are you doing here, Albie?” I demanded.

“Got a message for you,” he said. “From Ryan. He’s real upset you took off like that.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

Albie sniffed and scratched at his earlobe.

“He says you need to come home. You should listen to him.”

I turned away, moving on autopilot. One foot in front of the other. If only I hadn’t overslept. If only I hadn’t tried to steal that damn bike. I would have been far away by now.

“My brother can rot in hell for all I care.”

Albie grimaced, shifting in place. He shook his head, over and over.

“Ryan is going to be mad. You don’t want that, Larissa. Please. Just…do as you’re told.”

Now that Albie knew where I was, Ryan would be the next one to show up. It was a race against the clock to put some distance between myself and this town.

“Tell my brother to fuck off,” I said.

Albie practically whimpered.

“No way. That’s a message you have to deliver yourself. He’ll beat you for it, Larissa.”

Just as I reached for the door, it slid open and Gideon stood on the threshold. A muscle twitched in his jaw and his eyes were dark.

Shit. He’d definitely overheard enough to know he didn’t like what was going on.

“Is there a problem?” he demanded gruffly.

I glanced over my shoulder. Albie turned away, scrubbing the back of his head uneasily.

“He was just leaving,” I said.

Albie hesitated, chewing on his lower lip like he might protest. Then he skittered off.

Gideon placed his hand on my lower back and drew me inside. The next thing I knew, he had my body hemmed in against the door, crowding closer.

“What the fuck was that?”

“None of your business,” I said, my gaze sliding away.

“Bullshit,” Gideon spat. “Try again.”

I hissed through my teeth. I didn’t want him wrapped up in my problems, my trouble. I didn’t want him to get a target painted on his back because of me.

“Is he the one who gave you that bruise on your hip?” Gideon pressed.

“No,” I said, firm.

“Then who did?”

When I tried to shoulder past him, Gideon moved to block my escape route. In the blink of an eye, he wrapped his big hands around my waist and hoisted me onto the kitchen counter. Pushing between my thighs, he braced his hands on either side of my hips and fixed me with a hard stare. I wasn’t getting out of this one until I gave him some answers.

“Talk,” he ordered.

“You’re bossy,” I replied. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Gideon lowered his chin with a grim set to his mouth, as if to say, don’t play games with me.

But I couldn’t tell him. He had looked out for me, fed me, housed me, and gave me a warm bed to sleep in. And he never once raised his hand to me. We hadn’t known each other for twenty-four hours yet, but something in my gut said this was a good man. I didn’t want to ruin his life with my poison.

“I’m on the run from my ex-boyfriend.”

Heat prickled my cheeks at the lie. I never had trouble lying before. It saved my ass more times than I could count.

For some reason though, lying to Gideon felt…wrong. It tasted sour on my tongue, charred black and sinful.

A heartbeat of stillness settled between us.

Did he believe me? Or could he see right through my lie?

Finally, Gideon spoke.

“A shitty ex-boyfriend doesn’t scare me. He won’t bother you here.”

If only you knew, I thought.

My brother would slaughter them all if it meant dragging me back into his personal hell.