Chapter Four
SAIGE
Was being handcuffed to the bed of the President of the Hell’s Heathens part of my master plan to kidnap and torture him?
Not even in the realm of possibilities. I jerk hard against the cuffs, the cool metal digging into my wrists.
I don’t even register the pain. I’ve trained for years to be able to take down men triple my size, and yet, I let the one man on Earth I have the most to hold against get the jump on me. If Sebastian could see me right now.
“FUCK!” I scream at the top of my lungs, rattling the cuffs as hard as I can. Warm liquid starts to drip down my wrist, a slow, steady trickle of crimson. Fucking great. “Camden! Let me fucking go, you piece of shit! Ugh!”
Even though I’m chained to a bed in the den of a predator, there’s no point in being scared. The only thing fueling me right now is a heavy dose of adrenaline and pure, unfiltered rage.
I look around his room, the sparse space fairly empty except for the bed, a dresser, and a nightstand.
The only thing on the blank white walls is a bunch of random old MC patches.
I cock my head to the side, reading the names.
Doc, Beatle, Ace, Babs, Fang, Crash, Ox, Panic, Razor, Toad, Goose .
. . the patches go on and on, tacked haphazardly on the wall.
Then it hits me. If they’re on his wall, that means they aren’t on their cuts.
All these people are gone, and I wonder for a split second if I’m responsible for taking any of their lives.
A sharp pang I’ve never felt before lashes through my chest, right under my ribcage. It doesn’t matter if I’m responsible or not. Every single life I’ve taken has been from someone who no longer deserves to breathe. Rapists. Pedophiles. Abusers. Murderers . . . Like Camden.
They’re above the law, have police officers, lawyers, and government officials in their pockets; someone has to stop them. Innocent lives are lost because of these clubs, and I’ll be damned if I don’t do my part to rid the world of some of it.
I jerk the cuffs again, screaming until my voice is hoarse, demanding that Camden come back and face me like a man.
I snort at the thought. Camden Young is more than a man.
He’s a fucking Greek god, and part of me dies on the inside to even admit it.
If I thought the man was good-looking from his photos, they have absolutely nothing on what he looks like in real life.
Broad shoulders, tan skin like the sun personally kisses him each day, his hair is shaved close at the sides and long enough on the top to pull up into a bun that looks so damn sexy pulled out of his face.
Not that I should be noticing, but I’m not blind.
Even if I do still plan to kill him, I can appreciate having something pretty to look at while I do it.
His voice, though? All husky and deep, so serious and seductive. I’ve never been spoken to so brashly, and it caught me off guard. It brought down my walls just long enough for him to turn the tables. It’s never happened to me before.
Did I feel some sort of pride for shocking him with how well I ride my bike? Oh hell yes, I did. But I definitely did not expect him to go all lust-crazed Dom on me. He made it clear, point-blank, that he wants to fuck me, so I know I can use that to my advantage.
Men always fuck up when they start thinking with their dicks, and I have zero problem exploiting that to save my own life.
I’ll be damned if I die at the hands of the same man who took my entire family away from me.
I just need to get the upper hand again.
Should be easy enough if I let him think he can get inside me.
Muffled voices echo just outside the door, low and tense, the scrape of boots on the wood floors as they shuffle back and forth.
There was a time that I might have panicked at the sound of boots outside a locked door, that inherent fear that creeps up, an irrational voice trying to convince me that someone was about to kick it in.
That time’s long gone. Fear has its uses, but I’ve long since learned to tuck it down deep, refusing to let it show, even to myself.
Instead, I’ve turned that emotion into something sharper, something I can wield to keep me moving forward in the face of anything that stands in my way.
I scan the room again, my eyes landing on the large, open window, the curtains billowing from the breeze just outside of it.
We’re two stories up, but if there’s something below it I can land on, going out the window may be a safer bet than fighting my way through a motorcycle clubhouse full of bikers.
Unless I can get my hands on Camden’s gun, my playing field may just even out a little more.
Fuck, I wish I had my gun, my knife, my fucking phone. Literally all of my shit is with my bike.
If any of these assholes who live here with Camden expect to find a scared little girl in here, they’re all in for one hell of a surprise. I’m not going down without a fight. Camden just unknowingly brought a predator into his den.