Chapter Three
Noa
There are certain things a smart woman worried about any kind of dangerous situation should have with her.
A gun, if laws allow.
A knife, even if it doesn’t.
Pepper spray, just in case.
A tactical multitool.
And, of course, an escape bracelet.
I’d seen many of the cheaper versions—a nylon strap with a tiny bead meant to break car windows in case of entrapment or other emergencies and the handcuff key.
But I’d searched far and wide to find one that had the key and bead but also where the nylon itself was hiding a piano wire. You know, the type of thin metal wire that garrotes were made from. I could use it to saw through many materials used to bind me, to strangle someone, or worse.
I never took it off. Not even to shower. Not to sleep.
And thank God for that.
It had been a little harder to get the cuffs off in an emergency situation than it had been on the many trial runs I’d done at home. But it worked.
That, along with the perfectly (almost suspiciously) timed biker, and I was free.
Thankfully, I’d been smart enough not to say a word to the cop when he’d arrested me. Not even my name.
If there was one thing I knew from working with hundreds of clients over the years, it was that they always caught charges when they opened their mouths around law enforcement.
It didn’t matter if they asked you your name, how you were feeling, or if you committed the heinous double murder, you kept your damn mouth shut until your lawyer got there.
So, unless they got some good quality security footage of me, and something to compare it to, they had nothing to go on.
Not even a court order could give them the footage from the unit I’d been using. I used closed-circuit security systems, not app-based ones, for a reason. They were old-school and backed up on actual DVDs, so no one could track them down or have access to them without first tracking down me.
By the time the bike pulled out of traffic and down a side street, I managed to take a few deep breaths, enough to calm the shakiness out of my limbs and slow my heartbeat.
So when we climbed off and started toward the building, I was thinking as clearly as possible.
Which meant I was acutely aware of how hot this guy who’d swooped me up was.
He hit all the marks: tall, fit (corded arm muscles, broad shoulders, and I knew there were abs under his shirt since I’d felt them myself), dark eyes, dark hair, tattoos, a well-maintained beard that he kept from growing too long, a wide jaw, and strong, stern brows.
Not just hot.
Stupid hot.
Add in the way he just… helped out a cuffed woman with no questions asked? That pushed the hotness to the stratosphere.
You’d think my line of work would have cured me of my somewhat adolescent attraction to bad boys. Alas, I never grew out of it. Dammit.
So, yes, I did notice how nice his ass was when he turned to unlock the door.
Fortunately for me, though, I did have some red flags.
And being a slob? Top of my list.
I mean, I wasn’t perfect. Sometimes I let a dish ‘soak in the sink’ overnight to ‘get the stuck-on bits off,’ when, in reality, I was just too lazy to wash it. And my hamper always seemed to be full, no matter how much laundry I did.
But nothing festered.
And this apartment the hot guy led me into? It was festering . Like moldy cups, old sweat, and rotting garbage.
I was half-expecting roaches to scamper when the light flicked on. Or a big old rat to be munching on something in the piles of trash.
The hot guy turned back, nose wrinkled. Like he found his own mess noxious.
“This isn’t my place,” he confessed. “Belongs to a buddy.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe you need to be a less accepting friend and tell him his home is a biohazard.”
“Trust me, we’ve all tried. Arty is a bit… different.”
“Different,” I repeated, looking around the small space. “Is that a new synonym for ‘disgusting’ I haven’t heard before?”
“He gets really wrapped up in his work,” the biker said, waving toward the desk. On the card table that acted as the desk, there was a computer setup that had to cost tens of thousands of dollars. “Then he forgets… everything else.”
“Like to take out his trash?”
“Like to eat ,” the biker clarified.
“Well, do you have some moral opposition to taking the trash out? And opening a window?” I asked.
“I can do that,” he said, going for the overflowing can and hurling it out.
It shouldn’t have been sexy.
Yet, it was.
I guess you could call it a bit of a kink of mine. I liked seeing men do stereotypically male things. Like working on a car, mowing the lawn, half-hidden under the sink, turning a wrench on the plumbing, their biceps clenching, and, apparently, taking out the garbage.
“Be right back,” he said, heading out the door.
Alone, I pushed open the window, leaning into it and taking a few greedy breaths.
I grabbed a fresh trash bag and started tossing all the bottles, cups, and food containers from the desk, nightstand, and dresser.
When he came to the door, I thrust the half-full bag at the biker. “This too.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, shooting me a panty-dropping smile.
Despite the insanity of the night, my panties weren’t un affected. Though I did need to keep them in place.
While he went to the dumpster again, I found some disinfecting spray and went ahead and sprayed the bed and the laundry pile. That was its own kind of overwhelming, but at least it smelled cleaner.
“Alright,” the biker said when he made his way back into the apartment. “That’s better.”
“Debatable,” I said, getting a huff of a laugh from him. “So, I guess I should thank you for the ride.”
“Not every day a man can save a woman who escapes police custody. Felt like it was my duty to help you slip away. That was a badass window escape, by the way.”
“Right?” I asked, still a little shocked I’d managed it.
Sure, I’d practiced escaping cars just like I’d practiced getting out of cuffs. There’d been lots of work on the trunk, since that’s typically where you’d find yourself stuffed. But I’d also done some window escapes. But never through such a tight space before.
“I guess I should thank my yoga and Pilates instructors for being bendy and strong enough to pull that off. I mean, it helps that the cop was completely incompetent. Who leaves a suspect in a backseat with an open window?”
“He was practically begging you to escape.”
“Exactly. So, normal people don’t aid and abet. You have a history with law enforcement?”
“You could say that. Mostly avoiding them.”
“Yeah, you kinda have that vibe.”
“It’s the bike, isn’t it?” he asked, eyes bright.
“It might have something to do with it.”
“That wasn’t your first time on one, was it?”
“First time riding bitch.”
That got a half-smile out of him.
And, damn, it did intriguing things to his already annoyingly handsome face.
He leaned back against the door, crossing his arms, and letting his eyes slip closed.
“What are you doing?”
“Just imagining that for a minute,” he said. “Any chance you were topless at the time?”
“Nothing but a G-string,” I lied. “And a pair of stilettos.”
“You ruined it,” he said, shaking his head at me. “No way your feet stay on the pegs in heels.”
“That’s where your fantasy draws the line? Not the G-string and toplessness?”
“A man has to have standards.”
“Good to know.”
“So, what’d you do to get yourself arrested?”
“Me? Arrested?” I asked, pressing a hand to my heart. “I would never, ever do anything against the law.”
“Oh, yeah, you got ‘good girl’ written all over you,” he drawled.
God, some part of me really, really wanted to hear him call me a ‘good girl’ in a completely different context. Preferably naked. His breath in my ear. His hands gripping my…
Okay.
That was enough of that.
“Perfect angel,” I confirmed. “No parking tickets. Never roll through stops. Pay my taxes.”
“Any chance you avoid parking tickets and moving violations because you’re doing illegal shit?”
“A lady never reveals her secrets.”
“No, huh? Even if those secrets have something to do with hundreds of thousands worth of guns?”
Dammit.
God damn it.
If I hadn’t been so distracted by how unbearably hot the guy was, I might have put it together sooner.
The biker was at the exact right place at the exact right time. Who was willing to get me out of there, no questions asked?
Of course, of course , he was one of those bikers.
I had about a million questions about that. Pretty high on that list was how they found my damn warehouse. But those would have to wait.
Because I was running low on weapons.
And this guy and his club had every reason to want to hurt or kill me.
Shit.
Could this night go any more wrong?
I was exacting with my work.
I prepped and prepared and made contingency plans.
Nothing should have been able to go so sideways.
I was losing my touch.
If I’d been as careful as usual, I would have had a file on the entire biker club. I would know the names and faces of them all. I would have known criminal records, hobbies, and freaking dick size.
There was no way this guy would have been able to surprise me and trap me like this.
I had to get out of this apartment, shake the biker, and stay far away from any local cops as I tried to untangle this clusterfuck of a situation.
Only problem? He was still leaning against the door.
There was a window.
But he was big and strong; he’d haul me away before I could even push the sash up.
He was leaning against the only exit.
If I wanted to get free, I was going to need to be smart.
“Sorry, what’s your name?” I asked, head cocked to the side.
“Caymen.”
“Caiman? Like a reptile?” Like animals people might feed bodies too? Maybe mine?
“Caymen. Like a bad joke on my parents’ part. What’s your name?”
“Noa.”
“Noah? Like a man?”
“Minus the H, but, essentially, yes.”
I could have given him a fake name. But if he was able to track down my warehouse, I had no doubt that if he didn’t already know my name, he would know it soon.
“Old man wanted a son, huh?”
“Probably,” I agreed. It wasn’t a sore spot, though. My old man made me who I was. Even if he did struggle with the ‘girly shit,’ as he would put it.
“So, Noa, you gonna talk about the guns?”
“Actually, I kind of don’t want to talk at all,” I said, moving toward him slowly, like a cat, my gaze sliding up and down him. It wasn’t a bad journey, either.
Was this a strategic move? Yep.
Was some part of me still genuinely enjoying it? Oh, absolutely.
A girl had to have her fun.
Especially after such a rough night.
Besides, if all this went to my ever-evolving plan, I would never see this guy again.
It would be a real shame to let him get away without at least figuring out if he kissed as well as I imagined.
Caymen’s brows lifted as I drew closer, but his hands stayed crossed over his chest.
“Seems like we got a lot to talk about,” he said.
“Maybe. But that was just an adrenaline-fueled situation,” I told him as I stopped in front of him. “And it needs a little outlet.”
“Yeah?” he asked. His gaze slipped to my lips, then back up, looking more heated than they had a moment before.
I had him.
That telltale flutter in my stomach said that maybe he had me a little bit too.
I ran a hand over one of his arms.
“I mean, unless I’m barking up the wrong tree,” I said, turning to walk away.
His arm snatched out, grabbing mine, whipping me back to face him.
My heart leapt.
My belly flipped.
Then his hand was behind my neck, hard and possessive.
When his lips came down on mine, they were just what I wanted: hard and demanding.
For just a moment, I let myself enjoy it all: the scratch of his beard, the bruising pressure of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, the way his hand went to my ass and squeezed.
I sank into the pulse of my body, the warmth, the clawing ache in my core.
Then I turned, pushing him backward with my lips still on his, toward that bed and its unwashed sheets. And its metal frame.
As soon as he was seated with me straddling him, I sank down. The firm press of him against me nearly made me spiral and lose my focus.
I wanted this.
Him.
But I needed to fix this situation.
My hand slipped into my pocket, then I moaned into his mouth, distracting him from the sound as I tightened the cuff onto the footboard just to our side.
I rocked against his hard length, feeling his groan vibrate through me.
Then, regretting it even as I did it, I slipped the other cuff around his wrist and tightened.
His whole body went hard as his lips ripped from mine.
I sat back, watching the desire, confusion, understanding, and something a little impressed crossed his face.
“Just so you know, I wanted that kiss,” I told him as I hopped off his lap before he could grab and hold onto me. “But I had to do this. So, you know, no hard feelings.”
His lips quirked up at that.
“Well…” he said, glancing down to his lap.
“If it helps, I’m not feeling any better.”
“It does.”
“Word to the wise, it’s smart to always have a handcuff key on you.”
“Yeah, seems like it might be.”
“Well, I’m not leaving you stranded. You have your phone to call in for a rescue. But I really need to go. It was nice making out with you, Caymen. Thanks for the ride.”
With that, I turned and ran out of the apartment.