Chapter 1 #2
A tall, thin man wearing only a steel cock cage entered, bearing a tray with a sandwich and orange juice.
He settled both on the table beside me, and rather than thanking him, I told Bud, “Thank you.” Basic protocol — the man who’d served me was Nickie’s slave or houseboy or whatever, but Bud is Nickie’s Dom, which means he gets the primary thanks.
“Eat while you tell us the problem,” Bud told me. “We’re all friends here, and Nickie tells me the codewords you gave tell her you’re in the worst possible trouble but are safe in this moment.”
- - - ? - - -
Several hours later, I was riding behind Bud on the largest of his motorcycles down a backroad near a lake I’d seen glimpses of through the trees. We’d been on the bike two and a half hours without stopping, and my hips were about to die, not to mention my lower back.
I’d expected mansplaining and stupid questions, but he’d believed me right off the bat, understood how much trouble I’d gotten myself into, and started making plans for how to keep me alive while I figure out how to bring these assholes down.
My car was in Bud’s huge garage, my phone was sealed in a second Faraday bag to make double-dog sure no signals escaped, and Bud had even driven out of the back of their property, coming out on another road, so if someone had followed me to Bud’s, or if they managed to via satellite later, they theoretically wouldn’t see me leaving on the back of a bike.
Nickie had helped me pack my suitcase into three duffels, which had fit into the many compartments on this huge-assed motorcycle, which Nickie had assured me was his most comfortable for long road trips.
I didn’t doubt her word on that, but damn, I couldn’t imagine how bad off I’d be if I was on one of the smaller bikes in his garage. And fuck, how many motorcycles did one person need? He’d had seventeen.
And we’d driven without technology at all. Bud’s phone was still in Atlanta. He’d put a burner into a blocking bag, in case he needed to contact someone, but other than the helmet microphones that let us talk to each other, there were no communication devices to phone home.
“They’re an hour behind us,” Bud told me as he pulled into either a private road or a long driveway, since I couldn’t see a house.
“It’s only a little after nine here. No idea whether Magnum will be here or not, but if he isn’t, his security system will notify him we’re here, and he’ll likely show up within the hour.
We can wait on the dock if he doesn’t come out to greet us. ”
When we reached the house, I rethought my opinion of bikers.
I’d assumed Nickie’s mansion was purchased from her many income streams as an author and reporter, but now I was looking at a similar sized house on a lake, and I knew real estate prices weren’t as crazy in the south as they were up north, but it was worth millions even without the lake, and that surely added to the price.
My hips and lower back screamed as Bud killed the engine, and a deep ache had settled into my shoulders and arms from hours of gripping him. I eased off the bike with a groan I didn’t intend to vocalize, every joint stiff and protesting.
I looked around, taking everything in, and realized this wasn’t merely the flashy showpiece I’d seen at first glance.
Looking at the property more than the structures, I saw serenity.
Sanctuary. Thick woods pressed against a lawn with little woodland trails someone had lined with colored, fluffy grasses.
I could see homes a half-mile away across the lake, but there didn’t appear to be any nearby.
Whoever lived here valued privacy, and the knowledge the owner’s security system would alert him to intruders settled my nerves even more.
I hadn’t argued with Bud about there being a better place for me to hide out, but I’d been disappointed. Nickie and I make a good team, and Bud had been the one to keep her alive.
But I’d gone to him for help, and his offer was to stash me somewhere out of the way where no one would look — and I have a history with Nickie, so they might eventually look for me at Nickie’s house.
Motion caught my attention, and I looked toward the water and saw a man climbing onto the dock. A very naked man.
Even at fifty yards, the morning light carved his muscles into sharp relief.
Broad shoulders, chiseled arms, and his chest and abdomen were cut deep enough I could see every ridge and valley ripple when he moved.
He shook his head like a dog, flinging droplets out of his dark hair.
It wasn’t terribly long, but it wasn’t short, either.
I focused on his cock, and even flaccid, it hung heavy and thick. Surely the width at the base was an optical illusion.
But his walk was what truly intrigued me — confident and lazy at the same time, and so fucking sexy. This man would know exactly what to do with his hips when he fucked.
I stopped that line of thought right away. I was here for this man to hopefully keep me safe, which he may or may not agree to do. Bud hadn’t contacted him to keep opsec, and maybe this sexy, naked man would want to protect an investigative reporter as a favor between bikers, but maybe he wouldn’t.
I took my helmet off and began working my hair loose from the tucked and wrapped ponytail, and the man lifted a hand in an easy wave.
Bud made an odd wave back, and I wondered if it was some kind of internal signal. A long-distance code-word.
The man grabbed some shorts from a table and stepped into them without hurry, tugging them over his hips before he began to walk to us.
Was I looking at the club’s enforcer? The brute? Did he get paid to kill people? Because what else would a biker do for this kind of money?
I’d been warm on the ride, but without the air traveling over me, I thought I might melt. The humid air felt like a physical weight, and I stripped all the riding equipment off as fast as I could manage, until I was down to the oversized men’s jeans and a snug white halter top.