Chapter 6 #2
Chin lifted, I raise a brow. “Don’t threaten me.”
“Not a threat, just a fact. I think it’s time for you to leave. Whatever game this is, I’m not playing.”
“I’ll leave as soon as you agree to retrieve my bike. Today, if you don’t mind,” I say with a smile.
If possible, he moves in even closer, pressing me tighter against the countertop. More of that heat from before flushes up my neck, because despite the anger I can literally feel burning beneath his skin, Decker is still without his shirt.
“Tell me you didn’t come here and threaten my livelihood for a fucking bike,” he snarls.
With my hands splayed over his bare chest, I give him a shove. But he’s a wall of unmoving muscle. “That a problem?”
“None of you fucking listen. Allen can’t actually hold your bike. I told Triss that. There’s a form. Fill it out, have Jimmy sign and notarize, pay the fee, and you’ll have your precious bike back in a week tops. Now get the fuck out of here, Grace. Or I’ll throw you out.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Get my bike, or I will tell anyone who will listen that you’re in bed with Axel Donovan.”
Decker slides a hand to my throat and pulls me hard against him, fire in his eyes, anger etched all over his face.
“Grace.” He squeezes, making my breath catch. “I won’t say this again. I hear those words coming out of your mouth one more time, and I will not stop squeezing this pretty little throat until you stop breathing.”
To demonstrate his point, he grips harder, his fingertips pressing in a little painfully. I don’t fight him. Even as pressure begins to build behind my eyes. I don’t make a sound of protest. I don’t let him rattle me. Instead, I steel my spine, push my shoulders back, match his glare.
I dig my nails into his wrist and tug his hand forward, making him squeeze harder, calling his bluff.
Do it.
His brows jump in surprise, his throat bobbing, but he doesn’t falter. Two thrashing forces fighting for dominance, neither willing to concede. I’ll let him choke me out before I give in. I’ve gotten myself into a world of trouble, and if Decker doesn’t do this for me, I’ll be dead anyway.
He dips his head, staring me down, showing me he’s not fucking around. That if he wanted, he could end this by simply clenching down on my windpipe.
An intimate way to kill a person. Chest to chest, nose to nose, breathing the same air.
To do it, he’d have to look me right in the eyes, watch them dim as his fingers dug into my skin.
Not like a gun, cold and detached, or even a knife.
A blade is… angry, erratic. But this, his face a breath away, the warmth of his skin on mine, it’s close, personal.
A heat blooms deep in the pit of my stomach and rushes between my legs.
A mix of fear and excitement. Desire with a twist of adrenaline.
I swallow, the movement almost exaggerated under the pressure of his palm, the unyielding grip threatening my life.
Lincoln Decker has his hand around my throat. And I think it might be turning me on.
His other hand finds my cheek, and he rubs the pads of his fingers across the bruise there, then down my jaw. A gentle contrast to the tension on my neck. His eyes drop to my mouth as he runs his thumb along my bottom lip.
I like it, this darker side of Decker. A little too much.
Brow arched, I tilt up my chin. A challenge. Or maybe an invitation. And there’s a second, when our bodies are pressed together, his hand at my throat, heat pooling in my core, where I think he might actually take me up on it.
The moment the thought hits me, he seems to think better of it. His jaw ticks, and with a deep, irritated sigh, he lets up. The threat at my throat loosens, but his hand remains.
“What’s so special about this bike, Gracie?” He rubs his thumb in place, sending a rush of goose bumps over my skin.
“It’s not really about the bike,” I say, voice a little strained. “It’s more about what’s in it.”
Eyes narrowed to slits, he finally releases me. “And what’s that, exactly?”
I smile as I shake off the ghost of his touch. “About a kilo of coke and twenty grand in cash, give or take.”
His whole body goes rigid. “Jesus fucking Christ. Donovan’s got you running for him? That son of a bitch. I will?—”
“Axe can’t know about this,” I say quickly, taking a step forward.
None of the Sinners can. Spending time with a rival MC is no fucking joke. Club first. Family second. Bastard daughter of the ex-prez? Dead last.
He cocks his head. “What the hell have you gotten yourself wrapped up in?”
I fist my hands at my sides. “Nothing that concerns you.”
“If you’re in trouble?—”
“I’m not,” I lie. “But you can understand why I’m anxious to get my things back.”
“Yeah, I bet.” He huffs. “But like I said, I’m not interested. Find someone else to do your dirty work.”
“You don’t help me, and I will?—”
“You won’t say shit to anyone about me. You’re bluffing,” he says. “Axe won’t allow it. You’d be outing the only cop on his payroll. Whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into, you’ll have to clean it up yourself. I want nothing to do with this.”
“I don’t care what Axe may or may not allow me to do. If you get me what I’m asking for, my mouth stays shut. If you don’t, I pay a visit to the chief and then skip town. I’ll be long gone before Axe even has time to get pissed about it.”
There’s a moment when I think he might grab my throat again and follow through with his promise. His jaw is tight, his fists clenched, all those rippling muscles of his tensing as if holding back a torrent of anger and frustration.
My stomach lurches to my throat, my whole body screaming for me to back down. I don’t know this man. I knew Decker ten years ago. The boy scout. The good guy. The older neighbour kid with the pretty girlfriend who let me sleep in his treehouse so my stepdad wouldn’t knock me around.
He could have turned into a very dangerous man since then. And who’s to say his temper isn’t as bad as Rick’s? They are related, after all. It’s possible that I’ve overestimated my advantage here. And maybe he’s thinking the same thing I am. I can’t tell his secret if I’m dead.
“I don’t like this,” he says, folding his arms over his chest.
Relief swamps me, and I let out a private breath. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to like being blackmailed.”
“I do this,” he mutters, “and you come for me anyway, you won’t like how that plays out, you understand?”
“Fine by me,” I say as I slap the spare keys to my bike on his countertop.
“Get out,” he grits. “I won’t ask again.”
This time, I don’t argue. Breath held, I skirt around him and get the fuck out, and I only exhale once I’m safely back in the car.
Eyes closed, I press my head back into the seat.
Somewhere between my restless sleep last night and my caffeine-infused waking this morning, I decided it’s too dangerous to stay here.
Once Decker hands over my bike, I’m gone.
Away from the Sinners . Away from Decker and his dirty badge.
Back on the highway and in possession of enough cocaine to get me ten years in prison.
I’ll be on my own. Running. Again.
But first, I’ll need a gun.