Unthinkable: The Blazers MC Page 3

  “What’s your name?” she then asks out of the blue.

  It hadn’t occurred to me that I haven’t given it to her yet—though it doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. I just want to get what I want from her and move on from here—put this night behind me.

  “It’s not important,” I reply. “We need to talk money. You said you could repay your brother’s debts, and I need my cash.”

  “What’s your name?” Jenna repeats with an even firmer tone.

  “Twenty-three G’s,” I spit out. “That’s what your brother dearest owes my client. You got that or not?”

  I have a feeling that if she weren’t sitting down, this is the time she would’ve fallen down in defeat. Instead, she places one hand over her mouth as her eyes widen somewhat, and she seems to think for a moment.

  “I don’t have that,” she finally says, meeting my gaze again.

  “I didn’t think so.” As soon as she said she was a counselor, I knew this was over for me. It’s not the kind of job that brings in big bucks. Still, there were alternatives. “Then you need to get a hold of your brother so he can pay my client back. If he does, this all goes away for both of you.”

  “I told you. I don’t know where my brother is. I haven’t heard from him in a while. I’m just house-sitting until he comes back. And even then, I doubt he has the money either. You said it yourself, we’re not exactly rolling in cash, as you can see.” She gestures to the room. Teddy’s trail from the knocked over chair to the thrown lamp somehow makes this place look even junkier than before.

  Jenna’s right. This was a dead end. I’ve dealt with this before, and it usually means grabbing some stuff, taking a car or two, or bringing the punk in for questioning with the client. However, there is no Mark to bring in, and there isn’t a car or even a stereo that could fetch nearly as much as what he owes Enrique—the head drug lord for the Red Dukes.

  A thought comes over me as I go through my dwindling options. Before I can even think it through, I step forward and grab Jenna by the arm, forcing her back onto her feet. I throw her purse at her and a sweatshirt she left on the couch. There’s a gym bag worth of clothes lying by the door too, so I throw it over my shoulder as I pull her further towards the door. Once I open it, it dawns on her what’s about to happen.

  “You can’t just take me! Stop! Please!”

  “You can’t pay me. Your brother can’t pay me. I got no choice, lady.” I manage to toss her out into the hallway, but she darts back inside.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you!” She looks panicked, and the dog walks up to her feet and barks. “I’m not going anywhere without Bugsy.”

  I bust out laughing as I watch her pick up the graying dog. “It’s a damn dog. He doesn’t even realize what the hell is going on. That’s what you’re upset about?”

  “I’m not leaving him alone. If you want me alive, you have to let me take him.”

  I roll my eyes at her as I look back down at Bugsy. I can’t believe what I’m about to say. “Fine. Grab him.”

  A tiny smile etches on her face as she nestles the little beast tighter to her chest. Without looking at me, she pulls down the long, blue leash from the hook by the door and walks back out.

  I close the door behind me, not caring that it’s not locked or that I left a trail of potential evidence in my wake. At this point, all I could think about is the warm bed waiting for me back in my apartment. It’s been one hell of a fucking night, and this Jenna chick has worn me down to the core. Getting this money sure won’t be no easy walk in the park.

  Chapter Three

  Jenna

  I didn’t really think the whole “take the dog with me” thing through when I made my demands. And as I stare at the motorcycle parked a few spaces down from my car, I realize that this is going to be way trickier than I thought.

  “Can’t I drive my own car and follow you to whatever hellhole you plan on keeping me in?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. “Get on the back of the damn bike and shut your mouth.”

  There it is. I was wondering when he would go back to acting like a real kidnapper and not some stranger insisting on getting up close and personal with me.

  “I can’t ride that thing with Bugsy in my arms.” I hold my dog a bit closer to me. I get that I’m a crazy dog mom; I’ll totally own up to that. But my bulldog is the only thing left from my childhood, besides Mark.

  Bugsy was there when my dad was strung out on heroin and ended up overdosing on the couch of our old home. Bugsy was the only one there when I graduated from college and then went on to get my Masters. I’ve used him as a guard and therapy dog for years now, and I owe it to him to keep us together.

  A guy like this, this Rev character, clearly can’t understand that. He stares at me dumbfounded as if I’m proposing that the Earth is flat or aliens exist. I hate that look on such a rugged, movie star face.

  “I’m not arguing about this, lady. Get on the back of the damn bike and put him in between us. He’ll stay put if he knows what’s good for him.” Rev leads the way, hoisting his long, muscular leg over the shiny leather seat. He holds onto the handle as he waits for me to obey him.

  “Okay, boy,” I whisper in Bugsy’s ear, “you did a great job back there with Teddy, but this is your chance to take out the real danger. Feel free to make a snack out of him.”

  It’s still surprising to see my dog totally cool with a guy like Rev. In the past, the guys I’ve dated have always been enemy number one to Bugsy. Some of them couldn’t get a foot through the door without him going into attack mode. Yet, Rev managed to not only get through the door but also earn his trust so much that Bugsy is practically begging to sit next to him.

  Maybe it’s his old age. Maybe it’s that Stockholm Syndrome, where the captive falls for the captor. Maybe it’s just that Bugsy isn’t the best judge of character. Whatever the case, something’s off here.

  With me being the only protestor, I have no choice but to grit my teeth, hand Rev my dog, and slide onto the back bucket seat of the motorcycle. The hem of my skirt rises as I struggle to pull it down to a modest point.

  Rev looks down and over his shoulder as he says, “You shouldn’t hide those pins, darlin’. If you’re going to ride in my bitch seat, with a dog on your lap, you might as well make me look good.”

  I blush again—it’s getting annoying how much I’ve been doing that since meeting Mr. Bastard here. It’s as if he’s purposefully saying things to get the blood rushing to my face and my tongue taped to the back of my throat. Ignoring his comment, I hike down the edge of my skirt one last time as a “fuck you” and face forward.

  Bugsy squirms in my arms, struggling to get comfortable, but with the roar of the motorcycle’s engine, we both nearly jump out of our seats. Rev must feel it—well, he has to feel it considering how close we are. My thighs are resting against the back of his while my hips lean into the pockets of his jeans—so much so that I can feel the outline of his wallet against my panties.

  He pats my leg with his open hand, squeezing my bared knee. It lingers a little too long for comfort, and my pussy quivers to his touch, but I have no hands to bat him away.

  He yells over the noise like a smug prick, “It’s gonna get a whole lot louder than that, girly.” With a wink, he turns back to face the front and begins to back out of the parking spot.

  Once we’re out, the bike charges away from the apartment complex and onto the main road. The darkened, summer sky has cut sashes of pink and burnt orange clouds in the distance. This would be a beautiful night... if I hadn’t been taken hostage over my brother’s drug deals gone wrong.

  We head west, out of the city. Rev avoids nearly every major street and picks ones even I haven’t traveled down until we’re in a neighborhood I vaguely recognize by some of the business signs.

  At a stoplight, I shout out to him, “What the hell are we doing in Bridgeport?” I’ve barely noticed how long we�
�ve been riding. Unlike a car, the motorcycle is an assault on the senses, moving through blurs of traffic. Headlights stare at us straight on and riding on the back, I have zero control over the way the bike turns and slants to the side. All I can do is hang on and pray this asshole knows what he’s doing.

  “My apartment,” he calls back.

  “Your apartment?” I barely get it out before the light turns green and the possibility of hearing his reply disappears with the massive roar of the bike.

  As we pull up to the next residential light, he turns around, this time placing his entire hand on my leg. The fingers spread wide apart so that they press down on the fleshiest parts of my inner thigh. “Don’t look so freaked out. There are worse places I could take you.”

  We travel a block further and then pull into a small, gravel parking lot of an extended stay motel. It’s one of those places you wouldn’t dare step into unless you were looking for, or hiding, from trouble. Boards lay up against broken windows, smashed bottles crunch under the wheels, and a few women with bored faces hang their heads outside of open windows.

  “It’s Rev,” I hear one of them shout as the engine slows to a steady purr. “He’s home.” She grins as she eyes me.

  “This is your apartment?” I ask when we finally stop and he dismounts. Bugsy wrestles out of my arm and jumps onto the ground. He sniffs at what I’m sure is an exciting new palette of smells for him.

  “Do you have a problem with it? Because like I said, lady, there are worse places I could take you if this isn’t up to your standards.” He reaches behind him and fishes a set of keys out of his back pocket. Walking directly to the door across from the parking spot, he unlocks it and holds it open. I take a few slow steps towards him before forcing myself to make up the rest of the way between us.

  “Bugsy! Come on, boy!” I shout back at the dog, who’s still exploring an overgrown patch of weeds. His entire head is covered by greenery. My calls don’t work at all.

  “Bugsy!” Rev shouts from behind me. “Get in here!”

  Before I can turn to roll my eyes at him—because as if that’s ever going to work—Bugsy’s beefy head pops up and he trots happily into the apartment like it’s his second home or something. What the actual hell?

  I turn back to Rev, standing in the doorway. “How did you...?” I spit out, still in shock that this guy can command my dog better than I can.

  He places a hand above my head against the doorframe and in close enough that I can smell his hot breath on my face. “Sometimes, darlin’, you have to be a little forceful to get the job done.” He drops the bag of clothes he took from Mark’s apartment at my feet.

  Rev’s apartment is... Well, it’s pretty much exactly what I expected. It’s not a mess. In fact, while it’s bare bones, everything looks relatively tidy. Dishes are put away in the small galley kitchen, a few pairs of boots rest up against a makeshift shoe caddy, and a couple of remotes for his large screen TV lie on the arm of the leather couch.

  He catches me taking it all in. “I didn’t tell ya it was going to be impressive,” he says, a lopsided grin on his face. “I don’t usually do guests.”

  “Who said I wasn’t impressed?” I spin around and face him as he strides into the kitchen. He grabs two plastic bowls from a cupboard and places them on the floor near the living room entrance. After snatching up a plastic water bottle from the table, he pours it in one of the bowls and then disappears again. When he comes back, he holds out the second bowl full of green and orange cereal to an excited Bugsy.

  “It ain’t the Ritz,” he says as he pats the dog on the head. “But I doubt you’re gonna complain.”

  “I’m not going to complain.” I sigh. “I actually thought you were going to bring me to some dungeon or basement torture room or something.”

  “Basement torture room?” he scoffs. “That actually sounds up my alley, but I’m afraid my one-bedroom apartment doesn’t have access to the cellar.”

  My big mouth gets me before I can stop it. “Then where do you bring the hookers you live next to?”

  Rev flashes his playful grin again as he takes a step toward me. I instantly step back until I’m up against the back of the couch with my hands curled around the upholstery. “I bring them here,” he answers, still smiling. “They don’t seem to mind it. Then again, I usually distract them.”

  “Is that what you’re planning on doing with me?”My throat has gone completely dry at the smell of him—whiskey and engine fuel.

  His voice goes almost impossibly lower, “No. That wasn’t my plan. But now that you mention it... I could knock a few hundred off that debt of your brothers if you—”

  I don’t let the rest of the words leave his mouth. My hand flies up, ready to slap that pretty bastard face, but he catches my wrist about half an inch from his cheek. His long fingers twist around the bone and skin and tighten in a vice-like grip. I yelp from the pain, but he doesn’t ease up.

  “Don’t you fucking try that again.”

  “Then don’t treat me like some slut who would give it up to you.”

  His jaw clenches, like underneath that perfectly chiseled exterior he’s raging out of insult. “Listen, lady, there are a ton of chicks who spread their legs for me without all this bullshit drama. If you think I’m in desperate need to buy a good fuck from you, you got me all wrong.”

  “You’re the one who put the offer on the table,” I spit back.

  “I’m trying to help you.” He grits his teeth so hard I can hear them mash together. “You’re too stupid to realize that you should be dead right now. Instead, I brought you somewhere safe.”

  “Safe from what?”

  He grunts and huffs before releasing me. I back myself into the corner of his living room. My hands use the rack of Blu-rays for support as he charges at me again.

  Rev pauses again, only centimeters from me. Intentionally or not, his hips and stomach lean up against mine. Our legs tangle. I press my arms into the cool wall to steady myself from the weight of this man.

  Under his breath, he answers my question, “From men like me.”

  His head lowers so that the bristle of his unshaven cheek brushes against my skin. The sensation sends a chill up my spine and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A hand then comes up to glide across my cheek, towards my lips. Only when he touches the corner of mine does he pull away.

  I only just realize that I’ve been holding my breath the entire time and suck in desperate air as he heads back toward the kitchen.

  “What are you going to do with me?” I ask, thinking that there’s no end game here. At least none that I can see. He can’t use me for leverage over Mark when neither of us knows where he is. And he can’t get that kind of money out of me as quick as he needs it. So why keep me?

  He pulls down a few more bowls from the cupboards and pours some more cereal into them. Without looking up at me, he says, “I’m going to see Enrique tomorrow. He’ll decide what to do with you.”

  I swallow hard. “Enrique? Who’s he?”

  “He’s the guy your brother owes the money to.” Taking a spoonful of dry cereal into his mouth, he explains as he chomps, “He’s the one who’ll decide if you live or die.” Ha, clearly no one ever told him it was rude to eat with your mouth open. Then again, why am I not surprised? Typical beefy Alpha male behavior.

  A few silent minutes later, he tosses the empty bowl into the sink, walks out, grabs the dog by the collar, and yanks me by the arm so that I’m practically being dragged. I try to protest, but he wouldn’t listen even if I kicked and screamed my way down the hallway. He opens the door to the bathroom and leads the dog inside. Bugsy happily sits down on a towel near the tub. I stand there, confused, as he grabs my bag of clothes and a musty blanket from what I assume is his bedroom across the way.

  “You can’t be serious...” I say as he then throws a pillow at me.

  “If there’s one thing you need to learn about me—it’s that I’m always serious.”


  “No! No way. I’m not going to sleep in here!” My heart races at the thought of sleeping in the bathtub or up against a dirty toilet. But he doesn’t seem to give a shit. In fact, he’s grinning again; that darkened smile that makes his smug face look so punchable. I instantly regret not getting that slap in while I had the chance.

  “Sleep tight, darlin’. I’ll wake you up if I need to use the bathroom.” He turns toward the dog and says in an almost cutesy voice, “You let me know if you need anything.”

  Rev shuts the door behind him, cackling to himself. Before I can chase him down, I hear the click of an old-fashioned key turning inside the lock.

  “Prick!” I shout out, and sink down onto the cold bathroom tiles, next to Bugsy. Someone wake me up from this bizarre, torturous nightmare already.

  Chapter Four

  Rev