Raw and Dirty (Bad Boys MC Trilogy #1) (26 page)

I flick my eyes back to the road.

“Where are you, babe?” Royal asks, his voice verging on the edge of wild panic. “I'm coming to you.”

“I'm driving,” I say as I come up on a big turn, sand dunes on my left, the ocean still gleaming from down below on my right. “Two of the guys are gone. I think one of them crashed. I'm heading towards the police station unless you have something you want to tell me?”

“Stay on the phone with me,” he says and then there's some yelling in the background as he barks orders at somebody. A few seconds later, I can hear the deep growl of a motorcycle engine. “Don't bloody fucking hang up on me, do you understand? Where are you?”

“I'm about two miles north of my place, on Scenic Drive.”

I come around the corner, faster than I should, panic fueling my speed this time.

And there's a big, black truck parked dead center in the middle of the road.

I scream and slam on the breaks, trying to swerve towards the dunes instead of the guard rail. I'm going to hit the truck either way, but I'd rather not go off the cliff.

“Lyric?” Royal's voice is absolutely wild, frenzied and fractured and broken. “What the fuck is happening over there?!”

The tires squeal as the truck fishtails and turns violently, the wheels getting caught on the loose spray of sand that covers the road, pointing the cab directly into the dunes. The impact is hard, knocking the air out of me as the seatbelt catches and the truck comes to a grinding stop, the bed crumpling against the front of the other vehicle.

I hardly have enough time to blink back the dizziness when shattered glass sprays my face, the driver's side window imploding into the cab, a hand reaching inside and jerking the door open.

“The fuck is this?” a man asks, gun in one hand, a leather jacket on his shoulders. I can't see his face because my head is spinning and my vision's blurring from the sudden stop.
Could've been so much worse,
I tell myself but Royal's still screaming from his end of the line and … wait, why does that man have a gun in his hand?

“Call 911,” I say, worried about somebody else coming around that corner and hitting us.

“I'm on my way, Lyric,” Royal says, but I can barely hear him over the rushing sound of wind and the roar of an engine.
Is he on his phone while he's riding? How does that even work?
“Hold tight, love.”

The man at the driver's side door reaches down and unbuckles my seatbelt.

“There's a woman in here,” he calls out. “This is definitely McBride's truck, but I don't know who the fuck this is.” A big hand grips my shoulder and shakes me. “Hey you, you Royal's old lady or something?”
Old lady?
My eyes go wide and I try my best to focus on the guy's face. He's got dark hair and a long beard, but I don't recognize him. Is he one of Royal's guys? If he were, would he really be asking me that?

“Doesn't matter,” a second voice says. I look up, but all I can see is a cracked windshield and sand. Lots and lots of sand.
Fucking dunes.
“Bring her with us. We gotta get these trucks out of here before somebody calls the cops.” The first man grunts and climbs up into the truck, shoving me into the passenger seat and grabbing my phone. Without taking a second look at it, he pokes his head out of the truck and chucks it as far as he can. I don't have to look behind me to know that it's tumbling down towards the ocean.

“What are you doing?” I ask, still not quite understanding what's happening here. “We should call the police.” A pair of motorcycles revs up behind us and the man who smashed out my window, gives them a quick hand signal.
What are they doing? Why isn't anyone calling the cops?
I struggle to sit up straight, my chest aching where the seatbelt snapped tight. I'm going to have some serious bruising to look forward to.

The bearded man starts the truck, leaning over enough that I catch a glimpse at his back.
Mile Wide,
it says, not
Alpha Wolves.
And there's a picture of a winding road and a sunset.
Ukiah, California.
Ukiah? Who the hell are these guys?

I reach down for the door handle, but a rough hand on my arm jerks me back.

“I don't want any trouble, you hear me? You play nice and this'll go a lot easier for you.” I turn slowly and stare at him as he backs up and starts following the black truck down the road. “You Royal's old lady?” I just keep staring at the guy, my heart pounding hard and my throat tightening with fear.
Am I … is he kidnapping me?

“Where are we going?” I ask, backing up against the passenger side door. What would happen if I opened it and let myself fall? Would I live? Would I roll off the edge of the cliff and never stop falling? I swallow hard as the man revs the engine and keeps close to the other truck.

He doesn't answer me. Big surprise there.

I swallow hard and try to take him in. He's big, as tall and wide as Royal, but older, definitely older. Still strong though. I can see the big round curves of his biceps. He could probably knock me out with a single well-placed punch to the head.

“You want to tell me why you're driving Royal McBride's truck?” the man asks again, clearly annoyed with my lack of answers.

“He left me the keys,” I whisper and the man laughs, running his hand over his beard as he glances over at me.

“You his girlfriend or something?” The look on his face says that's not necessarily a good thing.
What are these guys planning on doing with me?

“I'm his old lady,” I whisper, keeping my hands tucked under my ass. I don't know if …
old ladies
wear rings or not, but … they must, right? They're still somebody's wife. Janae had one, didn't she? “And he's on his way here.”

“Lucky us,” the man says, getting a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting up. I stare at his face, wondering if I picked the right answer. “Guess he'll be wanting you back then.”

I wait until we turn the corner, heading away from the road and towards Mill Creek, the houses growing farther and farther apart, the trees looming over us.

And then I lift my leg up and kick the man as hard as I can in the face.

The truck swerves dangerously, forcing him to slam on the brakes as I reach for the door handle and pull, intending on dropping straight to the pavement. I figure my riding clothes were made to protect me from a motorcycle accident, so why not this?

A sharp pain in my skull snaps my head back as the man wraps his fingers around my hair and pulls.

“Let fucking go of me!” I scream, kicking and flailing, clawing at his hands as he tugs me towards him. And then I just start screeching, as loud and piercing as I can get. The noise echoes around the cab and the man starts cursing, getting out that gun I saw earlier and pressing it tight against my temple.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps at me. “Jesus Christ.”

“Let me out right now and you can keep the truck,” I say which only makes him laugh.

“Get your ass up and close that door. If you try to make a run for it, I'll shoot you in the leg and take you back home, let the boys pass you around a while. You understand me?” I swallow hard and nod my head, hating the way the gun feels pressed against my skull.

When the man finally releases his grip on my hair, I sit up and bury myself in the corner of the cab.
I should've brought my Glock,
I think again as I glance at Royal's dash and wonder if he'd keep a gun in there. The man's still looking at me though, so I just close my eyes and let loose a few tears. They're real enough, but I'm not giving up yet.

“You're a feisty one, that's for sure,” the man grumbles, waving at the black truck as it circles back around and flashes its lights at us. The motorcycle riders are still behind us, watching and waiting as my kidnapper pulls forward and continues on his way. He whispers something under his breath, but I can't quite hear him over the pounding of my heart.
Oughta be fun.
I think that's what he says. I don't really care to find out.

My tongue runs across my lower lip and tastes blood. I must've bitten it when we crashed.

Think, Lyric. Think, think, think. Royal says he's coming, but how will he find you now?

I open up my eyes and glance at the glove box again. If I open it and there's nothing in there, I'm screwed. This guy might punch me out or make good on his threat and shoot me in the leg.
What other options are there?
I think through a thousand scenarios, but none of them seem right.

In a split second, I make a decision and reach for the glove compartment, wrenching it open and finding a hammer hidden inside.
Better than nothing.
I snatch it in my hand and manage to take a swing before my guy realizes that yes, I really am stupid enough to try again.

The hammer hits him in the arm and he grunts, but it's not enough. He swerves a little, his right hand flying out to snatch the weapon from my hand. He can't hold me back, drive, and go for his gun at the same time.

I let go of the hammer and dive forward, my hand reaching for the gun at the same moment I feel a hard elbow to the gut, knocking the air right out of me as the truck swerves again, skids, clips the edge of a massive redwood tree.

I kick and flail like my life defends on it, fighting the man for control of the gun. He's bigger than me, stronger, more experienced, but none of that matters right now. In the close confines of the cab, the wheel clutched in one hand, he's handicapped enough that he either has to stop and deal with me or continue to struggle.

I get an elbow to the face—
hard—
and my vision blurs, blood streaming from my nostrils as I blink back stars and dig my nails into the man's skin. The truck's slowing down, skidding to the side of the road with a rumble, and I register the exact moment that the parking brake is slammed into place by his boot.

He throws me off, reaching into his jacket for his gun.

I tried,
I think as I kick my leg out and he grabs it with his left hand, aiming the gun at me with his right.
Fuck, I really, really tried.
Tears pierce my eyes as a million thoughts scatter through my mind, but I don't stop fighting. I won't. Not until it's really all over.

A shot rings out, echoing in the quiet forest air, the damp scent of the woods drifting through the shattered driver's side window.

My kidnapper pauses at that, just long enough that the roar of a bike comes up on us, tires squealing and skidding across the pavement. I hear another shot, my body going completely still, hoping that whatever it is that's happening is enough to distract my guy from killing me.

This time when a hand comes through the window, I recognize the tattoos.
Royal.
He unlocks the door and wrenches it open in a split second. The man's quick, turning his gun on the Alpha Wolves President in an instant, but it's too late.

Royal snaps his wrist aside the same way he did to me in the bedroom the other night, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and yanking him out of the truck. I sit there, completely stunned, my eyes wide as I watch him crack the man in the face with his ringed right hand.
What a broken, beautiful man,
I think, echoing my very first thoughts of Royal as I watch him slam the guy into the side of the truck, his fist coming forward again and landing another hit.

The black truck from before is pulling up, a few guys spilling out the back as it skids to a stop. I open my mouth to warn Royal when another shot goes off and one of the men drops to the dirt. He doesn't take notice of any of it, hitting my kidnapper in the face so hard that his head snaps back. The man tries to fight back, swinging my borrowed hammer around and managing to clip Royal in the shoulder. He may as well have clocked a hunk of cement.

I watch in openmouthed shock as Royal grabs the guy's arm and twists it, loosing the hammer enough that it falls and he picks it up, swinging it in a graceful arc that hits the bearded man right in the side of the temple. He stumbles and then collapses against the base of the redwood tree that we clipped, blood streaming down the side of his face.

“You alright, Pint-Size?” Royal asks, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, his full lips parted as he pants and stares at me like he thought he'd never see me again.

“I'm fine,” I whisper and he nods once, bending down and grabbing the gun from the forest floor. Royal crouches low and moves to stand behind the open driver's side door, lifting the gun up and aiming it through the open window. Without a second of hesitation, he points it at the driver in the black pickup as the man tries to speed away, and pulls the trigger.

The truck swerves and skids, slamming into another tree while the guys that just climbed out of it struggle to find different cover. Royal keeps his eyes on them, pulling the trigger systemically and without restraint. He doesn't rain bullets on them, just watches and waits for the right moment.

That's the first time I realize
exactly
how dangerous he really is.

And the first time I realize that no matter how ridiculous it seems, how little time we've actually known each other, how strange a match we must make … that I'm in love with him.