Bounty:Fury Riders MC(10)

By: Zoey Parker





“What’s wrong? Forget your name? Or trying to come up with a new one?”



I blushed again. Damn it! I had to learn how to control that, somehow.



Instead, I lifted my chin. “So what? Why should I give you my name?”



He scowled. “Stop acting like a fucking baby. If you didn’t act like a baby, you wouldn’t have been out tonight, and you wouldn’t have gotten yourself into trouble. Now you’re afraid to give me your name when you weren’t afraid of what you were going to get into earlier. That makes a lot of sense.”



My chin quivered. “Thanks, asshole.”



“It’s true. You’re just mad because it’s true.” He turned to the wall, brooding. I got the feeling he didn’t like seeing emotion. He was about to see and hear a lot of it because I was on the verge of a breakdown. Everything I had seen and felt that night came rushing at me like a speeding train.



“I’m not used to this!” It was all I could get out before the dam burst, and I held my face in my hands as I sobbed. I shook from head to toe, heartbroken sobs ripping from my chest. I cried for what I saw him do, for what might have happened to me. I had been so afraid, so sure my life was over. I cried at the memory of my last thoughts, about my parents and how I’d let this happen to myself and how much they would suffer because of it. Yes, in that last moment, I had known it was all my fault. Vince had called it, and that pissed me off, too.



“Calm down,” he muttered. I looked at him through my fingers and saw him push a box of tissues toward me. “You don’t have to cry.”



“Dude, this has been a pretty big night for me, okay? I’ve never had to run away from a guy with a knife before.”



“Next time, stay where you belong.”



“Gladly.” I blew my nose. I sure didn’t belong there, with him, or anyone in his club. I remembered the way they’d leered at me as Vince dragged me back to the office.



“You never did tell me your name.”



He caught me off guard, and I had to laugh out of surprise. “Erica.”



“I wish we had met under nicer circumstances, Erica.” He looked a little sad, sort of wistful. I found myself wishing the same thing when our eyes locked.





Chapter Five




Vince





She had a lot going for her.



First was that body, which I knew she was trying to cover up in her baggy clothes. I would have bet my bike there was a tight ass and perky tits under her jeans and sweatshirt. I’d felt those tits pressing up against my back when we rode to the clubhouse. I knew her waist was small from when I grabbed her in the lounge.



She was fucking gorgeous, too. Big blue eyes, wheat colored hair. Full, pouty lips. She tried to disguise herself when she was out in the hood, but she hadn’t done a good job of it.



On top of that, she was smart, even if she didn’t have much common sense. If I were her, looking the way she did and being as small as she was, I wouldn’t have stepped foot in that neighborhood. It was a bad move, and she was damn lucky I came along when I did. But she was book smart. And she had a sharp wit, which I appreciated. One thing I didn’t get a lot of in my world was wit.



She had guts, too. She stood up to me and mouthed off, even when I could tell she was scared shitless by the way her hands shook. She couldn’t meet my eyes. I thought of a rabbit in a trap, or a little bird. She needed protection. Even so, she put it aside when someone pissed her off. Then she was beyond gorgeous. She was fierce and feisty, and I got a little hard when I wondered how that translated in bed.



If she were any other woman in the world, especially the kind I was usually around, I would have tested that curiosity. I would have put on the charm and worked my way into her panties by the end of the night. I’d done it dozens of times before, if not more.



But not her. She was different. Not just a princess, which I was still sure she was. She wasn’t just stuck up. She had class. She was a really quality person. She didn’t only pretend to be, the way other people did when they came from richer neighborhoods.



She finally stopped crying, which was a relief. I hated seeing women cry. It was one of my only weaknesses. Maybe because of the way my mom cried when my dad died. Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night when I was a kid and hear her crying in her room. She never cried in front of us. She was stronger than that. But at night, when she was alone, and the rest of us were sleeping, she would let it out. My room was next to hers, the walls thin as paper. She would cry for hours sometimes, and I always wanted to go in and comfort her. I didn’t. I knew she would hate it if I did. It would mean I knew she was falling apart.



“So if you’re ready to talk, I really would like it if you would tell me what you were doing out there. What was he after you for?” I didn’t need to tell the girl who I meant.



She took a deep breath. “I was taking pictures.”



“Pictures?” I knew the look on my face was probably priceless. “Who the hell goes down there to take pictures? Jesus Christ. Do you have a death wish?”

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