Smiling as sweetly as she could, with the bile backed up in her throat, she said, “Well, I’m happy to hear that. Before I go, is there anything you need?”

  She could see them in his eyes…every one of his dirty thoughts. She could also see him almost physically trying to fight them. As he did, she walked closer. He’d dropped the hand that was holding the gun down to his side and the closer she got, the more he leaned forward in his chair. When she stopped, less than a foot in front of him, she watched the top of his greasy, gray head as it moved up her body again. He let his eyes dwell between her legs, and even longer when they got to her breasts. By the time he reached her face, she’d plastered what she hoped was a sexy look on her face. As he stared at her, she slowly ran her tongue across her bottom lip. Then her eyes dropped down to the bag, which was partially open. She could see a sliver of a stack of green inside. Lancelot’s head dropped down to it too and he said, “The fucking lock on the safe isn’t working, that’s how I ended up with this gig.”

  “Oh no! You poor thing. But I’m here to help. What can I get you? Beer? Whiskey? A joint? A line…” She smiled wickedly then and said, “A girl?”

  He chuckled, licking his lips again. “Sweet Cheeks if any woman other than you had walked in here, she’d probably already be naked on the floor.” He ran a hand down across the front of his crotch. Celeste fought for composure again, and feigning a pout she said:

  “You’d rather get naked with any other woman in the club besides me?”

  She could see the sweat beading on his forehead. If she were a better person, she’d feel guilty. What she was about to do…if it worked…would be the same as signing his death warrant. She didn’t feel guilty, however, justifying it by knowing first hand some of the horrible things the man in front of her had done in his life. “Oh, Sweet Cheeks, there is no one on this earth I’d rather get naked with than you.”

  “Prove it,” she said, leaning down so that her mouth hovered just above his. His breath smelled like stale cigarettes and sour whiskey and she almost gagged, especially when suddenly his hand was on the back of her head and his tongue was shoved nearly down her throat. When she finally wrestled away from him, she heard the gun hit the floor as he dropped it and came to his feet. He was pulling off his vest with one hand and groping her with the other. “Slow down,” she said with another smile that nearly killed her. “I’ll do it. You get yours off while I lock the door.”

  He was practically ripping his clothes to get them off as she walked over to the door and turned the lock. There were four people who had keys to the room. Reaper, of course; Lancelot, Reaper’s VP; a man they called Bozo; and the other SA, Hellcat. Hellcat was on a ride and wouldn’t be back for a week. Bozo lived about ten miles from the club and the last she’d seen him he’d been passed out and being loaded into the van by one of the prospects. The guys might break down the door, but more likely, Celeste thought, they’d take the time to go wake up Reaper, not wanting to step in any shit themselves. Once Reaper was up, all hell was going to break loose.

  Celeste took off her jacket and started unbuttoning her blouse. Lancelot already had his shirt and pants off. The tent in his shorts indicated that even if he hadn’t been so gross, satisfaction wasn’t going to be his strong suit. She sashayed back toward him as she unbuttoned her blouse. By the time she had it opened down to her belly button, Lancelot’s face was covered in sweat. He reached for her again, grabbing one of her breasts and squeezing it as she suffered through another disgusting kiss. While his tongue probed her mouth, she led him over to the desk and finally pushed him down into Reaper’s big chair. Putting her hands on either side of the chair, she let him get a good look at the last breasts he would ever see and then pulled back when his tongue tried to reach them. “Finish taking everything off, baby,” she said, seductively. “I have to pull off these boots and jeans and then I’m going to suck your dick like nothing you’ve ever seen before.” She walked around the desk and put her leg up on the chair where he’d been sitting before, sticking her butt out so that his attention would be focused there. She slowly unzipped her boot and then threw him a look over her shoulder. He was standing up and his shorts were gone…and she had to squint to see what he’d been packing. She mentally rolled her eyes. She’d eaten mini corn dogs with more meat on them than that.

  Once she had the left boot unzipped, she put her foot down and pretended to lift the other one up while bending down and picking up the gun. When she spun around with it in her hand, it took him several seconds to realize what he was looking at. When he did, the look on his face was pure rage. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I’m taking this gun, and that money, and I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  He laughed and started toward her. “You stupid little…” Celeste pulled the trigger and simultaneously watched his knee explode and heard him scream. He was still falling when she scooped up the bag and headed for the window. She pushed up the window, zipped up her boot, and kicked out the screen. Just before she climbed put through it, she let out a blood-curdling scream and yelled at the top of her lungs:

  “Someone help me! He’s raping me!” The commotion was already loud outside the door as she slipped out into the night. She slung the heavy bag up on her arm and then ran like the devil himself was chasing her. He would be, as soon as Reaper woke up. She didn’t have time to get her bike, or anything else. She just had to get as far away as she could because it would only be minutes before someone realized she’d taken that money, and then the search would really be on.

  5

  The next few minutes happened quickly, but oddly enough to Celeste it all seemed like it was happening in slow motion. She was running with the bag slung over her shoulder. She made it out the front gates, past the motorcycle shop, and down the sidewalk before she hit the street, and something hit her. Pain exploded up her side and into her head. She heard the squeal of brakes, and tires, and the sickening thud of what she knew in her gut was metal slamming into her own body, just before she flew up into the air and landed with a bone-jolting thud against the pavement. While she lay there in the street, headlights blinded the eyes that she fought to keep open. As long as her eyes were open, she was alive, she told herself…so, she wasn’t closing them. She lay there, fighting consciousness and concentrating on taking one painful breath after the other until suddenly the bright headlights were dulled by a shadow, the shadow of a man. Still miraculously clutching the bag, she groped around in the dark for the gun that she’d heard land at almost the same time she did. The man knelt down next to her just as her bleeding hand brushed up against the cold steel of the gun. Sucking in a hard breath to get through the knife of pain the movement caused her, she gripped the handle of it. When the man placed a hand on her shoulder she brought the gun up and with a loud grunt she rolled onto her back and trained it on his face. Another gasp came from the shock of seeing who it was she was about to kill…it was the boy from school. What’s his name? Matt or something? What in hell is he doing there?

  “Oh fuck! Oh Jesus fuck! Oh my God!” He was sputtering all over them both and she almost shot him just because it was so annoying.

  “Shut up.”

  “I didn’t see you. Oh shit! I’m so sorry. I don’t have a phone but I’m going to go…”

  “I said, shut the fuck up, and you’re not going anywhere.” She kept the gun as steady as her shaking hand would let her. “At least without me—let me in the car.” Celeste wasn’t sure if it was her fear, or a fact, but she thought she could hear the bikes firing up behind the clubhouse, down the street. When the boy hesitated for too long she tapped the gun against the side of his head and said, “Now!”

  Thankfully, the kid was stronger than he looked. He scooped her up like a doll, but even while he held her, she held the gun to his head. She could definitely hear the sounds of the Harley engines as he slid her into the passenger seat. He hesitated again once she was inside. “Jesus, are you a fucking slug? Get the fuck in and drive before I shoot you and steal your fucking car.” Matteo slammed the car door and seconds later was behind the wheel of the car. He started to put it in gear when Celeste saw the first flash of chrome in the rear-view window. “No!” she snapped, causing the kid’s body to jerk. “Turn off the engine, and the lights.”

  “I’m sticking out in the middle of the street!”

  “Just fucking do it!” The gun was against his head again as he turned off the lights and ignition. Celeste was crouched low in the seat, body throbbing and sweat dripping from her hairline and drenching her shirt. The sound of one Harley after the other whizzing by sent a new shot of pain through her body…ghost pain, spirits of the pain to come when they caught her. Suddenly she was rethinking her impulsive plan…but it was way too late. It was probably only minutes before the group of bikes had passed them, but to her it felt like hours. Trying not to sound as terrified as she felt, and swallowing the vomit that lay in the back of her esophagus, she said, “Okay, you can start the car. Pull away slowly and don’t turn on your lights until you get to the end of the street.”

  “It’s dark. What if I hit…?”

  “You just hit me with your fucking lights on. Just do what I’m telling you to do and don’t make me fucking shoot you, okay?” She could see his hands shaking in the dark as he pulled the gearshift down and gripped the wheel with both hands as he made it to the end of the street in the dark. Once there, he flipped on the headlights, put on his turn signal, and made a turn so slowly she had to gnash her teeth to keep from slamming the gun into his head. “Jesus fuck, you drive like an old woman. Come to think of it, where did you get this car, from your grandma? Step on it!” As soon as she yelled at him, he laid his foot down on the accelerator. They went from about twenty to sixty in nothing flat. She pushed herself up in the seat so she could see out the window and after another excruciating pain passed she said, “Slow down, you’ll draw attention to us.”

  “You know, since you seem to be having a bad day, I don’t want to argue and make it worse. But I have to ask you two things. First, can you lower the fucking gun, and second…make up your fucking mind and stop yelling at me while I’m trying to drive? You’re not going to shoot me while I’m driving anyways…”

  “You ready to bet your life on that, Matt?”

  She watched his neck move as he swallowed hard. She had to give him credit for having balls, however, when he said, “Its Matteo!” The words were snapped at her, and then he took a deep breath and went on, “But to answer your question, no. I think you’re a little bit crazy so I wouldn’t bet against you doing anything. Besides, I’m not a gambler.” He mumbled something then that sounded like “I hate fucking gamblers,” but she wasn’t sure, and she didn’t care. He went on then in a normal, albeit nervous, tone, “Where am I going? We need to take you to a hospital or something. Do you know where there’s one close?”

  “No. I’m fine. Take the Verrazano Bridge up here on the left toward Staten Island.”

  “We’re going to Staten Island?”

  “Don’t worry about where we’re going. I’ll let you know when we’re there.”

  “What if I had plans?”

  “Gun trumps plans.”

  He sighed. “Okay…well, can you at least tell me what the hell we’re running from?”

  “We’re not running from anything,” she lied. “We’re running toward. Now just shut up and drive. You’re giving me a headache.”

  Matteo headed toward the Verrazano Bridge, following the signs toward Staten Island as he was told. He was planning on leaving the city anyways, but it kind of pissed him off that he was being bullied into it. He had never driven in so much traffic, and it was dark, and he didn’t have a driver’s license. He was a nervous wreck, and the fact that she was still pointing the gun at him didn’t help matters. He did his best to stay with the flow of traffic, occasionally speeding up to keep someone off their ass, or slowing down to keep from plowing into the car in front of them. He had visions of getting pulled over and ending up in jail, destined to never get a driver’s license, or worse yet, get out of New York. As he drove, he kept thinking about how much stronger he was than her, especially since she was hurt…and how if he were a real man, he’d just take the gun from her. Of course the rational part of his brain told him that a struggle for the gun would likely end up with one of them hurt or dead. The adolescent part of his brain told him that whatever the situation was, he was in a car with the hottest girl he’d ever seen. And the human part of his brain was really worried about her. She was injured, and bleeding and it was his fault…What if she’s dying? He wondered if he should just find a hospital or a police station and take her there anyways. Would she really shoot me? What if she has internal injuries and she dies on me? He’d never even seen a dead person, much less been responsible for killing one.

  He drove, with all those thoughts racing through his head, finally deciding that once she fell asleep, which she looked like she was on the verge of, he’d take the gun…and then he’d be in charge. He wasn’t sure what he’d do when that happened…but it would have to be better to be in charge than be bossed around by a five-foot-two, hundred-pound hottie with a gun. “What were you doing out there, anyway?” The sound of her voice in the quiet car startled him.

  “Out where?”

  “In front of the clubhouse, in Brooklyn? Don’t you live in Queens?”

  “I did.”

  “You did?”

  “I did. I don’t live there anymore. I left tonight, for good.”

  She snorted out a short laugh. “Oh yeah? And you took Granny’s car?”

  “No. I stole this car.” Technically he’d paid to have it stolen, but she didn’t have to know that.

  The amusement was still in her voice and he knew she was making fun of him as she said, “I didn’t have you figured for a carjacker. Of course from the looks of this car you took it from someone born in 1930 and they didn’t put up much of a fight…”

  “I didn’t jack the car from an old person. I just stole it, that’s all.”

  “Okay, badass.”

  “You’re kind of an asshole.” Matteo had never called a girl an asshole before, but the shoe certainly fit this one.

  She laughed again. “And you’re kind of a choirboy.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Okay, Matt.”

  “I said don’t fucking call me that!”

  She ran her eyes down to his feet. Matteo was still wearing the motorcycle boots that had gotten him into this mess. “Okay, badass, how about I call you Boots?”

  Matteo rolled his eyes. It beat the hell out of being called Matt. Matt was his old man’s name. “What the fuck ever,” he said, stepping on the brake as the traffic came to a standstill at the edge of the bridge. He could see the toll booths up ahead. Gritting his teeth and readying for a smartass reply he meekly said, “How much does it cost to cross a bridge?”

  “Jesus, kid…have you ever been anywhere?”

  In a whisper, Matteo said, “I’ve been to Brooklyn, once.”

  6

  “Pull into that motel on the right.” Matteo had been driving for almost two hours. A few times when he was sure Celeste was asleep, he almost pulled over and took the gun from her…but then what? He didn’t know what or who was chasing her. He didn’t want to hand her back to someone that might hurt her worse, or to take her to the police or a hospital, only to find out she was wanted for something. So, he kept driving and she woke up with a painful groan just about the time they crossed into New Jersey. As he pulled the car into the lot he said:

  “I have cash, but no ID.”

  “Not the kind of place you need ID,” she said, pulling herself upright. As he parked in front of the office, she pulled the rear-view mirror in her direction. She groaned when she looked at her face. She had road burn down the side of it. She looked down at her abraded hands and torn and bloody jeans and said, “You’re going to have to register. Use a fake name. If they ask for ID just offer them more money.” Matteo was about to ask her how much more when she reached into the bag she’d been clutching since he hit her and pulled out a wad of cash.

  “Jesus…who did you rob?”

  “Get one room, the biggest one they have with two beds…

  “You’re not going to tell me who’s after us? Is it the police, or someone worse?”

  She pointed the gun at him and said, “It’s a need to know kind of situation and you don’t need to know. Just go do what I told you; here…” She shoved the money at him. He took it, a stack of what looked like fifty-dollar bills.

  “How do you know I’m not going to go in there and call the cops?”

  “You just took a car you stole across state lines. I don’t think you’d risk it. Besides, the cops aren’t looking for me.”

  Matteo looked at the bag again and almost wished the cops were looking for her. If she took that kind of cash from anyone else…someone at the MC or on the streets…she was probably already as good as dead. With a sigh he got out of the car and went inside. The man at the counter didn’t ask for anything other than fifty bucks. He gave him that and signed the register as Michael Boots, and then he went back out to the car to get his “companion.” As he helped her limp to the room, he thought about that bag on her shoulder again and what was inside of it. If the people she took it from were looking for her, she didn’t have much to lose at this point. He wondered if she’d look at him as a witness she needed to get rid of when she no longer needed him. Then he wondered if he’d seen too many movies…and then wondered if she’d at least sleep with him first…It was a stupid thought, but nobody wanted to die a virgin, right?

  “You really owe me an explanation,” Matteo said. Celeste ignored him completely. After a few silent minutes passed he said, “I went out and got bandages and antibiotic ointment for you…”