BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books (25 page)

              Wolf is an amazing conversation partner. He's so interested in me, and what I do, and how that might align with what my dreams may have been once upon a time. He's got me thinking: why
did
I give up on becoming a nurse? I'm still young. No way twenty-three can be the end of the line for me, even if I do dress twice my age.

              "His crew?" Wolf asks. I turn to look at him when I notice his tone has changed, acquiring an edge I've yet to hear him take on. His silver eyes narrow and darken slightly, like a sharpened blade being turned beneath a light. "He was working with others?"

              "Yes." I wonder how badly I've screwed up by admitting this. Flint had glossed over this part when he was retelling my story to Wolf; I’d assumed it was for the sake of expediency, but maybe there was some other reason. Perhaps he wanted something to hold over Lesher once he woke up. "There were five others. They were the ones who entered the bank wearing ski masks."

              "Well, it's probably the least of the rules he broke, but that's definitely against the rules," Wolf explains. I note that some of the tension eases from his posture. "No riding with other gangs or sharing other gangs' interests. In fact, I'd say that's implied when you sign up for the brotherhood."

              "You take being 'brothers' very seriously," I notice. "Do the others do the same?"

              I can't help but reflect on Lesher's prior hints and explanations as to what being in an MC entails, and how distasteful he seemed to find it. Flint certainly doesn't seem to consider Lesher to be like a brother to him.

              "Well, yeah." Wolf glances down, looking suddenly sheepish. "It's what this club was founded for, right? We're all kind of in a weird situation in our lives. All of us are alone, enormously wealthy, and dealing with situations that can't always be readily understood or solved by an outsider. For instance, I know Flint seems like he's got it together, but you should have seen him a month ago! Jesus. That's what I heard, anyway. I was back home on the coast around the time he was stirring shit up in Omaha. Let me tell you, that Ana chick's probably the best thing that ever happened to that dude. Did you know he founded Green Star?"

              "No way!" I cry as I rock back. "Green Star? Are you
kidding
me?"

              "Nope!" Wolf takes an unperturbed swig of his drink. "Take it you've heard of them? They're only one of the most well-known green energy companies in the world."

              "Not only that, but they have an amazing study abroad program for nurses," I enthuse. "Too bad I applied around the time that Flynn Carter was murdered…
oh."

             
A bright burst of laughter escapes Wolf when he sees the fresh expression of shock scrawled across my mug. I've only just now realized who I've been talking to this entire time. Flynn Carter.
Flint
Carter.

              Flint Carter is the murdered CEO of Green Star. Only clearly, he is less murdered than the entire world was led to believe.

              "You should see your face right now!" Wolf laughs. "I take back what I said earlier. You're a total babe, Nancy Cardigan."

              I blush. There's a mildness to the compliment that makes me think Wolf's admiration of me is almost completely platonic, but that doesn't make it any less flattering. I tuck a snarled strand of hair behind my hair self-consciously.

"I don't think anyone's ever called me that before," I admit. "I've never thought of myself as— Lesher!" I exclaim.

Lesher is standing propped up behind us in the entryway to the kitchen. He looks absolutely miserable: he cups his abused jaw with one hand, and I can see an ugly black eye starting to bloom where Flint punched him…and from where I kicked him in the face the night previous. I hadn't realized before that Flint landed a blow almost identical to my own, although clearly Flint had more strength and intent behind his own assault.

              "I'm glad you've never thought of yourself as Lesher," Wolf remarks without looking over his shoulder. "That guy is one ugly son of a bitch."

              I see suddenly by his easy disregard for his surroundings as he says this that Wolf knows exactly who is standing in the doorway behind us.

              My heart beats wildly in my chest, and I feel suddenly guilty, although I can't put my finger on why exactly. Had I said anything in the course of my conversation with Wolf that would warrant feeling this way—in the event that Lesher had overheard us? I don't think so—I haven't given away his most guarded secret, the flash drive I safeguard in the jacket pocket. Maybe I feel guilty for leaving him alone and unconscious for so long, but what was I supposed to do? One of us
had
to relate the story of how we'd come to be here at the Clubhouse.

              If only Wolf's assessment of Lesher's ugly looks were true. If only it wasn't so easy to fall for my captor every time I lay eyes on his supple, powerful physique. He leans there in a T-shirt and jeans, studying us together quietly. I feel completely taken in by him, and it isn't helping matters that he's looking straight at me. I realize I've half lowered myself out of my stool without realizing.

              "Better a son of a bitch than a bitch," Lesher remarks. He breaks away from the wall and moves into the kitchen, bypassing the two of us at the bar. I notice that he doesn't limp, exactly, but he moves more stiffly on his feet than usual. I wonder if he should be up at all after his confrontation with Flint, or if any move from me to go and help him would be welcomed.

              I stay where I am, a prisoner of my own indecision.

              "Was that a dig at me, or at Nancy?" Wolf's eyes narrow, but his mouth keeps smiling as he asks the question. I think we both know it was aimed at Wolf, but I get the impression he's not taking any chances with another brother being rude to a guest. Lesher snorts and pulls the freezer open.

              "What do you think, genius?"

              "Considering I'm a genius…a lot," Wolf fires back seamlessly. "What are you looking for?"

              "A fucking ice pack."

              I'm surprised when Lesher draws one out, considering how understocked the fridge is. Fights around the Clubhouse must be more frequent than I thought if they keep ice packs readily on hand.

              "Are you hungry?" I ask him. Lesher has gone at least as long as I have without a meal. He pauses in front of the fridge, but doesn't respond immediately. I can practically hear the mental cogs whirling in his mind: give up his pissy mood to socialize and refuel? Or retreat back to his room with what he thinks remains of his dignity?

              "Yeah, Lesh! Eat up," Wolf invites. He shoves the box of pizza across the kitchen bar toward Lesher. "Nancy and I practically delivered it ourselves."

              "So you rode together."

              It's as if an early winter freeze falls across the room in the wake of Lesher's statement. I glance at Wolf, but for once I can't read the expression he wears, either. Is this something that's against the rules? It's not as if I've exactly willingly ridden with Lesher in the past—but does a rider somehow stake a claim in his chosen passenger?

              If this is true, then it would line up with Wolf's assertion that I am somehow "special" to Lesher. Thinking about the possibility gives me the same funny, almost lightheaded feeling, as if the rug has been pulled out from underneath me.

              Lesher reads a confirmation into our startled silence. He turns and leaves the kitchen without another word; I hear his heavy footfalls as he climbs back up the stairs. The door slams, and he's once more disappeared into the bedroom.

              "I should probably go up and talk to him," I say hesitantly.

              "You sure?" Wolf leans forward and peers into my face. Again, I'm struck by an immensely grateful feeling—whatever happens, I'm not alone in this.

              "Yeah," I say. "He needs someone. I mean, not to say
I'm
the person he needs," I amend quickly, "but just imagine what he must be feeling right now. I think that…whatever he
intended
to happen at the bank has just blown up in his face. He has no one to turn to, and no MC to back him up." I shake my head. "He must feel totally destabilized. Not to mention he looked like he was in a lot of physical pain. It almost makes me regret kicking him in the face."

              "You kicked him in the
face?"
Wolf exclaims incredulously. "And you failed to mention that in your original story? That's the best part!"

              "Anyway," I interrupt him hastily, "all I'm saying is that even if I may not agree with his…methods…or even know what's going on with him at the end of the day, I think I know what he must be feeling."

              "I don't think Lesher feels things like other people do," Wolf responds. "Someone in your situation should be more aware of this than anyone, Nancy. I may have known him a lot longer, but even taking that into consideration, I probably can't claim to have spent even a total of two days with Lesher. He joked about my being a genius, but
he's
the real genius—he's far and away the smartest and most calculating of any of us. You really think a guy like that has feelings you can empathize with?"

              I don't answer him directly; instead, I lower myself fully out of the stool. I do take a moment to squeeze his shoulder in gratitude.

"Thank you, Wolf," I say. "For staying with me. I'm sure I'll see you in a bit."

"I'll be right here," Wolf reminds me as I start up the stairs. "If you need anything, just holler down and I'll come running."

I turn back and give him a thumbs-up. Immediately, I feel ridiculous for doing so, but he returns my gesture with a grin. What an easy-going guy. If my heart wasn't already pining for someone else, someone completely unattainable…

But speaking of things I need, I still really need that shower. Maybe I can claim one as soon as I smooth things over with Lesher.

I summon a deep breath, and push the door open.

Lesher is lounging—yes,
lounging
—on the bed where we had previously deposited him, holding the ice pack to the shiner Flint gave him. He draws it back momentarily, blinking in surprise at my unexpected entry.

And there it is—the emotion—the feeling that Wolf claims doesn't exist. I know it does, even if Lesher won't always readily show it to me. Even if I have to startle him into behaving like a human.

"Flint didn't put you up in another room?" he asks after a moment. "There's plenty down the hall that way." He gestures vaguely toward the wall separating the room from the hallway.

"No," I say. "No, I didn't want them to worry about it for now."

Segue, Nancy. Come on, you can do this.

"But I am worried about you," I continue. "As far as I know, you haven't eaten anything. No matter what the outcome is with these people—the Robber Barons—you need to eat something, Lesher. If you want, I can—"

"Do you still have the information I gave you?" Lesher interrupts.

"What information?" I ask in confusion. Almost the moment the question leaves my mouth, I wish I hadn't asked it.

He glares at me with the one good eye not eclipsed by the ice pack, and I feel smaller than he's made me feel yet. It's all I can do not to shrink back toward the door, but I stand resiliently. I haven't come this far, been kidnapped and dragged through Hell on the back of his death machine on wheels, to feel guilty or sheepish about some small oversight now.

"The flash drive, Nancy." I hate the way he elaborates, as if putting forth a follow-up explanation takes immense patience on his part. My eyes narrow in warning, even as I oblige him and hunt through the side pocket of his leather jacket.

Actually, I can do him one better. In almost the same motion I took dipping my hand into the pocket, I wrench the coat off my narrow shoulders, bundle it up, and toss it hard across the room toward his chest. I thought for sure he wouldn't have the reaction time, considering he's currently operating one-handed; I celebrate a personal victory too early, because Lesher's free hand comes up instantly and snatches his coat out of the air.

"Careful," he warns. I'm not sure if he's worried for the flash drive, or if he's cautioning me that I'm on thin ice.

Just what the hell did I do to make him cranky, anyway? I seem to remember that I am being incredibly patient for someone who has been taken hostage.

I cross my arms and study him as he lays the coat out across his thighs and checks the pocket. It's exactly where we both knew it would be; exactly where I kept it safe all along.

"You know, I don't owe you anything," I point out. "Whatever your precious information is, it was stolen from
my
company. In fact, I would say it's pretty stupid of you to trust me with it. What if I take it with me when I make a break for it?"

"You won't be breaking out any time soon." The fisted coat comes hurtling back to me, aimed as hard as a missile, and I struggle much more than he did to catch it. One of the arms pulls loose from the bundle and actually sweeps the floor as I crouch to keep it gathered to me. "You're the property of the Robber Barons now. They don't take kindly to unauthorized people passing through their clubhouses, and they take even less kindly to untested people wanting to leave in the same day."