BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books (4 page)

ANA

I wake up with a strange pair of arms wrapped around me. In the moment between sleep and waking, I snuggle back against them, craving the warmth of another body. It has been so long since someone has held me this way that I don't even bother wondering where I am or who I am with. I trust my own judgement implicitly in the matter. Obviously, I wouldn't go to bed with just anyone. This man, whoever he is, must be safe. I close my eyes and prepare to drift back off to sleep.

My eyes fly open. My body goes rigid, and the arms wrapped around me tighten infinitesimally in response to my sudden resistance. My heart climbs into my throat, and I start to feel panic grab hold of me in earnest. It all comes crashing back: the bar, the fight, flying down the road on the back of Flint's bike with my arms wrapped around his waist...the same way his arms are wrapped around me.

Flint himself factors heavily into my waking revelation of the circumstances. Clearly, that is who’s holding onto me now.

Worst of all, I can feel something butting up against the crevice between my legs, something enormous and rigid. For all of a split second, I am unable to identify what it is. Then my face heats, far beyond any regular blush, when I realize what it is. It's Flint; all Flint. After a few seconds, I remember to breathe, short and shallow. I try to keep my body from wriggling too much to escape. What happens if he wakes up and finds us in this compromising position? In a half-awake state, would he pick up where he left off last night? Would I be resistant to the idea if he did?

It's hard to feel completely violated when he's clearly grabbed onto me unintentionally in the night. Not only that, but the feeling of Flint's member resting stiff between my legs is stoking my own arousal. I'm sure I'm blushing deeply by this point just considering it, but I'm the only one conscious at the moment, so I don't mind. I realize there is quite a lot about this situation I don't mind, in fact. He assured me we would part ways this morning. Should I try for a goodbye that's a bit steamier? Do I have it in me to be the one to make the first move?

Flint settles my indecision for me. He grumbles in his sleep and turns over onto his stomach, snaking his left arm out from underneath me. I find myself still pinned beneath the dead weight of his right arm, in a decidedly less sexy position. I glower at the ceiling. So much for my plans of seducing him awake.

I slip out from underneath his arm and tread softly into the bathroom. After a quick morning shower, I dry my hair with the hand towel and scrub my face clean over the sink. When I glance up to observe myself in the mirror this time, I decide that I like what I see. Flint was right to drag me up off the floor; despite feeling as if I would never fall asleep with him so close, I obviously did manage it, and my face today looks better for it. I look less drawn than the day previous, and my ivory skin glows with revitalized health. The bags beneath my pale blue eyes have all but disappeared.

I walk back out into the bedroom to find Flint already up and dressing. Despite my best efforts, my eyes stray to the front of his pants, but I see no evidence of the erection I had caused this morning. Either it's gone completely, or he has ways of disguising it. I'm not a man, so I have no idea what he could have done to conceal it from me now...especially when it felt so enormous to begin with.

"Guess this is where we part ways," I offer. Flint straightens from lacing his boots, eyeing me as he throws his bike's saddlebag over his shoulders.

"Guess so."

I want to say more. There is so much I want to ask him. Even if he doesn't readily provide me with answers, having someone to speak minimally to is still better than traveling. I wonder if there is a way I can possibly convince him to let me go with him.

"You know," I begin my scheme as we walk outside together. "It said on the bedside pamphlet that we're provided with a free breakfast. We may as well take advantage of it. Don't you think?"

I can tell that he is eager to be off. I look up at him, watching as he glances off down the highway, almost wistfully. It's a deep, surprising look to behold. I wonder if he feels the pull of the open road, if it calls to him. The rain from last night has washed the world clean, and the smells that greet us this morning are extraordinary. I pause beside him and breath in deeply, enjoying the assault on my senses: the perfume of the green fir trees that line the property, the civilized smell of wet pavement. For the first time since embarking on my new life, I feel peaceful and exhilarated all at once. I feel more like myself than I have in a long time.

This is unfortunate for Flint, because he's about to find out just how stubborn 'Ana' can be.

He turns away from the road to consider me as he mulls over my invitation. My heart reacts strangely to once more having his dark eyes on me, and my pulse flutters when I realize I recognize his expression. For a moment, I swear he stares at me the same way I saw him looking at the road. As if from a distance, sure, but with more longing than I can articulate.

But I convince myself that I'm wrong. I'm completely misidentifying the look, and misinterpreting the situation. There's no way he wants me to tag along, and I'm going to have to convince him. When I see the steely mask come back down over his expression, I'm certain of this once more. It's up to me to decide my future with this man. Something tells me that without him, I might not have one for very much longer.

"Yeah. All right," he agrees. I lead the way this time, taking us both past his bike. He settles the saddlebags back onto the backseat, and then follows me into the tiny room where breakfast is served. There is no one else in the room, not even a motel attendant.

Breakfast turns out to constitute boxes of cereal, milk of an unprinted and dubious expiration date, containers of yogurt, a bowl of fruit, and a plastic case of greasy-looking muffins. I feel a wave of relief at seeing the fruit, and quickly help myself to an under-ripe banana as Flint pours himself a cup of coffee. I see that he takes it black. Of course. I would have felt mildly disappointed if he took it any other way. He pulls the case open and extracts a muffin as I sit down at the table nearest a stack of old Time Magazines. I draw one over and open it on my lap as I wrestle with opening my banana. I have no real intention of reading it; I just want to appear distracted while I weigh my conversation options. I need to choose my words carefully if I want to convince him to let me tag along.

I notice the date printed on the issue is from several years ago. The cover story appears to be about some disappearance and presumed murder that sounds vaguely familiar, although there is no picture of the victim on the front, just a dark amorphous silhouette of a man. I flip it open without any real interest as Flint takes a seat in the chair across from me. I raise the banana to my lips and take a small, conservative bite. I'll have to remember to cram as much of the free food as I can fit into my duffle bag before I head out. It's not exactly seemly, but it might mean the difference between survival and failure on the road ahead, especially if he rejects me and I'm forced to go it alone once more.

My eyes fall to the open page of the magazine and I nearly choke on my breakfast. My grip on the banana releases in surprise, and the piece of fruit falls half-eaten to the floor. Flint sips his coffee and watches me, as if viewing a live sporting event, but he doesn't bend down to retrieve it for me.

"You have to take me with you," I say finally. My voice is surprisingly steady as I stare harder at the open page, making sure that I am truly processing what I'm seeing. It doesn't sound like a question, or even a suggestion: it's the reality of what's about to happen.

Flint is unperturbed by my sudden assertiveness. He undresses his muffin slowly and replies, "I don't have to do anything." He sounds convinced of it. "Look. Ana, was it?" I bristle. Has he really forgotten my name already? "You said it yourself. I ride alone."

"I won't be in the way," I press him. "Really, I think you'll benefit from having me along."

"Yeah?" He still doesn't sound interested. "How's that?"

I only have one shot at this. I inhale a deep breath. "Because," I respond, "you'll benefit from me not telling anyone that Silicon Valley's vanished billionaire,
Flynn
Carter, is still alive."

It's the exact reaction I was hoping for. Flint goes as still as a stone statue before my eyes, his mug of coffee half-raised to his lips and hanging there as if he has completely forgotten he was in the process of drinking it. Eyes as black as summer storms snap up to me, but I hold my ground. I don't let the satisfaction at his response show on my face; I keep my expression carefully neutral, and bend over, perfectly calmly, to retrieve my dropped banana.

"What the hell did you just say to me?" His tone matches his eyes. It crackles with the threat of the thunder to follow, but I take this as more proof that I'm right in my guess.

"I knew I'd seen you somewhere before," I reply offhand. I take a minute more to dust off my banana, relishing leaving him in suspense, before I finally lift the magazine up off my lap and pass it over the table to him. He rips it from my hand, sloshing coffee on the table in the process. He stares in horror at the cover story as I continue eating breakfast and pretend to be completely unaware of this sudden, violent shift in his demeanor. "You're Flynn Carter. Not Flint. You're the founder and former CEO of Green Star. What was it you guys invested in?" I point my banana at him, inviting him to give me the company pitch in his own words. "Clean energy?" I offer.

"Don't be absurd." His voice sounds tight, and he grits the insult out between clenched teeth, but he appears too paralyzed by my discovery to deny my claims.

"Oh, I don't think it's absurd at all!" I exclaim innocently. "Without the leather jacket and the stubble, you're a dead-ringer for that guy in the photo. Obviously, you're older now. I remember it was all over the news when you were declared missing, and then dead. But it's curious how they never found the body." I'm all done with my breakfast now. I set the banana peel aside and lace my hands demurely in front of me, batting my eyes all the while. Maybe I'm laying it on a little thick, but I'm wickedly enjoying myself. "I think a lot of people would be interested to know that you're still around. Don't you?"

"You're not seriously trying to blackmail me into hitching a ride?" Flint growls. His question acts as an inadvertent answer to my own. I rise from my chair and shoulder the strap of my duffle bag, smiling sweetly from ear to ear.

"Of course, I might be too occupied with traveling in my immediate future to bother with contacting anyone in the press," I amend kindly.

Flint stays seated. I see that the hand wrapped around his mug is gripping it so hard, I'm surprised the porcelain doesn't shatter into a million shards. His hands shakes with fury, and more of the coffee sloshes out the top; he's lucky he's wearing gloves; otherwise, I'm certain he would have burned himself. I'm less certain that he would have noticed.

He rises suddenly from his chair and strides back out the front door. I make to follow after him quickly, before returning at the last second to snatch up the discarded magazine and jam a muffin into my mouth. I'm out of time to repack my bag.

It appears my billion-dollar ride is leaving.

FLINT

And to think I wanted to sleep with this woman.

              No, not woman.
Witch.
Gorgon. I'm not sure there are enough mythological monsters to cycle through to put a name to her, but I'll be damned if I don't try.

              It takes every ounce of my self-control to not curse out loud to myself as I stomp toward the Sportster. I can hear a much lighter pair of feet following quickly behind me. Once I arrive at my parking space, I turn to round on Ana. I'm not as surprised as she is when she crashes headfirst into my chest.

              "You really want to do this?" I ask her menacingly. I loom over her as she takes a startled step back. I might still stand a chance of scaring her off if I turn my darker persona up to eleven. "You want to blackmail a man who is worth billions into giving you a ride? You don't even know where I'm going. And rest assured, I'm not about to adjust my course to accommodate some redheaded tease I met at a bar who thinks she's clever because she pays attention to the news."

              Ana doesn't rise to my bait, not this time. She knows she has me in a corner, and she's milking my alarm and discomfort at being found out for all it's worth. She pushes her scarlet hair back from her face and beams up at me as if there is nothing at all left to be found threatening in her circumstances. If anything, the secret of my identity should make her
more
intimidated, not less. Then again, I remember how she first spoke to me back at the bar: cordial, yet comfortable. I realize there was probably never any hope of her truly being afraid of me.

              "I don't expect you to change course for me. I never had a destination in mind," she points out. "This is perfect, actually. I'll join you on your mission! You'll just have to remind me what that is again."

              "Out of the question," I intone. I turn to throw my leg over the bike, not pausing to assist or even watch over her as she scrambles up clumsily behind me. If she hadn't been so quick on the draw, I might have torn out of this parking lot and left her in a suffocating plume of exhaust as my last parting gift. I grit my teeth as she wraps her arms securely around my midriff; she is more familiar with the arrangement this time, and my body betrays me by thrilling at the invasion of her touch. Just like yesterday, I feel the heat start to pool in my belly. She may have transformed into a manipulative monster by morning's light, but that doesn't I mean I want her any less. If anything, the conquest that sex with this woman would give me seems all the more appealing now that we are enemies.

              Evidently Ana hasn't gotten the memo. She pushes the helmet down over her head and draws herself up against me, almost hugging me rather than holding on out of necessity. She is really playing up this whole innocent angle, but she's obviously overdoing it. I clench my jaw and crank the accelerator, and we burn out of the parking lot together.

              It's just my luck that she wants to keep talking. Once I pull out onto the main highway, I find that the speed limit is an inexplicable forty; traffic isn't heavy, but it's enough that I feel compelled to abide by the law, at least for now. As much as I'm quietly smoldering with anger at my situation, I'm not the type to purposefully endanger a passenger just because I want her to bail off the back out of fear.

              "So you're Flynn Carter," she muses close to my ear. "I like the name change, personally.
Flint
suits you better. This whole bad boy biker image is doing great things for you, actually." She attempts to disengage one hand and indicate my appearance, but I snatch it before she can complete the gesture and slam it back down against my stomach.

              "It's not an image," I snarl. "It's who I am now. There's nothing purposeful or manufactured about what I've become."

              "Don't you mean 'who'?" Ana sounds puzzles by my terminology, but I don't respond. "Why did you disappear, anyway? Did you just get tired of it all?"

              "Let's just say that I was forcefully retired."

              I hear her suck in a breath to speak; I make her swallow it as I weave into the passing lane unexpectedly and start to speed up.

              Her arms constrict around my abdomen to let me know she doesn't like being cut off just as much as the driver who lays on the horn behind us.

"What does that even mean, to be forcefully retired?" she demands, raising her voice to be heard over the noise of the road. "Did your shareholders push you out or something?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," I respond as we weave in and out of cars. My road acrobatics aren't as effective at distracting her the second time around; she soldiers on, and I can feel my back muscles tense increasingly as she carries me down a line of conversation that I have yet to tread with anyone.

"I know that Flynn Carter disappeared," she corrects me. "And that there was a media shitstorm for almost a year about you before it tapered off with the next big thing. You were the CEO of Green Star, for Pete's sake! You were young and handsome and completely self-made; you went to work in a T-shirt and jeans and dated underwear models. You were going to save the world! Everyone loved you!"

"Not everyone." The words pass my lips before I can stop myself. "There were people who wanted my company to thrive, but not in the direction I was taking it. They wanted me out of the picture. And they were willing to do anything to get what they wanted."

The memories come flooding back before I can stop them, forming a snapshot slideshow of that night, three years ago, that my life simultaneously ended and began anew. I try to drown them out with thoughts of the road stretched out before me, but for maybe the first time, ever, I find that it isn't working.

I force them to cycle by rapidly. I see the party; the riverbank at midnight; three of my most trusted friends moving toward me; the glint of moonlight off the handgun dangling at Halligan's side. A crack, and then the darkness is complete.

"Flint?"

              I blink myself back into the present, and realize we're about to collide with the car in front of us. A subtle maneuver and we're out of danger. Ana's voice in my ear was surprisingly calm despite the close shave. She almost sounds concerned.

              "What is it?" I grunt.

              "Phew." I hear the woman gust a sigh into her helmet. "I thought you passed out for a minute there. I can't imagine you got much sleep last night…not after your little
come-on."

              "Keep imagining, sweetheart." I execute another quick maneuver, just to hear that sexy, breathless intake from my passenger. The thought of hearing those breaths in quick succession, growing ever more strained, turns me on like I can't even begin to describe. Maybe I have my libidinous thoughts to blame for the next words out of my mouth. "If I was coming onto you, believe me when I say that you would
know
it."

              "I…oh."

My innuendo registers, and I feel her grip on my stomach start to loosen uncertainly. My hand comes up, and I cement it firmly back in place. This is starting to become a reoccurring dance between us. If I'm going to be forced to take her with me for the indeterminate future, the least I can do is try and break her of this habit. It only ends with that cute little ass of hers busted on the road.

"And to answer your earlier question about my forced retirement, I mean that I was ousted from my own company. I was betrayed by the very men I trusted to help in the formation of Green Star. They traded the ideals we shared for the promise of more money. They reneged on their contracts to me, and their moral obligations to the world, by putting a bullet through me."

I don't know where my impassioned explanation came from, and I'm not sure I care. It feels good to get the history off my chest, if only for a moment. Hopefully what I have in mind for the future will close it permanently behind me.

              And this woman. Ana. She has no idea what she's gotten herself into by hitching a ride with me. I need her continued silence on the matter of my true identity, but I also need to ditch her for her own good.

As we churn the rain-washed road beneath my tires, I wonder how much of her posturing back at the motel was a bluff. And not just any bluff—one that I fell for wholesale. This woman was clearly on the run from something—going to the media, or even the police, about the fact that I'm still alive and kicking will bring her unwanted publicity as well. If she's as intelligent as I've gathered her to be, there's no way she could realistically risk being at the center of that sort of reveal without bringing whatever guillotine hovers over her down on her own head.

Evidently, I wasn't fully awake this morning to process the facts, and now I feel like a God damn idiot for letting her sweet talk-slash-blackmail her way into getting another ride from me. Well, two can play at this game,
Ana.
I haven't lived on the road for three years without learning a thing or two about losing unwanted baggage.

… even if it's baggage I can't allow myself to want.

"Where are we headed?" she asks me quietly. I realize we've been riding in silence for a long time; evidently her line of questioning about my past had been satisfied by my last answer—for now, at least.

"Omaha. We'll hit the city limits in about ten minutes," I reply. "Let's just say I have unfinished business with someone who lives there."

"One of the men who shot you," she surmises.

"Only one man shot me."

"But the others were in collusion, weren't they?" she insists. "Your friends who betrayed you? Is
this
what your ride across the country is all about?"

              "It's really none of your business why I'm riding," I respond. "Just like I'm not sticking my nose into yours. My wheels may be at your command, but my answers sure as shit aren't."

              Ana doesn't appear to notice how raw and salty our conversation up until this point has made me. "You're not seriously going to meet with one of the men who tried to kill you." It's not a question; a statement. "Besides, they all think you're dead. Obviously, my blackmailing you wouldn't have worked out so well for me if you didn't have so much staked on the fact that you need people to
continue
to think you are dead. None of this is adding up, to be honest."

              "Not my problem." I merge into the next lane over and take the exit road that loops into the city.

              Ana is almost right. I'm going to meet with someone, but that someone doesn't know I'm coming. He's going to tell me exactly where I can find the first man who left me for dead.

              And after tonight, one of us will
really
be dead.

#

We pass most of the day on the road together, stopping only occasionally at gas stations to buy food and refuel. Night is already starting to fall, blanketing the Omaha cityscape in velvet-blue darkness.

              No rain tonight, but the wind is bitterly cold as we pull into the parking lot of the bar. This bar is larger than the one where my path fatefully crossed with Ana's, and the patronage seems less feral than what you find on the outskirts of most major cities. I park the bike, and Ana slips off first. She studies the sign glowing over the entry as I study her. Even bathed in neon light, this woman is a vision. She looks like an urban goddess standing there in the flickering orange hue cast by the sign. An ill feeling tugs at my conscience, but I push it aside before it can make itself fully known and understood. I replace the feeling with the cold, calculating logic that once made me the CEO at the head of a Fortune Five Hundred company. I undertook this mission with the understanding that I have nothing left to lose; that justice, above all else, will prevail. Flynn Carter is as dead as the magazines and talking heads say he is. I am embarking on something bigger than he is now.

              And I can't let this woman get involved.

              "Come on." I let my gloved hand fall on the crevice between her shoulders, and Ana glances up at me, blinking in the harsh flare of the light. She lets me steer her up the steps of the bar and through the front doors. She's trusted me from the beginning, I realize, even if neither of us noticed it at the time. Another hitch in my plan, but I'm confident it's nothing I can't surmount. If everything goes according to the
new
plan, she'll want nothing to do with me by the end of the night.

              "This meeting you're about to have…did you set it up in advance?" she asks uncertainly as we wind between the tables in the darkened bar. I pull a stool out for her to indicate that she should post herself up. My eyes hunt the room in the meantime, glancing over shadowed faces, looking for an indication of my mark. I have it on good authority that he will be here. In fact, the authority is all but certain.

              "Not exactly."

              I spot a man over by one of the long green tables shooting pool by himself. He's the only patron in the establishment wearing a ball cap, and the bill casts a deep black veil across his eyes. I think I recognize the jaw, though, and the build. Matt Keating has put on a few pounds since the last time I saw him.