Kristen Ashley - Mystery Man

I bent to my suitcase pulled on socks, my boots then grabbed panties, a bra, a tee and then raced to the bathroom, snatching up shit I needed then I raced down the stairs, shoved it all in my purse, I hitched it over my shoulder and I raced out.

When I got outside I saw that Hawk, being Hawk, was standing in cargoes and a tee and bare feet in what appeared to be a standoff with Tack in front of a shitload of Harleys, their headlamps illuminating the scene. Some boys were standing by their bikes, some were astride them. Only Tack was facing off against Hawk.

I located Dog and ran straight to him not even looking at Hawk and Tack as I raced by.

Dog looked down at me. “Babe, maybe you should go inside.”

“Take me with you,” I begged, his body jolted and he asked, “What?”

“Take me with you,” I repeated, reaching up to grab his arm in an effort to convey my seriousness.

He stared at me half a beat before his head lifted and he whistled sharply. I didn’t look behind me. I was trembling and holding onto his arm for dear life. I was also holding back tears by the skin of my teeth.

I watched him jerk his chin up then he moved, swinging his leg over the bike. I guessed this meant he was taking me with him and I didn’t waste time or squander the opportunity. I jumped on behind him, wrapped my arms around him tight, put my cheek to his shoulder and closed my eyes hard.

I felt the Harley roar and then I felt us move, he did a wide arc in the massive, cracked cement area beside Hawk’s warehouse, an area that once housed semis and employee parking and now housed nothing. He straightened out of the curve and we roared away.

I didn’t open my eyes once and with the wind whipping around me and a body that had gone totally numb in an effort to keep the pain at bay, it took awhile for me to realize I was crying.

Suddenly he pulled over and Dog’s hands gently pried mine from his belly.

His torso twisted, my head came up and my eyes finally opened.

“Babe, switch bikes,” he ordered.

“What?”

He jerked his chin, I turned my head and I saw Tack beside us, his head turned our way and even in the dark I knew his eyes were on me.

Shit.

I wanted to stay on Dog’s bike but I didn’t want the drama. No, I couldn’t handle the drama. I’d had enough drama for one day, thank you so very much. In fact, I’d had enough drama in the last week to last me a freaking lifetime.

So I swung off, moved between bikes, hitched my purse more firmly on my shoulder and swung on Tack’s.

The minute my arms closed around his middle and my cheek hit his shoulder blade, we shot off.

I felt weight hit the bed, my eyes opened and slid up.

Tack was sitting there, wearing a skintight tee and faded jeans. His hair was wet from a shower. His blue eyes were on me.

I was lying in his bed, not at the Chaos Compound, in a rather nice house in the foothills outside Denver. It was built just up the mountain. It was one story, long and had a deck that ran the front of the house. I knew it would have great views in the daylight but I didn’t take much in when we got there mainly because I was numb, exhausted and desperately fighting back hysterical tears, a tantrum and the desire to commit murder.

Tack led me to his bedroom, dumped my purse on his nightstand and ordered, “Sleep, darlin’.”

Then he left.

I took off my boots, socks, jeans and since I conveniently was wearing my nightshirt, I climbed into his unmade bed and did exactly as I was told.

Now it was now and I was curled into a protective ball, my hands in prayer position under my cheek.

Tack spoke. “Mornin’, peaches, you want breakfast?”

“Do you cook or do you have a biker babe that makes breakfast to order?” I replied and there it was. Automatic. The smartass.

Would I ever learn?

Tack grinned. “I cook. Best pancakes you’ll ever have, you get your ass outta bed,” he answered.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t hungry.

No, that wasn’t true. After I found my husband in bed with my sister and kicked his ass out, I didn’t eat for three days. I didn’t realize it, Troy did and he made me eat. But that was the last time I lost my appetite.

“Sounds good,” I lied but didn’t move.

When I didn’t Tack reached out, curled his fingers around my forearm and gently pulled my hand from under my face. Then he lifted my arm and his eyes dropped to my wrist. His hand slid up carefully so he could wrap his fingers around my palm and I watched as he lifted my arm further up… up… until he bent his neck and his lips touched the bruised and torn skin at my wrist.

My breath seized.

Hawk should have done that but Hawk was so busy brooding about Brett, or more likely trying to figure out how to end things with me since he conquered the challenge and was ready to move on, that last night he completely forgot I was kidnapped, bound, gagged and targeted as bait.

Tack’s head lifted, his body leaned in and he pressed my hand to his chest.

“My girl had a bad day yesterday,” he said quietly.

Hawk should have said that too.

“There’s bad and there’s bad and I’m discovering the many nuances but, yes… yesterday introduced me to a new level of bad.”

“Then you need pancakes.”

Finally, a man who understood the healing properties of food.

“Pancakes would be good,” I replied.

His hand squeezed mine. “Ass outta bed, babe, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Then he lifted my hand, touched his lips to my knuckles, released it, got up off the bed and sauntered out of the room.

I took my time, got out of bed, dug through my bag, found my toothbrush and face wash, went into the bathroom off his bedroom and did my business. Then I didn’t bother dressing, my nightshirt covered me more than most dresses I owned. I walked out of the room and since the house was built into the hill and all the rooms were to one side the hallway was filled with windows and I saw the view.

The good news was there was a sheer drop off beyond the deck therefore difficult to execute a successful drive-by. The other good news was the view was unbelievable. And for the first time in over a week, there was no bad news.

I walked down the hall looking into rooms to my left. A bath and two other bedrooms, one that had a bed and dresser, one that was a messy office. Then I entered the open space. An open kitchen with bar delineating it from internal walkway opposite sliding glass doors to the deck and the kitchen fed into a massive living room that jutted out a bit at the front of the house.

Tack was in the kitchen at the stove.

I moved to stand by him, not too close, and once there I leaned against the counter. I looked down and there were six, perfect, silver dollar pancakes cooking on a griddle.

His head turned to me.

“Looks like you’re good at that,” I remarked.

He didn’t respond to my remark. Instead he asked, “Do you need coffee?”

“Am I Gwendolyn Kidd, am I breathing and is it morning?” I answered.

Shit! There it was again. The smartass.

Tack grinned. Then he jerked his head to the counter behind me.

“Make yourself at home, peaches,” he invited.

Oh boy.

“Do you need a refresh?” I asked.

“I’m good, babe,” he answered.

I moved to find mugs while speaking. “You want to tell me what that was about last night?”

“Seems we got the same thing on our mind.”

I had my hand wrapped around a mug and I turned my head to look at him as I closed the cupboard door. “What?”

“Babe, you came racin’ outta Hawk’s like the fuckin’ place was haunted and jumped on Dog’s bike.”

“Um…” I answered, dropped my head, grabbed the handle of the coffeepot and started pouring. “Why don’t you answer my question first?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I was there ‘cause I wanted an explanation of why you got kidnapped and not an hour later put up for bid. Hawk and I made a deal and the deal was he’s supposed to have your back so that shit doesn’t happen and it did. He fell down on the job.”

I looked at Tack. “His man got shot three times, protecting me,” I said softly.

Tack’s eyes locked to mine. “Like I said, fallin’ down on the job.”

Hmm. This was unfair and heartbreakingly true at the same time.

I went to the fridge and found milk. “Do you have sugar?”

Tack was flipping pancakes, he finished this task, reached into a cupboard and pulled out a half full bag of sugar, putting it down by my mug. I searched for spoons, sloshed in milk, did my sugar, put back the milk and stirred. Then I set the spoon aside and sipped the coffee.

Tack made good coffee too.

Hmm.

“Peaches,” Tack called, I looked and I saw he was watching me.

“Yes?”

“I answered your question, now’s the time you answer mine.”

I took another sip and studied him over the rim of my mug. His eyes didn’t leave mine so I sighed.

Then I shared, “Hawk just ended things with me so I really, really needed a ride.”

“Hawk ended things?” he whispered and even though I was studying him, I still missed the change in him but when I caught it, my body got tight.

Shit!

“Um…”

“He ended things the night you got kidnapped, your fuckin’ wrists torn up and your picture, bound and gagged, farmed out for bid.”

That didn’t sound good but then again, it fucking wasn’t.