Lauren sat cross-legged on the floor, her back pressed against the wall. Across the wide hallway, scary men stormed in and out of the room where they’d taken Shooter after he passed out. She hadn’t understood the motorcycle speak, for lack of a better term, upon their arrival. She did understand that Shooter passed out from blood loss, the leader of the gang had promised she was safe, and that there was supposedly a doctor inside—a doctor who would make sure Shooter didn’t die.

“She yours?”

“Yes.”

“Your lady’s safe with us.”

That part of the conversation was just as puzzling as the mentions of some Russian, the law, and bodies. The men wore leather jackets with patches, or T-shirts and leather vests, also with patches. There was evidently some rhyme and reason to what was displayed on the black leather. The main thing was the large embroidered patch of a stylized wolf leaping, front paws reaching out beneath the animal’s snarling muzzle. The wolf’s body morphed into something like a comet’s tail. Above that patch was the word “Nightriders.” Below it, the word “Helena.” The fronts had all sorts of different patches, none of which made sense.

A woman finally appeared and, with hands braced on her hips, stared down at Lauren. “You gonna sit there all day?”

Lauren blinked up at her. How long had she been sitting here? “What time is it?”

“After noon. You hungry? One of the prospects is gonna make a burger run.”

Was she hungry? Her stomach grumbled, answering the question. “Yes, please. That would be very nice.”

The woman rolled her eyes then scowled a little. “You are a fuckin’ babe in the woods, little girl.” That statement was followed with a sigh and another question. “So, what do you want?”

“A cheeseburger is fine. And fries maybe? And a Diet Coke?”

“Fuckin’ babe,” the woman muttered as she moved off.

Lauren watched her walk away. The woman had to be in her forties, maybe a little older. She wore jeans so tight they could have been painted on. A cropped baby tee in a bright red topped the jeans, and the woman’s breasts were barely covered with the help of a ubiquitous black vest. The patches on the back were similar to those worn by the men. The wolf was there but then the upper and lower patches said, “Property of” and “Rust.” What in the world was that all about?

The door across the hall opened and an older man walked out. He wore a patch on the front of his vest that said “Rust.” Her brain was too tired and worried to make sense of it.

“You been sittin’ out here all night?”

She nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. This was one of the scariest men she’d ever seen, with his long, shaggy hair and beard, plus piercing brown eyes filled with golden glints.

“Your man’s tough. He should be dead.”

Unable to breathe for a minute, Lauren drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them.

Rust continued. “The doc and Totem fixed ’im though. My old lady will bring your food when it gets here. Eat. If the doc says so, you can go in and be with him.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. “Huh. He claimed you, but he hasn’t claimed you.” He rubbed his chin, a thoughtful look on his face. “Still, probably wouldn’t hurt. He’ll feel more settled if you’re with him.”

“Uhm…okay?”

The biker snorted, shook his head, and stepped back inside the room. Lauren leaned, trying to see inside the door as he closed it. She caught sight of a shadow and heard an angry snarl. Did they have a dog in there? What in the world was going on?

She must have dozed off shortly after because the next thing she knew, a kid of about twenty was setting a greasy bag and a can of Diet Coke next to her. He didn’t say a word and wouldn’t meet her gaze. Weird. And what had the woman who was the “Property of Rust” meant when she mentioned the guy was a prospect? Her education in outlaw motorcycle clubs—she knew enough to call them that from her perusal of romance novel titles—was definitely lacking. She made a mental note to download some of those titles.

The kid spun away as the door across the hall opened, and he was out of sight before a man appeared. The new arrival leaned a muscled shoulder against the jamb and watched her. When she didn’t move, he gestured toward the greasy sack with his chin. “You need to eat. Do it.”

The hair on her arms prickled as what felt like a wave of static electricity flowed over her. What in the world? Except she’d felt the same thing coming from Shooter more than once. “O-okay.” Her head bobbled in agreement as she blindly snagged the plain brown bag and dug into it. There was no fast food logo or anything else to brand the origination of the burger and fries she pulled out. Her gaze skittered between the food and the man. He remained there, watching. She gulped down the first couple of bites then slowed as her stomach reacted. She was hungry. The fries appeared hand-cut and had what looked like sea salt coating them. They were still warm and tasty enough she didn’t miss ketchup.

As she shoveled food into her mouth, the man at the door relaxed. She managed to look up a few times to catch him staring down the hallway. She could watch him in those moments, though she instinctively lowered her eyes whenever his gaze turned her way. He was as big as Shooter, with shaggy blond hair and eyes the color of toffee. His black vest was worn sans shirt and his muscles were shaped by light and shadow. And tattoos. He had a lot of them.

She tried to figure out the patches on the front of his vest. There was a white diamond shape edged in black with a black number one and a percentage sign. One percent. Yes, definitely outlaws. She remembered that much from skimming through titles. He had another patch that said “Totem” and she wondered if that was his name, same as she had with Rust. There were other patches, including one that said “President.” No wonder he oozed power.

She finished off the food and checked the bag for any stray fries as she balled up the foil that had surrounded the burger. When she picked up the can of Coke, Lauren discovered she’d all but finished it off as well. The next thing she knew, a large, calloused hand dangled in front of her face. Totem. Offering to help her up. She grasped it and with a whoosh, she was on her feet.

He took the bag from her, crushed the can, and yelled, “Prospect!” The same kid reappeared and just managed to catch the trash fired his direction. “You need the facilities before you go in?”

The idea of “using the facilities” in a bikers’ hangout didn’t seem all that sanitary to her, but now that Totem had mentioned it, Lauren needed to go. She nodded, and he walked her to the end of the hall. He pushed open a door and stepped back. “Bathroom’s that door there.” He pointed negligently.

Lauren realized this was a bedroom and it was messy but not…filthy like she’d anticipated. She scurried across the dimly-lit space, ducked inside the bathroom, and fumbled on the wall for a light switch. When she was done, she washed up and splashed water on her face. She was exhausted and so tired of being scared. She stared at her reflection. Dark circles, pale skin, furrows around her mouth, eyes, and across her forehead. Yes, she definitely resembled how she felt. Still, the gloom surrounding her heart was lightening a bit with the thought of seeing Shooter.

When she came out, Totem was sitting on the side of the bed texting someone on his phone. He stood up and gestured for her to precede him into the hallway. Totem paused at the door to Shooter’s room, opened it, and as soon as she entered, he closed the door. A moment later, she heard a key turning in the lock. He’d locked her in.

“Don’t panic,” she chided herself, panicking.

“Lauren?” A gravelly voice grated in the darkness.

“Shooter?” She all but lunged to the bed. She found his hand and clung to it. “Oh, Shooter! I was so scared. All that blood and you passed out and—”

“Shhh, little mouse. I’ll be fine. You okay?”

She nodded, realized it was too dark for him to see, and added. “Yes. I’m fine.”

Tait exhaled. He’d been able to smell her nearby as he wandered in and out of consciousness. Her scent was especially strong when he’d been in wolf form. “C’mere, sweetheart. I need you.” He tugged her hand until she was sitting on the bed then he scooped her into one arm and settled her next to him. “Better.”

He wouldn’t be awake long. The doctor had done what he could medically and then Totem had helped Tait change forms several times to accelerate his healing. Now that Lauren was here where he could see her, touch her, smell her, he’d be able to rest, which would further speed his recovery.

“Safe here.” His voice was slurring now. “Sleep, darlin’.”