I hand the papers over to Crankshaft, President of the Black Fist MC. “It’s all there, boss,” I tell him. “The Dark Tribe is definitely working with the FBI. What a bunch of fucking narcs. They almost took me out on the way over here, but I got away. I’m never going to see my Harley again, though.” I feel a wave of panic wash over me at the thought. I loved my Harley. Losing it was like losing a piece of my soul.

The girl I kidnapped comes walking into the room, interrupting whatever it was that my prez was about to say. “Hey, I told you to wait out in the hallway,” I warn her, my voice testy.

“It’s my minivan,” she volleys back instantly. “Or, at least it’s my name on the rental receipt for it. And anyway, I can go anywhere I want to.” She turns to my president and says, “Hi, I’m Becca Whiting,” sticking her hand out to shake, for all the world appearing as if she’s in a drawing room and meeting with local dignitaries.

Becca … I roll the name around in my mind, testing it. Somehow, in all the craziness, I had forgotten to ask her for it.

“Oh, hi,” he says, taken aback, and then with a grin shot at me, he says, “I’m Crankshaft and I’m the president of Black Fist.”

“Really? Crankshaft? Your mother named you Crankshaft?”

“Maybe not my mother,” he says with a wry grin, but doesn’t explain any further. Apparently Becca hasn’t been around too many bikers—we rarely go by the names written on our birth certificate. I mean, c’mon, my real name is Fredrick. Who's scared of a Fredrick? That sounds like a German prince or something for fuck’s sake.

So as far as anyone knows, I’m Harlan, and that’s all that matters.

“What happened to your arm?” she asks, nodding at Crankshaft’s left arm, which is in a sling across his chest.

“Some people thought they could fuck with me.” His tone, laughing, belied his words. That’s Crankshaft; he never lets anything get him down.

My eyes slide back over to Becca, and down to her ass. God, that’s a real nice skirt she has on her. Black but it’s shiny too, like there are sparkles in the fabric … what little fabric there is. I remembered back to the van ride over, and how she’d talked about sex so openly, and it had been all I could do not to pull the van over and fuck her senseless. Keeping my hands off her as I listened to her go on and on and on about having needs and wanting to be fucked...

Torture. Pure torture.

“So, can I have my keys to my Ford minivan?” she asks, holding her hand out toward me. I reluctantly fish them out of my pocket. I really didn’t want to hand them over. That’d take away any reason I had to be around her, to listen to her ...

To fuck her.

She snags the keys from my hand. “I’m already shitastically late to work, but I called my boss, Mr. Williford, out in the hallway and told him that I’d be late coming in. Told him I’d been kidnapped by a biker. He was appropriately appalled. Truth is, that was more fun than I usually have in a month. If you hadn’t thrown my door open this morning and asked to … take over my van,” she says with a wink at me, “I would’ve been stuck looking over liability documents for an upcoming event at the Barclay’s Arena, and I promise you, nothing will make my eyes cross faster than to stare at liability documents for hours on end.”

She starts to turn away, and I say impulsively, “That sounds awful.”

She stops mid-turn and looks back at me. “Yeah, it really kind of is.” She chuckles without humor. “When I went to law school, I thought I’d be making a difference in the world. I thought I’d be defending the good guys, beating the bad ones. I thought…” She waved her hand in the air, brushing it all away. “It doesn’t matter what I thought, because it isn’t what happened. My life is so boring, it’d put a librarian to sleep. At least they have overdue fines to charge people. I just read fine print all day.”

“Do you want to stay kidnapped?” I blurt out. I can sense my prez shift on the bed, but I ignore him. I’m not ready to let her go yet. I need to keep her by my side a little longer.

Just for the day, or something.

“You mean, like a little vaycay, but as a kidnap victim for a biker gang?” She laughs and I know it’s ridiculous and I open up my mouth to take it back, to say I was just kidding, of course, no one would actually do that, and then she says, “I’d love it. I can’t believe I’m saying that, but I would. Anything to get away from my life for a little while.

“I’d need to go back to my apartment and get my charger and some clothes, though. Is that okay?”

“Sure, sure,” I say, my heart swelling with surprise at her answer. I can’t believe she’s actually going for it.

“Here are my keys back. I can’t be kidnapped if I’m the one driving, right?”

“Of course, right.”

Like I kidnap a lot of people on a regular basis or something. I don’t want to ruin my badass rep, but Becca’s the first person I’ve ever kidnapped, and I wouldn’t have done it if I’d had a choice.

Becca shakes Crankshaft’s hand, kissing him on the cheek as she does so. “Good to meet you, sir,” she says and practically bounces from the room. He looks at me, eyes wide, and says, “You have a handful with her, Harlan.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” I agree drily. “You should hear her talk about…” I trail off, realizing that I didn’t want to tell my prez about Becca’s comments about sex. That’s a first for me. I usually tell him everything. I clear my throat. “Well anyway, I’m off.”

“Have fun,” he says with a wink and a naughty grin. I roll my eyes and head for the door. It’s time to kidnap Becca.

Again.