“Wait!”

 

Natasha lunged towards the dangerous man who had been checking her out during the funeral, and who had now saved her life. Up close he was just as gorgeous as she had originally thought—although the dangerous edge was almost worse. Now, with a gun in his hand, she couldn’t help but feel how powerful he was, how uncompromising. Yet, in spite of everything, she wasn’t sure that she wanted him to kill for her.

 

His piercing blue eyes bore into hers as he hesitated.

 

“What?” he asked. His voice was husky and low, and immediately, she began to doubt her own hesitation. The attacker had placed a gun against her head and was fully willing to pull the trigger until this other man stepped in, and yet she was going to plead for mercy? For him?

 

“Maybe he has information,” she said.

 

She didn’t want to admit that she was a target, obviously that had been some sort of terrible mistake on the part of the attacker. How could he have known that she was Emanuel’s daughter? Was he just killing for fun? That chilled Natasha almost as much as being a potential target had.

 

The attacker had grown quiet in his pain, and the man kicked him the stomach to remind him that it still existed. He moaned in misery, and the dangerous man smiled. Natasha couldn’t help but stare.

 

“You have any information that I might want?” Griffin asked the assassin.

 

Natasha could finally see the assassin’s face better through the motorcycle helmet he had worn, with his wide, dark eyes and beard. She tried to memorize the assassin’s features just in case she had to talk to the police—although she wasn’t too keen on the prospect of doing so.

 

Suddenly, the assassin’s boot shot out towards Natasha, causing her to yelp in surprise, the dangerous man who had saved her pushed her out of the way and took the blow in the knee, hissing in pain and allowing the assassin to scramble to his feet and set off running. The dangerous man pointed his gun at the assassin’s retreating back, but once again Natasha stopped him.

 

“Do you think he’s going to remember your kindness when he tries to kill you again?” the dangerous man asked.

 

Natasha levelled him with a serious stare, her eyes hard, and said, “Next time I’m going to be ready.”

 

The man didn’t say anything back, and that was probably for the best, because the running assassin had managed to turn around and fire off a few shots. They missed wildly, but it startled Natasha enough that her knees gave out, causing the dangerous man to grab ahold of her, pick her up, and carry her with as much speed as he possibly could towards the road, where she assumed they would be getting on a motorcycle, or more hopefully into a car.

 

She wanted to fight him, knowing that she could take care of herself. However, he moved so quickly and the danger had not yet passed, so she allowed him to take her. The dangerous man carried her through the chaos over to a motorcycle and threw her on the back of it. She sat there for a moment, stunned, while he leaned over to the back hatch and fished out a spare helmet.

 

“I can take care of myself, you know,” she said stubbornly. He looked at her with those piercing eyes again, and in spite of her fear, she felt a jolt of desire run through her.

 

Suddenly, she was very aware of her position on the bike, her legs slightly splayed, her dress riding up around her thighs. In other circumstances, it would have been a provocative position, and the dangerous man took a moment to look at her hungrily.

 

“I don’t doubt that,” he replied. “But we still need to get the hell out of here.”

 

“To where?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. He moved close to her, placing the helmet on her head and bringing it down securely. She could smell a hint of motor oil, some cologne she couldn’t name, and something deeply masculine that she could only assume was his scent. He felt so warm, and she found herself leaning in close to him in spite of herself.

 

“Somewhere safe,” he replied.

 

“Safe?” she shot back. “How am I supposed to go anywhere safe with a person I don’t even know?”

 

The dangerous man sighed and held out his hand as though going in for a handshake. “Griffin.”

 

“What?”

 

“Griffin. That’s my name.”

 

“What kind of a name is Griffin? That’s a bird.”

 

“It’s the one I have,” he replied, his patience thinning. “What’s yours?”

 

“Natasha.”

 

“Natasha’s a month.”

 

In spite of everything, she gave a shaky smile. “Touché.”

 

He turned away to see if the danger had passed, and Natasha looked as well. It seemed as though the assassin had gotten back on his bike, and after firing a few more shots, he peeled away, screaming something or other about the Los Diablos.

 

Natasha searched her memory for any mention of them. Hadn’t they been a rival club to the Disciples? She had never been one to follow the politics of her father’s motorcycle club; it seemed so convoluted and dangerous. Frankly, thinking about it while growing up had terrified her. Now, she was seeing it all for the first time, and it overwhelmed her.

 

With his helmet secured, he turned to stare at her. She was still on the bike in the same way—legs parted, dress riding up. She felt a deep flush move through her body, as she realized this. She shook her head to clear it, a disorienting feeling thanks in part to the helmet on her head. Natasha wasn’t a stranger to riding a motorcycle, but she was surprised when Griffin moved her forward so he could mount from behind her. Either way she wasn’t dressed for riding, but what could she do?

 

He started the bike and peeled away, and Natasha was already glad that she wasn’t on the back. With his speed, she would have been left on the pavement. She could feel the muscles of his chest, hard against her back, and she allowed herself to take comfort in it. She had no idea where they were going, but at least this strange Griffin would be the lesser of two evils. He had at least saved her life.

 

They drove for what felt like hours, taking random twists and turns where they could, riding in what seemed like a lack of direction. It took Natasha a moment to realize that he had been intentionally driving strangely in order to throw off any potential tail. Natasha herself couldn’t see behind them, so she wasn’t sure if there had actually been one, but in this strange time she trusted Griffin’s judgement. She had to.

 

The sun was beginning to set as they pulled into a fleabag motel on the edge of town. Natasha wrinkled her nose as she looked up at it. It seemed like the kind of place that charged by the hour, dingy with small rooms. It was almost cartoonish, right down to the flickering “V” in the vacancy sign. Griffin stepped off his bike, leaving the keys in the ignition, and helped Natasha off of it as well. The insides of her thighs were still a little numb from the ride, but she hid it well. She followed him into the office to get a room.

 

Griffin was quick and direct with the man at the desk, and in exchange, he got not only a room key but a promise of silence.

 

Natasha followed him wordlessly to the room, which turned out to be on the first floor. Griffin quickly unlocked the door and pulled her inside, doing a quick sweep of the room to make sure everything was clear.

 

It was a small, dingy room with only one bed, and not a very good bed at that. Natasha could feel the springs digging into her thighs. She desperately hoped that she would not have to sleep here. She was still stuck in her dress from the funeral; she was also stuck with a wildly strange man, and she had no idea how she was ever going to explain this to her professors. Once everything seemed clear from danger, Griffin leaned against a tiny desk shoved in the corner, his eyes trained on the door.

 

Natasha folded her arms.

 

“Okay, so what’s going on?”