Natasha was glad that they weren’t able to talk as they rode to wherever they were going. Once again, she was pressed up against him as they drove, feeling the heat of him, almost close enough that she could hear his heart pounding through the black shirt he was wearing. In any other circumstance, this would have been thrilling, but instead, she was just frustrated. Griffin was particularly good at drawing that out of her.

 

How did he think that it was okay that she be kept in the dark about what was going on? She knew that violence and the Disciples went hand in hand, but this was on a level she never expected. What had her father been into that this could have happened? She would have liked to have imagined her father dying peacefully somewhere, much older than he was. When she heard of his death, she had thought that he had gotten into some sort of accident, but now, with the addition of an assassin who seemed all too willing to kill her, she was beginning to believe that something far more sinister had been at hand.

 

And then there was Griffin. Who was Griffin? Where did he come from? He seemed devoted to the Disciples, but of course he would be—what else could you really do in Brazos after a certain age? It was one of the reasons why Natasha left. There was truly nothing for her that wasn’t going to end on the back of someone’s motorcycle, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever be the kind of person for that. Griffin, on the other hand, seemed absolutely born on the back of a motorcycle, and with his good looks, he probably was going to end up fathering a whole pack of kids who would hop on there just as quickly as he probably did.

 

As frustrating as Griffin was, she couldn’t deny how incredibly attractive he was. How many girls must he have on the hook right now? They were probably all gorgeous, tough biker chicks, and Natasha certainly wasn’t that type, so why did she think that she might be his? She knew she was no slouch in the looks department, but she also knew that she could never really carry off that slinky badass vibe that girls who ran with bikers seemed to have.

 

Instead, she allowed herself to lean against him a little harder than she would have otherwise. She could hear his heavy breathing as he drove, stopping once again, taking a turn somewhere else.

 

She could recognize places now, the closer they got to the center of Brazos. She didn’t often visit during her holiday breaks and usually kept visits as short as possible, especially after her mother had died, opting instead to stay with friends or whomever she might have been dating at the time. The thought of it now made her sad, as she wondered what had her father had done during the holidays. Most likely, he spent it with the Disciples…if they even celebrated such things.

 

***

 

Griffin wondered what would happen if Natasha turned around at that very moment and started pressing her body against him. It was a fantasy, of course. In his daydream, she would look at him with those bright amber eyes, half-lidded with pleasure. She would press her body against his until he grew hard. With those quick little fingers, she would unbutton his fly, take out his dick, and stroke it until it grew harder.

 

With a free hand, he would move down to her panties, already beginning to show from her hiked up funeral skirt. He would rub her on the outside of the underwear until he could feel the wetness through the thin fabric. Then he would move those panties aside and slide one finger inside of her, listening to how she must sound when she’s experiencing pleasure. They would kiss even as he was driving, until she would move her hips a little bit, brace herself against the handlebars, and lower herself onto his hot, throbbing cock.

 

They would move together on his bike, putting all of that anger and frustration and annoyance they had towards each other to much better use. He would make her scream into the night, her golden hair whipping around his face as he made her climax over and over, and then, when she was good and ready, he would let himself go…

 

…Then crash the bike probably, but hey, not in a fantasy.

 

Griffin had always wondered what it would be like to take a girl on his motorcycle in that way, and having Natasha press against him as they drove made the thought come over and over again in his mind.

 

This girl was trouble.

 

Luckily, Griffin liked trouble.

 

But why did she have to be so infuriating?

 

Luckily, the temptation began to pass as they pulled into the safe house. It was a small house that the club owned. It was usually used to house some of the firearms they traded to Mexico if it was a big order. However, sometimes, when the heat was on, they would meet there to lick their wounds and plan their next move. He pulled into the garage, closing it behind him immediately.

 

Damon’ bike was already there, and it seemed as though he was the only one there at the moment. That had the potential to be either a good or bad thing, depending how charitable Griffin was feeling towards Damon at the moment. Given his present situation, he decided that it was a good thing. He took off his helmet and stashed it, moving to help Natasha off the bike only to see that she had already dismounted, removing the helmet and sticking it on the seat.

 

“So this is a safe house, huh?” she asked.

 

“About as safe as it can get and still stay in Brazos.”

 

“That’s the problem,” she replied. “It’s still in Brazos.”

 

She walked past him towards the door that would lead into the kitchen, and Griffin fought the urge to grab her and keep her there for a moment. He didn’t know why he did, but part of him didn’t want to share her with Damon just yet. She turned around with an annoyed look on her face, putting her hand on her hip.

 

“Are you coming?” she asked.

 

He sighed and walked her way. Never mind, he thought. Damon can have her.

 

***

 

The man with the close-cropped, reddish hair was sitting in the kitchen when they arrived, looking tired but otherwise fine. He looked up at her, and for a moment, something seemed to register, but it went away again.

 

“I’m Damon,” he said by way of introduction. “And you are…?”

 

“Natasha,” she replied, not willing to give away her last name just yet. Damon was fine with this and moved to Griffin.

 

“Griffin, you’re okay? You weren’t hit?”

 

Griffin wasn’t the biggest fan of Damon’ concern; he was a man and could take care of himself. “No, but I got the bastard in the leg. Didn’t kill him though.”

 

“No one managed to, but at least he’ll be hurting for some time.”

 

“I should hope so,” Natasha said, drawing the attention of both Damon and Griffin.

 

“And he almost shot you?” Damon asked.

 

Natasha nodded. “Can someone explain to me why?” she asked. “I don’t understand why someone would want me dead.”

 

“The Los Diablos want you dead, apparently, which is a much bigger problem.” Damon frowned at this, before looking to Griffin.

 

“You should protect her.”

 

“Excuse me?” The very idea of having to protect this girl twenty-four seven was insane. She wasn’t a Disciple; she barely knew anything about them; and yet, he was going to be her security detail?

 

Natasha’s face changed too, clearly unhappy with the present arrangement. “No, that’s not necessary,” she replied. “I can just head back to Austin…”

 

Damon brushed that away. “Do you think that they’ll stop going after you solely because you went across the state? The Los Diablos just ambushed the funeral for our former president; I don’t think they really care much about borders or propriety.”

 

It was as though the situation had dawned on Natasha for the first time. “I don’t understand why they want to do this? I’m nothing. I’m no one.”

 

Damon was unrelenting. “You’re something to them. Griffin, you watch her.”

 

“And I don’t have a say in this?”

 

“We’re not letting any innocent people die on my watch, and we’re going to fix this damn quick, so it won’t take long, and then you can go back to whatever your life was, Natasha.”

 

Natasha wasn’t sure what her life was anymore. A lot of it felt completely jumbled—now that she was the target of assassins from her dead father’s rival club. The thought of everything made her feel so queasy, and she moved to sit down.

 

“Fine,” she said shakily. “But can I go back to the hotel and get my stuff first?”

 

“That can be arranged,” Griffin replied. “Let’s get back on the bike, and you give me the directions.”

 

Natasha nodded and stood, stumbling a little bit until Damon moved to help her.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this.”

 

“I understand,” Damon said.

 

She regained her footing well enough to make it to the bike, jumping back on and placing her helmet on while staring straight forward. She barely felt it when Griffin climbed behind her again to start the bike.

 

All she knew was that she had absolutely no intention of dealing with this. This wasn’t her fight.

 

She only knew that she was going to have to leave town immediately.