Taking the key from the old lady behind the counter, I pushed out of the motel office and into the sunlight.

Sloane was standing beside the car, her arms resting on the hood and her cheek pressed against the metal. Her ass was sticking up in the air, and I tilted my head to the side. Round, tiny, and good for slapping. Her jeans left little to the imagination, too.

I crossed the pavement and she raised her head as she heard me approach.

“Get up,” I commanded, opening the rear door and yanking out her duffel. Fuck, it weighed a ton. How many books did she shove in there?

“I hope you requested two singles,” she said, snatching her bag off me.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I drawled. “You can have the bed and the bugs all to yourself.”

“What a fucking gentleman.”

Ignoring her, I popped the trunk and got my own shit. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I locked the car and went to find the room. It was only lunchtime, but after driving all night and beating the shit out of that guy, I figured it was best to keep our heads down for the moment. We would get back on the road tomorrow.

Room number eight wasn’t far away. Unlocking the door, I was aware of Sloane behind me. She was a master shit talker, all bravado, but it had me wondering what kind of bite she had under all that or if there were any teeth at all.

Kicking open the door, I let her go in first. She dropped her duffel on the floor and glared at the scene before her.

The place reeked of mothballs and damp. The whole motel had seen better days, and so had the upholstery.

All these rooms were the same no matter where I went. Cheap-ass floral curtains, scratchy duvet covers, mold in the showers. Plumbing clogged with lime and rust buildup. I’d forgotten how precious women could be about this shit.

“This is what seventy bucks gets?” She sounded mortally wounded, and I snorted.

“Sure you don’t want a cuddle?” I asked, baiting her. “We got a double.”

“Eat shit.” She rolled her eyes and dragged her bag further into the room where she flung herself onto the floor and pulled out the contents.

I glanced over my shoulder at the empty lot before closing the door and turning on the light.

Sloane was illuminated by the cheap fluorescent, and for the first time, I saw her clearly. No half-light in a dingy strip club, no orange streetlights, no dark corridors. I hadn’t bothered looking too close outside, not when the sun was on her. One glance at her milky skin had turned my gaze right back onto the road.

Five days and we would be back in LA. I could do it in two, but I needed to stay sharp. Last night had shown just how brazen the assholes who were after her could be.

Back roads, inconspicuous motels where they didn’t ask questions, and everything in cash. No planes, trains, or buses where ID was required and security cameras were on twenty-four seven alerts. Drive within the speed limit, keep our heads down, and be on the look out for trouble.

Grimacing, I had a bad feeling the trouble was already in the room.

Sitting on the end of the bed, I opened my own bag and took out the gun Sloane had shoved against my head the night before. Pulling out the magazine, I checked the bullets. Glancing at her, I frowned.

She’d split from Fortitude when she was eighteen. Just upped and ran away. Everyone knew it, and the one thing the boss had never explained was why she left in the first place.

Narrowing my eyes, I watched her go through her clothes and smooth out the creases before refolding everything. Everyone was guilty of something. Maybe you could trust them for now but never forever.

Sloane, or whatever she called herself now, was a runner. She’d already tried to slip away once, and lucky me…I would have to watch her like a hawk. I was forbidden to harm her, and that meant restraining, hitting, locking her in the trunk, and using her for sex...even if it was her idea. If I touched her or delivered her with a scratch that was my fault, the boss would string me up and flay me alive.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Sloane demanded, dropping the little dress she’d had in her hands and glaring at me.

Scratch the part where I mentioned sex.

She was headstrong, argumentative, and oblivious to how much danger she was in. Fuck, she didn’t even seem bothered by the fact she’d almost been raped and murdered in a back alley behind a strip club. Or finding her neighbor dead in the hallway of her apartment building—at least on the surface. If she knew what those men were capable of, she would be singing another tune.

“You’re still staring at me,” she said with a snarl.

“I’m having a shower,” I said, ignoring her sharp tongue. “Then I’ll get us some food. Don’t think about leaving.”

She eyed the gun in my lap, and I picked it up and slammed the magazine back into the grip. When she twigged I was taking it with me, she glanced at the car keys. I was taking those, too.

Opening the bathroom door, I curled my lip. It was fucking tiny in there. Throwing a glance over my shoulder at Sloane, she smiled sweetly.

“Don’t let me keep you,” she said with a pout.

Slamming the door closed, I shut her out and ran my hand over my face. Not even a day had passed, and already I wanted to throttle the bitch. Throttle her while my cock slammed into her pussy more like it.

Turning on the shower, I undressed as steam filled the room. Seeing there was blood splattered on my T-shirt, I cursed and tossed it into the trash. Ginger would come looking for me, that was a certainty. That was if my knife hadn’t ripped the muscle in his leg.

Revenge was a never-ending cycle unless someone worked up the balls to be the bigger man and end it. You didn’t have to be a genius to know when you ran with bikers, there was never a bigger man. Ever.

Wiping the condensation off the mirror, I stared at my reflection. Pretty boy Chaser.

I’d been a part of Fortitude Motorcycle Club for seven years. It was a long-ass time on the road doing what I did. Hunting down the scum of the earth, settling scores, working the other side. I was the nameless ghost who walked in, fucked shit up, and walked out golden…all in the name of Fortitude.

There was a reason they called me Chaser, and that was it. I chased blood and money, and nothing else.

I was the guy in the corner you didn’t mess with. I was the guy who didn’t blink when I took the shot. I was the guy who didn’t give a fuck about how many people I’d killed. I was the guy who worked best alone. I was the guy who the boss trusted to get his little girl…who wasn’t so little anymore.

All I cared about was the job. All I cared about was the job.

Glancing down at my cock, I grunted. Just try to fucking remember that.

Stepping into the shower, I unwrapped the cheap and nasty motel soap and scrubbed.

God dammit, my balls were tight. I couldn’t go back out there sporting a motherfucking erection. Sloane would have a field day.

Fisting my shaft, I squeezed, then stroked. Slow at first until I got in the zone. Imagining I was sliding into a wet pussy, my breathing quickened as the water pressure beat down onto my sensitive crown. Yeah, just like that. Wet and tight…

Slapping my palm against the tiles, I lowered my head and pumped faster. Sloane didn’t seem to know how fuckable she was. That blonde with the big tits had practically molested her the first night I’d walked into Teasers. Pulled out her hair and tied that little knot in her already skimpy T-shirt. Immediate hard-on right there.

I imagined my hands on her little waist, pulling her onto my dick, right down to the balls.

Biting my lip, I swallowed my grunting as I came and aimed downward. An orgasm pulsed through me, making my muscles tense as I held onto the sensation as long as I could. When I was finally empty, I kicked the water in the bottom of the shower and washed it all away.

Watching my cum as it swirled around the plug and disappeared down the drain, I curled my lip at the accurate metaphor for my life. I would’ve preferred to leave my juices some place else, but I was on a job, and until it was over, down the hole my manhood went.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, my cock nice and soft again, Sloane was still on the floor where I’d left her.

“You spend a lot of time in the shower,” she said. “Were you rubbing one out or something?”