Heaven's Sinners

“He’s going to kill me,” I snap back, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nods, lifting her hair into her hands and tying it up. “Join the club. Cade is going to flip when he arrives.”

“Ciara, get your motherfuckin’ ass out here, NOW!”

Shit. Dammit. I give Addi a worried stare. At least Cade will go easy on her. Spike is far different. Spike doesn’t take people’s shit. At all. Ever.

“He won’t hurt you, honey.”

“He’s pissed, he sure as shit won’t be nice about it. He hates me.”

She shakes her head, giving me a comforting expression. “He doesn’t hate you, or he wouldn’t be here.”

“He’s here because he feels guilty...like he has to be here for the sake of Chey. I’m a pity case. He wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

Addi gives me a look, and crosses her arms. “That’s not true, and you know it. He’s going to get hold of you, so you might as well get your cute ass out there and face him.”

“Or,” I say, turning and hurrying toward the back entrance, “I could go out here and...”

“You fuckin’ take one more step toward that door, and I’ll fuckin’ drop you, Ciara.”

Stiffening at the icy voice, I slowly turn to see Spike standing at the end of the hall. He’s panting, bloody and wild with anger. Oh shit. Addi even takes a step back, which is odd for her, because she’s usually cocky around Spike.

“Addison, get your fuckin’ ass out front now. Your man is lookin’ for you, and he ain’t happy. Don’t even fuckin’ dare to open those pretty lips and smart mouth me.”

Addi turns, giving me a sorry expression. “I gotta go, call me,” she whispers.

“Addison!” I yell, but she’s already hurrying past Spike and out into the bar.

I stand at the end of the hall, staring at the angry biker in front of me. Seriously, part of me is still contemplating turning and running. It’s not a bad plan, considering how angry Spike is right now. His eyes are flaring, his lips tight...he’s mega pissed. Sure, I know I deserve it, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to go willingly. I lift my foot and take a step backwards, and I can see him visibly stiffen. His brown eyes flash with anger, and his jaw ticks. Shit. He’s gone far and beyond pissed.

“I’m not fucking with you, Ciara. You fuckin’ take one step, and I’ll put you over my motherfuckin’ shoulder. You turn around, get over here, and do as you’re fuckin’ told.”

Not going to happen. I spin quickly, and run toward the door. I manage to get to it, out of it, and halfway across the car lot before he gets hold of me. His fingers curl around my arm and he hauls me backwards, so hard that I slam into his body. His arm goes down and wraps around my waist, pressing my back to his chest. His other arm releases mine, and moves up and over my chest. He’s got me fully secured now, and even with my best squirming efforts, I can hardly move.

“Are you fuckin’ stupid? Didn’t anyone teach you not to piss off an already pissed off biker?” he growls into my ear.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to manhandle a woman?” I cry, struggling in his grips.

“Ain’t no woman here.”

“Fuck you, Spike.”

“Been there, done that, wasn’t memorable.”

That asshole. I lift my leg and shove it backwards, right into his knee. He bellows and lets me go, and I lurch forward. Lunging towards me, he catches my ankle and I fall, hard.

I land on my stomach, arms out in front of me, face centimeters from the dirt. He keeps hold of my ankle as I thrash and try to kick him enough to make him let go. Grunting, he crawls up my body, flattening his over mine. I shudder. I’m ashamed that I do, because right now I want to punch him, but it happens. A ripple of life runs through my body at the feeling of his hard, sexy body pressing against my back. I won’t lie; I’ve wanted to fuck Spike again since the day he took my virginity, but there’s no way I’d swallow my pride and admit that to him now.

He leans down so he’s close to my ear, his breath hot against it. “We’re goin’ to get up, walk toward my bike, get on it and leave. If you try and run, I’ll fuckin’ knock you out and throw you on unconscious.”

He probably would too. Asshole.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I spit, squirming.

“Yeah, you are. Can argue all fuckin’ morning about it, or you can get up, get on my bike and I can take you home.”

“Why are you even here?” I growl. “You hate me.”

“Coz’ there ain’t no other fucker wantin’ to save your ass.”

That hurts, because he’s right. No one else would want to save my ass. Not one person except him, and he doesn’t even like me. That says a lot about my life.

“Fine,” I whisper, my voice having lost its spark. “Just take me home.”

He lifts his body off mine, and I feel his muscles moving against my back. Dammit. I manage to push myself up on my hands and knees, groaning as I do. I hear a distinct hiss, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s because I’m on my knees, flashing my ass at him, and I’m wearing nothing more than a G-string under a short skirt. I quickly push myself into a kneeling position. My cheeks flush red, and I don’t dare to turn and see his expression. He’s probably disgusted. His precious Cheyenne would have never worn something so...so...trashy. I peer down at my knees and see there’s dots of blood all over them.