She stared down at her twitching hands. When her eyes met his again, she studied him with building interest. Gosh almighty, Logan was one fine hunk of a man. His shoulder-length hair hung in black ringlets, perfectly formed, natural and full. He sported a dark complexion blushed enough to prove he’d enjoyed a recent warm day in the record-breaking spring heat.
Tearing her gaze away from his eyes, she shook her head. “It’s a free country. They can do whatever they want. They aren’t bothering me.”
“Yeah, but I brought you here for a drink, hoping to avoid a public show,” Logan explained. “In another few hours, the Heroes and Rogues clubhouse will be hopping. The exploits over at the club are more than the average woman wants to see.” He almost acted as if he were ashamed to be affiliated with such a group. Then he said, “Besides, I can’t take you back there until I decide what I’m gonna do with you.”
She jerked at the rasp in his voice. She remembered what Scott had told her, the warning she’d dismissed. There were more rogues than heroes in the MC, and while Scott believed Logan was a straight-up good guy, he wasn’t a woman.
Logan could’ve been one way with men, but a totally different person around women.
“And just what do you want to do with me?” she asked saucily.
Logan gnawed on his bottom lip. “You don’t have to put on fronts with me. Let’s cut to the chase, Sassy. You’re not like the women at the club. We both know that. I picked up on it while I had my head stuffed under the hood of your car. You’re nothing like the MC’s women, and that’s why I’m sitting here with you now. If you were anything like what I’m used to, we wouldn’t be having a drink, let alone a conversation.”
He finished his beer, motioned for Lois, and awaited another round. He reached in his back pocket for his wallet, and as he paid their tab, Sassy noticed the tattoo on his left forearm. The colorful artistic design sported the H and R logo which stretched from his wrist to the bend of his arm.
“Nervous now, are ya?”
She shifted her weight on the barstool. Lois hurried away as if she were afraid to witness another young woman’s moral demise. Since the MC’s clubhouse was less than ten minutes away, she’d probably stood watch as one gal after another sank into an abyss after joining the MC’s harem.
Under Logan’s scrutiny, Sassy found herself losing control. She anxiously slid her bottom across the wooden seat and dropped her legs forward, positioning her feet on the lower wooden ledge running the length of the bar.
“Well?” he asked, nursing that beer.
“No,” she finally replied.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why?” she asked, facing him. “Is it because most women are afraid of the big bad boys sporting leather, riding bikes, and trying to appear untouchable?”
He laughed. “No. I just don’t think you belong here. That’s all.”
“Where do you think I belong, Mr. Marcs?”
He shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out. Won’t we?”
“I was Scott’s old lady, for crying out loud. I’m not some innocent little virgin fearing a deflowering.”
Scott’s head jerked. He finished his drink, stood, and held out his hand. “Is that right?”
She studied his outstretched arm. Scott’s voice of reason filled her head.
More rogue than hero.
“So now you want to test that?” she asked, aware of the sudden twitch of nose, spasm of cheek. Shit! She was nervous, angst-ridden. Why couldn’t she just let this play out one minute at a time?
Logan’s eyes darkened. He dropped his arm and looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
“What?” she asked. “Are
you
having second thoughts?”
His head slanted to the right. With a piercing gaze, he asked, “Who are you?”
“You don’t know me,” she assured him, rising to her feet. Her tic had given her away. Without question, Logan remembered something about that girl from school, those days of yesteryear taunting him with an eerie tap on the shoulder.
“There’s something familiar about you.”
“Maybe we met briefly while I was living with Scott.”
“I don’t think so,” he argued. “I’d remember if I saw a pretty woman on Scott’s arm.”
“Sharon’s attractive,” she pointed out, somehow feeling obligated to defend the woman who’d helped her in so many ways.
“She’s nothing like you, doll,” Logan said, offering his hand again. “Come on. Let’s get outta here.”
Chapter Three
“Wait here,” Logan ordered, leaving her on the back of his bike when they stopped for fuel. Located in the heart of Fall Branch, a small East Tennessee community, the service station had been a hot spot back in the day. Sassy had often walked there for a soda and to loiter in the parking lot, talking to some of the older men who were kind to her.
Looking back, Sassy understood why so many of them treated her like family. They knew who she was, and probably suspected that she’d been abused, even though she’d always adamantly denied the accusations when inquiries were made.
Since she always traveled on foot when she visited the area, she had easily provided explanations for her bruises and scratches. She typically told those who were interested that she’d taken a tumble down the side of a mountain, barely escaped a hungry bear, and fought for her life when she’d encountered Indians still residing in the area.
In Sevierville, no one asked questions. They were afraid to show compassion or act concerned. Many of them had turned their heads while Damsel Road used her for a punching bag one minute, a little relief the next. The community as a whole did nothing to stop him. Why would they? Damsel’s brother and cousins were the law and order with extreme power within their jurisdiction. In Fall Branch, Sassy had found a safe haven, a place where she could go and sit with the old timers while listening to comical wise tales and drinking an orange soda straight from the bottle.
The creaking sound of an old pickup door slammed in the distance, and Sassy glanced over her shoulder, watching as Old Man Caperton bought a newspaper and teetered off to his vehicle again. She wanted to call out to him, ask how his wife was doing, and see the man’s face light up with pride as he told about his sons, both of whom played professional sports. Instead, she wiggled around on the leather seat and awaited Logan’s return.
She’d already given away too much. As Scott had feared, her habitual facial tic could easily be her downfall.
As Logan exited the gas station, the roar of motorcycles moved closer. Moments later, Logan was filling up his fuel tank and she stood beside him. His body language changed as he acknowledged the men leaving their bikes at the far end of the parking lot.
“Stay close,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Okay.”
“Let’s ride,” Logan said as soon as he finished refueling.
Sassy quickly adjusted her helmet, pulling the faceguard down to shield her, to offer some protection. Logan reclaimed his seat. She boarded the bike, too. As if her action were the most natural in the world, she locked her arms around his waist.
“Easy now,” he said playfully.
“Sorry,” she whispered against his leather-clad back.
He patted her hand. “Don’t be.”
“Well, well, well, what do we have here? Looks like your club finally let you have an old lady of your own,” someone said gruffly.
“Gaylord,” Logan grumbled at the beast of a man standing before his bike.
Logan wasn’t a small guy. At over six feet tall and somewhere close to two hundred pounds, he probably wasn’t one to intimidate. His muscles bulged through his jacket and thick thighs were clearly visible through his jeans. Sassy couldn’t imagine anyone in their right mind taunting him. Then again, she remembered that about the Angels, too. They enjoyed terrorizing other bikers when they could catch them without backup.
“Where’d you find the woman?” the other man asked, waggling his tongue in a crude manner.
Sassy shook where she sat. Logan placed a possessive hand on her thigh, which might have been awkward since they’d only just met. Given the circumstances, his touch produced a calming effect.
“Come on, pal. Answer the question. Where’d you pick up the chick?”
A dry chuckle slipped from Logan’s lips. “If we were friends, pals, we’d sit down and discuss details. I’d tell ya what you’ve been missing and you’d congratulate me on a lucky find.” A beat later, he added, “But we ain’t friends, Gaylord.”
Gaylord snarled. “That’s for damned sure.” As if he were ready to pounce on command, Gaylord motioned for his fellow bikers. Four other men joined him, one stalking forward a little quicker than the others. The strut gave him away before he stepped under the bright parking lot lights.
Sassy’s insides quivered, and she tightened her grip around Logan’s middle, holding on for dear life. She took weighted breaths, swallowing several times as she tried to hold onto the strength from within, the new attitude she’d acquired while she’d trained with Scott, the goals she’d developed after she’d paid for a surgeon’s tedious handiwork.
“Damsel,” Logan said in acknowledgement.
The leader of the Devil’s Angels draped his arm around some dumb blonde’s shoulders. “Do me a favor, lover,” Damsel said to the woman. “Go away.”
“Damsel,” she whined.
“Now.”
The gal stormed toward the building. Prior to entering the service station that doubled as an old country store, she launched a cold glare.
“Is she yours?” Damsel asked, tilting his head toward Sassy.
“Don’t worry about me, Damsel. By appearances, your old lady isn’t too pleased with you.”
“You let me worry about Victory,” Damsel said coolly. “Answer the question. Does that babe on the back of your bike belong to you?”
Logan gripped the handlebars. “Sure looks that way, doesn’t it?”
Damsel’s evil grin spread. “You can never be too certain when it comes to women, can ya?”
Logan grunted. “I guess if I rode with the Devil’s Angels that would be a fact.”
Gaylord lunged at him, but before he could tackle Logan, Damsel and one of his obedient followers caught him. “Hang on there, brute,” Damsel teased, wicked laughter filling the air. “Logan here apparently knows too much. I’m guessing he’s well aware of where his club’s president has been playing. That makes him an accessory.”
“If that’s the way you see things,” Logan said, “But I can promise you, I didn’t have a cock in that pussy.”
“Why you…” Gaylord wiggled around, trying to break the multiple grips stopping him from engaging in a physical confrontation. “Fuck, Damsel! He’s talking about our sheep!”
“Apparently, she found a new shepherd,” Logan taunted them, refusing to back down. “Hell, for all you know, she’s tending to a whole new flock.”
Damsel’s hot desire-filled gaze worked Sassy over quicker than a glide down a waterslide. He latched his top teeth over his bottom lip and released a hungry growl. “She is fine, Logan. I’ll give you that. Hell, if I’d known you had women like that over at your clubhouse, I would’ve offered to swap ours for yours.”
“It’s too late for that now,” Gaylord snapped, finally breaking free of the hands binding him.
Damsel inched toward Logan’s bike. “I gotta tell ya, boy, I don’t know if we have any that look like her over at our place.”
Apparently, Damsel had forgotten about his sidekick. Victory exited the market. She stood in the distance, shooting daggers in Sassy’s direction. If Victory
only knew the dangers Damsel represented, the hell he could bring. Maybe then she wouldn’t cross her arms over her bosom, stomp her foot, and act like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. Then again, that’s the way Damsel liked his women—possessive, immature, and totally clueless.
Damsel was less than three feet away. The wind brought a breeze of that thick mountain wood cologne he often wore, and Sassy felt woozy, extremely lightheaded.
Tossed into yesteryear, Sassy found herself fighting for her next breath, suffocating under body weight and sweat, another violent attack she wasn’t sure she’d survive.
“As always, Damsel…it’s good seeing you,” Logan drawled, shifting his weight on the bike as he steadied the machine under him.
Sassy was drawn back into the present with Logan’s sudden movement. She glanced up, which was a mistake, and noted the mocking expression stamped upon Damsel’s ugly, and quite scarred, face.
She ducked her head and looked away. She couldn’t force herself to maintain eye contact with the man who’d abused her, the stepfather who’d taken pleasure in her pain, not just once or twice, but for years and years. She felt ill, sick to her stomach.
“You know the MC is a brotherhood,” Damsel said. “Brothers share from what I understand. Isn’t that what you heard, Mike?”
“Damn straight,” the man at the back of the pack bellowed. “Old Devon couldn’t keep his cock in his pants. Seems a shame something like what Logan’s got should be kept for one man, huh?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Damsel said. “Remember, Logan—and you tell Devon this—we didn’t go skinny dipping in your pond first.”