With each second, I grow more desperate. I need to get away from here before Mav or Taz have a chance to hurt me more than they already have.

So this time when car headlights shine on the blacktop, I move to the left into the car’s lane.

I can’t afford to let this ride pass me by, which means I can’t afford to take no for an answer.

Biting my lip against the pain in my side, I wipe my hand on my shirt where it’s not drenched in blood and then stick my thumb out.

The car slows. Its headlights are a good width apart, which makes me hopeful it’s an older person. When it comes to a complete stop in front of me, I hold my arm over my forehead and ward off the bright lights in my eyes as I strain to see who’s inside the vehicle.

Not able to, I study the license plate and the model. Regular New Mexico plate. A Chevy. Maybe a couple of years old. I hear the window descending and walk to the side of the car. It’s a light gray, clean, and has four doors. Cautiously I bend to inspect the driver.

“You want to tell me why you’re barefoot and walking the streets?”

The flat voice and arrogant face worm their way through my blood like a shot of acid. Turning away, I stare down the street that leads to the clubhouse, my fingers curling into to fists. For a split second, I consider taking off toward the roar of the motorcycle I hear growing closer. But I wouldn’t get far with my side as it is, even if I could somehow able to ignore the cut in my foot.

Davis exits his car and circles around the front. He leans back against the front panel above the wheel and crosses his arms and legs. He must be off duty because he’s sporting dark jeans and a maroon NM State University T-shirt. “It’s been two weeks. So what do you have for me?”

“Nothing. They don’t talk about club business when I’m around.”

“I see.” He studies me and his eyes harden. His jaw muscle pops. “You know, hitchhiking and prostitution are illegal in this state, Ms. Pierce.” He pauses. “Unless you have something for me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to put your hands on the hood.”

Giving him what I know about the club would only make Mav’s accusations about me true. And I may be angry and heartbroken, but I don’t want to see him arrested or any of the other HOCs for that matter. Well, except maybe Taz.

I put both hands on the hood.

“You’d rather do time than give them up?”

“If those are my only choices, then yes.”

He pushes me further over the side of the front of the car. Then aggressively searches me. I close my eyes and breathe through the pain cascading through my right side. His hand travels up my leg, his fingers sliding higher than necessary up my thigh. Grinding my teeth, I move away from his touch.

He laughs. “What? You can let dirty bikers pound you all day long, but I touch you and you’re offended?”

When he finds my wound and his hand comes away wet and bloody, he shakes his head and smiles. “Guess they got sick of you already, huh? Or did they catch you trying to steal from them?”

“Go to hell.”

He leans forward to look at my face. “Which one of them shot you?”

“Why, so you can arrest them?”

“Maybe.”

“Then, no. No one shot me. I did it to myself.”

“Jesus,” he spits out. “What the fuck do they shove into you sluts? Golden-dipped cocks? Why the fuck do you care if I arrest them if they tried to kill you?”

At my silence, he wrenches my arms back. I gasp and battle the tears burning behind my eyes, as this position sends sharp pains zipping up my torso and down my back.

Then I hear the unmistakable sound of metal clinking a second before cuffs are slapped onto my wrists.

An overwhelming sense of helpless and vulnerability nearly has those tears spilling from my eyes.

“You know, I knew you were going to fight me on this. That’s why I figured I’d need a plan B.” He presses me down, turns my head, and holds it forcefully against the warm metal hood. Then he combs my hair away from my neck.

I try to twist to see what he’s doing, but I can’t move. In my peripheral, I catch sight of a needle inches from my neck.

“What are you doing?” I cry out and kick my legs at his, the only part of my body I can really move.

“Hold the fuck still.” I feel a pinch of pain, and I scream as every muscle in my body strains to break free. But his grip on me is unforgiving.

When he withdraws the needle, I lay there shocked as a million questions flood into my mind. What did he put into my body? Drugs? Or was it some kind of virus? My stomach rolls when I remember a show I once watched where a guy gave a woman a shot. It paralyzed her body so he could rape her, but she was wide-awake and lived through the horror of the entire thing.

Terror has me kicking and struggling again. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

The rumble of the motorcycle draws closer, and now I hope it’s Mav. I close my eyes and pray it’s him and that he’ll find me in time.

Davis yanks me back and I stumble. “You hear that. Your boyfriend’s coming to finish you off.” The street I looked at a moment ago is hazy. The streetlights and the one light coming toward me is fuzzy.

Dread circles the deepest part of my belly. If it’s Mav, he won’t make it to me in time.

My eyelids begin to feel weird, almost heavy. I blink a couple of times.

“I’m not going to let him kill you. Not when you’re worth more alive.”

He shoves me sideways and I nearly fall to my knees. Tripping, I’m forced to the backdoor of the car, the muscles in my legs suddenly not under my control.

Davis shoves me into the backseat of his car. As my vision fades in and out, he pushes me to lay down on the leather upholstery.

“You know there’s something I never get about you biker chicks. Those assholes treat you like garbage, and you’re still loyal as fuck to them.” Davis’ palm slides up my leg. He squeezes the back of my thigh. “Maybe you don’t realize that a good man like me knows how to fuck you dirty too.” Then his fingers skate over my panties. He mutters, “If I had more time right now, I’d show you.”

“If . . . if you rape me . . . he’ll kill you,” I mumble and speak past my numb lips.

“Who Maverick?” he snarls the name. “Because that biker-trash father of yours doesn’t care if he gets you back dead or alive. He could give two shits if I had my fill of you before I handed you over to him.”

Try as I might, I lose the battle to keep my eyes open.

“You should consider yourself lucky I don’t do business with men like him.” With that his hand vanishes from my between my thighs. My feet are pushed closer to my body. Then the door slams and a few seconds later, the seat under me begins to vibrate.

MAVERICK

I’m kicked awake. A knot on my shin is inevitable. Jerking up and sitting, I glare at Dozer standing over me. “Jesus Christ! What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Then I see how much sun fills the room. My voice thick with sleep, I ask, “What time is it?”

“Ten-thirty. And you deserved that and more so stop bitchin’. What time did you call it quits this morning?”

Shit. I’ve slept longer than I wanted to. Also, not long enough. Maybe an hour and a half. I pause rubbing my hands over my face and look up. “Nine. Looked everywhere. Couldn’t find her. Did she show up at Beth’s after we spoke?”

He shakes his head. “No. I woulda called.”

Getting to my feet, I grab my cut from the arm of the couch and pull it on. Snatch my keys from the table.

“But I called Whiz this mornin’ because Bethany thought it would be a good idea if we called all the bus stations, maybe have them talk to the drivers, see if anyone’s seen her.” His frown has my blood turning cold.

“What?”

“Couple things . . . Taz had Whiz put a tracker on that phone you gave her.” At my optimistic expression, he holds up his hand. “Don’t get too excited, the signal says the phone’s here.”