Filthy Bastard: Royal Bastards MC Boston Chapter Page 2

  Here goes fucking nothing.

  I grab her phone and purse from a side table and storm over to the door and glare out of the peephole. Across the hall, the door is now closed, thank fucking God. I open Leonard’s door and poke my head out of the door into the hall, seeing that the coast is clear before I step out. I carry my thrashing little wildcat of a captive down the hall to the maintenance room, and the cargo elevator beyond that. The car is downstairs in the garage, fueled up and ready to go.

  The plan stays. I’ve just changed it up a little.

  Or a whole fucking lot.

  We step in, and I take a deep breath as the doors close, trying to calm the beast inside of me that roars at the feel of her bare skin and tight little curvy body writhing and grinding against my shoulder. The doors open to the parking garage, and I poke my head out to take a look.

  Empty.

  I’m a bike man through and through, but for this, I’ve brought the Charger. I move fast, my cock still so fucking hard and tenting my jeans as she tries to fight me. At the car, I pop the trunk and then set her down on her bare feet, pinning her to the side of the car with one hand on her hip, the other on her neck—not squeezing, but just there as I look her right in the eyes.

  Fuck.

  Yeah, that was a mistake. Because one look in those baby blue pools, and I just want her—right here, right now, come what may. I want to crush my lips to hers, and spread those legs, and rip that towel away. I want to sink my tongue in her little cunt and drink down every single drop before I let her slide down on my cock.

  She glares right back at me, looking terrified, but also looking so fierce and furious.

  “Listen to me,” I growl. Her eyes narrow in fury at me, and I grin. Shit I like that—that she might be scared, but is still ready to tear my fucking head off.

  “We can do this two ways. You can sit in the car like a normal person and keep quiet while we drive out, or if you don’t think you can handle that, there’s always…”

  I gesture with my eyes at the open trunk, and Nicole’s eyes narrow.

  “Fnnngruu!!!”

  I almost laugh. Yeah, that’s definitely her saying “fuck you” through the panty-gag.

  “I’m not here to hurt you, sweetheart,” I growl. “But you are coming with me.”

  “Fnnngruuuufnngingprshshhhhttt!!!” She roars as she lunges forward, headfirst. I hiss as she catches me right in the fucking nose with the top of her head, wincing at the hit and snarling as I shove her back.

  “Right, so trunk it is.”

  She kicks and squirms and writhes, but she’s no match for me. I’ve got easily a foot on her, and probably a hundred pounds of muscle. Deftly, heedless of her muffled screams and kicks, I lay her down into the trunk and close it. I take a step back, breathing heavily, my pulse racing.

  …My cock still so fucking hard it could tear a hole in my jeans right now.

  But the bottom line is, I’ve got her.

  And now, she’s mine.

  Chapter Two

  Nicole

  The hot water streams over my skin, and I finally, finally, feel the stress of the day easing out of me. Actually, it’s more like the stress of the last month, or maybe a year, who knows. Whatever it is, I close my eyes, and try to let the rest of the world just fade away.

  Coming back to Boston is never a pleasant experience for me, and if history says anything, this trip back home in particular should be horrible. It’s my mom’s birthday this weekend, which is never a joyous occasion, seeing as my mother is the type who’s going kicking, screaming, and surgically enhanced into older age.

  This time, however, I got a small reprieve before diving into the viper’s nest of my parents’ house. Since I have an important interview set up at Harvard this weekend—tomorrow, actually—as part of my law school application. Since I was flying in so late, I mentioned maybe just staying at my dad’s downtown condo for the night instead of driving all the way out to the suburbs only to drive right back in tomorrow morning.

  Dad thought that was a great idea.

  The real truth is, I did the Harvard interview over a video conference a week ago, but I didn’t need to tell my parents that. I needed an excuse to take a night before diving into my mom’s birthday nightmare, and I definitely needed an excuse to get the hell out of New York for a breath of air.

  Yeah, it’s been a week. Or a month. Or a year, who knows. There’s school, law school applications, the LSATs, my job at the courthouse records department, and my creep of a boss.

  And then there’s Trevor.

  My lips pinch tight, anger flashing over me and ruining the moment of shower-calm. I blink, reliving what happened a few nights ago, before I finally left to stay with a friend. Looking down and half turning, I scowl at the bruise on the side of my ribs, and then turn to glance at the other one on the opposite shoulder from where the first hit knocked me into the table.

  Fucking asshole.

  My boyfriend—well, my fucking ex-boyfriend now—tried to make up for it by then trying to get me into bed, like that was his big “please forgive me” move. And then when I said no, he decided that trying to drag me in there was the next move.

  Yeah, fuck that little prick with the little prick.

  Thankfully, I got out, called a friend, and spent the rest of the night there before getting on the first flight I could into Boston. And so, here I am. It’s not like I ever love coming home, but it’s better than what was back in New York right now. I look up through the fancy non-fogging glass of the shower and into the equally non-fogging mirror across the bathroom. My eyes take in the bruises, but then I pull back and take in the rest of me too, naked and wet under the shower spray.

  Yeah, fuck Trevor. He doesn’t deserve this anyways.

  I close my eyes again, letting the steam and the water surround me and letting the world melt away. I honestly have zero idea what I’m doing next, but I need a change. Or a vacation that lasts a freaking year. At this point, it feels like I’ve been moving, and studying, and working, and cramming, and ignoring all pretense of a social life for years—maybe my whole life. And with one punch from my asshole of a boyfriend, it’s all come sharply into perspective.

  I soap up and rinse off, deciding to skip washing my hair for now. I stand under the spray another few minutes, luxuriating in the opulence of it and trying my best to not think too hard about what my father does here. Yeah, gross. It’s not even that big of a secret why he has this luxury, total bachelor pad of a pied a terre. Yeah, he says it’s for those late nights when it doesn’t make sense to drive all the way home just to come back to the city first thing in the morning. But at this point, it’s pretty clear it’s so that he can get away from my mother and sleep with other woman.

  As it happens, my parents are also in the middle of one of their epic screaming fights. Apparently, mom found lipstick marks, or a phone number or something, which means their house is probably World War Five right now.

  Yeah, no thanks. One more reason to avoid this debacle of a birthday weekend.

  I’d feel awful for my mother. But as it happens, I’m also well aware that she’s been screwing their gardener for the last three years, so at this point, they both deserve each other and whatever misery that brings them.

  Yeah, a regular happy TV family over here at the Keen residence.

  But at least for one night, I won’t be around them to hear them nit-pick every single detail of my life. No dad scowling that I’m not somehow already a supreme court judge at twenty-two. No mom asking me when she’ll be getting grandchildren.

  Yeah, you now, in all my free time when I’m not too busy becoming a judge or a partner at a firm. No big deal, mom.

  Eventually, I shut the water off and step out to grab a big fluffy towel. I dry off slowly before plugging in the hairdryer and combing out my long red tangles. Okay, maybe I should have conditioned. But seriously who the hell am I trying to impress?

  I finish and put it away and take ano
ther second to look in the mirror. I pull the towel away, my eyes moving again to the mean looking bruise on my side, and the scraped second one up on my shoulder.

  Fucker.

  I turn, still holding the towel as I pad across the bathroom and open the door. I step out into the condo and head for the bedroom, when suddenly, every hair on the back of my neck goes up. It’s like a sixth sense—like there’s a little tingle that goes up my spine. I shiver, and I start to turn, when suddenly, there he is.

  Oh holy fuck.

  A primal, animal instinct explodes through me, and I’m half frozen as I start to open my mouth to scream. But the man is on me in a second, his huge hand clamping over my mouth as I scream into it. My pulse spikes, and panic and fear lance through me as he suddenly just lifts me into the air and hugs me tight to his chest.

  And the man is huge. The arms holding me are like steel bars, the chest I’m pressed against rock-hard and chiseled under his shirt. I scream another muffled scream into his hand as the kickboxing classes I took last year start to rush into my head. I lash out, slamming a knee into him and making him grunt as he staggers into the bedroom. My pulse hammers harder, my eyes seeing the bed as my body goes cold.

  I know he’s much bigger than me, and stronger, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving in without the fight of my life.

  I scream again, clawing and thrashing at him like a fucking rabid animal. He grunts, absorbing every hit before he suddenly snatches something off the bed. I don’t know what it is until he stuffs it into my mouth, and then realize they’re the fucking panties I laid out for after my shower.

  I scream again, but this time it’s even more muffled. He starts to turn, and I grunt as I slam my knee into him as hard as I can. The guy snarls, but we go stumbling out of the bedroom and into the main living area. I kick him again, and he hisses in pain as we both go toppling over the arm of the couch and onto it.

  And suddenly, I’m face to face with him, looking up into his eyes as he pins me thrashing to the couch. I blink, and I go still for one second as our eyes lock.

  Holy shit.

  The guy is freaking gorgeous. Like, ridiculously hot—like it’s a rough-around-the-edges model pining me to the couch. Sharp, crazy-intense blue eyes, a strong jaw, and dark, short cropped hair. Instantly, my breath catches, and my pulse skips. And fuck me, butterflies flutter through my stomach.

  ...What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I wrench myself back from the fantasy that burns through my head, forcing myself to realize what’s really going on here. Hot or not, a huge fucking psychopath has me pinned almost naked to the couch, his weight holding me firm as his eyes burn into mine.

  I gasp as he suddenly flips me over, and that same pulse of fucked-up fear-meets-excitement rushes through me as he pins me face-down to the couch. He tugs my hands behind my back, and I shiver as I feel him slip something that feels like plastic rope over my wrists and pull it tight.

  He moves to my ankles, and I buck against him before I remember I’m fucking naked. Crimson burns my cheeks, and I clench my legs as tight together as I can. I lash out, feeling triumphant when I feel my foot connect with his face. But those huge hands are on me in seconds, pinning my ankles together and binding them with the same plastic that’s around my wrists. A blue and white bandana goes around my jaw, tied tight to keep the panties in my mouth.

  Oh God. Oh God.

  He yanks at the towel, and I feel like I’m about to cry before he pulls it around me, tucking it in so that it’s actually covering me up entirely. I frown, blinking in confusion until, with a gasp, he’s lifting me effortlessly up in the air again and tossing me over his shoulder.

  I scream and thrash as he marches across the condo to the front door and opens it. He glances out, seemingly totally oblivious of my muffled screams and twisting body before he steps out into the hallway, towel-clad me over his shoulder. He moves quickly, storming down the hallway to the maintenance door. Past it, he pushes the button for the cargo elevator, and the doors open instantly.

  Where the fuck is he taking me?

  I keep fighting, kicking and screaming into my gag as we ride it all the way down. He steps out into the empty parking garage for the building, completely ignoring my muffled yells as he marches right over to a jet-black and chrome muscle car.

  He pops the trunk, and my heart jumps into my throat as he puts me down, barefoot on the cement floor, and pins me to the side of the car. His huge hand slides over my hip, and when the other one slides to my neck, something insane pulses through me.

  I want to say it’s fear, but shamefully, that’s not all it is…

  He lowers his face so that he’s eye-to-eye with me, and once again, I’m utterly frozen staring into those big, gorgeous blue eyes of his. My eyes slide over his face, really taking him in for the first time and trying to ignore how much it makes my heart race.

  Dark, close-cropped almost shaved hair, those piercing blue eyes of course, a chiseled, slightly scruffy jaw, and absolutely perfect lips.

  Yeah, my kidnapper might actually legit double as a fucking model.

  His eyes burn hotly into mine, and a shiver slowly trembles through me as my pulse hammers in my ears. I force myself to glare at him, anger covering fear and whatever other shameful feeling he’s making me feel right now.

  “Listen to me,” he growls deeply, his voice this rugged, smoky baritone. I swallow, narrowing my eyes even more at him. And almost infuriatingly, he smiles.

  “We can do this two ways. You can sit in the car like a normal person and keep quiet while we drive out of here.”

  Oh, fucking sure.

  “Or if you don’t think you can handle that, there’s always…” his eyes slide to the back of the car and the popped trunk, and my stomach sinks.

  Oh, fuck that.

  “Fuck you!” I spit at him. But of course, through freaking panties and a bandana, it sounds like utterly ridiculous mumbles.

  The gorgeous asshole smirks.

  “I’m not here to hurt you, sweetheart. But you are coming with me.”

  He reaches for me, and the last of my fighter instinct kicks in.

  “Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!” I bellow through my gag as I lunge foreword and slam the top of my head into his face. He grunts, and I know I’ve hit his nose based on the stream of swears. He snarls and pushes me back, pinning me to the car at arm’s length.

  He glares at me, a little drop of blood trickling from one nostril.

  “Right, so trunk it is.”

  “Wait, no!”

  I scream, kicking and squirming as he grabs me. But c’mon, who am I fooling—the man towers above me and must be twice my weight in pure muscle. He lifts me like I weigh freaking nothing, effortlessly hauling me to the back of the car.

  I’m still screaming and thrashing as the gorgeous kidnapper sets me down in the trunk, gives me one last piercing, smoldering look, and the shuts it.

  The car rumbles to life a second later, and my heart is still racing like a train as we start to move, going who knows where.

  …Who knows where, naked, in the trunk of a car driven by possibly the most sinfully attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  Yeah, there might be something very, very wrong with me.

  Chapter Three

  Nicole

  I swear a muffled swear as the car jerks around a corner, tousling me into the side of the trunk. I grunt, hissing as my bruised shoulder takes the brunt of it before gasping as the car seems to take off like a rocket. In movies and books, the person who gets kidnapped is always trying to remember the turns, or count seconds or something—I think it’s supposed to help remember where you were taken to if you ever get rescued.

  But, please.

  I’m naked and tied up in the back of a fucking car—believe me when I say I have no fucking idea what right and left turns we’ve taken.

  When we start to move faster though, I’m pretty sure it means we’re on the highway, which just sends an
other bolt of fear through me. The highway could mean we’re going anywhere.

  The car keeps moving, and I just ball up, huddling in my stupid towel and trying not panic. I try and remember back on law school application test questions to try and calm my racing heart, but it hardly helps. All I know is, I have no clue where I’m going, who the man who took me is, or what the hell he wants.

  …Or at least, I want to tell myself I have no idea what he wants. Because if I do start to really think about what he might want with me, I’m not sure I’ll survive the panic attack it’ll bring on.

  The car slows and then turns. We drive for another little while before turning again, and I can hear a sound that can only be gravel under the tires. The car slows even more, creeping over the gravel or stone, until finally, it stops. The engine turns off, and suddenly it’s absolutely silent.

  My heart races.

  I hear the sound of a car door, and then nothing. And then still nothing.

  Did he just leave me?

  Without even thinking, I start to scream, twisting to slam my feet against the trunk. I just keep screaming and kicking, hoping someone might hear me or see the shaking back of the car and start asking questions. I’m still kicking when I hear footsteps on the gravel, and then a key sliding into the lock. I lash out one last time just as the trunk swings open, and this time, my feet kick nothing but air.

  Instantly, I look up into his piercing eyes, and my face burns hot with embarrassment. I blink, my eyes still used to the pitch black of the trunk. But I quickly remember that it’s night outside too. My eyes slide back to his, and I shiver again as his sheer attractiveness hits me like a slap to the face.

  Okay seriously, what is wrong with me.

  I scream a muffled scream as he yanks me out and tosses me over his shoulder. This time, with a gasp from my lips, I feel my towel slip and fall away as he marches us through the darkness. I squirm and kick and buck again him, but he’s much stronger, and there’s no way I’m twisting myself free.