Chapter 1
Mandy
Daddy may say that he only wants what’s best for me, but that’s a fucking lie. He’s not above trapping me in a life I never wanted, and he isn’t above putting a GPS tracker in my car. But I’m done playing by his rules.
Mandy Murdock is the belle of high New York society. Mandy Murdock’s daddy is a billionaire, which means little Mandy knows all the right people and rubs shoulders with all the right crowds.
Yeah, bullshit. That’s not me at all, no matter what Mama and Daddy might say about it. I felt like puking on my little black cocktail dress every time one of those insufferable billionaire brats started bragging about the new car he’d just bought.
So yeah, I’m fucking done with that. It’s going to be nothing but an open road and adventure for me from now on.
Or, it would be, if I could just get someone to slow down enough to take me into the next town. I lower my arm, feeling a little defeated now as yet another sedan speeds past me on the road. To make myself feel better, I hum a bit of a song under my breath as I scan the road for another car. Singing to myself always helps calm me down.
Come on, I don’t think I look dangerous. I’m 18 years old and barely 5’0”, wearing a tank top and jean shorts with a flannel shirt tied around my waist. I’ve got junk in the trunk, you know, and I’m proud of my thick ass and wide hips. My tits aren’t bad either, although right now they don’t seem to be helping me flag down any passing cars.
Then again, I’ve got the piercing on the left side of my nose and through my right eyebrow, and I have an Alice in Wonderland-themed tattoo sleeve that’s super visible on my right arm. I didn’t think that they cared about this kind of thing in Pennsylvania, but maybe I’m wrong.
There’s a loud rumbling sound behind me, the sound of something going fast.
I look back over my shoulder and see a bunch of motorcycles roaring down the long stretch of highway. My heart starts pounding hard in my chest and I feel giddy as I watch the sunlight bouncing off all that sleek metal. Without a second thought, I stick out a thumb high in the air and cup my other hand around my mouth.
“Hey!” I call out. “Anyone wanna take me for a ride?”
The first motorcycles get close and I get a good look at the riders. Fuck me, they’re a hot-looking bunch in all that leather. A couple of the bikers zoom by, and I watch them pass while my stomach drops a little. My hand flops to my side and I take a step back away from the road.
Then one of the bikers peels away from the group and executes a sharp U-turn. He slows down and pulls up beside me.
“Where to, little lady?” he asks.
Fuck, his voice is husky and deep, like the quiet rumble of a powerful engine. His long, wind-whipped brown hair settles on his broadly muscled shoulders. This guy is huge, and hot. He’s got to be at least a foot taller than me. I can’t get a good look at his face, which is mostly covered by a bandana.
I see my own reflection in his shades. I’m completely red-faced, and not exactly from sunstroke.
As he stares me down, I can’t help but wonder if he’s sizing me up, and whether he likes what he sees. I know that I do. I muster up more confidence than I feel and give him a winning smile. I’m told that when I smile, my nose scrunches up all cute.
“Anywhere ya wanna take me!”
He chuckles, and I wonder if he thinks that I’m just some ditzy rich kid, like maybe he can smell the money on me. After another moment, he shrugs one shoulder.
“Well then,” he drawls quietly, raking a shiver through my stomach. “Hop on.”
I secure my backpack and watch as he pulls out a helmet for me to wear. I move to take the helmet from him, but he pulls it just slightly out of my reach. I’m not expecting this and almost tip forward before catching myself.
He chuckles again, and oh fuck, my toes start curling in my dusty sneakers. I hold still as he carefully places the helmet over my head, and climb up on the bike behind him.
Once settled, I grab the sides of his leather jacket. On the back, there’s an emblazoned logo of a skull with a halo and flames dancing wildly out of the eye sockets, and a name written in bold letters below.
Savage Saints.
For a moment, my heart rate spikes again. Shit, I’m really doing this. This man is riding with a motorcycle gang, and I’m trusting him with my life.
The biker turns his head slightly to the side.
“You’re gonna have to hold tighter than that, baby.”
I lean all the way forward so that I can wrap my arms more securely around him. I think I catch a glimpse of his eyes through the side of his shades before he turns back and revs up the bike in one movement. A second later, he hits the throttle, and I sure as hell would have gone flying if he hadn’t warned me.
Besides, in this position, my breasts and tummy are pressed up against his back and I can feel his abs shifting under my palms. Being this close to him, with all the heat coming off his body, is getting me worked up.
But that’s not even the half of it, because the bike is vibrating like hell between my legs. Fuck, I can feel myself getting wet. All I can do is hold on tight and hope no one notices when I get off.
