Only three days away. 

I pound along the path, feeling the breeze lift the small hairs at the back of my neck.

It's been three days since Drake threatened me.

It's been two since I had an ultimate pussy meltdown at the bank with the mystery biker man. I never even got his name. The deposit was in the name of a company.

I shiver at the memory of our encounter. Part of the shiver is fear. Most of it is fear.

Drake is dangerous. Biker Man is too. He didn't have to tell me what he was capable of. I could feel it, though I didn't feel like his natural menace was directed at me.

Dappled sunlight blankets the path like fallen leaves of translucent gold. Faraway voices travel to me.

I enter the zone. Endorphins kick in, and I lengthen my strides, eating up the familiar path. Blood rushes in my veins, and a light sweat breaks out as I relax my shoulders and concentrate on my stride.

Greens, browns, and gold are a streaming watercolor in my peripheral vision. 

A movement from my blindspot is a blur of shadowed color. An instant later, I'm tumbling through the air. My arms whip out, trying to arrest my fall, but I only manage to knock the wind out of myself.

I land on my back, halfway into a slope that leads to the ravines that flank the narrow asphalt path. 

I blink slowly.

A dense canopy of trees intersect overhead in a dance of wind and light. A small sunbeam strikes me in the left eye, and I turn my head, lungs burning for oxygen.

Did I trip on a root?

A shadow moves over my face.

Drake stands above me.

I open my mouth to scream, but he clamps a hand over my lips.

I bite him, trying to make my teeth meet, and he howls.

I roll to the side, leaping to my feet. 

No breath.

My hair falls out of its loose knot, and Drake grabs it, hauling me back against him. His blood gets in my mouth as his hand covers my lips.

“Bite me again, and I'll hurt you so bad, Rose. So bad. Believe me?” His free hand covers my sex and squeezes. Hard.

I scream, but his palm over my mouth muffles the sound. 

“Feel me, bitch?”

I nod. 

Charlie!

“I got the feeling you weren't really listening last time we had a little chat.”

I try to say something, and his hand slides to my throat, squeezing so I can't speak. 

“Gonna play nice?”

Stars burst inside the field of my vision. I manage a nod. “Yes,” I squeeze out. 

He tosses me onto the ground. 

I hit hard, fingernails biting into the pine needles and dirt. My eyes are glued to his crotch as he unbuckles his jeans. 

“You've got to be kidding me,” I say hoarsely.

Drake smiles―if his expression can be called that. It's really just a baring of teeth. “I never joke about punishment, Rosie.”

I flinch at the use of my nickname from his lips.

“My dick won't leave any marks that can be seen at the hearing, but you'll do what I want.”

I scoot back, and he lunges, falling on top of me and pinning me with his body weight. 

I beat on him with my fists. 

No!

He kicks my knees open, jerking my yoga pants down low on my thighs.

I go still.

Drake smiles in triumph.

I knee him in the balls.

His eyes pop open, bulging, and he gurgles some kind of unintelligible sound.

I crawl away then stumble to a standing position, half-jerking up my yoga pants. Then I'm running. 

I sprint, flames threading through my lungs. 

I don't look left or right. I move through the path like the devil is chasing me. 

Because he is. 

* * *

Noose

I look down the winding path of asphalt. 

Not fucking safe. No woman should be jogging these fucking trails. Especially with night breathing down day's neck.

I flick my smoke on the ground and tramp it with the thick edge of my boot's tread. The tip glows like a bloated firefly for a moment then goes dark. 

That’s sort of littering. I sort of don't give a fuck. 

I cross my arms and chance a glance at the tiny car Rose drives. I smirk. What an unsafe piece of shit that is. 

Of course, I just like the thought of her ass on the back of my bike. Hanging on to me. 

I actually made an effort to look less… however I normally look. I wore a white T-shirt instead of a black one. Hey, it's a start. 

I've been waiting. Impatiently.

The prospect I had tailing her the past two days says Rose runs here a lot while the nephew stays with the parents.

I snort, lighting up another smoke. Fucking kid.

God, do I know how to pick them. I realize now there's no such thing as easy pussy. It's like in the whole fucking world, all I could choose was complicated pussy. 

Yeah, that's me.

I hear pounding footsteps and straighten, dumping my half-finished cig and squishing it without my normal finesse. I crack my knuckles and begin to pace. I'm dying to set eyes on her again, to see if that chemistry was an anomaly.

Rose flies toward the open parking area as if her ass is on fire, long hair streaming behind her.

I frown.

Grass and twigs litter the strands of dark gold, and her brown eyes are too wide in her face.

My instincts come to life. 

I move without thinking, intercepting her as she stumbles. I catch her easily.

The chemistry's not a lie.

It's like the unpleasant feeling of getting shocked by electricity, but it feels good instead.

I get an instant hard-on. 

Then her frightened face turns to mine. 

Fingerprints mar the pale skin of her neck. Someone laid hands on Rose.

Rage seats itself in the center of me, and I don't ask her if she's okay, say hi, or explain my presence.

“Who?” I say in a voice filled with all the anger I can't suffocate.

“What?” she asks, so out of breath that her one-word question is a whisper. 

“Who did this?” I jerk my head toward her neck. 

No response. 

So I drag her away from her car, and she screams, dropping to the ground.

Okay. 

I haul her easily into my arms, and she thrashes, beating me with her fists.

“Fuck!” I bellow. “Trying to help here!”

Rose stops whacking me. 

Big tears spill out of her eyes, and she clutches my shirt. “You're not going to hurt me?” she asks in that same harsh whisper.

I push hair out of her eyes, which are leaking everywhere. 

All my carefully rehearsed words fly out the window. “Fuck no. I wouldn't ever hurt you.”

“What are you doing here?”

Good fucking question. I've been asking myself that all day. 

“You gonna freak out again if I set you down?” 

She shakes her head. 

I don't know, looks like it could go either way. I set her down carefully, and we assess each other. 

“You're tall,” she says.

“You're beautiful,” I blurt, and instantly want to kick my own ass.

But she smiles. Not a fake thing that gets pasted on, but a genuine, makes-my-heart-pound smile.

She looks down at her feet. “Why are you here?”

Yeah, that. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Her head whips up. Half her hair is falling out of some bun thing in the back. I want to run my fingers through it, but I manage to restrain myself. 

“You don't know me,” she says.

I touch the red marks on her neck and ask more gently, “Who did this?”

She seems to remember something and whirls around, facing the path she came shooting out of like a loose cannon. 

I study the gloom but don't see anything.

Rose turns back and mumbles, “Nobody.”

Right. I smile then. I know it's not a nice smile. “So you choked yourself.” I mime wrapping my own fingers around my throat, making choking noises. 

When she blushes, I drop my hands. “Don't cover for some prick. Who did this?” My eyes rake her body. Her exercise pants are rolled down from her waist on one side as if they were screwed on the wrong way. 

A large bruise sits at her hip.

I touch it, fingertips feathering across the mark.

Rose gasps, clutching my hand.

We groan at the same time.

“God,” I say through my teeth, my dick beginning to stand at attention.

“What is it?” she asks, her eyes searching mine for answers. 

“I don't know, but I'm gonna find out.”

Rose moves away, and I don't press. “You have marks on you. And I don't like it. Explain.”

She glances down then laughs. “That's me being a klutz. I ran into a countertop at work.”

Thank Christ. That still doesn't explain the throat. I stare at her skin. 

“You―I don't know who you are, not really.”

I adjust my crotch with a shift of my weight. “Yeah, ya do. I met you at the bank three days ago.”

Her laugh is shaky. “True, but obviously you're an important client, and… well, I don't associate with… bikers,” she says softly.

No disrespecting the club. I hate that Rose does. I take a step closer, and she flinches.

Her fear pisses me off. “I don't hurt women. And I would never hurt you.”

She nods. “I believe you. But this thing”―she indicates her throat―“isn't any of your business, and I'm okay now.” Her eyes dance away from mine. 

It isn't fucking okay, and we both know it. 

“Take a ride with me,” I say suddenly.

She shakes her head, nervous eyes roaming my ride.

Fuck. I work it up from the bottom of somewhere and finally ask, “Please.” I offer my hand, palm up. 

Rose studies my face for a long time.

Women don't reject me. I never gave a shit before. 

I feel a wave of heat climbing my face as she stands there silently.

Then Rose surprises the hell out of me when her much smaller hand slides inside mine. It feels right.

And dangerous.