Free Wild Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 2) by Lydia Pax Page A

place. Beretta had circled the lot four times now, searching for any sign of other bikes. There were none, but that didn’t mean the Copperheads couldn’t have traveled in something else.
    He didn't know how or why the Copperheads would be there—but he wasn't taking anything for granted. His hackles were up and he'd stayed alive this long by trusting his instincts.
    It was a short jog up to her apartment on the third floor. That didn’t sit well with him either. First floor would have been ideal. Bad for being attacked, maybe, but better for leaving. Third floor—there wasn’t much place to go if someone started shooting at you, unless you wanted a broken leg by jumping out the window.
    “In and out,” he said at the door. “Grab your clothes and let’s go.”
    She nodded and he opened the door, still in possession of her keys.
    The inside of her apartment was spacious, largely because it was sparsely furnished. In the living room, there was a couch and a television, but no coffee table, no night stands. There were no other surfaces except for the counters in the kitchen. He followed her in, shutting the door and remaining close to it, gun out just in case he needed it.
    He remembered her saying how she had only moved in something like four months ago. Not that long, but certainly long enough to pick up some budget furniture at least. He wondered why she didn't bother to make herself a home. There were envelopes gathered on her kitchen counter—bills coming due. Some were second notices.
    You need a better plan, Helen .
    In her bedroom, Helen tossed a suitcase down and began filling it with clothes. She didn’t know how long she was staying.
    Scared, she must be. Handling it well though. There was a toughness in her that drew him to everything that made her up.
    His hands ticked against his thigh; a combination of impatience and desire filled him, something he usually solved with a quick grab at a piece of chocolate. Beretta was careful not to overdo it—he had some vanity, and didn't much enjoy the idea of being some overweight slob.
    But he was, much as he tried to deny it, a slave to his impulses. It was just too bad his whole stash of snacks had burned up with the warehouse. Now all he had to feast on was the sight of Helen—and god, what a sight she was.
    He wanted to hold her gorgeous body, to kiss her, to tell her it would be fine. He wanted to press himself onto her body, push her into the wall and let her feel the hardness she had inspired pushing down his thigh.
    But of course he couldn’t do that—that would be stupid. More trouble than he wanted. She wouldn't want him to, anyway.
    Smart girl, to want him out of her life. He'd make her wish come true as soon as he could.
    He didn't blame her for leaving him. As much as he could, he understood it. His life was one long chain of violence, hell, and conflict. Why throw yourself into that?
    What kind of man would he be to want her to share that with him? What kind of man would he be to want her to ignore all that, no matter the cost to her?
    But he had wanted her to do just that—to ignore the consequences and ride with him. He had wanted her to buy in with him, to know he could protect her.
    He tapped the wall hard with his fingers, trying to push those thoughts away. They weren't the real thoughts, not the ones that counted.
    Better for her to get out. Beretta couldn't protect anyone. He had proven that well enough.
    She began to change clothes—taking off her scrubs and then her underwear underneath. He wasn’t going out of his way to look, but she wasn’t going out of her way to hide either. She passed in front of the door way, no clothes on, and his eyes glued onto her curves.
    Her body, naked, was beautiful. He saw her from behind—the muscles in her back, the tone of her sides and behind. Hardness took a hold of his cock and spurred him forward. He had to put a hand on the wall to keep him in place. He could see the naked cheeks of her ass,