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“That isn’t comforting,” she insisted.
“It’s not supposed to be, but it’s the truth.” A flashlight beam passed over the weeds near the tree line. They were getting closer. “My club has a doctor we trust,” Mayhem continued. “He’ll treat you without calling the cops. You’ll have a locked room, food, clean clothes, and a choice about what happens next.”
“A choice?” she asked.
“No one at the clubhouse will touch you. No one will question you until you’re ready. No one will hand you over to those men,” he promised.
“How do I know that you’ll keep your word?” she asked.
“You don’t.” His honesty was infuriating and strangely reassuring at the same time. Mayhem extended one tattooed hand. “You have two choices, Delaney. You can stay here and hope they don’t find you, or you can come with me.”
“How do you know my name?” she asked.
He smiled back at her. “They’ve been shouting it for the last five minutes.”
“Oh.” Under different circumstances, she might have been embarrassed. Tonight, she was too terrified to care.
One of the flashlight beams swung toward them. Mayhem shifted, placing his body between Delaney and the approaching men. “Time’s up, sweetheart.” She stared at his outstretched hand. His knuckles were scarred, and a silver skull ring encircled one thick finger. He looked like exactly the kind of man her mother had always warned her to avoid, but he had kept his distance. He had listened when she told him not to touch her, and he was the only thing standing between her and the men searching the woods.
Delaney released the branch and placed her trembling hand in his. Mayhem closed his fingers around hers and slowly helped her stand. The moment she put weight on her injured ankle, her knees buckled. He caught her before she hit the ground. Pain ripped through her ribs, tearing a cry from her throat. “Fuck.” He immediately loosened his grip. “Sorry.”
“Don’t let me go,” she begged. The words escaped before Delaney could stop them.
Mayhem became completely still. “I won’t,” he promised. He slipped one arm beneath her knees and lifted her against his chest. Delaney tensed, but he didn’t pull her tighter against his body than necessary. He carried her through the undergrowth as though she weighed nothing.
They had almost reached the motorcycle when a flashlight landed on them. “There she is!” Mayhem stopped. Three men stood across the road. The tallest was Grant, the man who had questioned Delaney at the farmhouse. His sandy hair had fallen across his forehead, and a bruise darkened his jaw where she’d hit him with a lamp. His smile made her stomach churn.
“You caused a lot of trouble,” Grant called.
Delaney pressed closer to Mayhem without thinking, and his arm tightened around her. “That the guy who hit you?” Mayhem asked quietly.
“One of them,” she admitted.
“Put her down,” Grant ordered. Mayhem carried her to his motorcycle and carefully settled her onto the seat. He kept one arm around her waist until he was certain she wouldn’t fall, and then he stepped in front of her. “She’s coming with us,” Grant said.
“No,” Mayhem replied.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Grant said.
“A beaten woman crawling through my club’s territory concerns me,” he growled.
Grant’s gaze dropped to Mayhem’s vest and recognition flickered across his face. “Toxic Monsters.”
“That’s right,” he barked.
“We don’t want trouble with your club,” Grant insisted.
Mayhem rested one hand near the gun beneath his vest. “Then you should leave,” he said.
“She stole from us,” Grant explained.
“She says you kidnapped her,” Mayhem challenged.
“She’s confused,” Grant lied.
Delaney found her voice. “I’m not confused.”
Grant glared at her. “You need to keep your mouth shut.” Mayhem drew his gun. The movement was so fast and controlled that Delaney almost missed it. One moment, his hand was empty. The next, the barrel was pointed directly at Grant’s forehead.
