The Biker's Wench (9 page)

A baby was crying on the other side of the door when Harley reached room threetwelve. He hesitated before knocking twice. A short, stocky man peered at him through what space the chain would allow, then closed it and slid the metal lock free. The door swung open wide, and a woman carrying a child seat carrier stood just inside the door. She met his gaze with her own icy one. "You're the driver?"

He nodded, frowning as he glanced around the entry. "Where's the package?" Behind the woman on the floor lay a canvas tennis shoe. It reminded him of someone, but who?
"Right here," she said, gesturing to the carrier. "It's none of your concern, you just have to drive us there, and drive me back. You do have the address?"
"Yes." He pushed past the smaller man, slipping by the woman and went to the shoe. Picking it up, he turned it over in his hands. "Who's shoe is this?"
The man strode over and tried to take the item out of Harley's grasp. "It's nothing, just something Lanie dropped." He gestured at the woman then looked pointedly at his watch. "You're going to be late. You need to--"
A loud thump came from behind a closed door down a short hall, followed by a weak whimper that Harley almost didn't hear. Suddenly remembering, he looked inside the back of the shoe to find the faded initials he'd expected. These were the shoes Betsy wore around the ranch when she wasn't working - and she'd loaned them to Monica earlier that morning.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said, walking toward that door. The guard hit him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Harley bent over, and took a right hook to the jaw that caught him off balance. He fell backwards to the floor, kicking a foot out as he went down to connect with the inside of the guard's left knee. The other man went down, and Harley threw himself on top, fastening his hands tightly around that thick neck. He leaned down, so he was eye to eye with the guard as the man fought for air. "That's my wife you have in there, you little prick. You really think anything's going to stop me from getting to her?"
The front door opened, and four hands grabbed Harley, dragging him off the man. "I see I didn't quite make it in time," Mr. Burns said as he approached, his goons holding Harley by each arm. "I hear my daughter is snooping around where she doesn't belong that's why she's been detained." He smiled, the expression one of indulgent amusement. "Why don't you run along and deliver that package for me, and I'll have her waiting for you when you get back."
"Says the man who tried to marry her off to the highest bidder," Harley said, breathing hard. "I'll just stay here and make sure she's okay. After I do that, we're gonna have a talk about why you want me to deliver a baby to Reno."

When she heard Harley's voice, Monica frantically tried to think of a way to get his attention. Inching down the bed, she steeled herself for the pain and rolled off the edge, landing on the floor with a thump that jarred every part of her body. She tried to cry out, but only managed a few weak sounds around the cloth in her mouth. Scuffling sounds carried through the floor to her ear, and she hoped - prayed - it was Harley.

Voices rose outside the door, and when she heard "my wife" in that low, raspy timbre, she nearly started to cry again. Blinking back the tears she forced herself to breathe slowly, in and out through her nose.
Don't panic.
Footsteps drew near, and she lifted her head to watch the door. The knob turned, but it was her father who stepped into view.

"Was this really necessary, Jared?" He glanced over his shoulder and the guard slipped into the room, bending down as he flipped open a large pocket knife. Before he could cut her bonds, Harley was by her side, elbowing the other man out of the way. He removed the gag from her mouth then went to work on the rope binding her with the knife Jared had relinquished. Once she was free, he helped her up to sit on the bed and knelt before her, rubbing her wrists with strong, warm fingers.

She looked down into those steel blue eyes, surprised by the depth of emotion reflected back. "Thank you," she whispered, her mouth dry from the gag. Without thinking, she reached out to cup the side of his face, and he leaned into her touch, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to her palm.

"Isn't that just sweet. Don't get too attached, son. She doesn't like to stay in one place."
At her father's voice Monica dropped her hand, the moment broken. She tried to reclaim her other hand, but Harley held it firm in his grasp as he rose to face Burns.
"Oh, I don't know," Harley said thoughtfully. "I think she'd put down roots just fine if she felt safe enough. Now why don't you tell us what's really going on here. I think we have a right to know, since you seem intent on dragging us into it."
Burns nodded. "You're right," he said, turning to his bodyguards standing just inside the door. "Make sure we're not disturbed," he said, watching the door shut behind them. He took a seat in a wicker chair by the closet. "You may as well sit down. This could take awhile."
Harley took a seat on the bed, one arm braced casually behind Monica. She looked at her father, not entirely sure if she wanted his explanation, but needing to know.
"For many years now, I've...arranged for unwanted children to be obtained by people who want them. People who are willing to pay a lot of money for the convenience of not having to deal with government red tape, as well as the shortened time frame. The baby who just left is going to a couple who can't have children, and can't adopt due to some, shall we say,
indiscretions
in the mother's former life."
Monica frowned. "So you just give babies to people who aren't fit to adopt the right way? How do you know those kids will get a good life?"
"We don't," he said with a shrug. "I don't do business with pedophiles, and I have someone drop in on the client for a surprise visit sometime within six months of the transaction. After that, we have no further responsibility. Just like adopting a pet."
Her stomach roiling, Monica shook her head. "How can you say that? You're talking about people's lives - children's futures. How can you just sell them to the highest bidder and move on to the next?" Harley stood, pacing near the end of the bed.
Burns leaned forward, propping his forearms on his knees. "Those kids don't have any chance at all without me. We get them from orphanages, desperate mothers, prisoners, drug addicts. Without me, they'd be turned over to child services and probably forgotten in the system or worse, given to foster parents who just want another government check."
"How long," Monica asked, trying to stay calm. So many children had visited when she was young, kids she didn't know who stayed a day or two, and then she never saw again. Could this really have been going on all that time?
He sat back in the chair, scrutinizing her carefully. "You were the first."

Monica stared at her father. Or was he? "I was the first? But you never sold me..." The meaning behind his words sank in, and what little energy she had drained from her muscles. Harley sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her back to support her. "You bought me," she whispered, nausea tickling her stomach. "You're not my real father. Who am I?"

Harley tried to pull her close, but she pushed him away, anger replacing the shock. She got to her feet, the urge to throw things so strong she thought it might tear her apart. With considerable effort she held steady, her arms shaking as she faced the man who'd made her entire life a lie. "Who. Am. I," she repeated.

Burns rose from the chair. "There's no need for hysterics," he said, flashing a smile that somehow didn't seem sincere. "As far as I'm concerned, you're my daughter. That hasn't changed, and never will."

Monica shook her head, looking at the floor. Her thoughts whirled with the ramifications of what he was telling her. She didn't want to be his daughter, and now as it turned out, she wasn't, not really. But where did she come from? Who was her mother, and how much money had she taken in exchange for her child? The noise in her head grew louder, and suddenly the room was too small. She needed air.

"I have to go," she said, moving quickly toward the door. "I need air." She flung the door open and pushed between the bodyguards standing in her way. Vaguely aware of someone calling her name, she bolted out the apartment door, kicked her remaining shoe off and took the stairs two at a time until she reached the ground floor. Ten more steps and she was outside, striding as fast as she could manage toward the other end of the compound. Five minutes later, she found herself standing in front of Harley's mansion, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath and no closer to an answer than she had been. And then she felt it, sharper than it had ever been before.

It was time to leave.
She jogged up the stairs and through the house, waiting impatiently for the elevator to take her down to the basement. She'd use the tunnel Betsy had shown her, and escape into the night. She only hoped her father -
Mr. Burns
- would go easy on Harley after she left.

The corridor was darker than she remembered, and her heart raced, every sound sending another jolt of awareness through her system. Cold seeped through her socks and she swore under her breath, hesitating only a moment to consider going back for shoes. Panic drove her on. Just before she reached the door to the tunnel, her senses went on high alert, and she stopped, peering cautiously down into the near-darkness. "Is someone there?"

A male figure detached from the black wall, moving slowly toward her and blocking her way out. "Just me," Harley said, stopping to look down at her with such concern it brought the tears she'd been fighting to the fore. "I had a feeling you might decide to run. I was hoping I might be able to change your mind." He reached out to touch the side of her face and she batted his hand away. He stepped closer, repeating the gesture. The look on his face was so caring that she allowed it. She didn't want to feel alone anymore, and somehow she knew he'd stay beside her, no matter what.

The tears fell finally, sobs wracking her body as she leaned into his broad chest. His arms curved around her, holding her tight as he pressed a kiss to her temple. Then he was lifting her, carrying her down the hall. She clung to him as he set her gently in the middle of his bed and laid down beside her, pulling a blanket up to cover them both.

As her sobs subsided, Monica loosened her grip on Harley's shirt, resting her fingers against his chest. His heart beat a slow, steady rhythm under her hand and she snuggled closer, her face against the side of his neck. He stroked a hand over her arm and pressed his lips to her forehead before skimming his knuckles lightly across the side of her breast. She looked up into his eyes. The mixture of concern and desire she saw there nearly brought her to tears again.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I don't want to leave, Harley. I want to stay here - with you."
He nodded, leaning close so that his lips were just a breath away from hers. "Then stay," he said, his tongue flicking out just to tease at the corner of her mouth. "Everything will work out. I promise." His mouth closed over hers and she sighed, closing her eyes. His kiss pushed all the bad feelings to the recesses of her mind, and she pulled him closer, hungrily taking everything he offered.
He broke the kiss slowly, nipping and licking at her lips before he used his hands to tilt her head up. He ran his tongue down the center of her throat to lave the hollow at the base. Monica arched up, her body begging for more and he gave it to her, stopping only to draw her shirt over her head, then trailing kisses down the center of her chest and between her breasts. He traced one nipple through her bra with the tip of his finger and she arched up again. "Please, Harley."
He chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending chills of pleasure right down to her core as he pulled the thin fabric aside and sucked the sensitive tip into his mouth. She whimpered, unable to remain still as his other hand slipped between her legs and lightly scraped a blunt fingernail over the front of her jeans. Her hips bucked, and he palmed her breast with one hand as he moved lower, kissing her ribs, her stomach, and exploring her navel with her tongue. She writhed in pleasure, her whole body on fire even as he removed her jeans. Raising her head at the fluttering touch she felt at her ankle, she opened her eyes and looked at her feet to see him kissing his way up her leg, his strong hands kneading the muscles as he went. It was wickedly delicious, and he looked up to meet her eyes. "You are gorgeous, darlin'," he said, his gaze never wavering from hers. He continued up her leg, kissing and kneading until he reached the juncture of her thigh. She watched as he licked his lips, then slowly began to circle the sensitive spot between her legs, flicking her clit and driving her into a frenzy. Her head fell back and she closed her eyes as he took her higher, the heat at her center building with every lick and swirl of his tongue.
Her release came swiftly, her entire body shivering as the shocks rippled under her skin as her head whirled. Harley came up beside her, folding her in his arms and holding her tight from behind until the waves of pleasure subsided. Words to tell him how she felt, what he meant to her drifted through her mind, but she remained silent as he pulled the blanket up over them again. She tried to turn, wanted to give him what he'd given her, but he held her still.
"Shh..." he breathed in her ear, stroking her hair back with one hand. "We'll figure all this out tomorrow. Sleep."

The sound of running water woke Monica the next morning. She stretched her arms overhead and glanced at the partially shut door to the master bathroom. An image of Harley in the shower came to mind, warm water sluicing down his sculpted, naked body as he tilted his head back, running his hands though that long sandy hair. A shiver went through her as she remembered the night before, the horrible news and how Harley had been waiting for her. He'd broken the cycle, stopped her from running. Made it okay to stay.

He'd saved her. Again.
She tossed the covers back and crawled out of bed, pushing back the nagging guilt that she should be more upset about what she'd learned last night. Instead she felt lighter, as if she'd just been released from a dark prison cell. She wasn't Burns' daughter. He had