Wild Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 2) Read Free Page B

find—hypodermics, IV bags, medicines, gloves, tubing.
    “If you told me what you were looking to fix,” said Helen, “I could help you pick more carefully. It’s not all going to fit in that bag.”
    She was serious; she’d tell him what he needed. Too much gone from an ambulance meant a drop in funding for other parts of the hospital, and they couldn’t afford that. Helen didn't need a pay cut, that was for sure.
    On top of that, there was still that impulse to help. She knew this man, and though he wasn't being particularly friendly, her desire to make him feel good was surprisingly strong.
    Beretta had been with her, had been inside her (and god , hadn't that been beautiful?), and so she wanted to do right by him even if it was clearly the wrong thing to do.
    He was just as breathtaking as she remembered from six months before. Thick lines of ink ran down from his neck across his bare arms. Arms as thick as tree trunks, rippling with huge, hard muscle. But he didn't respond; he just opened another bag and stuffed that one too.
    When that one was full, he seemed satisfied.
    “I have to go back in,” she said. “They’ll be missing me inside. I’m just on break.”
    He nodded, not seeming to listen. He took out a length of tube from the storage bay.
    “Hands.”
    “You can’t be serious, Beretta.”
    “Give me your fucking hands or I’ll break them off.”
    She gulped, sticking out her hands. The thought occurred to her, very slowly, that he was a criminal doing a criminal's business. She had seen him doing what he did and that made her a liability. In just a few seconds, he had tied her hands tight and her fingertips started going numb.
    He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her over his shoulder. Easy as that. Like she was a sack of potatoes.
    “Say a word and I’ll make you regret it.”
    This had escalated quickly. The chemicals of that animalistic, physical attraction between them were making it hard to process, hard to think clearly. Now that her hands were tied and she was immobilized on his shoulder, everything that she should have done rushed at her.
    Why hadn’t she been fighting this whole time? Why hadn’t she been trying to palm some scalpel, sneak away a shot of morphine to jab deep into his neck?
    But no. Like an idiot, she’d just watched him like a panther prowling in a zoo, assuming he’d take what he needed and let her go.
    Maybe call you later. Maybe apologize. Maybe ask if you still wanted another ride on his “motorcycle” for the road. Maybe see if you wanted to talk things over and explain yourself. You stupid, stupid woman. What did you think was going to happen?
    Now she squirmed, now she fought.
    “Let me go!” she screamed. “Help! Someone help! You put me down!”
    He sighed, dropping her down and taking her by the neck. “I’m a man of my word, Helen. You’ll see.”
    His hand clasped over her face, cutting off her air, and everything went dark.

Chapter 3
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    H elen Kowalsky.
    Her name was on her name tag on her scrubs, but of course he'd known her anyway.
    Over the last six months, he'd done a whole lot of his best to forget her, as a matter of fact. She had never been part of the plan—and man, had she ever made that clear to him.
    He searched her body as she was unconscious, wishing like hell he'd met her again under different circumstances. Every fingertip on her luscious curves, her sweet skin, was like a steroid injection straight to his crotch, making every part of him strain with ache and need.
    She was beautiful. She had always been beautiful. Her breasts, so full and firm; her hips so sexy and wide. It was all coming back to him now in a rush.
    Helen left him. She had vetoed his right to touch her like this—to know her in the ways only he knew her. But that didn't mean he didn't want it still. Because having his hands on her so sudden, so soon after seeing her again, all he could think of was undressing her and having his way