“I know you,” I breathed.
A sly grin curved at the edges of his lips. “I can assure you, ballerina girl, you don’t know me at all.”
A shiver traveled down my spine, my throat dry. I heard the threat in his voice as clearly as I saw the promise in his eyes all those nights he stared back up at me standing by my window.
I swallowed hard. “Wha…what is going on? Why am I here?” My voice was nothing more than a shaky whisper.
He didn’t answer. He just kept staring at me, a half-smile plastered on his face. With his cold, hard gaze pinned on mine, pure malice oozing out of every pore, it crossed my mind that maybe I had been naïve dreaming about my stranger in the dark. Maybe he didn’t come for me with the intent of whisking me away on his motorcycle while butterflies and romance followed us for the rest of our super happy life. Because there was nothing romantic about this moment, nothing dreamy about the way he stared at me. Everything was wrong, not like I had imagined it at all. I wasn’t supposed to be afraid of him, but I was. I really was. Under his scrutinizing gaze, there was nothing but uncertainty while my heart raced with panic. My skin was cold, yet damp. My palms sweaty while the rope cut into my wrists.
“Why am I here?”
He cocked his head, wild curls framing his face. “I think you know.”
“I don’t.” I could barely swallow, my throat was so dry.
“Oh, I think you do.”
“I really don’t.”
“Then you’ll find out soon enough.”
The sight of him before me, so close—so damn close, made it impossible for me to look away. For so long I’d wanted to look into his eyes, to finally know what it would feel like to be this close to him. But I never could have imagined fear would be among my emotions.
He moved closer, my heart beating faster with every step he took. I noticed the tag on his cut.President. And another tag below it.Blood Brothers.
I was right. He was the leader. Of course, he was. Even little, innocent me could spot his dominance and authority a mile away in the fucking dark.
His eyes never once left mine as he continued toward me, stopping a few feet away, putting his thick, denim-clad thighs right in my view. From out of nowhere, a flush of heat swept through my chest and up my neck, and I prayed to God my skin wouldn’t turn red.
He crouched down in front of me, and we were eye-to-eye. “It was only a matter of time, ballerina girl.”
“What are you talking about?” I struggled to keep his gaze, my fear urging me to look away. To look down. Anything to show I wasn’t a threat.
He just smiled, not answering my question.
I swallowed hard. “Why do you call me that?”
“That’s what you are, right? A ballerina. That’s what you do.” His gaze raked down my neck before looking back up. “You dance.”
“How do you know?” My voice was almost a whisper, my tied hands shaking in my lap.
He smiled. “There ain’t nothing about this town I don’t know, sweetheart. Especially when it comes to the police commissioner’s daughter.”
I didn’t know why it shocked me. Why him knowing who I was twisted my insides into a thousand little knots. Of course, he knew me. He had weekly dealings with my father. It was only natural to have assumed he knew who I was—who my father was. Really. Why the fuck was I shocked?
I cleared my throat. “Well, since you know who I am, why don’t you show me the same courtesy by telling me who you are?”
He leaned forward, and the rich, earthy scent of sandalwood mixed with the sharp smell of alcohol enclosed me, assaulting my senses, and if it wasn’t for the fear his presence evoked, I would have easily lost myself in it.
His dark eyebrows twitched, his mustache moving with his lips. “I’m the man you’ve been wanting to meet for a very long time.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” A little courage decided to come out of nowhere, and I remained stoic.
He snorted, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t say anything. The next sound I heard was that of the rope around my wrists as he cut through it effortlessly with a knife. The glint of the blade in his hand startled me, and I jerked back. He grabbed my leg, wrapping his long, strong fingers around my calf. “Don’t,” he warned, his face stone, eyes flinty. For a moment, he tightened his grip around my leg, until I sat up straight, my hands at my sides in surrender.
He let go of my leg. “If you try to run, these ropes go back on, and I’ll tie you to the goddamn bed. And believe me,” he cut the rope around my ankles, “in a house full of mean motherfucking bikers, you do not want to be tied to a goddamn bedpost. Feel me?”
I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth and nodded.