Page 7 of Retribution
CHAPTER FOUR
Dakota
“What the …”Dakota shot up from the cool covers while the room spun, and she quickly shrank back down again.
A low moan came out of her dry mouth. Christ, she felt like she’d been hit with a baseball bat a couple of times, wrung through a washing machine, and left out to bake in the sun. As bits and pieces of the afternoon came back, she curled up into a ball on her side. Dakota blinked a few times. How had she gone from the bar to—
“Where the hell am I?” she croaked, trying to thrust all her energy down into her hands so she could scramble up and figure out where she was now.
A ping of distrust went off in the back of her brain. Yeah, this wasn’t good. Not. At. All. Despite the fact that her joints and muscles seemed to ache everywhere, she pried herself off the bed and managed to make it over to the scratched up table and chair set in the corner. A quick internal inventory later, and she didn’t think whoever had brought her here had any time to do what they wanted to her, considering she still had on all of her clothes.
When a throbbing headache stabbed in the back of her brain, it took everything inside her not to scream. It was all too much. The whole damn day, all of it from start to finish had been a complete and total bust. If this was a signal as to how the rest of her life would go from here on out, then there wasn’t anywhere she could run where her shitty luck wouldn’t follow.
Dakota ran her fingers through her hair, wincing as they tugged through the tangles. She glanced back at the bed and saw her backpack on the nightstand. Just as she was ready to walk over and make sure nothing was taken from it, she heard running water. Adrenaline licked through her as she grasped the arm of the chair. When the water shut off, her eyes snapped to the closed door to the left of the bed. The bathroom. She inhaled and exhaled quickly. There were a couple of options as to who could be behind door number one, and Dakota struggled with the idea of even bothering to find out. If she was smart, she would get the hell out of there before the guy came out and forced her to stay.
Her fingers tightened on the laminated armrest, and she wobbled in place while trying to stop the world from getting on a giant roller coaster of sensory overload. Dakota moved the dusty curtains and peeked outside. It was dark.I’ve been out for a while. How the fuck did I wind up here?
Then the bathroom door burst open and Dakota whirled around and gasped. In the door jamb was the good-looking biker. His hand went to the towel around his waist and he didn’t say a word.
They stared at each other across the small space. Despite her mental, physical, and emotional upheaval, something pulled tight down the line of her body as she blinked a few times and quickly shook her head. But that only made the vertigo worse and she whimpered and hung her head.
“Fuck, stop breaking yourself.” He was next to her in what seemed like less than a second, his still damp hand supporting her elbows as she hunched over the chair feeling like she was going to faint all over again. “Follow me.”
Dakota was useless as he led her back to the bed and set her up so she was lying on a mound of pillows while he clung to that awfully small towel. The biker made taking care of her seem like it was second nature, like they weren’t strangers. Drops of water from his damp hair settled across her clothing and sank into her skin.
“Why did you bring me here? What the hell happened?”
Despite the fact that they kept eye contact, he said nothing. His emotions remained completely in check and his face gave nothing away—a blank slate. The least he could do was give her the rundown while she was pathetic and reeling. Instead, he threw a fast food bag in her lap, then strode back into the bathroom and shut the door.
“When you come out of there, I expect answers, biker boy,” she said.
Silence from behind the door.
“You have to come out some time.”
More silence.
Images of his finely chiseled chest with a smattering of hair covering it burned into her brain. Dakota shut her eyes and clenched her jaw. Yeah, like sheer stubbornness could clear away the stab of arousal that coursed beneath her skin.This is a crock of shit. So he has a good body. No reason to get all hot and bothered by it.With a sigh, she dug one hand through the crinkly paper bag and pulled out a wrapped burger. Food didn’t sound great with the stomachache, but maybe it would clear up whatever fog bogged down her head.
She took a tentative bite and then a few more while her eyes stayed glued on the door. Finally it opened, and his gaze ran over her, taking in the crumpled wrapper in her lap and the soggy, cold fries being shoved in her mouth.
“Good.”
That was it? Dakota cocked her head, and while chewing on the fries, she was pleased to note that whatever worked its way into her system was currently on the move, now that she had food in her stomach. She supposed it must be similar to a hangover.
“Start talking,” she said. Another handful of fries went into her mouth as she shifted on the bed.
Two could play at this game. He wanted to be all dark and brooding and a man of mystery? Well, he would serve up what she wanted to know whether he liked it or not because she wasn’t going to let up until he started talking. Even if he was a man of little words, he owed her some answers. She wasn’t above asking nicely, but so far that didn’t seem to be a tactic that would get her anywhere with him.
“Whaddaya want to know?”
The biker lounged against the dresser across from the bed and shoved his hands deep into his jeans’ pockets. His jaw jutted out when she didn’t answer right away.
“Tell me everything.” She threw the burger wrapper into the plastic bin across the room and was way too stoked when the wadded up ball went around the rim before sinking into the trashcan. “I don’t have forever, you know.”
“Oh, you got somewhere to be now?” He snorted as if the idea was nuts.
“Why would that be so unbelievable?” Dakota curled her legs to her chest, and the quick movement made her head swim as she closed her eyes to try and shut out the disorientation. “You don’t know anything about me.”
