Page 10 of Vandal Unbound

Chris nods frantically, still gasping for breath.

“Good, now get the fuck out of here.”

The biker then drops him, and Chris crumples to the ground on all fours. He’s sucking in air like he’s been deprived for hours, not seconds.

“I didn’t say sit there,” the biker reminds him. “I saidgo.”

Chris scrambles to his feet, then hurries out of sight of the peephole.

I blow out a breath and wonder what I should do now. But the biker surprises me by gripping hold of the balcony and letting his head drop between his shoulders. I watch the large, embroidered patch on his back that declares him an Iron Outlaw rise and fall as he takes ten deep breaths. I count them, do them with him, even.

Then he takes one last deep breath, stands up tall, straightens his cut, runs a hand through his hair, and then turns.

And I take a large step back from the peephole, because he’s looking straight at it. There’s a mess of scars over his eyebrow in a jagged line. And there is a one-inch strip of hair missing with the most painful-looking scar that runs from one ear to the other over the top of his head.

If it were Halloween, he’d make a good Creature fromFrankenstein.

But his eyes are like molten metal, a steely blue, darkened by circles beneath them. They’re red and bloodshot, and from the slight sway, I’d say he’s drunk.

He’s brutally attractive and the walking dead at the same time.

I don’t know how both things can be true, but they are. And somehow, I know I’m looking at a ruined man.

“Momma?” Elsie asks as I gasp when he raises his hand to the door.

He knocks. Politely. No hammering. “Hey, Elsie. It’s Vandal. You in there?”

I glance at Elsie, but I’m too slow to stop her pressing her face up against the door. “I’m here, Vandal. It’s me, Elsie.”

I step back to the peephole in time to see the corners of his mouth twitch in a smile at her response. He places the palm of his hand on the door and drops his head between his shoulders again.

“You and Sir Bearington Boo Boo Bear are okay now.”

Elsie lifts her face to mine. “Can we open the door so I can say thank you?” she asks in a whispered voice, and the hope in her eyes makes it impossible to say no.

So I reach for the lock and open the door.

And as soon as I do, Elsie charges to him, wraps her hands around Vandal’s leg, and hugs him tightly.

3

VANDAL

It’s hard to decide what to process first.

There’s the warmth of a little human dressed in the cutest pajamas; shorts and a little T-shirt with little cherries on ‘em, squeezing the heck out of my leg. She’s clinging so tight, I feel like I could throw a kick or something and she’d manage to stay connected to me.

Then there’s the fact that I almost tossed a man over a balcony to death. He was a man I didn’t know and had no beef with. And I did it all because a little girl called me, and I couldn’t say no.

There’s also the realization that I rode my bike for the first time since the accident, in spite of the sickening fear that rolled through every part of me. I should give myself some bonus points for that little feat, even though I’m not cleared to ride yet. My vision’s too blurry still and that’s before I’ve had a skinful of whiskey.

And finally, there’s Elsie’s mom. At least, I’m assuming the woman with the prettiest long blonde curls and sharp blue eyes is Daisy. After all, she’s wearing the exact same pajama set as her daughter.

With no bra.

And a great set of tits that fill out the T-shirt to perfection. It’s ribbed, nips her waist, and has a stellar V-neck presenting those pretty titties perfectly.

Once upon a time, I’d have made a quick move to spend some uninterrupted time getting to know them. But whiskey dick, adrenaline, and the spinning and sloshing sensation I get when I move stops any thoughts of that.