Page 2 of The Big Bad's Claim
“Listen carefully, girl. The Waywards can protect you against whatever’s hunting you, but they have a price. It’s never about money. They make money in other ways. Blaise will take one look at you, and he’ll know what you value the most. And he will want it.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “I suggest you think hard about it. Blaise is generous with granting wishes, but he’s not the captain of the club for nothing. He will want your very soul for it.”
Steps stomp down the corridor to my left, making me almost jump out of my skin. When I look back at the bartender, she’s wiping her glasses once more. I rake my brain for another way to solve this, another solution, but nothing comes.
I close my hands into fists. “I’m sure.”
She shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Down the corridor, last door to the right.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, but she goes about her business, ignoring me. I make my way down the corridor, my heart galloping in my chest until I’m out of breath all over again. The last door to the right is closed, so I raise a fist and knock.
The floorboards behind it creak. Heavy steps bring someone closer, and I square my shoulders, getting myself ready for the man who opens the door.
No matter how long I prepare, it’s not enough. The sight of him still shakes me to my core.
Taller than the door itself, broader than it, too. The man standing there is so huge a shiver of fear races down my spine. I crane my neck, tilting my head all the way back to meet eyes so blue they shimmer in the near-darkness of the shadows. Tousled dark hair curling around his ears, and a five-o’clock shadow across his chin. He looks unreasonably gorgeous for someone in a motorcycle club.
But he’s as muscular as I’d expect, his black shirt barely winning the battle around his massive biceps. The man is so bulky I bet the most extra-large shirt out there would still struggle to fit him. He could grab me with one hand and throw me out of the club in one swift motion.
Our gazes lock. He looks utterly bored.
“What?” he barks in a hoarse, low voice that should not make me tremble with newly-discovered lust.What?
“My... My name is Kenna Jordan. I’m a cashier at a grocery store downtown, but I live a couple of blocks from here...” Oh, my God, why am I running my mouth? Nerves make my eyes water, but then the scent of musk and sweat, something entirely too male, hits me, and my mouth waters. I’m at the most confusing point in my life. Frightened and aroused, all at the same time.
“What do you want?” he barks again, cutting me in.
I clamp my mouth shut, then gape down at my feet. “I need protection.”
He takes a beat, then another. I can’t bear looking up at him, so I keep staring at my feet. Finally, he steps away from the door. “Come inside.”
I do, scurrying into the room like a scaredy cat. To avoid him, I glance at the furniture—mismatched as the hall outside, a desk littered with paper sheets, a chair, and a couple of filing cabinets. The door clicks shut behind me, and I steel my spine. His presence grows, a huge, embracing shadow. I should not want to lean into him, but for some reason, I have to physically struggle against the impulse.
“What do you need protection from?” he asks.
I whirl around, gazing up at him. His brows are lowered, but I don’t think he’s kicking me out just yet. “My boyfriend,” I blurt out. A muscle in his jaw flutters. Am I already boring him? “I walked in when he wasn’t aware, and I overheard him on the phone. He was talking to a client. They wanted him to kill someone. He had a pistol.”
His brows rise a quarter of an inch, almost imperceptible. “Your boyfriend is a hitman?”
I nod. “I ran, but I don’t know if he heard me leaving. And if he did, he’ll come after me.”
“He will,” the mysterious man replies, nodding. “And he will definitely kill you. If he’s a half-decent hitman, no one will ever find your body.”
Holy cow, thank you so much for the image. My body shakes again, and I slam my eyes shut. “Please, help me,” I squeak out, gaping into the darkness of the inside of my eyelids.
The man stands in heavy silence for several beats of my pumping heart. What is he going to say? Will he throw me into the street? I couldn’t judge him. He’s getting himself into trouble because of me. And what if he accepts? What if he takes me in, lets me stay, and promises to keep me safe?
What is he going to want in exchange?
The woman outside warned me—they will want my very soul. That’s how the Waywards work. Nothing comes for free in the world, and nothing would in a motorcycle club known for its violence.
I peek through an eye to find the man staring at me, his blue eyes darkening. And for a moment I can swear we share something as if he could read me, as if he could see something inside me no one else can...
“Fine,” he roars, whirling around for the door again. “Come with me. I’ll get you a room.” He opens the door, then pauses, shooting me an icy look over his shoulder. The blue eyes I had been admiring a moment ago have turned as cold as a frozen lake. “And you will not leave the room.”
I swallow hard. “Okay. Thanks.” He hasn’t mentioned a price, and yet, that brings me no relief. “What’s your name?”
His shoulders tighten an inch as he takes the lead. “Call me Blaise.”
A knot grows in my throat, but I don’t dare say anything else. Something tells me I might have escaped one nightmare just to fall straight into another.
