Chapter 6 FIVE

Shortly after the hunk went inside, Rhian took some minutes and finally gathered up the courage to call her family for help, and discovered promptly that her phone was, of course, out of power. As a result, she decided that the best course of action would be to ask the diner for theirs.

Would that there was one person in Binan she knew and trusted outside of her family. But growing up under John Colt, it had been tough to make friends, and other people spare few she had made had all moved off from Binan. Rhian preserved with them online, but that was all.

Only seconds after entering the diner, she felt the presence of that big hunk again-Grim-and smelled the characteristic scent he sported. it absolutely was masculine and heated, a major musk that made her give some thought to long open roads and wild, sensational nights of hard loving.

She had almost just caught the eye of the waitress behind the counter when, moments after sensing his nearness, Grim gathered her under one arm and swept her to the far end of the counter, speaking during a coffee voice.

"I'd really appreciate it if you'll assist me with something here."

Rhian wasn't sure the simplest way to react initially. His arms were thick and muscled, and his strong scent filled her entire head. As in asphalt and oil, or fire and stone.

"Take a look," Rhian said. "I don't even know who you're, so why don't you take your hands off my shoulders?" "

Grim gave a disarming smile. "All right, yeah. How does that sound? "

"Exactly what do you want?"

"I need you to need on the role of my girl for an extended time."

"Is she your girl?" Rhian grinned. "Are you still in high school?"

"It's critical, all right?" He made alittle motion together with his head. "My father is standing over there. He's barely...obnoxious. do i recognize the type? "

Rhian did it. She gave a nod.

"Okay. So you'd be really helping me out if you pretended to be my girl. just for a flash. Okay, I'll make it up to you. "

"Can you create it up to me?" "

"Sure. Set your own price. Anything. Simply...do this on behalf of me. Please."

There were a slew of fine reasons to say no. To shove something in his face, to splatter water on him for yanking her so forcefully to a minimum of one side of the diner. A dozen reasons to abandon him to the lions and let him figure it out on his own.

But something-whether it had been the twinkle in his eye, the thick shape of his muscled frame under his shirt, the scent he emanate, or something else entirely-made her disregard all of those reasons.

"All right," she said. "What's the harm?" "

Rhian didn't live a risky life. She was a student of the subject area. This meant lots of studying and writing. It meant carefully examining every special approach presented to her by her professors and work, savoring each detail and reading all action until she knew-in sum-that it absolutely was perfect.

So, as she walked to the bar's corner, Grim's hand suddenly wrapped possessively around her waist, she tried very hard to both convince herself to run and to silence every thought that convinced her to run.

Every man Grim led her to was bearded, muscled, and looked as if it would be a manslayer. the type who portrayed heinous men on television and in movies. She tried to chastise herself for stereotyping them, but it didn't remove the sinking in her stomach as their gaze swept up and down her body.

Each one was drenched in ink. Wild primal animals shifting and grappling across their forearms and biceps, skulls on their necks, gravestones on their shoulders.

Grim's tattoos had the most impact on her-a string of skulls down his arm, the ink so clear and hot against the dense muscles just beneath his tanned skin. Those had a different effect on her than the others; she was drawn to them rather than repulsed by them.

Her resolve hardened as she remembered her father's expression upon learning of her sitting with such men.

"So," Grim said. "This is Rhian, my old lady. These are my brothers, Rhian," he said, pointing to them. "Mitch. Doug. Rude. As well as Blade."

That touched a nerve with Rhian. "Old lady," was a specific term with which she was only vaguely familiar. But, as far as she could tell, it meant she wasn't just pretending to be his girl...but his property.

He claimed it.

Her spine tingled with a hot shiver at the thought.

She tried to keep her cool. "Who are your brothers?"

Blade was obviously related to Grim in some way. Perhaps an uncle, or even his father.

"We're in a motorcycle club together," Mitch, the person closest to her, explained. "Do you remember, Rhian?" "

"Right," Rhian said, trying to conceal her surprise at Mitch's apparent cooperation in this scheme.

If Grim was taken aback by what Mitch said, he kept it to himself.

Everything about the biker lifestyle was completely disconnected from her existence. Her father had ensured it. He hadn't wanted her to go to Calamba for college-in fact, he hadn't wanted her to go to college at all-but he frequently cited one advantage: she wasn't around all the bikers in Binan.

Rhian began her rebellion against her parents' oppressive, helicopter ways late in her adolescence, around the age of sixteen. She smoked cigarettes for a short time before quitting a few years ago. She became a vegetarian, then a vegan, abandoning both prospects in Calamba when the available food was too delicious to pass up. She wore tight skirts and baggy blouses and dated a guy from the chess club, all of which her parents despised.

Nonetheless, she carried many of their prejudices, bad habits, and incorrect ideas. Until a year ago, she was convinced that only criminals used public transportation on a regular basis. When her friends found out, they laughed for about thirty minutes.

It wasn't that she was trying to be stupid; it was just that everyone had so many assumptions that it was easy for her to have her own and not have them challenged by reality. Her one saving grace was that she was happy to correct herself when she realized she was wrong about such things.

As a result, these tough men, now smiling gently at her, didn't strike her as all that bad. Her father could have been wrong about them as well.

"You knew about her?" Rude asked Mitch.

"Sure," said Mitch, smiling low at Grim. "Grim and I don't and will never keep secrets from one another. No matter how big. Do we?"

Grim gave him back the same smile. "No, Mitch. We don't. That's right."

"How long have you been together?" asked Blade.

"Four months," said Rhian, at the same time Grim said, "Six months."

They exchanged a glance. Rhian reddened. "Four to six months, something like that."

When they sat down, Grim had put his arm around Rhian. He tightened his grip there now. Rhian felt warmth blossoming in her chest, a blush that felt uncontrollable. She felt a small sense of relief that she had worn a t-shirt with a higher neckline; normally, her blouses crept up from her breasts and around her neck.

Her hand had fallen into Grim's lap, near one knee, without her realizing it. This strange conversation, combined with his sex appeal, had her hand sliding up and down the inside of his thigh.

She didn't stop now that she'd noticed it. Wasn't she supposed to be his girlfriend?

She'd never stop touching him if she was his girl.

And if she was an old lady, she might never stop doing much more.

"How did you two meet?"

"In Calamba," Rhian blurted out, unable to keep her mouth shut. "I saw his bike and felt compelled to introduce myself."

"The call of the hog," Doug acknowledged with a knowing nod. "Every time, he swings the gate open wide for the sows."

Mitch turned to the waitress and asked for a refill on his coffee.

The bikers continued to talk, but Rhian's eyes widened. She was certain her skin had turned pale. Someone passing by would undoubtedly comment that she had seen ghosts and that there were a swarm of horses galloping on her grave.

Because, for the first time, she saw what was on the back of Mitch's vest-what was undoubtedly on the back of all the vests of these men she had chosen to associate with.

It's an insignia. A flaming background with a heavily chained half-man, half-robot. And beneath that, the name of their Club.

Beat Machines.

These were the Beat Machines she sat with. She didn't know much about bikers, she didn't know anything about cars, and she was full of misinformation about the dangers of living in a big city. But she was certain she knew who the Beat Machines were-an outlaw biker gang.

And they were assassins. Every single one of them.