Exploited (The Dark Redemption Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

says he’s considering breaking all the bones in my hand as punishment for daring to touch his baby. Instead of running away, I hold his icy blue gaze as he comes closer and lift my chin. Someone should punish me. I deserve to be beaten bloody and left for dead after what I’ve done. Why not let him do it? It would save me from having to do it myself.
    When he simply continues to stare at me, only a foot of space between us, I place the plastic bag containing my new gun into my kitty messenger bag before I do the unthinkable. Something completely out of character for the old, scaredy-cat Blair. New Blair, the courageous one, who only has a few hours left before she blows her brains out, turns around, grabs the handlebar and throws her leg over the leather seat. And then, because I can’t prevent it, I smile. The expression on the big, bad dude’s face is too funny, a mixture of shock and rage. There’s also what could be lust; but since I haven’t ever been around many normal men before, I could be wrong.
    “Are you out of your fucking mind, little girl?” he finally asks, making me want to giggle since he hit the bullseye. I am out of my fucking mind. The words are there, right on the tip of my tongue. Having never said a swear word or any word, for that matter, in over ten years, the urge to do so in this moment is so strong I barely resist. I want to say fuck and say it often, especially when referring to my own mental health.
    I am royally fucked up in the head. There’s no other way to describe it. 
    “Get the fuck off my bike!” the man roars. He’s definitely a man who uses the F-word a lot, I bet, reminding me of the dirty talking sailor from last night. It must be nice, freeing, to be able to say whatever you want. That’s not a pleasure I’ll ever know since the last time I spoke ended with my mother being brutally murdered in front of me, during which I screamed until my throat was so sore I couldn’t decipher my screams from hers. 
    Right now, I should probably be afraid of this man’s threatening tone, but the look on his brutal face has softened; and I’m not sure how, but I just know that he’s not really upset. He’s amused and…something else. Likely annoyed because I didn’t follow his command. It’s hard to tell since all the brown fuzz covers his mouth and the lower half of his face, blocking most of his expression. My theory that he’s annoyed is confirmed when he flicks his cigarette, stomping it out with his boot before his hands go to his hips, and he blows out a frustrated breath.
    “Fine, you want a ride, sweetheart? I’ll give you a fucking ride.” With that pronouncement, he strolls over with the casual gait of a confident, ruthless predator. “Move,” he says with a raised eyebrow, pointing to the padded passenger seat behind me. I squirm backward until my back hits the bar, and then I watch in awe as he throws his long, denim leg over the seat in one swift, sexy move.
    Sexy ? Scary, yes. But sexy? I guess I have a fetish for bearded bikers in leather. Oooh! I wonder if he has any tattoos! I could ask him…
    “You better hang on tight, little girl,” he says over his shoulder before he stands up and jumps. The powerful machine under my ass sputters to life. Not wanting to get thrown off, I wrap my arms around his waist, trying to get a good grip on the smooth material of his jacket. Giving up, I clasp my hands together. Only when he guns the engine, pulling away from the curb, do I realize neither of us is wearing helmets. Which for me is not a big deal. I would guess that cracking my head on the pavement would be a quick, painless way to die. But for him, does he have a death wish too?
    I answer my question a few minutes later based on the speed and recklessness at which the man drives. Maybe he’s trying to scare me into crying Uncle, fearing for my life. He’s obviously underestimated my own value of self-worth. Besides, riding with him is freaking amazing! I