Lock and Key Read Online Free PDF Page A

hideous glory.
    No. No. NO.
    Tattooed on Miller’s back was the logo that had been forever burned into my brain, branded on my heart, and scorched onto my soul from a very young age. I struggled for air. My bleary eyes took in the familiar lines of the skull with one eye socket enlarged, and a great star glowing its devilish light from its blackened hollow. The leering skull was framed by that indelible name.
    The One-Eyed Jacks Motorcycle Club, Meager, SD.
    My stomach caved in as if I had been punched, my mouth went dry, and icy darts shot down my spine.
    “Holy shit,” my voice broke. I clenched my jaw to stem the sour tide that rose in my throat.
    “Get gone!”
    My eyes widened as a voice from my past, from inside the deepest recesses of my soul, resounded in my brain and pummeled through my chest.
    “Get gone now, sweetheart!”
    “‘Miller,’ my ass,” I whispered to myself.
    We even had the goddamn Harley conversation, and he didn’t mention he rode, or that he had a bike… nothing. He didn’t even use it to get down my pants. Now that was impressive, Mr. Miller, or whatever your road name is. I sure was easy, wasn’t I?
    I gritted my teeth. Of course, this was all my fault. As if I hadn’t known when I first laid eyes on him: Here was biker material, here was all man. This was the kind of man I hadn’t let myself get close to in years. Was the attraction so overwhelming that I kicked all my logic out the door at the sight of him? Was I so much in denial about what made me tick? Obviously, the answer to those questions was a resounding “yes.”
    My eyes fell on the eagle ring on his finger. I knew I’d seen that very same ring before on someone else in the good old days. My instinct had warned me last night, but I had brushed it off in the name of hot sex. Such an idiot. I had plummeted headlong into the very thing I had wanted above all else to avoid.
    I had to get out of here. I had to get away from him. I eased up off the mattress and twisted my hair into a messy knot securing it with a band.
    There had been a sign at the entrance of the bar that declared “No Colors.” Any bikers who entered had to cover or remove their cuts, the leather vests they always wore with their club patches, or not wear jackets that were marked with the same identifying patches. Dead Ringer’s Roadhouse was on the main highway, plenty of riders passed through here, and no doubt the owner wanted to avoid any trouble.
    Therefore Miller had himself covered up. But he was driving a cage—a vehicle, not a bike. He must have been on a run of some kind, making a delivery or a pickup somewhere under the radar. If you were in a cage you weren’t supposed to wear your cut, which was mandatory gear on your bike.
    Miller had probably stopped at the bar to take a leak and a get a drink on his way home or on his way out. No, if he had time to spare to get laid he must have been on his way home to Meager. He had even pointed out his truck to me last night as we crossed through the parking lot on the way to the motel. I had actually smiled at the sight of his black GMC.
    Get gone now.
    I stuffed my duffel bag with the makeup, face cleanser, body lotion, deodorant, and perfume that I had scattered on the small bathroom counter. I dashed to my jeans that lay twisted on the floor and yanked them up my legs, not even bothering with looking for my missing panties. My bra poked out from under Miller’s jeans, and I snatched it up and hooked it on my back… that I couldn’t do without. I nabbed my socks and boots and shoved them on. My crumpled t-shirt reeked of last night’s indulgences. I shoved it in my bag and plucked a fresh one and stretched it over my head and through my arms.
    The heel of my boot stepped on something unusually thick. My gaze darted down. A black leather vest, his cut with the club’s logo on it, was stuffed inside his black hoodie.
    I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
    Part of a silver and black patch