The Biker's Paid Obsession

The Note

Elizabeth

Three days have passed since Christmas, and today is the day my visit with Logan is scheduled. I should have refused the appointment, but I took it instead. There wasn't another option anyway.

I spend half the afternoon scrounging the internet for information about him. I don't find much, just the many times he has gone to trial for murder and drug dealing, only to emerge innocent each time. He's currently awaiting trial after being accused of shooting dead a man seven months ago. His mugshot is the only picture of him online, and he looks better in it than he looked when I saw him in person. The other half of the afternoon is spent begging Mia to come home, but it's in vain.

When it's almost time for the appointment, I run a quick bath and prepare myself.

I wear an even shorter dress today, along with a pair of boot stilettos, which I later switch for a pair that's easier to remove. As per routine, I paint my lips red and wear my hair down, dabbing a seductive scent behind my ears and against my wrists.

It's a slow drive to the facility. I replay all sorts of ways the visit could go until I get there. I look at my face once more and adjust my hair before sliding out of the car and walking to the reception.

“It's a surprise to have you back,” the warder from last time says. “He doesn't call the same lady twice. He uses and discards.”

It seems as if she was out here waiting just for me because we skip reception and walk right down the hallway.

I force a laugh. “There’s always a first time for everything, I guess.”

“Surely.”

We stop at the same door as last time and I suck in a deep breath as she works the lock. She pushes the door open, and I square my shoulders, walking inside like I want to be here.

“Good to see you again,” he greets as the door shuts, leaning against one wall.

I force a smile. “The pleasure is mine.”

During the last visit, I was the one towering over him, and that gave me some confidence. Today ,however, his tall, and masculine figure towers over me, making me hyper-aware of my 5’4” frame.

“I didn't think you'd come,” he says.

“I didn't think you'd request me again,” I reply.

“Fair,” he says, pushing himself off the wall. “Let's get started.”

“What would you like today?”

He scratches his thick beard as if thinking. “Lose that dress.”

I oblige, slipping out of the dress but leaving my stilettos on this time. I don't want to feel any smaller.

The way his eyes rake over my body now is different. Last time, his gaze was searching, almost confused. Today, there's something different there, something I can't quite place.

He covers the space between us with just two steps, and orders me to turn around.

Like a puppet, I do. My buttocks brush against him, and that alone sends a shiver up my spine. What am I doing? Giving him my back when my plan was to watch his every move feels like betrayal of myself. If all the accusations against him are true, he could do anything to me right now. He could kill me.

My chain of thought evaporates when he palms my chin, tilting my head. I feel his breath against my exposed neck before his lips touch it. They linger there as his hand slides under my panties. I frown when his fingers slip between my buttocks, and then withdraw almost immediately.

“There's a note between your buttocks, Elizabeth,” he whispers, his lips trailing soft kisses along my neck. “On one side of it is an address to a café. Sit in the booth in the right corner. Someone will come and get the note from you. He must show you a sun tattoo in red ink on his wrist. Turn around and kiss me if you understand.”

Smart. If my guess is correct, he did this to evade the CCTV camera in the corner of the room, the one I'm facing. Anyone watching would think it's just two people being intimate.

Even though I struggle to focus on his words rather than his trail of kisses, I turn around and place my lips to his. I hesitate, waiting for his response, because even though I want to kiss him badly, I'm afraid to. He parts my lips and pulls me into the kiss. It's hungry, electric, sending sparks through my system. His hands find my breasts, mine clutch his hair, my body begging for more. I've never felt this way kissing a client. Lord knows I don't even kiss half of them.

He pulls away when I reach for the zipper of his jail pants, and I instantly regret the move.

“Get covered. We only have a few minutes until the designated time is over. I was only allowed ten minutes today,” he says, resuming his earlier position against the wall.

All I manage is a nod. I slip back into my dress and sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for the minutes to pass.

“How do you get two visits in just a week?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“This is jail, Elizabeth,” he says. “Not prison. Until I'm proven guilty and convicted, I have a few privileges.”

I'm about to ask if he's guilty when I hear the now familiar sound of metal against metal as the warder unlocks the door.

I don't say a word as I walk out, my buttocks clenched to keep the note in place.

In the car, I pull the note out. It's folded several times. When I unfold it, I see what's written. Just like he said, there's an address on one side and a message on the other. It's coded, and I can't decipher a single part of it.

Below the address is the time that I'm supposed to meet the man. I have at most thirty minutes to get there, and if I start driving now, I'll make it.

I pull out of the parking lot and head straight to the café, spraying deodorant over the note to mask any scent. As instructed, I find the booth and slide into it, waiting.

A few minutes pass before someone joins me, and it's not just anyone.

“Anthony?”

“Elizabeth,” he says, sliding into the seat across from me. He doesn't look nearly as shocked to see me as I feel.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, certain he saw me from a distance and decided to come over.

He rolls up the sleeve of his sweater, exposing the tattoo Logan described earlier.

I can't contain my shock as I slide the note across the table. He picks it up and reads silently before lifting his gaze back to me.

“Ask away,” he says, clearly reading my expression.

“Did you know I'd be the one making the delivery?”

“I was only given a name,” he says. “So I'm as shocked as you are. I just hide it better.”

“That tattoo… are you…”

“A member of the Ironshade Reapers?” he finishes. “Of course.”

“Wow,” I say, already preparing to leave. I can't involve myself with these people. They're dangerous.

“Coffee?” He asks.

I shake my head. “I need to get home.”

With that, I leave without looking back.