Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(42)

Chapter Fourteen

McGyvering

As I lay on my side on a floor in the dark with my hands bound behind my back, my ankles also bound together, instead of freaking out and visualizing all the possibilities that would bring about what might be my imminent torture, violation and death, I took this time to reflect on why I had never married and why I fell in love with Tack over tequila and sex.

I did this because I wanted to think about Tack who was big and he was strong and he made me feel safe (when he wasn’t making me feel unsafe) but mostly he made me feel alive. If there was nothing else to be said about Kane “Tack” Allen, he made me feel alive. Every minute I spent with him from his initial, “Hey,” to when he kissed me hard and wet and long before he left me that morning, I felt tingling. I felt excitement. I felt fear. I felt pleasure. I felt warmth. And I felt anger. I laughed. I wanted to yell so badly it made me want to explode. I wanted to cry so badly it hurt not to do it.

And I’d been one hundred percent alive through all of it.

What I did not want to think about was where Lanie and Aunt Bette were because they were not with me. And also I did not want to think about where I was. And further I did not think of why I might be there. And lastly I did not think about what might become of me because I was worried that what might become of me was that I wouldn’t be alive anymore.

Instead, I forced my mind to Tack, a man who was not perfect.

But he’d seemed that way when I met him. He was everything my mind had made up in my daydreams of the man I wanted to be mine since I was fourteen and started having them.

He was handsome. He was strong. He had a beautiful voice and an even more beautiful laugh. And he laughed a lot. He had a light touch and he had a sweet touch and he had a sexy touch. He drank tequila like it was water and ate roasted hog sandwiches like they tasted as good as the finest fillet mignon. And when I had his attention, I had all of it. That night at the Chaos party, he made me feel like I was the only one there. He made me feel funny and interesting and beautiful. And when he took me to his bed, he made me feel a lot of other things that were even better.

It felt like, all my life, I’d been living in black and white and didn’t realize it and suddenly, across a rowdy biker party, I saw this man and the world filled with vibrant color. It didn’t leach in slowly. It slammed in with a kapow!

I didn’t know that was what I was looking for. I just knew I wasn’t going to settle for anything less, not anything less than perfect. I was going to find the man of my daydreams and nothing else would do. So I never got married because I never found him, no one ever brought that color into my life.

Until Tack.

And lying on my side in the dark, bound, I realized that color shot back through my life every time he was filling it. It muted and trickled away when he didn’t, but it would burst out bright and beautiful the minute he came into my space.

After all these years, I finally was alive and now I feared I was going to die.

Tears filled my eyes only moments before I heard the door open and then I heard a thud. I instinctively knew what that thud was. It was a body hitting the floor.

I tensed and the door slammed.

“Who’s there?” I called into the darkness.

“Tyra?” Aunt Bette replied.

Thank you God!

“Aunt Bette.” I started squirming toward her voice. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. We’ve been kidnapped and Marsh is drinking martinis and probably flirting with the waitress!” she snapped and it sounded like she too was moving but not in my direction.

This was likely true. Uncle Marsh flirted. It was harmless but he was hot, hot guys did this even if they were taken. Aunt Bette knew there was no one for him but her and he never flirted where the flirtee would get any sense it was going anywhere. But he was a good-looking man. It was pure instinct to keep those skills sharp.

And anyway, Aunt Bette had been shopping. Uncle Marsh would probably have a three course dinner and four martinis before he worried where we’d gotten to.

“What happened? Where were you?” I asked.

“I was in a room tied to a chair where they asked me questions about an Elliott Belova. They thought I was Lanie’s mother, do not ask me why. A, I don’t look a thing like Lanie and B, I’m not old enough to be Lanie’s mother!” she stated, sounding more than slightly perturbed and I had to admit, since her A and B were very true, and she’d been tied to a chair, she had a right.

“Elliott is Lanie’s fiancé, or was until last night,” I informed her as I stopped moving and listened to her continuing to do it.

“I think I got that from her shouting it to him fifteen times on the phone this morning,” Aunt Bette returned.

“Right,” I muttered.

“What’s he into?” she asked.

“Well, according to Tack, the better question is to ask what he isn’t into,” I answered.

“Is Tack involved in this?”

“Um, not until Elliott involved him by asking him to whack the top man in the Russian mob,” I explained then hurriedly finished, “He refused, of course.”

“Of course,” Aunt Bette muttered, still moving around.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“So we’re dealing with the Russian mob here?” she asked back instead of answered.