Stripped Bounty by Dorothy F. Shaw Page A

the crouched position she had herself in, shivering like crazy, her arms wrapped tight around her bent legs.
    Badger flipped the safety and holstered the gun. “Holy shit is right. What’s wrong? What the fuck are you doing out here, Rosie?”
    “Will you just…” Her voice shook and she cleared her throat. “Fuck!” She gripped the side of the Dumpster, got to her feet and with visibly shaking hands, slipped her platform shoes off. “Just go grab me a T-shirt from the office? Please?”
    Christ, she wasn’t shivering. She was shaking, as in from fear. She looked scared out of her mind and Badger’s protective nature roared to life, setting his insides on fire. Resisting the urge to move to her and pull her close, Badger crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side. “That wasn’t an answer.”
    “Please? I’m cold.”
    Badger gritted his teeth. The expression in her eyes was about enough to take him to his damn knees. “Fine. But I swear to the devil herself, you move from this spot before I’m back and I will take it out on your ass when I find you.”
    “Where the hell’m I gonna go? All my shit is inside in the dressing room.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
    He grunted. “Point. But my warning still stands.”
    Badger turned from her and went back inside. Goddamn drama. Fucking baggage. He had no fucking clue what was going on with her, but he intended to find out.

Chapter Nine
    R osie wrapped her arms tighter around Badger’s waist as he exited the freeway off-ramp and made a hard right turn onto the main road. She was fucking freezing, the T-shirt he’d brought her doing very little to keep her limbs warm. The fact that she was on the back of his Harley, pressed up against his hard body, her bare legs spread around his lean hips, had her other parts—the ones she should so not be paying attention to—overheated.
    Rosie had no idea where they were going. The man of many words hadn’t told her. Just tossed the shirt at her, started his bike and ordered her onto the back of it. She’d complied, though it wasn’t like she’d had much of a choice. Running out of the club without grabbing her things—like her car keys and some clothes—hadn’t been one of her brightest moments.
    But she’d panicked.
    Swear to Christ, Alvaro, the fucking drug dealer who’d murdered her husband, had found her. She couldn’t believe it. The last Rosie knew, he was in jail awaiting trial. Without bail. He’d either been let out, or escaped, or—she really had no idea. Rosie swallowed down the wave of fear that rose in her throat. All she knew was the crazy bastard was standing in the far corner of the bar, watching her. And by the look on his face, he hadn’t come to pay his condolences or express his regret.
    Badger turned off the main road into what appeared to be an older but well-kept neighborhood. Forcing the anxiety back, she focused on the houses. Older brick, stone, or wood-sided ranch-style homes lined the well-lit streets and Rosie glanced at each one, taking in their immaculately kept exteriors as they passed by each, making a series of lefts and rights, until finally he pulled the bike into a long, wide driveway.
    He dropped the kickstand and leaned the bike to its side. “Hop off.”
    She did as he said, careful not to catch her too-tall heels on the pegs or fall when she got her feet on the ground. Badger dismounted his cycle and punched a code into a small keypad by the two-car garage door. The panel raised as he mounted the bike again and then rode it inside.
    After shutting down the engine, he got off and removed the folded bandana he’d tied around his forehead, then his clear shades. He glanced over at her. “You coming or gonna stand out there in the cold?”
    Without answering, Rosie blew out a breath and moved toward him. Christ, it didn’t matter if he was being Mr. Quiet-Aloof guy or a dickhead barking orders at her, he was still hot. She hated that. A