Page 66 of Shadowed Agenda

“The little thing is scared of bikes.” Beard howled with laughter.

Snake grinned as he stuffed the ball cap in his back pocket and put on his bike helmet.

Regan wasn’t scared of motorcycles. She was terrified. When she was eleven, Mackenzie’s boyfriend bought a motorcycle. Like every sixteen-year-old boy, he was a cocky driver and a speed demon.

Traveling at the same speed as a car on a vehicle that could tip as easily as her bicycle was not Regan’s idea of fun. Mackenzie knew that. She’d dared Regan to go for a ride with her boyfriend. They’d crashed as he whipped down a gravel road.

Regan had broken her arm. Mackenzie’s boyfriend hadn’t suffered a scratch. They’d been lucky and had tumbled onto the wide patch of grass beside the road. The whole affair had left her with a fear of motorcycles.

“Please,” she begged, shaking. She couldn’t do this. “I’ll go anywhere with you, just not on the bike. I won’t fight you. I promise.”

“She thinks she can fight us,” Snake said.

The two men roared with laughter as Beard lifted her and Regan pressed her legs tightly together. She was not getting on that Harley.

“It would be my pleasure to spread your legs,” Beard growled in her ear.

Regan stopped struggling and let him help her onto the seat behind Snake. They may have forced her onto the bike, but they wouldn’t have been able to stop her from jumping off at the first red light. Surrounded by motorists, they wouldn’t dare run after her and drag her back.

“Wrap your hands around his waist,” Beard said.

She fisted the t-shirt under his vest along his sides. Beard grabbed her wrists and forced her arms around Snake’s waist. Cold steel bit into one wrist, then the other. They’dhandcuffedher in place.

He ripped off her sunhat and sunglasses and threw them on the ground. Snake passed him a helmet, and he jammed it on her head.

“Wouldn’t want to get a ticket because you weren’t wearing a helmet,” Beard chuckled as he fastened the strap.

Beard got on his motorcycle, and the Harleys roared to life. The sound echoed off the walls of the garage’s narrow entrance. They revved the engines, and Regan could feel the sound waves pulse through the air.

Snake followed Beard to the dip on the sidewalk. Beard rolled his bike far enough to study the street to either side of him.

“He’s headed back. We’re clear,” Beard said above the motorcycles’ rumble.

Pavlo.Beard was referring to Pavlo. He was so close, and Regan had no way of attracting his attention. Handcuffed to the man in front of her, she was helpless. He wouldn’t hear her call out to him over the sound of the engines.

Regan closed her eyes as Snake revved the Harley’s engine, and they shot into the morning traffic. A tear slid down her cheek. She’d never told Pavlo she loved him.

They wove between cars. Her stomach dropped every time the bike tilted. Regan tried to force her eyes open, but they stayed glued shut. She clung to Snake and reminded herself that they needed her alive. She had to arrive at their destination in one piece.

The motorcycle picked up speed. Not enough for a highway, but just enough to let her know they’d reached a less congested area. The sound of the surrounding traffic had lessened.

Several minutes later, the motorcycle slowed and then stopped. Both engines cut off abruptly. Regan forced her eyes open. They were in front of a car wash.

She turned her head in the other direction. Beard grinned at her and tossed Snake a set of keys. He freed her hands, but Regan was frozen in place, her hands still clutching his t-shirt.

Snake pried her hands free. Beard laughed as he lifted her off the bike. Her feet touched the pavement, and she heaved a sigh of relief and hugged herself to stop her trembling.

Beard undid the strap of her helmet and plucked it off her head. He threw it to Snake and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “You know, Peanut, without the hat and glasses, you’re a real pretty thing. Too bad we’re running on a tight schedule.”

Regan stepped back. He locked his hand around her upper arm and led her to a gleaming black sedan parked at the side of the car wash’s exit.

A guy in a suit and reflective sunglasses leaned against the front fender. It looked like she was changing rides.

“What do you want?” Regan asked the man as he straightened and stepped away from the car.

“Your appointment with Mrs. Aster has been changed,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion.

“It would have been easier to have called my publicist. When should I pencil her in?”