The Word of a Liar Read Online Free Page B

his phone to call your kid.”
    Mad Dog placed his hand on her shoulder. “You have my word as a father of three. Tomorrow you can call your son, and I’ll get a truck out here for your car. What do you say?”
    Mad Dog smiled. “Don’t make Rambo and me get ugly. For a couple of Neanderthals, we really don’t like to have to drag our women by the hair kicking and screaming.”
    Ellen smiled involuntarily. She wanted to trust them. After all, Mad Dog had a pistol in his pocket. He hadn’t threatened her with it, and he did try to fix her car. So why did apprehension still continue to nag at her about returning to that farm? She decided to play along and return with them, but the first chance she got, she’d head to the house to call a tow truck to come and get her tonight.
    “Okay, I’ll go back.”
    She dried her tears with the back of her hand.
    Mason untied his bandana, handing it to her. She wondered if he was trying to apologize. She blew her nose, balled up the handkerchief, and tossed it over her shoulder. Without a word, she walked toward the bikes.
    Mason gingerly picked up the sullied bandana by a corner, holding it out as if it were a dirty diaper. Mad Dog laughed and slapped him on the back. “Let’s go party, Rambo.”
    Mason smirked, jamming the dirty kerchief into his pocket. He hadn’t knocked the fight out of Ellen after all. He admired her determination, but he couldn’t let her stay on this road by herself. It was too dangerous now that the bikers knew about her. Whether she believed him or not, he would keep her safe.
    Ellen stood by the bike. He noticed the welts on the back of her legs. Guilt brow beat him. Silently, he mounted his motorcycle and watched Ellen from his mirror as she climbed on. Her ankle struck the hot exhaust pipe. She bit down on her lip. He knew she had burned herself, but he didn’t say a word. Instead he made a mental note to take care of it as soon as they got back to the rally.
    “Are you ready?”
    Mason turned. Ellen nodded. Mason recognized Ellen’s deceptive look. He’d seen it on women before. That sweet expression professing everything is fine but really they’re pissed as hell.  She gripped the sissy bar instead of his waist. He started the bike. Be angry all you want, Ellen Abrams, but I’m doing this for your own good. And if you think I give a shit about you not wanting to touch me, think again.
    Mason revved the engine in a show of power. The two men turned their motorcycles onto the pavement. The moon hung low in the summer sky. As they rode, Mason began to realize the absence of Ellen’s arms around his waist did matter, and he couldn’t understand why.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER three
     
     
    When they arrived at the farm, Mason and Mad Dog parked their motorcycles in the barn and then retrieved their rifles where they had stashed them earlier.  Ellen stood at the barn entrance. Stars pricked holes in the smooth, black satin sky. Not far away, the farmhouse loomed like forbidden fruit. The thought of making a break for it crossed her mind, but Ellen dismissed it. She knew she wouldn’t get very far before they caught her. No, it was best to bide her time and wait for a better opportunity. She thought of JD and sighed, rubbing her arms to keep from shivering. The hot night offered no comfort. 
    “We’ve got to find you a pair of jeans. Shorts are no good for riding a motorcycle, and you look half frozen to death,” Mad Dog commented as he approached her.
    Mason shone his flashlight on her ankle. It was beginning to blister. “First we’ve got to put something on that burn.”
    Ellen eyed the rifles slung over their shoulders, the personification of their hold over her and dismissed their concern as a feeble attempt to keep her from fleeing. She jutted out her chin in defiance. “Had I been allowed to stay in my car, I wouldn’t have burned myself, and I wouldn’t be cold.”
    “You’re a fighter aren’t you, Ellen?”