Her pulse had raced at her captor's mention of killing. The way he spoke made her think he was experienced. What was his background? He didn't strike her as an ex-cop, or a mob guy. A mercenary, maybe?

One thing was for sure. Whoever he was, knowing her father, he had to be the best.

"It doesn't matter what you intended," she answered him, determined to keep the upper hand in the conversation. "Kidnapping is kidnapping."

She seemed to touch a nerve.

"Would you rather I had left you back there with those animals?" he challenged, flashing a quick glance in her direction. "If I hadn't come along you would be well on your way to sex slavery by now."

Her insides melted as the words poured from his strong lips. Sex slavery. Cheyenne had her secret fantasies, dreams of being kept nude or in rags, chained and available for the pleasure of strong Masters, men who would use her body as they willed, demanding obedience, punishing her for disobedience. Did he know? Had he guessed somehow?

"The gang isn't all bad," Cheyenne declared, recalling the times the Vipers had helped out vets down on their luck and dropped off bundles of food for the hungry. "A lot of them are good guys. They just live differently. A few are bad apples, like Mad Dog, but Frank kept things in line. He took care of me. We understood each other."

Cheyenne recalled that first night, when she had met him at the Rose and Thunder, a biker bar with beer soaked wooden floors and walls dented from numerous fights. She had gone there with a couple of girlfriends on a dare. Frank came out of the wood work, saving them from a brutish looking group of pool players.

It was lust at first sight. Cheyenne's friends had headed back to their apartment but Cheyenne stayed the night with Frank, his lean, almost hairless body entrancing her hour after hour. Such a lover, he had driven her out of her mind as he took her in every conceivable way.

When he had suggested tying her to the bed, Cheyenne thought she had died and gone to heaven.

"Some women like this," he had rasped, running the silken cords along her supple flesh as she lay supine. "Have you ever tried it?"

"No, but I want to," she blessed his intentions with a moan. "I need it, please, Frankie, make me helpless."

Frankie had chuckled at her eagerness as she crossed her wrists overhead. He secured them to the brass head board and had his way with her. She had arched at the back, lightning running up and down her spine as he took full liberties, pinching, nibbling her nipples and parting her thighs.

Frankie had reveled in the power. "You gonna be a good girl," he had said, pushing his throbbing cock against her thigh, "or do I have to tie open your legs, too?"

"Tie them," she had gasped, though she was hardly capable of resisting.

As if she would have resisted even if she could.

Reed's lips pressed together now in response to Cheyenne's statement. He appeared thoughtful. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said at last.

The sudden show of decency caught her off guard. "These cuffs are hurting me," she said, avoiding the urge to thank him. "Any chance you can take them off or are you afraid I'll overpower you?"

"I'm a lot more concerned you'll try to jump out and hurt yourself," he said.

"I could jump out with the cuffs on," she pointed out, though she had no intention of making such a foolish move, especially now that they were picking up speed, heading out of the city.

Where was he taking her, anyway? Her family's estate was south, not north. Was Daddy waiting for her in some secret location, some new fortress in the mountains?

He shook his head. "You're not that suicidal."

"But I hang around with dangerous criminal gangs, right? That makes me at least partially suicidal."

"If you say so."

"Daddy says so."

"Maybe you should get some sleep," he said. "We have a long trip ahead."

"You expect me to sleep through my own abduction? You're even more deluded than I thought."

"Just keep quiet then," he said. "At least close your eyes."

The commanding gentleness in his voice made her want to obey.

She revolted instead. "How about if I scream, instead, what do you say to that?"

"I could gag you."

"I bet you'd like that," she shot back.

His lips moved slightly. One brow arched, just a tiny bit. Something hot moved through her, making her weak and far too needy for her own good. "You would like that," she accused. "You're some kind of sex fiend, aren't you?"

He failed to take the bait. "Let's leave it at my being gay, shall we?" he said dryly.

Cheyenne turned her head away, snorting.

It bothered her that she wasn't missing Frank all that much.

Was she in shock still from the shooting or had she been less in love than she thought? Frank served her own ends, it was true. Sending that picture of the two of them to Daddy's office must have given him a coronary. Sometimes she wondered if they were all that different, father and daughter. Charismatic, manipulative...

If only he understood that she could never settle into his mold. The imprisonment of all that money, the demands and expectations, the sins resting on his shoulders from all that power.

Presently, she turned to face him again. His profile put her at ease, so noble, so damn confident. Things would be all right with a man like this around, they had to be.

"I don't even know your name."

"You don't need to."

"I want to."

"We don't all get what we want in life," he said pointedly.

"I knew it," she said, looking for a chink in his armor. "You're jealous of the money. You think I'm an ungrateful brat."

"You're just a job," he replied, angering her to a surprising degree with his callousness.

"Fuck you, No Name."

The silence burned.

"It's Reed," he said at last. "You can call me Reed."

She said the name in her head a couple of dozen times.

So what's in my future, Reed? she wondered at last. Are you going to be of use to me? She could think of a few things to do to him.

For starters, she would like to change roles, have him handcuffed for a little while. Then she could explore that magnificent body of his, inch by naked inch, tawny skin over muscle, stretched like a lion's.

"So how much is my father paying you?" she wanted to know.

She thought she detected a note of irritation. Or was it discomfort?

"Sorry if I embarrassed your kidnapper's sensibilities with the mention of filthy," she said sardonically.

Frank would never kidnap anyone, she thought. He broke some laws, sure, but the crimes were victimless. This one, on the other hand...

"A hundred thousand up front," he surprised her with a straight answer. "Another four when the job is complete."

"And what will make it complete, Reed? Do you intend to take me off somewhere and scare me straight? Turn me into a good, obedient daughter ready to go home begging forgiveness?"

He shook his head.

"What?" she demanded, as if it mattered what he thought.

"I just don't get it, why you would worry people like you do."

"My father doesn't worry. That's an emotion he isn't capable of."

"He loves you, that's obvious."

"He has funny ways of showing it."

"What about you?" Reed asked.

"What about me?"

They were off the highway, traveling down a four lane state road, woods on either side. Whatever game he and Daddy were up to, she was liking it less and less.

"Is this how you show your love to your father? By joining a motorcycle gang?"

She shrugged. "It could have been worse. I might have been a lawyer."

"You have a quick tongue," he said. "And a brain. Too bad you don't use it."

Biting her captor was probably not the smartest move but it came instinctively.

Reed cursed as she dug her small teeth into the flesh of his upper arm. He smelled good, like fresh pine and musk.

"Son of a bitch!"

The vehicle lurched dangerously to the right. She let go allowing him to regain control just in time to avoid striking a tree.

She sucked at her lower lip, watching him rub the wound. "Are you all right?" she asked, suddenly sheepish.

"Of course I'm not all right. You just bit me. What the hell is wrong with you?" he shouted.

"Don't be such a baby. Let me have a look."

Reluctantly, he let her look at the serrated circle, pressure marks but no punctures.

"See?" she announced, vindicated. "It didn't even break the skin."

The good news didn't seem to cheer him up any. The way he was looking at her, so resolved, so determined ... so masculine made her pussy pulse with desire.

"You listen to me closely," he said in a tone not to be defied. "Pull another stunt like that and you will meet with punishment, swift, certain and severe."

She tried to hide her nervous excitement with mockery. "What are you going to do, spank me?"

"If I have to, yes," he replied, flooring her.

Cheyenne swallowed hard, imagining Reed's large, capable hand impacting on her quivering buttocks, clothed or perhaps naked.

Talk about squirming.

"You wouldn't dare," she said, trying not to make it sound like a question.

His blue eyes burned, making her stomach flip with hot need. If he were to touch her now...

"Try me," was all he said and she knew better than to inquire further.

The next dozen miles passed without comment from either party. All Cheyenne could think about was Reed punishing her, disciplining her. Once or twice she had nearly been struck by men, once with Mad Dog a little while ago, but on neither occasion had it been erotic. This was different.

In her mind she saw the spanking ending in a very different place.

She imagined herself, over his knee. All he would need to do would be to move a single finger down, inside, along the ridge of her sex. He would find her dripping wet. She would moan, her hot, throbbing ass, twitching with need.

"Tell me," he would say. "What do you need?"

"I need to be fucked," she would moan.

His hand would crack down again, a sweetly savage blow to her already stinging bottom. "'I need to be fucked, Sir.'"

"Oh, god, yes," she would surrender. "Please, Sir, fuck me ... use me ... take me..."

"For the record," she said as they turned onto a smaller, two lane road, one with a single dotted yellow line and narrow gravel shoulders. "I wasn't really going to have sex with you."

"For the record," he replied in a heartbeat. "I could care less."