by V. Theia
The kind that made a man stupid to possess.
Her legs went on for miles. And as she twirled in her own world, tendrils of her dark hair, damp from exertion, fell around her flushed face.
The music swelled, and her movements increased as if she were answering each note with her body. When she held her arms out, fingers pointing in a certain way, it gave the impression she was flying to the tempo.
Tag couldn’t look away.
His body wouldn’t allow it.
Swallowing hard, he rested his shoulder on the doorjamb, but the leather boots reacted to the tiled floor and squeaked as the music faded away.
She spun too fast, eyes wide as she caught sight of him, then she crashed to the floor, twisting her leg as she went down hard.
With her cry of pain, Tag moved fast, closing the space between them. He tugged the denim on his thighs before he crouched down in front of her.
Even in the dim lighting, it wasn’t hard for him to notice how she flinched when he reached for her ankle. It put rocks in his stomach.
“Don’t touch me.” She said, then added softer. “Please.”
“Can I check if it’s broken?”
“It’s not.” Marianna said, with her head inclined down, she’d yet to look at him. She proved it to him by rotating her foot. Though she winced, it didn’t appear to be broken.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he started. “Never heard that kinda music in here before, thought we had weird as fuck burglars.” He half-grinned to put her at ease.
“My apologies. I didn’t know anyone was still here.”
“You can do your thing any time.”
Tag rose.
But this thing he had.
This new fucking sensation inside him he’d tried to ignore, because it had no legs to go anywhere. That thing grew until his hands itched to touch her.
To soothe the pain etched on her glowing face.
For months now, he ignored the fact he loved looking at her poutier than most lips. They were the starring role on her face and begged for attention. She licked them and Tag, like a fucking creeper, noticed. Wanting to be the one to taste the fullness and to make them glossy.
He’d never mistreated a woman, always thought he was a good boyfriend. He paid for shit; he gave attention when a woman wanted it and he was a fucking God in bed, it was just facts.
But this firing to life in his sternum wasn’t only about attraction.
It was care.
He wanted to care for her.
And she rejected any form of connection he offered.
It sucked to be him.
When he’d been in the hospital, Marianna had come by more than once, bringing food and magazines, but he’d lost his vision for a scary week, so she’d read to him in her sultry accent.
Holding a hand out to help her up from the floor, it was then she raised her eyes. He didn’t see fear, but she wasn’t exactly friendly either. She climbed from the floor herself.
“I didn’t know you were a dancer.”
Limping to the benches, she grabbed a white towel with the gym’s insignia, Charming Souls, sewn in, and wiped her face.
“Because I did not tell you.”
Tag’s lips twitched.
Marianna had this way of speaking so fucking properly. With a better grasp of the English language than him. His middle America education would win him no prizes.
He liked her accent, even though it was as cold as it was soft.
He’d wondered more than a few times what she sounded like angry. If her voice became darker, huskier.
“You got me there,” he replied, amused. No smile returned, she pulled on an oversized sweater. “It looked good, what I saw of it.”
The Butcher warned months ago how they didn’t know Marianna.
Even victims worked for the enemy, he’d said.
Was she Bratva loyal?
Had they broken her enough that she would side with her abusers?
Nah. He’d bet his own liver she hated the Bratva more than he did.
Knowing she was looking for a new life, Tag needed to remember—to slam the message home, right into the front of his fucking brain. She was his employee.
There was no room for him to see her through the eyes of a man who liked what he saw.
He could get women anywhere. He wasn’t called Prince Charming for nothing. Even with his gnarly scars, it still attracted the females.
This one was off-fucking-limits.
“I need to go.” Marianna collected her things. “I apologize for the music. It will not happen again.”
“Marianna, it’s fine, the gym is closed, you can use the machines, already told you that. Or dance.” He amended.
She didn’t look at him. “Goodnight, Sir.”
A fist of lust howled inside him.
If she looked back, she’d see a big bulge in his jeans.
She called him sir.
He was no one’s sir. He’d told her a million times to call him Tag. His dirty mind took him to places he should be ashamed of visiting, while listening to her husk Sir at him in different scenarios.
Yeah, Prince Charming had a filthy imagination, and he’d used it on her more than he should.
He shook his head. A few paces behind him he said, “Hold up. Let me walk you out to your car, it’s late.”
“I have no car.”
What in the hell? Eyes narrowed.
“Are you waiting for a cab?”
“Taxi cabs are far too expensive. I walk.”
Now Tag was remembering every night when she left, she’d been fucking walking home? Why did he assume she had a car when she had nothing to start with? Because everyone had a car, so it hadn’t occurred to him.
“Good evening, Sir.”
“Hold up. I’ll drive you.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “No, thank you. I am fine to walk. I like it.”
“Marianna… it’s not safe for a woman to walk alone at night, and it’s been spitting snow all day.”
“I am, how do you say? Capable of getting myself home. It is not far.”
Sighing at her hasty goodnight, Tag watched her walk out.
It wasn’t right.
He thought about following her, but what kind of stalker would that make him?
Turning on his boots, intent on locking up and going to the club to see what grub was on offer. Hoping for some sugar stuff from Paige’s shop. Reaper’s woman could seduce a devil with her pastries.
Tag wasn’t a devil, and he wasn’t interested in Reaper’s woman.
He thought about a sexy ballerina for the rest of the night.
Off-limits, he reminded himself.
Tell that to his more than enthusiastic dick.
SEVEN
“I wouldn’t suit being dead.” - Judge
One of the Souls sources of revenue was corruption.
Denver wasn’t all that big. But they boasted some of the biggest corrupters of the law, and they paid large to keep their secrets hidden.
At 3:42 a.m. bundled in a black sheepskin jacket and leather gloves, Tag’s scuffed biker boots crunched snow underfoot, trekking through the forest of trees toward the bunkers built by the Souls.
Because of Hawk’s security abilities, the bunkers were impenetrable. It needed a palm print and eight-digit passcode for access.
“Fuck, it’s colder than a nun’s pussy.” Whined a prospect behind Tag. He cocked his head back and caught plumes of breath coming out of Judge’s mouth.
The kid was new to the club, thanks to Lawless and his dark and weird ways, only Lawless himself could decipher. As far as outsiders knew, the younger male prospected for the Souls. To the patched brothers, they knew Judge was Angela’s bodyguard. Hired and controled by Lawless himself from his Wyoming prison cell.
“Been near many nuns’ pussies, prospect?”
Judge reminded Tag of himself when he prospected, and Preacher got him running all over creation trying to break him.
>
It’s no easy feat to get in with the Souls.
It’s hard, laborious work that tested a man’s mettle.
“The nuns have gotta be horny as fuck. I’d try anything once, boss.”
Not so much now he’s taking care of his siblings and acting as a bodyguard to an obstinate college student.
Even without a flashlight, Tag knew the way like the back of his hand. He weaved through trees, climbed embankments while Judge jogged and huffed behind him. “Man, this place is scary as fuck.” He remarked. Tag would agree if he hadn’t grown up in the Colorado mountains. His dad joked Tag was part mountain lion.
“Scarier than a job from Lawless?”
Judge snorted. “Maybe not. I keep thinking I’m gonna mess up and he’ll break out of prison to set me on fire.”
Not an impossibility for Lawless.
Cutting a side glance, Tag asked. “You breaking any of his rules?”
“Nah, man. Just wanna do right for the kids, you know? They like it here. Would suck if I got canned now, and we had to crawl back to the Ohio slums.”
“That won’t happen if you do what you said you’re gonna do. Are you keeping Angie out of trouble?”
“Man, I’m trying. I fucking hate her college campus. It’s full of pretentious dickwads. Caught this one guy eyeing her up like a slab of raw beef. Gave him a friendly warning with my elbow in his throat, and then I keyed his Mercedes.”
Tag chuckled under his icy breath. “Is that protector or jealousy?”
Even in the dark he saw Judge blinking.
Angie was a cute girl with a sad past. It wouldn’t be out of the realm if Judge caught some feelings for her. He’d forged a friendship with her on purpose. Angie spent a lot of time with him and his siblings when she wasn’t at school in Denver.
“You think I’m into Angie?” He asked, almost strangled.
Amused. Of course he had to fuck around a little. “Well…”
“Fuck, man. You gonna tell Lawless that? He’ll rip my fucking gizzards out. He’ll string me up and slice me like pastrami.” The list of torture went on for a minute, so long in fact they arrived at the bunker. “Fucking hell. I promised the kids I’d take them into Denver to visit Santa next month. Well, R. I-fucking-P me. He ain’t gonna believe me if I say I’m not into her. He’ll cut my fucking head off and shit in my neck.”
Tag couldn’t hold in his chuckle.
“Didn’t know you were taking a college drama class, prospect. Definitely Oscar worthy, but save the theatrics for award season.” And then he sobered when he clapped a hand on Judge’s shoulder. “But if you are feeling her, you better learn to run fast, you get me? And not only from the enforcer. That girl is family to us and we’re particular which motherfuckers get near our family.”
Air wheezed out of Judge, it practically clanged like icicles. He looked worried for a second, and then he laughed, echoing through the woods.
“The other prospects warned me you guys are hardasses. Didn’t think you’d be handing me mine at 4 a.m. You mind waiting until a decent hour, I like to be alert for an ass fucking.”
Smirking, Tag stepped up to the door disguised with foliage.
A handprint and a passcode later, it electronically opened.
Judge didn’t deny it, he noticed. The kid might have to safeguard his gizzards.
An hour later, they locked the new chief of police’s shady secrets away along with all the others. And the Souls benefitted from another society bottom feeder.
Because it was close to dawn, he cut Judge free, knowing the guy had to get his kids to school and then backtrack to pick up Angie.
Time would tell if Judge earned his Souls patch.
The longer serving prospects would get their patches soon.
He rode into town, collected a takeout order from the diner and headed down to the gym. It smelled of pine Lysol and sweat from the early birds.
No one caught his attention like she did.
Was he developing a case of stalkeritus like Reaper back in the day?
Though Reaper had a reason, by watching his secret wife.
Tag couldn’t claim any such thing when he prowled forward and caught the way Marianna braced to face her boss.
She looked good in simple leggings and a slouchy sweater hanging off one shoulder. Now he knew what the shape of her was like under her baggy clothes. He couldn’t stop seeing it. He pictured every lithe inch of her for the past two days while he beat his cock in his fist until he thought he might never come again.
But then it twitched, and he knew he had some go in him yet.
Pity she looked at him like he was limp lettuce without a flicker of interest he usually saw in women’s eyes. He hardly had to make a play at all if he wanted to fuck because women made it abundantly clear they wanted him in their bed.
Not Marianna.
She let her lashes fall over her eyes as he approached.
Hair black as midnight wound around her head in a fancy braid.
Her gorgeous scent wafted toward him, seducing.
“Morning, darlin’.” He greeted with a smile, offering the white baggie and takeout cup to her. She took them automatically, their fingers grazed.
Did she hiss? Fuck. Was he scaring her?
Taking a step back, a frown yanking on his brow, he had a plan, but she looked at him like she thought he might go feral animal, and he changed his mind.
“I’m gonna be down in the basement. When the Souls boys come in, can you let them know? And if there’s any calls, take a message. I’m gonna be training most of the day.”
She blinked like some ethereal angel. Dark lashes sweeping her cheekbones. It wasn’t up to him; he was only a lowly man, and he didn’t like to mansplain—thanks to Winter for telling him what that shit meant—but he’d always thought she needed feeding.
Dancers were naturally willowy.
But it was that care in him which kept him up at night wondering if she had enough to eat. Since it was the only thing she’d take from him, he’d started pushing food on her.
“Are you training for a fight?”
“Yeah.” He answered, and he caught her eyes stray up to his Phantom of the Opera scar. She knew it better than he did, seeing as she’d changed the dressings many times. He’d thought they were getting somewhere back then, friend wise.
Soon as Tag was back on his feet again, she’d shied away.
“But… your face. Your eyesight. Is that wise, do you think?”
Her very proper voice and slow way of speaking knuckled its way into his lower stomach, where he was trying so hard to not let this forest fire of lust get out of control.
Maybe if he fucked it out on someone else, he could just be her well-meaning boss and nothing more.
“I’m good, darlin’.” He winked, “but thanks for caring. You can come down to the basement and make sure I don’t overdo it, if you like.”
It was the first time he’d seen her blush. The color rushed over her cream skin and stained her high cheekbones.
God, she was stunning as she chewed on her lower lip.
And then she stunned the blood rushing to his raging cock when she added. “Da, perhaps I should.”
Tag watched her little ass sway as she walked away, aching to test it out in his hands to see how nicely she fit in his palms. Feet rooted to the floor, tasting her words.
She wanted to watch him train?
Fuck’s sake. He’d never been this hard up for a woman.
There was a laughable lesson in it somewhere, but he was too horny to dig deep and find it.
Instead, he whistled across the gym to one of his sparring partners, indicating he was heading down.
And he put the little Russian dancer out of his mind.
She didn’t go far.
That was the thing about unattainable things.
They clawed through Tag’s brain.
He was never good at admitting defeat and losing.
Aiming only for a win.
But this was not the same.
There was no game plan, other than to keep offering her safety.
Showing her he was someone she could trust.
His hands itched. His cock begged for attention. Every inch of Tag’s skin vibrated when she came down to the basement soon after. He didn’t even have to see her to know she was there, watching him.
Grappling, punching, kicking. He pinned one sparring partner after another.
He was showing off; he realized.
Like a big fucking idiot.
He laughed when he pinned the guy, holding an arm around his throat and their legs twisted together so the other guy couldn’t crocodile roll out of the hold. He was waiting for the tap out when he caught her startled gaze. A hand to her throat, she was breathing heavily and her face… so fucking lovely and pink again.
Tag couldn’t help himself. He winked at her and watched the color heighten.
The tap out didn’t even mean a thing to him when his friend rolled away coughing.
Too busy eating up a Russian beauty with his starving stare.
And she didn’t look away this time.
EIGHT
“In the arms of a stranger. Well … my boss.” - Marianna
Sleep sometimes tricked Marianna into believing she was once again in her trauma.
Before her eyes opened and the soundless scream grew in momentum, she went through her breathing techniques, grounding herself.
As her eyes moved behind her lids, she realized it didn’t feel like a bed underneath her.
In fact, the thing was breathing.
Oh, good gracious. She was laid on a person. Please, no. No!
For a second, she thought she was back there, and her heart rattled with panic.
It was short-lived, thank goodness. The features to come into focus through her blurry eyes belonged to Tag’s face.
Fire-like relief stung her nose.
She was more freaked out that she wasn’t freaked out waking up with him.
In her haste to move, she about tumbled to the floor, if not for his quick hands catching her. “Careful, darlin’. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“What… how… what?”
“All great question starters.” He smirked, and that little lip twitch put her thumping heart at ease. But it did not tell her why she was in his arms on her couch.