A Disturbing Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 1)

by Elizabeth Barone

A beep sounds.

  I open my eyes. Cliff takes a step back and turns away. The washing machine begins to fill, water and soap sluicing around my clothes.

  "Thanks for your help," he says over his shoulder, already setting up his own machine.

  Heart thundering in my chest, I make a beeline for the door, a cigarette already between my lips. Bad girl, bad girl, bad girl, my heartbeat punctuates my thoughts.

  Two suitcases stand next to the motel room door, our clothing packed and ready to go. The plan is to hit the bar, have a few drinks, then make the overnight train back up to Connecticut. I like this plan a lot, because if I’m drunk enough, I’ll actually be able to sleep on the damn thing. Sometimes Lucy truly is brilliant.

  She’s also a pain in my ass.

  "We have to make sure we’re like fifteen minutes early before boarding. We can’t miss this train. I’m leaving the room keys right on the desk, so we’re fucked if we miss it. Okay?"

  This is the third time she’s given us this spiel.

  I just nod and continue averting my gaze from Cliff. I’m still so embarrassed. One week, and I’m forever going to be the dirty little cousin in his eyes. It’d be nice if he was completely oblivious about the whole thing, but since he’s been avoiding me too, it’s not likely.

  "Why are you guys so quiet?" Lucy narrows her eyes at us. "I thought we were all excited about this drinking business." She pins me with the super-concerned big sister look.

  I want to tell her that was before I made a complete ass of myself, that I’m now thinking I should’ve waited until we had enough social lubrication to make bad decisions together, but Cliff is already judging me hardcore, and Lucy absolutely can’t know. So I just shrug. "I’m tired."

  "Good," she says. "That means you won’t drink too much."

  On the contrary. I’m going to wash this entire day away with Jose Cuervo and enjoy every second of my hangover tomorrow. It’ll be like punishment, and it’ll take my mind off my still-present lady boner.

  There’s this patronizing notion that only men need regular sexual affection. Maslow had it right, though—everyone needs sexual healing. And between my last semester, this entire bizarre trip, and now my totally disastrous attempt at seduction in the laundromat, I need some major penile therapy.

  Following my sister and Cliff out to the waiting Uber, I pray that there will be one unattached man around my age in the bar who won’t mind getting freaky in the bathroom with me. I need to scratch this itch quick, and masturbation ain’t gonna do it. Sometimes, a girl just needs some cock.

  The Uber drops us off at the least promising looking bar ever. Its facade is small, the bricks grimy. Even the OPEN sign in the window is flickering. Dragging my suitcase behind me, I traipse inside, hoping the interior is better.

  It isn’t.

  The place is so small, there isn’t even a pool table. That kills my ol’ "Hey handsome stranger, let’s play a quick game" routine, and completely eradicates my "Wanna dance?" fallback. Worst of all, there is literally no one here.

  A lone woman is tending the bar. She’s old enough to be my great-grandmother and looks worse for the wear. This bar wouldn’t attract anyone, never mind handsome men in their twenties. I hope she at least makes decent drinks, though I suppose she can’t really fuck up tequila shots.

  She doesn’t even smile as I lean on the bar. Pale eyes stare placidly back at me, zero fucks given whether I tip or not. It’s unnerving, but I smile anyway.

  "We need six shots of tequila," I tell her, "and open up a tab."

  Cliff makes a noise behind me, something between a throat clearing and a growl. It’s primal and vibrates through me, even if it is dubious. "I’ll just take a beer," he says, voice rumbling.

  Why, I wonder, does he have to be so goddamn sexy? Especially if I can’t have him.

  I peer at him over my shoulder. "Beer? You wait twenty years and you just want a beer?"

  Brown eyes challenge me to keep making fun of him. A flicker of that heat from earlier returns. "I want a lot of things," he says in a low voice.

  My eyes widen and I grip the bar to remain standing. It occurs to me that he may be fucking with me. I would, if I were him. "I really think you should do shots with me," I whisper back. I bite my lip, wondering what I’m getting myself into. If he’s purposely toying with me, there may be a good chance I’m getting my bathroom bounce tonight. But his statement shakes me: I want a lot of things. I need to know if he’s one of those guys who get very attached very quickly. For all I know, he’s been planning his wedding for the last two decades.

  "Fuck it," he says, turning to the bartender. "Nine shots of tequila."

  She remains standing there staring at us, as if she’s booting up. Jesus Christ. I might have to climb back there and serve myself.

  Suddenly she jerks away and gets to it. Cliff and I exchange glances, and I wonder if anyone else is here with her. Who the hell leaves an old lady to run a bar by herself? I glance around for Lucy, because she so needs to see this.

  At first I don’t see her. She’s tucked away, sitting at a high table in a corner. Her legs are draped over her suitcase, her thumbs flying over the screen of her phone. Somehow I’ve got to get her to unwind.

  I need to help her get laid when we’re back in Connecticut. I know she isn’t totally devastated over her breakup, but I worry about her, living in that condo all alone. She doesn’t even have a dog.

  The sound of a tray sliding over the bar brings my attention back to my mission. I turn to find a tray of nine shots, lime, and salt. Our geriatric bartender winks at me, then shuffles away.

  My head whips in Cliff’s direction, but he didn’t see it. His eyes are burning into me. It’s like he already knows how this night is going to end. We’re just following a script, playing our roles. My shoulders relax with relief. He won’t be one of those clingy guys. This will be so easy.

  5

  Cliff

  I’m nervous as I carry the tray of shots to the table Lucy’s selected. Not because I am prey being hunted, but because I like it. Every time Olivia looks at me with those bedroom eyes, my cock twitches. It’s not just that, though.

  Something inside me is stirring, like a sleeping beast in its lair. For twenty years I’ve been dead, but Olivia makes me feel alive. Wide awake and alert, ready for anything.

  And I know Lucy won’t have it.

  She’d be completely right, of course. Olivia is family—my cousin’s little sister. Even if she’s adopted. Even if we didn’t grow up together. I share no memories with her but we share family. Her parents are my aunt and uncle, for fuck’s sake. It’s one place I can’t go—and it’s the place I most want to be.

  So the shots make me nervous. I haven’t had a drink in two decades, never mind motherfucking tequila. There’s a reason they call it To Kill Ya. Before I went in, the hardest thing I’d had was a swig of whiskey, and back then I damn near spat it out. Olivia looks at me like I’m this exotic creature, but I’m more like a kid who’s just turned twenty-one. I don’t know my tolerance level—and I don’t know what’s going to stop me from bending her over one of these tables.

  I inhale through my nose. Lucy will stop me. As long as she’s with us, I can behave. I have to contain myself, because I owe Lucy big time.

  We gather around the shots, my cousin eyeing them suspiciously. Olivia passes out the first round. Her tongue darts along the curve of her thumb and finger, her eyes locked on mine.

  Christ, I can’t even look away.

  She shakes salt onto the spot she licked, then hands it to me. I feel like a loser for not already knowing how to do this. Mimicking her, I lick my own hand, which is kind of disgusting. I’d rather lick her.

  Properly salted up, we raise our glasses in a salute, limes in our other hands. Olivia bellows out a "Bottoms up!" and both women down their shots with ease, lick the salt off their hands, and pop the wedges of lime into their mouths. They watch me with matching green smiles.

  "Fuc
k it," I mutter, and copy them.

  The tequila is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted, but I’ve long mastered a stone face. I slam my empty glass down and start passing the next round.

  "I guess you aren’t such an alien after all," Lucy remarks as she salts her hand.

  I cock a "Nope" eyebrow at her and raise my glass.

  Olivia bumps my arm gently with hers and clinks her shot glass against mine. "To freedom," she says. Her eyes never leave mine as she takes the shot. That velvet tongue caresses her hand, salt shining in the dingy light as it dances in her mouth. Then she sucks the lime into her mouth real slow, her lips pulsing around it.

  I need some distance between us, stat.

  I rush through my shot, chasing it with one of the remaining three on the tray. I wipe the salt off on my jeans and ditch the lime. Then I’m across the bar and out the door. It doesn’t take long. The bar is small.

  The icy winter air is even better than a cold shower. I walk a little away from the bar’s facade, gulping in arctic air. Leaning against the bricks of another building, I tip my head back and close my eyes. The alcohol pumps through my system, a dreamy dizziness carrying me off. One shot was probably enough.

  A silky voice warms me up. "Smoke?"

  My eyes open. Olivia stands in front of me, a cigarette extended. One is already lit between her lips. I swallow hard and take the proffered cigarette. Before I can ask for a light, a flame flares from her hand in front of me. She holds the lighter steady until I’m lit, then pockets it.

  "Now you owe me seven years of good sex," she says with a wink. Her words aren’t even slurred. We’re not playing on fair ground. Her brows furrow. "Or I owe you. I forget which it is. Either way." Those eyes smolder into mine. She steps forward.

  I’m still leaning against the wall, so there isn’t really anywhere to go. I stop her with an arm, holding her in place. "We can’t," I rasp while exhaling smoke into the night.

  Her head tilts. "Can’t talk while smoking?" Either I’m drunk or the corners of her mouth really are curled upward.

  "I know what you’re doing." The world is blurry around me. Not the way it looks, but the way it feels. Everything is fuzzy. Beer buzzes have got nothing on tequila drunk.

  "What am I doing?" She sucks on the cigarette several seconds longer than necessary. "I’m just smoking." Her eyes drop to the hard-on in my jeans. "What are you doing?"

  "Christ." I shake my head. "I’m not doing this."

  Olivia takes another step toward me. "Why not?"

  Because a thousand reasons. They all fly through my head and into the night. I rub at my chin with my free hand. "Fuck," I rumble. I can’t think. I don’t know whether it’s her or the alcohol, but . . .

  I freeze.

  "You did this shit on purpose," I say through a sandpaper laugh. "You got me drunk and now you’re trying to cart me off somewhere."

  "Well," she says with a straight face, "there wasn’t a pool table."

  I blink at her in confusion. While I’m trying to figure it out, she stands up on the balls of her feet and grabs the back of my neck. Instantly I lose control.

  I spin her around, dropping my cigarette and pressing her against the wall. My knee parts her knees, my arms caging her in. For a second I breathe in the scent of her hair. It smells dark, sweet, and euphoric. The feelings pounding through me have nothing to do with the alcohol I’ve consumed.

  It’s all her.

  I lean down, soaking in the scent of her skin: clean and feminine. My nose brushes her cheek and my lips hone in.

  My mouth brushes hers. Even in my inebriated state, I want to enjoy every second of this. Because it will never, ever happen again. I drag my lips against hers, and she shivers. She’s immobile in my arms, not because I’m crushing her but because she’s just as earnest to enjoy the moment. We both know this is the only one we’ll ever get.

  But she’s hungry, and her lips part. Teeth sink into my lower lip, and her mouth closes around me, sucking and licking. My cock twitches again, every pint of blood in my veins hurtling into it. This is a complete waste.

  It’s been twenty years.

  I’ll be lucky if I last five minutes.

  "Fuck." I pivot away from her, trembling with control thrashing at its cage, begging to be loosed. I stalk away several paces, my hands clenched at my sides. I don’t want to be the worst she’s ever had. I want to be the man who makes her realize she’s never truly had sex. Not until me.

  This is no good at all. I really am a teenager all over again.

  Her arms wrap around me, fingers plucking at the button of my jeans. "I don’t care," she whispers into my back. "I want whatever you’ve got."

  This woman can read minds. I should be terrified, but I’m just turned on even more. It’s as if she knows me, like she’s always been lurking in the shadows.

  Like we’ve just been training for this moment.

  It’s a mindless, drunk thought, but it erases any shred of guilt I have remaining. I turn around and wrap my arms around her. "Lucy," I remind her, speaking into the top of her head.

  She rests her forehead against my chest. "Yeah," she sighs. "I guess we’ll just have to be honest."

  Releasing her, I stumble back. "Are you fucking serious? Do you really think she’d go for this?"

  Olivia shrugs. "Who cares? I thought you just meant she’s in there all by herself." Her eyes dance with the unspoken dare.

  "I’d rather she not find out." I shove my hands into my pockets. This woman drives fucking holeshots around me. And I don’t even care. It’s been a week and I’m already addicted. I wonder if this happens to every man who does time. Do we just imprint on the first woman we come across on the other side? What I’m feeling for her probably isn’t even real. It’s just desperation, the primal urge to sink into something I haven’t had in a long time.

  I’m only a man, but even still, I don’t want to use her like that. This woman deserves fine dinners and coffee in the morning. I’m not saying I want to put a ring on it, but it feels wrong to fuck her and duck out.

  Maybe I have done my penance after all.

  "Look," Olivia says, dragging me out of my thoughts. "Luce has never interfered with my love life. Or sex life." She grins mischievously. "She may not approve, but she doesn’t get to tell me what to do. Or you, for that matter. Just because she came down here and bought you clothes—"

  I hold up a hand. "Don’t say that. This is flat out disrespectful, and you know it. We’re . . ." Family, but I can’t even say the word. This is all so fucking wrong.

  She hisses a laugh. "We’re not family, if that’s what you were going to say. You’re a man, and I’m a woman. We’re two people with the same itch, the lock and key. We need each other." Her eyes grow two sizes and her voice drops. "I need you."

  I’m too drunk. I can’t dodge her shrapnel. And she’s right: we’re both consenting adults, and we’re not related by blood. No one is committing a crime. It’s better to just get it over with while we’re still drunk. Then we can go back to what we were doing before.

  We’ve been outside "smoking" for so long, I’m surprised Lucy hasn’t come looking for us. Sucking in a deep breath, I drop my shoulders, all the fight melting out of me. Not that I was putting up much of a defense. All I can do is hope that this isn’t one colossal fucking mistake.

  "You’re out of cigarettes," I say. "Let’s go get some more."

  Her eyes drop to her pocket. "No I’m not." She fumbles out her pack. "Look, still got like ten." She lights two at once and passes me one. "Now eight."

  I take the cigarette and walk down the street, away from the bar. She’ll figure it out and follow me. And if she doesn’t, I’ll just have to deal with this raging erection myself the old fashioned way. No harm, no foul. I’ll leave it all up to her.

  Footsteps behind me tell me that fate has taken my side. Olivia catches up and tucks her hand into mine. We walk and smoke in silence, my eyes scanning the area around us, looking for a pla
ce. There’s no convenient alley, no restaurants with bathrooms. It’s mostly a residential area.

  After what feels like an hour, I stop walking and turn toward Olivia. I shake my head. "This isn’t going to work." The tequila is still floating in my veins, dragging me into the undertow. I drop my arms and pin Olivia with a concluding gaze. Maybe fate wasn’t on my side after all.

  "Hold on," she says, glancing up and down the street. There’s a dangerous look in her eyes, one that simultaneously draws me in and makes me pause. This woman might look harmless, but she’s a criminal when it comes to sex. She grabs my hand and tugs me forward, trying car doors as we walk.

  She’s dead serious.

  "Olivia, what the fuck are you doing?" I mutter. "I’m on parole. You know that, right?"

  She tosses me a challenging look. "Is your probation officer here right now?"

  "No, but—"

  "Relax," she says, pulling the door of a station wagon open. "We’re not technically breaking in if it isn’t locked."

  There are so many technicalities wrapped up in this night.

  She climbs into the back seat, shedding clothing. "It’s roomy in here," she purrs, beckoning me inside.

  With one more glance at the street, I climb in after her, shutting the door behind me.

  Our breath steams up the windows. She peels off garments, flinging them into the passenger seat. Within seconds, she’s naked.

  "Your turn."

  So much for savoring this.

  I yank off my jeans, shirt, and coat. My cock stands at full attention. Olivia regards me with an amused expression on her face. Heat flushes my cheeks. "What?"

  "You were commando?" she asks, crawling into my lap.

  I laugh. “I ran out before, and didn’t get a chance to change after we did laundry.”

  Olivia smiles back. A wisp of hair falls into her eyes. I brush it back gently, my eyes roving over her face. Suddenly we’re shy teenagers who thought they were ready but don’t really know what to do next.

  My hands drop to her hips, fingers caressing the soft flesh. "You really want this?"