A Disturbing Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 1)

by Elizabeth Barone

  Balancing the Screamin’ Eagle between my legs, I shut the engine off. It continues to vibrate through me, my blood singing. This whole thing should be unnerving, but I’m thrilled. Every step into the club just draws me in deeper. But I’ve promised myself I’m not going to be like him. I’m already better.

  Instead of climbing down, Olivia remains snuggled against my back. "That was nice," she murmurs.

  She’s so warm. The wisps of her spirit wrap around me, claiming me. This woman is going to completely undo me if I can’t have her. I want this moment to last, but she’ll think something’s up if I linger. I have to let it be exactly what it is: a ride. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Untangling myself from her arms, I swing off. "Need anything?" I ask, nodding to the gas station.

  She shakes her head dreamily. "I’m coming in with you, though. It’s cold."

  We walk inside together, my head still trying to catch up with my actual life. A big part of me is still inside, lying on my bunk staring at the ceiling between shifts. Not only has a motorcycle club taken me in, but they’ve also given me a beast of my own to ride. The Screamin’ Eagle is almost a decade old and club property, but it fits me like a glove. And the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen is riding home with me.

  Well, not home home.

  The gas station attendant perks up when he sees my girl. He’s cut but wiry. "Hi Olivia." His eyes practically laser into her, ignoring me. I instantly don’t like him. His gaze is too intense, his eyes too vacant.

  "Oh, hey Eli." She smiles. "I didn’t know you live out here." Leaning on the counter, she looks too damn familiar with him.

  My fists clench inside their leather gloves.

  "I just work here," Eli says. "It’s still close enough to campus."

  My eyes hood in suspicion. If I remember correctly, Olivia’s school is in New Haven. It’s about thirty minutes from Naugy. And I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. "I need a pack of Marlboro Blacks."

  Eli sets his jaw, his sandy douchebag haircut flopping. "Yeah, in a minute," he says, as if I’m a fly he’s trying to shoo out of the store.

  I bow my head, eyes locked on his. Deliberately, I nuzzle my nose into Olivia’s hair, inhaling her scent. That dark jasmine envelopes me, damn near making me dizzy. I pull her closer into me. "Time’s up."

  Olivia cocks an eyebrow at me over her shoulder. "Cliff," she says, almost amused, "this is Eli, from my photography class."

  The hot guy. Of course.

  My lip curls into a sneer but my arms remain locked around her. If she wants this asshole, there’s nothing I can do about it—but right now, she’s out with me. "How nice," I say. My stare never leaves his face. "Marlb Blacks. Now."

  He snuffles a laugh, eyes flicking from me to Olivia. "He your friend?"

  "I’m not going to ask again." The words are careful, measured. Dangerous. Blood pumps through me, and the familiar anticipatory thrill of a fight awakens me. I outweigh this guy by at least fifty pounds.

  Olivia sighs and tips her head back, exposing her creamy, pale throat. I want to sink my teeth into her, to hear her gasp and scream as she comes. She rolls her eyes at me. "You can take the convict out of prison . . ." she intones, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It’s even more thrilling, knowing that she’s amused. I could beat the guy to death and she’d still be laughing. At least, that’s how it feels.

  Photography douche’s eyes snap to attention. "Prison, huh?" He smirks, crossing his arms. "Is it true what they say?"

  Behind that jerk facade, though, he’s practically sweating bullets. "What?" I ask, my voice low. My fingers brush Olivia’s hips. "That we’re feral when we get out?"

  Olivia peers over her shoulder, eyebrows lifted, lips parted. Her wide eyes are luminous and shimmering with lust as she arches into me.

  It’s my turn to smirk.

  Eli tosses a pack of cigarettes at me, his entire face sagging. Something clicks in his eyes over and over, like gears in a broken windup toy. I reach for my wallet, but he holds up a hand. "They’re on me." Cold eyes tunnel into me.

  I slap money down on the counter anyway, then wrap an arm around Olivia’s waist and lead her outside.

  Olivia glances at the gas station over and over as I start the bike. I’m not a one kick wonder yet, so it always takes me time to get the thing going. Which is really useless in a time like this when I’d love to rip right out of here.

  The Screamin’ Eagle roars to life. Olivia hugs me as we take off back into town. Since the passenger seat is several inches higher than mine, her lips easily brush my ear.

  "What was that all about?" she asks over the engine.

  My shoulders stiffen. "I don’t like that guy," I call back.

  I don’t hear her sigh so much as feel it. "He’s letting me borrow one of his cameras," she says.

  "There’s something wrong with him."

  I turn onto Meadow, the short street that’s one of many hills that populate Naugy, my teeth clenched. It’s steep, and going down was a lot easier. Riding this thing takes so much concentration. There’s a lot of respect and trust involved. It’s me and this machine, working in tandem.

  As we near Lucy’s, Olivia wraps her arms even tighter around me. "Are you jealous?" she purrs into my ear.

  There’s a hell of a lot of implication behind her words. It gives me a headache, trying to figure out where she’s heading—whether she’s angry or pleased. She is so much goddamn work.

  I say nothing as we roll quietly onto Lucy’s street. I park the motorcycle, but neither of us move. The night presses onto us, winter’s last few ounces of strength. Soon the weather will be good and I won’t have to worry about killing myself on icy streets. Tonight the pavement was dry but tomorrow it’ll be back to bumming rides from Lucy. Despite what Beer Can says, I’m not comfortable enough to ice skate. Yet.

  "You are," Olivia says softly.

  "What?" I shift in her embrace and look at her over my shoulder.

  Solemn brown orbs measure me. "Jealous." Her lips curve around the word.

  I hold her gaze and drop my voice. "Maybe."

  Her grip on me tightens. "Take me home." The heat smoldering in those words blasts into me.

  "Olivia." Her name is a soft whisper of agony, a warning. "You don’t want to get involved with me."

  She huffs daintily. "Who said I wanted to date you?" Her eyes glint. "I just want to fuck you."

  My head shakes. "I can’t do that." Nodding toward Lucy’s, I don’t vocalize my thoughts. I shouldn’t need to.

  "But you can tattle on me," Olivia says. She pulls away, the sudden loss of her warmth leaving my back cold.

  I groan inwardly and light a cigarette. "I thought you only liked one-night stands."

  "Maybe I want to make an exception."

  Drawing in a breath, I start to remind her of Lucy, but she holds up a hand.

  "She’s already told us she doesn’t care." Hugging herself, she stares at me, leaving the ball in my court.

  "And Eli?" The name is bitter on my tongue. I’ve known her for less than two weeks, and I’m already seething at the idea of her with another man.

  The look she shoots at me says enough, but she gives it to me anyway. "So let me get this straight," she hisses, keeping her voice down so we don’t rouse the neighbors or my cousin. “You don’t want me?”

  "I didn’t say that," I sigh. I hand her my cigarette. "I’m just saying . . ." Christ, I don’t even know what I’m saying. I should be warning her off. There’s something stretching inside of me, eager to be let out. And even though it should scare me, it doesn’t. I’m not reckless enough to do anything that will land me back in Lewisburg, but I’ve been given my freedom and the opportunity to use it to its fullest potential. I don’t want Olivia involved in that. It’s bad enough she works at The Wet Mermaid.

  She watches me expectantly, waiting for me to finish.

  "I’m dangerous, Olivia." I throw the words at her.

&nb
sp; Rolling her eyes, she takes a drag off the cigarette. "You’re such a fucking cliché, Cliff." She shakes her head in contempt. "I’m not on my knees begging to marry you and have your babies. I’m inviting you to my apartment for sex between two consenting adults who are mature enough not to make it personal. My roommate is working and I’m horny." She puts her hands on her hips. "You can’t bend me over a counter and then leave me hanging."

  She looks so fierce, a smile cracks my lips. "Well, when you put it that way, Ms. Reynolds . . ."

  Stomping her foot, she tosses the cigarette into the street. "Just take me home and fuck me."

  "Get on the fucking bike, then," I growl back. This woman is giving me whiplash, and I’m not sure I can take it. As she climbs back on behind me, the cold hard truth sinks in.

  I like her—like her, like her.

  As pathetic as this might sound, I’ve never had a real girlfriend. I mean, I’ve had girls. I wasn’t a monk in high school. From the time when I was fifteen to right before I got locked up, I always had someone. None of it was ever serious, though. We didn’t do things like go to the movies or hang around the mall like you see on the Hollywood big screen. Maybe in another life I would’ve taken those girls out. I don’t know. My parents weren’t even married, so dating wasn’t exactly a priority.

  The thought of them points me down a path I don’t want to walk, so I lean into the wind and focus on getting to Olivia’s.

  She guides me to an apartment complex on the edge of town. I get us as close to her door as I can, then kill the engine. Dismounting, I turn to face her. She straddles the pussy pad, watching me. I don’t wait for her to get off and go unlock her front door. Lifting her into my arms, I sweep her off the bike, cradled to my chest.

  But as usual, Olivia has other ideas.

  She wriggles in my arms until her legs are wrapped around my waist, her arms slung about my neck. "What are you gonna do to me?" she asks.

  I blink down at her, my brow creasing slightly. "Isn’t it obvious?"

  Rolling her eyes, she grinds her pelvis against me. "I mean to punish me. For making you jealous."

  "This is all just a fucking game to you, isn’t it?" I carry her to the front door, pinning her there while she fumbles in her bag for her keys.

  "Well, yeah." Tender pink lips part as she laughs at me. She places the keys in the palm of my hand, and I close my fingers around them.

  I press into her until my lips are a whisper from hers, her body trapped between mine and the door. "If anyone’s being punished," I rumble, "it’s me." My lips capture hers, pressing flesh hard enough to bruise. I wanted to go slow, but the way she’s talking to me loosens all of my knots. Through the rough denim of my jeans, I ache for her. I grind against her, those legs tightening around me.

  She gasps into my mouth, and I know neither of us are into taking our time.

  I jam the key into the lock, twist the knob, and shove the door open. Carrying Olivia inside, I slam the door shut with the heel of my boot. The layout of her place is open. I walk us down a short entryway, past a tiny kitchen and into the living area. Two doors oppose each other. "Which room?" I rasp between fevered kisses. She points and I follow.

  This time, there’s no need to rush. We’re not stealing time in the back of a station wagon. I grin as I move us into her bedroom. The room is dark, heavy black curtains keeping out the light from the street. Her mouth works down from my lips, trailing wet heat and nips down my throat. Moaning, I dump us both onto the bed.

  I yank her jacket off, tossing it to the floor. Her shirt follows it closely, my hands curling around her firm, supple breasts. I catch a nipple between my teeth, my tongue flicking at it. In response, she arches against me, crying out. The second she recovers, her fingers work at my jeans, peeling them off.

  I wrench off her leggings. The sound of ripping fabric cuts through the air. I stop, panting above her on my knees. "Sorry." I’m being too rough. Tipping my head back, I suck in a deep breath, trying to collect myself. I’m four times her size. I have to be careful with her.

  But Olivia collides into me, her lips and teeth yanking at mine. "Don’t worry about it," she breathes during a moment when our tongues aren’t interlocked. "They were from Forever 21. Can’t really expect much."

  She finishes removing my clothing, then curls her fingers around my length. Giving me a hard tug, she pulls me toward her and lies on her back. "Round two, baby," she says.

  Even if the leggings were just thin fabric, she isn’t. I enter her slowly, savoring every inch that I gain into her pulsing wet warmth. She rocks against me.

  "Yes, baby, yes," she whispers breathlessly.

  All of the most powerful substances in the world have nothing on the potent high she gives me.

  I slide fully home, and for a moment we just look at each other. Her breasts knead my chest, her nipples still hard. Our hearts beat in tandem, and the notion of how in sync we are makes me fucking dizzy.

  She lifts an eyebrow at me. "You gonna stare at me all night, or are you going to fuck me?"

  Letting out a hoarse laugh, I slide out until just the tip of me is touching her. "Just remember, you asked for it," I tell her, hesitating just one more second.

  "Yes, I did," she says in the most angelic voice.

  I glide back into her in one quick thrust, eyes locked on hers, making sure she’s okay. She rolls her eyes at me and bucks right back up at me, her pace matching mine.

  I give it to her, everything I’ve got, everything I’ve been holding back and dreaming of these last twenty years. Our bodies disconnect and reconnect with lightning speed, Olivia clinging to my back, thighs shuddering and mouth crying out in pleasure with every blow. It’s the kind of sex that feels so good in the moment and leaves muscles pleasantly sore the entire next day. The concept is familiar, but with Olivia it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

  She rakes nails down my back, teeth grazing my shoulder. She begs for it harder, even as I’m sweating, muscles trembling, the cords in them standing out as I work to keep up. My black hair hangs in her face and she takes fistfuls of it, pulling so hard I swear it’s going to come straight out of my head.

  Yet every second of it drives me closer and closer to the edge.

  I can feel it building, that liquid fire that sparks somewhere in my belly and shoots through me.

  "Come on, come for me, baby," she coaxes into my ear.

  "What about you?" Each word is forced, all of my energy focused into not ejaculating.

  She laughs softly. "I already have, like seven times." Fingernails dig into the tender flesh of my ass, forcing me even deeper into her. "Let it go, baby."

  She’s the one pulling the strings, because she doesn’t get halfway through her sentence before it rips through me. My head tips back, my entire body jerking. Even in the throes of my own climax, I can feel her seizing around me.

  We come together and collapse into a heap on her bed. I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her, and press a kiss to her shoulder. If what I feel so far is infatuation, I’m a little afraid to see what it’ll be like to love her.

  I’m addicted.

  She shifts in my arms, breaking free. Standing up, she begins collecting clothing from the floor. My clothing.

  "Not a cuddler, huh?" I smirk. It’s just as well. I need a cigarette. Sitting up, I stretch.

  She tosses my clothes at me. "My roommate will be home any minute. Time for you to leave.”

  Olivia pads out of the bedroom. A few seconds later, the shower faucet squeaks and water pounds the tub. The bathroom door shuts with a loud thump.

  Holding my jeans in my hands, I wait for her to shout for me to join her in the shower, to tell me she was kidding. Several minutes fly by. Ducking my head, I close my eyes. I’ve been duped.

  Thankfully, Olivia won’t ever know that I stood naked in her bedroom, waiting like a hopeful puppy. I tug on my jeans, shaking my head at myself. Dio meows from a corner, the closest thing to a cat laugh t
hat I’ve ever seen.

  “Yes, I know,” I tell him softly. “Can you blame me, though?”

  He closes his eyes and buries his face in his paws.

  Even though I’m not sure I deserve to, I wish things were different—that Olivia and I could eventually have the type of relationship where I stay the night. I’ll take what I can get, though.

  Shrugging into my cut, I leave Olivia’s place, my skin already cold without her touch.

  10

  Olivia

  I can’t help but sing while getting ready for class the next morning. Part of me feels like an asshole for kicking Cliff out, but Esther really was coming home, and I didn’t want to deal with her questions. Neither of us have ever brought a guy home before—usually I go to their places. I’ve also never slept with the same guy twice.

  Cliff has me breaking all kinds of rules.

  I throw on sweats and my high top Nikes, then toss my hair into a frizzy bun. With such wild curly hair, I’ll never have one of those cute messy buns that straight-haired girls rock. But I’ve managed to make it my own.

  I’m supposed to work tonight, but I’ll come home and shower first. Still, just in case, I wing my eyeliner and dab on mascara. Looking at my reflection, I shake my head at myself. The odds of me running into Cliff today are pretty low. This is totally absurd. After another moment, I shrug and add lip gloss.

  My hand is on my bedroom door knob when I hear a door slam. Frenzied shrieks and Spanish gush from my roommate’s mouth. I throw my door open and Esther barrels into my room.

  Between high school and my roommate, my Spanish is pretty good, but she’s talking way too fast. Tears streak her cheeks, and she clutches her phone in her hand. I lead her to my bed and sit her down. After bringing her an ice cold glass of water, I calm her enough to talk.

  "My car," she gasps, her hands shaking. "Someone slit my tires."

  I bolt up straight. Eyes narrowing, I stomp toward the front door as if I can still catch the motherfucker. Right outside our front door, Esther’s car slumps pathetically. All four tires have long gashes in them. My jaw hangs open even as fury rips through me. Esther is a nice person—someone so quiet, she wouldn’t disturb a librarian. Cutting tires is never random, always personal. This doesn’t make sense.