by Joanna Wylde
How did such an asshole loser attract a woman like this?
She swallowed nervously and her nipples hardened under their pretty little triangles of fabric. My cock informed me urgently that we really, really needed to be inside her tight little cunt sooner rather than later.
Fuckin’ amazing.
Then I saw the bruise. It was old and clearly fading, but someone had backhanded her across the cheek. My breath hissed, and for a second I felt fierce red rage sweep through me, strong enough to override my lust. What could a little thing like her do to possibly justify a man smacking her around? Did Jensen hit her? I clenched my jaw, considering different ways to kill the man. But it was faded, and she hadn’t been here last time. Might not be Jensen. Anyone could’ve marked her . . . Regardless, whoever was behind the bruise should pay.
Fuckin’ crime against nature, smacking around a face like that.
I considered taking her back to Coeur d’Alene for a while—even if he hadn’t hit her, Jensen sure as shit wouldn’t be able to keep a piece of ass like this satisfied. I’d bet my last dollar on it. Nothing like weed to make a man’s dick limp.
I shifted forward into her space, enjoying the way she backed away ever so slightly. Yeah, that was nice. This one wouldn’t just roll over for me, and I liked that.
Nothing like a chase to make the kill more satisfying.
“Hey, sweet butt,” I said, keeping my voice low and soft. Might as well find out whether she knew jack about bikers. She sure looked like a club whore. I didn’t much like the idea of her having been passed around, but if she already knew the rules, it would make life easier. She scrambled backward off the table, and I decided she was probably clueless. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that . . . Not an actual club whore, then, which was okay by me. I’d never been a huge fan of used pussy and I already knew I wanted to taste hers. On the other hand, I’d probably have to ease her into things if she didn’t know the score.
Fuckin’ shame, because I was ready to go.
The girl stood awkwardly, putting the table between us and biting her lip. Small white teeth, ripe red flesh . . . I wanted to suck that lip in, then fuck her mouth with my tongue. No, just fuck her mouth, period. Shit, at this rate I’d blow the fly right off my jeans.
Business first.
I needed to cool off or I’d break her in half when I screwed her. Maybe I should jack off ahead of time? Take off the edge . . . not a bad idea. Her tongue darted, wetting those bright, juicy lips, and I held back a groan.
“Your man here?” I asked, forcing myself to focus. “We need to talk.”
A look of confusion crossed her face. The music shut down abruptly. Her eyes darted back behind me, widening as she saw Pic pulling her keys out of the ignition. Then I heard the crunch of gravel as my brothers started toward us, and the confusion on her face shifted back toward panic.
“You mean Jeff? He’s in town,” she said, paling. She stepped back, putting more space between us, looking toward my fellow Reapers again. “Why don’t you wait out here while I call him?”
I studied her, wondering if she was telling the truth. Jensen was just pussy enough to hide behind a woman. Then her eyes drifted down across my cut, like she couldn’t help herself. Her gaze felt like fingers against my skin as she checked out my patches, and any lingering doubt I’d had about whether she knew bikers disappeared. She had no clue what it meant when a man put on a cut. I’d definitely have to educate her about my world.
“Sure thing, babe,” I said, swinging a leg over the bench to straddle it. She backed away slowly but steadily as Pic and Max joined me.
“How about a drink, girl?” Picnic asked. She nodded and turned toward the trailer, ass twitching as she walked away. Nice view. Max gave a dirty laugh, clearly enjoying the show, and I had to restrain myself from hitting the man.
Asshole should leave my girl alone.
My girl? What the fuck? I didn’t have girls. I fucked them and moved on, because life was too damned short to deal with their bullshit. Sure, I was considering leaving with her on the back of my bike, but it wasn’t like I’d be keeping her. I just wanted enough time to fuck her out of my system. Where had that thought come from?
“Where do you think Jensen found a bitch like that?” Max asked, and while I’d considered the same question earlier, I didn’t like hearing Max call her a bitch. In fact, I didn’t want Max calling her anything. I’d never been Max’s biggest fan.
“Small town girls,” Picnic said. “Not exactly a lot of options. Still, she’s too pretty to be scraping bottom. You think he’s in there pissing his pants while he hides under the bed?”
I glanced over to the trailer and caught a hint of movement at the window. She peeked through the curtains at me, cell against her ear, looking small and vulnerable. That vulnerability called to me and I licked my lips.
“No, she’s making a phone call,” I said. “He’s not here. I wonder if he’ll make a run for it?”
“You think he’d leave her to us?” Max asked, sounding a little too eager. “Hot piece like that should be on her back. Lookin’ forward to that.”
“Shut it down,” Pic said sharply. “She’s with Horse now.”
“I want her when you’re done,” Max said, looking at me.
“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped, and Max laughed.
“Cockblocker.”
“Seriously, Max, shut the fuck up,” Picnic replied, his voice like ice.
Silence fell over the table. Then the door to the trailer opened and the woman came out. She held a tall, purple plastic cup in one hand, a smaller cup with a spoon in it in the other, and two more purple cups held against her chest with her arm. She’d changed into a faded T-shirt that had to be at least an extra-large and a pair of those half pants chicks like, the ones that go below the knee. Fuckin’ shame, because those curves shouldn’t be covered. On the other hand, anything that kept Max’s eyes off her was probably a good thing.
“You call your man?” I asked. For reasons I didn’t care to examine, figuring out her relationship with Jeff-hole had turned into a high priority.
“My man?” she asked, looking confused.
“Jensen.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, thoughts passing behind her eyes too fast for me to read.
“Girlie, answer the fuckin’ question,” Picnic commanded, voice like a whip. She jumped, splashing whatever was in the cup across her breast. Her nipple beaded up from the cold and I forgot to breathe. I shifted on the bench, rethinking my decision to wait.
“Jeff’s coming,” she said. I could just lean forward and catch that nipple in my mouth . . . Back off. She was terrified, scaring her more wouldn’t move things any faster. I knew how it would end, with her spread under me, screaming when she came. But how long it took to get her there? Lotta ways that could play out. “He said he’d be here in twenty minutes. I’ve got tea for you.”
She stood in front of me, taunting me as she licked her lips nervously. I reached out and took one of the cups. She used the newly free hand to take the smaller cup and glanced toward the table. I smiled. She’d have to lean right across me to set it down. I decided to help her out, reaching over and wrapping my fingers around one of the two cups still clutched against her chest. My fingers grazed her nipple once, twice, and then I took the last cup—the small one, which was full of sugar—and set it on the table.
Our eyes stayed locked as I grasped her hand and pulled her into me, up against my thigh so her stomach almost touched my face. I could smell her, and it took everything I had not to nuzzle her belly. But I needed to know her relationship with Jensen, figure out who had marked her. So instead of pulling her against my mouth, I took her chin and turned it, exposing the bruise fully. I waited for her to say something, but she kept her mouth shut.
Interesting. Was she covering for Jeff?
I dropped my hand back down to her waist, rubbing it up and down the curve of her hip. Those curves were fuckin’ perfect, but th
e way she trembled went straight to my gut. I thought about Jensen, thought about that little fuck touching her soft skin, sucking on those lips . . .
Smacking that pretty face.
Nope, this shit wouldn’t stand. Not today.
“Jensen do that to you?”
Her eyes widened and her face flushed.
“No, he’d never do that. Jeff’s my brother,” she said, jerking free. She turned and ran into the trailer, slamming the door behind her.
“Well, that was interesting,” Picnic said. Max chuckled.
I glared at them, then something caught my eye. At the end of the table was a tray with a kitchen towel over it. Two long round lumps lay under it. I leaned over and picked up the towel to find two loaves of unbaked bread rising.
Fuck.
Not only was my girl hot as hell, she could cook, too.
Jensen showed up not long afterward, full of excuses and bullshit.
“Hey, guys, great to see you!” he called as he slammed his car door shut. “I’ll bet you’re here because of that botched transfer. No worries, Horse, I got it fixed. You can check it on my laptop. I just ran the numbers wrong the first time. No problem.”
I stood, crossing my arms as I stared him down.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I lost it,” Jeff replied, rubbing his hands against his pants nervously as he glanced between the three Reapers. “But I found it again. See?”
He pulled it out of his pocket and showed us. I looked to Picnic, who sighed.
“We’re gonna lay this out for you, okay?” the club president said. “You fucked up big-time. I don’t know if you stole the money and paid it back or if you’re just stupid. Either way, it can’t happen again. I’m about ready to pull the plug on this little operation, which means pulling the plug on you, stoner boy.”
I grunted, seconding his words. Jeff’s eyes jerked between us, then settled as he smiled at me again, like we were friends. Fucker had a serious case of reality disconnect.
“No problem,” he said. “Let’s go inside, I’ll show you the figures. Pull ’em up for you, see for yourself. Marie will make dinner, she’s a fuckin’ great cook. You’ll love it.”
So her name was Marie. I liked that—it fit her. Sort of old-fashioned but sexy at the same time. I almost smiled, but caught myself. I had a part to play in this little show, and it didn’t include looking friendly.
“Let’s take a look,” I said to Picnic. “Figure it out tonight, save us having to drive back down here to kill him if he’s lying.”
“Works for me,” Pic replied. “I’m hungry. Hey, Jensen—shooting assholes gives me heartburn. Don’t fuck this up, ’kay?”
Jeff’s face faltered, but he laughed nervously and chattered as he led us into the trailer. Me and Picnic exchanged a knowing look behind his back. I hoped to hell I wouldn’t have to kick the shit out of our helpful little hacker. Beating down her brother probably wouldn’t be the smoothest way to get into Marie’s pants.
The trailer smelled like heaven.
Marinara bubbled on the stove, and while the little window air-conditioning units kept the place cool, the oven sent out homey warmth. Marie stood in the open kitchen, frowning at us as we walked in.
“Sis, my associates are going to stay for dinner,” Jeff told her. “You better go get your bread—I think it’s done rising. You guys are gonna love this, Marie’s bread is amazing. She’ll fix you a fuckin’ great dinner.”
Marie gave her brother a tight, fixed little smile, eyes shooting daggers at him. I had to bite back a laugh—she obviously wanted us gone in a big way. For a minute I thought she might refuse, but then she broke her gaze, murmuring something as she brushed past us to go outside. I couldn’t decide if that disappointed me or not. The food smelled great and I hadn’t even realized how hungry I’d gotten.
But she should really tell her brother to fuck off—maybe tip that pot of spaghetti sauce over his head or something.
Jeff flicked on his giant-ass TV to mixed martial arts, another layer of bullshit in my opinion. Apparently he could afford a TV the size of a car but he couldn’t afford to upgrade to a place fit for his sister to live in.
I shook my head and took a seat in front of the kitchen bar, which separated the cooking area from the living room in the tiny trailer. Leaning back against the wall, I crossed my arms to watch Marie come back inside with the tray of bread, quiet as a mouse. Had the guy who’d hit her broken her spirit? I liked a woman to follow my lead, but a girl without at least a little fight wouldn’t be much fun in the sack.
“Grab us some beers, sweet butt,” Max called from the couch. I watched as she stilled, biting her lip. I could almost read her thoughts—she wanted to take one of those beer bottles and break it over Max’s head. I kinda wanted to see that myself. Instead, she set down the tray on the counter and turned to the fridge, pulling out four drinks and handing them around.
I sighed. Too bad, would’ve been fun to watch her take Max down. Not that he’d let her go too far with it, but hell . . . bastard could use a bottle over the head.
Marie ignored me as I opened my beer, turning back to put the bread in the oven and then grabbing some shit for a salad. Big fuckin’ surprise, watching her cook turned me on. Her clothes looked like hell, but I knew what was underneath and every movement was graceful and feminine. Then she grabbed another beer, popped the top like a pro, and took a deep swig, mouth wrapped tight around the length of the bottle’s neck.
I seriously considered vaulting the counter.
Instead, I sat, nursing my drink and counting all the different ways I’d do her before this ended. Over the bar, for sure, from behind. Maybe against the wall. Definitely in the shower and maybe even on my bike. Bed? Why the hell not, some of those missionaries were pretty damn smart. I’d fuck her face, too, and maybe even her ass.
My dick added its vote in favor of that plan and I shifted restlessly.
Goddamn jeans weren’t helping the situation.
When Marie pulled the bread out of the oven, the smell almost killed me. Five minutes later she had salad, pasta, and the works laid out on the counter, along with plates.
“Dinner,” she said shortly, stepping back as the guys stood and grabbed the food.
The meal blew me away, tasting even better than it smelled. The bread was savory and rich, with a hint of garlic and herbs and something else I couldn’t identify. The sauce was chunky and tangy and full of fresh tomatoes with big spicy meatballs. Even the salad was fantastic, and totally different. It had the usual greens, but it also had nuts and fruit and some kind of fancy cheese.
“This is amazing,” Picnic told Marie as he filled his plate a second time, voice full of genuine admiration. “You can really cook. My old lady used to cook like this.”
That caught my attention. Pic didn’t talk about Heather much, and never to strangers. She’d been dead for years, but it could’ve been yesterday so far as Pic was concerned. He’d given Marie a serious compliment.
She flushed prettily, and murmured, “Thanks.”
I held back a frown. I didn’t like her blushing and murmuring at another guy.
Fuckin’ Picnic.
The food was gone all too soon, though I’d definitely gotten my fill. Hell, I should bring her back to Coeur d’Alene just to cook—woman had a gift. Picnic caught my eye and jerked his head toward Marie. I sighed.
Time to check out Jeff’s story and then scare the crap out of him.
I was ready to finish this particular game. I’d joined the club for the freedom and the fun, and now I found myself managing some hacker asshat like a goddamn human resources officer. Bullshit all around. Might as well get a job down at city hall, buy a suit, and trade my bike for a minivan.
“You might want to go for a drive,” I told Marie, wishing it didn’t need to happen. I’d wait for her to get back, but still . . . lotta ways for things to go wrong under the circumstances. “We’ve got business.”
<
br /> “Do you mind, sis?” Jeff asked. She shook her head, looking almost wistful. Then she pulled herself together and smiled at us—that same bright, fake smile she’d given earlier—as she went to the door and grabbed her purse.
“Well, nice to meet all of you, um . . .”
Picnic stood and offered a wolfish grin. I didn’t care for that one bit—I’d have words with him later.
“I’m Picnic, and these are my brothers, Horse and Max.”
Marie looked at me, her expression puzzled. I raised a brow, waiting to see what she’d do next. Ask about my name, maybe? Nope, she was chickening out.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Picnic,” she said.
“Just Picnic. Thanks again for the food.”
There was that admiring tone in his president’s voice again. Time to shut it down.
“I’ll walk you out to your car,” I said, voice firm. Pic gave me a knowing look and I realized the man had been fucking with me.
Again.
Asshole.
“Take your time, we can wait,” Pic said, pulling Marie’s car keys from his pocket and tossing them to her. She stepped out of the trailer, me right behind her. The door slammed shut, the warm evening air surrounded us, and I felt myself relax. Dealing with Jensen was a pain in the ass, but it would be worth it because I planned on having a hell of a good time with his sister before I was finished.
I snagged her hand, pulling her toward the table, turning and tucking my hands under her arms to pop her onto the end. She stared up at me, blinking rapidly as I slid my hands down her sides, wedging them between her legs and pushing her knees gently apart. Then I leaned into her, inhaling her scent once more.
Marie smelled even better now than before, with a hint of fresh bread added into the mix. I gave serious thought to biting her shoulder, just to see if she tasted half as good as that scent of hers suggested.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said, her voice quavering. She pulled away from me, glancing toward the trailer. “I mean, everyone is waiting for you, right? I can just go, let’s forget this, okay?”
I leaned back, studying her, wishing I felt half as unaffected as she seemed to be. If she didn’t want me touching her, why would she let me hold her like this? This tension between us was incredible. It couldn’t only be on my side. Could it?