The front door flew open. Dwight and Darryl stormed into the room, dragging a woman between them. Wild eyed and struggling frantically against them, she managed to plant her knee in Darryl’s crotch. He bent over double and dropped her arm. She swung at Dwight, who blocked the blow and strong-armed her into a headlock.
Her long red hair flew around her face as she fought back.
“Feisty little thing,” Tuck observed.
She flailed in his grip, clawing at his hand. When that didn’t work, she threw an elbow into his side. Darryl scrambled to his feet.
“What have you boys been up to?” Jerrilyn demanded.
“We came across her in town when we were scrounging for booze,” Darryl said. “She was hiding out in the back of the church.”
“We offered her a bed, food, and a safe place to stay. Figured she’d be grateful,” Dwight added.
“Grateful enough to put out?” Tuck asked.
“Well, yeah. Quid pro quo, you know,” Darryl said.
“You two plan to share her?” Tuck asked.
“Sure, why not.”
The woman threw her head backward, slamming her skull into Dwight’s nose.
“Dammit,” he roared, tightening his hold on her neck. Her face turned red, and the fight began to go out of her.
Ripper tensed and squeezed my arm. His eyes met mine for a few seconds, and I saw something flicker in their depths. Regret, perhaps. Or resolve. Before I could figure it out, he lifted me off his lap and settled me next to him on the sofa. He rose to his feet.
“Just one problem with that plan,” he said. “I got a prior claim to this woman.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Kenzie
I got a prior claim to this woman.
Everyone in the room froze. For a good twenty seconds, I stared at Ripper. Months ago, I’d confessed to him that I didn’t think I was his type, a concern he’d dismissed. My gaze shifted back to the redhead.
She was gorgeous with a tough-chick style that I could never hope to emulate. Lavish, colorful tattoos covered her arms. Her hair was a bold burgundy, a striking, attention-seeking color not found in nature. Black, cat-eye liner highlighted her green eyes. Her lush lips were tinted an unrepentant red. Who wears makeup during an apocalypse? Leggings and a ribbed tank top clung to her hourglass figure. Big breasts, a tiny waist, and hips that flared out into a generous ass. Va-va-voom, Uncle Mel would have pronounced. She could have walked out of one of my romance novels, all curves and sass and undeniable sex appeal. I could imagine her draped over a hot biker at some club party.
And she was in trouble. Dragged kicking and screaming into the room by the doofus brothers.
I got a prior claim to this woman.
Certainty settled in my chest.
“Ripper, do you know this woman?” I whined, deliberately using his name.
“Hey, Ripper.” The woman caught on fast. Her voice was a low and sexy purr that betrayed not a hint of anxiety over her plight. “Long time no see.”
“Who are you?” I demanded, clutching jealously at Ripper’s arm. He shrugged off my hand, focusing all his attention on the voluptuous redhead.
“My name’s Nyx Petrakis. Before the pandemic, I owned a tattoo shop in Portland.”
“Did you do the Janissary tattoo on Ripper’s back?” I asked, infusing a hopeful quiver into my voice. “Is that how he knows you?”
She smiled. “No, sweetheart. Ripper and I met at a party. We’ve been hooking up off and on for a couple of years.”
I blinked, and my confidence wavered. That was entirely plausible. Why wouldn’t two beautiful people hit it off and become casual fuck buddies? But...if Ripper had recognized Nyx, surely he would have reacted the second they dragged her into the room.
“I never seen you at the clubhouse,” Tuck chimed in, frowning.
Nyx swept her gaze up and down his body, from his scuffed boots to his scraggly beard, lingering for a moment on his cut. Her expression telegraphed her disdain. “Do the Janissaries invite the bush league clubs to all their parties?”
Bush league. Burn. Maybe he should think twice before calling a kidnapped woman a feisty little thing and wondering aloud if her captors intended to share her. I’d tiptoed around Tuck, obsequious, trying to hide my deep contempt for the man who abused women. Watching Nyx verbally take him down was a glorious thing.
“We do not,” Ripper said firmly, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Nyx and pulling her away from Dwight. “It’s good to see you again, Nyx. I’ve missed you.”
He was playing a part. I knew it, still watching Ripper embrace another woman made my stomach curdle.
“You can’t have her. You already got a woman,” Darryl protested. He dragged a hand through his greasy hair and glanced around the room, pausing when his eyes fell on the matriarch of the Wilcox Brigade. “Tell him, Aunt Jerrilyn. Tell him he can’t have two women when Dwight and I got none.”
Jerrilyn snorted, contempt in her eyes when she looked at her nephew. He might be a faithful member of the brigade, a true believer in the cause, but despite the ties of blood, Jerrilyn had to see that Ripper brought more to the table—brains and skills—than both her nephews combined.
“You’re going to have to take that up with Ripper,” she said, stirring the pot.
“Yeah, Darryl. You wanna take it up with me?” Ripper wrapped an arm around Nyx’s waist. “Maybe we can go outside and work things out?”
Nature might have stiffed Darryl when it came to smarts, but even he knew better than to take on Ripper in a fight.
“It’s not fair,” he grumbled, scowling at the floor rather than meeting Ripper’s eyes.
Ripper laughed. “Life ain’t fair.” He swept his hand over the curve of Nyx’s ass, then pulled her tight against his groin. “How about you and me go back to my room and get reacquainted?”
Nyx offered a slow smile, her eyelids heavy with promise as she caressed his chest. “I’d like that.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Ripper glanced at me. “Mac, you wanna join us?”
Nyx held out a hand. “Come on, sweetheart. I promise we’ll have fun.”
A threesome. A clever way to get us out of the room and away from prying eyes and ears.
Not for the first time, I wondered what an old lady would do under the circumstances. My motorcycle club romances offered little guidance about how an old lady would react if her man flaunted his infidelities under her nose. In the books, once a biker found true love, he became a reformed man-whore, one hundred percent faithful to his woman. In reality? I didn’t have a clue, but I suspected that even if he cheated, he wouldn’t rub it in her face That would be disrespectful, wouldn’t it? And from what Ripper had told me, even if they were deferential to their men in public, real life old ladies were no doormats.
Would an old lady cheerfully agree to a threesome? Maybe not. And I had an idea about how to parlay this situation to our advantage.
Instead of going along with the plan, I shook my head, vehemently rejecting the offer. Surprise flickered in Ripper’s eyes.
“Are you kidding me?” I shrieked. “You’re my old man. Mine. You don’t get to go off and fuck some skank.”
Ripper let go of Nyx and stalked toward me, his face set in harsh lines. “No, Mac.” Quiet menace filled his voice. I shivered, despite knowing that we were playacting. “You got it wrong. I get to do whatever I want. And you will do as you’re fucking told.”
Over his shoulder, I saw Tuck lean forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement. The asshole loved this shit, loved seeing a man force his woman to toe the line. Jerrilyn crossed her arms over her chest, watching us with eagle eyes. Was she gauging Ripper’s command potential, assessing how he handled disaffection in the ranks? Boyd’s face was unreadable. He almost appeared bored. Only Libby looked concerned for my well-being, biting her lips and rubbing her hands together.
I shoved at Ripper’s chest, a futile gesture of defiance. “Fuck you.”
We’d done this once before, on the night we met. That time he hadn’t shown me any mercy. Look how far we’d come. Tears welled in my eyes, not because it hurt—it didn’t—but because even in the midst of our bogus battle, my man protected me.
“What the fuck, Mac?” he growled. His confusion was genuine. I could see it. All I had to do was follow him to our bedroom. We could end this painful charade and fill Nyx in on our plans.
“Get your hands off of me,” I said through clenched teeth.
Ripper leaned into me. “Why?” His broad back hid me from the others while his lips silently shaped the word.
“The keys,” I whispered. I recognized the instant he understood my plan. His nostrils flared, and his expression tightened. He didn’t like it one bit. The plan was fraught with risk, and I’d have to get up close and personal with Tuck in order to succeed. Put my hands on the creep. But it could work, and I saw that grudging knowledge in Ripper’s expression, too.
He released me and took a step back.
“You gonna move your ass?” he demanded, his tone hard and cold.
“No.”
“Looks like you forgot who owns you, darlin'.”
My fingers flew to my property necklace. During our brief stay with the brigade, the necklace had been my talisman against their evil, a tangible reminder of my connection to Ripper and of the righteousness of our cause.
“Do you think this necklace means that you can do anything you want, and I’ll just take it?”
Ripper shrugged. “Well, yeah.”
I wrapped my fingers around the beaded chain. If I tore it off my neck and threw it at his feet—the beads skittering every which way across the floor—what a grand, dramatic gesture that would be. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t destroy this symbol of his love for me, something that he’d made with his own hands.
Ripper’s gaze fell on the necklace. “Hand it over.”
“What?” My voice cracked, betraying my very real shock.
“You heard me. You don’t deserve to wear it.”
I gaped at him. Even if this was all an act, that was a bridge too far. He couldn’t take it away from me. He couldn’t. “Ripper, no,” I whispered, more desperate plea than defiance in my voice.
Strong hands seized my shoulders and turned me around. He swept my hair away from my neck and unfastened the necklace’s clasp. When I whirled around to face him, I saw him tuck the necklace into a pocket inside his cut.
He dropped his chin and planted his hands on his hips, as if daring me to challenge him, then he widened his eyes. Understanding dawned. Get with the program. Ripper was escalating the fight, giving me a pretext to turn to Tuck for comfort. He might not like my plan, but he trusted me to see it through. I sucked in a breath. Okay. We were all in.
“You’re an asshole.”
He snorted, unimpressed. “So?”
“And you’re not the only man in the world. I got options.”
That declaration got everybody’s attention. Over Ripper’s shoulder I saw Tuck angle his head and purse his lips, eyeing me speculatively. Dwight and Darryl elbowed each other, while Jerrilyn laughed softly to herself. Conflict must feed something in her sorry soul. Darryl licked his lips and made a lewd gesture, then high fived his brother. Good thing Ripper had his back to them and couldn’t see their antics.
With a lightning fast move, he seized my chin and tilted my head back. “Let me explain your options, Mac. You come with me now and join the party. Or you wait till Nyx and I are done, then I haul your ass back to my bed. As far as you’re concerned, I am the only man in the world.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at Darryl and Dwight, who instantly ceased their crude miming. “You think any of these men will challenge me for rights to you?”
“Asshole,” I repeated weakly, acting like all the fire and bluster had gone out of me.
He stepped back. “You coming?”
I shook my head, wrapping my arms around my stomach.
“All right. Be back for you in a while. Take the time to get your head screwed on straight. You and me, we ain’t done till I say we’re done.” Ripper held out a hand to Nyx. Without a backwards glance, they walked away, leaving me alone with the Wilcox Brigade.
Exactly where I needed to be. The room let out a collective sigh. Libby rushed to my side and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Mac.”
I leaned into her embrace for just a moment before extricating myself. I didn’t need Libby to console me. I needed Tuck, who was watching me from across the room.
“Do all you bikers think that you can have whatever you want whenever you want it?” I asked him. I had no idea if he’d stand in solidarity with a brother biker or grab the opportunity to make a move on me. No matter what happened, I had to be ready to steer the conversation in the direction I needed it to go.
He patted the empty spot on the sofa next to him. I sat and clasped my hands together on my lap, waiting for whatever pearls of wisdom fell from his mouth.
Tuck scratched his beard, sending dandruff flying. I held my breath until the flakes subsided. “Well now, men who are drawn to the lifestyle don’t like to be hemmed in by laws and convention. You had to know that.”
I shook my head. “Ripper is the first biker I ever met. I didn’t know much about the lifestyle before I met him.”
“Maybe so, but now that you know what he expects from you, you got to decide if that’s what you want. You do have options, some better than others.” He rolled his eyes at Dwight and Darryl, who were mixing drinks in the corner. Tuck laid a hand on my knee, and I fought the urge to shrink away from the man who beat the crap out of his last girlfriend.
“It’s just...” I turned on the waterworks, crocodile tears streaming from my eyes. “It’s just that I love him so much.” Guess I was wrong about being a lousy actress if I could blubber at will. I am an ugly crier. My skin blotches and the whites of my eyes turn bright red. Under Tuck’s dismayed gaze, heat scalded my cheeks, and my nose began to drip. Sniffing, I rubbed my face on my sleeve.
Tuck frowned watching my performance. My sloppy tears and declaration of love for Ripper had its intended effect, nipping any come-on in the bud.
Dwight and Darryl hurried toward me, carrying a glass full of dark liquid. “Libby told us that you like rum and coke. We made this for you special.”
I hiccuped, reached for the glass, and took a small sip. It was ghastly, sickly sweet, like cough syrup. “Thank you.” I snorted through my runny nose and took another tiny swallow. Dwight awkwardly patted my shoulder while I dissolved into more tears. “Ripper,” I wailed.
Dwight and Darryl must have figured that they wouldn’t make any inroads with me tonight, and they beat a hasty retreat, leaving me alone with Tuck.
“Guess you love him then,” he said, his tone grudging.
I bobbed my head. “We were happy. Why did he have to hook up with her? Why wasn’t I enough for him?”
Tuck shifted uncomfortably. Shoot. If I overplayed my hand, he might flee.
“You’ve been really nice.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and smiled tremulously at him. “Would you mind...” My voice trailed off, and I left the question hanging.
“Would I mind what?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen with me and Ripper. I’m scared. I sure could use a friend.”
“I’ll be your friend, sweet thang.” He rubbed a slow circle on my back. “You can count on old Tuck.”
“Could I ask my friend for a hug?” I lowered my face, then glanced shyly up at him through my lashes. I b
oth hoped and feared that he’d buy my sweet, timid act.
“Come here, baby girl.” He held out his arms, inviting me to sit on his lap.
I sidled onto his lap, laid my head on his shoulder and sighed. His prickly beard tickled the top of my head. He smelled sour, as if his rancid soul had corrupted his body. Drawing in shallow breaths, I spread my fingers across his chest.
“You’re being so nice.” I choked on the words.
“I’ll always be nice to you, honey.” He began to rock slowly back and forth, comforting me the way you would a small child. We sat for a long while, while Dwight and Darryl drank several glasses of the alcoholic concoction they mixed together. Boyd and Libby sat together on the sofa, carrying on a hushed conversation. Jerrilyn leaned back in the recliner, watching Tuck and me, her expression avid.
Finally, we heard a door open at the opposite end of the house. Tuck stood, depositing me on my feet. No doubt he didn’t want Ripper to find me perched on his lap. I wrapped my arms around Tuck’s waist and pressed my stomach against his crotch, shifting from side to side while I hugged him.
His cock jumped beneath my belly as I slid my palms over his flat ass. “I’ll never forget how sweet you were to me,” I whispered in his ear. I slipped one hand into the back pocket where he kept the keys. Crap. The pocket was empty, except for what felt like a wadded-up tissue. Ripper’s footsteps announced his return. Even if I was willing to reach into his front pocket—pretend like I was copping a feel—there wasn’t time. I stepped away from Tuck and turned toward the arched opening to the room, clutching my hands together nervously.
Ripper walked into the room, barefoot, barechested, hair mussed, with bright red lipstick smeared on his neck and chin. He was certainly selling the I-just-got-laid-look, wasn’t he? Leaning against the doorway, he crossed his arms over his chest and fixed steely eyes on me.
“Get your ass over here, Mac.”
I hesitated, as if torn by conflicting impulses, then nodded. “Okay.” I conceded defeat and came to heel, walking slowly toward Ripper. Without another word, he wheeled around and strode toward the bedroom, forcing me to trot to keep up with him.
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