Spyder: An Alpha Male MC Biker Romance (Dark Pharaohs Motorcycle Club Romance Book 3)

by Ivy Black

  It’s bullshit, of course. We destroyed his product the day we delivered our original message. But he doesn’t know that. And when I look over at him, his eyes widen, and an expression of fear crosses his face. Singer looks at him.

  “We good?” he asks Pete.

  Pete manages to get himself under control and glances at me, an expression of pure hatred on his face.

  “This ain’t over, asshole,” he sneers. “You should really be more careful who you fuck with, man. It could have consequences for other people. People you care about might get hurt because you’re an asshole.”

  I take a step toward him, ready to beat the shit out of him again, but Singer gets in my way and puts his hands on my chest to stop me. I point at Pete, my expression one of absolute malice.

  “You come for any of the guys in my MC, it’s gonna be the biggest mistake of your life. We are not people you want to fuck with.”

  He gives me a malevolent grin. “Who said anything about your club?”

  I struggle to break Singer’s grip on me, but Pete turns and runs off, hurling insults at me over his shoulder as he goes. When he disappears around a corner, Singer lets go of me.

  “Easy, kid,” he says. “He’s gone. Just leave it alone.”

  Anger is coursing through every vein in my body. What did he mean if he wasn’t talking about coming after the MC? I’ve got no family and he couldn’t possibly know about Bellamy… so who was he talking about?

  “You all right, son?”

  I turn to Singer, doing my best to calm down. It’s not him I’m pissed at, and I don’t want to lash out at him. The last thing I need is to end up in the can for a night because I couldn’t keep my cool and popped Singer.

  “Yeah. Fine,” I growl.

  “So, do you actually have that guy’s bag of drugs?”

  I shake my head. “We burned it all that day we rousted him.”

  “I really wish you guys would let me handle that sort of thing.”

  “No offense, but we’re more effective.”

  He sighs. “Yeah, but that’s my job.”

  “People call us because they know we cut through all the… red tape.”

  Singer chuckles. “Red tape. You mean laws?”

  “Look, there are no drugs in the streets There are no dealers running around Blue Rock hookin’ the school kids on their shit, right?”

  “Yeah,” he grudgingly admits.

  “Then take the W and the credit for keepin’ such a clean and tidy town.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve never been a big ends-justify-the-means kind of guy.”

  “And yet, sometimes they do.”

  He runs a hand through his close-cropped hair, giving me that flinty-eyed gaze that always makes me think of him as an Old West gunslinger.

  “What’s Prophet got planned?” he asks.

  “The less you know, the better, Sheriff.”

  “I disagree. This is my town, Spyder. I need to know what’s goin’ on,” he says. “I need to know what to prepare for.”

  “Hopefully, you don’t have to plan for anything.”

  He sighs and his expression darkens. He looks down at his feet, frowning as he slips his hands into his pockets.

  “And if you guys fail? Shouldn’t I know what’s on the horizon so I can plan for it? Plan to protect the people here?” he asks.

  “If we fail, you can expect a host of cartel men, all of them heavily armed, lots of violence. Killing,” I tell him. “And you can expect a flood of drugs.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “We’re not going to fail, Sheriff.”

  “I sure as hell hope not,” he says.

  I look at him for a long moment. He’s right. He should be in the loop on what’s going on because in the event we do fail, the shitstorm will fall straight down on his head. And he should be prepared for it. I know for a fact that Singer loves this town as much as we do and is willing to do whatever’s necessary to protect it. He’s been our partner in this from the start and there isn’t a good reason for us to cut him out now that I can see.

  “Okay, listen, we’ve been hitting Zavala’s shipments as they come in. We’ve been trying to make it too costly for him to do business here,” I say. “But Prophet’s been hoping for more. He’s been trying to draw him out, and we’ve apparently succeeded. Zavala’s coming here. So, we’ve got a shot to take him out and if we do, then all of this goes away.”

  “So, you’ve got a plan then?”

  “Prophet’s working on it. We’ll have one soon.”

  He sighs heavily. “I gotta be honest. I don’t like this. This is something the feds should be handling… as much as I don’t want them uptight pricks runnin’ around here. But they’re better suited to handle—”

  “All due respect, Sheriff, but they’re not,” I interrupt him. “It’s like I said before, we have an easier time of cutting through the red tape to get things done.”

  “I don’t like this, Spyder.”

  “We don’t either. But we didn’t choose this fight. It came to us,” I tell him. “And we’re sure as hell going to end it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bellamy

  A cool breeze blows through, making me shiver, so I pull my coat around myself a little tighter. I’d planned on an evening of ice cream and watching trash TV with my mom tonight. But she was having problems and her pain got to be intolerable. So the nurse gave her the heavy sedatives to put her out then called the agency to send another nurse in to come sit with her overnight. They wanted to keep her under observation for the night which has me feeling scared and all out of sorts right now.

  So with nothing else to do, my fear choking the life out of me and feeling closed in, I opted to get out of the house for a while. There was nothing I could do for my mom, and since they gave her the horse tranquilizers, she’s going to be asleep until the meds wear off at some point tomorrow.

  My emotions are all over the place. One minute I’m doing okay and the next, I’m bawling my eyes out. So, after driving around for a little while, I eventually made my way over to Derek’s place. I suppose I knew where I was going the minute that I stepped out the front door and just tried to pretend, if only to myself, that I wasn’t running straight to him. Though I don’t know why I’d try to fool myself.

  Derek is somebody who seems able to comfort me with merely his presence. He can take the sting out of almost any situation and have me laughing regardless of the circumstances. I don’t know what it is about him, but his presence is just so reassuring. Calming. And the best part of it is that he’s not even trying. I really like that he doesn’t overdo things or try too hard. He’s just this calming, soothing person. Which is odd given what he does.

  I’d be lying, though, if I said the whole bad boy thing wasn’t appealing as hell. I’m not typically the sort of girl who goes in for that. But the edge Derek has is… sexy. Always has been. And now, it just seems even more amplified. Even sexier than before somehow in ways I can’t really explain. Ways I’m not sure I understand myself, actually.

  Derek is a lot like he was back in high school. There are just parts of his personality that haven’t changed all that much over the years. But he has changed in a lot of other ways too. He’s matured. Has, in some ways, become more refined. Oh, he’s definitely still pretty rough around the edges, but he’s grown a lot since I last knew him and some of those jagged lines have been smoothed out… if only a little.

  I hear the rumble of his motorcycle coming down the street and feel my heart and stomach both flip-flop inside of me. It’s crazy to me that Derek can have this sort of impact on me, that the mere thought of him gives me butterflies. The feeling only gets stronger when he turns into the driveway and pulls into the carport next to the house. The headlight turns off as he kills the engine, the low growl fading away.

  Derek sits on his bike for a moment, looking at me as he takes off his gloves and helmet. He gets off his bike, tucking his gloves into the helmet as he walk
s up to me, a small smile on his lips. I get to my feet and pull him into an embrace, giving him a soft kiss on the lips.

  “Didn’t know we had plans tonight,” he says.

  “We didn’t,” I reply.

  “Are you all right?”

  It’s then that I notice he’s got a large bruise and a couple of scratches on his face. I lay my hand gently against his cheek, looking at him with concern.

  “The better question is, are you all right?” I ask.

  “Oh yeah, I’m fine.”

  “What happened?”

  “Come on. Let’s go inside and get warm. It’s getting cold out here.”

  I let him lead me into the house. He flips on the lights and I follow him into the kitchen and only there under the bright fluorescent lighting that I see just how bruised his cheek is.

  “Jesus, Derek. What happened?”

  He shrugs. “Ran into a guy who was slingin’ meth and whom we told to leave town. Just had to reinforce the point.”

  I walk over to him and sit him down on one of the bar stools that line the center island in his kitchen. I gingerly touch the bruise on his cheek, frowning, and then notice the cuts and bruises on his knuckles. He gives me an awkward smile.

  “It looks way worse than it is. Trust me,” he says.

  I shake my head. “Do you have a first-aid kit or something?”

  “Yeah, but I think I just need a shower first.”

  My gaze continues to move between his cheek and his hand, the emotions inside of me conflicting. Is this really what I want? To have him coming home bloodied and bruised because he’d roughed somebody up? Or what if he runs into the wrong person and doesn’t come home at all? Like this war with the cartel. He’s been pretty mum about it the last couple of weeks, but I can tell something big is on the horizon. I can see it in his eyes and the tension in his body, which seems to be growing.

  The last couple of weeks I’ve spent with him have been beyond just nice. It’s been the best time of my life. It’s been so good that I’ve almost been able to forget all about the cartels and this war while I’ve been with him. Mostly, anyway. And I’d be lying if I said the more time I spent with Derek, I didn’t feel myself falling deeper and deeper in love with him with every passing day.

  But seeing him bruised and bloodied like this snaps me back to reality and provides me with a stark reminder of what he does and just how dangerous that lifestyle is. Not to mention a reminder of what I know is still coming.

  I feel caught between two different worlds right now… the world I want and the world that is. In the world I want, I have Derek. I’ve never wanted anybody the way I want him, and I’m sure he and I could build a happy life together. But in the world that is, my mother is dying. Who knows how many days I have left with her? All I know is that it’s going to be like a bomb going off in my world. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I have to worry about Derek getting himself killed in this stupid fight with the cartel.

  If I lost Derek on top of losing my mother, it would destroy everything inside of me. While I can prepare myself emotionally for my mother’s death, knowing for certain that it’s coming and there’s nothing I can do about it, there is no way for me to prepare right now for the possibility that Derek could die in this fight… other than to cut things off with him now. If I walk away from him, I’d be protecting my heart. But I know it would also be like cutting off my nose to spite my face.

  Derek cups my chin in his hand and raises my gaze to his. There’s an expression of concern on his face, and I can tell he’s trying to intuit my thoughts but is failing, which only seems to be worrying him more.

  “Are you all right?” he asks.

  “Yeah. My mom just had a bad day.”

  “It seems like there’s more than that.”

  A rueful smile touches my lips and I look away from him, not wanting Derek to see the tears welling in my eyes. But he turns my gaze back to him and, with his thumb, wipes away the tear that spills out and races down my cheek.

  “I just worry about you, is all,” I tell him and gently, but pointedly, lay my hand on his bruised cheek. “I mean… I can’t lose you too, Derek.”

  “And you’re not going to.”

  “We’ve already talked about that. It’s not something you can promise.”

  He gives me a small nod, but his gaze never leaves mine, his hazel-colored eyes crackling with an intensity I feel deep down in my soul.

  “None of us are promised tomorrow, Bell. Any one of us can drop for any number of stupid reasons,” he says. “We don’t have any control over it. When our time is up, it’s up.”

  “Maybe. But we can certainly mitigate that by not willingly walking into a situation that increases your odds of dying,” I respond.

  “This isn’t any different than me being in the Corps. We’re fighting for our ideology… which, in this case, is keeping this town and everybody in it safe. That’s our mission and we hold it sacred,” he says, his voice burning with the same intensity I see in his face. “Would you rather we just step aside and let Zavala do his thing here? Do you want to see this town taken over by a fucking cartel? Do you want to see junkies all strung out, robbing and murdering people to get their next fix? Kids out on the streets getting hooked on his shit?”

  “No, of course not,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want to see any of that.”

  “Then, sadly, we’re the only thing that can prevent it,” he replies gently. “It’s like I told you before, we didn’t pick this fight. It came knocking on our door.”

  “I just wish you didn’t have to answer it. It scares me. The thought of losing you scares the hell out of me, Derek.”

  He pulls me into a warm embrace, and I melt into him, seeking out the comfort and solace I usually feel in his presence. It’s there, of course, but it also feels slightly muted and not quite as strong as it usually does. My fear over losing him is dulling the emotions inside of me. Except for the love I feel. No, that’s burning as bright as ever. But the fear is what’s been keeping me from saying it to him.

  I know it bothers him that I’ve not been able to say it back, even if he’s able to carry on like it doesn’t. But I know it hurts him. He put himself out there and I’ve not been able to reciprocate. It’s not that I don’t feel it, because I do. It’s just that saying it out loud is going to make the abstract concrete, and along with that comes a million different things that terrify me.

  I remember telling Derek that we live in a disposable world. And we do. Nothing is built to last, and everything can be thrown away. Except for our hearts. There is nothing disposable about those or about the relationships we engage in. When I give my heart to Derek, it’s because I trust he won’t discard it. I trust he won’t treat it as disposable but with the sort of reverence I hold his heart with.

  Deep down, I know he will. But giving over to my feelings and telling him how I feel is terrifying because it makes it all very real. And when things are very real, losing that person you’ve given your heart to is one of the worst pains you can ever feel. In many ways, I know it’s going to hurt worse than losing my mom. Or at least, hurt very differently. We’re born expecting to lose our parents during our lifetimes. We don’t expect to lose the person we give our heart to.

  “It scares me too, Bell,” he says softly. “The thought of never seeing you again puts a dagger straight through my heart.”

  “Is there any way around this?”

  He shakes his head. “Afraid not.”

  We cling together for a long moment, each of us trying to draw strength from the other but both of us failing to find it. Eventually, I step back and wipe the tears from my eyes. Derek pulls me over, gives me a tender kiss, and climbs to his feet.

  “I’m going to take a quick shower. Why don’t you order up some dinner for us?” he suggests and hands me his wallet.

  “Sure,” I reply.

  He gives me a smile, then turns and heads to the back. I look down at the battered leather wa
llet in my hand, ruminating on everything I’m feeling right now. It’s quite a thick, heady emotional stew bubbling up within me and I’m really not sure what to do with it.

  As I pace back and forth in his kitchen, tapping his wallet against the palm of my hand, I realize that surrounded by so much death and misery, I need to feel joy. I need to feel something that celebrates life rather than something that mourns or fears it. I drop his wallet on the counter, make my way back to the master bedroom, and pause just outside the partially open door then give it a gentle push.

  The bathroom door is open, and I hear the sound of the shower running. I strip out of my clothes and toss them on the chair in the corner then walk into the bathroom. Wreathed in the thick clouds of steam billowing out of the shower stall, I pause for a moment and look at the figure of the man inside. The man I love. I take a second to admire the beauty of his big, strong body, feeling the heat within me building, growing even warmer than the shower itself.

  Reaching out, I pull the door open and step inside, quickly closing it behind me, and wrap my arms around him from behind. Derek leans back and I melt against his body, laying my cheek against his back, relishing the warmth of the water raining down on us, as well as the heat of his body.

  I trail the tips of my fingers along the hard ridges of his taut stomach and the planes of his chiseled chest, savoring the smoothness of his skin. His muscles tense and flex, and he shivers, his body reacting to my touch. I like that I can have this effect on him. He gasps when I slide my hands down his body and take hold of his cock. I bite my bottom lip, enjoying the feeling of him growing harder in my hand.

  Derek turns around and leans down, pressing his mouth to mine. Our tongues swirl together languidly in my mouth as I continue stroking his cock. He moans as I grip him tighter, the feel of his rigid staff getting me impossibly wet. He presses me back against the wall, kissing me harder, sliding his hands all over my body. He leans down and takes my breast into his mouth, kneading the other and caressing my stiff nipple with his thumb.