Joy Ride: A Virgin Romance (Let it Ride Book 3)

by Cynthia Rayne

  “W-who is it?”

  “Rose? It’s me.”

  She recognized the voice now that she was more alert. No cause for alarm—it was Daisy. Rose vaguely remembered agreeing to have breakfast with her this morning.

  She ran for the door and swung it open. Her older sister stood there with a pastry bag and a tray of coffee in one hand. Even at such an ungodly hour, Daisy looked put together.

  She wore a pair of boot-cut jeans, a Camo tank top, and a pair of black shades perched on her head. Her blond hair had been pulled into a sleek ponytail. Meanwhile, Rose wore a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, which had seen better days. She hadn’t checked, but she bet she probably sported a wicked case of bed head as well.

  “It’s a good thing you answered. I was about to go Chuck Norris on the door.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know, when I said we’d have breakfast, I meant at like eight or nine.” She glanced at the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock by the bed. “It’s only six.”

  Daisy smiled, all sharp teeth and no regrets. “You can take the girl out of the Marines, but you can’t take the Marines out of the girl.”

  “Come on in, G.I. Jane.”

  “Marines, not Army, remember.”

  Different branches of the military had some sort of rivalry going on. Whatever.

  “Are you hungry?” Daisy brushed past her and set the food down on the tiny table near the door. “Because I’m starving.”

  Rose shrugged. She’d been forcing herself to eat for weeks, but she didn’t get hungry. Mostly, she ate to survive now—bite, chew, swallow.

  Daisy removed the coffees from the tray and opened the Devlicious Donuts bag, which featured a devil with donuts skewered on its pitchfork.

  Nearly everything in Hell, Texas, carried the satanic theme. She’d had scones at the Bloody Hell Tea Room, ate habitually at the Hades diner, and downed a mocha at the Hot Damn Coffee Shop now and then as well. The name was inspired by the hot water springs that ran through the town, which carried a slight sulfur smell.

  “How’s it going at Casa Cowboy?” She sat and grabbed a coffee.

  “The remodel is right on schedule. We’ve gotten the master bedroom done as well as the kitchen. They start working on the living room and the guest rooms next.”

  Cowboy had asked Daisy to move in with him, and they seemed to be on the fast track to the altar. Cowboy’s former wife had committed suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills, taking their infant son with her in the process. For several years, Cowboy had avoided his home. To reclaim the house and make it his own, he’d started a huge remodeling project.

  While it seemed like a lot of work, both Cowboy and Daisy were enjoying themselves. Rose thought she’d never seen her sister this happy. Daze deserved a man who loved her and a home of her own.

  As children, they’d been forced into foster care when their mother, who’d been a prostitute and a junkie, died. Their fathers hadn’t been in the picture. Rose had eventually been adopted, but Daisy had been forced to stay in group homes in between foster care assignments until she turned eighteen and joined the Marines.

  Rose emptied a couple packets of sweetener into her coffee and swirled it around before taking a sip. The caffeine rushed through her body, waking her up.

  “Donut?” Daisy held out the pastry bag.

  She took one and set it down on a paper napkin. The bakery added a red cinnamon glaze, which gave the pastry a satanic sheen. While she picked at it, Daisy bit into her crimson cake donut with gusto.

  Daisy scooted back in her seat and then winced.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I got a new tat. It hurts like hell.”

  “What did you get?”

  Her sister suddenly stared into her coffee cup. “Um, Cowboy’s name.”

  “Cowboy likes to brand his women?”

  “No, he didn’t brand me…it’s a club tradition.”

  “Let me see.”

  Daisy lifted her shirt, and there was Cowboy’s name, right by the big cat tattoo she already had on her back.

  Talk about a serious commitment. Daisy had gotten inked for Cowboy.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “You know what.”

  Rose batted her eyelashes, trying to look above suspicion.

  Rolling her eyes, Daisy polished off her breakfast and changed the subject.

  “I don’t know what’s with me lately, but I’ve been ravenous the past few weeks.”

  “Have you been working out more?”

  Daisy had always been the athletic type. Rose was more of an indoor girl, and she preferred settling in with a good television show. Daisy had sought comfort in playing sports with the neighborhood kids, but Rose’s solace was fictional families and their happy lives, complete with logos and theme music. Sometimes, Daze watched with her, and they’d fantasize about living a perfect life with a mom and a dad and a real home.

  “Not really. I’ve been spending most of my time on the renovation, painting and stuff. And there are a lot of chores to do around the barn. But I still go for a run now and then.”

  “Maybe you’re having a growth spurt?”

  Daze stuck her tongue out, then made a grab for her Marines rucksack and pulled out a file folder. She sighed heavily.

  “Okay, I suppose we should get down to it. I have news to share.”

  Rose tensed.

  “The club has some Raptors intel.” She pulled out copies of deeds and a couple of grainy photographs of a fortified building with cameras, fences, and armed guards. “We’ve got a possible lead on the Raptors’ whorehouse.”

  The Raptors, a rival motorcycle club, trafficked in drugs, weapons, and women. One of their biggest sources of profit came from prostitution. They seduced young girls into becoming prostitutes by using handsome bikers to wine and dine them into thinking they were in a relationship. The duped girls were asked to make a ‘love donation’ to the club.

  Rose couldn’t think of a worse euphemism for turning tricks. She’d been a victim of their plan, too. She’d been stupid enough to fall for Rock. He’d been good-looking, smooth-talking, and had a way of overcoming any of her objections. Eventually, she’d run off with him.

  Then his true nature showed itself.

  He’d pressured her to give blow jobs to his biker buddies, and when she’d resisted, his façade dropped. Although Rose had never worked at the club’s whorehouse. Kent, the Raptors’ lawyer, had purchased her instead.

  Rose wanted the operation thing shut down—it was the reason why Rock had preyed on her in the first place.

  She couldn’t think about all the ugliness right now. Whenever the fear and anxiety didn’t take over, her mind took her to some very disturbing places—places where payback was bloody.

  Sometimes, when Kent worked on her, she fantasized about getting retribution—the bloody kind. Thinking about making him pay had kept her sane.

  But Rose refused to go there right now.

  “What did you find?” Rose wrapped her chilled fingers around the hot coffee.

  “One of the brothers hacked them. The club bought some land about an hour from here. It’s private and heavily guarded—so it might be the brothel. Unfortunately, there’s no sign of Kent, but they’re still looking.”

  Kent had forced Rose to become his…well, she didn’t have a name for it. Girlfriend? Mistress? Property? Sex slave? A twisted mixture of all of the above? He didn’t make her service other men, but living with him had been a private hell. Kent had controlled her with a mixture of drugs—along with brutal mind games.

  Kent had introduced her to sadomasochism—emphasis on the sadism. After he’d bought her from Rock, he’d declared himself her owner and set about training her to sexually please him. He even had his very own sex dungeon.

  “So what’s the plan?” Rose asked.

  “For now, gather more info. The Horsemen can’t bust in there
with weapons drawn. It’d turn into a bloodbath. They’re working on a plan, trying to find the right time to go in and shut it down. Maybe they can find a window of time when it’s less guarded or something.”

  “Still sounds like it’s gonna be bad.”

  “I think so too. But the club is frustratingly vague about the whole thing. You know how they are. It’s all very hush-hush. Cowboy has even been tight-lipped about it.” She sighed. “Despite my best attempts at getting the info out of him.”

  Rose grinned. Daisy was itching to get involved in the fight. Her sister never backed down from conflict. Funny, because Rose avoided battles at all costs. Sure, as a teenager, she’d been sassy and sarcastic, but she’d ultimately done everything her adoptive parents had ever asked of her—until she met Rock.

  “Are you okay, Ro?”

  “I’m good.” Honestly, she wasn’t, but would it do any good to tell Daisy? Could she do anything? No.

  “No, you aren’t. Maybe you should see a therapist.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Early on, Daisy mentioned counseling as an option, but Rose had balked at the idea. Daisy hadn’t pushed it. She couldn’t imagine sharing all of the details with someone, even a professional. How could anyone fully grasp what she’d gone through? Rose still had trouble making sense of it.

  “I know, but you might need to.”

  “I’ll think about it.” It was a non-committal answer which wouldn’t provoke any protest from Daisy.

  And then Daisy groaned, pressing a hand to her stomach.

  “You okay?”

  “The donut feels like it’s trying to crawl out of my stomach. I think I’m coming down with something.”

  “Why?”

  “I keep on puking my guts out, at least once a day.”

  “You’ve been throwing up? In the mornings?”

  Daisy’s eyes rounded at the implication. “No.”

  Rose wasn’t surprised the idea of pregnancy hadn’t crossed Daisy’s mind. Due to their upbringing, motherhood wasn’t something on her big sister’s radar.

  “Are you sure? Have you two been, er, safe?”

  “Of course, we use birth control. Oh damn—except the one time in the hayloft.”

  “The hayloft?”

  “Stop it….”

  “It’s been a while since I had sex ed, but the teacher said it only takes one time.”

  Daisy rubbed her temples. “No. It couldn’t be. This isn’t happening. I can’t have morning sickness.”

  “Oh, but it is.” Rose couldn’t stop grinning. Daisy would be an excellent mother, once she got used to the idea.

  “No, I get sick at odd times, every now and then in the morning, but not always. Sometimes I get queasy when Cowboy is making one of his ‘down home’ meals at night. Not in the morning.”

  “Shouldn’t you take a pregnancy test anyway?”

  “I don’t need to. I’m not pregnant.” She wrapped her arms around her mid-section.

  Rose tried not to smile, but it was difficult. Daisy hadn’t wanted to date, get married, and have children. Somehow Cowboy had pushed his way into her heart and life. She now had a home, the love of her life, and she might have a baby on the way.

  “You should make sure.”

  “I’m not pregnant.”

  Rose stared at her sister.

  “Fine, stop it with the patronizing face. I’ll get a test, but I’m definitely not pregnant. I’ve got a bug.”

  “What’s the song by Pam Tillis? Cleopatra, Queen of Denial.”

  “So subtle….”

  Her lips twitched. Sometimes, all it took was a look, and they were both little girls again, squabbling about something.

  “On that note, I’m off to Home Depot in search of tile and grout.” She grabbed her stuff and kissed Rose on the cheek. “Check you later, Ro.”

  “Don’t you mean Aunt Ro?”

  “I hate you so much.”

  “Whatever. Bye, Mommy.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Never gonna happen.”

  Daisy banged the door shut behind her, and then Rose heard the roar of her Silverado as it pulled out of the lot. She couldn’t help but chuckle. Her sister might be freaking out now, but eventually, she’d come around to the idea.

  ***

  Later in the afternoon, Rose sat on a bench outside of her hotel room drinking a soda and glancing around the parking lot. It was nearly empty, save for a couple of cars parked by the diner portion of Hades.

  After Daisy rescued her from Kent’s place, she’d spent most of her time holed up in her room, preoccupied with the trauma. After a couple of months to put the ordeal into perspective, she’d ventured out, though she rarely left Hades—being surrounded by a half-dozen or so brawny bikers made her feel safe.

  She’d kept busy today by gathering up her dirty clothes and doing some laundry, hauling her trash to the Dumpster, and wiping down the room. She hadn’t let the maids clean because she didn’t deal well with strangers these days. Having someone in her room, touching and moving her things, would be too much.

  Duke came swaggering out of a room on the opposite side of the lot with the stacked blonde he’d presumably taken to bed last night. He leaned up against his Harley and spread his legs wide. The woman wrapped her arms around his neck and stood between his thighs. She kissed him, and rubbed her breasts against his chest. They devoured each other—it was a make-out session worthy of a PG-13 rating—tongues and some over-the-clothes action as well.

  Geez. Get a room. No, go back to your room. And stay there.

  Flushing, she forced herself to stare at the pavement, in case they thought she was a voyeur—but she didn’t need to worry. Neither of them paid her the slightest bit of attention.

  Daisy mentioned the bikers had a group of, er, free-spirited women around the clubhouse. They were known as hellions, and she’d glimpsed them from time to time at Hades. The Raptors required the women who worked in their clubs to provide sexual favors while the Four Horsemen had a consenting adults approach to sex. The brothers didn’t apply any pressure, and the women relished their status as Horsemen groupies.

  When Duke and his chippie finally came up for air, he smacked her ass. She strutted her way to the diner, tossing her hair and putting an exaggerated wiggle in her walk, all hips and sex appeal. She wore a pair of painted on jeans and a halter top which threatened to expose her nipples when she turned around to blow him a kiss.

  Rose envied her self-assurance. She’d never grown accustomed to her own sexuality. In school, she’d focused on getting good grades so she could get into college. It was all part of her plan to please her adoptive parents. Rose didn’t want to disappoint them or make them regret their decision. She’d been convinced they’d get rid of her if she weren't perfect.

  So she hadn’t paid much attention to boys growing up. Other than an awkward kiss from a boy she’d met in band, she hadn’t been involved with anyone until her freshman year at college.

  Unfortunately, her experiment was Rock.

  They’d met at a party, and he’d been persistent, texting and calling her several times a day. She’d given in and gone out with him. He’d been charming and attentive at first. And then he demanded more and more of her time, encouraging her to cut class so she could hang out with him. He bought joints for them to share as well as ’shrooms. After being Stepford-perfect all those years, it’d been a rush. A release.

  Then Rock separated her from her safety net. He began criticizing her friends and her adoptive family. By then Daisy was overseas, and their communication was spotty at best. If Daze had been stateside, she would’ve put a stop to it.

  Rose had naively thought he was the perfect boyfriend at first. He told her how beautiful she was and how much he loved her straight away. He’d fed her lines, told her what she wanted so desperately to hear. She was starved for love, for someone’s approval and attention, so she’d come away with him. And it’d all come crashing down around her w
hen he’d offered her to his biker buddies…like she was some sort of party favor.

  Throwing off her bleak thoughts, Rose focused on the parking lot once more. She watched as Duke prowled towards her. He carried a black leather bag, and his strides seemed purposeful. Her stomach flipped over as he approached.

  She noticed he always seemed to be watching her. Cowboy had asked him to keep an eye on her, but Rose thought he had some sort of fixation. And Daisy had warned her to stay away from him— Duke was dangerous.

  While she and Duke hadn’t spoken much, he’d always been more or less appropriate with her, if a bit terse. Rose had zero sexual interest these days, but she’d have to be blind not to notice how good-looking he was. He reminded her of a pirate with his dark, penetrating eyes and the shadowy perma-stubble on his handsome face. He had tawny skin and a ripped body, which, as per usual, was encased in tight black clothing. From the stray grays at his temple, she put his age somewhere in his late thirties.

  Technically, he was old enough to be her father, but he sure didn’t give off a paternal vibe. Rose also had a thing for older men—she’d lost track of how many crushes she’d had on teachers in school.

  And she was curious about Duke. Maybe because he was so enigmatic. While the rest of the Horsemen were a tight-knit bunch, he held back. She often saw him on the sidelines of their group, observing—like Rose did.

  “How are the cuts healin’?”

  “Oh, um, fine.” She hugged herself.

  Rose didn’t want to talk about the cutting with him or anyone. It made her feel weak and ashamed. Daisy had been through hell in a war zone, and she’d never resorted to hurting herself to cope with it. Rose wished she could be as brave as her sister—but she didn’t possess the courage gene.

  “Mind if I check them out?” He lifted the bag in his hand. “Last night, I noticed some were infected.”

  She hesitated a moment.

  Rose had an aversion to touching now, but she should get the cuts checked. She hadn’t followed through on his advice, and Duke had already examined her body. According to Daze, he’d given her a pelvic exam, a series of tests for STDs, a pregnancy test, and buckets of antibiotics in case she’d contracted anything.