She hated him. She had to. She wanted him to die.
But why would she hate him? He’d never done shit to her. He’d barely had anything to do with her.
Until now.
She hadn’t told on him either.
But why would she? She’d been wholeheartedly into it, if memory served.
Ripper closed his eyes and saw Danny splashing naked in the lake, the water only reaching her waist, her long blonde hair wet and plastered to her body, beads of water clinging to her eyelashes, lips, and breasts.
“Oh my god.” She laughed. “I’m so drunk!”
Yeah, and he had a hard-on from hell that was making it hard to think about anything but grabbing her, throwing her down, and fucking the shit out of her.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Grumpy?” She giggled, slinging her arms around his neck, pressing her tits up against his abdomen and her stomach into his erection. He held his breath, kept his hands fisted at his sides. He wasn’t going to touch her. He was not going to touch her…
“Ripper?”
He glanced down and found her peeking up at him through wet eyelashes. Jesus.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for dancing with me,” she said softly, almost shyly. “And for not taking me home.”
“Yeah,” he said tightly. “Ain’t no big deal.”
Her hand slid from his neck to his chest and he closed his eyes as she traced one of the many scars there. “It was to me,” she murmured.
“Danny,” he growled, refusing to look at her. “You keep touchin’ me like that and I ain’t gonna be responsible for what I end up doin’.”
Then he felt it. Her lips pressed a soft kiss on the center of his chest, over the worst of the scars and lingered there, softly kissing.
And then he heard it. Five little words that shut off his brain and spurred his body into action. “Ripper,” she whispered against his ruined skin. “Make my prom night perfect.”
She’d wham, bam, thank you for your services, Ripper, and they’d gone their separate ways. No need to tell anyone; no need to do it again.
Which brought up another question. Why the fuck had she done it in the first place?
Because she was drunk? To give her father a secret fuck-you?
Between Deuce and Cage constantly breathing down her neck, the girl hadn’t had a whole lot of freedom to do as she pleased. So he supposed in a way it made sense that she’d ended up in bed with a brother, the only human beings with dicks that Deuce had willingly let her associate with.
But lately Deuce had been absent from the world, and Cage was usually buried in women.
If she’d just wanted a fuck, there were other brothers, younger, a lot less fucked-up looking.
Holy shit…had she been a virgin?
Oh god, he was going to throw up.
Why had she done this to him? What the fuck had he ever done to her?
“Hello?” Nikki snapped her fingers in front of his face. “This is a party, remember? Loosen up.”
Yeah. Whatever. There was always a party. Between the club members and their families, it was always someone’s birthday, a wedding, a baby being born. He froze. Birthdays. Holy fuck, how old was Danny?
Ripper scanned his memories, thinking back to the birthdays over the past year and…
His shoulders slumped as he sighed in relief. She was eighteen. Legal. Thank you, God. She’d turned eighteen a few weeks before he’d turned thirty-two.
Shoving Nikki’s hand out of his face, he glanced back across the lawn.
And…she still wasn’t looking at him.
He’d spent an entire week thinking about nothing but her, wondering if she’d spilled the beans, wondering if she was going to show her face at the club, wondering why he gave a shit if she showed her face at the club or not, freaking the fuck out every time he saw Deuce, thinking at any second he was going to get his balls blown off.
He stubbed out his smoke on the picnic table, grabbed his pack, and shook out another.
Was it over with?
Could he just forget the whole fucking deal and move on?
He wished someone would tell him.
That someone being Danny, who, by the way, still wasn’t looking at him.
And fuck him, he was still looking at her.
He couldn’t stop.
Danny was the natural version of Nikki. Naturally blonde, naturally tan, didn’t have to wear a shitload of makeup.
Nine years ago, when he’d first met Nikki, he’d liked her enough to consider her his girl. She was hot as fuck, curvy as hell, and a freak in bed. Only problem was he never got to that point where he’d wanted to give up pussy on the side, and strangely enough, Nikki had been okay with it. Then when he’d come home, all fucked-up from Frankie, she hadn’t even blinked. She hadn’t given a fuck.
That’s when Ripper knew she was just like every other club whore, only in his bed for what the club could give her. But he hadn’t cared. She was just some bitch he threw a couple of bills at once in a while. She got the club and he got pussy whenever he wanted it. It worked.
He glanced over at Nikki and frowned. Her dyed blonde hair was dried out and frizzy, her makeup cakey, her eyes tired. And all those curves had expanded. The bitch looked beat-up, older than she was, and sadly still trying to rock those tiny leather skirts he used to love.
Yeah, it wasn’t working anymore.
He glanced back at Danny. At that killer body, the slinky pink sundress covering it, her long blonde hair hanging down her back in soft curls and…
He’d been inside that.
He’d been inside that.
Fuck him. It still wasn’t registering. He knew it had happened, had the memories, but couldn’t fathom it. He hadn’t been with a woman that beautiful since before Frankie.
Ripper couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been with someone like Danny. Clean and good and…virtually untouched. Because she hadn’t been a virgin, right? She hadn’t acted like a virgin. God, he hoped like hell she hadn’t been a virgin.
“Are you going to be like this all day?” Nikki asked.
He ignored her. Danny was on the move, walking toward the clubhouse, all that pink material clinging to her body, inching up her thighs. Thighs he remembered wrapped around his waist, her nails digging into his shoulders, her screaming out his name while he pounded into her.
He stared and stared and…she shot a glance his way and yep, he got a reaction. Her eyes went wide, her face turned red, and she quickly looked away.
So…what the fuck did that mean?
Was she embarrassed that she’d fucked him? A girl like her, he wouldn’t blame her.
But…she’d begged for his cock. She’d whined and begged, grinding her pussy against his mouth, ripping his hair out of his head.
“Ripper,” she’d cried out, thrashing beneath him. “Now, please, please, now…”
What if it hadn’t been him who’d picked her up?
What if it had been Bucket or Dirty or ZZ?
Would she have fucked them instead?
Did he care?
No. Pussy was pussy. He didn’t give a fuck whose pussy was giving his dick a temporary home as long as it was wet, warm, and tight.
Neither did he give a fuck who else was dipping inside that shit.
But Danny… And suddenly he was giving a fuck about pussy?
No. No, he did not care.
But yeah, he sort of did.
What the motherfuck was wrong with him?
Nothing was wrong with him.
He didn’t give a fuck. Nikki, the club bitch standing across the lawn, the brunette in a bar bathroom a few weeks back, none of them mattered because pussy was pussy.
Ripper, make my prom night perfect.
He wasn’t sure how perfect he’d made her night, but she sure as fuck made his pretty fucking spectacular.
Spectacular. When was the last time he’d used a word like spectacular to describe sex?
The blon
de slut he’d lost his virginity to? Tiffany something or other?
No. That had consisted of “holy fuck, this feels awesome” and a minute later it was over.
Ten years ago when Eva and Kami had shown up out of nowhere and he and Cox had spent three days locked in a room with that skinny rich bitch?
No. That mess could only be considered just that. A mess. A hard-core fuck fest, yeah, but still a mess considering Cox was married to the bitch now and Kami loved using Ripper to make Cox jealous when she was mad at the guy. Which was every five seconds and so goddamned annoying that he’d begun wishing the three-day fuck fest had never happened.
So, no. He’d never had spectacular sex before.
Until now.
Holy shit, what was wrong with him?
He was going insane, that’s what was wrong with him.
He’d finally lost his mind.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“You’re acting weird,” Anabeth said, not bothering to look up from painting her toenails. “Weirder than usual, I mean.”
Ellie glanced up from her book. “She’s right. You’ve been acting weird since prom.”
Rolling my eyes, I turned back to my vanity mirror and applied a light coating of peach lip gloss, just enough to give some shine and a boost of natural color. Then I smoothed my long blonde curls, reapplied my eyeliner, double-checked the zipper on my jeans skirt, straightened and re-straightened my pink T-shirt. Maybe my hair would look better straight today?
“Seriously, Danny, what is wrong with you? And why are you putting so much makeup on? You look like a hooker.”
What was wrong with me? I was a mess. All I could think about was Ripper and what had happened at the lake.
Since Dorothy’s birthday party nearly two weeks ago, I’d avoided the club like the plague. I didn’t care that no one was home to hang out with me; I was terrified of running into Ripper again.
Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him?
“Danny, what is wrong—”
I whirled around. “I slept with Ripper,” I blurted out, then immediately slapped my hand over my mouth.
Ellie’s mouth fell open, a starkly different reaction from Anabeth’s grin.
“Ripper,” Ellie said slowly. “As in Ripper, Ripper? Your dad’s sergeant-whatever guy?”
I nodded.
Anabeth let out an excited shriek. “Finally!” she yelled. “I thought you were going to die a virgin!”
I glared at her. “I wasn’t a virgin.”
She made a face. “Shawn O’Brian does not count. That was like, what? Five minutes of horrible in the woods? So doesn’t count.”
“Oh god, Anabeth,” Ellie muttered. “Your whole life is based around sex.”
“So?” she shot back. “It’s better than having sex with fictional characters!”
Ellie shot up out of my desk chair. “I do not have sex with fictional characters!”
“Oh puh-lease, I’ve seen the books you read, all big muscley men and virginal women and steamy sex. Why else would you read that crap if not to get off?”
Ellie was about to blow. Her eyes were bugging out of her head, her nostrils flaring.
Ignoring her, Anabeth turned to me. “Was it good?” she asked.
I buried my face in my hands and peeked out at my friends through my fingers. “Yes.”
Anabeth’s smile turned sly.
Ellie turned her bug eyes on me. “Do you actually like him? He’s so…old.”
Like him? Um, I didn’t like him, like him…did I?
Anabeth laughed. “Oh, who cares. He’s only what, like, thirty?”
“Thirty-two, I think,” I said, wincing as Ellie’s face scrunched up in disgust.
“Ignore her,” Anabeth said dismissively. “Ripper is hot. All big and bad and scarred up. And speaking of big, how big is he?”
“Scarred up?” Ellie gaped at Anabeth. “The man has half a face!”
I dropped my hands and glared at both of them.
“What? It’s a legitimate question!”
“It’s none of your business! And he doesn’t have half a face!”
Anabeth’s grin turned positively evil. “Oh. My. God. You do like him!”
“Gross,” Ellie muttered. “Not only is he deformed, he’s old enough to be your dad.”
“That makes it even hotter,” Anabeth said, nodding gravely.
“He is not old enough to be my dad!” I yelled. “My dad is like fifty!”
“Whatever,” Ellie said. “That’s not the point. The point is you like an older, deformed man who works for your crazy dad. Do you actually see yourself dating him?”
Date him? The thought of going on a date with Ripper was absurd. He wasn’t the kind of guy you went to dinner and a movie with. He was the kind of guy who dragged you out of the lake, shoved you down on the ground, growling and groping you, telling you all the dirty things he wanted to do to you…and then did them. No-holds-barred, invasive, mind-numbing, disturbingly awesome things. I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering…
“Fuck,” he kept muttering, in between kisses that were growing more and more frantic. “Fuck, Danny, fuck…I’m gonna fuck you so hard…you’re gonna scream, baby.”
He pulled me out of the lake and we tumbled to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs, his body pressed against mine, grinding his erection into my stomach. Reflexively, I grabbed fistfuls of his hard biceps as a tidal wave of need rushed through me.
“I want that pussy, baby,” he growled hoarsely, sucking and biting his way down my body. “Gimme that beautiful fuckin’ pussy.”
My eyes flew open. What was wrong with me? He treated me like a one-time whore, and I was fantasizing about him? Ugh.
Anabeth burst out laughing. “Who said anything about dating? Just have lots of hot, sweaty, secret sex until you’re bored with him.”
I turned back to my mirror, my stomach in knots, and reached for my lip gloss. “He doesn’t want me,” I mumbled.
Anabeth snorted. “He’s just scared of your dad. All you have to do is flaunt your shit in front of him. Show him what he’s missing.”
And what exactly was he missing? I stared at my reflection, thinking about Nikki. He had to like her; he’d kept her around for so long. Aside from having blonde hair and blue eyes, she was everything I wasn’t. She was tall; I was average height. She had hourglass figure curves and I was lean, my curves slight. She had a lot of tattoos, favored leather, red lipstick, and long nails, whereas I had no tattoos, would never be caught dead in leather, favored pastel colors, and kept my nails short and manicured.
“I don’t think I’m his type.”
“Oh please, you’re gorgeous, you’re everyone’s type. Even I want you.”
I thought of him glaring at me, imagined him blaming me for what had happened, and I blew out a breath. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want me again,” I whispered.
Anabeth appeared beside me.
“Do you want him again?”
I stared at her reflection.
Did I? Is that why I couldn’t stop thinking about him? Or how incredible it felt to be touched by him.
“Yes,” I whispered, feeling utterly ridiculous.
She grinned at me in the mirror.
“Then we’ll make him want you.”
• • •
“I’m not sure, but I think Prez is tryin’ to punish us,” Bucket said, leaning back in his patio chair, staring out across the club’s backyard.
Ripper glanced across the lawn to where Danny and her two friends, the short-haired sexy blonde and curvy mulatto hottie, were sunbathing. In motherfucking bikinis. And Danny’s was pink. Hot pink and more string than material. What. The. Fuck. She was doing this shit on purpose.
And Bucket was eye-fucking her. The dude was old enough to be her father but supposedly good-looking enough that the younger bitches flocked to him. As far as Ripper knew, Bucket had never fucked a bitch over twenty-five.
Something he hadn’t given tw
o fucks about until right now.
Until Danny had pranced outside basically naked and now was lying around with her tits and ass on display and Bucket was staring. Double what the fuck.
“Yes,” he muttered. “He definitely is and stop fuckin’ starin’ or Prez is gonna have you eatin’ fist.”
Or he was. Yeah, he was two seconds away from knocking Bucket out.
Gritting his teeth, he looked away from Danny and tried really hard to think about something else. Anything else.
“How old are those two?” Bucket asked. “Danny’s eighteen, ain’t she? Her friends might be.”
“Dude,” Tap said. “My daughter is just a few years older. Shut the fuck up.”
“It ain’t your daughter I’m talkin’ about,” Bucket shot back.
“Don’t even think about it,” Eva said, taking a seat beside him, Ivy in her lap.
“What’s that, Foxy?” Bucket said, grinning. “Suddenly you’re a fuckin’ ageist? I seem to remember your old man puttin’ two slugs in Prez for takin’ a dip down below.”
Eva’s big gray eyes narrowed. “Shut up,” she shot back. “I’m only thinking of Danny. You guys acting like the pervs you are is only going to upset her.”
“Pervs!” Bucket shouted, offended. “There are three hot bitches lying half naked behind my fuckin’ club and I’m supposed to act like I’m fuckin’ blind? Fuck that. Prez is evil. Straight up. Why the fuck isn’t Danny at home?”
Because, he thought, glaring at Eva, someone’s got Deuce’s balls wrapped around her finger.
“Because.” Eva sighed. “No one else is home, so why should she be home?”
“You could be home,” he muttered. “Should be home.”
Not hanging around an MC all the time; not giving teenage girls rooms at MCs, forcing him to watch them lying around in bikinis, leaving him vulnerable to accidently fucking them. Again.
Tap shot him a dirty look. “Way to be an asshole, brother,” he said.
“It’s fine,” Eva said quietly. “But let’s get one thing clear, okay, Ripper?”
“What’s that, babe?” he sneered.
“I didn’t know,” she said evenly. “If I would have known what he’d done to you, I would have—”
“You would have what?” he yelled, jumping up and knocking his chair backward. “You would have fuckin’ what, bitch? Sang him a motherfuckin’ lullaby? Told him everything was gonna be A-fucking-OK? You had no fuckin’ sense when it came to that man! You wouldn’t have done jack fuckin’ shit!”
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