Grit (King's Harlots #1)

by J. M. Walker

  Dale neared me, a huge smile on his tanned face. “You thought I left you alone, didn’t you?”

  “You did leave me alone,” I mumbled and pushed to my full height. I did a quick scan around me. The traffickers were nowhere to be found.

  “I left you alone for like two seconds. I had to get headway on the asshole or else he would have popped us both.”

  I scoffed. I didn’t believe that for a second. No one was that fast. Except for Coby. Even then, I wasn’t sure just how quick that shit would go down.

  “Enemy is no longer accounted for. Three down. Two got away,” Dale said into the radio. “For now, anyway.”

  “Copy that. Head back to base,” came the clipped response.

  “We are in deep shit. I hope you know that.”

  I nodded. It would be worth it. Being a Navy SEAL meant you dealt with military action. Full-force shit that was thrown against your country. Well, those women? They were American. I knew that. I could feel it in my blood. They were sisters. Daughters. Nieces. They were someone. If they were mine, I would want every man out there searching for them. Bringing them back to me. I wouldn’t stop until they were safe. It was etched into my soul. My very being. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. We would head back to base. In time. Our boss was under the impression we had taken out a known terrorist. We had. We just waited to divulge the information after we stumbled upon the shack.

  “Angel, you can’t save them all.” Dale clapped a hand on my shoulder before stepping in front of me.

  I ignored his comment. I had to. It was not the time or the place to argue about who needed saving and who didn’t. Another pop-pop sounded from the far right.

  “Shit, Coby is full blazing tonight,” Dale said in awe.

  “Fall in,” I commanded, signaling to my brothers. Four of us. Four men banded together. Protecting what was ours. Protecting our country and those women. Even if they didn’t agree with my reasoning, they would listen. It would be the same if I didn’t agree with them. I would fight to the death for my men.

  When we reached an old farm, my skin buzzed with anticipation. Not knowing what we would find behind those walls, we approached the broken-down building with caution. Slabs of wood once painted red were brown, the paint wearing thin. The large window at the peak of the building gave me an eerie feeling we were being watched. By whom? I wasn’t sure. What I did know was that I needed to get my shit, the women, and my men out of there. Even if the women were no longer alive, I wouldn’t be satisfied until I knew for sure. Until I could report it back to base and have the girls brought home to their families. They deserved a proper burial.

  “Angel.”

  “Fall in,” I said, taking a step forward when a hand grabbed my arm. “What the—”

  “Mine,” Dale pointed at my feet. “Stay with us.”

  Between Dale and I stood a near-death object that threatened to destroy me. Again. My body vibrated, a breath leaving me on a whoosh. “Thanks, man.”

  “No thanks needed. Now keep your head in the game.”

  That was my line. I was the one who was supposed to be telling my guys to keep it straight. Together. What the hell is wrong with me?

  I cursed myself and moved around the bomb. As we neared the wooden doors of the barn, an explosion went off behind us. The heat of the fire caressed my body. I looked at Dale, raising an eyebrow.

  He shrugged. “Couldn’t have you almost stepping on it again.”

  I nodded once. I owed him big time. But of course, we had all saved each other a time or two. We had been brothers for years. Trained to think first, act second, but we were men. It didn’t work out that way when someone was in need of our help.

  When Coby and Asher showed up on scene, Dale and I relaxed a little. Although we were in two-person teams, the four of us were stronger as a unit.

  “What if they’re dead?” Asher asked, coming up beside me.

  “Then they’re dead, but I won’t fucking stop until I find out,” I mumbled, reaching for the door. The hair at my nape tingled.

  Coby nodded once, his emerald-green eyes glancing back and forth, taking in his surroundings. Knowing he had been in the field and undetected made me feel safe. Made all of us feel safe.

  “Asher is going to stay on your right,” Dale explained.

  I nodded.

  Asher cocked his gun. “Ready, Boss.”

  “Fuck me, I love this part. Almost as good as sex.” Dale crouched, getting ready to take on whoever was behind door number one.

  I took a breath and pushed open the door. A musky scent wafted into my nostrils. I knew that smell. Death. It was a sour taste on your tongue that made bile rise to your throat, burning its way up your esophagus. So much death.

  Dale gasped. “Holy shit balls, batman.”

  We walked into the vast room. Guns drawn. Muscles taut, our shitkickers making the only sounds as we spread out.

  Cots and sleeping bags lined the walls. Thirty or so women filled the room. All shapes, sizes, and ages caught our eyes.

  “See if anyone’s alive,” I demanded, walking up to a woman strapped to a cross against the wall. My stomach clenched. Jagged marks covered her back, her naked body ripped open. Blood dripped down her inner thighs; mud and dirt matted her hair. Black and blue bruises marred her skin.

  I reached a hand out to touch her neck, checking for a pulse. I shook my head as her heart stayed silent. She was better off. Dealing with the mental aftermath of what was done to her could make her go insane or worse. Was there worse? Death would be their savior.

  As my guys checked pulses of each woman, I searched for something else. Something that could lead us to the front-runner of this organization. Something that could bring that shit down and make it stop. There would always be human trafficking—I knew that—but if we could stop at least one trafficker in my time, then all of the shit would be worth it.

  “Boss, we have a live one.”

  I turned to the sound of Asher’s deep voice across the room. A girl, no more than sixteen tops, huddled in a dark corner.

  “Are there others?” I asked, taking a tentative step toward the young girl.

  “Three more. That’s it,” Dale mumbled, joining them.

  Fuck. Out of thirty women, four survived. Rage pumped through my body. I would make damn sure someone would pay for their deaths.

  “Try and gather them if you can. Call for backup.” I watched as Asher approached the girl. The youngest survivor. He whispered to her in a soothing voice. Although he was huge, matching my 6’5 with more muscle, she didn’t show any fear. She nodded every so often, taking in everything he said. With three younger sisters, he always felt the need to protect the younger females. Men were dicks. He knew, because he was one.

  “Boss, base is sending backup,” Dale ground out, interrupting my thoughts.

  I nodded. All those women. All those females who were loved by at least one person in their lives were now gone. Most of which were a notch on someone’s belt. Sex and death filled the air. Those two things should in no way mix. Ever. I liked it kinky—craved it, even—but I knew when to draw the line. The so-called men who felt the need to push their power around would regret it in the end. After Vice-One got through with them, they would fucking wish they had never stepped foot in our country.

  A MONTH passed since I saw the dark, brooding man who had been invading my dreams. His mocha-colored eyes pulled me in, forcing me to my knees. Night after night, I went to sleep trying hard not to think about him but his smirk with the tiny dimple in his cheek sent a flutter of desire through me. It had been four weeks since some shit head tried blowing up the clubhouse, and we were still no closer to finding out who it was. King’s Harlots laid low, but being a female MC, the spotlight glowed on us whether we liked it or not. It pissed me off how many times we had people showing up at our club, egging the shit out of it or spray painting words like cunt and whore on the brick walls. It hurt but it forced us to be stronger. We had our own issu
es, our own demons to deal with. It brought us together.

  While Max fluttered around the gallery, stressing out because the art showing needed to be perfect, I stood off to the side. Watching. Waiting. I didn’t like not knowing what was going down. We had our brother club, Hell’s Harlem, in New York working their shit, trying to see if they could figure out what the hell was going on. But it wasn’t enough. I was twitchy. Standing around doing nothing sent an unnerving feeling through my gut. Thoughts traveled to a hard male—a strong body who could make me wet with just his words. One night with the guy would help me with this anxiety gripping my spine. My mouth watered, a hot shiver racing down the length of my back. Just thinking about him made me pant with need.

  My phone rang, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah?”

  A deep chuckle sounded from the other end. “Always so warm with your greetings.”

  “Hi, Daddy,” I said, my heart swelling.

  “Hi, Nugget. How’s my girl?”

  I smiled at his nickname for me. Having the last name Gold, Nugget had stuck ever since I was born. Even his crew called me the childhood endearment. “Good.”

  “Don’t lie to me. What’s wrong? Who do I have to kill? Are the girls okay?”

  I barked a laugh, moving around the large room. People milled about, huddling together to talk about each painting. “You don’t have to kill anyone.” Not yet, at least. “Everyone is fine.” Leave it to my father to always be our savior. “We still can’t figure out what happened to the club.”

  “You on a burner?”

  “Yup.” I made a mental note of throwing the phone out once I left the gallery. We all had phones that we could toss and phones we kept. We weren’t into shady shit, not as a group, but I, on the other hand, would do anything to protect my sisters and let it be known that we were not women to be messed with.

  “Good girl. You call Greyson?”

  “Yes. He has his boys working on shit.” Greyson Mercer was the president of Hell’s Harlem. Being Brogan’s stepbrother, I knew he could be trusted.

  “Good. Keep me posted,” my father demanded. Brian Gold was not one to be argued with.

  We carried on a normal conversation for the next couple of minutes, no longer talking about MC business. I told him about Max’s gallery showing and set up a time to meet him soon for coffee.

  We both said our goodbyes, and I hung up the phone, continuing to make my way around the vast room. The walls were lined with all things Max Stanton. That side of art was new to me. Give me a pencil and paper, and I could sketch the shit out of it. But painting? I couldn’t even paint a bowl of fruit. Everything Max painted came to life. They jumped off the canvas, gripping your soul and forcing you to see the beauty behind them. While her art covered canvas, mine covered skin.

  Owning a tattoo shop across the street would allow me to see Max’s art whenever I needed to. It brought a serenity to my life I hadn’t felt in a long time. Each picture its own story, depicted in a different way each time it was gazed upon.

  Leaning against the far wall, I watched her flow around the room. Greeting people, laughing, and shaking their hands like they had been friends for years. A twinge fluttered through my belly. Where she loved people, I would rather be by myself. I was socially inept, working much better one-on-one.

  It was one thing I loved about her. Always sociable. Always friendly. I, on the other hand, hated everyone and refused to let anyone in. Reminded of that daily, it was hard not to believe it. My life revolved around the club, my sisters, everything that had nothing to do with giving up my heart. Yes, my girls had a piece of it, but it wasn’t enough.

  My stomach twisted with unease, memories flooding my mind. Shaking it off, I stood in front of a painting entitled “Breathe”. It was black and white, two silhouettes holding each other, embracing the love they felt for the other. It screamed passion, punching you in the heart and took your breath. “Wow,” I whispered, staring in awe up at the large painting.

  Everything Max touched turned into a masterpiece. She would no doubt be the next Van Gogh.

  The tiny hairs on the back of my neck tingled. I was being watched.

  Out of nowhere, he appeared. The hot as hell man. Sex-on-a-stick. A sinful addiction I craved. God, he was worse than anything I ever experienced. He was… Sin. The nickname for him made perfect sense.

  His dark gaze pierced through mine. His short, jet-black hair shone in the dim lighting of the room. Scruff had grown in on his strong jaw. It had been a couple of weeks since I first met him. A couple of weeks since his deep voice rumbled straight to the spot between my legs. My tongue tingled, itching to have a taste. To feel the scruff of his beard rubbing against my thighs as I rode… Shit, Jay.

  He was across the room, but I could feel him. His stare stripped me, revealing every dark and dirty secret. My skin burned. My heart raced. My cheeks heated, a flush spreading up my body.

  His eyes roamed down the length of me, his tongue peeking out to lick along his full bottom lip.

  My core quivered, clenching, ready and willing for the man I didn’t know. A man who could make me beg and leave me wanting and demanding more. What was wrong with me? No man had ever affected me that way.

  Clearing my throat, I turned back around, unable to concentrate. Sin would be the death of me and my rules. On the other hand, he was everything I was hoping for. I knew it before he touched me. One word, one silent command, and I would be his ever-willing slave. To do with as he wanted, and I would enjoy every hour of it.

  “Jay, that sexy as hell man is here, and I would bet my bike he wants to eat you alive,” Max said, coming up beside me and hooking her arm in mine.

  He wanted to eat something all right. The warmth of desire spread over my skin. I coughed. “Yeah, well, until he tells me his name, he’s not eating anything.” I am a dirty girl.

  “Try telling him that.” Max laughed. “The tension is crazy between you two. You have to rub that one out or else you’ll both explode.”

  “I’m fine,” I mumbled, shivering.

  “As if.” She pushed me playfully. “You’re fidgety, and you’ve been extra cranky. You need to get laid.”

  I glared at her. “I do not.”

  “Yes,” she insisted, “you do.”

  “Please.” I rolled my eyes. “He couldn’t handle me.”

  “Is that so, princess?”

  I jumped, spinning on my heel at the deep rumble of the voice caressing my ear.

  Sin grinned that hot-as-hell smile and took a step toward me. “I think I can handle every inch of you.”

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” Max said, winking at me. “There’s a private room in the back. Just please make sure you clean up after.” She walked away, laughing and whistling to herself.

  Bitch.

  “Are you going to tell me your name?” I asked Sin as he stepped up beside me. The fabric of his black leather jacket brushed against my bare arm, sending a shiver down my spine. God, I loved a man in leather.

  “When you’re ready.” He placed his hand at the small of my back, leading me around the room.

  “I’m… I’m ready now.” My skin burned from his touch through the thin fabric of my dress. “Tell me.”

  “Nope.

  “What? Did you want me to beg for it?” As much as I would love to, the words would not leave my mouth until I had him in my hands. Images of me on my knees, begging, flowed into my mind. All I could picture was staring up at him, ready to take him in my mouth and—I cleared my throat. “I’m not begging.” Those words didn’t come out as sure as I would have liked.

  He moved behind me, leaning down to my ear. His hot breath brushed along the back of my neck, the scent of mint wafting into my nostrils. “When you beg, it won’t be for my name, princess.”

  “I’m not begging you for anything if you don’t tell me your name,” I raised my voice, elbowing him in the stomach.

  He grunted.

  I geared up to do it again when he
grabbed my arm, digging his fingers into my bicep.

  “You should know that I love it rough, Jay,” he growled in my ear. “The more you push me, the more you hit me, the harder I get.”

  My body vibrated, the ache in my groin intensifying since meeting the man a month before. “What the hell do you want from me?”

  “I want you to beg for it. I want you so wet that one thrust from my cock makes you explode. I know you want me, princess, just as much as I want you.”

  Oh. Dear. God. As much as I wanted him, I already knew that he wouldn’t be just a one-night fuck. Being with him would go against my rules, and I refused to break them for him. My body battled it out with my brain. One part of me wanted him; the other part wanted to ignore him. It was a war of self-control that if he kept looking at me with those bedroom eyes and talking to me with that sex-filled voice, I was sure to lose. “Not going to happen,” I squeaked. Clearing my throat, I tried again in a firmer tone. “Not happening.”

  I didn’t like the taste of those words as they left my mouth but I had to fight it. I. Have. To. Fight. It. I chanted those words to myself but the pleasure growing inside of me assured I wouldn’t be able to say no for long.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” he purred, his hand moving to my hip.

  “I will.” I stepped away from him and continued walking around the room. And of course, Sin followed me.

  “Your friend is talented.”

  I stopped in my tracks, narrowing my eyes. “She is.”

  Sin crossed his arms under his broad chest, facing a painting on the wall. “Has she ever told you what they mean?”

  “Um…no. But when I watch her paint, she’s always in her head like the picture is telling her a story.” Having a normal conversation with the guy was—my heart fluttered—nice. “She’s private.”

  “I understand that. Artists are known to keep their talent to themselves.”

  Unless you were a tattoo artist like me; then everyone knew. “Makes sense. She didn’t tell me for the longest time that she loves to paint or draw. She can sculpt, too.”