by Nikki Riker
The question boils down to if I put trust in the devil I didn't know, to eliminate the one I do. A year ago, the answer would have been an immediate fuck no. It's infinitely easier to exploit the Spades because I know all their petty little foibles. The Spades' ridiculous moral code hamstrings them at every turn. The Hellions have no such compunctions and will be harder to deal with if the time ever comes.
But the Hellions used to be Spades. And the knowledge they have to barter makes the deal more compelling than it should be. I make one phone call to Kolton, and I'll have a veritable cornucopia of information at my disposal. Such as where to best find and corner Roman Cruz. He's not the Cruz brother I want at the moment, but he'll do. Killing him would draw Kase out of hiding and ensure I get to take my time with the remaining twin. If I'm exceedingly lucky, he might bring Brooklyn with him, and I'll be able to see my daughter again.
I unfold the picture in my lap to peer down at it again. The grainy black and white still shows a small body floating in utero.
I hate that some part of them took root in her. That my grandchild shares blood with the people I despise most in this world.
I snort once. Grandfather. It doesn't seem possible. I'm barely forty-six, and it's impossible to tell at a glance I'm squinting hard at fifty. Rigorous lifestyle and good genetics mean I look nowhere close to my actual age.
If I kill Kase Cruz, Brooklyn will never forgive me. But part of me just doesn't give a damn. I'm sick and fucking tired of having things stripped away from me. It's about damn time that the Cruz family suffers for their collective sins.
I fold the photo closed again and reached for my phone. I've about decided when the damn thing rings, startling me so much I jump. It's been too fucking long since something has startled me. When I check the number, I realize I'm overreacting. Because I know this number too damn well by now.
It's Malick on the other end. My new second is over-correcting, trying his damndest to make sure I know he's trustworthy, so he doesn't meet the same fate as Dallas or Greer. As a result, I get daily reports about the minutiae of the day-to-day operations of the Calamity Kings I don't need. I've told him to call only me if there's a problem.
I consider letting it go to voicemail. I'm not in the mood to listen to a laundry list of what they have accomplished today. But I reconsider at the last second. I can always hang up on him if this is a false alarm.
"You there, boss?" Malick asks.
"What do you want?" If this is another report, I will kill him.
"You said to call if there's any trouble."
"And?" I bite out impatiently.
"And...uh... there's trouble?" He makes it a question rather than a statement.
I blow out a breath, trying to restrain the urge to strangle him when I get back. I take sure, steady strides toward my Fat Boy. The rain taps rhythmically against my skin and slides automatically off of my leathers as I step out into the barrage.
"What sort of trouble?"
"There's a Spade here, sir."
That successfully captures my full attention, and I pause when I'm seated on the Fat Boy. The last two times Spades stepped onto my territory, they left unscathed. I'm not making that mistake a third time.
"Hold them until I get there," I order before hanging up.
A savage grin twists my lips. Maybe I won't have to call Kolton. I just need to give this foolish little Spade a taste of King hospitality. By the time I'm through with them, they'll tell me whatever I want to know.
All the lights are on in the clubhouse when I return, all the remaining Kings turning up to witness what's sure to be a memorable night. An unfamiliar Harley is parked along with all of my boys’ bikes, standing out from the crowd. Until this interloper came along, mine was the only Harley in the bunch.
I'm feeling a second wind already, the anticipation sharpening my senses and bolstering me against the fatigue.
Malick is waiting on the front stoop when I mount the stairs toward the front door. He's a tall black man with curly hair and the dedicated muscle of a pro wrestler.
"Where is he?" I ask brusquely, reaching for the door handle.
"She," he corrects me. "It's a woman, sir. And she's in the foyer."
That gives me a very brief pause. A Spade woman? Not impossible. I know they're plenty on the periphery of the Spade MC married to, dating, or at least fucking the men. But female members with ink are a lot rarer. It cuts the possibilities down to perhaps ten or fifteen women. It doesn't change things much, except how I plan to get my answers.
The chatter dies to nothing when I step inside, followed closely by Malick. All eyes are on me. But my eyes zero in on the lone figure standing in my foyer. She would have caught my eye on an average day, regardless. She's above average height, with thick dark hair that's perfect for fisting a hand into. Her skin has an almost bronze cast to it, showing a hint of her Hispanic heritage.
Dark, smoldering eyes meet mine from across the room. Eyes she inherited from her father and shares with both her brothers. A small, triumphant smile curls my lips. I've just been handed the keys to the fucking kingdom.
Because the woman standing in my foyer is Penelope Cruz.
3
Penny
I've grown up in one of the toughest boys' clubs around, in a shitty little town that's been on the brink of all-out gang violence for years. I've taken and dished out a load of punishment, and I like to think I'm just as tough as the other motherfuckers in the Spades. All that to say that I'm not a girl who startles easily.
But when Calamity Gardel steps into the room, I stand up a little straighter and take notice. Because my God, how could anyone miss him?
I can't help but stare at him as he walks past, heading for what is unmistakably a gilt back chair in the wrecked foyer like he's a king officiating over a court. The rest of the place looks far from regal. It's barely been patched up from the fight that went down months ago. The walls are pockmarked, the furniture obviously new, to replace what they destroyed. The floors are trashed. It's always a bitch to get damage out of hardwood. And I know I'm only taking notice of all these minor details so I need not look him directly in the eye for longer than a few seconds at a time. But those few glances give me a lot of puzzle pieces with which to build a picture.
I've never seen Calamity Gardel in the flesh before. Heard a lot of stories about him. But in all these years, I've never laid eyes on the man that might have shot my father in an abandoned warehouse all those years ago.
No one mentioned that he's a freaking giant. He's got to be nearly Ryker's size, which means he's pretty much six and a half feet tall. He's just as shredded as the Spades' gentle giant, and that's where the similarities end. Ryker has thick, dark hair that's constantly flirting with being too long. This guy's hair looks like it's only recently grown out of a buzz cut. There's just enough golden hair to touch, but not enough to flop into those glacial blue eyes. His features are rough hewn, skin stretched tight over haughty cheekbones. His jaw is heavy and masculine.
The sight of him makes my mouth go dry, and only about half of the reason is fear.
He's damn inscrutable. I can't read a freaking thing on his face. Those pale eyes rove over me in a critical once-over as he speaks.
"Penelope Cruz. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?"
He rolls each syllable around in his mouth like he's tasting the contours of my name. Normally I hate my full name and the jokes that come along with it. But his voice is so appealing that it sends unthinking pleasure to hear my name spoken by it. Sexy with an undertone of gravelly bass that sends heat flushing to all the wrong places.
The speech I've been preparing the whole way over flits right out of my head, and I'm left casting around for words. I want to slap myself for getting tongue-tied at such a crucial moment.
Calamity Gardel lifts one heavy brow at me, and the corners of that full mouth tilt up in a smirk. He's amused by me. The irritation that provokes allows me to shake off the inappropriate
desire to ask him to say my name again, this time in a slow, pillow-talk drawl.
"You have two of our working girls," I tell him, gratified when my voice comes out sounding sure and confident, instead of the squeak I expect it to be.
I nod toward the corner of the room, where Dominique and Lily are shivering on the laps of two King men. They look petrified, and their fear allows me to stand up a little straighter and look Gardel right in his stupidly handsome face for longer than a few seconds. Someone will have to have the balls to talk to him, and it looks like it will be me.
"They're mine to protect. You're going to let them go."
A dark chuckle rolls from him, and my knees tremble. It's a rich, almost dirty sound, as though I've just told a filthy joke. My body is such a fucking traitor because I'm not even angry that he's laughing in my face.
"You're sure you're a woman, Penelope? Because it took serious balls to just say that to my face." He leans forward, the amusement dropping away from his face quickly. "Want to try that again, with more respect, little girl?"
I almost reach my hand into my pocket to stroke the worry stone again, then realize that might be a bad idea. The tall black man who accompanied him in is holding a gun. If he thinks I'm reaching for a weapon, he'll probably plug me before I can explain myself. I have to get Dominique and Lily out of here before something worse happens.
"I'll pay you," I say seriously. "I've got a couple grand in my pocket right now."
It's most of my savings, but it's a small price to pay for two lives.
Calamity cuts his head to the side, gaze cold. "I'm not in the business of making deals with Spades. The few times I have, it always comes back to bite me in the ass."
I can see my only chance to salvage the situation slipping like sand between my fingers. If I don't do something quickly, things will end fucking badly. Calamity will still have the girls, he'll probably shoot me and shove my body over the line for Cruz, and then end the rest of my family when my brothers come over the line to avenge me. I open my mouth...
And shock even myself with my words.
"I'll take their place."
Dead silence. No one in the room moves, including my girls. Dominique's mouth is hanging open in shock, as though I've just shouted something vulgar at the top of my lungs.
"Penny, don't—" Lilly begins, shaking like a leaf in the arms of her captor. She looks like a porcelain doll between her pale skin and a cap of dark hair. Her eyes are huge in her face. She falls silent when Calamity shoots her a poisonous glare.
His gaze returns quickly to me, another smirk curling his lips. He leans back in his chair, and I can tell the bastard is getting a real kick out of this. I force myself to stay stationary, instead of stalking toward him so I can lodge my fist in that smug, infuriatingly handsome face.
"So you'd fuck every man in this room?" he asks, gesturing at the thirty men staring at me with eager anticipation.
My stomach rolls thinking about so many unfamiliar male hands on me. Would he order that if I said yes? Strip me down and have the men form a line to fuck me like some horrible real-life porno?
But if I say no, Dominique and Lily are fucked in every sense. I didn't cross the line to come away empty-handed. So I draw in a deep breath and look him dead in the eye, mustering as much raw sex appeal as I can at a moment's notice.
"I would. But you and I both know there's only one man in this room that's worth fucking."
Seconds trickle by, and the look on his face only grows more amused. Just by looking at him and talking to him for a few minutes, I've already learned he's a hell of a lot smarter than I ever imagined him to be. I knew that he was a thuggish warlord, ruling over the Kings with an iron fist. What I didn't know is that he is cunning. He's weighing my fate in his hands, trying to decide if it's worth it.
And just when I decide he's about to order me to be shot, he leans back; the smirk graduating to a full-on grin. It's not a pleasant expression, but it's no less attractive than the smirk.
"You want me to fuck you, Spade?"
"If you think you're capable," I shoot back, raising my chin in defiant challenge.
As if a man could ever turn down a challenge like that.
"Fine. It's a deal."
Calamity inclines his head to the men holding Dominique and Lily. They don't move at first, staring at me in abject horror.
"Penny-"
"Go," I urge them.
They don't. Lily has to be carried out by some of Calamity's guards. She's crying hard like she's leaving me to face the noose. I watch until they're both out of sight, jumping when a strong, warm hand clamps down on my wrist. I follow the line of that muscled arm up to the shoulder and finally the face of the enemy I've just agreed to climb into bed with.
"Now, for your part of the bargain."
4
Calamity
I keep my grip tight on her arm, expecting her to renege on her bargain when the pair of whores are out of sight. It's just like a Spade—and especially a Cruz—to go back on their word. But she doesn't struggle as I pull her to the corridor just off the foyer. One glance down at her reveals that she's trying her best to appear bored.
I don't buy it for an instant. The rest of her body betrays her mounting fear. The tendons strain tight in her neck, her body pulls away from mine almost unconsciously, curling as though she's preparing for a blow. Her hand flutters like butterfly wings against my palm, though she doesn't draw it away. Even despite these indicators, I find myself grudgingly impressed by the level of backbone she's displayed.
Normally at this time of night, Malick or another of my boys would have selected a local girl or a prostitute who fits my aesthetic and had her waiting for me. I've been spending most of my time in the warehouse with Greer or buried into the pussy of a nameless woman to avoid going insane. The urge to invade Spade territory and end every single fucker I can find is almost overwhelming. But I'm not some teen to go off half-cocked and get my ass handed to me. I will need a plan before I take my boys over the line or entice someone on their side to do the same.
And as fate would have it, I have the perfect lure. When Kase and Cruz learn their sister has found herself at my mercy, they'll be furious. When they learn she's taking my cock, they'll come after me and damn the consequences. That's when I'll seize my opportunity.
I finally release her when we reach my door and push her into the interior hard enough to make her stumble. She catches herself on the wall and shoots a glare over her shoulder at me.
"Watch it," she snaps.
I raise an eyebrow at her and bare my teeth in a savage little smile. "I enjoy your spirit, little Spade, but don't for one fucking second think you can give orders here. You sold yourself to me. I'll do whatever the hell I feel like with you."
Penelope swallows audibly, and her jaw flexes like she's struggling to swallow back her response. It's so reminiscent of Trinity that I almost wince. She even looks like Trinity, with dark almond-shaped eyes that smolder with intensity. Trinity liked to wear makeup to emphasize all that dark, perfect beauty. Penelope seems only to be wearing a gloss on her full lips, and that helps me get just enough distance to stop visualizing her, at least for now.
It shouldn't surprise me she looks so much like her. Her father couldn't have what he wanted and settled for a second-place runner-up instead.
Penelope's eyes drink in the room, looking everywhere but at me for as long as she can. It's sparsely furnished, borrowing its aesthetic from a hotel room. A large king-size bed dominates most of the space, with a nightstand off to one side and a lamp bolted above it. She can't keep her eyes off the black duvet for long, sizing it up as though she's wondering just how long it'll be before she's splayed naked on top.
She seems to steel herself after a minute and shrugs off her jacket, allowing the leather to drop to the floor almost casually as if she isn't stripping in front of an enemy. It leaves her in a long-sleeved blouse and I get a better look at the figure she was hiding benea
th the riding jacket. Thin, with an athlete's build. Her breasts swell above the line of the blouse where the buttons gap. They're a little smaller than what I normally enjoy, but it really doesn't matter at this point. I plan to enjoy myself when I do eventually push inside her, knowing that Cruz Sr. would fucking despise me for it.
She strips out of the shirt next without turning to face me. It joins the jacket on the floor, and this time I don't watch it join the rapidly growing pile, too distracted by the slim silhouette she's revealed. She's got some damn nice ink. Violet lilies climb from her left wrist to the nape of her neck like a trellis, merging with a line of thorns at the base of her skull. The thorns descend her right arm in a jagged line until they meet up with the Spade on her right hand.
I haven't seen the rest of her, but I can already tell she's one of the most beautiful women to come to my bed. It's quite a feat, given how many women I've fucked over the years. Her skin is a warm olive-tone and every smooth inch of it begs to be tasted. The curve of her spine is flawless and makes me imagine just what she'd look like, bowed over the bed, my hand fisted in her hair as I fuck her from behind.
She turns to face me after a moment, staring at me defiantly as she strips off the jeans, leaving her in a matching set of lacy purple underwear. I can just make out the dusky pink of her nipples through the nearly sheer fabric and my mouth waters for a taste of her. Then she jerks her head up and stares at a fixed point above my head, as though the stippling on the ceiling is far more interesting than anything I'm about to do to her. She's closing herself off, bracing for what's to come so she can compartmentalize it sometime later.
A growl builds in my throat. No woman that comes to my bed gets to act like it's a fucking chore. Penelope Cruz doesn't get to shrug this off and act like a sainted martyr for doing it. When she fucks me, it'll be enthusiastic, not something she's trying to endure.