Merciless Love: A Dark Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Evil excitement flickered in his dark eyes, mingling with surprise. He stopped just short of planting his kiss and getting my teeth ripping at his lip.

  “Kill you? No, dolly, I'm in no rush. Not until I've torn you up and sent you home to Blaze with plenty to remember me by. Gotta fucking burn some sense into you, make you give up what you're holding behind that pretty little face. And then – maybe then – I'll put you and the rest of those Devil cocksuckers out of their misery...”

  My mind usually blanks at the sound of my belt coming unbuckled in his dirty fingers. Then everything becomes a mess, a deafening chaos like the world itself ending.

  The fire consumes everything. My pants drop, and he lowers his cigar, letting it linger so close to my skin I can feel the heat.

  “What the fuck is this?” He rubs tenderly near my hip, tracing my tattoo. “My, my. Pretty flowers for a pretty lady. It's nice to have a target. Hold still, doll. Those flowers can't do much screaming, but you sure as hell can...”

  Did I really live through it?

  Hell yes. This night, and so many more.

  Nobody ever said becoming an old lady to the biggest badass in Montana was easy...

  Never in a million years did I expect to end up on the stage, shaking my tweny-four year old bare ass for grubby dollars.

  At home in Missoula, I was Shelly Reagan, a college dropout who couldn't even get a damned job stocking shelves. Here in Python, I was Saffron, the most popular dirty dancer since June did her last act on the stage before taking on the manager's role.

  Rolling my hips and wearing nothing but a fuckable smile paid the bills a lot better than shuffling around a grocery store. It wouldn't have been so bad, except for the fact that everybody I'd grown up with knew who I was and what I did.

  Everybody except Mom, of course, and she was my only friend left since the others took flight. Same as it had been since my older brother Jordan went West after our family's last explosive fight.

  A working class girl does desperate things in a recession with a disabled mother and a big brother missing in action. The dollars were all that mattered.

  Dollars and drinks, maybe. At least Pink Unlimited's drinks were free to dancers, and the managers were nice.

  My supervisor June was a stone cold bitch on the outside, but deep underneath, I could tell she cared. I stayed on her good side by doing my job and making money for the Prairie Devils' new strip joint.

  I think she respected me for not whining and creating worthless drama like the other girls.

  It was a good gig, until the night when I ran into a giant in leather out back.

  I was trying to breathe in the fresh mountain air when the bike came roaring in. He rode an older Harley, and it snorted an oily, greasy stink into the narrow parking strip, mucking up my lungs.

  So much for break time! I thought unhappily.

  I tried to ignore him, but I couldn't when I saw him coming right for me. June always said to leave the guys sporting patches alone. I knew enough about MCs not to question her advice. Didn't have any trouble drawing the line between their club business and ours, just like the boss said.

  “You work here?” he asked, eyeing me up and down.

  Men ogling me wasn't anything new. Still, I wished I'd at least thrown on my pants before going out here instead of the flimsy robe we wore to cover up when we weren't dancing.

  “Nope. I just like to stand out here half-naked.”

  I should've known. Sass never got me anywhere, and it wouldn't tonight.

  The man pushed closer, corralling me against the wall with his gut. His huge leathery hands slapped the brick, poised on both sides of my head.

  Jesus, can't you take a joke?

  “Let's try this again, bitch. You give me a serious answer this time. This is strike two, and I don't do three.”

  He smelled drunk. This wasn't at all how the Prairie Devils who owned this place were supposed to be. Then I noticed his patches for the first time.

  They're different. Is this a support club?

  “Yeah, I'm on my break. How can I help you, sir?”

  Stuffing the sarcasm wasn't easy. Unfortunately, not knowing who this stranger was or what he wanted didn't leave me much choice.

  “Need to speak to your boss. Got some cash to pick up, and it better be ready. Take me backstage so I can get the hell out of this dump.” He looked down and his eyes feasted on my cleavage while I wondered how to answer. “Fucking Devils. Fucking whore.”

  My eyes narrowed. I ignored the leering and studied him instead. I'd seen the Prairie Devils guys a few times, and their patches weren't like this. They definitely didn't have a strip going up the side of their jackets that said GRIZZLIES MC.

  Uh-oh.

  How could I be so damned dense to miss it? The Grizzlies had terrorized towns in the Flathead area for at least a generation.

  The reeking alcohol rolling off him suddenly smelled like trouble. So did the greasy bandage tied tight across his head.

  He pushed past me and grabbed for the back door. I caught up, gently tugging on his sleeve. He swore when the lock caught.

  “Open this fucking thing. Right now!”

  “You can't go in there! If you have a message, I'll pass it along. Manager's instructions. I'm sorry, we've all got our rules and it's what I've been told to –“

  He spun, a nasty twitch in his lips pulling at his unkempt beard. His fist was like taking a brick to the face. Everything turned to giant red stars, exploding in a fiery ring around my socket, anchoring around my poor eyeball. I fell.

  It took me several seconds to realize he'd punched me in the face. Then several more to look up, crying at the pain.

  The same fist hovered in mid-air. I rolled into a ball, afraid he was about to beat me to death. He stuck out his finger instead.

  “Pass this along: if we don't get our fucking money, the deal's off. You can tell that asshole Maverick and his whore that they've got twenty-four hours to cough up what's owed, or else our whole charter's gonna pay them a visit.”

  I tried to remember the threat, but the stars blossoming in my skull wouldn't let me. They swelled bigger, brighter, ten times more painful.

  The roar of his bike was the last thing I heard before I blacked out.

  I woke up chilled to the bone. Must've been out well past break time.

  The sharp fire in my head was gone, replaced with a steady throb. I threw my hands against the wall and used it to help myself up, wincing when I touched my eye. New pain howled fiercely through the tender flesh around my socket, so sharp I thought I'd faint again.

  “Shit...need help,” I muttered to myself.

  My brain was barely functioning. My legs switched onto auto-pilot and carried me inside, fumbling for the key card to the back entrance in my pocket. Never knew how I got it in and opened the door half-blind and consumed with agony, but I did.

  June flipped out when she saw me. It was the first time I'd truly seen her surprised. Ironic, because that night was the last time I saw her.

  I mumbled something about a stranger hitting me in the face, and she helped me over to a vending machine. For the next half hour I had a cold can of root bear on my face and Sandy at my side. Some other badass showed up and June had to step away, leaving me with the other girl to make sure I didn't have a seizure or something.

  My boss and the beast in leather approached a little later. Jesus, I was scared, begging him for protection. I couldn't go home tonight. Not after this.

  He granted my request to spend the night at the clubhouse. I had to wait it out until I could go home in the evening, just like normal. Mom wouldn't even notice if I was gone longer than usual, though I wasn't sure how I'd hide the bad eye.

  Ice cold metal nipped at the pain in my skull. It wasn't a proper ice pack, but it did its job. Numb twilight buzzed around my brain when I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  I flew out of my chair and would've hit the floor if Sandy wasn't standing by to catch me
.

  “Jesus, Mister! Can't you see she's a little jumpy? A hello would be nice!” Sandy sounded pissed, ready to lay into him. But her words melted when she raised her head and took a good look at the man.

  “Maverick sent me. See this patch?” He tapped the VP tag on one breast.

  I felt Sandy nod.

  “Means I'm here to help your friend stay safe from the assholes she really needs to worry about. Same patch that writes your check too,” he growled. “Let me see it...”

  A powerful hand tugged at my arm, quick but gentle. I struggled to my feet, opening my eyes for the first time in awhile.

  I couldn't make out much more than a tall silhouette with broad shoulders, medium length hair, and some serious stubble on his face. He took both my hands, steadying my feet, drawing me into him.

  “Fucking shit, my bro never said it was this bad.” He shook his head with a snort. “Those fucking bears are gonna pay big time. Can you walk, baby?”

  I groaned incoherently. Thought I could, anyway. Maybe I just wanted to be away from bikers so badly right now I convinced myself of the impossible.

  “That's okay,” he said, softening his voice. “Slow and easy. Come to papa. I'll get you home safe and put some real ice on that shit.”

  His powerful arms went to the small of my back, and then the whole world turned upside down. My stomach lurched at first, adjusting to the movement. I realized I was floating.

  He was carrying me outside, careful to avoid jostling me too much. I let my head slump to his leather clad shoulder, wondering what I'd gotten myself into.

  Should've just asked to be taken home. Do I really want to be at their clubhouse if something's going down between two clubs full of men like this?

  A resounding NO rattled in my head. Too late, though, because we were already out in the darkness.

  Going home wasn't much easier. Mom was sure to lay into me if she saw my eye, and then I'd have to explain how I'd gotten nailed at a strip joint she didn't know I was working at. All while I had the brutal headache throbbing behind my eyes too...

  Big mistake. Everything.

  Every part of me screamed I'd made a mistake ever taking this job. Beneath the cool and sexy mask I wore to make money, I wasn't cut out for this life, not for the violence and crime, and probably not even for shaking my tail.

  God damned bikers! If their drugs and scuffles hadn't trashed this town in the first place, maybe there'd be more real jobs.

  Anger pulsed through me. I had a feeling an MC had something to do with Jordan up and disappearing too. He'd talked about going West and joining up to ride since he was eighteen. Three years later, all signs said he'd actually done it.

  It was easy to hate the men on bikes who roared around like they owned the fucking planet.

  Except for right now, when the tough guy carried me so sweetly to his truck, tucking me into the seat and fastening my belt. What little I could see through my bad eye said he didn't look like the brute who'd thrown his fist at my face.

  Didn't smell like the same either. This man had a different scent altogether, rich and earthy and soothingly masculine. He smelled strong, without giving off the nauseating musk I often picked up in the strip club after a full night passed with way too much testosterone swirling through the stuffy air.

  “What's your name?” I whispered, wondering if he could even hear me as he slid into the driver's seat and started the truck.

  “Name's Blaze. I'm VP of the Prairie Devils in this area. No need to bore you with more details than that. You just lay your head back and enjoy the ride, woman. You're safe with me.”

  Get Savage Kind of Love!

  IV: A Man's Duty (Evan)

  What the fuck is she doing to me?

  The question bounced around in my skull like a goddamned ping pong ball. My fists answered, pounding into the big black slab hanging in my exercise room. At the rate I was going, I'd need a whole new punching bag by the time this shit was over, and that was assuming I left it limp and didn't spill its innards with my fucking teeth.

  The girl was making me soft. Total, absolute bullshit.

  As soon as the bitter truth slipped out thanks to Izzy's cluster-fuck, I should've taken off the gloves and beaten her ass raw. I should've used brute force to break her, as much as it took to leave her the shell Miguel wanted for a companion.

  Hell, if I drove her catatonic, I'd probably be doing her a favor with what the Mexican had waiting.

  Shit, I'd slit throats and felt boiling blood run down my bare hands, up close and personal. I'd blown apart heads with my magnum at point blank range and wiped brains off my pants.

  Why the fuck was this so hard?

  Because instinct doesn't work the way I wanted it to. Neither does guilt, and never the jet black¸ heart gnawing anguish turning me inside out since the day Borzia stole my wife and boy.

  This whole thing was going to shit, and so was I. All because I wasn't man enough to do what needed doing and get Ty back ASAP.

  Coward. Weakling. Asshole!

  Boom!

  My fist exploded deep into the bag, sending fire up my knuckles, straight to my elbow. My arms were pure hellfire, and still I kept at it, visualizing Borzia's shitty, dead face the whole time.

  I always saw the Mexican when I pounded the treadmill or used the punching bag to beat myself silly. Usually came easy, like a bad fucking nightmare I just couldn't shake.

  Today was different. I couldn't get my brain to dredge up the asshole at all.

  After the way I'd nearly hurt her, I really wanted to see that motherfucker. It would've been much easier than the face that was stuck in my warped brain every time I came up for air.

  The room was lined with mirrors. Each time I jerked up, I saw my own evil reflection, the face of a haggard, pissed off, twitchy man I didn't recognize.

  Each time I saw him, it made me sick. And when I started getting sick, I got fucking pissed.

  My fists flew into the fleshy mass over and over. I twisted my body to keep my punches going long after my arms refused to work, slamming my hate, my rage, my loathing into the black bag in front of me. Didn't miss a beat until I literally fell, and hit the hard floor below.

  If only it could absorb everything. If only this shit were easy. If only rescuing Ty was enough to strip away the innocent girl beating the walls and screaming bloody murder in her prison room.

  If only this weren't a special kind of hell, crafted just for me. If only I didn't have to pay for my mistakes with flesh and tears and blood.

  Real talk: 'if only' never did a goddamned fucking thing.

  If my son's life wasn't on the line, I would've seriously considered beating my asshole face into the wall until I never, ever had to worry about this bullshit again.

  “Wasn't sure who was going to finish first. You, moaning and punching your guts out in there, or her, crying and scratching at the door like a scared kitten.”

  Izzy was in the hall outside the exercise room. Just about the last thing I wanted to see when I was all sweaty and sick of feeling the heavy fucking chains I'd tangled myself up in.

  The bitch had balls after the shit she pulled – only hers didn't swing low to the ground. They crawled up inside her and fucking died, making her the only asshole on the planet more poisoned than me.

  No, scratch that. Miguel Borzia Hernandez was definitely in the running too.

  I stepped in and pressed her to the wall. She let out a little yelp and stared at me like I'd lost my mind. The bitch looked like she thought I was gonna kiss her, but I wasn't that far gone yet.

  No fucking way. She looked a little like Jenny, yeah, but her heart wasn't a fraction the size of my dead wife's.

  “Hey! Ow!” She slurred her words as I grasped her head and pushed my fingers into her mouth. “Whah tha fuhck you doooing, Efan?”

  I pressed her to the wall and breathed deep. Didn't step back and let go 'til I was satisfied. The whiskey stink wasn't as strong as before. She'd stayed clean
for the evening, but I had to make sure she was gonna keep it up.

  The time for fucking around was over.

  “Get off me, asshole!” Her hands bounced on my chest. I barely felt a damned thing.

  “Needed to make sure you weren't pouring more poison down your throat and pissing away our last chance to bring my kid home. I'm not trusting you again when you fucked me over once.”

  Izzy looked at me, eyes narrowing. I was afraid for what was about to happen, scared I wouldn't be able to stop my twitching hand from snapping across her face. Fuck me, if she smarted off again...

  I blinked, did a double take. My sister-in-law was hanging her head for the first time since...well, damned near forever.

  “You're an asshole, Evan, but you're right.” She looked up at me, lips twitching, fighting through the bitter defeat. “I fucked up. I just...I miss him so much. Jesus, if he ends up like Jenny, I'll never be able to forgive –”

  I grabbed her by the arms and shook her. More gently than I should've because she was actually bawling over something that mattered, a far cry from the selfish, bitchy tantrums that had been the norm with her for months.

  “Let it go. Obsessing over mistakes won't get Ty home any faster.” I paused, laughter ringing in my skull, wondering who the hell was saying this. “You keep your mouth shut and get sober. We've got a hard job ahead of us and I need you to be totally focused. There's no room for mistakes when the stakes are this fucking high.”

  “We'll start over tomorrow,” she agreed. “We'll try the domestic stuff again. Whatever it takes to get her ready for him...”

  My eyebrows went up. “You fucking kidding me? Cassie knows everything. You heard her losing her mind in there. We lost our chance to ease her into this when you decided you couldn't keep your goddamned hands to yourself over some spilled chocolate. Now, we gotta do things the hard way. But if that's what satisfies Borzia's demons, then I'm game.” I relaxed my grip, sliding loose hands up her arms until she shivered. “You're up, Izzy. Ready to stop fucking off and do everything I say with this girl? This is my area of expertise. Not yours.”