Alphas After Dark (9 Book Bundle of Sexy Alpha Biker Bad Boys)

by Vivian Arend

  "I'm getting there." He made a sudden decision, one that he would probably come to regret. "The boss will have the final say on the debt, but since he's out of town, there's a good chance your car—your Baby—will be gone by the time he gets back. So I'll get your car back to you tonight and deal with the fallout from my boss—on one condition."

  "Anything," she said, her fingers clenching the fabric of her skirt even tighter.

  Would she agree so quickly once she heard his terms? There was only one way to find out. "You belong to me for a week as collateral."

  She blinked twice. "Belong to you? You mean…?"

  Holding his breath, he nodded slowly. "You're mine for seven days and seven nights."

  Aston stared at him for a long, tense moment. Her fingers straightened and she dropped her skirt, smoothing out the fabric with deliberate sweeping motions. Taking a step toward him, she extended her hand and held his gaze. "Deal."

  CHAPTER TWO

  On trembling legs, I exited Ben's office and prayed Marley wouldn't be able to read the truth on my face. I spotted her leaning against the toolbox. Her eyes narrowed when she saw us. I joined her while Ben spoke to Devil in their shared language. I fought the urge to glance back at the tattooed mob enforcer who had just extracted the filthiest promise from me.

  The wicked thrill of anticipation that raced through me left me feeling uncertain and confused. Why wasn't I ashamed? Why wasn't I disgusted with myself for trading my body for a car?

  Long ago, my father had taught me the art of negotiation. Know when you're beat, he had warned. Get out early. Sell first. Close the deal.

  That's what I had done in the office. I couldn't take the chance that Ben's boss might take days to answer my request. The clock was already running. If I wanted Baby back, I had to make hard choices.

  Not that it had been that hard of a choice, I silently acknowledged. When he had pinned me to that door, I had damn near fainted. Slapping him had been a dangerous move, but deep down, I had known he wouldn't hurt me. He seemed to enjoy pushing me though, scaring me as if to remind me that he wasn't like the men of my social circles. He had asked if I was playing a game, but he seemed to be the one playing with me.

  "Well?" Marley tugged on my hand and turned her back to shield us as we talked with heads close together. "What did he say?"

  "He said yes."

  She looked unconvinced. "Just like that?"

  "Sort of," I said, unwilling to lie totally to my best friend.

  "Sort of?" Marley repeated. Her eyes widened slightly as she chanced a quick peek at Ben and caught sight of the bright red mark on his cheek. Judging by the amused glances from the men, she wasn't the only one who could see the faint outline of my fingers on his skin. Lowering her voice, she whispered, "Did you smack him?"

  I had the decency to look apologetic. "Yes."

  "Do I want to know why?"

  "Probably not." I swallowed and glanced over my shoulder to see Ben waiting for me to finish up and follow him. "I have to go. He's taking me to get Baby. I'll call you when I get home."

  "Be careful, Aston. Ben might let you get away with hitting him but the rest of this crew? Don't push your luck. Be smart. Get your car. Get the hell away from these guys."

  I took her warning to heart. "I'll call you when I'm home."

  "If anything happens—"

  "I'll call you."

  Reluctantly, she let go of my hand. Ben held my gaze for a moment before pivoting on his heel and striding toward a rear exit. His aloof treatment aggravated me but still I trailed after him like a stupid little puppy running after her master. For a girl who had gotten used to always being in control, there was something oddly intriguing about the way Ben didn't defer to me. I didn't like it, exactly, but I didn't hate it either.

  I grimaced at the mugginess of the hot August night that greeted me, but Ben mistook the look for distaste at the mode of transportation he now offered.

  Shoving his helmet toward me, he growled, "I'm sorry if the lady doesn't approve of the bike, but not all of us have the luxury of car collections worth millions of dollars and a different ride for each day of the week."

  "For your information, I drive the same freaking Jeep every day." I snatched the helmet and fought the mounting desire to smack him with it. "I wasn't making a face because of your motorcycle. I was making a face because of this awful wet heat."

  "Yeah. Sure you were." He jerked the helmet out of my hands and pressed it onto my head. I held perfectly still as he carefully guided it into place, making sure not to catch my earrings or my hair. He tightened the chin strap before buckling it into place. His tattooed knuckles brushed my skin and an arc of delicious anticipation burned through me.

  Suddenly, I couldn't stop thinking about his rough hands lingering on other parts of me. For a moment, I thought he might be imagining the same thing. His hands had gone still and he was just peering down at me with utter confusion reflected in his pale eyes. Then realization dawned. He didn't know what he was doing with me. He wanted to dislike me but he was helping me. He was breaking some rule and he didn't know why.

  Grunting, he dropped his hands. A second later, he snatched my cell phone from my fingers, shoved it into his back pocket where it would be safe during the ride and turned toward his bike. I didn't know much about motorcycles. My father had always referred to them as two-wheeled deathtraps and had forbidden me from ever getting on one. Ben's bike wasn't flashy like the ones I had seen at car and bike shows over the years. It was the perfect combination of staid black with gleaming chrome, powerful and intimidating.

  He carelessly slung his leg over the seat, and I couldn’t stop staring at the taut denim stretched across his perfect backside. My gaze traveled along the beautifully violent swaths of tattoos running from his fingers to his shoulders and disappearing under his shirt. God, how I wanted to know where those tattoos ended. His chest? His belly? His legs?

  Standing behind him, I could now see the massive double-headed eagle inked onto his back. The monstrous and intimidating sigil was easily visible through the thin white fabric of his sleeveless, tight tank. I had always found these so-called wife-beater shirts disgusting but not on Ben. It made him look sexy and dangerous.

  "You plan on standing there all night?" He glanced back at me with irritation. His mouth pursed with unhappiness as he took in my bare legs. "Next time you ride with me, you'll wear jeans."

  A secret thrill coursed through me at the mention of a next time. Glad that I had chosen the fuller, looser skirt this morning instead of the pencil, I bared my thighs to his view for the second time in less than twenty minutes and climbed onto the motorcycle. The big, black beast roared to life beneath me. I tried to find a place to put my feet but couldn't find a natural spot.

  As if sensing my uncertainty, Ben reached down and clasped my ankle. He dragged my right foot into the right position, resting the toes of my pumps on a shiny peg before reaching down on the left side to do the same. Before I had a chance to get comfortable, he grabbed my hands and tugged them forward, pulling my arms around his waist. His fingertips grazed the back of my hand and trailed a line to my elbow before doubling back again. His feather-light touch awakened my entire body. The very core of me hummed with need.

  Forced to lean forward, I pressed my cheek to his back. That masculine scent of him intoxicated me. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the vibrations of the bike as he eased out of the parking lot and onto the closest street. Holding onto this mysterious man and feeling the rush of wind against my bare skin, I finally understood why my father had forbidden me from riding on a motorcycle. He hadn't been afraid that I would be hurt by the bike. No, he had been afraid of the men who liked to ride them. They were far, far more hazardous to his baby girl than the two wheels and chrome they sat upon.

  Opening my eyes, I enjoyed the whir of vehicles, lights and buildings flashing before me. Ben drove fast, but I had a feeling he was using more caution than usual with the added cargo clinging to
his back. A strange feeling, one suspiciously akin to jealousy, speared me as I wondered how many other women had sat on this seat and held onto him as I did now. It was an irrational, weak thought that I detested almost immediately.

  Yet I couldn't stop thinking about it. Ben Beciraj, with his strong arms and handsome face and that dangerous glint in his eyes, probably had women falling all over him. Marley had told me about the Albanian crime family and their business interests around Houston. Stealing cars and loan sharking were the tip of the iceberg for this crew. They also dealt in escorts and strip clubs. Surely Ben had his pick of those long-legged, curvy beauties who danced for money on the stages of the clubs owned by his boss. The image of Ben finding pleasure with a gorgeous, lithe dancer twisted my stomach.

  Stop it! Remember who he is. Remember what he is. Remember what he made you promise!

  But even thinking of the promise he had extracted from me didn't make me want him any less. That was a far more maddening discovery.

  We flew down the freeway until the bright flares and white plumes of smoke from the refineries came into view. He turned down a dimly lit street and eased off the throttle. The rumbling purr of the engine ricocheted off the seemingly endless rows of storage containers that surrounded us. This close to the refineries and the waterways of the port I wasn't surprised by the abundance of storage facilities. For all I knew, my father's holding company—my holding company now, I gently reminded myself—owned part or all of some of them.

  He turned down a row of containers, drove three-quarters of the way down, and rolled to a stop. He killed the engine and reached back to pat my hip. I understood the silent instruction and climbed off of the bike first. My inner thighs were still vibrating and my legs were warm from the heat of the engine and exhaust. The night air, though muggy and hot, felt cool against my chest without the added heat of Ben's body pressed against mine.

  Smoothly rising from his bike, Ben turned toward me and reached for the strap on my helmet. Just as carefully as before, he took away the helmet and placed it on the seat. My nose twitched at the sulfurous scent that surrounded us.

  "What's wrong, sugar? Does the smell remind you of poor, working class people?"

  Deciding I had had enough of his bitter remarks, I punched his upper arm. He actually smirked at my attack, probably because my fist bounced off his steely muscles like a child's might. He caught my fist before I could yank it back, but his grip wasn’t cruel. "You planning on hitting me again or running?"

  "Depends on whether you intend to cut the asshole act or not," I answered bravely. "There's no one here you need to impress with the hard ass routine. It's just us. Just you and me."

  His smirk faltered, and he let go of my hand. Glancing away from me, he fished a key ring out of his pocket. He gestured to a container near the end of the row. I walked beside him in silence for a few seconds. "Money," I said eventually. "It's the smell of money."

  He cast an amused glance my way. "Oh, is that what it is?"

  "That's what Daddy called it. It's the smell of opportunity."

  "For people like you? Yes. For people like me? Not so much."

  I rolled my eyes and let it go. Twenty plus years had etched that chip into his shoulder. There was no way I could buff it out in the short time we were going to spend together.

  Out of necessity, I silently added. I'm only with him because I have to be.

  But that wasn't really true, was it?

  "You were close to your father?" He sounded genuinely interested.

  "Yes. After my mom…" My voice faded as I tried to find the nicest way to put that story. "After my mom…died, he took me out of private school and had me tutored at home. He would drag me from one business meeting to another. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the corner of his office every day, doing my math homework and listening to conversations about arbitrage and financial instruments."

  "He was grooming you to takeover someday." Ben stopped in front of the container and flicked through his keys until he found the right one. "You're lucky that he loved you so much. A lot of kids aren't that lucky."

  Did he count himself among the unlucky? I wanted to ask about his parents but something about the hard set to his jaw warned me not to do it.

  He jammed the key into the padlock and gave it a twist. After removing the lock, he shoved down the levered handle of the door and started to push the heavy slab of metal to the left. "Well, here's your Baby."

  But she wasn't there.

  Ben's stomach dropped when he realized the container was empty. He shoved the door all the way open and stormed into the oversized metal box. Dread gripped his gut. Swearing up a storm in English and Albanian, he rushed out of the container and straight over to the one across from it. He found the right key and made quick work of unlocking the door.

  When he shoved the door aside, he discovered the Ferrari that should have been there was missing too. His stomach clenching, he moved to the container to the left and the one on the right, finding them all empty. The fifth and final container he searched was the only one that held a car. He let out a relieved sigh upon finding the '69 Chevy Camaro.

  "Ben?" Aston's soft voice interrupted his racing thoughts.

  "Not now," he growled unkindly while digging his phone from his pocket. He should apologize for his rudeness to her, but he had a bad feeling about the missing vehicles. This was the sort of thing that got men killed. He had been the last man here. Was he followed? Who had the balls to rob the Albanian fucking mafia?

  He pinched the bridge of his nose while he waited for Besian to answer. He mentally calculated the time difference. It was very early morning in Tirana. What a fucking wakeup call the boss was about to receive!

  "Someone had better be dying," Besian snarled, his voice husky from sleep. He was still recovering from the bullet wound that had nearly killed him. Although he waved off everyone's concern, Ben knew him too well. Besian was hurting and struggling to get enough rest. His responsibilities weren’t making it easy for him to recuperate.

  "I'm at the holding pens. The cars we boosted tonight are gone."

  "Gone." Ben heard the rustle of sheets and a hiss of pain. "What do you mean they're gone?"

  Not wanting to get into the side deal he had made with Aston, he chose to lie. "I lost my phone and thought I might have left it in the last car I parked in the containers. Nothing looks disturbed. The locks weren't cut or broken."

  "But the cars are gone?"

  "All but the Camaro."

  "Did Zec give you a pickup time?"

  "Tomorrow night," he answered and checked his watch. "He's probably just getting close to US airspace now. When I spoke to him while he was in Dubai, he said he would arrive around three this morning. He would have called me if he wanted to move up the timetable."

  Besian made an angry sound. "I need to make some calls. It could be someone from the outside, but if the locks weren't broken…"

  "Yes." He hated to think one of their own men would betray them. He shuddered to think what Besian would do if the culprit came from their own ranks. It would be bloody and brutal and the sort of work Devil relished.

  "Look, if it's the cartel coming back on us for all that shit that went down with Abby Kirkwood and Jack Connolly, I want you to stay out of it. There's enough bloodshed going on in Mexico. We don't need it here. I've already spoken to Lalo about the contracts we had with him. We've settled it, and we're done."

  It was the one point of business Ben didn't agree with and the only time he had dared to argue with Besian. Lalo Contreras, the one-time low-level enforcer and now kingpin, was good for business. He always needed modified cars for his dealers, and Ben excelled in building traps, the hidey holes the dealers used for stowing drugs, money and guns. When Besian had cut off that business, he had cut Ben's earnings in half. It wasn't an easy thing to swallow, but he had choked it down because that was the decision the boss had made. His loyalty wouldn't allow him to do anything else.

  "Lis
ten, I want you to—"

  "Ben?" Aston whispered urgently. "I think—"

  He cut her off with a wave of his hand and prayed the boss hadn't heard her in the background. Apparently he hadn't because he kept talking and laying out his plan.

  "Ben!" She was slightly louder this time but still he didn't turn around. Instead he tried to pay close attention to his orders.

  "Right. Okay. I'll get it done."

  "Good. Call me if anything changes."

  "Yeah." His phone was still pressed to his ear when Aston planted both hands against his back and shoved him forward. He lost his balance and tumbled onto the hood of the Camaro. Whirling around and braced for an attack, he spotted a flash of blonde hair as she leapt into the container with him.

  "Help me! Hurry! They're coming!"

  "What?" He didn't wait for her answer. He rushed to her side and hurriedly shut the door, leaving only a small crack so he could see. "Who?"

  "I don't know." She clutched onto his arm. He was surprised that he didn’t have the slightest inclination to shake her off. Instead, he slid his arm around her shoulders and dragged her closer. "I walked to the other end of the container while you were talking. I thought maybe I might find something. Tire treads or whatever," she explained. "I saw two SUVs and panicked. What if the people who stole Baby are back for this one?"

  "If it's them, we need to get out of here." She was a liability. She had no weapon and no fighting experience. If anything happened to her, there would be too much heat and attention turned onto the family. Besian really would have his balls if they ended up on the front page of the newspaper.

  Glancing back at the Camaro, he decided that running was their best option. His bike would leave her too exposed. He angled his face and peered through the small slit he had left open to see the SUVs coming closer. There wouldn't be much time to do it right.

  "Get in the driver's seat. The keys are in the ignition. We'll only have a few seconds," he warned, already putting his weight against the door.