by Marie James
I turn my eyes from her and back to the TV, effectively ending the conversation. As much as I want to ask her more about this woman he escorted across the country, I keep my mouth shut, only opening it to finish my coffee.
We watch four episodes of King Henry cheating on and killing off his wives before Khloe stands to leave.
“You sure you don’t want to come back to the clubhouse with me? We can hang out. The spare room is probably not as comfortable as it is here, but you won’t be by yourself.”
She’s sweet to offer, but there’s no way I’m going against Dom’s orders to stay in the house. I’ve already sort of broken his ‘don’t open the door if anyone knocks.’ He didn’t bother to inform me that random women show up to take care of his house plants.
“He texted earlier,” I lie. “I want to be here when he comes home tomorrow.”
She tells me the code to reset the alarm, and we say our goodbyes.
“Hope to see you around sometime.” She looks like she wants to hug me, but that’s not really my thing. We end up with an awkward handshake.
“Maybe.” I smile at her, but shut the door the second she’s outside.
It only takes a few minutes before the silence surrounds me and makes my skin itch. After checking all the doors and windows again, I head to the back of the house, taking liberties in Dom’s shower. Getting clean or the perception of clean always makes me feel better. I have no idea when Dom will be home, but I pray it’s tomorrow, just like the lie I told Khloe.
Chapter 22
Dominic
Thankfully, Bri stayed behind in Tennessee to get her condo in order. All day yesterday was spent getting the cleaning service and exterminator lined up. I jump on my bike outside of the clubhouse the second I park the SUV we drove to Albuquerque and fire it to life. Even the hour-long layover in Dallas didn’t put a damper on my mood since I didn’t have to listen to pettiness or deflect Bri’s attempts at seduction.
Itchy waves to me from the front door, having heard my bike crank up. I can tell he wants me to chat with him, but he can use the phone like every other person in the world. Two nights being away has been way too long. For the first time since calling Farmington home, I’m actually excited to open the front door of my house. Anticipation of seeing the pink haired woman who hasn’t left my thoughts in the last forty-eight hours fuels me to drive faster than I normally would through my quiet neighborhood. My phone died on the last leg of the flight and not being able to check in and see her watching TV or doing dishes is making me antsy.
I gave firm instructions for her not to open the door, and she didn’t, but I’ve texted her a few times, and she didn’t mention her visitor. I knew one of the girls would show up at the house. If they think I don’t know they show up each time I leave to water the damn plants I give no shits about and clean old food out of the fridge they must not know me very well. I knew she needed the company. It’s the remaining silent about it that has me eager to punish her for it. My fingers twitch with the need to tug her hair and spank her ass for the lie of omission.
Frustration washes over me as I round the last curve near my house. Three familiar bikes sit lined up in my driveway. This was bound to happen. I risked the knowledge of her being here when I didn’t stop Khloe from showing up. I figured if either she or Misty showed, the secret would be out. Those two women tell their men everything. It’s mildly deceptive, but not a blatant betrayal of her trust.
Narrowing my eyes at the sight of my brother sitting on my front porch like he owns the place, I pull in and park by the other bikes.
“Brother,” I say coming up on the front porch, agitated that I have to deal with him before I can see Makayla.
He doesn’t look at me, only stares off into the distance like I’m not worthy of his full attention. That rankles, too.
“You need something?” I play it cool, forcing him to bring her up.
“Em kicked me out of the clubhouse. My own fucking clubhouse has been taken over by a dozen women with bags and bags of pink shit.” I chuckle while he turns his head and sneers at me. “The fuck am I going to do with two girls, man?”
I shrug. “Couldn’t tell you. Lock them up and never let them leave your sight?”
“I said that exact thing to Em. She called me a barbarian.” He pulls his eyes away once again.
My pulse thrums, needing to go inside and find Mak. From the bikes out front, I know Kid and Snatch are inside, so I’m not worried about her safety, but she’s probably scared out of her fucking mind. She doesn’t know any of the men at Cerberus, and her experience with bikers has been less than pleasant.
“Speaking of pink things.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You got something to tell me?”
“Bri’s ex is a petulant child, but we had no complications. He left without much argument. She’s staying behind for a couple of days to get shit together so she can move down here for good.”
He ignores my briefing on Tennessee. I watch his jaw muscles tense. I wait for the explosion, but I’m already preparing my defense. “You haven’t let a woman come between us in a long time, Dom.”
I’m the older brother, but I sit on the porch with Kincaid feeling thoroughly chastised. I’d expected him to be pissed at the secret not hurt.
“No one is coming between us. I just… fuck.” I, too, begin to stare at nothing across the yard, unable to watch the disappointment play out on his face. “She needed my help.”
Silence seems to drag on forever. “Just saying it’s not like you. Is there some sort of love connection?”
I huff.
“Has to be something, brother, because she left her MC to run to you. The club is looking everywhere for her, worried something bad has happened and you have her here.”
“She didn’t run to me, Diego. She was running from Grinder.”
His head turns to me at the confession, eyebrow raised and waiting for more information.
I stand from the chair beside his. “I figured she would’ve told you what was going on when you arrived.”
He shakes his head and stands along with me. “She hightailed it, gone before we came through the door. Left a burner on the table and a handgun I recognize as yours.”
“Are you sure she’s here?” My heart is racing, unfamiliar panic rushing through my veins as I push the front door open.
I’ve seen her more than once on the video feed walking through the house. That gun is always in her hands. Poor Khloe nearly got shot, and I’m sure to catch shit from Kid for it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he punches me in the face for putting his girl in danger.
“Coffee on the table still had steam coming off of it when we came in. Door to the panic room is closed, figure she’s in there.”
My eyes dart from Kid and Snatch sitting on the couch watching ESPN down the hall in the direction of my bedroom.
“I pressed the button to the intercom and tried to speak with her, but she wouldn’t speak back or open the door,” Kincaid continues. “Even called Blaze to get him to look inside. He told me there was no danger and if I wanted information I needed to call you.”
“You should’ve called me to begin with,” I mutter, inching my way further down the hall.
“I tried, asshole,” Snatch pipes in from the couch. “Went straight to fucking voicemail.”
Snatch is usually laid back, the comedian, if you can call him that, of the club. Although he looks sinister as hell because he’s covered practically from head to toe in tattoos and body piercings, he is the softest member of the club. I figure the ink and metal are his way of shielding himself from the world since not many people will approach him.
I take a step toward Snatch, in no mood for attitude in my own fucking house. Kincaid shoots his arm out in front of my chest, stopping me from taking my irritation out on a guy I’d normally consider a friend.
“Leave it,” Kincaid says.
“What crawled up his ass?” I grumble.
Kid snorts, ear
ning him a hard backhand to the middle of his chest from Snatch.
Kid looks over at me, eyes narrowing in warning. Jesus, how much more can I fuck up this situation. I knew not telling them right away wasn’t the perfect plan, but this shit has spiraled out of control. I’ll hear from Kid later about the Khloe situation, but I can’t focus on that right now.
I turn my attention away from the delinquents on my couch and begin to head down the hall to the panic room.
“Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Kincaid asks to my back as I walk away.
Halfway down the hall I turn back around and face him. “If she won’t, I will, but it’s not my story to really tell.”
Kincaid sighs and runs his hand over his head. “It’s that fucking bad, huh?”
“It’s up there with some of the craziest shit we’ve dealt with. You remember Malaysia?” He nods.
I pop an eyebrow at him. “Fuck,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” I tell him and venture back down the hall toward my room.
I make sure to close my door behind me, a false sense of security for Mak. I trust all three guys down the hall with my life, so suffice it to say they each have the code to get in my room.
My once sterile looking room looks… lived in for the first time. The bed isn’t made, one of the books from the shelf in the living room is on the bedside table, and the photo album I kept from my time with Karen is peeking out from under it. I bite my lips, not really upset but filing it away for a later time when I can spank her ass for it.
At just the thought, my palm grows warm and my cock begins to fill with blood. I’ve desired women before, so the reaction isn’t a new one. What I haven’t done in a very long time is yearn for a woman over the actual act of sex. Which makes me want to edge her for hours, not letting her come for getting under my skin the way she has.
I will away the thoughts because fucking her while my brother and two of his men wait for answers in the living room is not how to get back in their good graces. I almost ignore the sensible side of me because she’s going to be pissed. Pissed that I didn’t tell her about one of the girls coming over. Pissed that three bikers she doesn’t know have forced her back into the panic room. I want nothing more than to fuck her until she’s too spent to argue with me. Angry sex isn’t something I’ve done in a while, opting to walk away from women who have too much attitude, but damned if I don’t want to fuck the ‘pissed off’ right out of her.
Chapter 23
Makayla
Light flashing across the small video screen catches my eye. It’s been black dark since a man I know as Kincaid tried to get me to come out. He must’ve closed the closet door leading into the bedroom completely.
Dom’s face comes into view, and I nearly squeal at the sight of him. I’m so grateful he’s only been gone two days rather than the three he projected.
The intercom crackles, his husky, beyond sexy voice filling the room. “Open the door, baby.”
There’s a hint of need to his voice. Something so dire I almost forget how mad I am at him. Almost.
I haven’t used the intercom before, but it’s very similar to the one in the living room, so I figure it out with ease.
“I’m fine where I am,” I say with more bravado than I feel. He’s told me I can trust Cerberus, and I know he wouldn’t let anything happen to me while he’s here, but I wasn’t going to chance facing Kincaid without Dominic present.
He had to have known Khloe was going to come over. I didn’t think to ask her not to tell Kid about me being here. I figured she’d assume since no one knew that it was a secret. I’m agitated, but can’t be mad she didn’t lie to her man. It just proves her character, and also where her loyalties lie, even though I don’t expect that from her either after a couple hours of girl time on the couch.
“Makayla.” One simple word with an edge as sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel.
It makes me picture sheet-clawing sex. It makes my mind wander to the duffel bag of toys I found while bored and snooping through shit in his closet. The muscles in my thighs tighten as I try to ward off the incessant thrumming at my center.
“And if I refuse?” I watch the screen and wait for his reaction.
His steel gray eyes look up, directly into the camera and it’s like he’s seeping into my soul. The maniacal look on his face and the twitch in his jaw on any other man would terrify me to the point of begging. This look on Dominic Anderson also makes me want to beg just with a ton of please, Oh God, and harder attached to it.
“God damn it, Mak,” he growls into the camera. “This isn’t the way to test me.”
I straighten the pajamas on my body. I’ve been in here for several hours. After having stayed in bed late again, I didn’t make it to any level of functioning until after eleven. The roar of motorcycles drove me in here before I could get my second cup of coffee drank.
I attempt to fingercomb my hair, but I’m met with the resistance of tangles I don’t have time to work out.
The second I open the door, Dom is on me, pressing me against the cold wall. Hot, mint-scented breath washes over my face and his thick erection presses against my stomach as the sound of the door closing us in echoes around the room.
I whimper more out of need than actual fear.
The tip of his nose trails the length of my neck. Uninhibited, I tilt my head giving him access to the throbbing pulse point just under my ear.
“I should fuck you against the wall,” he threatens. “No one would hear you scream as you beg me to stop, beg me for more.”
Even with my history and the rapey menace in his voice, my body demands that it comes to fruition. “Yes, please.”
“Fuck you,” he spits, but his words hold no malice as he rips my pajama top open and his mouth finds the hardened tip of my breast.
“Oh shit,” I moan at the attention.
I reach for the waist of his jeans, needing him inside of me, but I’m pressed so hard against the wall there’s no room for my hands between us.
In a flash, both of my hands are pinned above my head by only one strong arm of his. In the next breath, my legs are lifted, anchored on his as he rips the seam of my pajama bottoms at the crotch. Even as wound up as he is, he doesn’t fumble once with his belt or the zipper of his jeans. I keep my eyes on his, knowing he’ll demand them if I don’t as massive fingers slide my panties to the side and probe my cleft, undoubtedly checking for readiness. He finds me soaked, and approval fills his eyes like he knows some secret I’m not privy to.
I cry out, just as he promised I would when he pierces me without warning. He reaches up, I assume to cover my mouth even though I know he wants to hear my screams, but his fist latches around my throat. A split second of panic runs cold through my body, but his mouth is on mine in the next second, and all other worries fade away.
Relentless hips drive in and out, the trim hairs at the base of his working cock brushing against my fevered clit. Sensation bombards me from every direction, the rough bite of his teeth on my bottom lip, the firm hold of his hand against the arms pinned above my head, even the stinging rasp of his open zipper against my ass sets fire to my blood.
“Harder,” I beg even though I don’t know how that’s possible. If it weren’t for the fabric of my shirt, I’d have scrapes and scratches all over my back from the texture of the wall.
Somehow, against physics and all logic, his hips gain strength, his cock tunneling deeper. A haze clouds the periphery of my vision, both from the impending orgasm and the tightening hand at my throat. The only thing I can see is his face and the open pant of his mouth.
“Come for me,” he commands. The tingle in my spine obeys and rockets to my swollen clit. I pulse around him, my vision losing all focus as every nerve in my body relents to the demand at the apex of my thighs.
“Oh fuck,” he hisses, pulling from me and jetting hot ropes of come on my stomach.
His forehead meets mine as he catches his breath. I wiggle, needin
g fresh air. He loosens his grip around my throat but doesn’t release me entirely.
“This wasn’t my intention when I walked into the closet.” There’s a vulnerability in his voice that I’ve never felt before. My heart aches at the urge to beg him to take me to his bed and hold me against his chest.
He doesn’t want to hear that, though. So I do my best to keep it casual. “I missed your cock,” I whisper. “Seems like he missed me, too.”
He frowns and it’s clear I missed the mark with my words. Releasing my hands and the grip on my neck, he makes sure I have my bearings, and my feet are safely on the floor before he steps away.
His eyes are zeroed in on my neck, and I can tell without even looking in the mirror that the fading marks from Grinder’s hatred have been replaced with bruises from a fist filled with passion instead of rage.
I touch the warmth left by his hand with a delicate finger and confess, “I like it.”
Remorse flips into renewed hunger at my words, but he turns his back on me to zip up and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. He grabs a pack of wet wipes from the supply shelf and offers them without turning around.
“Get cleaned up. My brother is waiting to talk to you.”
It’s almost like he’s angry at himself for feeding his body’s needs, and I deserve the brunt of that irritation. I snatch the package from his hands, attitude the only defense I have for the tears I can feel burning the back of my eyes. The rough sex, command, and control he has when he fucks me isn’t the problem. The indifference afterward is what makes me feel like a used up whore. I hate how similar the reaction is to the way I feel after Grinder has taken me without permission.
I wipe the semen off of my stomach and remind myself that Dom is nothing like the evil man I’m hiding from. Dom may act like an asshole, but he also holds me when I’m scared and keeps me safe when he can turn me away at any time.
He looks over at my ruined clothes, a hole ripped in my pajama bottoms and the buttons missing from my shirt.
“I’m going to get a quick shower. The ride in from Albuquerque was extra gritty today. Get dressed,” he insists before opening the door to the panic room. He stops short. “I’ll grab some clothes from your room.”