by Mia Madison
22
Still Be Hungry
Her expression turns guarded. “Not exactly. Something is, for sure.” She hesitates, then says, “Maybe you could ask Vic.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Probably.”
She grabs a napkin and scrawls a number on it. “Here’s my phone. When you get a new one, message me. We should all go to lunch or have a girls’ night out or something.”
“That’d be great.” I smile at her, a real smile. Friends were hard to come by in my hometown, because I didn’t fit in with any of the cliques. I wasn’t a cheerleader or a brainiac or a band geek, and I sure as hell wasn’t one of the popular kids.
Maybe here, I can finally have some real girlfriends. The sisterhood of women who’ve found themselves hunted — er, courted — by an Adamo alpha sounds like a pretty good foundation to me.
I order the chicken Caesar salad and draw doodles on my napkin while I wait, making mental lists. Things to do: Get a phone, get some clothes, get a toothbrush. Ask Vic what I can do around the house. Ask Carlo what’s going on with the stuff he put in his safe.
That last bullet point puts a damper on my good mood, but I can’t run away from it. The Serpents have to be dealt with, one way or another. I hope it can happen soon, so I can get on with my life.
I still have to go back and tie up the loose ends of my old life, too. I’ll need a lawyer for that. But now that I have friends, people willing to help me, it doesn’t seem like such an overwhelming task.
Vic stays in the dining area the whole time I’m there, taking orders, delivering them, clearing tables. Not that there isn’t a need, but I know he’s doing it in part to keep an eye on me. The second I finish my salad, he clears my plate and whisks me away to the office.
As soon as the door is closed, I say, “I need a job. A real one.”
He frowns. “Why?”
“Because I need money, Vic.” I gesture toward the dining area. “I couldn’t even leave Gina a tip.”
His face softens. “I’ll cover her tip, babe.”
“That’s not the point. How would you feel if I was the one with money and you had to ask me for everything?”
Vic’s eyes narrow. “I can’t care of you?”
“Don’t make this about you,” I snap. “I don’t want to be dependent on anyone. You wouldn’t either.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s different.”
“Because you have a penis?” I retort.
He moves in on me, his eyes glittering. “You seemed pretty happy I have one this morning.”
“That’s not the point!” I shove at his chest, and it makes me even madder that he doesn’t move so much as a fraction. “You stubborn, idiotic … man!”
The next instant, his strong arms haul me against him and his mouth crashes down on mine. The heat of temper flares into a deeper, hotter flame, and I sink my teeth into his lower lip, tearing at his shirt. We peel each other’s t-shirts off simultaneously, our mouths fusing together again as soon as the shirts are cast aside.
Vic shoves me up against the wall, and even in the heat of furious passion he’s careful not to hurt me. His hands go to my breasts, squeezing, plucking and pinching the nipples until I moan into his mouth, while I wrestle his jeans open and pull him free. He growls and gets my jeans down, then crouches to yank off my work boots.
When I’m naked except for my bra, he picks me up by the ass and my legs wrap around him just in time for him to fill me, thick and hot and so deliciously hard. I’m pretty sure he didn’t lock the office door before we started arguing, and I’m praying no one comes in even as the possibility that someone might gives me a wicked thrill.
“You’re mine.” His voice is gravel, his hips pistoning as he drives into me, sending me closer to peak with every rough thrust. “Mine to protect. Mine to provide for.”
Pleasure is raking me over the coals, riding me so hard I have to sink my teeth into his shoulder to muffle my screams. When I manage to speak, my voice is so low and throaty it sounds like a growl. “I’d kill you except I want you to never stop fucking me.”
“Sweetest pussy in the whole damn world,” he grunts. “Fuck you forever and still be hungry.”
23
Stormy
Sensation spirals higher and higher as he pummels me. I claw his back and he fucks me harder, the slap of our bodies meeting filling the room, the scent of our arousal a dark perfume that drives me mad.
“Vic, fuck, I’m gonna come,” I groan.
“Touch yourself,” he orders. “Come all over my cock.”
The command takes me right to the edge. I drop a hand to my clit, and within seconds, the climax rips me apart. I clamp around him like a vise, gripping him tightly, and this time there’s no stopping. He pounds into me, harder and faster, until he buries himself inside me and lets go.
It feels better than I could have imagined. His release sends me over again, my inner walls milking him for every last drop. With a final shudder, he rests his forehead against mine. The only sound in the room is our harsh breathing.
My legs are trembling. Slowly, he lets me down to the floor, then lets me go and turns away, getting his jeans fastened as he crosses to the door and locks it. When he comes back to me, I’m sinking toward the floor. He sits down and pulls me onto his lap, snagging his t-shirt — the only one within reach — for me to put on. His arms come around me, holding me, warming me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and curl into him, and neither of us speaks for a while. We both know what just happened, but it doesn’t seem either of us is ready to talk about it yet.
Finally, I say quietly, “Do you really care if I have a job?”
“No, baby.” His lips brush my forehead. “I don’t want you to feel trapped. I love that you’re strong and smart and independent. I just want you to be mine.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m yours,” I tell him. I mean, seriously, what does he think just happened?
“Pretty sure isn’t sure enough, Frankie.”
I pull back to look at him. “What do you want me to say?”
“That you’ll stop putting barriers between us.” The stubborn set of his jaw makes me want to scream, and not in a good way.
“There weren’t any barriers between us just now.”
The look that crosses his face … should I call it pain? Regret? Whatever it is, it’s like a dagger through my heart. “You know what? I’m going back to the garage.” I jump up and pull my jeans on.
Vic gets up too, and I whip off the t-shirt and toss it at him before I pull on the one I wore this morning. “Frankie,” he says, while I shove my feet into my boots. “Francesca.”
I stop and look at him, my chin jutted out and my arms folded. “Don’t walk away from me,” he says softly. It’s not a plea; maybe it’s a warning. Whatever it is, I’ve had enough.
“Don’t give me ultimatums, Victor. I need some space right now. I’ll talk to you later.”
I unlock the office door and go out, and he doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t follow me back to the garage to make sure I get there safely, either. Not that I actually expect any of the Serpents to be stupid enough to come in here after me, but I can’t help feeling very much alone as I cross the asphalt.
None of the guys in the garage says anything about my mood. Fine with me; the last thing I want to talk about right now is my feelings. I throw myself back into the work, but it’s a pity I’m not doing demo because I really want to smash things.
Not until quitting time, when most of the men are gone and I’m standing by a pickup that needs a brake job, does Rico approach me. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
He rakes a hand through his hair and sighs. “Right.”
I feel bad; he doesn’t deserve this. “It’s not you, Rico.”
“I know that,” he says, and gets a reluctant smile from me. “Frankie … Vic’s a good man. Give him a chance.”
It’s my turn to sigh, because I know it’s true. But that’s n
ot enough, is it? Anyway, Vic’s big brother doesn’t need to hear about our problems.
“Thanks, Rico.” Some impulse I can’t identify makes me add, “You’re a good man too, you know.”
For half a second, some dark emotion I can’t name flashes in his eyes. It’s gone so quickly I might have imagined it, but I know I didn’t. “I’ll walk you over,” is all he says, and I don’t push even though part of me wants to.
When we go in the back door of the café, Vic’s just coming into the other end of the hallway from the front section. He stops, and his eyes go from me to Rico, then back to me. His face is set, but his eyes are stormy.
24
Talk To Me
“Ready to go?” he asks, and I nod.
“See you tomorrow,” Rico says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or Victor or both of us, but I tell him goodbye anyway.
Vic and I go back outside and get in his car, the silence between us anything but comfortable. While he drives, my mind goes back over the day and I decide to ask him about Rico. Our own issues feel too painful right now, and maybe talking about something else — anything else — will help.
“Vic?” I say softly.
There’s a slight pause before he says, “Yeah, babe.” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it that makes me want to crawl back in my shell and go quiet. I have to summon up the will to speak again.
“Did something … happen to Rico?”
I’m not looking at him, so I sense more than see his head turn. “What do you mean?” He doesn’t sound puzzled as much as wary.
How do I explain everything I’ve seen and sensed today? It would take too long, and be beside the point. I settle for, “I think he’s hurting.”
Vic goes so long without responding I think he’s not going to. But finally, he says, “He’s been through the worst kind of hell a man like him can suffer.”
I turn to look at him then. He’s staring straight ahead, not inviting further questions or discussion. A thousand questions rise in my mind and die again.
Maybe it’s none of my business; maybe I shouldn’t say anything else. But I can’t leave it alone. Rico’s almost family, of a sort, or as close as I can get in my new life. And no matter what he thinks of himself, he is a good man.
So I say, “I think Mickey’s in love with him.”
Vic white-knuckles the steering wheel, but doesn’t answer. The atmosphere in the car is charged, like a stick of TNT waiting for a match. Unable to stop myself, I forge ahead. “And I … I think it’s mutual. Or it would be, if Rico would let it.”
So much emotion is ricocheting around the car now that I want to roll down my window and let it escape. I wish Vic could trust me with whatever’s going on. Saying anything else seems too dangerous, so I sit there and silently plead with him to tell me … whatever it is.
When he lets out a long sigh, I think maybe he’s going to. Then we round a corner onto his street and see the fire trucks. What the —? “Ohmygod,” I whisper. “Ohmygod.”
Vic doesn’t say a word. He pulls over across the street from his house, where a crew is spraying water onto the flames that have engulfed the living room. When he throws his door open, I follow suit.
Then he gives me words. “Stay in the car!” He waits until I’ve climbed back in and shut the door before he beeps the locks. Arms around my torso, rocking slightly, I watch him cross the street.
I don’t need to hear the report to know what happened here. The Serpents happened. All those guys on bikes that I saw this morning … the gang went undercover, and they found me, and now Victor has had his new house firebombed. Because of me.
I’ve already lost my father. I can’t lose Vic too. I can’t.
I’m staring unseeing into the distance when he returns. I don’t look at him as he slams his door and says, “You’re spending the night at Carlo’s.” His voice is tight with anger, and rightly so.
When I don’t answer, he says, “Frankie.” I can’t bear to look at him. It’s better this way. If he blames me, he won’t look for me when I’m gone.
“Right,” I say, sounding as matter-of-fact as possible. “Carlo’s.” There’s a long silence, and then Vic curses and starts the engine.
At Carlo’s house, Gina does everything possible to make me welcome. She gets me a new toothbrush, loans me some of her clothes, offers to fix me anything I want to eat or drink.
Her face is pinched with worry. From the corner of my eye, I see her exchanging glances with Carlo and Vic. Everyone’s worried about me. All these good people, worried.
I plead a headache and excuse myself, but I can’t get out of saying goodbye to Victor. Gina and Carlo go into the kitchen to give us privacy. Vic puts his arms around me and I do the same to him, but I’m numb inside. It’s the only way I can get through this.
“Frankie.” I tilt my head up to look at him, but I can’t summon a smile, can’t pretend to be normal. While he scans my face, I work on memorizing his. He shakes his head at whatever he sees in my eyes. “I wish you would just … talk to me.”
25
A Heavy Fist
Now he wants to talk. Under different circumstances, it might be funny. “Tomorrow,” I say, and my voice sounds flat, like the real Frankie has been replaced by an automaton.
Vic nods. “Yeah. Tomorrow.” He presses a final kiss to my hair, so tenderly that I’d weep if I hadn’t buried my emotions. “Get some rest, sunshine. You’ll feel better.”
There are so many things I want to say to him, but one is essential. “I’m sorry. About everything.”
His hand strokes down my hair. “Me too. Talk to you tomorrow, babe. Sleep well.”
“Good night,” I tell him, and then I go down the hall and put on Gina’s borrowed pajamas and crawl into bed without even saying goodnight to her and Carlo.
I lie awake for hours. When I hear them moving around in the master bedroom across the hall, I cover my ears and stay that way for a while, just in case they’re anything like me and Vic. The house is still when I listen again, and still I wait.
Finally, when my inner clock tells me it’s the dead of night, I slip from the bed and change back into my own jeans. I have to borrow one of Gina’s tops, but I’ll pay her back for it.
She told me the codes for the security system earlier, while she was getting me settled in. Carlo’s system is the same one he installed at Vic’s house, so I’m already familiar with it. I open the bedroom door and send up a silent thanks when it swings noiselessly on well-oiled hinges.
Going down the hall is an exercise in patience. Someone like Carlo will be alert to the smallest changes in his environment, even in his sleep. I move at an irregular rhythm, as if I were part of the house, just another air current flowing by.
Finally, I’m at the control panel. I disable the entire system, but program it to re-arm itself in ten minutes so the house and grounds won’t be left unprotected. All I need is enough time to get away.
When I sneak out the back door, my car is still there. Carlo put a cover over it to protect it from the elements, and I send him a thank you too. Removing the cover, I fold it neatly and lay it on the ground.
I don’t have my keys, but that’s all right — I know how to hotwire a car. The Mustang is parked at the opposite end of the house from the master bedroom, so with luck I won’t wake them. When the engine roars to life, I back up and go around the house with my headlights off.
Carlo’s guys are running patrols in the neighborhood tonight. My last bit of luck will be getting past them. They all know about the Mustang from tracking me into town that first day, so if they spot me I’m screwed.
I roll up to the gate at the entrance to the property. It swings open and I roll through, resisting the impulse to gun the engine. The streets are quiet, their stillness somehow oppressive, as if the night is waiting to unleash its under-the-bed monsters.
When I reach the main thoroughfare I hit my headlights. Five minutes later, I’m on the inters
tate and can finally open it up, letting the thrill of the open road seep into my bones.
That part of the biker ethos is easy to relate to. So, for that matter, is the commitment to independence and brotherhood. It’s the outlaw capacity for cruelty I have a problem with.
The miles unfold as I race through the night, trying to get as far away from Revved and everyone there as I can. If trouble finds me again, at least it won’t touch them. Which is why I never asked Carlo what he did with the stuff I stole.
I’m out in the middle of nowhere, flatlands stretching out in all directions, when I see the headlights in my rear-view mirror, closing in fast. I floor it, but there’s no point. A high-performance motorcycle can outrun almost any car.
The gang moves up until they’re all around me, and then they begin to slow. They’re counting on me not being them, not being willing to run them over and take a life. And they’re right.
We roll to a stop in the middle of the interstate. In the beam of my headlights, several Serpents dismount and approach. The driver’s side door swings open, a heavy fist comes flying at my temple, and everything goes black.
26
One Good Eye
I come to handcuffed to a chair. My head throbs; my stomach feels sick. I’m in a garage, or a warehouse, lit by a bare overhead bulb. Cement floor, oil stains, metal walls. There are other stains on the floor, rust-colored ones that I don’t want to think too hard about.
“There she is,” says a voice behind me. I recognize it instantly. Buzz Klassen sounds like a saw that’s been run against a steel beam and lost most of its teeth, but still won’t give up.
Heavy footfalls come near and I tense, ready for another blow. He walks around to face me and I get the full Buzz effect: beer belly, florid face, an unkempt beard, and greasy blond hair worn in the most unfortunate mullet ever.