by S. E. Jakes
“Dammit, I like it when you take control.”
“Babe, I could’ve told you that from the first night we met.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“This is seriously news to you?”
He was still massaging my shoulders. I hung my head down and thought about that very first night we’d met. I’d only started drinking because I was nervous as hell after propositioning him. In fact, I’d done a couple of shots before propositioning too, to get up the nerve to even talk to him, especially after not being able to get his attention at all.
Women circled him, but I’d known he wasn’t into them. Finally, I’d slid next to him where he stood, against one of the columns and told him, “The backroom’s pretty quiet.”
He’d stared at me, his dark eyes fixing on mine, and it was like he could see right through me. It was either the best thing I’d ever done, or my greatest mistake. Either way, I wasn’t backing down.
“What’s your name?”
“Sean Rush. Everyone calls me Rush.”
“I don’t hook up with drunk guys, Sean.”
“I’m not drunk yet,” I’d told him, walked a straight line, and touched my finger to his nose to prove it, because there was a fine line between wiseass and flirting and I’d always been comfortable jumping back and forth over it. “I’m planning on drinking tonight, but I’m giving you my consent now.”
Ryker raised his brows. “Your consent?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure if you’ll take me up on it.”
“Why’s that?”
“Big bad Havoc biker probably has his pick of men. So I’ll play hard to get.”
“Consenting ahead of time isn’t playing hard to get,” he’d told me.
“It is if you don’t know where to find me later.”
Now, his chuckle rumbled through me. “You’re thinking about that first night. You remember biting me?”
I did. Right before I walked away, I’d nipped his neck along his collarbone.
“Yeah, you bit me, then did that gorgeous strut thing you do.” He leaned in then, nipped me on the neck, and I shuddered a little. “You watched me over your shoulder after you walked away. And then you gave me that fucking smile. The one that makes you look like you’re this innocent thing. And that’s when I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That you weren’t as cocky as you pretended to be at all. And that was more of a turn-on than anything else you could’ve done.” He gave a knowing smirk. “It was also a dare.”
He was right. I’d been daring him as much as I’d been daring myself. “From that point on, my memory’s fuzzy.”
He leaned in, an elbow on the counter, and grinned. “You don’t remember dancing for me?”
“Ah . . .” Jesus, he had to be lying, although it totally sounded like something I’d do.
“It was so fucking hot, Sean.”
I closed my eyes. Tried to picture it. “I started off on the bar, didn’t I?”
“That’s such a lucky guess.”
“I must’ve worked my way over to you.”
He turned the stool so I faced him. His gaze held mine, and I couldn’t look away. “You gave me a lap dance.”
No wonder he’d snuck in and fucked me. I’m surprised I hadn’t bent myself over the bar and told him to fuck me right then and . . . “I didn’t tell you to fuck me on the bar, did I?”
He gave me a smirky smile, and I groaned, buried my face in my hands.
“I wouldn’t have done it. Although I wanted to take you right there. That would’ve been fucking hot. Taking you, showing everyone you were mine.”
Well, yeah, that was hot. Really hot.
“If I’d told you to bend over for me, you would’ve,” he murmured. “You told me as much when you were dancing.”
I bit out a curse. His eyes were dark with lust.
“So yeah, you intrigued me enough to take you up on your invite and follow you inside. But after I crawled into your bed, spent time there listening to the way you let go when you fucked . . . I knew I was the one who was screwed.”
He actually looked a little pissed by that. Ryker didn’t lose control—not easily. We were a lot alike.
“Sorry I messed up your life.”
He grunted. “You’ll make it up to me.”
“How’s that?”
The grin that spread along his face made me squirm. It was fucking indecent when he did that. “Lap dance.”
My first instinct was to tell him to go fuck himself, but my cock? Seemed to motherfucking love the idea. “I need booze.”
He went into another room and came back with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. In the background, the low drumbeat of one of his favorite songs played.
Turn on your love light . . .
I slammed back two shots. Went a little slower on the third. It’d been a while since I’d had anything to drink—nearly eight fucking months, so it hit me decently hard. By the fourth shot, I was loosening up. Which was always a dangerous proposition since the words Sean and inhibitions were never within a million-mile radius of each other anyway.
Ryker did a couple of shots too. He’d moved over to a big comfortable leather recliner. The lights dimmed. I closed my eyes and I was back in the bar, needing so badly for Ryker to notice me.
I hadn’t known exactly why back then. I knew now, and it still made me shaky. I leaned over and grabbed the back of his chair, penning him in, my legs straddling his. He watched me as I danced, sparking flashes of memory.
He’d looked at me the same way back then. Like he’d owned me from day goddamned one.
When the song ended, I moved away, took another drink.
Ryker’s voice rumbled, “Come here, Sean.”
I was freaking out inside, but I obeyed. Like, what the fuck, did he hypnotize me with his voice or something? Ryker stood, tugged a hand through my hair and then put a hand on my shoulder to push me to my knees. From there, I knew what to do, what I wanted. But he gripped my hair tighter. Normally, anything he did was a turn-on but tonight . . . tonight this was triggering something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe it was the alcohol or the stress of what was happening with Noah. The fact that I was at Havoc, which meant things were really out of my control.
Ryker murmured, “So pretty down there. Put your mouth on me, baby. Want to see that. Want to take a picture of it, tape it so I can watch it anytime I want.”
The panic rose inside of me. I tried to fight it, though, because Ryker had never asked me for anything. Until he’d started asking me to separate from Noah.
With my face in his crotch, his hand carding my hair, I tried to push it all out of my mind. But I couldn’t.
I went to get up, but Ryker was faster. If he’d tried to hold me down, I would’ve fought him. Instead, he sank to his knees and faced me.
“Don’t,” he said—I didn’t know what I wasn’t supposed to have done. Fight? Pull away? Ignore his orders? “What the hell just happened?”
“Nothing.” My voice sounded hollow. I’d given him blowjobs before—many times before—and I’d never had this reaction. Then again, a lot of shit was coming out in the open for me, a lot of memories surfacing that were better off dead and buried.
“Sean, you gotta trust me. Because if you don’t . . .”
“I’ll get hurt,” I said numbly. “You know how many times I heard that in my life?”
“No. Why not tell me?”
“I don’t think so.”
Ryker swallowed hard and said, “Okay, Sean. Why don’t you take the bed, and I’ll stay out here.”
I hated the way he sounded—hurt. Upset. Pissed. But I didn’t tell him that, and it didn’t stop me from getting up and moving up the stairs to the bedroom. I shut the door and sat against it for a long time. Finally, I grabbed a blanket and pillow off the bed, and I curled up in front of the locked door and drifted in and out.
I wasn’t sure who I hated more—him for not begging to come in
or me for not calling for him.
n the morning, I showered, trying to wash away last night’s failure. The hot water sluiced over me, easing my hangover just slightly. When I dressed and went downstairs, I found myself alone. But there was a Be right back note with the time on it, and breakfast waiting under the cover of a tray so it stayed warm.
I poured coffee. Piled some food on a plate, because I knew eating would make me feel better. And I ventured outside to the big covered porch, so I could watch the comings and goings of Havoc while I ate.
The compound was miles wide. If I squinted and angled my head just right, I could see a large building in the center that was probably the main clubhouse. I suspected that the trees were buffers for other houses built all around the clubhouse.
It was quiet and calm, the roar of Harleys muffled by the hills. But I could still hear the bikes coming and going. And when Ryker’s roared up his driveway, the nervousness faded, replaced by the familiar lust and longing.
He wasn’t wearing a helmet, just jeans and a long-sleeved thermal T-shirt—dark gray—pushed up to the elbows. I stared at the rose on his hand, and the others snaking along his arms, because that red ink stood out among the mostly grayscale and darker colors. I was still looking at it when he came onto the porch and settled into the chair next to me. He leaned forward, put a hand on my thigh.
“Glad you’re eating. Did you sleep?”
Had he not checked on me at all? Did he really give me that kind of space? “Yeah.”
“You sound better.”
“It was a long day,” I said.
He ran a hand along the back of my neck, pressed a kiss below my ear, and I was hard instantly. So, yeah, no permanent damage done to my body’s reaction to him. “Yeah, it was. Today will be better.”
“You’re going to show me around this place?”
“I am.”
“So it’s not super top secret?”
“Well, it is. For you, I made an exception. Most of Havoc already knows you anyway.”
“You mean, after last night?”
“No.”
“Because you had them follow me for the past eight months?”
“Sean, you don’t think you have a rep?”
“Not like that.” Jesus. I ran my hands through my hair and stared at the big man who most definitely had a rep.
“I knew about you before you went into the Army.”
I tried to process that, then decided it was better I didn’t. For now, at least. “What exactly does Havoc do?”
“We ride.” I rolled my eyes, and he added, “Porn.”
My stomach tightened, and the shitty, panicked feelings I’d had last night threatened again. I pushed them down, not sure how long that’d last. “Why porn?”
“It’s legal. We’ve got major productions. Some webcam stuff. Lots of our stars come vetted from this guy named Tenn. His brother’s a Viper.”
“Sex and fast bikes.”
“Best things in life. Both legal.”
“Except when the bikes are stolen.”
“If they’re stolen,” Ryker corrected. “We also have Bertha’s. Gypsy’s Bail Bonds is his own business and it’s housed in town, but it’s backed by Havoc. We don’t run drugs or guns. And we’ve never let ourselves be managed by anyone but ourselves.”
I pretended not to notice he hadn’t answered the original question about why porn. “And you’re all perfect angels too. I bet you help out in soup kitchens on your days off.”
Ryker snorted. “I’m not going to pretend we haven’t done some bad shit, but only if it’s warranted. We don’t start it, but we’ll finish it if someone fucks with us or with what’s ours. Our guys are rough. Some’ve done time. Some will fuck up beyond the club being able to save them.”
“Anything else?”
“We also provide protection,” he said. “Sometimes for individuals or bands. Sometimes for other things.”
Everything Ryker said, beyond the porn, was murky. Spread out. Nothing you could put your finger on, pin them down on. And I assumed that was the point. They didn’t want anyone knowing their business, because that would mean they couldn’t do their business well. Havoc operated very much like the military in that regard.
And the compound was busy. Like a minitown. There were two restaurants that were apparently just open for the Havoc members and their guests, and a garage that I figured was only for Havoc vehicles.
We got halfway across the compound, Ryker waving at groups of people sitting on their porches or hanging out at the garage or outside the small restaurant, when I noticed a man walking through the compound. He commanded attention. Tall. Lanky but well built. Long dark hair tied back from his face. Tanned golden with bright blue eyes—probably the first thing you’d notice about him. They forced you to home in, concentrate. Mesmerizing.
“That’s the president of Havoc,” Ryker told me. “Name’s Samuel Sweeting. Aka Sweet.”
Sweet had a lollipop in his mouth, the stick hanging out the corner. He grinned, patting men on the back as he passed them.
“Is he married?”
“Sweet? He’s a player, born and bred. Never wanting for company.”
And despite all that, the loneliness coming off the guy was palpable. At least to me, and especially when his hawk-like gaze settled on me. For a long moment, he stared, and then he turned his attention to Ryker, motioning for him to come closer.
Ryker nodded in Sweet’s direction, then told me, “I’ll be back. Look around and stay out of trouble. Is that possible?”
“Of course,” I scoffed. Although really, I wasn’t sure about that at all. But he went over to Sweet and disappeared, and I continued to walk around, drawn, of course, to the garage.
There was a ’99 Aston Martin—cherry red—parked outside the garage. There were three men standing around, staring at it like somehow that would fix it. Give these guys a bike and undoubtedly they could break it down and put it back together blindfolded. But put a cage in front of them, and I swore they stared at it like it was some kind of devil.
I could’ve asked before barging in, but fuck it. Besides, although she might’ve been pretty in another life, she’d been beat to hell, and I hated to see cars not cared for. While Noah typically dealt with the bodywork, I cared for the guts. And if the outside looked like hell, the inside was usually worse.
I walked over and rested my hands on the hood reverently. I knew the guys thought I was nuts—mostly true—but I didn’t give a fuck.
“Mind if I take a look?” I asked finally.
“Go ahead,” one of them said. They were all wearing Havoc cuts. Everywhere I looked was leather and Harleys. This was the only car I saw.
I was aware, as I worked, that those guys had left, that I was the only one around. And I was okay with that. Once I started her up and tuned the transmission and fixed the other myriad small issues, she sounded great.
I looked past the garage and all I saw were hills. Open land. And a small paved road running through it. I looked back at the car and back to the road and wondered if it was suicide. But before I could talk myself out of it, I was putting the car into gear and traveling along those miles of open road as fast as I could take the corners.
When I pulled in post-joyride, miraculously I was still alone. I parked her, hung the keys where I’d found them on the board and headed to find Ryker.
Instead, I got half pulled into the small restaurant I’d seen earlier. A short blonde woman said, “I’m Greta. And it’s lunchtime.”
“Lunchtime?” I asked, like I’d never heard the term before.
“Yes, sugar. Food. Let’s go.” She motioned for me to follow, and I stopped arguing. Inside the big room was a table running down the middle of the place, with smaller tables all around it.
“We eat family style on Wednesdays and Sundays,” she told me. “Sit. Dig in. Don’t be shy.”
“You know I’m not . . .”
“Not what?” She studied me. “You’r
e with Ryker, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then grab a plate and dig in.”
Two of the guys who’d been there when I’d first started to work on the Aston Martin came in. Sat down on either side of me, dwarfing me. Not talking. When they got up, taking their plates with them, I wondered what the hell was going on, but a second later, Ryker sat down next to me.
“Were they bodyguarding me?” I asked him.
“You stole Sweet’s car.”
“Sweet’s car,” I echoed. “Shit, not the Aston.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I didn’t steal. I borrowed,” I protested. “I returned it. Is that why those guys were sitting next to me? To hold me here?”
“Pretty much.”
“They let me fix the car. What, am I being hazed?” Ryker sighed. “I’ll apologize.”
“Right. Apologize. Simple as fuck. These guys are looking for an excuse to fuck with you. And you gave it to them.”
“’S’what I do,” I muttered, looked down at my plate. When I glanced back over at him he was gone.
After I finished eating, I walked back toward Ryker’s place. It was one thing to have Greta make me lunch, but another for me to act like I really did belong here. I didn’t want to be pissed at Ryker for semideserting me, because hell, I could handle myself anywhere. But Havoc was different—this was his world, and there were rules. Rules I didn’t know.
So yeah, I didn’t like that vulnerable feeling I had when I didn’t have the lay of the land.
Times like this, I realized how much I missed Billy. And now, Noah too.
I was halfway across the compound when I noticed several guys walking in my general direction. And maybe they were heading to Greta’s for lunch, or to the clubhouse, but hell, I knew they were coming in my direction.
I kept walking until they were in front of me like a solid brick wall of leather.
“You’re Rush,” one of them said and I nodded. “You working for Edmund?”
“I was. Things didn’t work out.” I attempted to just go around them, but the guy who’d asked me the questions moved to stand directly in front of me. His patch was eye level, which meant he was bigger than Ryker. He had some prison tattoos on his face and arms too.