Riot: A Hell's Heathens MC Christmas Story (Older Man, Younger Woman MC Romance)

by Raven Dark

  “For you? I’ll try. Why don’t you go have a seat and put your feet up? I’ll bring it over.”

  One of his brows arches. His eyes dance, as if he realizes I’m up to something.

  “How do you like it?” I add softly, making my voice as suggestive as possible.

  The lazy twist of his mouth sends a lick of fire up my spine with its wickedness. I love the hungry look he’s giving me, like he’d eat me alive given the chance.

  That expression has me imagining what it would feel like to have those big hands on my skin, to have him wrap my hair around his fist while he does any number of the wild things he’s thinking about doing to me.

  Holy shit, already I can see this guy’s going to upend my whole world. He makes the thought of leaving this place feel almost painful, like a missed out on taste of perfection.

  “Neat,” he answers. “Do you have any idea what happens to a little thing like you when she tempts a man like me?”

  Badger’s shoulders shake even more.

  “You shouldn’t mess with guys like me unless you’re prepared to deliver, sweet thing,” Riot adds.

  Oh my. The way he says this, with a hint of danger in his voice, makes my whole body feel like it’s going to spontaneously combust.

  “And are you going to show me what a big bad man you are?” I nod toward the TV and step away, resisting the urge to fan myself, and wait for him to head back over to the couches. The Hell’s Heathens patch, a snake twinned through a skull’s mouth and eyes, looks great on him, the leather stretched over his powerful back, the cut leaving bare massive arms sleeved in black tats. He has an intriguing looking sword on his shoulder, pointed down, with an elaborate hand-guard all in jagged lines.

  Riot. The name fits. He looks like he’s built to fight, and he’s definitely making my imagination run, well, riot.

  As soon as I pour his whiskey, I add a few finishing touches, and then walk around the bar to bring it to him.

  “Red,” Badger drawls, sounding concerned as he starts toward me.

  I put up my hand, shaking my head. I got this.

  Badger rolls his eyes as if he can see the disaster unfolding, but his mouth turns up. He knows I can handle myself, and he’s going to let me have my fun.

  See, that’s why I kind of love Badger. He treats me like an adult instead of like a child the way Devil does, and he knows I can handle myself around these guys.

  Making sure to put a little sway into my walk, I carry the whiskey over to Riot. The whole room is watching, everyone looking like they’re trying not to laugh, or not to reach out and stop me.

  “What?” Riot says with a grin, looking over at Badger from his seat. “What’s the joke?”

  Badger shrugs, visibly fighting off a smile.

  As soon as I get close to Riot, my head swims with the scent of him. He smells so good, like fine leather, some kind of cigar smoke, and Miami heat. There’s an ache already starting between my legs. I’m used to bikers; none of them has ever set me off like this. I could die.

  I walk around the couch and bend down to him, holding up his whiskey. “Here you are, big boy,” I say silkily.

  He glances at the glass. His mouth turns down as he takes in what I’ve done to it—the ice in the glass, and the straw I’ve put in it. He wraps his long fingers around it slowly. They brush mine for an instant, and heat races up my arm.

  I expect him to get embarrassed and give me an earful for fucking with him. Instead, He smoothly stands up, towering over me. He’s so big all I can do is stagger back and stare up at him.

  “That’s cute, new girl.” He sets the glass down. Then he straightens and wraps both of his huge fists around the collar of my jacket, pulling me so close that his chest crushes mine. “Since you insist on messing with me, I’ll take something as payment.”

  Before I can think enough to react, Riot’s mouth crushes mine.

  Oh my ever loving God.

  His mouth is perfect. It’s strong and warm, the kiss masterful and hot as hell. He pries my mouth open with his, taking the kiss as if it’s his God given right. His tongue spears in, a single flick that makes me instantly wet and causes me to moan into his mouth.

  He also tastes like cherries. My cheesecake…

  I should be smacking him, shoving him away, kneeing him in the groin, something, but instead, I rock up onto my tip-toes as if my body longs to keep his mouth on mine so badly that it’s taken over my mind. I melt into him, and hardly recognize the needy sound that leaves me.

  Through the hammer of my heart in my ears, I half register Badger’s nervous snicker, and Barbie’s high pitched, “Oh my God.” She sounds kind of like a woman does when she watches a scary movie, as if she’s something between delighted and terrified.

  Lifting his head at last, Riot slowly lets me go, and I sway. His mouth twists in a delicious, victorious expression that makes my pussy clench. Fuck, it’s not fair that he can make my whole being respond so easily with nothing more than a kiss.

  Somehow, I manage to gain the sense to play it cool. I fan myself, hoping it looks mocking. “Wow, Florida. You got moves. Nice one.” I step away to a safe distance, where the heat of him doesn’t make my head spin. “If you hadn’t eaten half my cheesecake, I might actually like you.”

  “That was yours?” He swipes his finger over my mouth. “It was delicious.”

  Is he talking about my cake, or my lips? It bothers me that the bastard doesn’t look the least bit sorry. And, that I hope he’s talking about the kiss.

  “Now,” he adds, in a very low voice, “why don’t you bring me another whiskey. Only, do it properly this time, or I’ll take more out of you than you want to give me.”

  The whole room has gone quiet.

  Everyone is waiting to see what I’ll do. They’re probably expecting me to tear him down for talking to me like a club whore. I’m about to deliver some come back that lets him know who he’s messed with, but I don’t get the chance.

  “Red!” Devil’s voice barks from the back of the clubhouse’s common room. It drifts from behind the double doors to the meeting room where the guys hold Church—the Chapel, we call it. “Red, get your ass out here!”

  My brother. The heat in my body instantly cools, replaced with irritation. When the hell did he get home? He must have come through the Chapel’s back entrance, otherwise he would have seen Riot’s hands on me. If he had, Riot would be on the floor right now with half his teeth knocked out.

  “Fuck.” I sigh. “Well, it’s been fun. Duty calls.”

  I turn to head for the Chapel, but slow down when I hear Badger finally burst out with the laugh he’s managed to hold in this whole time.

  “What? What’s so funny?” Riot asks.

  I turn to see him looking between Badger and Barbie, confused.

  “You have no idea who that is, do you, pal?” Badger says.

  Riot shakes his head and glances at me, his brows knitting.

  Badger shakes his head and nods to me. “You just manhandled the Prez’s little sister.”

  Riot’s eyes widen and he puts his head back. “Fuck. Seriously?”

  “Yep.” Badger puts his arm around him in a way that reminds me of an embrace a man would give his brother at a funeral. “Smooth move, new boy.”

  Riot looks at me like he’d love to get his hands on me for a very different reason than before. I put on a sweet smile and blow him a kiss.

  “Bye bye, Florida.”

  “Dayum. You little shit, why didn’t you tell me?” He reaches for Badger’s neck.

  I head for the Chapel, but not before I see him pretending to strangle Badger while he and everyone else roars with laughter.

  Barbie comes over to me as I reach the doors, her eyes twinkling. “You are such a shit, Red.”

  I chuckle. “I know.”

  “Welcome home, girl.” She hugs me.

  I take one last longing look at Riot, watching him banter with the boys and the club girls before I go in to deal w
ith my asshole brother. However new Riot is, he looks like he belongs with them. Regret stabs at me, and suddenly I wish I’d never felt that man’s perfect lips on mine.

  Riot is beautiful, like an angel in leather. Worse, his kiss was pure ecstasy, like he was made for sex. Too bad that it wouldn’t matter even if I wasn’t leaving in a month. He won’t want anything more to do with me now that he knows who I am.

  Fuck, being MC royalty sucks ass.

  2

  Caught

  When I step inside the Chapel, a couple of the members pass me, welcoming me back on their way out.

  The doors click softly shut behind me, the sound making me realize how quiet it is in this room. The Chapel is the only place in the whole clubhouse that’s like this, quiet enough to hear a pin drop, except when the guys are meeting in here.

  The Chapel hasn’t changed any more than the common room. The round table where the guys usually gather is still in the middle of the room, a gorgeous engraving of the Hell’s Heathens snake and skull emblazoned across it in silver and black. Chairs of solid cherry wood surround it, each one carved with the same elaborate symbol. Cedar lines the walls.

  Those walls and that table will probably still be here in a hundred years, long after my brother’s reign ends. Like my brother, the club and its boys are hard set against change.

  While I make my way to the table, Devil stands at the wide window at the back, seemingly studying the snow-covered backyard and the garage that spreads out across the back end of the property. His back is to me, but he has his arms crossed, his feet set apart in a classic, challenging pose, as if he’s expecting a confrontation.

  It’s no wonder that most of his men are intimidated by him. At six foot seven, he’s a goliath, even among the tough giants he rules. Devil’s not a man anyone finds easy to deal with. Not even me.

  “You bellowed, your Majesty?” I say, rocking on my heels.

  Devil turns and crosses to the table. “You’d say that to me even if my men were in here, wouldn’t you, Red?” Devil growls.

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  Probably not. Even I know there are times when I have to obey the club’s code. Regardless of who she is, a woman always has to respect the Prez’s command, and there are lines I won’t cross. Still, I like freaking him out.

  Speaking of club code, I’m surprised he’s let me in here. A woman is normally not allowed in the Chapel. But then, Devil makes the rules, and I’ve seen him bend them near to breaking before just because he can. He loves to keep people on their toes.

  “Sit your ass down,” he grumbles. He pulls out his own chair, one that’s taller than the others, waiting for me to sit first.

  Any other woman would probably be annoyed or intimidated by his tone, but I know him too well to be scared or offended by his caveman behavior. Devil has never stood on ceremony, and he doesn’t give a fuck about being nice. It’s just his way.

  Instead of taking the seat opposite him, I walk unhurriedly over to the seat at his right, turn it backwards and straddle it, smiling at him over the backrest.

  One of his brows lifts. I’ve taken the seat meant for his right hand man, his Vice President, Havoc. Devil sighs and shakes his head as he takes his own seat, as if he’s at a loss.

  See, with my brother, you have to let him know you aren’t scared of him, and you can’t be a doormat. Devil doesn’t respect weakness. If he thinks you’re weak, he’ll chew you up and spit you out.

  “You still like to push your luck, don’t you?” he says.

  “Always.” I flash him a shit-eating grin.

  “I pity the man who ends up with you as his old lady.” His voice comes out in the same low, permanent growl it always has, one that makes him sound pissed, even when he isn’t.

  Years ago, Devil was in an accident that nearly crushed his windpipe. The damage left him with an unusual guttural, throaty voice. Women love it, but I know he hates it. To me, it makes him sound the way a wolf or a bear would sound if wolves or bears could speak.

  “It’s nice to see that after two years, you’re still an ass, Dev.”

  “And it’s nice to see you’re still a smart-assed little brat.”

  Secretly, it pleases me that his lips give the barest twitch, something he doesn’t let happen in front of anyone else. Smiles, full on smiles, from him are rare. The same accident that damaged his throat also cut his face open, leaving him with a scar on his right cheek that goes from under his eye to his jaw. If he smiles, the scar puckers, becoming more pronounced.

  He pretends it doesn’t bother him, but when I was younger, I caught him sitting in front of a mirror practicing the deadpan expression he now wears like a mask. He refuses to talk about the accident, even to me.

  “What do you want, Devil?”

  Silent for a moment, he picks up the gavel that sits on the table and turns it slowly between his fingers. He studies it, his mouth turned down. I have to wonder what he thinks about when he looks at that thing.

  When he finally lifts his head, his face is its usual stoic mask. “You’re helping with the toy drive this year.” His words are not a question.

  I roll my eyes. “Another attempt to keep me out of trouble, right, bro?”

  “Yes.” There’s real force behind the word. “I’ve already set you up with a district.”

  Great. “Where?”

  “The west end of Whiskey.”

  I sit up straight. “No way. Give me another area.”

  “No. Take Whiskey, or don’t participate. Anne and Sandra can do it without you.”

  “Who and who?” I’ve never heard those names before, so they must be new to the club.

  “Vicious and Gar’s old ladies,” Devil says. “Vicious and Gar both got married.”

  My jaw drops. “Those two playboys? Holy shit. I leave for a minute and everyone’s getting hitched. When did that happen?”

  “Vicious and Anne got married two years ago, after you left. Gar and Sandra married about six months later.”

  I drop my shoulders, annoyance wiping away the upsurge of happiness I feel for Vicious and Gar. I’ve missed far too much of what’s happened with this club. My being so out of touch with things is an unpleasant reminder that Devil didn’t send me out to California for a better education, or to get me away from the bad crowd I was mixed up in before I left. No, he put me out there because it was easier to get rid of the problem than to deal with it.

  For the record, I love the annual toy drives the MC does. It’s a chance for the Heathens do good for the community, helping disadvantaged youth, and it’s something the women are heavily involved in. We gather the donations as much as the men, and it’s fun going out and meeting the people, giving them a chance to see that we’re not just a bunch of uneducated degenerates to be feared. My problem isn’t with the toy drive. It’s with where I’ll be getting the donations from.

  In most cities, there are people who don’t like bikers. I’m fine with that. It’s part of the life we choose. But that entire town is worse than most. There’s rumors that authorities in Whiskey have tried to ally themselves with mobsters hoping they’d boot us out of the area. A deal with the devil to get rid of a worse one, I suppose.

  “Forget it, Dev. Holden, Cornerstone, Bear Creek, fine, I’ll take those, but I’m not working Whiskey. I hate that town, and you know it.”

  He pins me with a cold stare. “I have enough shit to deal with already, Red. Don’t be difficult. Do as you’re fucking told for once.”

  I can imagine what shit he’s talking about. “The Grim Reapers still giving you grief?”

  He rakes his hand through his pale blond hair and grips the gavel so hard I’m surprised the handle doesn’t crack in his fist. “The fuckers are still trying to claim this area for themselves.”

  I assess him while his eyes are on the gavel again. His hair’s longer than it was when I left, almost to his shoulders. Even in the fading sunlight from outside, I can see there’s more gray sprinkled in it, too. S
tubble lines his usually smooth jaw. He’s been so wrapped up in club business, he hasn’t even given himself time to shave. It looks good on him, though. Devil’s almost forty-one, but to me, he looks like dad always did until he died, years younger than his age.

  “I don’t even know why they want this territory,” he adds, looking out at the forest that spreads out back of the clubhouse, beyond the garage. “There’s nothing here.”

  I sigh. I don’t want to spend the next hour arguing with him over something that petty when there’s another club trying to take what’s ours.

  “Fine. I’ll take Whiskey, but only because I know you have enough on your plate.”

  It bugs me to realize I’m giving credence to a saying that everyone knows by rote around here. No one argues with the Devil and wins.

  He nods. Then a cloud of worry veils his features before they once more become like stone. “How was Cali? Have a good time out there?”

  “No,” I say bitterly. “It was boring as fuck.”

  He glances at me, and I swear I catch amusement in his eyes. “You’re still mad at me for sending you out there.”

  I shrug, not ready to open up that can of worms.

  Once more, he stares at his gavel. “Some of the girls said you were planning to go back out there after Christmas.”

  “I am.”

  “Why go back if you hated it?”

  Because it’s what I need. Because I want out of this life. I love being a biker girl, but unless she wants to be a club whore, the only option for a woman attached to an MC is as an old lady. I want more than to become the owned pussy to a rider I don’t love. I want the kind of life I can’t have as long as I’m here, but I’m not about to tell him I’m planning to leave the MC. Not when he can still stop me.

  This is why it turned out to be such a bad idea to let Riot kiss me. Guys like him, guys who smell like heat and kiss like heaven, are the kind of men that derail a girl’s whole life.

  Then again, I didn’t exactly let him kiss me, did I?

  I shiver with unwelcome delight at the memory. I won’t be like Mom. I won’t let myself lose focus over sun-bleached blond hair and endless muscles.