by Isabel Wroth
Ripley saw the muscle above Saint’s eyebrow tick, his jaw whitening as he clenched it tight.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ripley asked, worried and concerned for Toad as all kinds of scenarios crossed her mind. Foremost, wondering if Toad was a serial killer’s latest victim.
Damon quirked an eyebrow at her and wiggled his empty glass in her direction. “You were nervous about being alone with a stranger you hadn’t met yet. I wasn’t interested in freaking you out more with something that may or may not be trouble.”
Saint hissed and wrapped his arm around her waist, snuggling her up to his chest while he got on the phone with Nasa. From the sound of it, Toad had gotten in a wreck and was fine. Getting a cast put on his broken leg, but otherwise okay. Frankie and Milo were at the hospital waiting to get Toad back to the compound. After Saint hung up, he told Damon that Ruckus and Meeks were going to escort him back home.
Ripley perked up like a meerkat, breathless at the idea that Gee might be awake, but when she asked, the muscles in Saint’s jaw flexed.
“He’s not awake yet, princess. Ruckus just needed some ride time. He’s sittin in that hospital growin mold, the fresh air will do him some good.”
Twenty minutes and two brownies later, Damon took off. First thing out of Saint’s mouth as soon as the door shut behind Damon was-
“What did Damon do to wig you out?”
It was now four in the morning, luckily tomorrow was Sunday and Ripley didn’t have to go in to work. So despite the rush of energy from the matcha, Ripley was fading fast.
“He didn’t do anything. He’s got this…” Ripley struggled to describe it as she finished washing up dishes. “Vibe. I don’t know. He was very nice and even asked me where he could sit to make me less uneasy. He just gave me the creeps.”
Saint came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist to press his face against her throat. “Your instincts aren’t wrong, princess. So why didn’t you text me?”
“Because, I knew you wouldn’t have let someone in my house who wasn’t trustworthy.” Ripley felt the bristles of Saint’s mustache on her neck, the scrape of them as he smiled for some reason. “And what do you mean, my instincts weren’t wrong?”
Saint prefaced his answer with a kiss to the soft spot behind her ear. “This stays between us, Ripley.”
His use of her name was a solid clue that he was dead serious. “Okay.”
“He’s retired military. A doer.”
“I get the first part.”
“Damon and his partner Stone both were Special Forces. Emphasis on the ‘special.’ He and Stone both are like, cream of the fuckin crop. Damon was the sniper, Stone was his spotter, but the shit they did went way beyond sniper school. Both of them aced their training to the point where they got tagged to train with foreign governments, like Mossad. You know who that is?”
“Um, according to NCIS, Israeli Special Forces. They’re like right up there with Navy SEALs on the bad ass scale. Only scarier. I thought that was kind of a career thing. Damon’s what, in his thirties?”
“Thirty five. He and Stone got dishonorably discharged after Damon’s team took down a child prostitution ring in Tel Aviv without orders. Only reason the two of them didn’t see the inside of a prison was because there was no evidence to say Damon and his crew was ever there, and a bunch of kids got rescued. One of them was a thirteen-year-old daughter of a US Senator being held for ransom. Damon ponied up the information even though Nasa went digging for it.”
“How does someone not leave behind evidence?” she asked carefully. A chill of a different kind streaking down her spine.
“Knives are easier to dispose of than guns. Gloved hands are even better.”
It took Ripley a minute to assimilate what Saint was trying to say, without coming right out to say it. If her knowledge of late night cop shows was correct, a ‘doer’ was…a killer. She processed that while she finished rinsing the soap from her baking dish, trying to imagine the man who had sat at her kitchen counter as a killer.
It wasn’t that hard, unfortunately. But killing in order to rescue a bunch of children from a prostitution ring, Ripley understood. There was no place in the world for people who sexually abused children.
“Damon told me he shares his girlfriend with Stone. That the three of them are a ménage.”
Saint made a sound of agreement, continuing to nuzzle and kiss that spot behind her ear. “He told you some personal shit. Did you make him something else before I got here?”
“A moteato.”
“A what?”
Ripley broke down the recipe of the drink and Saint made a grossed out noise.
“I can’t believe Athena got you started on that green shit. I’ll start withholding your orgasms if you even try putting that in my food.” The vehemence in his voice made her go still, then bust out laughing as she gave her hands a final wash and turned around.
“Is that so?”
He had evil in his eye when he glared at her. “I mean it. Don’t you even think about it, Ripley.”
Shaking with her amusement, Ripley went up on her toes to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “What if I told you matcha has been a key ingredient in six of your last eight meals?”
“Which ones?” he growled.
“Exactly. You never knew and, if I get the recipes right, you never will.”
*****
Saint was still hounding her about his ‘tainted’ food the next morning. From the time he woke her up, attempting to withhold her orgasm until she told him what he wanted to know (and that didn’t work out very well for him) to the second she parked and got out of her Mini at the compound.
Ripley was endlessly amused by his empty threats about what he would do to her if she didn’t quit trying to poison him with ‘herbs and shit.’ He pushed the door open for her to enter the compound and zeroed in on Raid the second he crossed the threshold.
“Raid! Get over here!” Saint barked.
Raid shot Saint a look like, dafuq did you just say, and ambled on over. “You got like one more week of being able to use the, I-just-got-shot play. After that, I’ll knock your ass out. Is he still bein a dick?”
Raid directed his question to her, making Ripley fight back the laughter that would eventually ruin her eyeliner from the tears.
Saint drilled an accusatory finger at Raid. “Your little hippie chick got my princess hooked on that green shit that tastes like ass. I’ve unknowingly ingested that crap because Ripley’s putting it in my food, hiding it like rat poison.”
Ripley rolled her eyes. “He’s so dramatic. I’m not poisoning you, Saint.”
Raid hissed with a commiserating shake of his head and rocked back on his heels. “You’re lucky Ripley makes an effort to disguise it. Ever since I got back to town and horned in on Athena’s life, she’s been trying to kill me with kale. Little brat puts it in everything. If there was kale toothpaste, I’d have it.
“She gives it to the damn dogs with every meal, which turns their shit green, so I don’t see it in the yard. I can’t walk out in my own fuckin backyard barefoot without risking stepping on a landmine of shit. Munch craps green piles almost as big as he is! Never seen a dog shit so much in my life.”
Ripley’s voice came out in a high-pitched squeak, on the cusp of laughing so hard she might drop her brownies. “You’re big strong growing boys that need their greens!”
Raid pulled a disgusted face at her teasing. “Grow? Into what? The Jolly Fuckin Green Giant?”
Ripley snorted, her face hurting from how wide she was smiling. She couldn’t have kept a straight face if her life depended on it.
“I expect Athena is trying to do everything in her power to make sure your previously blown up bones continue to strengthen by feeding you shit with the most absorbable vitamins and nutrients, to keep you pain free for the rest of your life.”
The glare melted away from Raid’s expression, and all that was left was the obvious adoration for
his wife. Could he be any more amazing? Ripley didn’t think it was possible.
“All I was trying to do was help Saint keep his blood pressure down and give him an energy boost for all these long nights he’s been working. That kale toothpaste isn’t a bad idea, though.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Escape Reality opened back up five weeks after the shooting and all day long, Saint kept flicking his thumb over the screen of his cell phone to check the video feed in the lobby. The only place Nasa hadn’t put cameras, were in the treatment rooms and the bathrooms. He was pretty sure if Ripley knew the exact number of cameras throughout the building, she’d have lost her shit.
She had been nervous as hell when Saint had dropped her off, jittery, fighting to bluff her way through her routine as she’d gotten set up. He hadn’t left until a bunch of women showed up and Ripley had fallen into her groove, forgetting to look out the windows for another SUV. The glass was military grade bulletproof, thanks to one of the seemingly endless hook-ups Nasa had, tinted so you couldn’t see inside. Not even with a thermal imager.
Ripley was safe as safe could be and Saint had plans to pick her up after the shop closed. He was anxious to give her the gift he’d had made for her and finally take her for a ride. The whole club was taking a turn around the city before the kick off of the yearly ROT rally.
Every biker in Texas pretty much descended on Austin and spent the weekend raising hell and enjoying life.
It also meant a busy time for Ripley’s business, because his woman was a genius. She had advertised doing pin up shoots on the ROT website, with a chopper Gee had made. The peek Saint had gotten at Ripley’s books earlier told him that if one of the women had booked a photoshoot, chances were she booked more than one spa service.
Ripley was booked solid for the next three weeks, which had taken a load of stress off her shoulders. Not that he would have let her suffer financially, but his woman was independent. She didn’t want to be kept.
Toad’s broken leg had landed him the job of working as the day shift manager at The Velvet Box. Which meant Saint got the ten pm till two shift, but it was much better than noon till two. Still, he should have been sleeping, preparing for his shift later tonight. But concern for Ripley and his own thoughts of what had happened yesterday at the hog roast, kept him up.
Ripley had been with him all night, cuddled up under his arm or within touching distance at all times. She’d been subtle about it, but hadn’t been able to keep Saint from noticing the way she watched Raid and Roar with their women. Especially Roar and Ever and their two kids.
Ever had come over at one point and eagerly pressed baby Harper into Ripley’s arms, a wicked light in her eyes that matched Roar’s. Poor bastard had finally healed up from the surgery he’d undergone to spare Ever any more kids, and Roar was not wasting a good opportunity to let someone else ride herd on his kids, so he could fuck around with his wife.
Saint wasn’t stupid, he knew Ripley wanted a family. But watching her cuddle Harper, unable to tear her gaze away while she curled up in the deck chair and swept her pink tipped fingernail back and forth over the baby’s soft cheek, he’d felt a wave of terror hit him.
Saint honestly had no idea how Roar could handle it, being responsible for something so tiny and vulnerable. Let alone two tiny somethings. Ripley wasn’t like Ever, she wasn’t a ball buster. Her weapons were hot wax and a purse that could be swung like a wrecking ball.
Saint didn’t doubt she would be a perfect mother. She’d be in the kitchen making cookies and doing homework, brushing her daughter’s hair into elaborate coifs and being run ragged by a son who would no doubt worship her.
But what the fuck did Saint know about being a father? He knew logically he could figure it out. Hell, if Roar could be a good dad, Saint knew he’d deal somehow. Knowing that didn’t lessen the fear gripping his throat.
The gut churning terror at the thought of bringing home danger to his family.
The searing burn of fury for not having eradicated Ghost and brought justice to Susan and Pike.
Saint had sat on the arm of the chair next to Ripley the entire time she’d had her arms around Harper, watching her face light up when Harper cooed up at her sleepily. She’d gone and turned positively gushy when Top had helped Lyon toddle over them.
The kid was already insanely attached to his baby sister, and Ripley had been all too eager to wrap and arm around Lyon and snuggle him up too, talking nonsense at him, laughing when he laughed. Saint had torn his eyes away when Top cleared his throat, wondering if he’d looked as terrified as he felt, seeing as how the Prez had handed him another beer and clapped him on the shoulder.
Watching Ripley now on the small screen of his phone, his chest was tight because she wasn’t within arm’s reach. Pissed off because he hadn’t yet caught the snake slithering around in his own back yard. Heart racing because he was terrified he would fail her the way he had failed Jaime.
Except Ripley wasn’t Jaime, and Saint wasn’t a powerless kid. He wasn’t going to lose Ripley the way he’d lost Jamie, because Ripley was Ripley. Comparing Ripley to Jamie, bringing the trauma of his first love into the present, had almost cost Saint the second chance he hadn’t ever thought he would have. He pushed himself out of bed with a hiss, his belly giving a minor twinge at the stupid way he twisted, but Saint ignored it and walked into Ripley’s closet on a mission.
Four hours later he pulled up in front of Escape Reality and walked in, feeling lust hit him with the force of a Mack Truck when Ripley looked up and saw him. Her long ass lashes fluttered, her cheeks warmed, and her smile lit up her beautiful eyes. She was with a customer, her last one it looked like, so it didn’t take her long.
Soon as she locked the front door behind her, Ripley clipped over to him on her mile high heels and slid her arms around his waist. He adored her curvy body and how it fit into the outfits she picked out with such care every morning.
He loved how long her sexy heels made her legs look, and the way she always did her mahogany colored hair up into weird little curls and twists. He ducked his head to kiss his gorgeous woman’s perfect red lips, smug as hell when he drew back and she swayed a little like she was dizzy.
“Hi.” She murmured breathlessly.
Saint laughed and took one more kiss. “Hi. Good day?”
“Busy as hell. I’m so relieved. Did you bring food?” Ripley asked hopefully, looking at the pair of paper bags in his hand.
“No. I brought you a change of clothes, and a present.”
Her lashes fluttered in surprise, “What’s the occasion?”
“Don’t need one. But we’re going for a cruise with the club, and sexy as your outfit is, it’s not right for a bike ride. They’re meeting us here in twenty.”
Delight lit Ripley’s face. Excitement. It was a helluva bad time to go on a solo ride, not knowing who or what could be following or lying in wait. Being surrounded by the club was still a risk, but safer than going solo.
“This one first, then you can have your present.” Saint held up the bag with the change he’d picked. She took it from him and made a dash for the bathroom. He almost swallowed his tongue when she came back out in the outfit he’d picked for her.
Black ankle boots with a silver metal heel, skin tight jeans that hugged every gorgeous curve of her lower half, and a black crop top that left about four inches of her soft belly bare. She seemed a little uncomfortable with his choice, touching her stomach like she was self-conscious about showing off her beautiful skin.
She wasn’t tan like most women, claiming to prefer her glow in the dark white color. She said ‘glow in the dark’ he said, pale and perfect. It turned him the hell on to lie in bed with her and see his much darker hand or arm lying across her unblemished, moonlight fair body.
“Almost perfect.” He managed to rasp out. Loving how her cheeks fired with pleasure. “C’mere, princess.”
As high as those heels were, Ripley had no choice but to sashay over t
o him. Hips swinging, her body undulating sensually to keep her center of balance. He pulled the helmet he’d had done special for her out of the second bag, grinning when she took the pink bowl shaped helmet and laughed as she traced the white angle wings on either side.
“I love it.” She told him, hugging it to her chest with a little bounce.
“That’s only half of the present.”
He pulled the second item out, feeling like doing some strutting when Ripley’s jaw hit her toes and she gasped, her manicured fingers flying to her mouth while her wide eyes greedily stroked over the pink leather jacket he held up. A white rocker with bold red script in a pin-up style, arched over the shoulders and proclaimed her- SAINT’S PIN-UP PRINCESS.
Embroidered flowers and gems embellished the patch in a vintage glam style he hoped would please her. He got nervous after a minute because she just stared at the jacket, taking in every detail.
“Do you like it?” Saint ventured.
Her shimmering eyes shot up to his like she’d been in a trance. “I love it. It’s beautiful.”
She leaned over to set her helmet down on a table, turning around so he could help her into the girly little cut. Pride suffused him to see his name across her shoulders, desire to see it inked into her skin flared even hotter.
Ripley sniffled as she turned around, a wobbly smile on her face while she brushed her fingertips against the smaller patch over her heart that tagged her as PERDITION.
“This is only temporary.” He told her hoarsely. Moved on a level he hadn’t expected.
Ripley gave a little scoff as she zipped the jacket up and popped the collar sassily, “Temporary? You’re not getting this back. Ever.”
She stuck her little nose up in the air, like she was daring him to try and take the jacket off of her. Misunderstanding his meaning, yet simultaneously making his cock hard enough to drive nails. He got a surprised little gasp out of her when he snatched her up around the waist and pulled her in, palming her butt cheek so she was forced to feel the evidence of his hunger. Her lips pressed together and Saint couldn’t help but to lick his own.