“We don’t do that,” Mel said, but the look on his face—cold and hard—hinted that he wished they could. At least in this case. “Even if it seems like the best solution.”
Xander had to agree, though he could definitely see Dude’s point of view. He and Dude made the perfect team for the Huntsmen’s quiet avocation; Dude was all enormous muscle and terror while Xander’s cool, aloof control reflected Mel’s philosophy and kept Dude from killing everyone, even if they deserved it. Also, because letting Dude do the hitting kept Xander from doing it—and liking it too much. Watching gave the anger beast a taste, but if he gave in and did the work himself, he’d lose control and bad things would happen.
When Xander had been in his late teens and rebelling against his rich father, he’d done all the things kids that age do—drugs, violence, reckless behavior—but he never found a place to belong. Sometime in his early twenties he’d met Mel and been introduced to the club, and everything had just clicked so he’d joined. Since then Xander’s priorities had settled into place and now, nearing thirty, he’d never felt more at home.
“I gave him a couple of choices,” Xander said. “He chose to apologize publically and swear never to hurt her again. He’ll do it, but I doubt he’ll stand by it. He’s a worthless piece of shit.”
“If he doesn’t stand by it, you have other choices you can fall back on?”
Dude grinned and rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. “Yeah.”
Chico chuckled. “Am I gonna want in on the other choices?”
“Maybe,” Xander said. “We’ll see how it goes tomorrow. Should be entertaining, at least. Someone needs to talk some sense into his wife, though. She needs to just leave the douche.”
Mel shrugged, but his calm seemed forced. The lines around his eyes and mouth deepened, and Xander sensed his tension.
“Woulda, shoulda, coulda,” Mel said. “She should leave, he should stop hitting her. Sometimes a thing is so broken it can’t be fixed, but we can do our best to make him think real hard before he hits her again. After that, there’s not a lot we can do if she keeps going back to it.”
“Yeah, well, I enjoyed ‘convincing’ him today,” Dude said. He cracked his bruised knuckles. Xander noticed Hank’s blood still stained the cracks in Dude’s skin. It only added to his friend’s mystique.
“Okay, I’ll see you all at the rally.” Mel turned to leave.
“Mel, wait,” Xander said. He’d put his ass on the line to do a job Mel had taken that put the club in the direct line of fire from the Ravagers. He needed some answers.
“Yeah?”
“This job Dude and I did. Is it going to cause trouble with the Ravagers?”
“I hope not,” Mel said.
“But it could.”
Mel nodded. “It could.”
“Then why take it? I mean, yeah, Hank needed to hear that message, but I thought keeping the peace was your top priority.”
“It is,” Mel said. “But some things are more important even than peace.”
A dark shadow filled Mel’s eyes, turning his expression both angry and sad at the same time, before disappearing just as fast. Not for the first time, Xander wondered who in Mel’s past had suffered enough domestic violence to make such a lasting impression him. He volunteered time at shelters and helped with annual fundraising drives, and took every domestic violence related side job that came their way. But he kept his reasons to himself, and everyone respected that. Maybe somewhere in Mel’s list of regrets in life a star-crossed love figured prominently. That would explain a lot.
With his response, Mel turned and left the room without another word, an air of brooding following in his wake.
Dude slurped the last of his Bud Light, oblivious.
“Jeez,” Chico said. “That was intense.”
Xander lifted one shoulder then dropped it, not committing to a full shrug. “Just not looking forward to the rally fresh off breaking the peace with the Ravagers.”
“It was a job,” Dude said. “We didn’t break anything. Except Bug.”
“What’s with the feud between Mel and Prez, anyway?” Chico asked.
“Nobody knows for sure,” Dude said. “Only that it’s big, personal, and goes back a long way.”
“We’ll probably never know, and frankly, it’s obviously none of our business,” Xander said. “But since we’re Huntsmen, and Mel’s the president, we keep the peace because that’s what he wants.”
Xander drained his bottle and headed for the door.
“Come with us tonight,” Chico said, changing the subject. “Why you gotta wait until tomorrow?”
“He hates rallies,” Dude offered.
“You’re lucky I’m coming at all. Mel told me I had to be there to help keep the rest of you from fucking things up too much.”
Chico snickered. “They shoulda called you ‘Long Fuse’ or something. You’re the least killing killer I’ve ever seen. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you fight.”
Dude got serious. “Yeah, well, you haven’t been with the club long enough. He has a long fuse, sure, but when it burns down and he fights, he means it. It’s like watching a berserker.”
“Says the Viking,” Xander said.
Dude waved him off, but preened at the compliment. He reveled in his image.
“Is that why they call you Killer?” Chico asked.
Xander rolled his eyes to defuse the conversation. He had a temper like everyone else, it just took a lot to get to him. The fact that when someone triggered it he lost control in a big way was something he worked hard to keep to a minimum. He hadn’t killed anyone, so the whole thing was a huge exaggeration.
“No,” Xander said. “The nickname’s ironic. You guys go ahead. Go enjoy the whole rally experience. I’ll catch up tomorrow. And Dude, try not to hit anyone before I get there.”
Dude shot him a toothy grin from inside his bushy mustache and beard, and flipped a salute as he grabbed Chico by the shoulder and dragged him out the back door.
Xander picked up his and Dude’s empties and made his way out to the bar. A glance in the mirror confirmed the little brunette still sat in the same place. He smiled to himself. Maybe he could add something else to the list of things to keep himself busy before heading out tomorrow. When he sidled up to the bar, she caught his eye in the mirror, and held his gaze.
“Looks like you have an admirer,” Daisy said.
Gracie Buckner struggled to hold his gaze in the mirror. He was the hottest biker she’d ever set eyes on. As the daughter of a biker, she’d seen a lot of them in her twenty-six years. His blond hair fell to his shoulders with the perfect muss, his scruff made her want to run her hands over the scratchiness, and the rest of him looked good enough to eat. All that tall, lean, graceful muscle spoke to her on every one of her female levels.
But she wasn’t at The Outpost to pick up the Huntsmen’s road captain. She needed to confirm they’d taken care of the other job she’d hired them—anonymously—to do. She just hadn’t had the nerve yet to figure out how to approach any of them and ask.
When the bartender said something to him, he broke their gaze, but a moment later he looked at her again, a crease forming between his sexy dark blond brows. He pushed off from the bar and headed her way.
Shit. Her heart fluttered in her chest, but she took a deep breath. This was what she’d come for. She could hold it together long enough to talk to him.
He slipped between the barstool next to her and the one she sat on, filling her personal space, and her senses, with his presence. The guy projected an image a lot bigger than he was. Not that he wasn’t substantial. She figured somewhere around six feet, but he wasn’t a muscle-bound goon. He just exuded quiet confidence—and pheromones. The artist in her wanted to get him into the studio for a portrait shoot. She bet the camera would be a slut for him.
At the moment, though, she just wished she could tap into his charisma so she could get past feeling like a jittery fool.
“Um, what?” she said. Dammit, Gracie, get a grip. “Yeah, I guess I was. Watching you.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Can I do something for you?”
Oh hell, yeah. You can fuck me until I can’t walk straight. She drowned the urge to say the first thing that came to mind in a sip of her drink. He watched her watching him over the rim of her glass. His eyes glowed with seductive heat that warmed her lady parts. She fought not to squirm on her stool when they throbbed. Take a breath, Buckner. When she thought she could speak without spewing come-ons, she said. “Yeah, but I need to see you in private about it.”
Both his brows shot up and a devilish grin formed on his lips. She forgot what the hell she wanted to talk to him about. At the moment, all she wanted was to wrap herself around him, and he looked willing to oblige.
“Sure. We can use the office. Follow me.”
He headed across the bar to the hallway at the back without even checking to be sure she followed. Confident bastard.
She hesitated for just a moment, but finally slid off her stool and followed, watching his ass the whole way. In jeans, it was drool-worthy. Even after leaving the biker life behind for college and a career as a professional photographer, her tastes in men still ran to the wild side, and Xander ticked all the right boxes. Unfortunately he also ticked the one box on her taboo list: biker. No way she wanted to be sucked back into that life. She’d seen enough of that shit to last a lifetime.
However, none of her rules said she couldn’t satisfy her itchy libido with a biker. Sex with one didn’t mean signing on to be his old lady, and this one had yummy no-strings-attached-sex written all over him.
Maybe she could wait to confirm they’d done the job. She’d only just hired them yesterday. They may not have even done it yet. She could always ask her sister, because if poor widdle wife-beating Hank had been hurt, Lily would certainly know about it. She’d probably be weeping over him. Ugh. Gracie had been fighting with Lily over Hank for as long as Lily and Hank had been together. Gracie had finally given up talking any sense into Lily and decided maybe beating some sense into Hank was the better solution. Hence, hiring the Huntsmen and their notorious biker vigilante squad.
He stopped at the office, opened the door, and waited for her to enter before following and shutting the door behind them.
“So. What do you need to talk to me in private about?”
He left the door and stepped closer. She held her place, even when he broke the boundary of comfortable personal space. Just inches separated them. She tipped her face up to better see his. This close, his eyes sparkled golden brown and he smelled like a tasty, dirty combination of beer, leather, faded cologne, and fresh air freedom. His white tee and leather jacket covered most of his torso and arms, but tatts peeked out at the neck and spilled out onto his hands. The artist in Gracie loved tatts on a man. It was like human graffiti.
“Did I say I wanted to talk to you in private? I think I said I wanted to see you in private.”
Her finger—of its own accord—touched him mid chest and wandered all the way down to his belt.
He took one step closer. His belt bumped her belly. His body heat filtered through her own shirt, warming her skin.
Taking a lock of her hair in his hand, he leaned in and smelled it, bringing his face within centimeters of hers. It occurred to her that his hair was probably longer than hers. Long hair ticked another of her perfect-man boxes.
“I’m happy to oblige,” he said.
Her lady parts clenched in anticipation. She really wanted to see more of him. All of him, actually. Every delicious inch.
She gave in to her earlier urge to touch the scruff on his face. She’d been single a long time, focusing on her career, and not interested in any of the men she met. This was the first one who made any part of her stand up and take notice. He certainly made her female parts spasm in delightful ways, and man, he was easy on the eyes. She could get used to looking at that face.
She ran her fingers along his jaw, the bristle of whiskers scratching her fingertips, then took his chin in her grasp and pulled him to her. With their lips a breath apart, she shocked herself by saying, “show me.”
He shocked her even more when he closed the distance bringing their lips together, while at the same time snaking an arm around her waist and dragging her body against him.
Sparks flew.
Lightning raged.
The Earth moved.
Her insides turned to flaming, molten, orgasmic liquid.
She kissed him back like a starving woman at a Vegas buffet, and he gave as good as he got. Lips and tongues and hands tasted and felt in a lusty frenzy, teeth bit leaving sweet stinging behind, while hot breathy moans full of need filled the air.
Urgency buzzed in her blood, pushing her for more.
He seemed to share the sentiment.
Leaving gentleness behind and taking a firm grip on brazenness, Gracie grabbed the lapels of his jacket and shoved it off his shoulders. It slid down his arms and he chucked it across the room. The short sleeves of his white tee hugged his biceps while revealing more of his ink. Of course he had sleeves, and if she had time she’d explore them in more detail, but momentum had picked them up and carried them like a tsunami heading for shore. She couldn’t stop now even if she wanted to—which she didn’t—so instead, she yanked the tee from his jeans and pulled it over his head.
Holy mother of God.
This time she did take a moment to appreciate. His body was lean and fit but not bulging with definition, plenty of ink but not too much decorated his torso, and a beautiful, tempting golden trail led exactly where she wanted to go.
He gave her a moment to admire him, then wound his fingers into her hair and curled them into a fist, pulling just enough to smart which sent a zing of desire straight to the anatomy currently in charge.
“Lose your pants,” he said against her mouth.
He nipped her bottom lip, then licked it, pulling a moan from her throat. “You first,” she said, because there was still more to admire.
“Start with mine, then do yours.”
Fair enough. With shaky hands she undid his belt and pants. She pushed them down, letting her hands graze his ass as she did. The firm, slightly-hairy roundness of it sent a shiver of delight skittering over her skin. She caressed and cupped one cheek in her hand, but when his pants dropped around his boots his cock popped out and poked her in the belly, drawing her attention elsewhere. So that answered the boxers or briefs question. He was a commando man.
Without thinking, she wrapped her fingers around his cock and stroked, drawing a long, deep moan from him.
All her currently important body parts quivered in response. Time to get undressed.
He tightened his grip on her hair and pulled her head to the side enough to taste her neck. She glanced at the ceiling in a lusty fog, then closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation of his warm, wet tongue tracing the line of her neck.
Reluctantly, she released his cock. She wanted to spend more time caressing the smooth skin, the bulging veins, and proud head of it, but she also wanted it inside her and the only way for that to happen was to get naked. Her fingers tangled in her belt, button, and zipper, but she managed them finally, and shoved her pants and thong down, only to have them catch on her own boots.
She whimpered. If only she’d chosen a skirt this morning instead of jeans.
“Hang on a sec…” she said.
“No waiting,” he growled.
Before she could protest—or offer an alternate solution—he grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, then shoved her to the desk. Placing his
hand on her back, he pushed her forward, bending her over. He bracketed her waist and pulled her ass backwards so her body made an L shape.
This had to be the fastest and most out of control sex she’d ever had. She needed to take a breath, slow it down a bit, get control. At this point, it was moving so fast her head spun.
But then he slid his cock between her cheeks and into the wetness of her folds as he tested his angle. The tip hit her clit and she shivered in anticipation. To hell with slowing down. She gave in to the breakneck pace, embracing the impulsiveness of the whole situation.
“Hurry,” she whispered.
The rip of a foil packet made her giddy.
“Bend your knees a little,” he said.
She did, then his hands spread her cheeks just enough to reach her folds. He slid his fingers around her slippery opening, making deep satisfied sounds as he did, then he tweaked her clit and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
He chuckled, obviously pleased with himself. She took a breath, ready to scold him, but then he guided his cock into her opening and drove all the way home, bumping the roof as he did and she forgot what the hell she wanted to say.
“Oh, yeah,” she said on a long exhale.
“Hold on,” he warned.
She grabbed the rim of the desk and leaned her forehead on the surface. She had a good upside-down view of his cock driving in and out of her, and it turned her on so much it didn’t take long for the first tendrils of her orgasm to form deep inside.
It gathered and formed like a wave ready to crash on the rocks.
He grabbed a handful of her hair from behind and pulled her head to the side enough to see her face, then grunted, “Come for me.”
She was happy to oblige. When it hit, it hit hard. She gasped at the strength of it, then threw her head back and screamed. He drove into her a couple more times, then rammed hard and came on an animal growl.
Just then, someone knocked on the door.
Gracie’s eyes shot open and she froze—then panicked. “Shit.”
“Gimme a minute,” Xander said to whoever had knocked.
He pulled out of her and Gracie yanked her undies and pants up, fumbling with the clasp and belt.
XANDER (The Caine Brothers Book 2) Page 2