Cutter's Claim: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (The Demon Squad MC Book 2)

by Monique Moreau

  There was no other explanation for her string of bad luck; a lecherous, deadbeat dad, a farcical first love, and an irresponsible biker. Bedding down, she fluffed her pillow a few times, switched off her bed lamp, and pulled her bedsheet up to her chin. Her leg swished from side to side. Like an amputee who felt their missing limb, Greta felt the warmth of Cutter’s hot, delectable skin against hers.

  A sneaking suspicion that, by panicking, she’d made a colossal mistake twisted up her spine. Kicking her feet out, she threw off the suffocating sheet. James was incredible, but he couldn’t match up against Cutter. Not one bit. If anything, her date with James was proof of that. Not only did she miss his delicious body writhing on top of hers, as he pummeled his thick cock inside her, but the emotions he elicited from her were unprecedented. It’s what had made her run so fast. Running saved her from Scorpion.

  Then, why did she feel lost instead of saved? Tossing and turning through half the night, she eventually fell into an exhausted slumber with the ghost of his hand collaring her throat, like a caress.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Jeep windows were cranked down, and fresh air had long since dispersed Angie’s cloying perfume after Cutter dropped her off before heading out to visit Tommy. Mile after mile, he traveled country roads heading toward the mountains lined with impenetrable rows of evergreens. The early morning fog dissipated in the summer heat. Tapping his fingers against the doorframe, a cigarette clung between two blunt digits, the tip long extinguished. On the passenger side laid a carton of donuts, to make up for Greta’s absence. His gaze flicked over to his right, the memory of Greta’s slim ankle propped on the seat, the tiny silver chimes of her ankle bracelet glittering in the sunrays. His cock hardened at the recollection. Before Greta, dominance was, in and of itself, enough. Since her, he ached for the spark—any kind of pushback—that he got from being with her. He wasn’t getting that hit from Angie the meek. It had the markings of a problem. Scrubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, he muttered, “Fuck, the donuts aren’t gonna do the trick.”

  Bumping over the rutted and rock-studded dirt road, Cutter guided the Jeep close to the cabin and put it into park. Snapper bounded up his thigh by the time he stepped down onto the overgrown grass. Tommy wrapped his arms around him in a bear hug. No man-hug or slap on the back for his uncle.

  Pulling back, Tommy peered around him and inquired, “Where’s Greta?”

  Cutter suppressed a sigh. Rip the band-aid off. “She won’t be coming again,” he pronounced in a gruff tone.

  “Why not? Been takin’ my meds. See, I’ve been good.” Tommy held his calendar in front of his chest, showing off a new watercolor of Greta as he bent down to ruffle Snapper’s coat. Christ, this was gonna be harder than he’d thought. Clamping a hand down on Tommy’s broad shoulder, he steered him toward the cabin.

  “It’s got nothin’ to do with you. Come on, let’s make coffee.” He held up an empty, lidded paper cup. “I had an early start. Need a refill.”

  Crossing the threshold, Tommy dropped into one of the two chairs, shoulders slumped and head down. “She’s mad at me. Thought I was doin’ good.”

  “You are.”

  “Greta wouldn’t stop comin’ here unless I’d done somethin’ wrong. She’s loyal, like your mama.”

  Cutter slammed the tin of coffee beans on the wooden counter and gripped it hard between his hands. “Like mom, she can be a judgmental bitch. Like mom, she can abandon you. Reject you for how you choose to live your life.”

  Deeper creases formed on Tommy’s lined forehead. “Ellen never abandoned anyone in her life.”

  Cutter stabbed a large spoon into the can, measured out several scoops of beans into the coffee grinder, and pressed down. Hard. Loud grinding noises shook the air in the cabin. Why did people insist on digging up family nonsense that should stay buried?

  “Blame me for the times your mother left, not her.”

  “I blame you both.” Fuck, hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Shaking the finely ground coffee into a large tarnished, old-fashioned percolator, he placed it carefully on the top of the wood-burning cookstove.

  “It was my fault. She’d done the best she could.”

  Humph.

  “Blame me, nephew.”

  “Done blaming anyone a while ago, Tommy.”

  “You shouldn’t have stopped. I was the reason your father left. It was a bad year, and Ellen took me in, but your pops said he couldn’t take it no more and took off.”

  “He didn’t come back once you went back to grandma, though. That was on him. He was a deadbeat motherfucker. Wasn’t just about you.”

  “Your mother thought it was her fault. About my problem, I mean.”

  Although his back was firmly turned away from Tommy as he concentrated on the percolator, his head whipped over his hunched shoulder. “Why are you bringin’ up the past? They’re dead. What’s the point?”

  “Greta leavin’ isn’t the same as Ellen leavin’ you to search for me.”

  Cutter’s eyes narrowed.

  “How do you know Greta left?”

  “Not the same thing at all,” Tommy plowed on. “Ellen had her own demons. Guilt, especially. Blamed herself because she triggered my first psychotic break. We were kids, and there were already signs from when I was a baby that I wasn’t normal, but she took it on herself anyways. It wasn’t me she failed in the end, was it?”

  “Answer the question, Tommy. How do you know I didn’t dump Greta?”

  Tommy stared down at his fidgeting hands. Shrugging, he muttered, “You love her, and you don’t leave people.”

  “I left you and moms for the Army.”

  “You came right back when Ellen called you. And you wouldn’t have gone in the first place if it hadn’t been for her. And me. You’re loyal to the bone.”

  Not totally true. He’d let Greta walk away from him when she’d come looking for him. Not that she didn’t deserve it. Still, it was a leaving, of sorts.

  “Happened a long time ago,” he said, gruffly. “Stop dredging up old family shit, already.”

  “There’s no way I can make up for the sacrifices you made for me. Buyin’ this piece of land so I can have enough space.” His arms spread wide to encompass the cabin. “Watching over me these past years but leaving me in peace…” he trailed off. “Your mother did so much, too, but she was always pushing me to do something more to fix me. She stressed me out. Got so bad that I had to get away.”

  “She was obsessed with you,” Cutter added.

  “That she was. Took care of me too much, and you, not enough. Wasn’t fair to you.”

  Gurgling sounds came from the coffee pot as it shook slightly on the iron cooktop. Praying to cut off the discussion, Cutter turned back and held onto the handle as the final spurts of hot water gushed into the upper part of the pot. He set it aside to cool down before pouring the coffee.

  “The look on your face when you told me that Greta wasn’t coming was the same look you got as a kid. Difference is that whatever she did wasn’t the same as Ellen.”

  Exasperated, Cutter swept up two chipped mugs with one hand, the coffee pot with the other, and plunked them down on the table. “She’s as judgmental of the Squad as Ellen was.”

  Tommy shook his head, and greater irritation sprouted in Cutter’s chest. “For fuck’s sake, Tommy, she left because I got arrested. Shittin’ on the Squad as much as moms.”

  “Not Greta,” he denied vehemently.

  “She’s no angel,” he gritted out.

  “She’s no Ellen, either. Ellen had a mental problem, too. Not as bad as mine, so it never got talked about. Anxiety always made her criticize everything. Greta’s not like that. If she got upset, then there had to be a good reason.”

  “Greta wasn’t an easily satisfied woman,” he groused.

  Tommy snorted, and muttered, “I’m not gonna pretend that I know everything, but I knew your mother inside out. More than you because, no matter what, she was your
moms and you looked up to her. Don’t confuse the two of them. Plus, Greta’s in love with you.”

  It was Cutter’s turn to snort through his nostrils. “That so?” he scoffed. “She sure has a funny way of showin’ it.”

  Shaking the last dregs of evaporated milk from an opened can, he then tossed it into an overflowing recycling bin. Time to bring the recycling down. Although Tommy composted and brought a small trash bag down to his nearest neighbor once a week, the recycling was up to Cutter. Greta had helped him last time, but he wasn’t bringing Angie for a visit, no matter how much she begged. Hell nah. Tommy meant well, but every visit for the next year was gonna be a repeat of this conversation.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Cutter was chillin’ beside Puck at an impromptu party after a long-ass, burn-the-midnight-oil business meeting. Kingdom had succeeded in uniting the brothers to convert the Squad into a legit enterprise. After Greta’s visit to the clubhouse, Cutter had explicitly told Sage to keep her away, but, fuck his life, she was back. As Kingdom’s old lady, Sage had a lot of leeway, but she was getting too big for her high-heeled lawyer shoes. He scowled at her for a good solid minute before she noticed. Her smile wobbled, and she mouthed “I’m sorry.”

  Seething, he returned his gaze to Greta and drank her in like an alcoholic on a bender. As usual, she was covered, but that sexy, tight-fitting dress of hers left nothing to the imagination. His gaze bored into a group of brothers milling around near her. Bet they were sporting raging hard-ons, just like he was.

  On the other end of the bar, Semi was yakking with Greta, who threw him a cock-teasing smile. Swear to God, she was fucking with him on purpose. Balling his hands, he suppressed the urge to snag his brother by the scruff of his neck and take him outside for a beatdown. As for anyone who dared actually touch her, there would be hell to pay. Gotta get rid of her before I outright kill someone.

  Angie sashayed over and wrapped herself around him like a damn boa constrictor. Acid churned in his gut. Her fawning was grating on his nerves, but she was loyal, and the green-eyed woman down the bar had recently taught him the importance of allegiance.

  Greta’s gaze periodically lingered on him. There was a high flush to her cheeks, and her smile was too broad and stiff to be real. Jealous, again. He whispered into Angie’s ear, and instantly, Greta got up and crossed the room to chat up one of the prospects. Alright, two could play this game. He plastered Angie up against the bar. She released a high-pitched squeal and her legs swooped around his waist. Flexing his fingers around her butt, he groaned because, motherfucker, even her ass felt different from Greta’s. If he was holding Greta, his cock would be punching out of his jeans.

  Roughly, he took Angie’s mouth. Her taste was all wrong. Bland vanilla. Meanwhile, he had a sweet tooth for a pair of honey-glazed lips just beyond his reach. Angie slobbered over his mouth and chin; frustration snorted out his nostrils. Despite his instructions and training, she couldn’t get it right. His eyes popped open and Greta was locked in on him, eyes bleeding hurt. He almost gagged, but he had to get rid of Greta. Right? Right.

  Snapping his eyes shut, the liquor in his stomach curdled as he went to town on Angie. He dry humped her until her moans were loud enough to turn heads. Once satisfied, he dropped her to her feet, gave her a swat to the ass, and dismissed her with a wave.

  “Go.”

  Angie air-kissed him and swayed those narrow hips of hers away from him. He needed a smoke before he threw up. Bracing his boot against the wall, Cutter drew out his tobacco pouch and rolling papers. A rich, woody odor bloomed, tantalizing him with a scent reminiscent of Greta’s pussy. The musky endnotes began to pump blood into his cock, double time.

  Glancing up, he found Greta before him, bolted to the floorboards. Her fine skin was stretched taut over her cheekbones. Bastard that he was, he licked his lips, smeared with another woman’s lipstick. A subtle shaking took hold of her. It was the shattered look in her eyes that broke through his defenses. Dropping the pouch and rolling papers, he hauled her against him. Her panting breaths fanned over his jaw.

  She clutched his arms tightly before thrusting off him, turning on her heel and barreling toward the exit. He seized her just as she reached the door, swerved her around and backed her into a corner. Stepping in front of her, he hunched over her to shield her from prying eyes. Smothering her face, tears flooded his cut like a deluge. His lungs were about to collapse from the crush of remorse. Wedging her tighter in his hold, he rumbled, “The fuck is wrong with you?”

  “I tried staying away. God knows, I tried. How many times I broke down and drove here. Waited outside for you, only to see you walk out with Angie. Sage told me about the vote, and I had to come.”

  “Wasn’t her business to tell you.”

  From the corner of his eye, he caught Angie approaching them. He abruptly shook his head. A few clicks of high heels later and they were alone again. Him, her, and their shared pain. Fucking hell, this was why he never wanted to see her again. Catching her by the nape, he rasped, “Follow me.”

  ※※※

  Cutter strode away, and Greta drank in the sight of his thick boxer’s neck and powerful shoulders encased in his cut. His jean-clad ass muscles rippled with every stride he took. He was a thing of beauty. Sheer beauty.

  The moment he’d caught her staring at him and Angie, he smiled lewdly, and she lost her shit. She should’ve known better than to brashly show up at Kingdom’s celebration. It was a bold move, and she was going to pay for it, because after one command, she traipsed along after him like he was the pied piper.

  By the time she arrived at the threshold of Cutter’s new office, she’d broken out in a fine sweat. Lifting the hair off her nape, a breeze slid over her skin, but it gave her no margin of relief. Cutter took a seat and sprawled his legs wide across a brand-new sofa. She was all kinds of nervous, but she forced herself to walk in, head held high.

  “Girl, don’t pout at me. You came to me. Too late to back out now.”

  A soft mew slipped past her lips. His intent gaze scraped over her, from the crown of her head to her ankles. A matching pair of scarlet-colored leather harnesses were buckled at her ankles. He let out a short growl, and a splash of pride washed over her. Lifting her skirt, she admired their daintiness. The seam of his lips was pressed tightly.

  “Coming here, wearin’ those, tells me you’re begging to be restrained,” he mulled. Sounded like a great plan to her. Pointing to the spot in front of him, he ordered, “First position.”

  A wave of relief crashed over her. A turmoil of emotions merged at the tip of his finger motioning her to her spot. It was still hers. Angie might have a special “position” as well, but for the time being, she was claiming hers. Raising her skirt, she dropped to the ground and advanced on her knees. Between his legs, she arranged her hands neatly on the top of her knees. Cutter was poker-faced but for a heavy-lidded stare. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, she catapulted into the safe zone she’d missed like a second skin. The steel tips of his boots, scuffed up and caked with dry clay, almost touched her knees. He’d been out tracking. Her breathing faltered; she was no longer privy to the way he spent his days.

  After she drove by and saw Cutter help Angie onto his bike, she was determined to salvage her pride by never approaching him again. Sage had told her about Kingdom and Cutter’s intensive campaign to clean up the Squad, and she’d called tonight, insisting Greta come to the club. Hearing about the vote crushed her resolve to stay away. But there was more. Her face twisted, and she fixated on the far wall as she wrung her hands.

  Sensing her disquiet, Cutter tensed above her. “Something’s wrong. What is it?” He captured one of her braids and yanked until her gaze slid to his. “Spit it out. You don’t deserve a fucking after the way you behaved, so talk.”

  “I…I couldn’t stay away. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “I can’t breathe.”

  “You shouldn’t have come here.”

&nb
sp; Nodding stiffly, she gulped out, “I know.”

  Suspicion crept in his gaze. “Why now? You’ve been gone long enough. What is it, Greta?”

  “Now that the club has voted, I won’t live in fear that you’ll be harmed or taken away from me.”

  Forgetting his grip, she instinctively jerked her head, and whimpered when her hair was pulled by its roots. Nervous, she broke their gaze. His Adam’s apple snaked up and down his throat. “There’s more you’re not telling me. Go on, spit it out.”

  Shaking her head, she steeled herself. How could she tell him when she barely wanted to acknowledge it to herself? All she wanted was to burrow into him like an animal. Even sex, and God knew she wanted to fuck him, came second place.

  She gulped in a breath. “I saw Shadow.”

  A bite of pain stung her scalp as he wrenched her head up.

  “What in the actual fuck?”

  “I thought that if I didn’t tell anyone, then it wouldn’t be real,” she hurried to explain. “I thought I could handle it, but I’m not sure I can anymore.”

  Cutter’s expression made her tremble. She crumbled to the floor, her forehead slipping down to the cool cement, and she took hold of his ankles. The intensifying fear that she’d carried with her since the bike rally escaped, and she burst into tears. Her palms slid up his stiff calves.

  ※※※

  A full-scale numbness assaulted him. Even his hands tingled. He’d let his woman, his woman, hang out to dry. His fists balled at his side, palms sweating from the urge to punch something. The moment she tugged against her leash, he should’ve yanked harder, placed a fucking halter on her and put her through her paces.

  “What did he do?” Cutter choked out.

  “He hasn’t approached me, but I’ve seen him again. And…I feel him around.”

  Feel him. She shouldn’t be feelin’ another man around her. Especially that motherfucker. The pressure in his chest collapsed his lungs. “Again?”