Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by C. M. Stunich

  “What are you doing, Brent?” I ask him, trying to pull the secrets from his eyes that I can feel roiling under his skin. “What the hell are you and Sully doing?”

  “It has nothing to do with you, Lyric,” he says, changing his tone now that he's dropped his bomb, seen me punished for turning him down. “Don't worry about it. One way or another, Sully and I will make sure the Wolves fall in line.”

  My hand reaches out and curls around his arm, not because I care what he does, not really, but because I know that this crap, it all started because of me, because I got too ambitious, too desperate to please my father, to follow in his footsteps. I didn't just want to be his extra daughter anymore, his tag along, his assistant. I wanted to prove myself and now I feel like I'm standing on a crumbling precipice.

  A man is dead. My brother and Brent are up to something. And I think … I think I'm falling in love with a motorcycle club president.

  “Brent, don't mess with these people. Go home. This wasn't supposed to turn into anything serious. It's gotten out of control, and I don't want to see anyone else get hurt.” Brent pushes my hand away, the same way I did his.

  “Don't worry about it, Lyric. Things are under control. You asked me out here to put pressure on the club, and I did. But things have changed. This isn't just your game anymore.” He smiles once more at me and turns away, even as I reach out for his suit jacket, my fingers sliding along the fabric and my heart shattering in my chest.

  Somebody's going to get hurt in all of this.

  Brent, Sully, me. Maybe even Royal.

  Somehow, it's that last one that seems to hurt the most.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Royal

  My blood is boiling and my fingers are clenched tight around the handlebars of my bike.

  The bloody fucking fuck is that blond douche bitch doing in front of Lyric's place? I watch their exchange with a mounting rage that I can't explain or control, the frenzied need I felt to get over here amplifying as I watch her reach out and cling to his suit jacket. I know we've only known each other a few days, but how can she not feel this stupid fucking burning need that's making me clench my teeth and do stupid shit like drive all the way out here to see her.

  I watch as Brent turns and walks away while Lyric slams her front door like she's upset. My eyes track the man's movements as he heads to his car and unlocks the doors. Part of me wants to get this whole thing over with and go bash his head in with my hammer, but I know that's not necessary. Lyric and whatever relationship he has with her aside, Brent is already scheduled to disappear.

  You're acting like a crazy person, Royal, I tell myself, closing my eyes and taking several deep breaths. I've never been the jealous type, never cared enough about a girl to give a shit about what she did with other men. I shouldn't care now. Royal and me, we're strangers from two different worlds.

  But I want her anyway.

  All of this bullshit I'm feeling, it's gotta be just a side effect of all the crap that's going down with the club, right? I tap my fingers against the handlebars and try to make myself leave, go home, cool off a bit.

  Screw that.

  I start my bike up and ease into Lyric's driveway, tossing my helmet on the grass as I climb off and stalk up to the front door. I don't even bother to knock, turning the handle and stepping inside with a million things on my lips that I want to say to her.

  When she spins to face me in her white bathrobe, tears streaming down her face, all of those words disappear in a rush of feeling, in a desperate need to scoop her into my arms and hold her tight, soothe away her pain and destroy whoever the fuck it was that caused it.

  “What the bloody hell did he do to you?” I ask her, my voice edgy and broken, my hands clenched into fists by my sides. “Tell me, Lyric, but I swear to God if he hurt you, I'll fucking kill him.”

  “He didn't hurt me,” she says, swiping her arm across her eyes. “I don't give a shit about him.” She sniffles, sucking in a sharp breath as she tries to gather herself together. I stay rooted to the spot, afraid to find out what I'll do if I walk over there, if I touch her, hold her. “In fact, I think I just realized today that I hate him.”

  I smile, but it only lasts for a second, fading away as she looks over at me like she's never seen me before. Was I too rough in the chapel? Did I scare her away?

  “Look, Pint-Size,” I begin, but she's already shaking her head.

  “No,” she says, glancing away. “No, no, this is my fault. I just … things between us have been happening so fast that I … it's crazy, I know.” Lyric stands up straight and runs her fingers through her wet hair.

  “What's crazy?” I ask, wanting her to say it first, to put this strange connection between us into words. I want to … try this thing out, take her on a proper date or something. I know that ultimately I'm just setting myself up for heartbreak, but at this moment I don't give a shit.

  “Brent and my brother,” she says with a small sniffle, surprising me by changing the subject. “They're up to something. I don't know what it is, but I'm … please. They're idiots. They don't know what they're doing.”

  My heart stutters and my hands clench tighter. The look in her eyes, the reason I didn't recognize it at first is because I didn't want to see it.

  She's scared of me. Lyric is scared of me.

  “What did that blond douche say to you?” I ask, taking a step towards her. She backs up and shakes her head, the tears already drying on her cheeks as she tries to stand up to me for the sake of two dumb fucks that think they can shakedown a one-percenter and walk away unscathed. “What did he tell you?” My voice is low and dangerous. If Lyric knows … shit. If she knows, then she becomes another loose end that the club will have to take care of. I refuse to let that happen. “What did he say to you?” I ask again, my voice gravelly and rough.

  “He didn't give specifics, he just … he said that he and Sully were taking care of things with the club.”

  “Bullshit,” I say, moving towards her again, running my fingers up the side of her face. She doesn't lean into my touch this time, doesn't react at all. “He told you something.”

  “I don't know anything, Royal. Just … whatever they do, don't hurt them. They're too stupid for their own good.”

  “I'm going to ask you one more time, and you better tell me the fucking truth. This goes way beyond you and me, Lyric. The club's involved now. Your brother and his friend, they made a big mistake today, one that even I can't erase, so if you know something you have to tell me now. If you don't, then I can't help you.”

  She stares up at me with those big green eyes of hers, lips parted softly and face ashen. I've already lost the chance to protect one woman that I care about today; I won't lose another. Lyric might be a stranger, might be the mayor's daughter, might even be just a hot fuck that I'm making a big mistake with, but I want to help her out here, I do. If she doesn't confide in me now though, I'm powerless.

  The Wolves will have justice. If she's tangled up in this, she'll go down with her brother and Brent. It won't be by my hand, but I'm not a lone wolf. I have a pack, and the pack demands blood for wrongs committed.

  “Take a risk, Pint-Size. Bet it all on me, right here and now. I might be a dangerous man, but I'm a dangerous man with options. Don't take that choice away from me. Tell me what Brent said to you.”

  “He … you killed your vice president,” she whispers and I feel the blood drain from my own face, the moments of that painful night flickering in front of my eyes like they're superimposed across Lyric's frightened face. Landon's gritted teeth, the blood seeping through his white T-shirt, the gun clutched tight in his hand. Muzzle pointed towards me, another shot and he stumbles, my own gun in the air and the kickback in the web of my hand.

  I swallow hard and close my eyes, trying to banish it all from my mind. This isn't a moment for weakness. If anything, I have to be stronger now than I've ever been before—and I have to fight twice as hard on a fucking chance.

&n
bsp; “Pint-Size,” I begin, opening my eyes and looking down at her, but she's already turning around and fleeing to the other side of the counter.

  “That's not it,” she whispers, starting to pant, her breath coming in small flutters as she lays her fingers on the countertop and looks across at me. “I mean, it's not just that. Royal, I … if someone has to pay for this, it should be me. This is my fault.” The shock of her own words is written across her face, like she can't believe she's saying what she's saying.

  “What's your fault?” I ask, gritting my teeth, emotions writhing violently inside my chest. I should turn them off, push forward like I always do, but this girl. Goddamn this fucking girl! “What?!” I scream the word and she flinches.

  “I called Brent,” she says, voice trembling as she backs up against the cabinets. “I knew him from college, so I called in the favor. All I wanted was for him to make you nervous enough to sign the papers. I just want to be seen, Royal. I want to be in politics, and I … needed my dad to look at me like I was worth something.”

  I just stare at her for a long moment, too long, the silence stretching thin and sticky between us.

  “You did what?” I ask, my brain rushing to process the information.

  “I called Brent. He wasn't supposed to do anything. I didn't think he'd find an informant or try to make a case or any of that, and I … I don't know how my brother's involved. I just, if you're going to punish someone, make it me. I started all of this.” She pauses, licking her lower lip and lifting her chin. “Your vice president, if he really is dead then it's my fault. His blood is on my hands.”

  No words.

  I take a step back. Another. Lyric just keeps staring at me, steel in her gaze, lips in a flat line. I should … there are so many things I should do right now.

  “I'm taking responsibility, Royal,” she says, closing her eyes and nodding like she's accepted the kind of terrible fate that the club would exact on her under most circumstances. That I would order them to exact on her in most circumstances. “But you, this, I didn't expect any of it.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I say and her eyes snap open, pleading with me, begging me to be anyone but who I am. “Stay here and keep your mouth shut. Don't admit this to anyone, ever again, do you understand me?”

  “Royal—”

  “No.” I shake my head, running my fingers through my hair. Shouldn't be surprised, should I? I let myself get caught up in a complete stranger, broke all my own rules, and fucked the fuck up. What was I thinking? This girl's not any different than the rest of them. Just a hot fuck with her own agenda, like they always are.

  “I'm so sorry—” I cut her off again by turning around and slamming my palm against the wood of the front door.

  “Don't talk to me right now, Lyric.” I stand up and turn back towards her. “In fact, the way I see it, you and me, we're done. In bed, in business, whatever the hell it is that you want from me.” She starts to move around the corner, but I'm not sure what I'll do if she gets to close to me. Kiss her? Fuck her? God, I almost want to slap her. But I don't hit women, not even ones who get my best friend killed with their bullshit. My brother is gone because of her. The thought's unfair, I know, because there's no way in hell she knows about any of the rest of it, about Mile Wide and all that.

  But it doesn't matter because I can't stop thinking it.

  “Email me whatever shit it is that you've got going on with the city. I'll sign it.”

  “Royal, wait,” she starts, but I'm already done here. I've heard what I needed to hear, and I'll keep my word. She gave me the truth, gave me exactly what I asked for.

  “In the future, if you want something to happen, try asking first, love. The club already took a vote on the partnership with the city. We were all in, babe. You,” I point at her, “you're the one that fucked up. Just remember how I saved your life today.”

  I slam the door on her shocked face.

  Loose ends need to be taken care of, something the previous pres taught me. But I won't tell my brothers about any of this; they don't need to know. Brent and Sully, we'll take care of them. Rebecca, she's my job. But Lyric? Nobody needs to know about Lyric.

  I grab my helmet from the lawn and swing my leg over my bike, running a hand down my face.

  Never thought I'd see this day, the day I'd keep something from my brothers.

  It goes against everything I've ever known, ever believed in. The brotherhood comes first; the club comes first. I'd give my life for any of them, and they know that.

  But I won't give them Lyric's life.

  Not today, not in the future.

  Even if I never see her again a day in my life.

  Sully Rentz is easy to track down.

  Dumb shit shakes me down in the afternoon and then hits the bar in the evening. I wait for him outside, following him to his car with quiet footsteps, and then I slam my hand against the door as he tries to open it.

  “What the—” He spins around just in time to get a fist to the face, crumpling back against his fancy black sedan with a groan and a gush of blood from his nostrils. When he sees me, his eyes go wide and his lower lip trembles. For Christ's sake, this man doesn't even have half a sack. His sister's got bigger balls than he does. “Please don't hurt me,” he says, covering his nose with a shaking hand. “Clayton Moore—”

  “Doesn't mean shit to me.” I lift my hammer out of my belt and slam it against my open palm. “Now, you listen to me, you dumb fuck. If your dad wasn't the mayor, you'd be dead right now. Do you understand that?”

  Sully just stares at me like I'm the devil come to take him down to hell.

  In a way, I guess I am.

  “Here's what's going to happen,” I say, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Technically, this isn't my job. Glacier or Smoky should be out here with a couple of prospects, laying the law down for Mr. Rentz. But I need an outlet before I go and see Rebecca. Sully Rentz is going to hurt tonight for a purpose. “I'm going to beat the shit out of you, punk ass. It's going to hurt like hell, and for a little while tonight, you're going to wish you were dead.”

  Sully sneaks his right hand into his pocket, like I'm stupid enough to miss a move like that. I reach out with a lightning quick grip and wrap my fingers around his wrist until he screams and drops his cell to the ground with a crack. Think the screen just broke. What a shame.

  I take another quick look around, but there's nobody here. Sully parked a ways away from the bar, probably trying to make sure nobody from his dad's office spies his car in this shitty ass part of town.

  I put my foot down on the cell and lean in until I hear another satisfying crack.

  “A couple of my boys are on the way,” I tell him and enjoy the way his face gets even paler, bloodless, twisted with fear. Thing is, he doesn't know how lucky he really is. By all rights, he should end up six feet under like his friend, Brent, is going to. But then we'd catch heat for all of this and beyond all things, that's what the club and its members want to avoid. “When they get here, they'll call the cops and tell 'em they saw your ass getting beat by a couple of random thugs during a mugging gone wrong. They chased them off, and they're fucking heroes. You'll corroborate their story.”

  “Like hell,” Sully says, a bit of backbone in him after all. I grin, but it's not my usual smile. He can see it, taste the wicked beautiful brutality that's hanging heavy in the air.

  “Either you'll take your beating like a man and feed the cops that exact story, or you'll end up like Landon.” Sully swallows, his eyes bugging out of his skull. “My brother is dead, Sully, and you're here dancing on his grave because, what, Clayton Moore paid you a couple hundred grand to piss on my doorstep?”

  “Landon was already working with Clayton when I was brought into the fold. He … it was him who came to me,” Sully sputters. “He's the one who dragged Brent and me into this.”

  “When?” I snap, getting up close and personal with Sully Rentz, my hand fisted in the front of his white button
-down. “When the fuck did he start talking to you about all this crap?”

  “Six months ago,” Sully says, spilling secrets like a cheap slot machine. One penny in and I'm already reaping a fortune. Landon, you cock sucking son of a bitch. How? Why? What the fuck happened to you? “He contacted me to get an in at the mayor's office, and I contacted Brent.”

  “What about her?” I ask, my throat tightening as I let go of Sully and take a step back, my hammer still clutched tight in my right hand.

  “Her?” Sully asks, clearly confused. “You mean Toni?”

  “Who the fuck is Toni?” I growl and he cringes.

  “The Deputy Mayor,” he mumbles. “Before Lyric. We paid her to draft the agreement between the city and the Wolves so that you'd never agree to it. But then she quit and Lyric dumbed it down to a point where it might actually be helpful to the club.” Lyric. The sound of her name makes me sick—and not in the way you might think. I really am a dumb shit. Even now, I want to see her, kiss her, fuck her.

  “Why? What the fuck does this stupid ass agreement have to do with Mile Wide or Clayton Moore? It's symbolic at best, a waste of time at most.”

  “I … I don't know.” I lift up my hammer and Sully collapses back against the car, sliding to the ground with stark terror burning in his gaze. “I have no fucking idea, man! Please, God, don't hurt me. I don't know anything else. I swear to Christ. Oh God, Jesus, shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

  “Lyric. She called Brent down here to put pressure on the club, to get us to sign the agreement. Told me herself. Why? What part is she playing in all of this?” I don't realize it at first, but I'm holding my breath. I exhale as I wait for his raddled brain to come up with a response.

  “Brent was already planning on coming over here anyway. He was under investigation with the FBI, and he needed an out. Clayton promised to give that to him.”

  “So Lyric?” I remind him, gritting my teeth. “She in on this?”

  “What? No, no, I don't think so. She wants to be a senator or something, I don't know. Lyric's not … not like this. She's too … no, she just wants my dad's approval. Jesus Christ.”