Untouchable: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Kathryn Thomas

Lind cleared his throat and squirmed a little in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. For a fleeting moment, Eve wondered if anyone had said anything to offend him while she was gone and if he wanted to go home.

  “There’s something I need to ask you,” he said. “Well, all of you, really.” He licked his lips nervously. His unease was making Eve uneasy, but she bit her tongue and refrained from saying anything. She knew Lind needed to do this—whatever this was.

  He looked over at her parents and brother. “I’m going to ask something of Eve, and I hope you won’t have a problem with that.”

  Eve frowned. “Lind, what the hell is going on?” she asked impatiently, unable to keep silent any longer. The suspense was killing her.

  Lind took a deep breath. He moved, finally, but he didn’t stand up all the way. Instead, he went on one knee in front of Eve.

  She looked down at him in utter disbelief. Her heart jumped to her throat and began to beat so loud that she could actually hear the blood pumping in her ears.

  This couldn’t be…could it?

  “Evelyn Anne Robinson,” Lind began. He fumbled around in his pocket, cursing when whatever he was looking for got stuck. “Shit,” he muttered. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat and finally presented her with a small jewelry box. He opened the lid and sure enough, inside was a thin white-gold band with one single square diamond on it. It was small, but it was the most beautiful thing Eve had ever seen. “Will you marry me?”

  Eve stared at him, dumbfounded. Her head was spinning. “Are you serious?” she said, her voice choked.

  Lind blinked. “Uh…that’s not…uh…that’s not really the reaction I was going for…”

  Eve laughed happily, feeling like a fool and not caring one bit. My God, but he was serious! “Yes,” she said, heart slamming so hard against her ribcage she feared one of those ribs would crack. “Yes, I will marry you.”

  Lind’s relief was palpable. He slipped the ring on her finger and Eve was not surprised to find that it fit perfectly. They fit perfectly. Lind fit her, plain and simple.

  She threw herself down on her knees in front of him and kissed him passionately. He wrapped his good arm around her and pulled her close.

  “You have made me so happy,” he said once they pulled back. His eyes were shining with unshed tears, which threw Eve almost more than the proposal itself.

  She held him for a few moments, and then they both climbed back to their feet. Eve looked around at her family and found that her mother was blowing her nose noisily in a once-pristine white handkerchief, her father was looking at her with pride shining all over his face, and her brother had somehow acquired a bottle of champagne in the meanwhile.

  Eve arched an eyebrow. “I take it that you’re all okay with this?”

  “Oh, honey,” her mother said in a thick voice. “We’re more than okay.”

  Embraces, handshakes, and congratulations were exchanged then.

  “Hold that champagne for a moment, Junior,” Lind said, stopping her brother halfway through the process of uncorking the bottle. “There’s something else.”

  Eve frowned. “What now? Are we pregnant?” she teased. “Relax, Mom, we’re not,” she said when she caught her mother’s expectant startle out of the corner of her eye.

  “I was hoping you’d say yes,” Lind said. “I wasn’t sure, but I took the chance. There’s something waiting for you in the driveway.”

  Eve’s frown deepened. “Really? Here?”

  Lind nodded. “Sorry I took the liberty, sir,” he said to Eve’s father.

  Harold was dismissing the apology with a wave of his hand even before Lind had finished the sentence. “Nonsense, son,” he said, and Eve saw Lind blink in surprise at the word.

  “What are we still doing here?” Junior said excitedly. “Let’s go have a look.”

  They did. Eve could not for the life of her imagine what it was that was waiting for her in her parents’ driveway. What she saw left her speechless. She halted right outside the gate and stared, dumbfounded.

  Waiting for her in the driveway was a new, shiny Harley. It had been personalized with feathers, which Eve remembered mentioning to Lind once were her favorite ornaments.

  Lind came up from behind her and leaned close to her to whisper in her ear so that she would be the only one to hear. “Would you be my old lady?”

  Eve turned around to face him. “Oh my God,” she murmured, her voice breaking with the overwhelming force of her happiness. “Yes. I will.”

  Lind reached up with his good hand and cupped her nape, pulling her in for a passionate kiss. He couldn’t care less that her parents and older brother were watching. Eve couldn’t care less either. She was never going to suppress her all-consuming passion for this man no matter what. She had tried once, and she had failed miserably, also making herself miserable in the process. She would never do it again.

  She would marry the Viper and be his queen. More important, she would marry Lind Addams. She would stick by him. She would protect him. She would love him. And she would let him love and protect her.

  A truck drove past and honked twice. Eve spotted none other than Alec at the wheel and Lucas in the passenger’s seat. Clearly, they had been the ones to make this very special delivery. Eve shook her head in wonder, as she realized that Lind’s family had accepted her just as much as her family had accepted him.

  She stepped close to Lind and let him envelope her in yet another embrace. She was never going to walk out of his arms again.

  THE END

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  STOLEN

  Chapter One

  Sunny

  “C’mon, Sunny girl! Come sit by us. Killer says it’s alright if we watch from here.”

  Slutty Mary pats the empty space on the rust red beach blanket next to her with the palm of her hand. She smiles at me, missing teeth and all, as she beckons, “You’re not gonna see anything from where you are.”

  She’s right. This spot is garbage. I only picked it because it’s where Ricco dropped me off. I figure if he wants to find me after the match, I better be where he left me. But after our lame and boring night together with him sighing heavily at the best parts of the movie and spitting tobacco on my apartment entrance, I really couldn’t care less if he ever finds me.

  Of course, as soon as I take the spot Mary offered me, she launches into an assault of questions about my time with Ricco.

  “I hear he’s real nice and treats his girls good. Leann was with him a few months ago, and he bought her all kinds of nice shit… like a necklace and some stuff for her kitchen. Real fancy, quality stuff.”

  Mary’s not that bright. Ricco didn’t buy Leann shit. He stole it off the back of some guy’s truck—or it’s one of those gifts he passes on from girl to girl. None of his old ladies ever stayed with him for long. He either grew tired of them and lost interest, or they saw right through his facade and realized how freaking boring the guy is. I’m glad I caught on at the end of date one. I didn’t have to put out or anything like most girls would have. Filthy Bastard MC rules only force us to spread for a guy on date two if he pays.

  Still, I’m not going to be rude to Mary. These girls are my family. They are the only ones who understand what it’s like to live this life. And we look out for one another, even though it’s pretty clear that most of us really, truly despise each other. I guess that’s what a real sister is supposed to be like. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen or heard from mine in years.

  “Yeah,” I mutter as I play with a few of the grease covered rocks that dot the gravel ground of the underpass. “He was a nice guy. He’s not really my type though. I don’t think I’ll answer if he calls me again.”

  Larissa butts in the way she always does. “Oh, girl, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she says. She can’t h
elp but be the gossip among us. She has to know everything and anything about our lives or else she’ll die or something. But sometimes it comes in handy to have a know-it-all in the group.

  My ears perk as I listen to her explain, “Ricco is Killer’s right hand. You can’t get closer to Killer unless you are screwing with Cobra. And that’s impossible.”

  Killer, the President of the Filthy Bastards, is like a trophy to most club girls. For one, he’s fine as hell for a guy in his early forties. He’s got that red-blonde beard and the curly hair with salt and pepper streaks that make him look as if he’s stepped off some Viking ship. At nearly six feet tall, he’s as imposing as one too. The first time I met him was on my 18th birthday. He was welcoming me into the club as club property. He even did my brand right on my shoulder—a small skull and axe that singed quickly into my skin. I was too distracted by the guy, the booze, and the excitement to even notice the pain.

  I learned quickly that Killer kept his inner circle small. Unlike the majority of the guys here, he only took one lover for a long period of time. That girl usually disappeared from our circle once he claimed her. I heard that he bound her to secrecy about what goes on in the background, so she kept out of day-to-day club life. Leann was his old lady for a while. We hadn’t seen her for months when we figured it out. She only appeared at socials and didn’t talk much when we begged for answers, but it was clear who she was staring down throughout the night.

  Besides his girl, Killer has a VP, a second-in-command, by the name of Cobra. They call him that because of his slight lisp and the long, dark snake tattoo that covers his spine and reaches up over his bald head so that between his ears appears a striking snake head. It gives him a look of someone chasing death, which I suppose with his job of managing club assets and running security, he is.

  Cobra is the one who arranged tonight’s fight with the Wilderkind MC. Like always, there’s some dispute about one of the Wilderkind crossing into Filthy Bastard territory to harass one of their business partners. Ricco mentioned it to me as he rudely interrupted the movie to read his text that announced the fight. I couldn’t have rolled my eyes harder hearing about it.

  It is pretty routine that these bouts happen. In fact, it was really messing with my schedule. Club events meant that the girls had to get dressed up to the nines. Missing one, with the exception of death or near-death illness, meant you’d be cut off from the small amount of money that trickles in from club revenues to the ladies. Hell, you might even lose the rent they paid. I can’t risk that. Outside Filthy Bastard headquarters, I have absolutely no place to go if I got cut off.

  So, I threw on this ridiculous black and blue (Filthy Bastard colors) bodycon dress that barely covers my tits or my ass and put on my heavy black eye makeup that feels as if my face weighs about a million pounds and marched my way to the overpass under the skyline bridge. The lights of Los Angeles shine brightly enough that I don’t need any more light to study the rest of the girls sitting cross-legged on the blankets. They all wear similar outfits like mine. They have to.

  “Are you even gonna tell us what Ricco is like, Sunny? You’re being all spacey and shit.” Mary taps me on the shoulder, bringing me back to my place on the blanket. I shuffle uncomfortably. “You know what they are saying about you, right? They say you act too good for them. That’s why the younger guys aren’t going for you.”

  “I don’t want the younger guys,” I snap back. “If I’m going to be some guy’s property, he best be able to provide for me.”

  The girls around me who aren’t even trying to hide that they’re eavesdropping nod their heads knowingly at me. None of us want to mess with the riders who just have earned their spot as a Filthy Bastard. Those guys come and go. A true MC rider is a lifer and a rare find. The ones who hold on to some power, are put in control, or elected to serve a leadership role, get paid the big bucks.

  Even then, getting security from being an official old lady meant that your man had to claim you as his property, offer to take care of you, and stop seeing the rest of the girls in our club. Fat chance that it happens just like that when us ladies are out there on a platter to be picked and passed around. But for the girls like me, the only way to guarantee it is to have a guy’s baby. Then, club laws force him and the MC to provide for you and your kid no matter what.

  “Well then, what about Ricco? Wasn’t he good enough for you?” Mary asks again. She’s not going to let up until I give her an answer. Dammit.

  I think over my words before I say anything. Not only do I have an audience, but my audience also has ears and mouths. Those ears hear one thing, and the mouth says another—often to guys who can put me in danger with the club. If the boys were already saying that I am snobbish, dogging on Ricco could be a nail in my coffin.

  Instead of letting them have the truth, I put it as nicely as possible. “Ricco was friendly. We didn’t get very far. I don’t know if I’ll meet up with him again.” I pause for dramatic effect before adding, “Why, Mary? You want him?” She smiles as she sits up a bit straighter. Her long neck cranes towards the guys gathering around a fire pit in search of him. He’s not hard to spot. Ricco’s the only one wearing a leather jacket and navy blue bandana on an eighty-degree evening.

  “Can you guys shut the hell up?” an unmistakable voice behind us interrupts, “The fight is about to begin, and Cobra actually let me put some money on this.” Kitka appears next to me, flashing her long, silky, tanned legs. She slips off her heels and scoots next to me on the blanket, forcing me to move over for her. I can smell the cheap perfume rolling off of her skin as she leans over and steals the bottle of Jack the girls have been passing around. With her head tilted back and her red lips covering the rim, she chugs it back like a pro.

  “C’mon, Kitty Kat! Save some for the rest of us. Sunny over here hasn’t had more than a sip yet, and it sounds like she didn’t get it good enough tonight. Let the poor girl take a turn.”

  Thanks, Mary. The last person I want to tell my story to or even complain around is Cobra’s main girl, Kitka.

  Ever since I joined the club four years ago, she made it clear that I would never be her ally. Other girls joined the inner circle when she felt like it, but not me. As I take a long, hard pound of the warm alcohol, I glance over her way. Leann, when she was around, told me that Kitka was jealous of me. I am the youngest one here, and that by default made me hot shit to the guys. Unlike her, I haven’t been passed around or claimed. Kitka, on the other hand, has been claimed by Cobra for a good long while now. All of us know, however, that Kitka’s eyes were on Killer. She has got some mad ambition like that.

  But looking at her, I still don’t understand it. Why, besides the fact that I’m younger than her, would she be envious of a girl like me? Motorcycle club guys die and go to Heaven when they land a girl like Kitka. Dark skin, tattoos, jet black long hair, and always decked out in something leather—she was a dream. I, by contrast, look like I just stepped off a school bus. I’m tall, but I’m awkward about it. You can’t catch me out wearing those sky-high heels she wears on a daily basis, and my pale skin would look like patchwork with tattoos as colorful as hers. Add in the blonde hair, blue eyes, princess look and I rarely turn heads unless the guy is into that kind of thing. Nine times out of ten, they are eyeing a girl like her down.

  Even now, with the boys down by the drawn-up ring placing their bets on the two fighters representing the Filthy Bastards and Wilderkind clubs, some of the guys look up and over at us. No doubt, to get a glance at Kitka and her latest outfit. Sure enough, a guy lifts his chin to her as she smiles slightly and looks away and back at our group. I take another long drink from the bottle. I need to pace myself. I’ve probably had at least half of this between my long swigs.

  “Cobra says this is gonna be a good one,” Kitka explains. “The guy fighting for the Wilderkind is like a semi-pro or something. He fought when he wasn’t in the club for some boxing ring. But that rarely transfers to bare knuckle. The guy’s goin
g down in two rounds, for sure.”

  “Two rounds?” Mary shouts, “No way! Look at that guy—he’s a freaking beast! That’s why they call him Bear.” She points out the man leading a crowd of Wilderkind members towards the center of the drawn-up ring. He stands about three to six inches taller than the rest and is covered in black tattoos that I can make out from here. His thick, curly brown hair bounces as he moves stealthily through the crowd of men patting his back and giving him high-fives.

  I scoot myself over a bit to watch him a minute more. The rest of the girls turn their attention to our fighter, a guy Cobra picked out himself to rough the guy up and bring home a victory for the Filthy Bastards. But I’m transfixed on the Wilderkind guy. I’ve seen my fair share of riders and MC members, but none like him. In my hazy, rapidly turning mind, I imagine him lifting me on his shoulders and riding off with me to some forbidden lair out in the middle of the wilderness. Standing on my knees, I take another long drink of the burning liquid. My tongue traces over the rivets of the bottle top as I try to think of what a man like that even tastes like…