Running Hot (Hell Ryders MC Book 2)

by J. L. Sheppard

  Even so, he didn’t have a choice. It was Tiff’s night. She finished her last final and wanted to celebrate with her college friends. No way in hell, he’d let her go on her own even accompanied by friends, and no way in hell, he’d try to convince her not to go. She wanted to go, they’d go. He’d do this for her because he wanted her happy, but it didn’t mean he was comfortable with this outing.

  He walked out of the bathroom, plopped on the couch, and stared at the beige walls, his stare shifting through the pictures she had framed on the shelves. Every picture, she was smiling, big and bright, that smile that lit up her face.

  Her bedroom door parted. His gaze shot there. She waltzed out.

  His jaw dropped, body heated. Then his stomach turned.

  The short, fitted, olive green dress left little to the imagination. So tight against her skin, a miracle she could breathe. She paired that lousy excuse of a dress with black, strappy, “fuck me” heels.

  All it took, one look and his body responded, his shaft lengthening and pounding. It had happened to him so often over the last six days, he lost count. Except the other times, she’d been in her little short shorts with a loose or fitted top, her nose in a book, making him dinner or doing his laundry.

  She was beautiful, and every man looked. He noticed. Now, dressed for the night with that dark, thick hair of hers styled in curls around her shoulders and make-up done, more so, which meant every other man who laid eyes on her would have a raging hard-on too.

  Before he thought better of it, he shot off the couch and threw his arm out toward her. “What the fuck is that?”

  Her brows drew together. She glanced down at herself, grabbed the hem of her dress, and tugged it down.

  Still nowhere near long enough.

  “What?”

  He grabbed his shaft and readjusted himself. His narrowed gaze sized her from top to bottom. “That?” He pointed at her dress.

  She pursed her lips. “A dress, Thomas.”

  Jaw rock hard, he shook his head.

  She quirked a brow. “A dress is a one-piece garment made for a woman—”

  “Don’t get smart with me.” He fisted his hands. “Go change.”

  Her eyes widened. “Please tell me you’re joking.” Her voice calm.

  One of the things he learned about her, no matter how pissed he got, she always kept her cool. And he could get scary when he was pissed. Even when she got angry right back, she held it together, never raising her voice. How she managed this, he had no clue.

  Closing the distance between them, he leaned into her, forcing her to further angle her head to meet his gaze. “Does it look like I’m joking?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “No, it looks like you’re serious, which means you’re delusional because there’s no way I’m changing. I just bought this dress. I bought it for tonight, and I’m wearing it tonight.”

  Getting smart with him again. Then and there, he was so pissed he couldn’t admit how much he liked that. “Tiffany, go change, or I’ll strip you myself.”

  Her lips parted. “Now I know you’re not only delusional but insane.”

  His stare further narrowed. “Don’t see you moving.”

  “You’re not my brother. Even if you were, you have no right to tell me what to wear.”

  Brother? Thank fuck. He’d have to be institutionalized for his lewd thoughts.

  His eyes flared. “Your brother? Is that what you think I am? That what you see me as?”

  Her lips thinned. “You continue to act like you are.”

  “What the fuck?” A yell that sounded a lot like a growl.

  “You continue to act—”

  “’Cause I save you? ’Cause I’m pissed you don’t call me when you need saving? What else?”

  “You said I was cute. You call me ‘baby girl,’ and you do it because you know I don’t like it—”

  “Saying you’re ‘cute’ is a compliment, Tiff. ‘Baby girl’ is an endearment. Kinda like ‘baby’ or ‘sweetheart’ is, and I know you don’t like it, but I say it anyway ’cause when I do, you give me lip, and I like when you give me lip ’cause your face flushes, and I like that, too.”

  Her eyes changed. Emotion shone through them, saying so much and nothing at all because for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what it meant, what she meant to say with that look.

  She tore her gaze away. When she met his again, that look had vanished. “We’re off topic. It doesn’t matter.”

  “What matters to me is that my cock is so hard right now I’m gonna have blue balls. What matters to me is that every guy who looks at you tonight is gonna feel the same. It means I’ll probably have to kick them in the balls to rip them away from you. I don’t wanna get in fights tonight.”

  Her jaw dropped. She recovered quickly and glared. “Right, because you’ve been watching me for close to a week, and you haven’t been able to get good pussy. Well, Thomas, you can fix that easily. All you have to do is pick up a woman at the lounge and take her to a hotel.”

  And he was the crazy one? How the hell could she misconstrue what he said? A wonder his head didn’t explode.

  “Don’t get too drunk tonight ’cause I’m not leaving you, and you wear that dress, I won’t be able to control myself, baby girl.”

  She gritted her teeth. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He smirked. “Try me.”

  ****

  Tiffany wanted to hate him. Everything she heard of bikers, he proved true. The first, they provided services, services like what her father paid the club to do to her stalker. She also heard bikers “ripped and dipped.” To accomplish this without having to deal with a woman getting attached, they went for easy women. These easy women threw themselves at them. She saw it for herself the last time she’d been home when she went to the bar in town with one of her high school friends. Even if it wasn’t the case, Thomas, she was sure, wouldn’t have problems in that department. Tall, broad, chiseled, and those freaking eyes, one look and you were a goner.

  When he showed up and admitted her father paid the club to handle her stalker, she knew the rumor proved true. Now, she knew the other true, too. Thomas couldn’t go a week without sex. Imagine that? A week? As much as it hurt to know he screwed everything in sight probably several times a day, it hurt more when he threw it in her face, again. It hurt worse, he had to go six days without to even find her tempting.

  Despite the tightening in her chest, no way she’d change. Not her fault he hadn’t been laid. He insisted on staying. She didn’t need him walking around her apartment half-naked and making a mess.

  Thomas having blue balls because he couldn’t keep it in his pants for six days—not her problem. Her night. She planned on celebrating with friends. Thomas and his blue balls would not determine what she could and couldn’t wear. She wouldn’t change. The dress she bought wasn’t overly revealing. Tight and short, so she was showing a lot of leg but her chest was covered. She couldn’t bend over, but as a woman, she shouldn’t bend over period. If she needed to pick something off the floor, she squatted (legs closed, of course).

  She wasn’t in the least bit concerned about his threat. He wouldn’t dare come on to her. He tried to, no matter how drunk she got, it’d be hard to forget she was a replacement.

  Her phone rang. She plucked it out of her clutch and answered. The cab driver called to tell her he was parked downstairs. She headed outside. Thomas followed, locking the door behind himself as she walked the short distance to Donna and Marianne’s and knocked.

  Marianne answered the door. From the looks of it, she was ready, a good sign. Whenever they were late, it was usually her fault.

  “Oh, my God! You look freaking amazing!”

  “Thanks.” She smiled, taking in Marianne’s black dress and red pumps. “You look great, too.”

  Donna peered from behind her, wearing a lace corset and a mini skirt. “Total sex kitten look.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “You look gr
eat, Donna.”

  Together, they headed down the stairs into the cab. Twenty-four minutes later, the cab stopped in front of Chrome, the lounge. Thomas paid the driver (he insisted), exited the front passenger seat, and opened the door for them. Sitting right behind him, she exited first. He grasped her hand and dragged her toward him. He did it so suddenly she almost lost her balance. Pressing her against his side, the heat of his hard body caressed hers. Her heart kick started, thumping wildly in her chest. Ignoring this, she lifted her head and met his sapphire gaze.

  Why did he have to be so hot? She knew now it wasn’t the tough-guy, rugged thing that appealed to her. The black, long-sleeved, collared shirt he wore stretched across his muscled chest, covering his tattoos. His hair tousled on top in a messy way that made her want to run her fingers through it. In that ensemble, no one would guess he was a biker.

  “You stay close to me.”

  “What if I have to use the restroom? Are you going to go with me, too?”

  He smirked. “Don’t get smart with me, baby girl.”

  She rolled her eyes. A car door slamming caught her attention. She angled her head and met Donna and Marianne’s inquisitive gazes.

  Marianne lifted a brow. “Are you going to let her go, so we can start celebrating, biker?”

  “No, I’m gonna hold onto her all night.” His arm tautened around her. “So everyone knows she belongs to me.”

  Marianne’s jaw dropped. Donna, on the other hand, gave her an I-told-you-so look, one she did not and would not put thought into.

  Her head snapped to him. She turned in his grasp, giving Marianne and Donna her back. Glaring, she whispered so only he’d hear, “Like hell you are.” She tore herself away.

  His jaw twitched.

  “Just because you can’t go six days without sex, and I’m readily available doesn’t mean shit to me. You need it so bad, go home and find one of your skanks. Oh wait, I’m sorry, you call them ‘good pussy.’”

  She didn’t wait for him to respond. She spun on her heel and marched toward the lounge, following her friends. The entire time, she felt his heat at her back, hot on her heels. At the double door entrance, he gripped her wrist, tightly, proving she’d pissed him off. Once they showed their IDs’ to the bouncers, they headed inside.

  The music assaulted her senses. She’d been to Chrome before and liked it because they played a variety of music. Right then, they played techno, not her favorite, especially that loud, but she knew it wouldn’t last long before they changed it. Another reason she liked Chrome, it was dimly-lit but not too dark she couldn’t see in front of her. It was also big, spacious, and decorated with a modern flair. White couches lined the entirety, coffee tables set in front of them. In the middle of the room, a dance floor and toward the back, the DJ booth. Next to the booth, two large speakers. Two bars stood at each side of the doors.

  En route to the bar, he grabbed her hip, hauled her so her back pressed against his chest. Then he lowered his head until his lips touched her ear. “I’m buying drinks, and then, we’re gonna talk about what you just fuckin’ said to me. Tell me what you want.”

  Right. Nothing she could do about that. He’d make her listen. “Apple martini.”

  He bought drinks for her, himself, Donna, and Marianne. Then he led her toward the other end of the lounge and sat on one of the white couches. She sat beside him, took a sip of her drink, and set it on the table in front of her.

  “Tiff.”

  He waited until her gaze shot to his before he leaned in. His MO, but she knew it served a dual purpose. The music blared, not loud enough she couldn’t hear him over it, but loud enough he’d have to talk louder than normal.

  “I’m gonna explain a couple of things to you, and you’re gonna repeat them back to me, so I can make sure you understand what I’m saying. Agreed?”

  “I’m not an idiot—”

  The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Never said you were. Didn’t imply it either. What I’m saying is you twist shit in your head to suit your purpose. I’m not down with that shit anymore.”

  “I’ve never—”

  “Four years ago, you called me, asked me to pick you up. You were drunk, Tiff. I heard it in your voice. Obliterated. One step inside, I saw how wasted you were, and your friends were wasted too. No one there could’ve protected you. I took one look at you, one look at that scene, and I was scared, for you. I said some fucked shit I’ve regretted every day since then because it was shit I did not mean.”

  Tiffany remembered that night like it happened yesterday. Summer after high school, she did not dally starting college. She enrolled for the second half of the summer, taking two courses. This proved difficult since the summer courses had the same amount of material to cover yet not nearly as much time. By Christmas break her freshman year of college, she had two long and grueling semesters under her belt. Naturally, she’d been ecstatic for time off. It had been three months since she’d seen her parents, who’d visited her once, and six months since she’d seen her old friends. Having been in Wadden for close to three days, she decided to call some of her friends, who informed her they were going to a party in town. She wasn’t much for partying, having done none in college as it was, but she wanted to see her friends, and so, she went.

  Bad idea.

  Her friends, being her rowdy, high school friends, insisted she have a beer. They also insisted no one got drunk off a beer. She thought, “What the hell?” Eighteen, a freshman in college and she’d never had a drink then was as good a time as any.

  A really bad idea.

  A guy at the party handed her a red cup with beer, and she drank it, slowly.

  The worst idea.

  Drunk in a bad way, seeing double, queasy, and terrified, even in her state, though she never drank before, she knew her friends hadn’t lied. No one got wasted off a beer. Someone singled her out, spiked her drink, someone who was probably keeping a real close eye on her right then, watching as whatever they put in her drink affected her. She had to leave. She had her car, but she couldn’t drive and couldn’t fathom calling her parents.

  She called Thomas, Thomas, who the last time she’d seen him told her if she ever needed anything to call him. He picked her up, but he hadn’t been happy about it. He’d been angry in that scary way only Thomas could get. Being drunk, she’d gotten angry too. They fought. Then he threw something in her face, something she hadn’t been able to forget.

  Eyes hard, jaw clenched, hands in fists, he shouted, “You’re coming home with me ’cause I had to give up good pussy to come get you.”

  Even thinking of it then, hurt. No, killed.

  Heart clenching, she tore her gaze from his.

  “Told you three years ago I was pissed, that I didn’t mean that comment about ‘good pussy.’ I admitted it was fucked and apologized. Now, I’m telling you it wasn’t just about me being pissed. It was that I was terrified for you. And with reason, Tiff. Your drink was spiked. That guy, the one whose party it was, spiked your drink.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t know that it was hi—”

  He leaned in closer. “I know. I know ’cause the next day I woke up, you were gone, so I rode over to that guy’s place, and he admitted it. And Tiff, a guy like that, a guy who spikes a girl’s drink, spikes it for one reason. He wanted in your pants, and he went about doing that by getting you obliterated. He didn’t give a fuck if you passed out. He would’ve taken a piece of you, a piece of you you would’ve never gotten back.”

  His stare pained, he shook his head. “Something like that happens to a woman, any woman, I’m not down with that. Something like that happened to you, I’d hate myself for the rest of my life, hate myself ’cause I didn’t save you.”

  God, he said it like it tortured him.

  Her brows drew together. “I-I…”

  “You still bring it up. Forgive me. Try to believe me when I say I didn’t mean it and forget it ’cause I didn’t mean it, Tiff. Swear on my life, I didn’
t mean that.”

  He had apologized all those years ago, and here, he’d apologized again. Her throat clogged. She nodded.

  “Said you were ‘cute,’ and you took it to mean I see you as a sister.”

  True. In her defense, what else did “cute” mean? Babies were cute. Puppies and kittens were cute. Your sister was cute. It wasn’t something you said to a woman you cared about in more than a platonic way. Then again, he didn’t care about her the way she cared about him, the way she wished he cared about her.

  “I’m not gonna sit here and lie to you. I’m a man, and men have casual sex. They don’t wait around for the right girl. You’re smart. I don’t need to tell you this for you to know it’s true.”

  He released a breath. “Tell me what I said.”

  “You’re sorry about what you said all those years ago, and I know men have causal sex.”

  He held her gaze. “Don’t gotta sister. If I had one, I’m positive one look at her wouldn’t get me hard. I’ve been hard for days ’cause you’re walking around the apartment in tiny shorts, showing too much leg, so I can’t help it.”

  She swallowed. The sound of her heart pounding harder and harder echoed in her ears above the blaring music. “What?”

  He leaned closer, his too beautiful sapphire eyes darkening. “You’re a beautiful girl, Tiff. Knew it when I was sixteen, and I know it now.”

  Why the hell hadn’t he asked her out? Maybe he was physically attracted to her but knew she wasn’t the type to have casual sex?

  If a man wants you, he makes it known, makes it happen. Case closed. No man waited more than seven years. It meant he lied, but why? Did he know how she felt about him and lied to make her feel better?

  Shit.

  He knew.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. He knew, and he’d known for quite a while. He probably read it written all over her face even then. Her actions proved it too, every time she cooked for him, ran a load of his laundry, cleaned up after him without complaint.