Down & Dirty: Zak (Dirty Angels MC Book 1)

by Jeanne St. James

  Sophie heard the silent, “And then fuck,” he was tacking onto the end of that in his mind.

  Wasn’t much of a choice. “How about neither. I hate church.”

  This time he definitely snorted. He leaned over and switched on the lamp next to the couch. Sophie squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light.

  Hot damn, he looked even better in the light.

  Fuck her life.

  His beard was freshly trimmed tight to his jaw, his hair actually looked like he ran a comb through it even though it had a shaggy, sexy tousled look to it. His eyes were lit up with amusement.

  Then there was the rest of him. He had a well-fitting pair of Levi’s encasing his long legs which ended at his black biker boots, of course. And on her way back up, she noticed the same belt as yesterday, and couldn’t forget that grimy black leather vest. Under it was a black thermal Henley that snugged his torso. And his muscular arms. And that muscular chest of his. She finally let her eyes rise to his and he wore a wide smile.

  Cocky.

  “Babe. Yeah, thinking stayin’ here and fuckin’ may be the choice you’ll be makin’. I brought a few.”

  Sophie shook herself out of her daze. “A few what?”

  “Wraps. Nothin’s gonna hold us back tonight.”

  Well, that was a relief.

  Not.

  Goddamn it.

  So, now, here she was getting her ass planted in front of the bonfire with his arm hanging heavily around her neck like a noose. If that wasn’t bad enough, she couldn’t miss that she was getting the eyeball from some of the other women and definitely from some of the men.

  It wasn’t because her tits were hanging out. Oh, no. He had pulled her from the couch into her bedroom and had picked out what she was going to wear. What she was allowed to wear.

  Cocky.

  A thick, high-necked sweater, which, in her opinion, made her breasts look even bigger, and a pair of hip-hugging jeans tucked into her boots. Then he had said, “Need to get you a vest.”

  “Why? Is it going to be that cold?” she’d asked.

  To that he just shook his head and hauled her out of her apartment after making sure all the doors were locked, tucking her into the passenger seat of a car she was surprised he drove. Mainly because it was such a clunker.

  Then he flipped his vest inside out before getting in the driver seat. When she gave him a questioning look, he ignored her, blaring the radio and driving like a madman through the streets of Shadow Valley and into the private parking lot behind The Iron Horse.

  Presently, she tried to ignore the looks being shot her way. “So, what’s the party for tonight?”

  “It’s Saturday night.”

  “I know. So, what’s the party for tonight?”

  Zak tugged her closer, a beer hanging from the fingers in one hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re cute.”

  “So... what I’m getting is that there isn’t any reason for this party, other than it’s Saturday night.”

  He lifted the bottle to his lips. “Yep.” Sophie watched his throat move as he swallowed.

  Goddamn it.

  To distract herself from all that was hot, fuckable Zak, she continued to chatter. “You guys just had a party a couple nights ago.”

  “Pig roast. Different.”

  “What the hell’s the difference between a pig roast and a party?”

  “A pig.”

  Sophie threw her hands up and groaned. For her sanity, she decided to broach another subject. “Who are these women? Some sort of groupies?”

  Zak grinned. “Somethin’ like that. Some are ol’ ladies. Some not. Some are strippers from Heaven’s Angels. They like to hang with us.”

  She ignored the stripper part since she’d been rudely introduced to three of them the other night while in Zak’s bed. His homecoming offering from a dude named Dawg. How fitting. And disturbing.

  “Ol’ ladies?”

  “Yeah, they belong to a brother.”

  “Like a wife?”

  “Some are.” He tipped his bottle towards one of the women walking away from the fire. The flames cast a glow onto the back of her vest. “See what she’s wearin’?”

  The woman wore a vest that had three patches very clearly declaring her, “Property of Pierce,” in large capital letters on her back. No missing that.

  That had better not be the type of vest Zak mentioned earlier about her wearing. There was no way she’d ever wear something that declared her property of a man. Any man.

  No way, no how.

  As Sophie’s eyes surveyed the crowd, she noticed not too many of the women wore them. That was a relief.

  “What’s the difference between being an ol’ lady and not being one?”

  “A whole lot.”

  “Like?”

  “Like you belong to your man.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. She never heard anything so archaic. “And the rest of the women don’t belong to anyone.”

  “Nope.”

  “Fair game.”

  “Yep. They’re here to entertain us. Please us. Serve us. Whatever.”

  Entertain them. Please them. Serve them. Whatever. Sophie pulled away enough to stare up at him. “You can just pick any one of them and fuck them?”

  “One. Two. More.”

  “More,” Sophie echoed, eyes narrowed. More caveman shit.

  “They wanna hang around the club, hang ‘round us, they need to make it worth our while. They drink our booze, eat our food, then they get our dick. They clean the church. They help cook sometimes. Small price to pay.”

  Sophie arched an eyebrow. “Really.” She didn’t understand the thrill of hanging out with a bunch of Neanderthals on the chance of ending up in one of their beds temporarily. As if they were sex gods. Which she was sure most of them were not.

  A shocking thought made her ask in a shaky whisper, “Am I one of them?”

  Zak turned to her, slid a thumb down her cheek, then cupped her chin to raise her face to his. “No, babe, you’re not.”

  “What makes me different?”

  His eyes shuttered, and he hesitated. “’Cause you’re mine.”

  “What do you mean I’m yours?”

  “Mine. Self-explanatory.”

  “Am I your ol’ lady?” she asked, struggling to keep the panic out of her voice.

  “Not yet. But you will be.”

  “So goddamned cocky.”

  “Don’t see you fightin’ it.”

  “Can’t fight what doesn’t exist.”

  “It exists.”

  Sophie sighed. He had to be one of the most frustrating men she ever met.

  “You’ll accept it.”

  And there it was. Grunt. Grunt. Pound. Pound. Club a woman, then drag her around by her hair.

  “Are you all like this?”

  He took another swig of his beer, then dropped his eyes to her. “Like what?”

  “Like you.”

  “Doubt it.”

  “Thank fuck for that,” she murmured.

  He laughed and pressed his lips to her temple. “Sophie, look at me.”

  Why she did, she’ll never know. Maybe it was the way he said it, his voice low in her ear, sexy, drawing a response from deep within her belly. But fool that she was, she looked up.

  Then his lips came down. He took ownership of her mouth right there in front of the fire, in front of his friends, his buddies, and all the females that had been eyeing Zak up.

  His tongue separated her lips and dug deep, exploring, making her melt against him, moan at the back of her throat. Her fingers clutched his leather vest, hanging on for dear life. Because, damn it if a simple kiss from him made her weak in the knees. She should be pounding on his chest and insisting he let her go.

  Not that he would, like the first night he snagged her and threw her over his shoulder to haul her up to his bed. She had pounded on him then, too. It hadn’t done a damn bit of good.

  The man wanted what he
wanted. And what he wanted was her.

  She was so screwed.

  Almost from afar, she heard the catcalls and whistles, which caused Zak to bend over her, lean his weight into her, take her deeper, kiss her harder with a hand at the back of her head, pressing her close, keeping her connected.

  When he finally released her mouth, she gasped for breath, because it felt like he’d sucked all the air from her lungs. And somehow her panties had gotten soaked.

  Goddamn Zak.

  “Might have to cut outta this party early,” he murmured against her lips. There was no mistaking the kiss affected him as much as it had her. His eyes were hooded, his breathing as ragged as hers, and his erection pressed to her hip.

  She quivered at the thought of him throwing her over his shoulder again and taking her back to his room to use some of those “wraps.”

  He grabbed her hand and took her farther away from the fire. But instead of heading inside and up the stairs, he pulled her over to a picnic table under an open pavilion and sat on the top of the table with his feet on the bench, encouraging her to settle beside him. Which she did.

  Because she was a fool.

  “Was gettin’ too hot.”

  He wasn’t the only one.

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, and, fool that she was, she moved to snuggle closer to him.

  These last few days have involved a plethora of bad decisions. What was one more, right?

  He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Not that she expected him to be chatty. He certainly wasn’t that. But this life he immersed himself in fascinated her. Once again, because she was a fool, she didn’t know how to keep her curiosity to herself.

  She thought of the parking lot out back and how packed it had been. With cars, not bikes. “I thought this was a motorcycle club. Where are all the motorcycles?”

  He paused a beat, then two. Finally, he asked, “Why were you hangin’ by the bonfire?”

  “Because it’s cold.”

  “Babe. Just answered your own question.” He snagged the beer bottle next to him and upended it, draining the last of the beer out of it. He slapped the bottle back on the table. She expected him to release a loud belch after downing the beer, but surprisingly he didn’t. Maybe the man had some manners after all.

  “There’re some brothers who are diehards, have steel nuts, or are just plain nuts, who ride all year long. As soon as it warms up, you’ll be on the back of mine. Don’t worry.”

  “I wasn’t asking because I was worried. There’s no reason for me to ever ride on the back of a motorcycle.”

  Zak stared at her and simply said, “Babe,” in the way that he did when he thought her comment was amusing.

  But then his gaze flipped up and forward as something caught his attention.

  A woman headed their direction, dragging a man behind her. Well, there was a switch. A woman taking charge of her man in this archaic club.

  “Fuckin’ Ivy,” Zak murmured, shaking his head.

  “What?”

  “Bringin’ a man here who don’t belong. Pierce ain’t gonna be happy.”

  “Who’s Pierce?”

  “Prez.”

  “Prez. President? Of the club?”

  “Yeah. He ain’t gonna be the only one not happy. Jag’s gonna shit a brick.”

  She wanted to ask who Jag was, but the woman was getting too close. From what Sophie could see in the limited light and the glow of the bonfire, the woman had red hair, though not bright red, more like a deep auburn red. And she might be about their age. Maybe a little younger. No doubt she was really pretty. Really with a capital R.

  “She’s probably doing it to piss him off... Hey, Ivy.”

  As soon as this Ivy woman hit the concrete pad under the pavilion, she dropped her companion’s hand like it was a hot coal. Most likely because she only had eyes for Zak. Though she gave Sophie a quick once-over before pinning her full attention back on the man sitting on the picnic table.

  Well, then.

  She didn’t know who this Jag was, but this Ivy certainly held some interest in Zak. Yes, it was that obvious. She wondered if this Jag knew that little tidbit.

  Sophie sat straighter and checked out the guy Ivy had dragged along. Normal guy, wearing normal clothes, normal haircut. Just normal. Probably had a normal job and normal boring life.

  Sophie wondered if he was a fellow kidnapping victim. She gave him a smile, and he smiled back, but his eyes went quickly back to Ivy. Damn. Puppy dog eyes. He was crushing on her big time.

  He definitely wasn’t there against his will. Nope. Only Sophie was.

  “Damn, Z, it’s been so freaking long. Get your ass up and give me a hug.”

  Oh, she wanted to cop a feel of Zak? Not cool.

  Zak hopped up, landed on his booted feet and enveloped the other woman in his arms. When she laid a kiss on his lips, Sophie shifted and frowned. And it wasn’t a quick, friendly peck, either.

  “Damn, you look good, Z. So glad you’re home. We need to hook up.”

  Hook up? Like for coffee? Or for boot knocking?

  Hold on...

  “Yeah, we do.”

  Sophie’s eyes slid to Zak, and she frowned harder at him. But his back was to her. Well, until he turned and introduced her. “Ivy, this is Sophie. Sophie, Ivy.”

  Ivy gave her a little smile and a small wave. Sophie said, “Hi,” then tipped her chin in greeting... just like a biker chick would do.

  She groaned silently and tried not to smack the heel of her palm into her forehead.

  She was so fucked. She just needed to admit it and accept it.

  Ivy brushed fingers through Zak’s hair, sort of ruffling it, sort of caressing it. Heavy on the caressing. “I like it long.”

  “Yeah,” was his response.

  Yeah?

  And when Ivy brushed her fingers over his beard, that’s when Sophie felt her hackles go up. That was her beard. It belonged between her thighs.

  And... fuck.

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  The possessive caveman mentality was rubbing off on her. Zak was not her man.

  Hell to the no.

  “Well... This is Adam,” she said, haphazardly flinging a hand in her date’s direction.

  “Where’d you find him?” Zak asked, acting as if the man couldn’t hear him.

  Rude.

  Ivy lifted a shoulder, peeking over her shoulder at Adam, then looking at Zak again. “He wandered into the pawn shop one day looking for a TV and found me instead.”

  Zak gave a slight nod, his eyes flicking to Adam over Ivy’s shoulder then back to her face. “Lucky him.” He lifted a brow at Ivy. “You ask Pierce?”

  And as if the two of them understood each other without using complete sentences, Ivy said. “All good.”

  “Right.”

  “Serious.”

  “Okay. Jag’s here.”

  “I know.”

  “Just a warning.”

  “None needed.”

  Sophie watched the two of them talking like a tennis match. She tried to fill in the blanks but gave up.

  “We’ll get a drink soon and catch up,” she finally said.

  “Okay.”

  “Come work at the pawn shop.”

  “Ace doesn’t need any more help.”

  “He loves you like a son, you know.”

  “Ivy, he doesn’t need any more help,” Zak repeated firmly.

  Ivy lifted one shoulder. “Okay, Z.” She leaned over, kissed him on the lips—the lips! Again!—slid a hand slowly down his chest, then spun on her heel, grabbed Adam’s hand and dragged him back across the yard through the dark toward the fire, the kegs, and the coolers.

  And the fool followed her like the lost puppy that he was.

  Not that she had any right to be calling any other sap a fool. She was the queen fool right now.

  Yes, she was.

  When Zak hitched himself back onto the picnic table, she said, “She’
s got a thing for you.”

  “Nah.”

  “Yeah, Zeeee. A woman knows these things.”

  He stared the direction Ivy went then his head spun back to Sophie. “Nah. She don’t want me.”

  “She called you Z.”

  “Everyone calls me Z. Don’t mean shit.”

  Sophie sighed. “Fine. I imagined it.”

  A smile crept across his face and he leaned closer until he was practically nose to nose with her. “Jealous?”

  “No.”

  “Think you are. A man knows these things.” He pressed his lips to hers lightly, then pulled back. “She’s Jag’s anyway.”

  “Huh. Unless Adam’s nickname is Jag, I don’t think so.”

  “Nah. She’s Jag’s.”

  “Did anyone let her in on that?”

  “Jag did.”

  “Ah. So, I see it went over well. He got the girl.”

  “He’ll get her.”

  Sophie shook her head in disbelief. “Damn you cocky-assed men. You all are something else.”

  “We see what we want, we get it.”

  “That simple.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good to know.”

  “You already knew.”

  She sighed. She needed to extract herself from the conversation that was going to go nowhere but on a trip to frustration-land. “I need to hit a bathroom.”

  “Breaking the seal?”

  “What does that mean?” Already she needed to break out her Biker Translator app. Jeez. Whoever invented one would be a millionaire.

  Zak just shook his head and flung a thumb towards the side door of the clubhouse. “Inside. Make a left. Be careful. Hurry back.”

  Be careful? Really?

  “Who should I be careful of? The men or the women?”

  “Both.”

  Sweet. Just what she needed to hear.

  As she strode with a purpose through the yard, through a few pockets of people, Bikers, bitches, ol’ ladies, whoever, she kept her eyes pinned to her destination. The side door of the clubhouse. No point in making eye contact with people she wasn’t sure who would be friendly or not, nor did she turn around to glance back at Zak. Though, the second part was the hardest.

  She stopped at the grey steel door and forced herself to not pound her head against it until she knocked some sense back into herself.

  She stepped back quickly when the door swung open and a thin, lanky young male, wearing what was now a familiar vest, froze in place. He eyeballed her up and down. Then his inspection came to a stop on her breasts. See? The sweater made her breasts look way bigger.