Glancing at the front, I expect to see, Aryan Whore, written in black but it’s blank instead. I let out a sigh of relief, my heartbeat slow as I slip my finger beneath the flap and begin to open it. There is a glossy photograph inside and I pull it out.
My eyes water at the sight, instantly. It’s a picture of Prescott and a woman. I can’t see her face, but I really don’t need to, nor do I want to. She’s bent over a bed and he’s fucking her from behind.
His eyes are closed, and his head is tipped back, his hands wrapped around her hips. I can’t look away. I can tell by his beard and hair alone that the picture is older.
If there’s a timestamp on the back, I know without a doubt that it would be sometime during my kidnapping. It shouldn’t hurt me to see this because I knew he’d been with other people. The photo shakes as I turn it over to look at the back. There isn’t a date or a time, but there’s writing, big black bold writing.
He won’t miss you.
I let out a quiet sob at seeing the words. I know they’re fake, my head knows it’s all fake and it’s all bullshit to scare me, and to make me feel unworthy of Prescott.
Lifting my hand, I wrap my fingers around my neck, around his brand that claims me as his. He loves me, and he would be broken without me. Just like I would be broken without him.
I gently slide the picture back into the envelope and open a drawer on the side of my desk, slipping it inside. Is there no place I can go that this weirdo hasn’t left me a note, and with it, leaving me with fearful or bad memories?
Sucking in a breath, I try to breathe. I need to breathe. I cannot let this person control me, and yet, I can’t let them continue to terrorize me as well.
I made a promise to myself that one more note and I would tell Prescott. That note is this one, but I can’t bring myself to call and tell him. I don’t want to be shoved into the clubhouse and held there on lockdown. I don’t want to be a burden, and I know with this, he’ll worry.
The rest of the afternoon I focus. I focus on everything except that picture, as hard as it is, eventually I’m so immersed in my work that I don’t realize what time it is.
The door opens, and I glance up to see Prescott standing in the doorway. Blinking once, I look at my computer to check the time and am surprised to see that it’s after seven in the evening.
“You haven’t had anything to eat all day,” he growls.
I lean back in my chair. “Good evening to you as well, husband,” I smirk.
He grunts and tosses a paper bag in the center of my desk. I’m excited to see that it’s from my favorite hot dog place. I don’t even care that it’s horrible for me, but I really hope that there’s a chili cheese dog inside.
Opening the bag, I reach in and grab the foil-wrapped dog, opening it to reveal exactly what I’d hoped was in there.
I shift from side to side in my chair, excitement and hunger rolling through me. Prescott chuckles as he flops down on the sofa across from me. “How was your day?” I ask after taking a huge bite of food.
He shakes his head with a smile. “Long, tiring,” he yawns.
I don’t ask what he did all day, he wouldn’t tell me even if I did. Plus, I don’t really want to know. I’m sure it’s all things that I would pretty much disapprove of anyway.
“Same here. I can’t believe that I worked so long, I didn’t even realize it,” I admit as I finish inhaling my hot dog.
Prescott lifts his chin as I open the water that was also in the bag and take a few huge gulps. “C’mon over here, peaches.”
I can see the look in his eye, the fire that’s burning in his green gaze. I glance at the office door and see that it’s not only closed, but locked.
Standing from my chair, I set my water bottle down and make my way over to him. Sinking down in the seat next to him, I hold my breath and I wait.
Prescott lifts his hand and wraps it around the side of my neck, his thumb slides back and forth against the S on my Snake tattoo.
Lifting my own hand, I wrap my fingers around his wrist and continue to stare into his deep green eyes. “Pres, what’s wrong?” I breathe.
He shakes his head once. “My dad thinks that someone out to hurt me is here,” he admits, and my heart begins to thump in my chest. “He wants me to put you on lockdown. He said it back at the house the other day, and again at the clubhouse today he mentioned it.”
My head flies from side to side. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be on lockdown, not now, and not ever again. Prescott’s thumb glides across my bottom lip and I watch as he grins.
“I know you don’t want to go, and I won’t make you. I think he’s being paranoid. This person isn’t here for you, or for me, he’s here for someone else,” he murmurs.
His words roll around in my head for only a few minutes before my eyes widen and it dawns on me. “He’s here for Hayden?” I guess.
Prescott nods, his eyes closing before they reopen. There’s a sadness there I don’t understand, and I have a feeling I don’t want to understand either.
I inhale a deep breath, letting it out. “I think I’ll put Hayden and Crooner on lockdown, but that leaves the bar without a daytime worker. Traci is good to handle the nights, right?” he asks.
“I could do the days only,” I announce, and he scowls. “No, seriously. Traci has been awesome, Hayden tells me that the bar is spotless every afternoon when she opens and that the till is always exactly what it should be and where it should be. She said that all she has to do is inventory and serve the customers, which during the day are few and far between. I don’t think it would be stressful at all,” I quickly ramble.
“You miss it,” he guesses on a whisper.
I nod. “I miss it,” I agree.
He leans his head back, closing his eyes for just a moment. “Fine, fuck it. The second your doctor has any kind of concern, you’re done,” he growls. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek, then pepper kisses all the way over to his lips.
Prescott grunts, his hand leaving my neck and sliding down my side to my ass. I moan when his tongue slips between my lips, opening my mouth wider for his entrance. He slips between my lips, his tongue warm and firm as it swirls around my mouth.
I let out a low moan in the back of my throat and reach for something to grab hold of. My fingers find his cut and I clench it tightly, holding on for dear life. Prescott nibbles my bottom lip as he gently pulls away from me, and I lick the spot, wishing he would come back.
Slowly, I open my eyes and the heat in them, the fire, it makes my pussy clench. Sliding down to my knees, I crawl between his legs and reach for his belt.
“Peaches,” he says as I slowly unbuckle him, and begin to unbutton, and unzip.
Prescott lifts his ass as I gently pull his jeans down over his hips, along with his underwear. Licking my lips, I take in the sight of his cock. It’s hard and thick, resting against his belly and I want it, in my mouth, then in my aching pussy.
Leaning forward, I slip my tongue from my mouth and lick the entire underside of his length. “Fuck,” he hisses as his hand immediately fists in my hair. “Take me, peaches, suck me,” he growls.
I know when not to fuck around, and right now is not the time. I open my mouth, waiting for him. He shifts his body to stand, and then his cock is sinking down my throat.
His hand in my hair tugs my neck back slightly and I look up at him through my lashes. His deep green eyes are hungry as they watch his cock disappear down my throat, over and over.
Keeping my eyes on him, I watch as he clenches his jaw, his control on the verge of slipping. I don’t care though, I wish it would—it won’t, not with me being pregnant. He’s been so careful, and he will continue to be until the baby arrives, I love it and yet I hate it all at the same time.
Prescott pulls out of my mouth and growls before he speaks. “Take your clothes off, I need that pussy.”
A thrill rushes up my spine at the desire in his voice.
Need.
He looks around the room, no doubt trying to decide how we’re going to do this. My belly keeps getting in the way of all the fun, and I know it’s going to get worse before it’s better.
“Stay right there, on your knees,” he grunts.
SNAKE
Ginger is in front of me, naked, hot and needy. I sink to my knees behind her, wanting nothing other than to drive inside of her pussy. “Arms up,” I grunt. She raises her arms straight into the air.
Sliding my palms from her biceps to her wrists, I gently tug them back and she bends her elbows as she grabs ahold of the hair at the nape of my neck.
I take her hips in my hand and pull them back, my breathing now seriously fucking labored as my mind swirls with anticipation.
Grabbing ahold of her tit, I massage it, careful not to squeeze her too roughly before I tweak her nipple. Her breath hitches before she arches her back a little more, rubbing her ass along my hard cock.
Slipping my hand between us, I take my dick and align it with her center before I surge inside of her.
Ginger lets out a long moan, her fingers gripping my hair tighter. I don’t take her as hard or as fast, as I want to, still too cautious about the baby she carries. Gliding my hand around her hip, I press two fingers against her clit, stroking her lightly.
“Pres,” she cries as she thrusts back, her ass pushing into my pelvis.
I groan, feeling her soft flesh against me as she urges for more. Leaning over her back, I sink my teeth into the side of her neck, sucking on her skin.
She’s close, I can feel her cunt flutter around me and when she comes, it’s going to be magnificent. My lower back tingles with anticipation, on the verge of my own release.
Pinching her nipple, I tug on her tit, feeling her pussy clench before I pinch her clit as well and that’s what sends her toppling over.
She lets out a long mewl, her thighs shaking as her cunt squeezes me so tightly that it aches. I don’t stop driving inside of her, not until I plant myself as deeply as I can and let out a shout with my own climax.
When my cock stops twitching, I gently glide in and out of her wet heat, groaning at just how warm and wet she is from our mixed releases. “Let’s get you home, you have work tomorrow,” I murmur against her neck.
“Once I catch my breath, that’ll be great,” she whispers.
I chuckle, standing behind her. Walking in front of her, I hold out my hand to help her to her feet, then go over to her desk to grab a tissue to clean up. A few minutes later we’re dressed, and then she’s closing down her office before we head out of the room.
Ginger locks her office door behind her, then together we walk out of the bar. I see a few knowing looks from my brothers as we walk by them, along with smirks.
I shake my head, uncaring that they know I was fucking my woman. I flip them off before walking out of the bar, and I hear a few wolf calls and whistles as the door closes behind us.
“Did they all know what we were doing in my office?” Ginger whispers as I walk her toward my truck.
I shrug, sliding my hand from its place on her lower back to her waist, pulling her against my side. Lowering my chin, I place my lips against her temple. “Does it matter?”
She makes a noise in the back of her throat and then groans loudly. “You guys are way too fucking open.”
I chuckle as I open the pickup door for her. “Being open would be fucking you in the clubhouse bar for the world to see,” I announce.
Her eyes narrow as she pulls the seatbelt on and buckles herself in. “That’s a hard no, Pres,” she grunts.
Leaning forward, I press a firm kiss to her lips. “Know that, peaches. Also, if anybody looked at your naked body, brother or not, I’d gut them where they stood,” I admit with a shrug.
Slamming the door closed, I jog around to the driver’s side and I climb inside. Starting the engine, I put the truck in gear and head toward home. Ginger reaches out, wrapping her hand around my thigh and we drive home in comfortable silence.
This is my woman, and she’s only mine to look at. Maybe I would feel different if the shit that happened to her, hadn’t have happened, but it did.
I can’t go back and change things, and neither can she. I don’t want any fuckers to look at her, simple as that.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GINGER
I pull the stool up to the bar with a sigh as I sit down. Hayden left this place immaculate last night. I glance over at Fish who is on babysitting duty for the day. He looks up, giving me a grin before he goes back to his phone.
I’m sure he’s playing a game or something, whatever it is, it looks intense. It’s slow this afternoon, but I don’t mind. Reaching toward the shelf beneath the bar, I pull out the payroll, and checkbook to finish up what I started yesterday.
Walking into my office this morning, I felt a rush of sexy memories from last night, that is, until I opened the drawer for my books.
That fucking envelope was there, taunting me.
They’re starting to pile up, one in my panty drawer, one in my bathroom, and now this one.
They’re all around me, reminding me that I’m not safe and that I’m being watched. Fear claws at my throat and as much as I want to ignore it, I know that I can’t.
“Hey there darlin’, good to see you back here again,” a familiar voice calls out.
My body jerks and I look up to see Clyde, one of the regulars, belly up to the bar. Closing my paperwork, I shove it all beneath the bar. With a smile, I slide off of the barstool and make my way over to him.
Setting down a coaster, I reach for a glass and fill it with his favorite draft, which is always the house draft of the week, doesn’t matter what it is. “How are you doing, Clyde? The factory treating you okay?” I ask.
He nods, taking the glass from my hand. I watch as he takes his first sip, sighing as the liquid passes his lips. “Cut me back to thirty hours a week,” he mutters shaking his head. “Don’t mind it too much though, they’re giving the young guys with families a little more than me.”
“You going to be okay?” I ask him.
I’m not a bartender asking a client, just to be nice, I’m speaking to my friend. Clyde is in his late fifties, he’s worked hard all of his life, but he’s single, never married, and as far as I know, he’s never even had a steady woman.
He shrugs, taking another sip from his glass. “I’m always okay, darlin’,” he winks.
I can tell that he’s not talkative today, he’s contemplative, so I go back to my paperwork and finish it quickly.
Hayden won’t be in today, or anytime soon. She also won’t be around to pick up her check, so I stuff it in an envelope and text Crooner that I have it behind the bar with me.
Traci and my nighttime bartender, Ned’s, checks I stick in their cubbies at the end of the bar. It feels good to be caught up on my work, and I’m glad that I came in and was able to focus all day yesterday.
I keep Clyde’s glass filled all day long, knowing that whatever is bothering him today, won’t be solved at the bottom of the glass, but he needs it for whatever reason. Fish continues to play on his phone as the hours tick by, and I find myself daydreaming about my baby girl’s nursery.
A few hours later, something ugly slithers over me, and my body shivers as I look toward the door. When my eyes land on the figure in the doorway, I’m frozen solid.
No.
It can’t be.
I blink, praying that the figure disappears, but it doesn’t. He’s tall, bigger than I remembered. His head is shaved bald, and his blue eyes are bright and directed straight toward me.
I stand from the barstool that I’m resting on, backing up until I hit the wall behind me. The bottles on the glass shelves above me rattle but I don’t look up, I can’t.
Tipping his head to the side, he glances at Fish, then back at me wit
h a grin. I watch as he sits down nonchalantly, like he isn’t a fucking monster.
My hands shake, so I clench them in fists at my side, my eyes unable to leave his cold blue ones. He masks the monster well behind his gaze, but I know it all too well. I’ve seen it in action.
“Ginger, have you received my notes?” he whispers.
It’s bold of him to show up here, so fucking bold. But that’s him. He feels invincible, untouchable. He isn’t. Prescott will kill him, and I’ll watch. I shrug, attempting to seem cool, however, I’m anything but. I’m not sure I want to say anything to him, afraid that I’ll have a tremble in my voice.
“No words for me? I thought we were friends?” he asks, then clucks his tongue.
“Never,” I hiss.
He smirks. Then his hand shifts and I watch as he places another fucking envelope on the center of my bar. I glance down at it, imagining that it’s going to get up and attack me. When my eyes go back to him, he gives me a fucking smile. He looks like the devil in the flesh.
“See you soon,” he whispers.
Then he stands up, and just as you please, walks out of my bar. My heart hammers against my chest as I continue to watch him. That is until Fish is in the place he vacated with his hand on the envelope that he left.
“No,” I breathe.
Fish’s eyes meet mine and he shakes his head once. “I know who that was, girl. I’da shot him in the back of the head, but I ain’t no pussy. Now that I see this, I’m thinking I shoulda,” he mutters.
Clyde clears his throat, and I glance over at him, horror assuredly written all over my face. “Whatever that was, you better face it, girl, don’t hide it away,” he states.
I hate that he’s so right. I’ve been avoiding it all, hoping it would go away. Seeing that monster here, right in my face, in my bar, I realize it’s not going anywhere. Not until someone is dead, and the only person I want to die, is him.
Laced with Fear Page 11