by Wilde, Kati
And I’d head out to clean up a much bigger mess—first by spilling a river of blood, then by mopping it up. Our assault on the Eighty-Eight’s compound will never come back on the Riders, not as long as I’m alive.
The prez’s eyes narrow. “So maybe that’s all the reminder he needs. If he opens his mouth about the Eighty-Eight, it won’t be us stringing him up. It’ll be his new friends.”
“I’ll see that he gets the message.” And when the prez keeps eyeing me, I tell him, “I’ll deliver it gently.”
He smiles a bit before looking to the others. No arguments from them.
So the decision’s been made. Business done, Stone gives a heavy sigh like he’s disappointed. “I guess it’s best. It might start some shit if we whack their new boy.”
“Shit’s going to start anyway,” I say.
Thorne nods his agreement before looking to the prez. “Why hasn’t it yet? We’ve been expecting it for the past month.”
“They haven’t been as successful recruiting local muscle as they were in other chapters.” The prez moved quickly when the Hangmen came into the region, reaching out to other MCs and offering our support and protection. He nods to me. “Blowback figures they’ve also had their hands full taking over the Eighty-Eight’s operations.”
“But now they’ve had time to get a handle on it,” I add. Running meth, girls, and anything else their business partners tell them to run. “So they’ll be making their move soon.”
Stone shakes his head. “You think Valentine has any idea how lucky he is?”
“No,” the prez says.
Because the little shit didn’t just insult Lily on his way out, though that would have been enough to earn Valentine a lesson in respect. He all but pissed on the Riders’ colors. If the Hangmen hadn’t rolled into the Eighty-Eight’s place at the same time Val walked, he’d have been schooled several times over by now. But although the prez would probably like to pound his fist through Valentine’s face himself, he’s not important enough to warrant the effort.
The meeting’s over, but I stay put as Thorne and Stone head out of the office. There’s business that even the VP and enforcer haven’t been looped into.
The prez rocks back in his chair. “You hear anything from Creek?”
One of the Devil’s Hangmen, and an undercover FBI agent. A man without family ties or friends, he wouldn’t have expected to be recognized—or to run into me, an operative he served with years ago. But I’m not interested in exposing him. He’s here to discover who’s providing the Devil’s Hangmen with their merchandise, to map their supply line, and eventually take the network out. As long as he doesn’t touch the Riders, I’m willing to exchange info with him.
“Nothing worth repeating,” I tell the prez now. Aside from Lily, he’s the only Rider aware of Creek’s background.
He nods, but by the way his expression tightens I see he’s already thinking about something that doesn’t have anything to do with Creek. “The Hangmen will be looking to make us fall in line. Do I need to worry about Jenny?”
His woman. Hurting her wouldn’t make him fall in line. It’d destroy him—but not before he flayed every Hangman to the bone.
“Their prez won’t come after you. Not through her. Croc is looking to cut your legs out from under you so he can step on you later. That means taking your strength.” The Riders’ officers and the strongest patchholders. “But put Hashtag and Scarecrow on Jenny, anyway.”
All at once he’s rigid. “Why?”
“Because you’ll worry anyway when this shit starts going down, and you’ll worry less if you know they’re looking over her.”
He eases back a bit. “I’d tell you to fuck off, but you’re right.”
That doesn’t warrant a response. It’s my job to know what the prez needs. He needs Jenny. So I’ll do whatever necessary to make sure he always has her.
Now he pushes up out of his seat, goes to the window overlooking the pines behind the clubhouse. “First the Eighty-Eight. Now the Hangmen. I bet that nomad’s life started looking good again these past few months.”
Because of the shit that’s been coming our way? Escaping trouble was never why I considered taking a nomad’s patch all those years ago—still wearing the Riders’ colors, but roaming rather than living in one place. No, I considered leaving Pine Valley because the club was the only reason I had to stay. I’ll be a Rider until I die but it’s not enough. A man’s got to belong somewhere and I didn’t feel I belonged here.
But over the course of a few months, it all changed. The owner of the garage where I was working offered to sell it to me. Shortly after that, Lucifer died, Saxon was voted in as the Riders’ prez, and he appointed me as his VP.
Then Lily Burns came home from Afghanistan and fought her way into the club. Fucking Lily Burns, with engine oil beneath her fingernails and steel behind her gray eyes. With her husky laugh and her endless legs. With the fire inside her that keeps blazing no matter how many motherfuckers have tried stamping it out.
I had plenty of reasons to stay after that. Taking care of this shit is just the price of belonging, so it’s one I’ll gladly pay.
Besides, I don’t mind trouble. It gives me more to do. “Croc will come after the others. Probably not the old-timers, but he might try to pull them in because it’ll be a kick in the balls to see them wearing the Hangmen colors. If he does, he’ll target their kids, their old ladies. But I expect he’ll threaten the younger brothers first, especially anyone with standing in the club. The only one he won’t touch is Lily. Croc’s not going to recruit a woman.”
The prez’s eyebrows shoot together. “Will Croc come after you?”
“Maybe.” Or try again to have me killed. He would if he knew I snapped his enforcer’s neck.
“Then he might go after Zoomie,” the prez says, then narrows his eyes when I frown at him. “You said they target old ladies.”
“Lily doesn’t belong to me.” She’ll never belong to anyone—a fact that I’m all too fucking aware of. She’s invited me to share her bed for a short time. That doesn’t make her mine.
“You think that matters? They look at you, at her, and they’ll have a way to come at you. You don’t see that?”
No. I only see Lily.
But fuck if he isn’t probably right. Weighing risks means calculating them. I take most threats at face value and don’t always add in the shithead factor. When assholes like Croc see Lily, they only see pussy—and that pussy belongs to anyone who’s sticking their dick into it. What she really is doesn’t matter.
All at once my chest is tight as hell. All this time, I figured she was safe. “I’ll look after her.”
The prez snorts out a laugh. “You think you need to?”
I won’t be able to stop myself. But I keep my mouth shut on that point.
He reads me, anyway. He’s wearing a grin as he stands. “You’re fucked, my brother.”
I know it. But I was long before this.
• • •
I shouldn’t have made Lily follow through on that first bet. Shouldn’t have tied her up and fucked her. It was another situation I took at face value: She would never screw another Rider. She would never back out of a bet. And she hated me. That all added up to my one chance to have her—and when she hated me afterward, nothing would change.
But I didn’t include the Lily factor. She fights until the end. It doesn’t matter if she’s been kicked to the ground. She’ll just get on her feet and try again.
And all these years, she didn’t hate me. Instead I learned every time I defended her, she thought I was cutting her down. For five years, I hurt her. What I thought was hate was just Lily fighting back.
So I got what I wanted. I won the bet. I tied her up, tasted every inch of her, and pumped her full of my cock.
Then I had to let her go. Riding away in the morning was like ripping a knife through my own gut. Knowing how bad I’d fucked up. Knowing that if I’d just asked, she’d have taken
me into her bed without any goddamn bet between us. Knowing she’d never give me another chance.
All that won’t compare to what’s coming. I figure the only reason she made the second bet was because of what she was crying against my mouth as her pussy clenched around my cock the first night. I love the way you fuck.
As if there’s any other way to fuck a woman like Lily—as if every time was the first, the last. The only.
Soon it will be the last. I burned through the time so quick the first two weeks. Every night, having her. Under me, over me. Every way I could get her. I just couldn’t fucking stay away—until I realized how few days I had remaining. Until I realized how I wasn’t giving her any room to breathe. Treating her like she was mine, though nothing could push her away faster.
Now I only have six nights left. Just six. And when I’m down to one…I’m fucked. Riding away the first night was hard. This time it’ll kill me.
So I won’t be going. That’ll be when the real fight between Lily and me begins.
Until then, I’ve been hoarding the remaining nights like a miser counting out each penny in his pocket. Tonight’s another penny to spend, and if I do, only five will be left. But it’s early afternoon. Lily’s got today off. If she’s home, I can make this one night stretch to include part of the day. I’ll taste her again. Her hot mouth, her smooth skin, and the sweet juicy heaven between her thighs. And when she’s wet enough, after she comes against my tongue, I’ll bury my cock deep inside her tight cunt and stay as long as I can.
My dick’s hard by the time I reach the end of the clubhouse driveway. I pause at the stop and check my phone.
A message from Lily. Anticipation is hot and hard. Then each word of her message hits me like a bullet, filling my gut with lead.
Our bet was for a month. That ended last night. So I guess we’re done.
Done.
I read the word a dozen times before backing up to a month. That wasn’t the bet. She gave me thirty nights. I’ve been counting every single one. Apparently she’s been counting differently.
And I wondered if she’d want more time when our bet was over. Now I have my answer.
We’re done.
Slowly I put my phone away. My cock’s so fucking stiff that the tug of denim as I push the device into my pocket kicks off a throbbing ache. I’m hotter and harder now than before I got her message. She thinks this is over? Fuck no. This fight’s just begun. And my gloves are coming off.
Because I’m never going to be done.
Chapter Three
Lily
It’s full dark when I get back to town. I blow straight through, heading for the county line. Pretty much everywhere in this part of the state can be called ‘the middle of nowhere,’ but the Barracks sits out on the edge of nowhere. That’s the way everyone who visits the strip joint likes it. Fewer eyes prying. Fewer deputies driving by.
Jack’s black workhorse is already sitting in the parking lot. Fuck. My gut tightens up again. I haven’t checked my messages in the past hundred miles, but as of ten o’clock, he hadn’t replied.
I find an open spot at the far end of the lot. Buckcherry’s Crazy Bitch spills through the Barrack’s open front doors. The lighting outside is crap and the bright glare of my phone’s screen blinds me for a second. A message from Anna—a picture of glitter in a toilet. Still no reply from Jack. Maybe I should have expected it. After our first night, I didn’t hear anything from him either. He just froze me out.
I don’t know if I can bear looking into his eyes and seeing nothing again.
But it’s not like I have a choice. I pocket my phone and start for the door. With every step, I lock all the hurt down. The only response Jack fucking Hayden is going to get from me is “I don’t give a shit.”
A solid shadow peels away from the side of the building. “Lily.”
My heart slams into my ribs. Jack. Tall and gorgeous and waiting for me. And I do give a shit, because I sure as hell don’t deserve to be treated like it. No matter how monstrous his dad was. No matter how screwed up he is.
“Fuck off,” I say and keep on walking, but his reply stops me in my tracks.
“I’ve got six nights left.”
Gravel grinds beneath my boots as I round on him. “How do you figure that? Because I’ve got a hotel receipt where we spent night number one and it has the date right on it. Our bet began one month ago, plus one day. So it’s over.”
Jack moves in closer. The back of my neck tenses but I don’t give an inch. Jesus, he’s big. It’s one of those facts my mind accepts without even thinking about it, like ‘water is wet’—Jack Hayden is built like a tank—but every once in a while the full meaning of it comes home. Usually when he’s carrying me to bed and I actually feel small against him. Or when his body is braced over mine, fucking me, all those thick muscles flexing as he grinds deep, and he’s all I see.
He’s all I see now. At my height, there’s not many men I have to look up to, but he’s one. In the dark, his face is all shadows and angles, but I’ve memorized every feature. The roughly hewn planes, the high-set cheekbones, his wide and firm mouth. The slashing eyebrows over eyes that see right through you, brown irises so deep they’re almost black.
“It’s not over.” Voice rough, he crowds in. “You didn’t say a month. You said thirty nights.”
Disbelieving, I stare at him. I did say thirty nights. But who the hell takes a statement like that so literally?
Jack fucking Hayden, that’s who. I should have expected it. He always takes people exactly at their word. But that still doesn’t explain why the hell he was missing so many nights. “Were you saving the days up?”
His dark gaze drops to my lips. “Yes.”
Instead of just asking for more? So maybe he still can’t. Maybe he’s still got all that fucked-up shit in his head holding him back.
The warmth of that thought cools when I remember how there’s no toothbrush. No trace of his presence at my place at all. No sign that this has ever been anything other than a hookup for him.
“So was that the plan?” Each word is as strained as my throat. “You scratched an itch hard the first two weeks. But now, hey—you’ve been well scratched. So you can just bank the days and wait until you’re horny again, because you know I won’t back out of our bet. I’ll be available whenever you want. The easiest hookup anyone ever had, outside of a morgue.”
“A morgue, Lily?” The corners of his wide mouth flick up in a smile. “Even I’m not that fucked up.”
Oh, shit. I don’t mean to laugh. But it huffs out of me on a sharp breath, and he’s so damn quick. His big hands capture my face, his long fingers slipping into my hair. He catches my parted lips with his, and holds me still as he tastes, as he takes.
God, the way he kisses. It’s like the way he fucks. Not just with his mouth or his cock but as if he’s putting everything behind it. I don’t have a defense against that. I don’t have a defense against him. A single touch is like running a live wire through my system. So when he licks into my mouth, sucks on my tongue, the shock of pleasure lights up every nerve. My nipples harden to aching points, my inner muscles clenching.
My breath shudders over lips moistened by our kiss when he eases back, his dark eyes locked on mine, his hands still holding me tight. The deep gravel of his voice shivers over my sensitized skin.
“I want the rest of the time due to me, Lily.”
Sharp pain pierces my chest. Not more time. Just the rest of it.
Six more nights.
But I can do that. No big deal, right? I’m the queen of hooking up. This won’t be any different.
On a deep breath, I nod. “Whatever. I said thirty nights, so you’ll get thirty nights.”
Jack’s fingers tighten, as if my breezy response wasn’t agreement. “Good.”
“But no fucking around this time. Six consecutive nights. Not just whenever you feel like getting some pussy. Each night counts whether you show or not.”
“I’ll show.” The iron in his tone leaves no room for doubt. “Starting tonight.”
Tonight. God, I want that. But I want it too much, and after getting so little sleep last night and riding all day, I’m too damn tired to deal with all this emotional shit. I’ve got to lock it down first.
“Starting tomorrow,” I tell him. “It shouldn’t be too hard for you to wait. You weren’t interested last night, or the past few nights, so one more day won’t make much of a difference.”
His eyes narrow. “Not interested?”
He’s just echoing my words, but it sounds like a threat. Like he’s about to prove something to me.
But his thumb only glides over my bottom lip as he softly says, “I’ll always be interested.”
Oh, that’s a laugh. My entire life proves what a joke it is. I scoff and finally pull away. I’ve sparred with him enough times to know I’m only able to go because he lets me go.
His deep voice follows me to the Barracks’ entrance. “I’m not done, Lily.”
Not yet. But he will be. And a month ago, I risked everything by believing otherwise.
I won’t take that risk again.
• • •
Jack
The strip joint smells like piss and sweat and beer. A disco ball and laser lights flash color across the stage. Some of the brothers are watching the dancers but most don’t give a shit about seeing yet another pair of tits. Most of the club pussy will shake theirs for free, and the working girls aren’t the only ones warming the brothers’ laps. They’re just the ones who don’t have a cock in them when they do.
Lily heads straight for the bar, her anger like a steel rod across her shoulders. She’s got two modes when she’s out with the brothers. Either she’s having a good time or she’s pissed. Usually she’s having a good time. But if she’s pissed, there’s not anyone who doesn’t know it.
What they don’t know—and what took me too fucking long to figure out—is that her anger is a cover. Not always, but sometimes. It’s how she protects herself. Never showing vulnerability. Never showing weakness. Never giving anyone reason to say she should be an old lady instead of a patchholder.