by Wilde, Kati
Jesus Christ. How could they? I was facing that direction and didn’t notice a damn thing, either.
But now I know where Jack went.
Chapter Four
Jack
Killing’s easy. It’s what comes after that’s a pain in the ass—making sure the kill doesn’t come back on you. Years ago, before I was ever sent on a single mission, that lesson was drilled into me. Clean up after yourself. If the kill comes back on you, it’ll come back on the country. Protect the flag. Protect the president. Don’t leave any trace.
What I do for the Riders is the same. The colors just aren’t red, white, and blue anymore.
I roll by Lily’s place when I drive back into town. The sky’s already pink. She’ll be getting up and heading out for a run soon. Five miles on a Sunday, plus at least an hour of sparring in the gym this afternoon. I’ve joined her on a few of those runs in the past few weeks, and for the past few years, I’ve scheduled my workouts to match hers. I’d wait for her to wake up now, run alongside her, but I’m on fumes and covered in the dirt of a night’s work. I have to wash away the trace first, so it can’t come back on her. My dick can wait until tonight.
Except my cock’s not on fumes. Just the thought of sliding into the silky heat between her thighs leaves me aching and stiff on the drive home. In the shower, I don’t even soap away all the trace before fisting my dick. Just a few hard strokes, remembering Lily’s taste, remembering her full lips wrapped around my shaft, and I fucking blow, milky strands of cum mixing with the dirt swirling down the drain.
I chase it with a gallon of bleach and hit the sheets.
• • •
I’ve only been up about ten minutes when I hear a handful of bikes in the lot below. Most of the Riders run Harleys, and if they don’t have the bike then they’ve got the engine. None of them straddle the new Thunder Stroke V-Twin, which is what I’m hearing now.
But I’ve heard it before.
Croc. Val’s with him. So is Creek.
Creek’s a potential threat. Val’s an annoying shit. Croc’s just interesting. Last month he sent his enforcer to put a bullet in my head. Now I suspect he’s coming to make an offer. That’s a hell of a turnaround.
Most likely, he’s feeling the pinch of losing two enforcers and a piece of muscle. Maybe he’ll end up ordering his men to kill me again. But he can’t afford to do that without trying to recruit me first.
My kutte fits easy over my shoulders, my weapon snug in its harness. Wearing both is just habit; I’m not worried that any shit’s about to go down. My auto shop is just off the corner of the busiest intersection in town, and my apartment sits above the auto shop. Even now, families are driving by in their minivans, most of them heading to the church a little farther down the block. Others have parked on the street and are making their way along the sidewalks in their Sunday best. Pretty soon they won’t be able to find any spaces and they’ll start filling up the east end of my lot. So even with the shithead factor added in, there’s no chance Croc’s going to kill me in the next thirty minutes.
He’s looking at my ride, instead. “Beautiful. You restore her yourself?”
I did. And he’s buttering me up. Maybe he thinks a little flattery will sway me—but then, he doesn’t know I’m aware he sent Tank after me last month, or that I killed three of his men.
Bottom line: He doesn’t know who the fuck he’s talking to. I’d never walk let my prez walk into a similar situation. If I don’t know exactly what type of person he’ll be dealing with then I go alone.
Behind him, Valentine’s got his chest puffed up. The important new brother with all the info on the local MC.
He doesn’t know shit. Fortunately the one Hangman who might be able to tell Croc what I am can’t reveal it without exposing himself.
Creek’s just watching us. He knows exactly what happened to the two Hangmen last night, but he won’t say a word. Probably he’s been downplaying his own talents for years, or else he would have already been in the enforcer’s position. Otherwise I can’t figure why Croc hasn’t appointed him there yet. Lack of trust, maybe. Or maybe Creek pissed off someone in the mother chapter and Croc’s playing his cards carefully.
He’s playing these carefully, too. When I don’t answer, he takes a long look around the property. “It’s a nice setup you got here. Valentine tells me you pull in a hefty amount of business.”
“Valentine says a lot,” I tell him. “But I’ve never heard him say anything worth listening to.”
Croc enjoys that. Valentine doesn’t. I don’t give a fuck what either of them feel.
When he’s done chuckling, Croc starts getting around to it. “Maybe you should have listened. He has good things to say about you. He says that you’re a resourceful man. That you get your prez anything he needs. Namely, information.”
“Like I said, nothing worth listening to.”
“What I have to say is. Because I could use a man like you.”
Fair enough. “And if you were my prez, I’d find you one. But since you aren’t, I’ll just tell you good luck searching.”
His faint smile tightens. “I figure I’ve found him—and that you’ll come around to my way of thinking once we talk about the benefits to you. Because a man with an established business could be useful. There’s things you can do no one would question.”
Like cycling cash through my books. Like taking in cargo and letting it sit in my garage. Like changing VINs and repainting vehicles.
“I got all the business I want to handle,” I tell him.
“I’d see you get a hefty cut.”
If I gave a crap about money I wouldn’t be puttering around engines every day. “I’m still not hearing anything worth listening to.”
Behind him, Valentine starts blowing some hot air. Fucking asshole. Watch your mouth. Some more, but I stop listening to it. It’s all shit that he wouldn’t have the balls to say if we were alone.
After a second, Croc turns and gives Val a look, shutting him up. I’ve seen that before. Croc lets his boys shoot their mouths off so he can appear calm, even. But those boys are just saying what he wants to say.
Last time, they were all saying Lily fucked her way into the club.
His gaze falls to my name patch. “Blowback,” he reads. “That’s what they call it when something you do blows back on you, isn’t it? Like pissing into the wind.”
Considering I’m what comes after someone if they’ve pissed on the club, it’s close enough. But I don’t need a lesson in my own name. And I don’t know which face I’m wearing, Don’t fuck with me or I don’t give a shit, but they both seem like answer enough.
Croc only wants one answer, though, and it’s not the one I’m giving. “Now, I think that makes you the perfect example to show everyone what ‘blowback’ really means. So that everyone can see the consequences of what saying ‘No’ might be. Consequences like… Well, let’s see. If your business isn’t useful to me, then it’s not useful at all. So maybe seeing that will persuade you. Or maybe my boys will have a conversation with the dyke you’ve been fucking, and that’ll bring you around.”
“There’s no rivers around here,” I say and in my head I’m ripping out his fucking tongue. “But I know of a dike on the Klamath. I never fucked it, though. I’ve just buried a few body parts there.”
“No, you dipshit,” Valentine breaks in. “He means—”
“He knows what it means.” Creek’s watching me warily. Because he knows what it means, too. Croc threatened Lily. So the Devil’s Hangmen are going to need a new prez pretty soon. “He’s joking.”
“Good. I like a man with a sense of humor.” Croc claps my shoulder and before heading back to his bike. He straddles his ride and says, “I’ll be seeing you at the Barracks next weekend. So why don’t you think about it until then.”
I’m thinking about it.
I’m thinking he needs to learn exactly what ‘blowback’ means.
And I’m thinking that, bet or
no bet, it’ll be a miracle if Lily ever lets me touch her again.
So I’d better get one last night in.
• • •
Lily
On my way.
Jack’s message buzzes through my phone just before ten. Sharp relief replaces the tension I was pretending not to feel while staring at the TV.
Then the relief fades and I’m staring at my TV again with a dull ache climbing through my chest. On my way. He doesn’t say how far away he is, but with all the shit Croc stirred up today, I’m guessing he was probably out at the ranch meeting with the prez and the message came through as he hit the road. Twenty minutes away, then. Late, but I’m surprised he’s coming at all.
Not because he missed the last few days. After last night, I knew he’d come. I expected him earlier, actually—maybe showing up before I headed to the gym or while I was there.
It was while sparring with Gunner that I heard how busy the Hangmen have been, trying to make friends with at least a half dozen Riders. Telling them no harm will come to their houses or families if they just stand down on Saturday night, and to let the others do the fighting. A little later I got notice from the Riders’ secretary that the prez was calling every patchholder in for a meeting at the clubhouse tomorrow night. So I assumed Jack was still working, visiting all the club members, seeing if they’ve had any visits from the Hangmen and arranging extra protection for their families.
Now he’s on his way.
But it’s nothing. Just a hookup.
I keep telling myself that. I told myself that the first night, too. Told myself he only wanted to fuck me so he could tear me down, and I was determined to make him regret that he’d trapped me into following through on a stupid, drunken bet.
But tonight is nothing like that first night. My feelings were so mixed up then—wanting him, pissed at him, hurt that he’d forced his way into my bed when he could have just asked and I’d have let him in.
That hurt was nothing compared to the thick pain rising in me now. I keep trying to ignore it, to push it down, but it’s filling all the empty spaces that ripped open when our last night passed and he didn’t show.
I can’t ignore this pain though. So I’ll just fuck it away. I’ve done it before. Jesus, half the time, that’s what hookups are for.
So that’s what this will be. That’s all it will be.
I just need to take control. Easy enough. In the living room, I strip off my shirt and toss it on the floor. My bra drops in the kitchen. My jeans on the stairs leading to my room.
Leaving a trail for him to follow.
My front door is locked, but that never stopped Jack. After he knocks once, he waits about a minute before breaking in. I don’t mind. I just wish he wasn’t so damn quiet, because even though I knew he was coming, all of a sudden he’s there, big and dangerous and filling up the entrance to my bedroom. Desire makes his eyes burn like hot coals as he takes in the sight of me waiting in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but a scrap of black lace.
His voice is rough. “Christ, Lily. You’re so—”
“No.” I stop him before he can get another word out. “You don’t get to talk tonight, either. We’re just going to fuck.”
Of course he doesn’t listen. Of course he has to make it a fight. So he opens his mouth and I’m on him. A kiss shuts him up but Jack fucking Hayden is never easily beaten. He groans as I lick past his teeth, take a hot taste of his tongue, then his fingers tangle in my loose hair, yanking my head back, and he’s biting my throat, the little nips beneath my jaw that drive me crazy.
God, yes. Just like this. Hard and rough, with my panties already drenched and the iron rod of his cock digging into my stomach. There’s no pain now. Not while I’m touching him. There’s only need.
With urgent fingers, I grip his T-shirt and drag it over his head. I knock his hands away when he reaches for his belt. When my hands take their place, slowly drawing the leather through the buckle, his body stills and his gaze locks on my face.
Jesus, he’s such a beautiful man. I could look at him forever. When I’m with women, I don’t have a type, unless that type is ‘everyone.’ But with guys, I definitely prefer big and rugged and a little bit deadly.
Jack punches all of my happy buttons. God, he punches them so hard. Hard enough that I’m almost dizzy with it sometimes.
Dizzy with it now, I rise onto my toes. He knows what I want, his strong fingers gripping my ass, hauling me against his solid chest. His mouth crashes down on mine. He devours me like a man starving, until I have to pull back, gasping for breath.
My skin burns from the scrape of his whiskered jaw. More than a day’s growth, as if he didn’t have a chance to shave this morning. Maybe he didn’t even have time to sleep. Not after taking care of the two men who’d vanished from the Barrack’s entrance last night.
Jack isn’t just a little bit deadly. And holy fuck, that makes my body sing.
Everything does. Still holding me against him, he’s quiet, just watching me as I trail my fingers along the breadth of his shoulders. His torso is stacked with muscle, his arms roped with steely strength. Ink covers the left side of his chest, a hellish illustration with demons swallowing the names of his mother and father. His brother’s name bleeds. All the shit that hurts him is on his left side and there’s hardly an inch not covered colored in. Only the Riders’ logo and part of a lily decorate the right side. The only things that feel good.
I’d tattoo his chest on my right side. I’d tattoo the feel of his warm skin and hard muscle beneath my palms. I’d tattoo the pounding of his heart, the stiffness of his cock, the heat of his mouth. I’d tattoo the whisker burn on my chin, knowing my inner thighs will soon have the same burn, because Jack is always hungry and rough and won’t leave any of my pussy untasted and unfucked.
But I’m always hungry, too.
The rasp of his zipper is loud in the silence, parting the denim straining over his erection. Slowly I slide my hand in and grip his meaty shaft. A vicious shudder rips through his big body before he goes absolutely still.
Jack always goes rigid when I touch him. When I take him into my mouth. As if he’s afraid any movement will make me disappear.
I’m not going anywhere but the bed. With my hand wrapped around his cock, I pull him in that direction—leading Jack by his dick, his jeans open and his belt hanging loosely around his hips.
His grin is wide and swift. “Lily—”
“No talking.” I give his cock a warning squeeze. “Only fucking.”
His response is a deep groan and a heavy pulse through his shaft. This is nothing like the first night, either. That was all about learning what he likes, but I’ve had a month to discover how his body responds to mine. I’ve learned that he loves to ride on the edge of pain. Not with teeth or fingernails or floggers, though he’s loved all that, too, but with arousal so keen it’s almost too painful to come—and too painful not to.
Backing across the mattress on my knees, I pull him onto the bed. God, that becomes a fight, too. When I push him onto his back and head for his cock, he grips my hips and tries to swing me around to straddle his face. Panting, I roll out of his grip, knowing that his mouth on my cunt will tear my control away.
This is only a hookup, and I always make sure my partners have a damn good time. So he just needs to lie back and let me make him come.
But Jack never just lies back. I kneel at his side and his big hand slides around the back of my thigh, waiting, waiting as I swallow his cock as deep as I can. A strangled noise rips from this chest. His hips jolt upward, his dick shoving into my throat, making me choke, but I love it, love his taste and his earthy smell and the tremble through his body as I draw back, my fist stroking behind the slick path of my lips. I love his cock, so thick and long and sensitive.
His body curls in as I take him again, his stomach flexing, each ridge of muscle standing in sharp relief. I flatten my palm over those ridges, feeling his bronzed skin quiver beneath my han
d.
So fucking sexy.
And I just want to drive him wild. I want him to lose control, to grab my hair, to fuck my throat. Hungrily I suck, my tongue swirling. His big body shakes, his groans the tormented sounds of a dying man, but he doesn’t jerk against me again, doesn’t ram his dick past my lips.
He’s not losing control. He’s taking it.
Fighting me again.
His curled fingers slowly glide up the inside of my thigh. My skin prickles, goosebumps radiating outward from that light touch. I’m hyperaware of every millimeter his fingertips travel, though I try to push the sensation away, try to lose it in the salty taste of him against my tongue, the flavor of the precum that I lick from the tip of his dick.
Oh, but he’s teasing me, fingers digging into my flesh when I begin to pull away. His thumb traces the crease of my inner thigh, following the edge of my underwear. I shudder, my helpless moan muffled by the length of his cock.
His hand abruptly wraps around my lower thigh and he drags my left knee closer, forcing my legs apart. His fingers slide up again and tug aside the soaked crotch of my panties.
God. But if he thinks I’m going to stop, he’s so fucking wrong. Not even when he groans, slicking his fingers through my drenched inner lips. Not even when he circles my clit. Involuntarily my hips buck, seeking a rougher touch. Everything’s so slippery, so wet, there’s almost no friction.
Until he pushes two broad fingers into me.
With his cock lodged at the back of my throat, I whimper, a desperate note of pure pleasure. I love feeling Jack inside me. His fingers, his cock, his tongue. And when he begins to pump his hand, thrusting his fingers deep, all I want is for him to feel this same need. Moaning, I suck wildly, needing his response, needing his cum, needing to know that I’m not alone in all this. Needing Jack to love it as much.
But it’s too good, coming on me too fast. I cry out and shudder when his fingers slide out of my pussy to tease my clit before plunging into me again. God help me. I’m shaking, losing it.
On a gasping breath, I raise my head. I feel his fingers tighten, trying to catch me as I lurch forward, but my skin and his hand are slippery and he doesn’t get a good grip.