by Wilde, Kati
“No.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “No?”
“We’ll wait until the Barracks. Saturday.”
“Shit.” She blows air through clenched teeth. “I guess the boss wants you to wait?”
I shake my head. “He gave me the go-ahead.”
“But you’re holding back? Jack, they burned down your home.”
No. A home is where you belong. “It’s just a place to sleep.”
She stares at me again, the flint gray of her eyes sparking. Abruptly she turns and heads into her house, but she’s only gone a second, returning with her kutte. “Let’s head out to your place anyway. You don’t give a shit but the other brothers will. You’ll need to talk them down.”
A task that’ll go right along with protecting her, as long as she stays at my side tonight.
One task at a time. Tonight, tomorrow. But there’s one more important than any other: persuading Lily that we’re not over.
Even if it takes forever.
• • •
Lily
I believe Jack really doesn’t give a shit about his shop or his apartment, but something’s whacked him hard. I’ve never seen him like this—but I’ve seen something like it before, in soldiers who were one of the few to survive a firefight or an ambush. Like there’s so much hurt boiling inside they just shut down until they can deal with it.
The intersection’s crowded with emergency vehicles flashing their lights. We stop behind a deputy’s patrol car angled across the street. Even from this distance, the heat’s like standing in front of an open oven.
A handful of Riders are already here, with more riding in. Jack goes to talk to the fire crew. I wait with the brothers and it’s me they’re coming to, asking how Jack’s doing and what the fuck is going down and I realize that Jack was right—they do think I belong to him.
But he was only partly right. The brothers wouldn’t approach an old lady like this. They’d offer their sympathy, make sure she had anything she needed. Then they’d go to the brother to see how he’s doing and how he wants to handle what comes next.
The way they’re coming to me now…it’s because they also think he belongs to me.
Maybe he does. Something knocked the shit out of him. It wasn’t the news that his place was burning.
But it might have been me, telling him to go.
Maybe. It’s a small hope. A stupid one.
But falling in love is pretty stupid, too, so I’m building up a good track record.
I watch Jack make his way back. The fire is behind him, his face in shadow, like he’s walking out of the hell inked onto his chest. Closer, I see that some of the glassy expression has receded, and the intensity is returning to his dark eyes again. Coming back from whatever knocked him down.
He bumps fists with Gunner and Stone, who says, “We’re ready to go to war for you, man.”
Jack’s gaze sweeps over the other Riders, all of them nodding and as eager as I am to bust some fucking heads.
“Go home.” He deflates the anticipation with a few words. “Save it for Saturday.”
That doesn’t sit well with anyone. But before he became the club’s warlord, Jack served as our veep for years, and the only man whose word carries more weight is the prez’s. No one’s arguing with him.
He looks to me. “You going home or to the Den?”
“The Den.” Not to get drunk now but because I don’t know what’s coming next. But I think he’s coming with me. I look to the fire again. “Will they be able to salvage anything? Any of your tools? Clothes?”
“No. But I put some things in storage.”
“Then let’s hit that first.”
He straddles his bike. “I don’t need anything tonight, Lily.”
“Well, we’re not busy kicking ass. So you have any other plans?”
“No.” The light from the fire throws harsh shadows over his features. “They fell through.”
Because he’d planned to be in bed with me. My throat tightens. He let his place burn just to have a night with me.
There’s so much hope wrapped up in knowing that. And so much fear. I don’t know how to deal with either. So I do what I always do.
I get on my bike and ride.
• • •
The storage facility is a twenty-four hour place up in Bend. A thirty-minute ride, with Jack at my side all the way. Long enough to turn Croc’s threat over in my head a few times.
Jack’s unit is as big as a two-car garage, with an overhead door wide enough to back a truck into. Jack unlocks the standard swinging door instead. I follow him though as he flips on the light. Though the space is almost packed full there’s not much to see. Neatly stacked crates. A big vehicle covered by a bigger canvas tarp. Jack heads for the south corner, where garment bags hang from a rolling clothes rack. He grabs an empty duffel from a shelf.
“Croc screwed up by burning your place.” Which just sounds like bluster, so I add, “Where was he getting his info about the Riders from? Val. So Croc thinks we’re safe targets.”
“Safe?” Jack grunts like that’s the dumbest thing he ever heard. “That’s because Val doesn’t know shit.”
“About you? No.” But that’s not what I meant. “I mean safe because Val will tell him you don’t have any friends in the club, and there’s still brothers who resent my being patched in. So Croc thinks when the other brothers are weighing his threats against their loyalty to you or me, they’ll cave instead of having our backs. He’s thinking our club is just like his. So he believes that he can burn your place down or that he can beat the shit out of me and no one will really care. But the brothers are ready to go to fucking war for you. They even would for me.”
“Even would?” Frowning, he zips up the duffel. “What’s that mean?”
“Just what I said. That if Croc had come after me instead of your shop, they’d have my back.”
“No.” He tosses the bag to the concrete floor and his dark gaze zeroes in on me. “You said ‘even me.’ Like they’d have less reason.”
“Some of them do. C’mon, Jack. There’s a lot of brothers who are uneasy with you but not one would say you don’t belong in the club. And all of them would say that I’ve earned my place, sure. But there’s also some who’d say I still don’t belong, and a beating from the Hangmen would just be what was coming to me for overstepping. ‘What’s she expect, putting herself out like that? Does she think it’s not going to come back and knock her on her ass?’ That’s what they’d say. Hell, that’s what my mom would say, and I know some of them think the same way. And it doesn’t escape my attention that the others Croc threatened today are the brothers who had some problem with my joining the Riders. So if it had been me instead of your garage, well…” I shrug. “He thought they’d still look after their own asses first, come Saturday. But they won’t.”
Though his jaw has hardened to granite, Jack doesn’t argue when I finish. Because he’s a lot of things, but he’s not blind. So he only says quietly, “You belong.”
Fuck. That wasn’t what I expected and my chest suddenly squeezes in so tight, I think I might cry again. Swallowing hard, I nod and lock that shit away. But the laugh I come up with is watery and strained, and my voice isn’t nearly as even as I’d like. “As hard as I fought to get in, I fucking hope so.”
My body stills as he moves in, big hand cupping my jaw. His thumb slides over my cheek, his eyes dark and bleak. Remembering those damn tears. But he doesn’t bring them up. Instead he turns away, rubbing the center of his chest like there’s something there that hurts him.
“You need any ammo?” he asks.
I shake my head, breath shuddering as I watch him head down a narrow aisle between stacks of crates. I bet he has a catalog of every item in each crate. He’s obsessive that way. Everything in its place.
God, and he’s got a lot of stuff. Almost everything’s packed away, but I check out the vehicle beneath the tarp—a Humvee, armored like a tank, Jesus. A burst of
color draws me to a dozen small canvases leaning against the wall like a stack of cards. Nothing fancy. Just unframed and rough—
Wait.
I know that painting. All orange and red, demons and fire. That’s on Jack’s back. Crouching in front of the canvases, I flip the painting forward to glance at the one behind it. Another tattoo.
This time I don’t hear Jack, but his shadow falls across the wall in front of me and I know he’s there. “Did you paint these yourself?”
“Yes.”
“I figured your tattoo artist did.”
“No.”
“I should have known. They’re really ugly.”
A deep laugh breaks from him and he goes down on his heels beside me. “They’re supposed to be.”
“That’s good, then. Anything I painted would be ugly, too, but it wouldn’t be on purpose. Is it so you never forget—or as a reminder?”
Because he can’t look in the mirror without seeing these. Although that doesn’t explain the ones on his back. He’d have to make an effort to see those—including the lily that spans the good and painful sides.
“There’s no chance of forgetting. But it’s not a reminder. It’s just me accepting that it’s there. A part of me.”
“Why? I mean—why start?”
“They were always sending us to see shrinks when I was in the service. This was one of the things they suggested doing to deal with shit. I tried it after I got out. Liked it enough to ink it on my skin.”
So therapy of some kind. I flip past another demon. “You don’t have enough good.”
“I have good. I just don’t know how to paint it. I don’t believe in this shit—demons or Hell—but the way it looks is the way it feels. But how am I supposed to paint the way you taste, Lily? How am I supposed to paint the way you shove your feet under my leg like you’re trying to warm your toes when we’re on your couch watching TV?”
My throat is tight as fuck. “I don’t know.”
“So the only thing I can add is a lily. And that lily doesn’t say anything on its own, not like fire and demons do. What’s good about it has to be said aloud.”
I can’t breathe. Abruptly I stand and back up, hitting the Humvee. “Jack—”
“And one of those good things is that you don’t back down.” He’s on his feet and not leaving any space to get around him. I couldn’t get away anyway, trapped by the harsh lines of his mouth, the pain in his eyes. “Except you are now. Just like you did in the kitchen. And I don’t know the fuck why.”
“Jack—”
“How did I hurt you so bad? Because, Lily, I can’t fucking...” Agony grinds his voice to nothing and each word is ragged when he tries again. “I can’t walk away from you. So tell me why you backed down and I’ll fix what it was I did.”
“I didn’t back down.” Revealing this is like digging a knife into my chest, but I can’t stand the raw anguish in his voice. I can’t let him go on thinking he did this to me. “And I’m not hurt.”
Not by him. Not for this. But he doesn’t believe it, shaking his head like he believes I’m saying this shit just to shut him up.
“You were crying—”
“God fucking dammit, Jack. I’m not backing down!” And neither is he, goddamn Jack fucking Hayden. “I’m running scared!”
He abruptly goes still, his eyebrows drawing down and his shadowed gaze searching my face.
Slowly he says, “I didn’t think you knew how to do that.”
Run scared? “I didn’t think so, either. It’s a first for me.”
And now that I’ve put words to it, something I’m not so proud of. Terrified because I love someone. Love should be the kind of thing I beat my chest over, not curl up into a ball.
But, Jesus—love is really fucking terrifying. And it’s another first for me.
Jack’s lips twitch a little, but the amusement doesn’t touch his eyes. “Scared of me?”
“No.” Christ, no. “Not like you’re thinking.”
“What am I thinking?”
“That I’m afraid because you kill so easy.”
His dark gaze still on mine, he moves closer—slow and careful, like he thinks I might bolt if he makes a sudden move.
He’s not wrong. I’m shaking all over and looking for any way out. Not because he’s big and strong and deadly, but because there’s no going back.
And there’s nowhere to run.
This is it, then. No backing down now, though I’m a trembling mess as he gently tips my chin up.
His thumb smooths over my parted lips. “What’s scaring you?”
Everything that’s happening to me now. The tightness in my chest, the lump in my throat. All this hurt that comes simply because of how I feel about him, and the fear of never being the one he wants.
But damn it all. This isn’t any way to live, trapped between hope and fear. The only way to live is all in, or all out.
And I’m all fucking in.
“I’m afraid I’ll belong to you—”
Jack pales and starts saying, “I’d never call you my property—” but I just keep on going.
“—but you won’t belong to me.”
A short silence falls as my meaning sinks in. Then his fingers dive into my hair and his forehead presses against mine, our breath mingling.
Emotion roughens his voice. “I’ll belong to you, Lily.”
God. My throat is even tighter now. That was supposed to make this easier. Hoarsely I say, “And I’m afraid because I have no control where you’re concerned. I could end it between us but you’d only have to kiss me and I’d fall right back in bed—”
Swiftly his lips capture mine, because Jack fucking Hayden is never one to let an opportunity go by. Welcoming the rough possession in his kiss, I grab his kutte and haul him closer.
I’d say he’s all in, too.
• • •
Jack
It doesn’t matter how many times I have her. It’ll never be enough.
I wet a cloth in her bathroom sink before returning to the bed. Skin glistening with sweat, Lily’s splayed out on her stomach, her body lean and strong. The mattress dips beneath my knees.
She raises sleepy lids, makes a small, exhausted sound when she sees the wash cloth. “I’ll get up in a second.”
If she wants to. But her soft and tired moan says she’s not in a rush to move as I gently slide the cloth between her legs. I fucked her hard when we got back to her house. Her pussy, her ass. Jesus, I love her ass—from her taut cheeks to the hot, tight heaven inside her. Usually I take her ass because it’s damn fun listening to her tell me she’s not going to like it, then making her scream as she comes.
But tonight I just needed to have her every way I could.
She draws in a long, deep breath as I finish wiping away the lubricant and toss the cloth onto the nightstand. Her eyes are closed, her voice heavy with sleep. “So we’re going to do this, huh? You and me. No bets.”
I press my lips to the dimple above her left ass cheek. Her waist is tight. Not an ounce of spare flesh and so strong. “No bets.”
She smiles without opening her eyes. “It’s going to be rough.”
“The brothers can—”
“I don’t mean the brothers. I mean you and me. It’s always going to be a fight.”
She’s probably right. I don’t care.
“I love a good fight,” I say, gripping her hips. She rolls bonelessly over when I turn her onto her back, her head propped by a pillow, her breasts like small scoops of cream topped by raspberries. Her flinty eyes open as I slide down, making room for my shoulders between her thighs. My breath stirs the pale curls guarding her pussy.
Soft when I rolled her over, now her nipples stand in tight rosy peaks. Her legs move restlessly as I spread them wide.
Her hand catches in my hair, fingers tangling. “I have to be at work early.”
As if that has ever made a difference to either of us. “I don’t. My shop burned down.”
> She laughs, then groans as I dip my head to kiss her inner thigh, ignoring the pain in my scalp when her fingers tighten. I know she’s sensitive, the skin between her legs abraded by a hard fuck and the roughness of my jaw. Her pussy is soft and pink and swollen.
And already wet again. “Your cunt is so damn beautiful, Lily. I love tasting it after I’ve fucked you, after you’ve come. After I was here, inside you. Right where I wanted to be for so fucking long.”
“Jack,” she breathes and releases my hair. Her hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. “Do it.”
I’ll fucking die if I don’t. I spread her wider and the second my mouth closes over her pussy, her back arches and she gives a deep-throated moan. So damn good. She tastes like the ocean, smells like a ride down the beach on a hot day. Better every time I have her, and each time I’m so much hungrier for the next taste.
But she won’t fucking stay still. Without letting go of her hand, I plant my forearm across her hips, holding her down. She writhes when I suck on her juicy little clit, then I tip her up and eat out her pussy slow and gentle, taking my fill. It’s still not enough. She cries out when I bombard her swollen bud with quick rough licks, her free hand sliding up to pinch her beaded nipple. Her pussy’s dripping with need. Groaning, I slick my tongue up the length of her drenched slit before rising onto my knees.
My dick is a solid burning ache. She reaches for it as I go for the condoms. Jesus. If she touches me I’ll blow my goddamn load. I grab her wrist and shove it over her head. Skin flushed, she laughs up at me.
Then groans when I sheathe my cock and slide into the tight clasp of her pussy. Fucking paradise. I want to stop and let this ecstasy sink in. She’s so hot and wet and feels so damn good. But I can’t stop. Just lace my fingers through hers, holding as tight as I can, and start up a long, slow ride, with every inch of my body worshiping every inch of hers. Her endless legs wrap me up, and when I bend my head and take her lips, I drown in the sweetness of her mouth. When she comes it’s long and slow, her back bowed and her lean body rocking beneath mine. I follow her over.
I’ll follow her anywhere.