Captive: A Bodyguard Romance (Hollywood Guardians Book 1)

by Heather Ashley

  Or, you know, just because they fucking could.

  So, I don't act shocked or offended or scared that he just threatened to torture someone. I step up between him and the metal table and run my hand up his chest before wrapping it around the back of his neck and pulling his lips down to mine.

  I kissed him like I wanted to taste the darkness inside of him, like if I could pull it to the surface and let it out to play, this club would suffer, and we'd both get our retribution.

  His hands dropped to my hips and tightened, yanking me closer against his body so I can feel how turned on he is. A bolt of energy shoots straight between my thighs as he deepens the kiss. Stupidly, I want him to lift me onto this table and step between my legs, push my skirt up to my hips and bury himself inside me until we forget the horrors around us.

  Until we get lost in the temptation, the possibilities, the lust.

  But I don't. I pull away, put a little distance between us so I can look into both of his eyes because I need him to know I'm okay with the monster within him, one I wish I had so I could join him in whatever may come from the discovery of this torture chamber.

  "I hope you kill them all," I confess before dropping to my knees before him. His eyes never leave mine, that darkness swirling there filling the hazel of his irises with shadows. I don't know if it's because I'm on face-level with his hardening cock, or if it's because he's imagining all the ways he can use the tools resting just behind me on the tabletop.

  It doesn't really matter to me. Maybe it's both. His hand fists my hair, tightening his grip as he uses his other hand to flick open the button on his black jeans. I can't wait to wrap my mouth around his dick and run my tongue across the silver bar at the tip.

  As soon as his fly is down, my hands are shoving his pants out of the way, pulling down his boxers, and I watch as his cock springs free. It's right in front of my face like an offering to the gods, and all I want to do is worship it with my tongue.

  Licking from the base all the way up his length, he groaned as I swirled my tongue around the tip paying special attention to flick his piercing and then tug it gently between my teeth.

  "Jesus fucking Christ," he hissed out as I repeated the process all over again, only this time I wrapped my hand around his cock and followed my tongue's path.

  "Open those pretty lips for me," Connor ordered, his voice raspy, and I watch as his abs flex with the effort to hold himself back. I never take my eyes off his, not even to blink, as I suck him into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks and taking him into the back of my throat in one stroke.

  Holding my breath, I stay there while he curses, humming in the back of my throat to keep from gagging. I've never been more thankful for the blowjob lessons Lola dragged me to that one of the old sweet butts used to give. It was so damn embarrassing then, but I bet this will be the best oral Connor's ever had.

  I pull off and immediately suck him back in, but I dig my fingers into his hips and encourage him to take over the rhythm. When he doesn't get my hint, I pop off his dick long enough to say, "Fuck my mouth."

  The look on his face is pure fucking sin as he pushes between my lips again, and it hits me how fucked up it is that we're doing this in a room used for torture.

  Somehow, that makes what's happening even hotter, and I moan around the cock pushing into my throat in a steady rhythm that makes my thighs slippery.

  There are upsides and downsides to wearing a skirt when you blow your fuck-hot sorta boyfriend in a literal torture chamber, and having damp thighs is definitely a downside.

  His dick slides in and out of my mouth and tears are streaming down my cheeks as I try not to gag and breathe while I can. The sounds Connor makes as he thrusts into my mouth are turning me on so much my clit is actually throbbing. My hand goes between my legs to try and relieve the pressure, but my skirt rides up, and Connor has a perfect view when my fingers find my clit.

  "The idea of me torturing some asshole biker gets you hot, doesn't it, little demon?" he growls as his eyes flash with something dangerous before slipping back down to watch me circle my clit with my fingers. It's not enough, and when I slip one of my fingers inside myself, he loses it and comes hard.

  I try to focus on his orgasm when I'm teetering on the edge of my own, and with one more stroke of the pad of my finger against my clit, I'm toppling over the edge with him, his dick still in my mouth as he finishes his orgasm and I explode with mine.

  He pulls out of my mouth, and we're both panting hard. I stand up and adjust my skirt, walking over to one of the drains in the floor and spitting his cum straight down it. He chuckles darkly from behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. His dick isn't even tucked back into his pants yet, and I can feel it still semi-hard and pressed up against my ass.

  "You don't like how I taste?"

  He doesn't sound offended, so I decide to be honest. "You taste fine, but I'm not swallowing a mouthful of live swimmers. It's not happening; not now, not ever." I shudder with the thought of those tiny bastards using my stomach like their own goddamn tadpole pond.

  Nope.

  Turning around, I lift onto my toes and drop a kiss on his lips that I don't deepen. "We've probably already been down here way too long." As the words leave my lips, it sounds like someone's stuck a key in the lock for the closet door, and I don't even think. I fling myself at the light switch and get it off just as the door swings open.

  Connor's rough hand grips my arm and drags me back behind the metal table. There aren't a lot of places to hide here, so I hold my breath, crouched on the floor behind the torture table, and wait for whoever's in here to get the hell out.

  My heart is thundering in my chest so loud I can't even hear Connor breathing from where he's protectively wrapped as much of his body around mine as he can. Whoever opened the door hasn't turned on the light, so I can't tell who it is, and they leave before I can try to get a look. Not that I'd see much since it's so damn dark, I wouldn't be able to see my hand in front of my face down here.

  When the door clicks shut, I let out a massive sigh of relief, and Connor sinks to the floor beside me, pulling me against his body as if he's making sure I'm okay. "I'm fine," I reassure him before he even has a chance to ask the question.

  "I'm going to take some pictures, and then we're getting the hell out of here," he says before standing up and reaching down to pull me up with him. He hurries to the light switch and turns it on, documenting everything he can with his phone. When he's satisfied, I lead the way out, and he turns off the light behind us.

  I push the lever back in once we're in the closet and wait for the wall to close back up before he opens the door to the outside hall a crack, and we stand perfectly still while we listen. When it seems like the coast is clear, he pushes the door open, and I hurry out on his heels.

  Connor casually leans against the wall while I lock the door back up and tuck the key away again. As soon as I'm finished, he spins me, so I'm caged in between his body and the wall, and I have no choice but to look up into his powerful gaze. "I'm going to make them pay," he promises, and my hand sneaks up to run along the coarse stubble dotting his sharp jawline.

  "I know," I agree before pushing off the wall and moving around him. It was a miracle we didn't get caught down there, and if I'm not in the kitchen in five minutes to make lunch for the club, Vandal or Bomber will punish me.

  With Connor here, that's not as scary as it once was because I know if they leave a mark on my body, he'll leave one even worse on theirs. He watches me go with such a fiery possessiveness in his eyes that I want to run back and jump into his arms, wrap my legs around his waist and sink into the feeling that someone might actually care what happens to me.

  "Keep looking at a girl like that, and she just might think you want more than a quick fuck," I call out over my shoulder with a teasing grin before I add some extra sway to my hips and sashay toward the kitchen.

  If he keeps looking at me like he'd tear the world apart for me and bathe in its
bloody remains, if it'd make me happy, I might just have to stake a claim of my own.

  The last fucking thing I wanted to be doing right now was baking under the goddamn sun while Brutal, of all people, smiled like the Cheshire cat. It was just him and me out here by our bikes. He summoned me ten minutes ago, and that fucking smile made me want to stick the knife in my pocket through his eye.

  He only needed one eye to ride.

  There's such a clear divide between the older guys in the club and the new leadership that I'm starting to rethink all of my plans. After spending time around him, I'm beginning to realize Savage isn't a bad guy. Despite being raised by Devil, he's not cruel, and he seems to be a fair leader.

  The problem is these old assholes still think they're in charge—or at least that they should be in control. I've been observing them for more than a week. In that time, I've seen the original four officers humor Savage and his orders while exchanging smug smirks and knowing looks. They weren't taking him seriously, and they weren't even hiding it that well.

  If things weren't so chaotic with Devil's death and Savage taking over before he was ready, I'm sure he'd be well aware of the pricks undermining him. I still haven't figured out the full extent of what Vandal, Brutal, Bomber, and Poison are up to, but what I do know is the prez isn't going to be happy when he finds out.

  Thinking about Gigi while out here was a mistake. Now the memory of how captivating she looked on her knees in front of me yesterday has me unfocused, and that's the last thing I need. Pushing her out of my head is impossible, so I settle for snapping at Brutal instead. "What the fuck are we waiting for? I have shit to do."

  Mainly Gigi, but he doesn’t need to know that. I also absently note I may be getting too distracted from my mission.

  I really need to knock that shit off. I can be with Gigi and still do what I came here to do, and I need to remember that. Old habits are hard to break, but for her, I'll do whatever I have to do to walk out of this with everything I want.

  Brutal checks his phone before he finally answers me. "My contact to give me the okay."

  Well, that doesn't tell me shit, and the unimpressed glare I level him with makes sure he knows it. "Who's this contact of yours? And what are we doing?"

  "Since you're the new guy around here, I thought I'd take you along and show you how things work in the Vegas chapter," he answers, ignoring my question. At this point, I don't have much choice but to follow him, but I'll be keeping on high alert for any shit he might try to pull.

  There isn't even a tiny part of me that trusts the man climbing onto his bike and leading me off club property and into the desert.

  The drive into downtown Vegas only took about half an hour, and in that time, Brutal fell into riding beside me like he wanted to keep an eye on me as much as I did on him. Savage is the club president, but the older members are up to something, and they seem as suspicious of me as I am of them.

  Pulling off the Strip, I'm surprised that we aren't headed for the Chaos Customs shop but instead driving deeper into a sketchy as fuck warehouse district right on the edge of town. When we stop outside a nondescript grey building that's definitely seen better days, I climb off my bike and do a quick scan of the area.

  We're vulnerable as hell out in the open here. There aren't many people around, only one street in and out, so easily trapped, and the only cover is the building itself, so if shit goes down, we're totally fucked.

  The familiar adrenaline flood courses through my veins, and my mind focuses into a sharp point. Coming out here with Brutal isn't the stupidest thing I've ever done, but it might be the last if I'm not careful. Slowly, I reach behind my back into my waistband and tug my pistol free, dropping my hand to my side and surreptitiously clicking the safety off.

  I have no idea if Brutal's contact is already inside the warehouse or just meeting us here in the parking lot, but I'm not about to let some knockoff gangster sneak up on me unprepared.

  Brutal finally looks up from his phone, and his gaze sweeps over me before the side of his mouth tilts up in an infuriating smirk. "What do you think's about to happen, Shadow?" My name comes out with a sneer, and my fingers itch to reach for my knife.

  "I wouldn't have to guess if you'd clue me in."

  He chuckled, but it wasn't a nice sound. It reminded me of nails on a chalkboard. The dude has to have smoked two packs a day for a solid thirty years to get a rasp like that. "I've got a guy we're thinking about bringing in as a new supplier. He's in town on other business and dropping off a sample of the goods."

  It doesn't miss my attention that he didn't bother to tell me who this supplier is, whether or not Savage sent him on this little errand of his, or what the sample he's waiting for is. Before I can call him out on his bullshit, three blacked-out SUVs pull into the lot and surround us.

  My whole body snaps to attention, but Brutal doesn't look worried at all. Somehow, that does nothing to comfort me. If anything, I'm even more on alert for something to happen. I don't doubt for one second this motherfucker would throw me to the wolves if it put a couple bucks in his pocket or got him a higher standing with the club.

  About a dozen guys pile out of the cars and head for the door to the warehouse. "Wait here," Brutal orders and follows them inside. I could force the issue and follow, but I don't have a death wish.

  I do another quick scan of the building, and there isn't even a window, so there's no way for me to figure out exactly what he's doing in there. I slap a bored expression on my face and force my muscles to relax as I pretend to scroll through my phone while I wait. I sneak open the camera app and snap pictures of the men still waiting around outside and the license plates on the SUVs.

  They may be rentals, but even if they are, Sebastian may still be able to get something from the rental records. Baking under the sun isn't my idea of a good time, so by the time Brutal finally gets his ass out of the building, I'm ready to do more than just stab him in the eye. My rage is simmering under the surface, but if he gives me one of his assholish remarks, I don't think I'll be able to hold back from tying him to the back of my bike and going for a ride down the nearest gravel road.

  Brutal shakes hands with a guy that looks like a skeleton in a suit—all skin and bones, sunken cheeks, pale skin with dark circles under his eyes, and slicked-back white hair. I think I could break him in half without even really trying, yet somehow he exudes a power that makes me not want to try unless I have to.

  As my club brother strolls back to his bike, he shoves a bulging envelope into the inside pocket of his cut, keeping eye contact with me the whole time. "You should know," he drawls, "if you say anything about this to Savage or any of the other brothers, I'll tell them you set this meeting up."

  I scoff. "They won't believe that bullshit."

  "They will if they see this," he states matter of factly while holding his phone screen in front of my face with a well-angled shot of me near one of the guards. I never so much as said one word to them, but it looks like we're deep in discussion in the photo.

  He swipes a few times through a few more shots, and in one, he managed to get me with the Skeletor-looking dude. I don't know who that guy is yet, but I have a feeling a picture of him and me anywhere near each other wasn't going to bode well for the way the Reign of Chaos president looks at me.

  "You're such a piece of shit," I spat, climbing on my bike and starting the engine. He lets out one of his grating chuckles as he walks away. There's no one out here, but the two of us and my instincts are screaming at me to eliminate the threat, to drag him into that warehouse and take him apart piece by piece until there's nothing left, but if he goes missing when people saw us leave together that'll raise questions.

  I make a mental note to revisit that option later.

  For now, I shoot off a quick text to Sebastian with the photos I took and a request for him to dig into whoever it was Brutal met with. If shit hits the fan and he makes good on his threat to show those setup pictures of me to Savage, I n
eed to have information to give him to counter Brutal's false claims.

  On the ride back, it hits me all at once that this entire thing was a setup. Sure, Brutal might've gotten something out of it in what looked like a fat stack of cash, but ultimately he got something to hold over my head. Why he felt like he needed it, I have no idea, but right now, that's not the most critical piece of information.

  Right now, I need to know what the hell these guys are up to, and I think it's time to turn my attention away from Savage, Grim, Saint, and Ruin and toward the old officers of the Reign of Chaos. They're up to some shit, and I'm about to figure out what it is.

  With one last click of my mouse, the report I spent the last two hours compiling is finished and uploaded to my team's cloud server. I may be in here alone, but I'm going to need more than just my eyes and ears. I only add people who have skills that will add to or complement the team somehow, and I'm not cocky enough to think I can handle something this massive all on my own.

  It was too risky to try and bring another member physically in, but they could be my eyes, ears, and sometimes brains remotely. I hadn't done a check-in call in more than two weeks because it was too risky, but I couldn't put it off anymore.

  After spending the morning with Brutal and his bullshit, and the early afternoon glued to my laptop, all I want to do now is go find Gigi and lose myself in her for the rest of the afternoon. When she climbed out of my bed this morning, she told me she'd be working the bar tonight, so with the daylight hours dwindling and the time before she's got to be in the bar fast approaching, I hope I can make the call quick.

  I need my Gigi fix if I'm going to last the night surrounded by rowdy delinquents who have no respect for anything but a stupid piece of leather. They treat their bikes and cuts better than their women. In the last week, I've had to squeeze my hands into fists so tight my nails cut into my palms multiple times to keep from interfering every time a club brother got handsy with a sweet butt or old lady.