Ranger Knox (Shifter Nation: Werebears Of Acadia Book 1)

by Meg Ripley

  The house she had been given—or at least, loaned—to live in was as beautiful on the inside as its exterior had promised; fully furnished, with a slightly plastic smell of brand-new rugs and upholstery, it looked—on the surface—as if the people who owned it had been living there for a year. Art prints dotted the walls, the beds—both the master bed on the ground floor and, Johan informed her, the two guest bedrooms upstairs—were made, there were towels, and the kitchen was fully stocked. “It really is just…like slipping into another life,” Chelsea said with a mixture of awe and consternation, as Johan settled her on the couch.

  “Witness protection—privately funded, in this case,” he grinned slightly. “Much nicer than what you’d get from the government, I can promise you.” Chelsea shrugged. The luxury of their surroundings—solidly upper middle class—compared to the apartment she had left behind, and combined with the prestigious hotels and fancy cars they had had at their disposal, had begun to worry her once more. Without the full dosage of Vicodin in her system to make worrying about anything seem completely useless, more and more of their circumstances seemed unsettling.

  “I think it’s time you tell me what the hell is going on,” Chelsea said as Johan returned from the kitchen, armed with three re-freezable cold packs. He raised an eyebrow, perching himself on the coffee table to remove her braces and apply the freezing packets. Chelsea shivered, wincing against the pain that came along with the intense cold.

  “You’re in waiting,” Johan said with a shrug. “Nice digs, no need to work until probably after the trial—too much risk involved with routine coming and going—and entertainment.” He pointed at himself. Chelsea looked around at the living room, at the staircase leading to the second floor of the house.

  “This is insane,” she said, turning her attention back to Johan as the cold started to gnaw into her from the ice packs, increasing her irritation and unease. “How the hell does someone just—this is crazy. This house is too good.” Johan stared at her in confusion. “This is like—hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of hide-out! And—and the cars, and the hotels, and the room service… and my hospital bill…” Chelsea shook her head, her heart beating faster as the incalculable costs started to stack up in large, blank shapes in her mind.

  “You are probably the only person I’ve ever met who would even question this,” Johan said, his voice roughening slightly with something like irritation.

  “If this is privately funded, how the hell am I going to pay this back? Am I some kind of—am I in debt to the mob now or something? Who the hell are you? Who’s funding this?” Chelsea stood up quickly, and immediately regretted the impulse, pain flaring through her body as her injured knee and ankle took the pressure of her sudden stand, and her rib protested the movement of her torso.

  Johan pushed her carefully but inelegantly back down onto the couch, gathering up the ice packs and half-slapping them back into place. He pulled a spool of ACE bandage out of his pocket and silently strapped the packs down while Chelsea fumed futilely. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, finally meeting her gaze. “Since I can tell you’re going to throw another tantrum if you don’t get your way—” he began, raising a hand to forestall the protest that started to leave Chelsea’s lips. “And after driving half the day I don’t really feel like having to haul you to the hospital for orthopedic surgery when you make your injuries worse—I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

  “Good,” Chelsea said, shivering as she decided to ignore the ‘tantrum’ part of the comment. “Talk.”

  Johan took another deep breath. “You’re not in debt to the mob. My client is interested in buying up your company; but of course, your CEO won’t sell. He thinks it’s a worthwhile investment to keep you alive to testify against the scummy asshole, and he wants you to be as comfortable as possible. He figures that when your CEO goes to jail, the cost of the company will plummet, and he’ll make up the difference in a matter of months.” Chelsea stared at Johan for a long moment, digesting the information.

  “Your client doesn’t sound all that much better than my CEO,” she said finally. Johan shrugged.

  “He’s putting you up pretty well,” Johan pointed out. “He isn’t a great guy, but he’s decent enough to want you to testify because it’s the right thing to do, not because you’re being forced into it.” Johan smiled wryly. “And before you ask, no—I didn’t have orders to seduce you. You’re just too good-looking to pass up.”

  “Unless I’m drugged.”

  Johan snorted. “Yes, unless you’re drugged.” Chelsea pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying at it for a long moment as she considered.

  “What about the other guy?” she asked. “The business partner and all that?” Johan shrugged again, standing and moving onto the couch next to her carefully.

  “He’s getting put up, too,” Johan said. “It’s a don’t-ask-don’t-tell kind of situation.” Chelsea sighed.

  “So, what happens after the trial?” Johan reached out and closed his hand around hers.

  “You’re free to do as you want. I could probably persuade him to let you keep the house; give me the car as a bonus. If you need rehab for your injuries, obviously, that’s something he’ll cover.”

  “But—I had a whole life.” Johan brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her palm delicately.

  “So, you'll rebuild it, once we’re over the hump.”

  “We?”

  Johan grinned. “Oh, you’re not losing me until after the trial,” he said, his bright eyes warming. “And even then, you’ll have to tell me to leave.” Chelsea smiled weakly.

  “Well I guess at least I won’t have to do it all alone,” she said, leaning against him as the stresses of the week—and especially the acute stress of the last several minutes—weighed on her. “I want another Vicodin. A whole one. Standing up was really dumb.”

  “You have to eat first,” Johan said firmly. “And then I’ll give you a pill and get you tucked into bed.”

  “You sound like my mom,” Chelsea complained. Johan brushed his lips against her ear.

  “After you wake up, I will prove to you that I am nothing at all like your mom,” he promised, his voice low and slightly rough with desire.

  ****

  “Chelsea…wake up, sleepy-head.” Chelsea turned over in bed, for a moment uncertain when she had gotten into the warm, soft sheets. She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms, shifting and stretching—and then, as a flicker of pain crackled through her, remembered everything: eating an early dinner with Johan, taking a Vicodin, watching a little TV and dozing off. She had barely awakened when Johan had carried her into the master bedroom.

  “Mm, what time is it?” Chelsea opened her eyes, blinking quickly as light flooded into them.

  “Morning,” Johan said, slithering under the blankets and sheets next to her.

  “I seriously slept—what? Ten hours?”

  “Twelve,” Johan told her with a little grin. He wrapped his arms around her carefully, avoiding her bruised rib.

  “I thought you were going to show me about—something, something, you’re not my mom.” Johan chuckled lowly, his hands beginning to wander over her body slowly.

  “That is, in fact, why I’m here,” Johan said, cupping her breast in his palm. He turned her face towards his and kissed her on the lips, his tongue darting into her mouth, exploring and probing. “How’s the knee? And the ankle?” he asked, breaking away for just a moment. Chelsea shivered as Johan’s caresses teased, lingering at her breasts one moment and then drifting down to her hips, slipping between her legs to stroke her lightly.

  “Better,” Chelsea said when her lips were once more free. Johan’s lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, dragging along her throat. “How—how are we going to…” Chelsea gasped as Johan’s fingers slipped and slid along her already-slick labia, rubbing slightly. She shivered, twisting her hips as Johan’s touch deepened, his fingers finding her clit unerringly.

/>   “I’ve been giving that a lot of thought,” Johan said, his voice rough with desire. “Gave me something to…while away the time you were asleep.” Johan kissed her lightly on the lips, and slowly, carefully maneuvered himself on top of her, holding himself up as he withdrew his fingers from her soaking wet vulva. “First, I’m going to make you come,” Johan murmured, pulling Chelsea’s legs apart gently. “And then… well, you’ll see.” Johan grinned at her, and then began to trail kisses down from her lips, along the column of her throat, past her collarbones. Chelsea shivered as Johan lingered at her breasts, claiming each of her nipples in turn, licking and sucking each one. Johan’s fingers stroked just between her labia as he worshipped her breasts with lips and tongue, sending tingling jolts of pleasure through her body.

  Just when Chelsea thought she couldn’t stand any more teasing, Johan continued downward, kissing and nibbling along her ribs, past her abdomen. He nuzzled her hip, nipping sharply at the sensitive skin there, and Chelsea gasped, reaching down to tangle her fingers in his hair. Johan slithered down between her legs, spreading her thighs just slightly wider, careful to support her injured knee. Chelsea moaned out as Johan buried his face against her soaking wet pussy, sucking and licking hungrily. He pulled her labia into his mouth as he flickered his tongue up and down along her folds, tasting her thoroughly.

  Chelsea’s hips bucked and twisted as Johan brought his tongue up to her clit, barely swiping against the bead of nerves before moving down to the well of her pussy once more. She tugged at Johan’s hair without thinking, grabbed at his shoulder, too wrapped up in the pleasure of his mouth against her to remember where he was injured or even try to avoid it. Johan nuzzled against her, focusing his efforts on her pleasure center, and even though she tried to hold back, to savor the sensations coursing through her, Chelsea found her self-control slipping every moment, until she felt the growing knot of tension between her hips unravel, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her. Johan continued his worship even as Chelsea pitched and writhed, forgetting all about her own injuries, lost in the sensations coursing through her nervous system.

  Johan began to pull back as the spasms of pleasure began to abate, lapping up her fluids more slowly and then retreating, leaving Chelsea shivering in the aftershocks for just a moment before he slithered on top of her once more. “Are you ready for more?” Johan asked her, kissing her lightly on the lips. Chelsea struggled to catch her breath, draping her arms limply around his broad shoulders.

  “Not really but keep going anyway,” she said, smiling breathlessly. Johan chuckled and Chelsea felt him shifting her body around, moving above her even as he held himself up to keep from putting pressure on the parts of her body that still ached. She could feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing against her, and even though Chelsea was still hovering in the haze of orgasm, she felt a ripple of renewed lust.

  Johan carefully brought Chelsea’s injured leg up, resting her calf against his shoulder, and Chelsea bit her bottom lip, briefly uncertain; but as he thrust into her slowly, filling her up inch by inch, any worry about hurting herself evaporated. Johan rocked his hips, pushing deeper and deeper inside of her as Chelsea began to move with him. Hot and cold flashes of sensation crackled through her, and she reached out, carefully stretching to touch Johan everywhere. He held her leg on top of his shoulder, his free hand trailing over her body, stroking and caressing her, teasing her nipples one moment and then drifting down between their bodies to rub her clit the next. Chelsea arched and writhed, moaning out as the friction between them built up.

  She could feel Johan’s cock twitching inside of her, feel the tension in his body as they continued to move together; Chelsea forgot even the memory of pain as more and more pleasure coursed through her, bringing her swiftly to the edge of orgasm, grabbing and clutching at Johan’s body as if for life itself. They both reached orgasm at almost the same moment—Chelsea felt her self-control give way, and then felt the first hot, sticky-slick splash of Johan’s come rushing into her as they moaned together, crying out in pleasure.

  Johan carefully fell to the bed next to her, letting her leg slide from his shoulder as he draped his arms around her. Chelsea trembled, turning onto her side to cuddle close to Johan as they both panted and gasped for breath. “Okay,” she said, smiling slightly as she looked up into his face. “You’re definitely not my mom.” Johan laughed out loud, his arms tightening around her.

  “I would hope not!” Johan kissed her eagerly. “How do you feel now?” Chelsea considered the question.

  “Like I want half a Vicodin, breakfast, and then some more of this.” Johan chuckled.

  “I mean about your life,” he told her, tousling her hair playfully.

  “Well it could be all the pleasure chemicals in my system, but I’m pretty optimistic, on the whole,” Chelsea said. “You’re not just going to leave me when this is all over, are you?” Johan shook his head.

  “I told you yesterday: you’re stuck with me until you tell me to leave.” Chelsea smiled.

  “What are we going to do until the trial? I mean, I can’t work…” Johan brought her face up to his and kissed her hungrily.

  “Well, personally my plan is to keep you fed, keep you from getting hurt again, and regularly fuck your brains out, as long as you want to fuck me.” He nibbled along the column of her throat. “I seem to recall you having an issue with me ‘bullying you’ into fucking on my schedule.” Chelsea laughed, and clutched at her bruised rib as the movement sent a ripple of pain strong enough to cut through the haze of pleasure and painkillers.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, breathing carefully. “No more complaints about that.” Johan pulled her closer, nuzzling against her neck.

  “Then I think we’ll be just fine.” Johan kissed her again. “No more tantrums until you’re healed up, got it?” Chelsea nodded.

  “Got it. Now when are you going to feed me?” Johan guided her hand down along his body, and she laughed, half-groaning as she realized he was starting to become hard again. “One more time. Then we eat and get some drugs in me.”

  “We have nothing but time,” Johan murmured, and they began to move together once more.

  ****

  Chelsea managed to walk into the courtroom without limping, although the high heels the attorney had insisted she should wear for her stint on the witness stand made both her knee and ankle ache. She was healing—and Johan’s client had generously covered the expenses of her physical therapy, as well as the continued visits to the doctor—but it was slow.

  She was grateful to have Johan at her side; Chelsea glanced in the direction of the defense table and saw her former employer, Aaron Rosen, glaring daggers in her direction. There was no doubt in her mind that if Rosen somehow did manage to avoid conviction, he would continue to send people after her—only it would be for the pleasure of revenge rather than the desire to keep her silent. She had mentioned that possibility to Johan the night before, as she lay awake in bed, worrying about her first day of testimony. “If he gets off,” Johan had said, pulling her around and on top of him, “then I will take you with me to Sweden, and we’ll live there. He’s small time, Chelsea-baby. He doesn’t have the resources to follow you outside of the country.” The prosecutor had told her that with her testimony—and the evidence that she had provided—it was practically no contest. The trial would end, and Rosen would be convicted and spend the rest of his days serving out consecutive sentences—to which the district attorney had added murder and attempted murder.

  Whatever happened, Chelsea thought as she gave Johan’s hand a brief squeeze, glancing at him for support, she knew that the man who had come into her life so unexpectedly, and who she had fought against so hard, would stand by her and support her.

  THE END

  Riding Ryan

  Mona Myers is the daughter of a motorcycle club president. After his death, she’s left with the club, so she enlists the help of one of its most popular—and unbelievably hot—me
mbers, Ryan Kirby.

  Ryan and Mona’s partnership soon turns romantic. They realize they’re a great team—both on and off the racetrack—and before long, they get the club back in top form and ready to begin racing again.

  The only problem is that the club’s unruliest member, Lance Olsen, believes that the club should become a street racing gang that celebrates violent racing and winning by any means.

  Will Mona be able to keep her father’s dream alive, or will this spell the end of the Running Hill Riders?

  Mona Myers was not like most girls. At the age of eight, she had ridden on the back of a motorcycle with her father for the first time, and though she never got her own bike or claimed to be a ‘biker,’ she grew up finding that the people who inhabited the world in which her father lived and breathed were the best kind of people to surround herself with. At the age of twenty-seven, she was tall, lean and muscular with a pixie cut dyed black with blonde highlights in her slightly-too-long bangs. She had two tattoos, one on each arm, and if a day went by that she wasn’t wearing black it was a sign that something was up.

  On the day in question, she was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a green t-shirt that her father had given her when she was in high school. It clung to her chest and sat on her weirdly, too tight for her fully-grown and matured frame, but today she had to wear it. Today was the day she would bury her father.

  Benny Myers was more than a founding member of the Running Hill Motorcycle Club – one of the biggest, most well-respected racing motorcycle clubs in not just Detroit, but all of the US. Along with being Mona’s dad, he quickly became everyone’s father figure and best friend from the moment they entered his group. Benny built the riders many years before Mona was born, and carried the group until it grew to its forty-person size, structured as innocently as a ladies’ yacht club but functioning much more like a family of misfits, knitted close by loss and hardship. Because of this, Mona wasn’t the only person who took Benny’s death badly, and it comforted her to know that she would be surrounded by her motorcycle club family as they shared in her grief and sorrow at the loss of such a great guy.