by Shyla Colt
“No!” Shooter said, throwing his hands up in the air. Her words cut him to the quick. Her ex used to pull this shit?
“Oh, so we need to break her in?” Jessica asked.
“All of your girls protest at first, but you seem to bring them around. With our help, of course.” Jane sashayed toward the bed. “Don’t worry, honey. You’ll love it.”
“I don’t know who you are, but one more step and I swear I’ll lay you out cold!” She moved from the bed, holding yards of sheet to her body with one hand while she held the other up, palm out.
Jessica grinned. “Oh we like them feisty.”
“Get your clothes on and get the fuck out of here! This is my Old Lady.”
The twins exchanged a look. “Are you sure you don’t want us to—”
“Now!” Putting the safety on, he put his gun back and scrambled out of the bed to chase after Juliette, who’d grabbed her clothes and headed into the bathroom. He turned the knob. Locked.
“Come on, baby, it wasn’t what you thought.” Shooter said. “I wouldn’t put you in a situation like that.”
“So you haven’t had ménage plus who-knows-how-many with them? So much they think it’s normal to walk in here like they own the place? What’s to stop them from doing it again?”
Wincing, he closed his eyes and banged his head against the door. “I can’t change my past.”
“That’s not what this is about, Shooter.” Her voice warbled.
“I never lied about who I was.”
“No, but I never thought I’d see it so up close and personal. It is fucking with my head.” Her voice shook.
“Just let me in and we’ll talk.”
“I don’t want to talk, Shooter! I want space.”
The words hit a red panic button inside of him. “How can we work through it if you run away?” Shooter smacked his palm against the door. “Don’t pull away from me.”
“I’m not running— I’m walking, because if I don’t, odds are I’ll do or say something I’ll regret. Look, I’ve already called a taxi.”
“No way!” He battered the door. “The only way you’re leaving here is on the back of my bike!”
“Good luck enforcing that one.” Her snippy response fueled his anger. “Stop trying to tell me what to do and let me deal with it in my own way.”
“I swear to God I’ll kick this door in.”
“You’ll be the one fixing it!”
His chest heaved, and his dick lengthened. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her so fucking fierce. Damn, how can she sound so hot right now? She was giving him hell, but he loved the fact that she’d stood up for herself. It meant she was comfortable with him. He smiled goofily. “There’s no need to be jealous. I’m with you now, they know that.”
“Jealous!” A shriek sliced through the door between them.
He clenched his teeth. Poor word choice.
“Hey, man, what’s going on?” Turning, he saw a group of bleary-eyed brothers in the doorframe.
“The fucking twins decided tonight would be a great time to surprise me, and when they saw Juliette, they figured they’d include her.”
“Oh dude, you are so fucked right now.” Moose snorted.
“Yeah, thanks for the support. Close the door, will you?”
“Sure thing. We’ll get the twins out too.”
“Thanks, Moose.”
The door shut, and he sighed. “Juliette…” Silence. “Are you going to ignore me now?” When she refused to respond, he swore and pushed away from the rectangle of wood that felt like a barricade. Ambling over to the bed, he dug out his jeans and slipped them on. Rapping sounded on the door.
What now? “Yeah.”
“Just thought you might want to know your Old Lady is climbing into a cab right now.”
“Son of a bitch!” She climbed out the bathroom window! Gritting his teeth, he balled his fists. Run if you want to, Juliette. I’ll track you down every time.
“Just let her go. I’ll meet her at her house.”
The Prez appeared, and the group parted. A small, rare grin lined his lips. “I gotta tell you. I like the librarian, man.” He shook his head. “I think she’ll fit in here nicely. I wasn’t so sure when I first met her.”
Shooter scowled. “It’s only funny because you don’t have to face her wrath.”
“True, but I been there a time or two. Smooth things out. She looked at you like you hung the moon. Men like us need a woman like that at our back.” Having spoken his peace, Tiny walked off.
“All right, show’s over. Let’s leave so the brother can dress and go grovel.” Hawk grinned.
“Jackass,” Shooter spat the words.
The Native American man chuckled as everyone moved away from the door. A glance down the hall told Shooter the party was still going, but the crowd had thinned significantly. Disappearing back into his room, he finished dressing and stalked out of the club. It was time she came clean about her past. It was darker than she first let on and obviously still affecting her. He couldn’t erase his past and he’d told her flat out he hadn’t spent the past seven years being a saint. But he didn’t think her anger stemmed from that. Concerned, he started his bike and nodded to the brother to open the gate. He should have been rolling over and slipping inside her for a second time, not going on some wild girl chase. He tried to prepare himself for the battle ahead.
Two streets over from her house, he killed the bike and walked it the rest of the way. Waking up the neighbors would only add insult to injury. Setting his bike on its kickstand in the driveway, he walked up to the door and knocked. The light illuminated her bedroom, but he didn’t put it past her to ignore him.
Knocking harder to remind her she wasn’t dating some pretty pushover, he leaned against the wall beside the door and waited. A few moments later the door jerked open. Dressed in a robe, she stood before him with her arms wrapped around her waist. Her red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained face, and wounded expression dulled his anger.
“Why the hell did you take off like that? I didn’t tell them to come in.”
She glanced away.
“You believe me, don’t you?” Slouching in an attempt to catch her gaze, he reached out to brush her hair behind her ear. Skittish, she pulled back. Panic swam in her glossy gaze.
“What’s wrong?”
She tugged the robe closer and shook her head.
“I know isn’t about the twins, not really.”
Her breaths shortened, and she clutched at her throat. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he led her to the couch.
“Put your head between your legs and breathe deep. You’re going to hyperventilate. Do you have an inhaler?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.” The quiver of her lips said otherwise. “When I saw them at the end of the bed and she started to taunt me…it brought back bad memories.”
“Peter?” His fingers ached to wrap around the man’s neck. He’d avoided digging into the man’s identity until now. Because once he had an address it’d be a matter of time until he paid the motherfucker a visit. He had a feeling whatever Juliette said now would tip him over the scale to the “I don’t give a fuck who this asshole is” zone.
“He liked to make me watch him with other women. It got him off, and when that stopped. Things got ugly.”
“Fuck, baby. I didn’t know.”
“I-I know. I’m not pissed at you for having a colorful past.” She shook her head. “I’m not a child or ignorant. I know who you are. In that moment all I could remember was how inadequate I felt. I couldn’t please him as is. And they were always so small. Petite dolls with pale skin. It made me wonder why he was with me. He wanted me to join, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t.” She pressed her hands to her mouth like a small child afraid of getting into trouble for being too loud. “He want
ed me to be like them. I tried. I really did. But I could never.” Her chest heaved once more, and he removed her hands.
“Juliette. That bastard was sick. There was a hole inside of him no one could ever fill. Was he your first boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“He preyed on that. I’ve known men like that. They can’t handle how out of control their life is, so they focus on someone else.” Shooter shook his head.
“I know. I know that now. I’m not a complete basket-case. This is just my first time attempting a relationship since. Things trigger when I don’t expect them to.”
“Well to be fair, the situation was far from normal.” He snorted, choking back the chuckle that wanted to crawl up his throat and escape. “I understand you needing space, but I can’t handle a disappearing act. Shit happened to me, people I thought would always be there betrayed me in the worst possible way. It left me gun shy. I need communication… Jesus, you got me sounding like a pussy.”
“It’s okay to have feelings.”
“I don’t think I like the role reversal.”
She snickered. “I didn’t much like climbing out of a bathroom window like a deranged hooker.”
He released a bark of laughter. “I feel that. So we’re good?”
“Yeah. We’re good. I’ll try to let you know when I’m flipping out.”
“I’d say I’d try to be less domineering, but it’d be a lie.”
She snorted. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty…”
“The word you’re looking for is manly.”
“Dashing, chivalrous?”
“Careful with that fancy talk— your learning is showing.”
“I am a librarian.”
“Speaking of that… Prez said he liked you, told me to bring the librarian around more often. I think you got yourself a nickname.”
“Really?” she whispered.
“Yeah. You might be stuck with more than just me before it’s said and done.”
She giggled.
“What?”
“Just imagining a group of you coming into the library.”
The laughter replaced the sadness. He made a mental note to look up Peter Stant.
“You’ve seen into my wounds, but I know you have your own. Why did you chase me?”
He sighed. “Because once I didn’t fight hard enough to keep something precious and made me lose everything.”
She didn’t press him. For now this would be enough.
Chapter Nine
Juliette turned to glance over her shoulder as she locked up the library for the night. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Jeff leave early. The library sat in the heart of town. But crime didn’t politely agree to stay in the bad part of town. Crazy ran amuck these days.
Gripping her keys, she stuck the pointed ends outward, per her self-defense classes. A glance assured her there were no cars close to her own, and the light she’d parked beneath illuminated everything. Chalking it up to too much late-night thriller reading, she spun around and rushed to the safety of her black sedan, keeping her guard up. When she reached the driver side, she noticed a sticky note adhered to the car. Great, just what I need— a hit and run. Removing the note, she began to read, and froze.
A flash of heat bloomed in her face, and nausea rocked her stomach like a boat in a storm.
I thought you learned your place. For almost two years, you were my good girl, keeping to yourself. Now you’ve taken up with a miscreant. I can’t allow that to happen…
She looked up, sure he was somewhere watching her every move. God, has he been stalking me this entire time? A chill set in. The flowers were from him. Suddenly the Forget-Me-Nots made sense. The other flowers had to mean something. Peter Stant never did anything without purpose. Fumbling with her key she unlocked the door, climbed behind the wheel, cranked the car, and peeled out.
Peter had returned. Per his usual style, he’d done it with a bang. Her hands shook as she turned on the speaker system in her phone and glanced in her rearview mirror to see if anyone followed. He’d driven a black sports car, but that might have changed.
“Call Shooter.” Her voice shook and cracked, but the machine understood. When his voicemail picked up, her heart dropped. Not now. She’d never called him at the club before, but this counted as an emergency. “Call Club.” The phone rang twice.
“Hello.”
“Can I speak to Shooter?”
“Who wants to know?”
“The librarian.”
“Give me a second.” Rustling sounded in her ear. “Hey Shooter! Your Old Lady’s on the phone!”
“Hey, baby. What’s going on?”
“Peter’s back.”
“Are you okay? What happened? You need me to send some boys out to the library?”
“N-no. I don’t know. He left a note on my car, said he’s been watching me, and now that I’m seeing you something needs to be done.”
“That Barbie-looking son of a bitch.”
“You looked him up!”
“Of course I did. I should’ve snapped his fool neck.”
The gravelly tone of his voice soothed her.
“I want you to come to the club now.”
“I’m still dressed for work.”
“I don’t care. Who knows how long he’s been lurking in your bushes, jacking off while you sleep. I want my boys to head to your house and check the place out.”
“Okay…but then what am I going to do?”
“You let me worry about that.”
“What if he follows me?”
“I hope that motherfucker does. We’ll have a nice present waiting for him.”
Turning onto the highway ramp, she gunned the engine. “I’m scared.”
Shooter’s low growl made her jump.
“I hope you aren’t horrified when this is said and done. As far as I’m concerned this prick just declared war.”
“He’s crazy, Shooter. I don’t put anything past him.” She shuddered, thinking of the rages she’d seen him launch into when things didn’t go his way.
“Then he’s met his match. He’s fucking with the Lords, and one pissed of Marine.”
His words soothed her. Shooter didn’t say things he didn’t mean or couldn’t do. Blinding light flooded her rearview, and she gasped.
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone’s got their lights on behind me.” She moved into the other lane, and the car followed. “Oh God. I think it’s Peter!”
“Where are you?”
The steady tenor forced her addled brain to focus. A quick glance to her left provided her with a viable answer.
“Between Willshire exit and Monroe.”
“Get off on Monroe, go to the Express gas station right off the road I’ll meet you there, park right by the door, and no matter what, do not get out of the car.”
She gripped the wheel tight to keep her car straight as her body shook. Memories of bruised sides, forced participation, and oppressive control assailed her. Sucking air in through her noise and letting it out of her mouth, she managed to make it to the next exit and pull into the gas station.
Parking directly in front of the door, she breathed a sigh of relief when the car sped past her. She rested her head against the center of the steering wheel. This time she would not be a victim.
Empowered and enraged, she sat up straight. He didn’t have the right to make her feel that way. She’d taken that back in therapy. Life taught her you couldn’t dictate the chaos unfolding around you, but you could control your response to it.
He should be afraid. Her doctor had everything documented. If anything happened he wouldn’t get away with it. The thought of his tan skin, brilliant, sky-blue eyes, fine aristocratic features, and perfect white smile made
her bare her teeth.
It was time she took her pound of flesh. Alert, she took in her surroundings. The lone car in the parking lot, she’d notice if anyone pulled up. The car behind her had ensured she couldn’t get a glance at it, but she was positive it’d be a luxury vehicle of some sort— the Stants didn’t do mediocre. His drolly spoken, “Kitten,” played in her head.
God, I dodged a bullet by not marrying him. She would have been bullied, battered, taunted, and paraded for the rest of her life because one did not divorce a member of high society. They continued to live in mutual misery with the occasional dalliance on the side. Her mother fawned over him, oohed, and ahhed over his impeccable manners and prestigious backgrounds. She’d gone to college on a scholarship, and his family donated regularly and had buildings named after them. Caught up in the fact that this beautiful male took an interest in her, she’d never seen the warning signs when they did begin to pop up.
Like any abusive relationship, it started off good, too good, looking back on things. Of course, that was how they got you. The thought of him trailing her all the time turned her blood cold.
How could I not have noticed? Has he been in the house? She began a mental checklist of all the things she’d need to change. Motion sensor lights, new locks, an alarm. The roar of motorcycles had never sounded so sweet. Craning her neck, she searched the crew of ten for Shooter.
He pulled up beside her car with his game face on, and her heart soared. Unlocking the car, she stepped out and rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He smelled like leather, sandalwood, and him. Pressing her face in his neck, she breathed deep.
“You okay, baby?”
“I am now.”
“Did he approach you?”
“No, he drove by. But I know it was him.”
“I want you to lock up your car and come back with me. One of the Prospects will drive your car back.”
Too tired to haggle, she nodded. “Let me just grab my purse.”
Settled on the back of his bike, pressed against his broad back she held him tight and realized, Shooter had become her second home.