by SM Reine
For some reason, I couldn’t shake the idea of him wearing a cap and gown. Nothing but a cap and gown, with the sides parted to bare his rock-hard abs, the tribal wolf tattoo, and his incredible…everything else. It was kind of a silly mental image. Silly, and yet incredibly hot. “Was your anthropology doctorate on werewolves? Or was it more of a motorcycle gang thing?”
“Neither. I didn’t know werewolves were real…before. Not until about two months ago.”
“Before you got bitten?” Sympathy unfolded in my heart. I reached up to stroke his jaw, wishing I could stroke all his pain away. “How did it happen?”
Instead of answering, he gently took my wrist, prying the wash rag from my fingers. He pushed me onto the bar stool. Captured my face in both of his hands. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”
He kissed me with none of last night’s urgency. I liked it when he got rough me, liked it when I bruised under his touch, but I liked this, too. He tasted like toothpaste. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d kissed a biker who took the time to brush his teeth after partying at my bar.
The tape cassette stopped playing with a grinding sound, and I realized that an engine was grumbling outside the bar’s windows, breaking through the quiet.
I knew the sound of that engine. It was distinctive, unlike any other motorcycle I had ever heard. The harsh grinding made it sound like the parts were about to fly apart in a thousand directions, but I knew for a fact that the rider was just as meticulous with his baby as Cooper was, if not even more.
That noise made me feel sick in a way that even a dozen tequila body shots couldn’t.
Cooper was still talking to me. I couldn’t hear anything he said. I leaned over the bar to grab Bo Peep, and I didn’t even give a moment’s thought before tucking her under my arm and storming out onto the street.
My name followed me out. Cooper calling. I was numb, my head filled with white noise.
How dare he come here? To my town? To my fucking bar?
It didn’t make any rational sense. I knew that if I had screwed someone over as thoroughly as Peyton had screwed me over, I would never be able to show my face again. He deserved to die in a ditch somewhere. The fact he hadn’t had the courtesy to rot made my intestines turn into a knot.
Fortunately, it wasn’t too late for Peyton McCollum to meet the fate he deserved.
I pumped Bo Peep and aimed it at the yellow Harley that had just parked in front of my bar.
Peyton took off his goggles, hanging them on the handlebars. His cheeks were tanned and blistered. The skin around his brown eyes was a few shades paler. Next, he took off the helmet, and the black hair underneath was tousled and sweaty. I remembered running my fingers through those locks as he ate me out, sucking and biting between my legs. I remembered wondering if our kids would have hair like his, or more textured like mine.
“Ofelia,” he said with a lazy smile, dismounting from the motorcycle. His jacket hung open, baring a t-shirt with a winged skull on the chest. “Funny meeting you in Lobo Norte.”
“As if you didn’t know I’d be here,” I said, voice quavering.
“I’d heard rumors.”
And he’d come anyway.
This was the man I had been running from. No, not just the man—the entire life he represented. I’d been so happy without him. A pit like Lobo Norte was miles better than being with Peyton in his mansions of platinum and marble and jacuzzi tubs.
Two years after it all, I barely remembered the whirlwind of coked-out parties that I’d shared at Peyton’s side. It was a blur of colors and sensation. Dizzying highs punctuated by nauseating lows. Strolling down the red carpet on his side, flirting with celebrities, then watching him take money from johns after they fucked me in the dressing rooms. My bruised arms covered in needle marks. Laughing, dancing to music, getting bent over tables while too drunk to fight off the attention I didn’t want.
But I remembered the night he had sold me for the last time perfectly.
“I must say, the scars don’t look as bad as I expected,” Peyton said.
I was going to kill him.
But I felt someone step up next to me and turned, jerking the gun up to aim at his chest.
Cooper clamped his hand down on the muzzle of the shotgun.
“Ofelia,” he said softly, pushing it down so that it wasn’t pointing at him.
I’d been so jittery that I’d almost shot Cooper. I eased my finger off the trigger, gazing up at him with horror. He’d probably heal the wound, sure, but that wouldn’t change what I’d done. And it’d be a waste of a good slug that deserved to blast apart Peyton’s face.
I aimed again, back at the man who had earned it.
“You can’t,” Cooper said, his breath warming my ear. It would be so easy. Just squeeze the trigger and watch him splatter, just like the coyotes. “If you kill one of the bikers, then the truce is blown,” he went on. “You’ll be fair game.”
Startled, I turned to look at him. His face was just inches from mine. “Truce?”
“You don’t think the gangs just respect you and Gloria, do you?”
I’d always assumed that they feared us.
Peyton smirked as I lowered the gun. That smile didn’t reach his eyes. He sniffed, wiped the sweat off of his upper lip. “Who’s this, Ofelia? New pimp?”
My finger tensed on the trigger again. “Peyton’s not in a gang,” I hissed at Cooper. “He’s just some jack-off rich kid who digs deep in his mommy’s wallet.”
“But he’s wearing gang tats,” Cooper said.
Peyton didn’t have tattoos. At least, he hadn’t used to. I’d explored every inch of his body with my tongue and I had him memorized.
I took a second look. Cooper was right. There were tattoos ringing Peyton’s wrist that looked like vines with incredibly long, metallic thorns. I’d never seen those gang tattoos before.
At least, not in Lobo Norte.
“What are the Needles doing here?” Now Cooper was speaking to Peyton, not me.
The Needles. I had to shift my grip or I was going to fire accidentally. Like Cooper had told me, there was no biker gang named the Needles. It was the name of a very different organization. One much more dangerous.
Peyton was with the Silver Needles now.
Rich boy had gotten into some fucked-up extracurriculars.
Once I realized why he was here, I knew who had hurt Kelsie. It couldn’t have been Peyton—he was a grade-A asshole, but he didn’t have burning hands. He hadn’t come into Lobo Norte alone, though.
He had brought the incubus mafia with him, too.
“We want to talk with Big Papa,” Peyton said. “We want to cut a deal.”
Cooper nodded, settling a hand on the back of my neck. His touch was heavy. Comforting. It grounded me. Kept me from opening fire. “I’ll tell him.”
“Good boy,” Peyton said, like he was talking to a dog.
He mounted his bike and puckered his lips at me. Made kissing noises. Then he drove off, leaving me in the dust with a feeling of being dirty that I hadn’t felt in years, not even when I stripped or blew a biker behind the bar or let them fuck me. There was no feeling of dirtiness quite like being used.
I’d been wrong about The Devil card. He didn’t leer like Big Papa.
He leered like Peyton.
XII
I returned to the bar, picked up the wash rag, and dunked it in water. My motions were mechanical as I cleaned the surface of the bar. Little circles. I could see my reflection in the soap.
The woman on the bar looked like she was in shock.
Warm hands settled on my shoulders. My heart was too broken to be in the mood for sex, but my body had its own agenda. Chills washed down my back. I leaned unconsciously into Cooper’s touch, letting my head fall back on his shoulder, molding my ass against his jeans.
“That bastard is responsible for those scars,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“All my scars,” I said softly.
“Yo
u said he was in jail.”
“Peyton sold me to the john that gave me the scars. That guy is in jail. Peyton has never seen a police station that he couldn’t bribe his way out of.”
Cooper’s fingertips played over the ridged skin on my neck. The gesture didn’t feel intrusive, coming from him. It felt affectionate. “I’ll kill him.”
I knew a promise when I heard one.
Turning in his arms, I let Cooper pull me to his chest, warm and safe with the beat of his heart against my cheek.
“He smelled like wealth,” he said. “Like the drugs that rich boys snort and alcohol mixed with gold flakes.”
“He is wealthy.” My voice caught in my throat. Peyton was frighteningly rich. Rich enough to fuck up anyone who pissed him off with a quick phone call to his bodyguards kind of rich.
“I’m not surprised you used to be in that. You look like someone used to a better life.”
What could have been better than Lobo Norte? Steady work, people who watched my back, no laws, and no fucks given. But Cooper’s words made me think of home. Los Angeles. A place where I hadn’t been rich, but had been used by the rich. It was where my real family lived, though. Two big brothers, the grandparents who raised us, an extended family that could populate a small town.
I guess I had been wealthy in my own way.
“I can’t give you that,” Cooper said, sinking into a chair and pulling me so that I stood in front of him.
“Huh?”
“A mansion. Luxury. I’m not rich, and I can’t give you any of that. Maybe before, when I had a job, but now…” He lifted a fistful of my braids to his nose and inhaled, eyes closing slightly as though I was a drug. “You deserve it all.”
The fact that it had even occurred to him made me laugh. As if I could possibly care about how wealthy Peyton was. As if it would be better to be kept as a whore in a gilded mansion than be with someone who wanted me for who I was, not for how much he could get for my body.
I settled on top of him, straddling his hips in much the same way I sat on the recipient of a lap dance. “Cooper…” I trailed my fingernails through his hair, down to the back of his neck. “I saw what it takes to be rich. I saw what those people do. They think they’re free to fuck around because they’re wealthy, but money is just another kind of cage. I’d rather be free. Really free.”
His hands skimmed up my hips, thumbs settling underneath my shirt, on the bare skin just over my waistband. “I want you to be free, too.”
My mouth dropped to his. We kissed, gentle and soft. I licked the salt off his lips.
More and more, I didn’t just want to be free—I wanted to be free with Cooper. But we both had chains of our own. I couldn’t go back to Los Angeles to see my family as long as the Silver Needles were there. I wasn’t even sure I should cross the border into America. I didn’t know how far the incubus mafia’s reach extended.
Cooper’s chains were even stronger than mine. He was bound to the phases of the moon and the werewolf pack. His gang. Those ties were tighter than blood and silver and steel.
Neither of us could ever be free. Not really.
Our kiss deepened, and his hand slid up to brush over the underside of my breast. I wasn’t wearing a bra. He teased at my nipple with his fingertips. I sighed against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to plunge his tongue in deeper, flicking it against my teeth, the roof of my mouth.
My hand snaked between us, moving for the buckle of his belt. Cooper caught my wrist.
“What?” I asked.
“You’ve got to finish cleaning up the bar.”
I couldn’t have cared less about that at the moment. I had Cooper where I wanted him, Peyton was in town, and the Needles would be on his heels. The bikers could just party on sticky floors with dirty glasses for all I cared. I needed this. I needed him.
Reaching for him again, Cooper caught both of my hands and trapped them behind my back. “You’re a fucking tease,” I said.
“Waiting will make it better. Trust me.”
“That something you learned in anthropology?”
He responded by kissing me again. Harder. And then he broke away, moved me gently off of his lap, and picked up the mop.
I was smiling. It was a goofy expression, not at all the sultry look I gave the clients. But Cooper wasn’t a client. He also wasn’t just some biker. He had seen my scars, seen the man who had given them to me, and he had become something much more important than that.
Even if he was a tease.
The nights went by quickly with Cooper helping me run the bar. Everything was better with him. Cleaning in the mornings, cooking tacos for lunch, sifting through the insane mail that showed up in my mailbox every couple of days, serving drinks and stripping at night. He didn’t ask me more about Peyton and I didn’t offer. It was easy being with him. It was good.
He didn’t even look twice at the Coyote Ranch girls when they started joining us to entertain the bikers at night. It was like I was the only woman in Lobo Norte. Nobody had made me feel like that before.
I couldn’t forget about Peyton and the Silver Needles. I couldn’t forget that my quiet life was at risk of imploding.
But Cooper almost made it so that I didn’t care.
And then on Friday afternoon, when I was preparing to open, Big Papa strolled into the bar. It was the first time I’d seen him since the night of the failed cage match, and the sight made my stomach fill with butterflies on speed.
I’d been afraid of him the first time I saw him, but now that I knew who he was—and what he was—my fear only mounted. He was no longer just another anonymous biker rolling through Lobo Norte. He was a werewolf. The biggest and meanest in his gang. Mean enough to take Cooper down without even needing to catch his breath.
There was no way I could hide the smell of my fear, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t put on a good show.
“I’m not open yet.” I sounded so much braver than I felt. In truth, embarrassment was curdling my intestines, as if Pops had caught me casting magic or my brothers had spotted the hater marks on my cleavage. I didn’t want Big Papa to know about Cooper and me. It felt dangerous.
The werewolf’s eye flicked between the two of us. Cooper was behind the bar rearranging bottles. “You’re not opening tonight,” Big Papa said. “I’m having a meeting here.”
The back of my neck prickled. “No, I don’t think—”
“Ofelia,” Cooper interrupted.
I gaped at him. He was siding with Big Papa? He was just going to let him take over my bar?
Big Papa pulled out a wad of cash. Slapped it on the table. “This’ll cover drinks and your service tonight.” His eyes raked down my body. “You’re not wearing that. Put on something like you wear when you’re dancing.” The way he spoke left no room for argument. There was no doubt in Big Papa’s mind that I’d obey.
My tongue felt heavy and thick in my mouth. Somehow, I managed to ask, “Who are you meeting?”
“Go get dressed,” he said. He didn’t need to answer me. Peyton had gotten a hold of Big Papa, and Big Papa had agreed to meeting with him.
The Silver Needles were coming to my bar, and the werewolf wanted me to serve them.
Numbly, I set down my rag and headed into the back room to change, my pulse roaring in my ears like the scream of a desert tempest through the canyons.
I didn’t even hear Cooper follow me. When he grabbed my arm and spun me to face him, my heart skipped. “You’re not going to serve them, Ofelia. I’ll take care of the bar. I’ll serve the drinks.” I opened my mouth, but he spoke right over me. “If you’re worried about the tips, don’t be. You can still have them.”
It wasn’t about the money.
These were the men that had bought me from Peyton, tortured me, and ruined my life. They were the reason that I couldn’t return to Los Angeles and had to save up to make a new life somewhere else. Somewhere safer, where incubi didn’t live.
They had already fucked me up in so
many ways. I wasn’t going to let them ruin Lobo Norte for me, too. “No. I’ll work the bar.”
Cooper shook his head. “This isn’t a negotiation.”
“You don’t tell me what to do.”
“If you know what’s good for you, just listen to me,” he said, searching my face with his eyes. “Go back to your trailer. Hide inside your magic. And don’t let anyone in.” His tone made it clear that he wasn’t suggesting that I hide. He was demanding it.
I lifted my chin, staring him down. “This is my bar, Cooper. I’m not going anywhere. If you want to make a big deal out of it in front of everyone, then fine—they’ll just figure out who I am that much faster.”
Heat flashed through his eyes. “They know you?”
I hadn’t meant to say that. I’d told him that Peyton had sold me, but not who had done the purchasing. He hadn’t known that the incubi might have a grudge aginst me.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.
But now that he’d realized something was going on, he wasn’t going to relent. He grabbed me. Tossed me over his shoulder. The world flipped upside down as my head dangled down his back. I cried out in protest, but he just locked his arm over my thighs and hauled me out of the bar. The back door slammed shut behind us. The sunlight scorched the back of my legs.
“Cooper! You can’t do this!”
“Watch me,” he grunted.
He kicked in the front door of my trailer. The wards allowed him to enter, since he was touching me. Guess I needed to do something about that.
Cooper tossed me onto my bed. I actually bounced. Before I could get up, he pressed his hands into my wrists, pinning me to the mattress. His hips were heavy against mine. “In about two weeks, the Fangs are going to leave Lobo Norte with a handful of new members,” Cooper said, glaring down at me intently. I’d let myself forget that he didn’t live in town like I did. The reminder that he was going to leave stung. “Two weeks, Ofelia. You’ve just got to have the sense to hide out for that long. But if you don’t have the sense, I’ll have it for you. You’re staying here.”