by Evie Monroe
He tilted his head up, listening for Ella in the next room as he pulled out of me. “Still asleep. Despite your noise.”
I scrunched my nose. “My noise? What about you?”
He grinned and fell back onto the mattress, blinking. Then said, “Wow. I am beat.”
The next thing I knew, his breathing had slowed. I rolled over and put my chin on his chest, watching his eyelids twitching.
The bastard had fallen asleep. Who knew, getting into a turf war with another motorcycle club and nearly dying would’ve tuckered the poor baby out?
I let out a little laugh. Despite all the hard muscles, his pectorals rippling with tattoos, he looked so uncharacteristically boyish, sleeping there with nothing but that towel slung across his waist. Looking at him like this, with his thick half-moon of eyelashes, his pink lips, he just looked so pretty, it was hard to believe he was the head of a motorcycle gang. I leaned over and set a hand on his big bare shoulder, the warmth of which seeped into me and I kissed his forehead. He smelled like chlorine and Jack, a heady mixture that had me wanting him all over again.
God, he’d turned me into a sex addict, one of those people who’d happily lie in bed all day, waiting for it.
I slipped off the bed, pulling off the robe, and went to take another quick shower to get the chlorine out of my hair.
Five minutes later, I returned, and peeked at the bed to see him completely still, sleeping. God, he was sexy, his nakedness and the way his cock slightly tented the towel making me wet again. I wanted to strip off the towel and lie beside him, run my hands over his muscled legs, his narrow hips, his thick, long cock, up his washboard abs to the most perfect chest I’d ever seen. Even now, it was hard to believe the things we’d done, and all that beautiful work of art had been inside me.
I changed into a tank and boxers, and watched him sleep for a little while, watched his smooth, chest rising and falling in the moonlight coming through the sliding glass door. I thought of what he’d have been doing, otherwise, tonight. Cullen took risks, he always had. Would tonight have been the risk that could’ve ended his life?
Thinking of that, I remembered the gun, which was still lying outside by the hot tub. I went out and picked up his dirty clothes, his boots, all the while staring at the gun.
I swallowed. I’d held it before, once, while we’d been playing around in bed. I’d joked around, asking if it made me look badass and sexy. He hadn’t thought it was funny, but it took me some time to figure out why. He wasn’t trying to look like a badass.
He was a badass and with his lifestyle, he needed that gun to survive.
I carefully lifted it up, holding it like some infected thing, and then grabbed for his heavy boots. They were super-heavy, and when I peeked inside, I figured out why. He had another gun in one of them.
Jesus. He hadn’t just wanted revenge. He was going for another wild west shootout, just like the one that he’d said had been at his house.
This was the life that I could expect with Cullen.
But I hoped to God Ella would forgive me if anything ever happened. Because I’d never be able to leave him now.
When I set his things on the dresser, I stared at the guns. I thought about locking it in the closet safe, but decided against it, so I just put it in the top drawer.
I realized how dry my throat was. I crept over to the mini-bar to check it out, but all I could find were sodas and a few remaining bottles of alcohol, since Cullen had cleaned out almost everything else. What I really wanted was some plain old water. I’d seen a vending machine on our way to the bungalow, so I figured I could get something, then be back in a few minutes. Reaching into my purse, I found a couple of dollar bills.
I opened the door to the suite and walked along the secluded jungle pathway and soon caught sight of the glowing display of the vending machine.
Suddenly, the roar of motorcycles startled me. More than just one. It sounded like several, maybe a whole army. And it also sounded like they were close, maybe right in the parking lot.
I didn’t know much about Cullen’s club, but I did know that the Vanderbilt probably wasn’t a place for bikers. In fact, I was pretty sure that was why Cullen had chosen this place for me. To keep me away from the Fury.
I froze. My heart jammed itself in my throat.
Crumpling the dollar bills into my hand, I whirled around and ran as fast as I could, back to the bungalow.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cullen
I’d been having a dream. In it, I was somewhere far away from Aveline Bay, and I felt happy. It was just me and Grace, her naked body pressed up against me. It was nothing but warm, perfect paradise. The sun was shining on our faces and we had no cares in the world. Everything was so damn good.
“Cullen,” her sweet voice whispered playfully in my ear, rousing me. “Cullen.”
I rolled over and took her in my arms, drawing her soft lips against mine, but instead of kissing me, she said, louder, more urgently, “Cullen!”
I woke with a start to see Grace over me in the darkness, her eyes wide as moons. Her hair was wet and she was dressed. Moonlight slashed through the window. It couldn’t have been morning yet. I tried to sit up. “What time is it?”
“After two.” Her voice trembled, and her hands shook. She was holding something in her hands. A crumpled dollar bill. “I think they’re here.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Who?”
“Who’s here?”
“I was thirsty so I went outside to get some water from the vending machine.”
“You went outside?” My voice rose.
“Well, yes. You said . . .”
Damn, I should have told her that going outside, at this hour of the night, anyone could have grabbed her. She had no idea what kind of chance she’d been taking. The Fury were everywhere, and their numbers had always been larger than ours. I’d been playing it too safe when I told her I wasn’t worried. “Forget what I said,” I told her, as suddenly, it hit me.
It was after two. And I was supposed to meet the rest of the Cobras at midnight.
I’d abandoned my club. I swung my head around the room, looking for my phone. I found it on the night stand and lifted it up, checking my messages.
The screen was on fire. More than twenty different messages from the guys, all versions of “where the fuck are you?”
Grace had started pacing frantically, chewing on a fingernail. I stood up and got in her path, dragging her hand from her mouth. “All right. What did you see?”
“I heard it. A whole bunch of motorcycles. Out by the main building.”
I dropped her hand to look for my clothes. She brought it right back up to her mouth and started chewing. She’d piled my clothing on the dresser. I tossed aside the towel and shimmied into my jeans, looking for my weapon. “Gun?”
She motioned to the drawer. I opened it and slid my gun into my waistband, while I scanned the rest of the space around me. The closet was filled with the basics, Grace’s luggage and crap for Ella, extra pillows, room to hang clothes. I moved things around and said, “Do me a favor. Get Ella and hide in here.”
“Why? You think . . .”
“I just think you’ll be safer in there. It’s probably nothing. Just some passing bikers,” I said, even though I doubted it.
She moved into the living room, quietly scooped Ella into her arms and ran back into the bedroom, moving past me, into the closed space. I leaned down and kissed the worried wrinkle on her forehead. “Hey. No problem. It’ll be fine.”
She nodded and pulled Ella to her chest, then sank down to the floor of the closet as I closed the door. Taking my phone, I jabbed in a text to Hart: What’s going on?
I went to the sliding glass door and peered out, but all it did was provide a view of the high-walled courtyard. Everything looked fine out there. What I couldn’t see was the outside the bungalow. There were no windows facing the front of the resort. A second later, I saw a text from Hart: Yo. Where you
at?
I answered: Long story. What’s going on now?
I watched the three dots, indicating he was typing back, all the while dragging my eyes up to the front door. This could all be a mistake. The Fury were having a party. They hadn’t seen us leave town. The Vanderbilt was just off the Pacific Coast Highway, a nice ride. What Grace heard outside could’ve just been a bunch of bikers out for a nighttime joyride.
Hart came back with: We waited until 12:30 and then Nix made the call that we should go on without you. But it was a front. We got there and the Fury had cleared out.
My body tensed. I thumbed in, Vanderbilt Resort as a loud banging shook the front door. I reached back for my piece, then pressed SEND and pocketed my phone, cocking my gun. If Hart was the genius he said he was, he’d figure it out if I didn’t respond. I pointed the barrel right at the door, taking a step forward.
“Yeah?” I called. “Who is it?”
“Cullen, buddy!” a voice said. For fuck’s sake. Bruiser, the VP of the Fury. “It’s your old friend. Let us in.”
Bruiser and I went way back. He was about forty-five and as crass an asshole as you could imagine, plus he was dumb as a stump. It was a miracle he’d made it to VP in the first place. I’d had run-ins with him about half a dozen times over the years, and during the last one, he’d nearly killed his girlfriend trying to run me down on his bike in a parking lot. She’d been hopping on the back of his bike and he’d gunned it, coming after me. A Fury through and through; all they ever did was think about themselves.
“What the fuck do you want?” I called out.
I could sense that smug smile on his fat-ass face. “I think you know.”
I raked my hand through my hair, feeling the raised S-shape of the stitching Drake had given me. “No, I don’t. How about you tell me? How the hell’d you find me, anyway? Can’t a man get out of town for a weekend?”
“Well, Cullen. You know how much interest we take in you.” He let out a loud, gravelly laugh. “While all your minions were preparing to break up our party, we were watching you. We’ve got friends all over, keeping tabs on you and that tasty slut of yours. By the way, why weren’t you with your club? That tasty little whore of yours too good to pass up?”
I threw my head to the ceiling and let out a sigh. Fuck. It’d be a good half-hour before Hart and the guys got over here. “What do you want?”
“Oh, we’ve got a lot to talk about. But it’ll be a lot easier if you open the door and we do it face to face.”
Hell fucking no. Not with my girls here. I for sure as hell didn’t want to see Bruiser’s ugly mug in the same place as them. “Over my dead body.”
“You want us to knock the door down? Don’t think we’re just going to go away quietly. Especially now.” A pause. Under the door, I could see shadows of movement. “We just want to talk, Cullen. So you can make this easy, or you can make it hard. Up to you.”
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, then looked toward the bedroom. I closed the door tight and sucked in a breath. I would not let those assholes take one step closer to Grace and Ella, if I had to lie down and die to stop them. “I’ll come outside.”
I edged to the door, looking through the peephole to see the already nasty, unshaven face of Bruiser, his ruddy, puffy, scarred mug distorted even more through the fisheye glass. There were two other guys there I didn’t know, young fresh faces, probably new recruits. Biding my time, I slowly pulled off the chain and unlocked the door.
Before I could pull it open, they barged in, slamming into my forehead, and the men tried to grab me. I skirted away before they could get a hand on me.
“Stay right there, fuckers,” I said, poking the barrel of the gun into Bruiser’s fat face. I grinned as they backed up, holding their hands up in surrender. I knew they’d try some shit like this. “Back the fuck up.”
They started to, each of them grinning like this was fun for them. “Easy,” Bruiser said. “Like I told you, we just want to talk.”
“And I’m not really in the mood. Not after today. In fact, the last thing I want to do is talk to you assholes.”
Bruiser smiled, baring yellow teeth. “Aw. That’s not very friendly, Cullen.”
“You know what’s not very friendly? A fucking bomb,” I snapped. “You’re lucky I don’t blow your fucking head off right now.”
He shook his head and tsked at me. “We needed to show you that what happened at the office park will not be forgotten. You took out five of our men.”
“Noted. Now get the fuck out of here.”
He smirked at his two new guys, like can you believe this shit? They’d clearly already been brainwashed with the Fury Kool-Aid. “Maybe if you’d given us what we asked for, we wouldn’t have had to resort to drastic measures.”
“For the last time,” I growled, “our business doesn’t belong to you, and we’re not giving it up.”
Bruiser stared at me, fists clenched, his face turning even more scarlet.
“I’ve had enough of this walk down memory lane.” I motioned to his two dumb bodyguards. “I’ll give you ten seconds to tell me what this is about, or else you better leave me alone. You two, get the hell out.”
Bruiser stared me down for a long while before nodding at them.
They turned to leave.
I looked at Bruiser as they retreated, closing the door behind them. He stared down the barrel of my gun, pointed right at his ruddy, asshole face, my trigger finger getting itchy as I thought of the shit they’d pulled earlier that day.
I wasn’t sure I could wait ten seconds.
“So? I’m listening. Talk.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Grace
Ella stirred in my arms, but thankfully, did not wake up. I hugged her to my chest, patting her back. The last thing I needed was her making any noise now.
It was warming up in the closet, and Ella sweat a lot when she slept. When the air conditioner at the shelter was broken, she’d barely slept, and her little body was always moist with sweat, always red from the heat. I couldn’t see much of her in the dark closet, but I could imagine her little mouth seeking out her thumb as she slept. I prayed that the motorcycles I’d heard outside the resort didn’t belong to the Fury.
I peeked through the slats of the door. From here, I could just about see a small sliver of the enormous living area. Suddenly I heard a faraway banging on the door, and yelling. And then I saw Cullen reach in and close the door.
Oh, God. They’re here.
I pulled Ella’s onesie-dressed body to me. Her skin was clammy with sweat. I pushed to my knees and craned my head forward, trying to listen. I heard Cullen yelling. He didn’t sound alarmed. In fact, his voice was just as in control as always. I couldn’t make out a word of it.
I dared to believe that it was housekeeping, delivering towels. But I knew that was wrong. It was after two. And I knew for sure that Cullen wouldn’t waste the breath or time yelling unless this was the Fury.
Then I heard a door slam, and the sounds of a scuffle in the living area. I shivered, expecting to hear at any moment the gunshot. Someone shouted, and it didn’t sound like Cullen. Then a door slammed closed. I peeked again, hoping to see something, but the door was still closed.
I hoped to God that was the end of it. But then I heard another voice. Inside the living room, now.
Ella was now drenched, in my arms and getting hot. I grabbed a pillow with one hand and laid it down on the floor, then eased her onto it, hoping she’d be more comfortable without my body heat. Then I leaned closer, until my ear was against the sliding door, and I could just make out the voices.
I swallowed as the man let out a long, low laugh, as if Cullen had just said the most hysterical thing ever. It sent a chill down my spine.
I signed up for this, I thought, holding Ella by the toe. I had the chance to escape this shit, and I didn’t.
I really hoped, as I heard Ella squirm on the pillow, that I hadn’t made a mistake.
I hadn’t been raised on religion, but I needed all the help I could get. Pushing sweat-soaked hair from my face, I closed my eyes, brought my hands together, and prayed to the Big Man upstairs.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cullen
The last thing I wanted to do in the middle of the fucking night was sit around at the massive dining table in the Warner bungalow of the Vanderbilt, kicking back drinks with fucking Bruiser from Hell’s Fury.
But I didn’t have any choice.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I couldn’t look at it. Again and again, it buzzed. It’d probably be another good twenty minutes before Hart and the rest of the guys arrived. If my message was good enough and they even came at all.
Bruiser pulled open the door on the minibar and took out a can of Heineken. Popping the top, he sucked down a gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of a leather, fingerless-gloved hand. Then he grabbed a bag of chips and poured half of the contents down his throat. A lot of it stuck on his goatee, the gross piece of shit.
I didn’t lower the gun.
“You really know how to live it up, boy,” he said, striding toward the doors to the balcony and looking out. He stopped right in front of the bedroom door. “These are some fine digs.”
“Yeah. Well. It’d be finer without your ugly ass here,” I muttered.
He chuckled. He looked around the room as he drank, his eyes catching on the closed door to the bedroom. The crib shoved against the far wall must’ve escaped his attention. Maybe the crass asshole thought all fancy hotel digs came with a baby bed in the living room. He didn’t say a word, but I knew what he was thinking.
“So?” I muttered. “Talk.”
“Not until you lower your gun.” He leaned over and grabbed a Miller Lite from the bar, sat down and slid it across the table. There were still chips in his beard. “You look like you could use this.”
I didn’t take my hand off the trigger. Didn’t even look at the beer. I sat down at the head of the glass table and put my feet up on it, all the while keeping the gun steady. “I’m good. But let’s get this over with. I’ve got things to do.”