Rough & Ready (Notorious Devils Book 5)

by Hayley Faiman

  I watch after him, cursing to myself. I forgot about his woman. A woman he loved back when we were younger—a fuck’ve a lot younger. A woman who was brutally raped and then ended up taking her own life. I remember her, pretty little thing. She had been hurt, but she refused to talk about it. The weight was too much for her to bear, and she swallowed a bunch of pills one night when Free was on a run.

  It was years ago, but he’s never really gotten over it, never recovered from losing his first love the way he did. I don’t want that for Ginger. She’s got too much good in her life to leave it behind. I’m going to not only bring her back here, but bring her back to life.

  She’ll never hurt again. It’ll be my mission to make her smile at least once a day. Fuck. I’m turning into a giant fuckin’ pussy.

  I go to my room. Looking around, it doesn’t feel like my home anymore. Ginger’s house, the place I helped her remodel, that’s home. I make a decision; one she’ll probably be pissed about, but I don’t care.

  I pack all my shit, carry it down to my pickup truck, and ask a prospect to drive it to her place, following behind him on my bike. I’m moving home, brining my woman back, and marrying her as soon as fuckin’ possible.

  This shit ends now.

  Once I’ve moved all my shit into her house, not that I had a bunch, I decide to go to bed, wanting to leave before the sun rises tomorrow. Laying in her bed, my head on her pillow, I inhale and close my eyes in defeat. She’s been gone so long that I can’t smell her scent on her pillows anymore. I should have swallowed my pride when she disappeared. I should have known she wouldn’t have walked away from her uncle’s bar like that—abandoning it.

  I should have known.

  I should have looked for her.

  I’m swimming in a pool of guilt over her kidnapping, over her abuse. It’s my fault. One of the men from my club, a man who was supposed to be my brother—a man who ended up being nothing but a piece of shit traitor—he hurt her, my sweet Georgia Peach. He fuckin’ hurt her.

  I close my eyes and force myself to get at least a couple hours of sleep before I climb on my bike and haul ass to bring my woman home. She’s been gone long enough.

  Ginger

  I curl up in a chair and sip my coffee, watching the birds fly from tree to tree from my front porch. It’s my morning routine and the calmest part of the day, the sun shining down on me, the warmth of my coffee filling me from the inside out. I feel older than my almost twenty-seven years, but I also feel smarter than the woman I was just two years ago.

  That is—until I hear the sound of a familiar motorcycle buzzing down my street.

  I stand and walk over to the porch banister, setting my coffee cup down before it slips out of my fingers. I watch as none other than Prescott—Snake—Gordon pulls up in front of my house. His head turns, and though I can’t see his eyes behind his helmet and sunglasses, I know that they are aimed right at me. I can almost feel them searing my skin, seeing through the little short and tank set I’m wearing.

  I wrap my arms around my stomach, a stupid move to try and protect myself, but I’m frozen as he lifts his leg, swinging it off of his bike. He then takes his helmet off and sets it on his handle bar before he begins to march up my walkway.

  I’m staying in a house the club owns. It’s a little, two-bedroom, one bath home that they rent out when someone needs help. It just so happened to be empty, so they let me move in for a while.

  “We gotta talk,” he says, running his hand through his long hair.

  I’m surprised to see that it no longer just brushes the tops of his shoulders, but hangs below them now.

  His dark green eyes settle on me, and I swear my breath is completely stolen. I hadn’t forgotten how handsome he is; at least I didn’t think that I had. I press my lips together, afraid that if I don’t, I’ll say something really stupid.

  He wraps his fingers around my bicep and slides them down to my wrist, gently tugging me until my feet start to move as he pulls me into the house.

  Once we’re inside, he turns and slams the door closed before he flips the lock shut. Then he faces me. I’m holding my breath, afraid—terrified to say or do anything.

  I whimper when his warm hand wraps around the side of my neck. His forehead lowers and presses against mine as his green eyes close and his breath fans my face. I force myself to breathe as well.

  “I missed you, peaches,” he whispers before he inhales deeply.

  Tears stream down my face as his hands wrap around my waist and his fingers dig into my flesh firmly.

  “You should go,” I whisper.

  I feel his body jerk, but he doesn’t move. I lift my eyes and look up to see that he’s smiling down at me.

  “Not goin’ anywhere, peaches,” he murmurs.

  “We can’t be anything anymore. You need to go,” I say a little firmer. His smile just widens.

  “Not leaving you. I love you,” he says.

  “It doesn’t matter. You need to go,” I practically yell.

  “Not happening,” he says, shaking his head and smiling like I’m crazy.

  “Prescott!”

  “Shut up, Ginger,” he growls.

  I scream as he picks me up by my waist and carries me to my bedroom, accidently turning into the empty guest room before he finds my bed and drops me onto my ass.

  I bounce once before he falls to his knees, his waist and chest between my thighs and his face directly across from mine. His hands cup my cheeks, pain clearly etched on his face for me to see.

  “I’m so fuckin’ sorry you were hurt, baby,” he whispers, the agony in his voice too much for me to bear.

  “Pres,” I whimper.

  His gaze stays connected to mine, and he wipes the tears from beneath my eyes with his thumbs, not saying a word. Then he moves closer, his lips brushing mine sweetly, his warm lips rough from his ride. His hands move from my face, sweeping over my neck before they travel to my sides. He lifts the hem of my shirt just slightly. His fingertips skim my waist and then gently glide up my back while his lips tease mine.

  “I’m so sorry, baby. So fuckin’ sorry. I’ll never forgive myself for what happened to you. My sweet Georgia Peach,” he rasps.

  I don’t know how to respond to his words, so I don’t. Instead, I kiss him back, tasting his lips with my tongue. He applies pressure to my back, pulling me closer to him while he slides his tongue along mine, and then takes over the kiss.

  I whimper again, but for no reason other than my want for him. I want him, too—every inch of him. It’s as if my entire body has gone up in flames. I wrap my hand around his biceps and pull myself closer to him, wanting to feel that chest that I know is warm and strong against me.

  “Fuck, I missed you,” he rasps as his lips travel down my jawline, then my neck.

  “You need to leave,” I weakly demand.

  “Never,” he murmurs against my skin.

  His tongue snakes out to taste my collar bone before his mouth moves to the tattoo I still have on my neck. Snake is scrolled in cursive across my skin. It’s pretty and delicate, but it’s still on my neck. I’ll never be able to cover it, unless I wear turtlenecks for life. He wanted it visible always, and I gave him what he wanted. He picked the place and the design.

  “Missed my name on your neck. Missed seeing it every day, kissing it—fuck, peaches, I just missed you,” he rasps, his voice deep and husky.

  “I’m no good to you now,” I state.

  Snake

  I sit up, my eyes narrowed on her, and my lips pressed together. She’s panting, her face flushed, and I can tell she wants more from me. Her big, brown eyes stare at me, but beyond her pain, I see what she thinks she is hiding inside of her—dirty, wrong, no good. It’s all bullshit. She’s perfect.

  “Why is that?” I ask.

  I know her answer, I just want her to speak the words; want her to hear how fuckin’ stupid they sound after they pass her lips.

  “I’m dirty,” she whispers.

/>   “Because of what they did to you?”

  “Yeah, and how many of them there were,” she says with a nod.

  I shake my head. Goddamn. My sweet girl. She’s been so fucking hurt, destroyed by vile men.

  “Peaches,” I moan, the pain in her eyes slicing straight through me. She’s not better. Fucking shit, she’s still stuck back there, and it’s up to me to bring her home. “You’re fucking perfect. Nothing about you is dirty. They’re the fucking scumbags; and if they weren’t dead, I would hunt them down and torture them one-by-one. I’d let you watch, too, if that’s what you wanted.”

  “Prescott,” she gasps, looking halfway horrified, but halfway excited at the thought of watching them suffer. My woman. So goddamn strong.

  “They’re still looking for more. We find ‘em, you can watch,” I murmur as my head dips and my lips press against hers again.

  I don’t let her push me away; not that she’s even trying as I lift her shirt over her head. She’s braless, and I almost whimper at the sight of her luscious tits, tits I thought I’d never see again—let alone touch, suck, and kiss.

  My mouth travels down to her hard nipple, gently sucking it in my mouth and licking it with my tongue. She arches toward me, urging me on, and I take her signal, going soft, gentle, and slow.

  I’m not going to rush her at all, and I’m not fucking her hard. At least not this first time. She moans as my hands move down to her little shorts. I tug at them and she lifts up so that I can pull them off of her sexy legs.

  “Pres,” she breathes.

  I look up at her, and she’s looking down at me. Her eyelids at half-mast, her face flushed, and her chest panting. Wrapping my hands around the backs of her knees, I lift her legs and watch as she falls to her back. Then I spread her thighs before my mouth is on her. When her taste floods my tongue, I can’t help the groan.

  Fuck.

  She tastes better than I remembered.

  Ginger’s hips roll as her hands fist my long hair, pulling me closer. I don’t deny the feeling of victory as she lets out a deep moan of her own, her thighs trembling. I flick her clit with my tongue before sucking on it, and then I fuck her pussy. I want nothing more than to make her come hard.

  I focus back on her clit as her hips roll and jerk, her legs shaking next to my head. When I slide two fingers inside of her tight, wet heat, she gasps before her body starts to tremble almost violently. She lets out a scream, her cum coating my fingers. I wait until her body relaxes before I sit back and slide my fingers out of her.

  “Prescott,” she whispers as her head lolls to the side.

  I crawl up her body, my fingers painting her parted lips with her release. With wide eyes, she watches as I slide them into my mouth and lick her taste from them; then I dip my head and kiss the rest of her taste from her lips.

  “How many women have there been since I left?” she asks. I look down at her in surprise.

  “Ginger,” I warn.

  “I shouldn’t care, but I do,” she whispers. Her eyes are wild, looking everywhere but at me.

  “I haven’t touched another woman since I got that phone call from Fury,” I admit, watching that news sink in.

  I’m not tellin’ her shit about the two months she was gone. I thought she’d just walked away from me.

  “Really?” she breathes.

  “What kind of man do you think I am?” I ask, standing up, anger filling me to the point where I feel like I might explode, which is the last thing I want to do, toward her.

  “I just, six-months is a long time,” she whispers.

  “Yeah, it is. But I’m a man, baby. I don’t need to fuck someone every time my dick gets hard. My woman’d been hurt—fucking brutalized. You’ve been my main focus for six fucking months. You know how hard it was not to come down here and cart you off? Bring you back home? Getting updates from MadDog? Instead of taking care of you myself?” I practically yell, my body vibrating with anger.

  “Prescott,” she murmurs.

  “Killed me every fucking day to wake up and go about my day knowing you were hurting, and there was nothing I could do to make you feel better, to hold you while you cried, to make you feel like the beautiful woman you are.”

  Without another word, I watch as she stands, completely naked, and wraps her arms around me. She buries her face in my chest while her body starts to shake with sobs. I feel her tears soaking my shirt, but I could give a fuck. My woman wants to cry in my arms, she can fucking cry.

  I reach down and grab the blanket that’s on the end of her bed and wrap it around her naked body before I walk us over to the top of the bed. It only takes a couple seconds of adjusting before my back is against the headboard and she’s curled into my side, still crying. I run my hands soothingly up and down her back, letting her get all her shit out.

  “I’m sorry that I refused to go back with you,” she hiccups.

  I tug on a piece of her long blonde hair and she looks up to me. Her face is splotchy and puffy, and yet she’s never looked more beautiful.

  “You needed time to heal. I’m not angry. I’m glad that you took that, baby. It’s time to come home now, though,” I say.

  “Home?”

  “Yeah, peaches, home,” I grunt, giving her a smile.

  “What does home look like?” she asks, staring at me while she worries her lip with her teeth.

  I almost laugh, but I don’t. I run my fingertip along the side of her face and down her jawline to her mouth. Tracing her full lips, I smile.

  “You, my Georgia Peach. Home looks just like you,” I murmur.

  “Me?” she exhales with wide eyes.

  “Yeah, baby. You. It’s you lying in my bed, exhausted from taking my dick. It’s the lazy satisfied smile you aim at me when you think I’m not looking at you. It’s you pressing up to me and curling into my side anytime we’re anywhere near each other. It’s us building a life that is gonna last forever,” I explain.

  “Prescott,” she whispers.

  “Ready for you to come home to me, peaches,” I murmur. “You ready to come home?”

  “I think so,” she sighs.

  “Thank fuck. I missed the shit outta you,” I grin.

  PART TWO

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  Ginger

  Prescott’s fingers dig into my hips as he wrenches me back, his pelvis thrusting forward at the same time. My neck arches and I let out a long moan. I’m so close, I’m about to explode. When I do, it’s going to be magnificent.

  “C’mon, peaches,” he growls behind me as his fingers dig into my skin even harder.

  “Pres,” I whimper as my body begins to shake and I come. It’s long, it’s hard, and it’s magnificent—just as I thought it’d be.

  Prescott doesn’t let me revel in my glory. One of his hands leaves my hip and fists in the back of my hair before he wrenches my body up, my back colliding with his chest. Then he thrusts up inside of me, and doesn’t stop until he emits his own long moan, and I feel his cock twitch as he fills me with his release.

  “Love you, peaches,” he murmurs against my neck.

  His tongue traces my tattoo, like he’s done every single time we’ve been together since I came back to him three months ago. I lift my hand and wrap it around the back of his neck, my fingers twisting in his soft hair.

  The hand on my hip travels up my side. He slides it across my breasts as he cups one in his hand and just holds me. He’s done this a lot since my return as well, holding me, kissing me, loving me so tenderly that he brings tears to my eyes, almost daily.

  “I love you, so much,” I whisper, tightening my fingers in his hair.

  He hums before he disengages from my body. I turn around to face him and wrap my arms around him. He steps closer to the side of the bed and runs his fingertips up and down my spine. We haven’t really fought once since I’ve been back; maybe it’s because I’ve completely surrendered to him, or maybe it’s because he’s so sweet and gentle it’s ridiculous. But
whatever the reason, I don’t care. I’ve never been so damn happy before.

  “You sure you really want to do this?” he asks, his eyes showing his worry, hiding nothing.

  “Yeah,” I nod.

  “Wouldn’t make you any less of a woman. Wouldn’t make me think anything less of you at all if you didn’t want to do this, peaches,” he murmurs as his finger traces my lips.

  “I need to,” I whisper.

  “At any second you can’t deal, you walk out. I don’t want those demons haunting your eyes again. Took a long fuckin’ time for me to eradicate them.” I can’t help but smile at his words.

  I think about him eradicating my demons. It’s been fun. Lots and lots of great sex, cuddles, and talking. I’ve felt like a teenager in the midst of puppy love for months.

  Although, as a teenager, I didn’t go to badass biker club parties on the arm of the badass president. I also didn’t run a successful bar. Nope, this is way better than teenager puppy love.

  I don’t know what it is, but I don’t ever want it to end.

  “Why are you smilin’?” he asks.

  “Because eradicating demons was fun.”

  “You’re fuckin’ insane,” he chuckles as he pulls me even closer, his nose running alongside mine.

  “When does this go down?” I ask, biting my lip.

  “Now. Get dressed,” he murmurs. His lips touch mine before he takes a step back.

  I watch as he walks over to his pile of clothes lying on the floor and he starts to dress. It’s early evening, and there are four men waiting for us, probably scared to death, as they should be.

  “Dress warm,” he grunts.

  I walk over to the dresser and grab a new pair of panties, socks, a bra and my thin, silk, long sleeve undershirt. Then I walk over to a pile of jeans that I folded just this morning and pull my favorite ones off of the top—a pair of jean leggings. I slip them on and find a thick sweater that’s folded as well. It’s light blue.

  Once I have my clothes on, I walk over to where my boots are sitting against the wall, and I solemnly pull them on, lacing them all the way up my calves, letting their warmth envelop my toes, feet, and legs.