A PRICE TO PAY: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Zoey Parker

  Missy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What's that?”

  “We call the cops.”

  Chapter 44

  Missy

  One Week Later

  Cain and Missy sat on the couch in Cain's living room, surrounded by boxes containing everything Missy owned. She'd moved in that afternoon, but she was too tired to start finding places for things yet, so she curled up with Cain to watch the evening news.

  On the screen, a well-coiffed female correspondent stood in front of the Teepee Motel, speaking into a microphone with the local station's call letters on it. “The Teepee Motel re-opened today,” she said, “just one week after a violent confrontation took place between members of a drug cartel and officers from the Dipper County Sheriff's Department. There was some confusion in the aftermath regarding the specifics of the shoot-out, but now that the Sheriff's Department has concluded its official investigation, Acting Sheriff Waylon Condell is here to talk to us about it.”

  The camera angle widened to include Condell, standing next to the reporter and fidgeting with his new uniform as he peered into the camera nervously.

  “He looks good,” Cain said, nodding appreciatively. “Very authoritative.”

  Missy scoffed. “Please. I'm just waiting for him to pick his nose on camera or something.”

  Cain chuckled, holding Missy closer.

  The correspondent continued, “Sheriff, what can you tell us?”

  Sure enough, Condell's finger reached up to touch the edge of his nostril before he realized what he was doing and lowered it again quickly.

  “Told you,” Missy commented.

  “Well, uh, see, what happened is,” Condell stammered, “me an' Sheriff Ham...I mean, Sheriff Hemmick, we received an anonymous tip that a dangerous, er, criminal...gang...was holed up at the Teepee. When we went to the motel to investigate, these, uh, malefactors engaged us in a prolonged firefight that claimed the lives of their own men, and, unfortunately, Sheriff Hemmick as well.”

  “Sheriff, I'm sorry, but are you really telling us that you were unable to capture even one of the perpetrators alive?” the correspondent asked skeptically.

  Condell nodded. “Yes, well, police work can be a, uh...complicated...thing, y'know? We did our best, but they, um, refused to be taken alive, so...well, that's it, I guess.”

  “Silver-tongued devil,” Missy marveled, shaking her head.

  “Hey, you think he sounds like an asshole now?” Cain asked. “Wait 'til he has to start campaigning for the job.”

  “Once we, uh, inspected the...y'know...premises,” Condell continued, “we found evidence linking these men to a sizeable stash of weapons and narcotics stored up at the old Tibbons farm.”

  “Really? And what evidence was that?”

  Condell swallowed hard, blushing. “Um, I'd have to, uh, check on that...I believe it was a note of some kind, mentioning the farm house...”

  “I'll bet as soon as the interview's over, he's going to write up a fake note he 'found' in the motel somewhere,” Cain jeered. “Something subtle, like 'Hey guys, don't forget we left all our dope and guns at the Tibbons farm. Love, Gaspar.'”

  “As long as he remembers to write it in Spanish,” Missy shrugged.

  “Amazing,” the reporter said dryly. “And all this from an anonymous tip.”

  “Uh, yeah, that's right,” Condell said, looking directly into the camera. “So, um, remember, everyone: If you see something, say something.”

  Missy switched the TV off. “What a nimrod.”

  “Well, now he's our nimrod, at least,” Cain said. “Since we let him take the credit for all this so he can look like a big hero cop, hopefully he'll resist the urge to shake us down every other week like Ham-Hock did.”

  Before Missy could answer, there was a knock at the door. She got up to answer it and saw Hunter standing on the porch. His bike was parked in the driveway, and he'd swapped out his Eagles cut for a simple brown leather jacket. His usually-shaved head was starting to show some fuzz.

  But most of all, his eyes and his posture were different. The fierce pride had given way to a hesitant, slope-shouldered humility.

  “Hey, sis,” he said, stepping into the living room. “I was just about to hit the road, an' I figured I'd stop by one last time to wish you guys luck.”

  “Sure,” Cain said. “Glad you did. Did you get Christina and Pauline squared away?”

  “Oh, sure,” Hunter replied. “Christina still feels goddamn awful about how all this shit went down, but I told her we understood, what with Gaspar fuckin' with her mom an' everythin'. Wasn't nothin' else she could do. Pauline's back to runnin' the motel, an' she promised us that if the Eagles ever need anythin' from her—a place to crash or do deals, whatever—all we gotta do is ask.”

  “I'm surprised she made that offer,” said Missy. “Dealing with criminals is what got her in trouble in the first place.”

  Hunter smiled. “Well, the Eagles may be criminals, but as far as she's concerned, we're the nice criminals who'll be watchin' her back in case another asshole like Gaspar comes callin'.”

  “Huh. Well, it's good to know we've got the Teepee as a resource from now on if we need it,” Cain mused.

  Hunter nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uneasily. “Yeah. So anyway, now that that's all taken care of, I guess I'd better move along.”

  “Hunter, are you sure you want to do this?” Missy pleaded. “None of the Eagles respect you any less because of what went down, and they all wish you'd stay on as their president.”

  “Nah,” Hunter said, shaking his head. “This ain't about them, or how they'd look at me from now on. Maybe I thought it was at first, but it ain't. It's just...”

  He stopped, searching for the right words. “That guy who was crawlin' on the ground in front of Gaspar, beggin'...I never knew I had that guy inside me. Because Gaspar was kinda right with what he said, y'know? All these years with the Eagles, I pictured shit ending for me a bunch of different ways...dead, or in prison for life, or maybe even just fuckin' crippled in a wreck, or even tortured by some dudes lookin' to screw with the club. An' those were rough thoughts, but I learned to live with 'em an' accept 'em.

  “But I never pictured myself bein' so powerless or lowerin' myself that way. An' now I gotta live with that, an' I ain't sure how. The only thing I know for sure is that I ain't gonna be able to focus on findin' the answers while I'm still ridin' around with the Eagles. I gotta take some time to figure shit out, just me an' the road.”

  “How long do you think you'll be gone?” Cain asked.

  Hunter shrugged. “Could be a few months, a year, maybe even longer. I'll check in here an' there when I can. Meanwhile, the club's in good hands with its new Acting President. You decided on a VP yet?”

  Cain looked at Missy and smiled. “Yeah. I have, actually.”

  Hunter raised his eyebrows in surprise, then considered it for a moment and nodded. “Huh. I'd say that's a fine choice. You run it by the other Eagles yet?”

  “Damn right I did,” Cain answered, “and they were all fine with it since she pulled our asses out of the fire at the Teepee.”

  Hunter squinted at Cain, grinning. “Really? All of them were 'fine with it?'”

  “Well, a couple of them did grumble about it a little,” Missy said, “until I challenged them to out-shoot or out-ride me. That shut them up in a hurry.”

  Hunter laughed loudly, hugging Missy. “That's my sis. You take good care of yourselves, hear me?”

  “We will,” she answered. “I promise.”

  Hunter released Missy and walked to the door, opening it. He took one last look at the Eagles' new President and VP, gave them a salute, and left, shutting the door behind him. A few moments later they heard his bike start up and roar down the road as he rode into the next chapter of his life.

  “So now what, Veep?” Cain asked Missy.

  Missy smiled mischievously. “That depends, Prez,” she replied teasingly. “How are those
ribs of yours feeling?”

  “Much better, thank you.”

  “Good. Then get that bod of yours over here,” Missy answered, throwing her arms around Cain's neck and kissing him passionately. She pressed her body against his, feeling the comforting pressure of his erection pushing against her through his jeans.

  As they continued to kiss, Cain gently pushed Missy over to the couch until the backs of her legs bumped against it and she sat down hard. He pulled her t-shirt up over her head with his good arm, revealing her erect nipples.

  “No bra, huh? My lucky day,” Cain said, grinning.

  “Well, getting a girl's bra off is hard for a lot of guys even when they've got the use of both their hands,” Missy replied, “so I figured I'd make it as easy as possible on you.”

  “How thoughtful.”

  “Yup,” she agreed.

  He lowered himself to his knees in front of her and undid her jeans, sliding them down her legs along with her panties and tossing them aside.

  Cain kissed Missy's ankle, his lips making their way up the inside of her calf and thigh as she trembled. She could feel something like a low, steady hum in her abdomen, growing louder and more insistent with each new caress of his lips, like a cluster of power lines about to overload.

  Once he reached the throbbing delta between Missy's legs, Cain tenderly spread her pussy lips with his hands and lowered his head, flicking his tongue against her. She gasped and ran her fingers through Cain's hair as he buried his mouth in her warmth, licking her. His tongue traced patterns from back to front and back again, then settled on her pulsing clit as he slipped one finger into her, then two. His fingertips pressed on her G-spot and she moaned loudly, arching her lower back.

  When the pit of her stomach burned like a furnace and she couldn't take it anymore, Missy took Cain's face in her hands, looking into his eyes. “Take me. Please.”

  Cain nodded and rose to his feet, taking a condom from his pocket. Then he removed his shirt, jeans, and underwear. This process had become much easier for him during the previous week as his injuries healed.

  His cock was stiff and ready, quivering gently. Missy repositioned herself so that she was lying on the couch and spread her legs invitingly, a hot blush rising in her cheeks.

  Cain slid the condom onto himself and got on top of her. He used his good arm to hold himself up as their lips met again and he penetrated her, smiling as a loud moan transferred from her throat to his. They pushed themselves together as tightly as they could and stayed that way for a long time, not even thrusting. Just pressing and pressing until it almost seemed like they would disappear into each other forever.

  Their breath and sweat and hair mingled, and when it felt like they couldn't shove against each other any harder without breaking, they thrusted and came together, Missy's legs squeezing Cain so tightly that she worried she'd break his ribs again. But the cry that issued from Cain's lips was one of lust, rather than pain.

  They remained on the couch like that for a long time, panting and petting and stroking each other's bodies sleepily. They talked about their ideas for the club, and swapped dirty jokes and tender kisses. But they didn't talk about how much they loved each other, or the fact that they always would.

  They didn't have to.

  Somehow, they both just knew.

  THE END

  ***

  I hope you liked the story! If you enjoyed A PRICE TO PAY, leave a review! You can click here or follow this link: https://www.amazon.com/author/thezoeyparker

  TAKE ME, OUTLAW: A Dark Bad Boy Romance [FREE BONUS NOVEL]

  I wanted to be his tonight – his toy, his willing slave...

  She’s living proof that bad things happen to good people.

  Wrong place, wrong time, but the universe doesn’t give a damn.

  Neither does the Mafia.

  They’re going to kill her, unless I do something about it.

  I’ve never been one to stand by idly, so I do what I have to:

  take her before my enemies get the chance to do the same.

  At first, it was a matter of convenience.

  But the longer she is on the back of my bike,

  The greater my hunger grows.

  It’s only a matter of time until it feasts.

  But there are soulless bastards nipping at our heels.

  They want blood – both hers and mine.

  Now, I’m faced with an impossible choice: do I leave her, or keep her in my grasp?

  Chapter 1

  Rafe

  Most people would probably figure that the average guy in prison would be goddamn delighted when his last day comes up and he's just a few hours away from walking out the front gates. After all, that'd make plenty of sense.

  Too bad I wasn't the average guy.

  Oh, I wanted to leave, for sure. I couldn't wait to take off that itchy fucking prison uniform, slip into my real clothes, and turn my back on that scumhole once and for all. Especially after a seven-year sentence for drug trafficking, when the shit the cops found on me wasn't even mine.

  I was no saint, and I'd run plenty of pot and E from Indiana to Chicago with my club, the War Reapers. But when the cops came banging on my door at three in the morning with a search warrant, opened my closet, and found two kilos of coke I'd never seen before, I knew I was truly fucked and my MC wouldn't be able to do much about it except see me on visiting days.

  And I knew just who had fucked me, too, and why. That was the hell of it.

  Jester, I thought, when I get out of here, I'm gonna find you and bash your skull in with a fucking wrench. I don't even give a shit if I get caught and end up back in here. At least this time, I'll have earned it.

  Sam Gismondi was a powerful enforcer for the Mancuso crime family. They'd been the second-largest outfit in Chicago after the Bonaccorsos. Sam had earned the nickname “Jester” after he'd posed as a clown to get into a birthday party for the son of a rival gang, then slaughtered everyone there with an Uzi. He was known for being fast on the draw and savagely hardcore, not to mention the kind of dangerously insane that's reserved for guys who kill people while wearing clown makeup.

  The Reapers never did any business with the Mancusos directly, but Jester's niece Abby started hanging around the Devil's Nest, which was the Reapers' base of operations. Abby was in her early twenties and hotter than hell. She started coming on strong from the moment she saw me, wearing barely-there outfits and sitting on my lap so she could wriggle her tight little ass against my crotch. I laughed it off at first, but when I actually started talking with her, it turned out that she was smart and funny, too.

  When Bard, the President of the Reapers, found out that I liked Abby as more than just a hot piece of ass, he warned me to play it slow and cool to make sure Jester didn't feel like we were disrespecting him. So I mostly acted like a gentleman, and for over three months, Abby and I were in a legit relationship. Having Jester around all the time when I hung out with her was kind of creepy, but at least he acted friendly to me, even if he always had a dark look in his eyes that said, “If you hurt my niece, I'll stuff you in a fucking blender.”

  I don't really remember when I first realized there was something wrong with Abby. Maybe it was the way she lost her temper with the servers whenever we'd go out to eat, bossing them around and insulting them. Maybe it was the phone calls I overheard with her parents, when she sounded spoiled and demanding at best, manipulative and borderline-psychotic at worst.

  It got so bad that I felt like I was dating someone with Multiple Personality Disorder. Even when she was acting all cute and cuddly in bed with me, all I could think about was that ugly side of her. I wondered when she'd finally end up turning on me, like a pit bull that's fine one minute and shredding some kid's face off the next.

  When Abby surprised me by getting my name tattooed on her left tit, I knew I had to break it off with her. I tried to take the blame by telling her I just wasn't ready for a commitment and blah blah blah, but she refused to
hear it. She kept shrieking and cursing at me for a solid hour, calling me every name she could think of before she stormed out and slammed the door. It was a rough scene, but at least it was over.

  Or anyway, that's what I thought.

  Then came the phone calls. Sometimes she'd hang up as soon as I picked up. Sometimes she'd cry and beg me to take her back. Sometimes she'd scream at me, saying I was a “fag” for not wanting her back and threatening to cut my dick off. When I screened the calls, they'd get more frequent, until my phone was ringing nonstop for hours at a time. When I changed my phone number, she somehow got the new one. I told myself that crazy people have short attention spans, and she'd lose interest after a while.