by Marata Eros
I don’t usually have to talk so much. Chicks spread ʼem. It’s like clockwork. I crook my finger, and they’re on their backs. It works.
“The only thing that’s right between us is you helped me when I was down. Literally. And you’ve agreed to aid your cousin.”
Her words are cold water, and my hard-on softens. I release her.
Angel’s hand moves to her ribs.
I’m a selfish bastard. I take in her face. A bruise like a multi-petaled purple flower is beginning to take shape beneath her eyes and spreading over her cheekbone, a dark bloom of color to match. Angry red morphs to dark grape, starting along her ribcage.
I reach out, running fingers down her side where the shape of a shoe is obvious. “That fucker.” My jaw clenches. “I didn’t do enough.”
Angel sighs, wrapping her smaller hand around mine that’s against her rib.
I’m not dumb enough to mistake her action for more. Angel has made it clear that my dick’s not going in her.
“You’ve done too much.” Her eyes touch mine then jerk away. “Now he’ll let the family know who you are, and they’ll hurt you too.”
She lets my hand go and shifts away from me.
“Fuck them. I’m Road Kill MC. The mob doesn’t fuck with us; we don’t fuck with them.”
Angel shakes her head. “You don’t get it.”
I get way more than she knows.
“Tommy is just a lackey. They’ll send him again, or someone else to intimidate me.”
I cross my arms, looking over the various damage this prick inflicted on her body.
Makes me want to kick his ass again.
“Why is the mob bothering you? You’re a high-profile woman. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
Angel nods, raising an eyebrow. “Since you won’t be a gentleman and turn around while I change.”
I snort.
She jerks off her blouse and stands in front of me. The inky shade of the fabric on her body boldly contrasts with skin like a porcelain doll’s. Turning, she tosses the tattered blouse on the armrest of the couch, with a frown. She tears my T-shirt over her head, spreading more of her black hair around her and covering the great view of her tits—as well as the bruise that dick put on her.
“I had a man I was defending.” She twists her hands together, and I have a sudden surge of tenderness. I viciously clamp down the alien emotion.
“His was the only testimony against the local mob boss. We had him in witness protection—the entire thing. He couldn’t afford some of the high-profile attorneys, and I was hungry, fresh out of law school. Going to take on the world. Save it. Get on the map.” She gives a small shake of her head as though chastising the person she used to be, and her eyes meet mine. Raw pain washes through them before she looks away.
I wonder about that elusive emotion but shelve the expression on her face to think about later.
“Anyway”—she tosses a chunk of hair behind her shoulder—“they got him.”
“So the boss got away with it?”
Angel shakes her head, and her eyes rise to meet mine again. “No.” Her voice is a whisper. “We nailed Ricci, but then he found my client later. His ʻfamilyʼ did, and they made an example of him.”
I could take a guess at the example they used, but Angel fills in the blanks without me having to ask.
“They hung him by his intestines.” She shudders.
I don’t react with revulsion. Seen worse. But I say nothing for a few seconds. “How do you come into it?”
Angel talks to her hands. “I speculate the mob boss still blames me. He’s doing time because, essentially, I spearheaded his jail stint. Now there’s some mob loser who comes knocking every so often. Probably everyone who was involved with putting the boss away will suffer.”
I feel my brows knot together. “Tell the cops. Hot lawyer chick like yourself. Act helpless.” I lift my chin, leveling my gaze at her. “Should be easy to pull off.”
She snorts. “Lot of them are on the payroll. Don’t know which is what.” Angel lifts a shoulder.
I wag a finger at her. “We get you into the station, show them the damage. Hell, I was there. I witnessed it.”
Her eyes spear mine just as fiercely. “And you kicked his ass then took off. You’ll get in trouble too.”
She’s right. Keep forgetting she knows the law. I scrape a palm over my head. Fuck. I’m going to have to go to church on this one.
I slide my cell out of the interior pocket of my cut and text Viper. The prez of Road Kill MC will decide what action there is to be taken, if any. I already stepped in a pile of steaming shit by kicking somebody’s ass who is with the mob. In my own defense, it wasn’t as though he was wearing a sign.
Personally, I’m a wait-and-see type of man. But many heads are better than just my thick skull on this clusterfuck. I finish tapping out my message, grin crookedly over how pissed Vipe will be to get this particular text, and slide my cell back in my pocket. Viper is not tech-savvy. That’s a no-shitter.
“Who’d you contact?”
“Road Kill Prez.”
Her delicate eyebrows knit together. “I don’t want this becoming a biker gang matter.”
I narrow my gaze at her. “We’re not a gang. Don’t disrespect the club, Angel, because you’re disrespecting me.” I thumb my chest.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I meant it when I said thank you. And I’ll admit I don’t have a vast wealth of knowledge regarding motorcycle clubs. But your club getting more involved just means I have more people I’m responsible for. And I don’t want to be responsible for someone else getting killed.”
I walk to her and sink to my haunches. “Wait a fucking second, Angel.” I grab her hand, and it lies in my hold like a limp noodle. I cradle her chilled fingers and take a stab at communicating. Talking is not my best strength. “You’re not responsible for some dude getting offed because the mob took it into their heads that they wanted a slice of revenge.”
I lift her chin again with a bent knuckle. It seems I’m doing a lot of that shit tonight. “They can’t continue to threaten you.” I search her eyes, trying to force her to get the message. “That’s a fucked-up way to live. Constantly under fear of getting beat up.” Raped, I think but don’t say.
She shakes her head free of my grip. “Don’t help me.”
I abruptly change the subject. “Where’d you learn how to defend yourself?”
Angel’s quiet so long that I don’t think she’ll answer. “When I was young, I needed to have those skills. If Tommy hadn’t taken me by surprise, I would have handed him his balls.”
I chuckle, flashing a fierce grin. “I believe it.”
Her smile is just as spontaneous. “You’re an okay guy when you’re not being crude every second.”
I shrug. Truth time. “I’m honest. If that makes me crude, so be it.” I hate the feeling of not being on her level. She’s top-shelf, and I’m a rough guy from a poor background. I’m solid, though. Anyone who knows me would vouch for me.
But Angela Monroe doesn’t know me. Come to think of it, she doesn’t really matter. I’m getting my boxers in a twist over a chick. Hell, sweet butts are plentiful. I don’t need this angsty shit.
Emotional entanglements are for guys intent on sprouting uteruses.
Her lips twist in sad irony. “Yeah, you’re honest, all right.”
I’m getting pissed off again. “Listen, you take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.” I stand before I open my trap and say shit I can’t take back.
She stands too, wincing, and my eyes go to the hand on her side. “Thank you, but I’m not spending the night here.”
I feel my brows hop.
Her eyes roam my face. “I’m sorry. I mean—I’m grateful. But I want to go home, take a shower, fix myself up, brush my teeth.” She grimaces, and I remind myself she got knocked around pretty good. I haven’t done anything to clean her up. The med box sits between us, untouched.
&
nbsp; I plant my hands on my hips. “Probably need to have a doctor check you out.”
Angel vigorously shakes her head, which causes her to sway.
I grab her elbow, and our gazes lock.
Her arm tenses inside my hold, but she doesn’t try to break free.
“Will you take me home?”
I shake my head. “No way, won’t get a wink of shut-eye. I’ll be thinking about some dickhead—Tommy or some other chump—coming by and doing a repeat performance.”
Angela Monroe’s just another chick. Uh-huh.
Angel sighs and looks around for a few seconds at the sparse surroundings of the cabin, which is kind of an abbreviated bachelor’s pad. “Fine. I guess there’s some logic there.”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. Yeah. Hallelujah.
My attention moves back to her. “Use the head. Take a shower. Spare toothbrush’s under the sink. Knock yourself out.”
She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, clearly indecisive.
“Not gonna attack ya. I’m not fucking desperate.” Shit, that sounded bad, as if she’s fugly or something.
Angela’s jaw pulls back, and her eyes skate away. “I see. Okay, well, I’ll do that then.”
“I didn’t mean I had to be desperate to think you’re…” Fuck. I don’t say anything more, figuring I can come out ahead if I shut my running mouth.
She turns away from me and walks slowly to the bathroom door then softly shuts it behind her.
That went bad as fuck.
My cell vibrates with a call. I take it out and look at the incoming name.
I swipe.
“Hey.”
“Vipe says there’s an emergency church in the morning.” The question in Noose’s voice bleeds through the cell.
I guess there is, but Viper hasn’t gotten back to me. Of course, he would never text.
Noose gets right to the point. He and I haven’t settled everything between us from when we served together. Saying our relationship is strained is an understatement. I think he mishandled some shit. He thinks I’m harboring resentment I shouldn’t be.
We’re both probably right. But sometimes, a disagreement begins and takes on a life of its own. It’s as though we can’t remember why we’re so pissed at each other. But the shit sits there, festering like a wound that won’t heal.
“Rose is making pancakes. I hate leaving the house for avoidable bullshit. Better be motherfucking good.”
Fine. “Listen, don’t be a dick. Got a lawyer chick I had to meet about my cousin.”
“The one you haven’t seen in ten years?” His voice is filled with sarcasm.
I clench my jaw. “Yeah, that one.”
Noose lets the silence beat between us for almost half a minute. Finally he says, “Gotta be fucking dumb for a lawyer to be involved.”
“Hundred grand bail worth of dumb.”
Noose whistles low. “Fuck me. That blows.”
I grunt. “Yeah. Bail’s set.”
“What’d she do?”
“Killed her old man.”
Noose doesn’t say anything for a beat. “She a psycho bitch type?”
The translation is Great in the sack but crazy.
It’s not like I would fucking know. Christ. “Nah. He was using his fists on her pretty regularly.”
“Okay, so Miss Lawyer is at Vipe’s cabin?” He doesn’t rein in the sarcasm. “That was fast.”
“Not like that. Not banging her. Saved her.”
“Okay, stop speaking in riddles. Out with it.”
“Some fuck started beating her up the minute she got out of the bar.”
“What?” Noose is clearly puzzled.
“Yeah, mob putz.”
“That’s worth church,” Noose admits slowly.
I can’t argue his assessment because it was the same as mine. “Yup.”
“You keeping her safe for now?”
Is it that transparent? “Yeah.”
“Getting a case of the feels, Lariat?”
I squeeze the cell’s housing, and it groans under my abuse. “Fuck. Off.”
Noose barks out a laugh. “Not gonna lie. I’m so liking this.”
“Don’t like anything too much, you big prick.”
Silence fills the line for a moment.
“See ya at church, Lancelot.”
Ass. I swipe his smug face from my phone and set it on the scarred end table beside the couch.
I strip my socks and boots off, chuck my shit along the base of the couch, and lie there, staring at the tongue-and-groove-planked ceiling.
Listening to the soft patter of water, I think about Angel lathering her body up.
I adjust my junk, pissed that she’s forced me to give shits about all this.
And that I’ve allowed it to matter.
Chapter 5
Angel
I spread the slick folds of my labia, desperate for relief.
A person might say I’m insane, that sexual arousal is not possible after getting beaten up while in the company of some bike gang member.
But I would say that pain, fear, and chemistry can be inexplicably mixed like a perfect cocktail.
And damned if Lariat hasn’t worked me up into a lather that’s from more than the soap I hold in my hands.
I clean and rub, my fingertip grazing softly along my clit as I twirl it.
Panting, I hang my head. The hot water from the shower cascades down my back and runs between the split of my ass cheeks.
“Close,” I whisper to myself.
Just as my pussy comes to full attention and I’m on the brink of an orgasm, a hard pounding sounds at the bathroom door.
Squeezing my thighs together, I restrain myself from giving a frustrated scream. Then I realize what that would provoke: Lariat charging through the door, finding me wet, naked, and suffering from blue clit.
Just what I don’t need.
“What?” I croak then clear my throat. “What is it?”
“You okay in there? Ya drowning? It’s been a half hour.”
I’m squeaky clean, and I was going to blow a proper cork of sexual tension you’ve so miserably given me. Thank you very much.
“Just trying to get the filth off,” I say out loud.
No comment.
But I can feel his presence outside the door. I imagine the fingertips of those large hands spread against the other side of the wood. Of course, that leads me to envision them inside of me, and I bite back a small moan.
Only the water smacking the porcelain shower basin sounds between us.
I swear I can hear his breathing, and when he does speak, I jump.
“Want me in there?”
Holy shit. No.
Yes.
A handful of seconds float between us.
“I’m not begginʼ,” he says.
God, me either.
We’re wrong on about a hundred different levels, but I know when I want that itch scratched. I don’t need any complications with a man. Relationships are for whole people—people who want commitment.
But this man doesn’t. I can tell. He’s a safe fuck.
I shut the water off and move to the door, naked and wet. Stupid. Brave.
Horny.
I fling the door open.
Lariat’s black eyes widen a smidgen.
I smile.
He doesn’t. Instead, his eyes feast on my body, and I’m glad I run, do squats, and am slightly obsessive with exercise.
It’s what I can control in my life.
“I’m not gonna last with you, Angel.” His voice is strained, and I feel powerful that I’ve moved this hard man.
“Let’s see.”
I walk toward him, my earlier reserve lost to the moment, the volatility of the night, our meeting, and the combustible tether cinching us.
I press my naked breasts against his chest and dampen his clothes. He sucks in a breath so sharp, it sounds painful.
Lariat’s arms wrap me tightly agains
t him and lift me up as he crushes his mouth to mine.
We don’t talk. I wrap my nakedness around him, legs twisting around his torso and arms encircling his thick neck.
He groans, and I press my most tender part against his flat, tight stomach.
“Clothes,” he rasps.
I break our brutal kiss long enough to command, “Lose them.”
“Bossy bitch.” But his smile is soft.
I bite his lip, just shy of drawing blood, and the look he gives makes me shiver.
Hot.
Chilled.
Lariat spins us and walks to a bedroom I noticed earlier that was only a dark hole with a door.
Extracting my arms and legs, he tosses me in the air. I can’t see anything, and my hands reactively fly out to stop my contact.
A soft bed catches me, and I bounce once.
My eyes travel his huge body, which is silhouetted by the vague amber glow of ancient nightlights.
The leather, patched vest hangs over the doorknob, while he dumps the shirt and jeans unceremoniously on the floor.
His cock is fully erect, unburdened by underwear. The sight catches my breath in my throat.
Naked under his jeans. Ready for anything.
Ready for me.
Lariat’s hands fist, and he takes two strides closer. I take in the knuckles that are slightly abraded from him beating a man to save me.
I lie back with prayer of a sigh and spread my legs for him.
Lariat stares down at my naked body then his fists punch down at either side of my thighs. When he bends over between my thighs, his face hovers, and the look he gives me is pure heat and fire for a single moment before his mouth lands on me.
I thread my fingers through his hair and yank him against my pussy as I lift my hips.
“Eager as fuck,” he says in a low growl against my opening. I moan, jerking my hips as high as they can go.
He slides a palm under my ass, and when his finger plunges inside my already soaked channel, his deft tongue finds my clit. I burst apart, coming in a great pulsing wave of pleasure.