For a while, Beast does laps, and I swim around in lazy circles. I’m not sure what we’re doing in here, but later, when I look back on the moment, I’ll think that maybe he was burning some of that primal energy of his, making himself safe for me. When he finally swims over and pins me against the wall with his arms, I’m ready for him.
My arms go around his neck, my legs around his waist, and before I can even think of condoms, he’s sliding into me, and I’m turning to liquid desire in his arms. His hips move against me, sloshing the water gently around us. My ass is being scraped against the cement wall of the pool, but none of that matters. Instead, Beast lowers his forehead to mine, and we fuck quietly but eagerly in the darkness, like we’ve done this before, like we could do this again.
This might be the greatest mistake I’ve made all night, I think, but it’s happening, consequences be damned. Beast feels bigger than the other two men. Either that, or I’m just sore. For a virgin to go three times in one night, it’s to be expected. And yet I feel like I could go forever, that I could fuck these guys until the sun came up. Speaking of, I have no clue what time it is. For all I know, maybe the sun is about to come up?
“Shit, Gidge,” he whispers after a while, panting like crazy. It’s the most unhinged I’ve ever seen him and yet … he’s really not that unhinged at all. Our eyes lock and Beast moves inside of me, watching my facial expressions, somehow knowing exactly what I need and want before even I know it. He pushes me toward a climax, lets me fall over the edge, and then holds me there for a moment before breaking away.
This time, when he goes, I can see in the stiffness of his muscles that his control really is slipping.
“Wait!” I swim after him, arms crossed over my chest, legs weak and wobbly. I follow Beast back to his pile of clothing, but he refuses to acknowledge me. When I reach out to take his arm, he jerks away like I’ve burned him. “Where are you going?”
“Switching places with Sin,” he tells me, but I grab onto his arm again, his muscles flexing and tensing beneath my fingers as he turns back toward me. His actions are slow and deadly, dangerous, like he’s walking a tightrope but knows better than to fall. My right palm splays open against his chest and trails downward, towards the firm length of his cock. He’s not finished, not by a longshot, and I’m not letting him leave.
Tonight, I have all the control, regardless of what the guys actually think.
“Gidge, you don’t know what you’re doing,” Beast tells me, his frantic breathing slowing to a steady beat. That’s the scariest part, watching him lockdown his emotions like that. “Let me go.”
“No.”
My eyes lift to meet his, and there’s a tension between us that burns. My skin aches every time a raindrop hits it, these cold spots taking over all that heat. I can feel each and every one. Hell, I could count them.
He tries to pull away from me again, and I remember Grainger’s words: “Keep pushing and somebody might just push back.”
Beast stays stone-still as I wrap my hands around his biceps, trying to keep them there. When he doesn’t react, I feel fury swipe its dirty claws across me, and I start to hit him, as hard as I can, right in the chest. He takes it for a little while, and the more frenzied I get it, the calmer he is.
“Fine.” I let go and take an abrupt step back, my mouth pursed, my skin flush with heat. “I’ll go find Grainger again. He’ll fuck me if I ask.”
Moving away from him, I grab my nightgown and head for the back door.
I don’t even make it inside before he’s on me again, fingers curling around my wrist and yanking me back. Beast pushes me against the wall, cups the side of my face, and kisses me in a way that brooks no argument. My knees go weak from the feel of his tongue sliding against my own, and Beast scoops me up in his arms, laying me out on the pavement on my back.
And then he covers me with his body, sliding his naked cock into my throbbing heat and fucking so hard that it almost hurts. Almost. My hands curl around his shoulders as he rides above me with rough, brutal movements, his strokes deep and long, hitting the end of me.
Another climax hits me, and I squirm, crying out and clawing at Beast’s chest, but he doesn’t stop. He fucks me into the pavement, and then lifts me up, slamming my back into the rough stucco wall and pounding me so hard that I’m sure I’ll have bruises on my ass.
We go at it like animals; there’s nothing gentle or romantic about it. Beast takes me in every possible way, adjusting our position several times until we end up on the ground again. His big body is soaked in sweat, and I can hear his breathing turning ragged and uneven. When he tenses up and tries to pull away from me, I wrap my legs around his midsection and squeeze hard, pulling him deeper inside of me. In the back of my mind, I know what he’s trying to do, that he’s wanting to pull out before he comes.
My mind is too clouded with passion to care.
Instead, I writhe against him, lifting my hips to meet his. My vision is blurry with pleasure, but as I’m raking my nails down Beast’s back and whispering for him to finish, I see something.
There’s a person standing in the doorway, cloaked in shadows, watching us.
As Beast finishes with a growl, my legs keeping him trapped inside of me, I can see the figure tense up with raw anger. Before he turns and storms off, I know exactly who it is: it’s Crown.
I don’t move to follow him though, and I don’t say anything to Beast. We just lay there for a while before Beast gets up and looks down at me, face unreadable. When I start to stand up, he rises to his feet and helps me the rest of the way. There’s the strangest sensation of liquid running down my thighs, but I ignore it, waiting for him to say something, anything at all. He reaches out to touch my chin again, lifting my head.
“If Cat ever gives his blessing, it’s gonna be a battle royale,” he drawls in that thick Southern accent of his. It reminds me of hot summer days and iced tea and the buzzing of cicadas. I swallow hard as he moves over to his clothes, puts them back on, and then pulls out his gun. “I wouldn’t allow myself to lose.” My mouth pops open, but I have no idea what, exactly, he’s getting at, so I say nothing. “I’ll be back,” he tells me, heading for the gate in the brick wall that surrounds the pool. I watch him go, but then head inside to clean up.
This time, I put on proper clothes. Well, what I consider to be proper clothes: white miniskirt with a black stripe on the bottom, tank top with corset lacing, and boots. That’s my usual attire, basically my version of business casual. Then I go looking for Crown.
He’s nowhere to be found inside the house although Grainger’s sitting in the living room now, smoking a cigarette and staring at his phone. He doesn’t even acknowledge me when I walk in, the jerk. So I search the other rooms, ending with the garage, and the side door that leads out to a patio we never use.
Crown is there, sitting on his bike and watching as the very first blushes of morning light taint the horizon a soft pink. He looks over at me, but his face is as hard as iron.
“Nothing I say to you sticks, does it?” he asks me as I dig my hands into my pockets, resisting the urge to twirl my skirt in a circle and loudly proclaim, but it has pockets! I’m feeling good, actually, the best I’ve felt in months. I think my psyche is on overload, memories of Grainger and Sin and Beast overshadowing all the rest. Once the drugs and the booze wear off, and I wake up tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll regret some of this night. Maybe all of it.
“You’re too bossy,” I tell him, and he just makes this sound under his breath, this scoff that irks me the wrong way. “And you’re so self-righteous, even though you’ve got no moral high ground to stand on. Why should I bother listening to you?”
He looks at me for a long, long moment, and then he smiles. It’s not a happy expression, but it softens his face anyway, makes him look for the briefest of seconds like he’s approachable, a nice guy with open ears. It’s all bullshit. At least Grainger and Sin and Beast, they don’t try to pretend to be something they’re not.
They’re murderers, outlaws, assholes at best. I think Crown really does consider himself to be different somehow.
“You’re not the first person to ignore my advice,” he mumbles, turning away again.
“Huh?”
I take a step forward, but Crown doesn’t look at me, doesn’t bother to explain himself. I don’t really expect him to, but my interest is piqued. Instead, I sit down on one of the two chairs and try not to think about Queenie, sitting here and singing nursery rhymes under her breath as she rubbed her belly.
I swallow hard, and clench the sides of the chair, but Crown doesn’t seem to notice. He’s just sitting on his bike, straddling the seat like he’s about to take off. It’s a beautiful bike, too, an Indian Chieftain Classic in teal and white. I have the strongest urge to run my hand across it, but I know better than to simply touch someone else’s ride. Motorcycles are sacred in club culture.
“You’re not going to tell Cat what you saw, are you?” I ask, and I hate how weak and young my voice sounds. I don’t care what Cat knows. There’s nothing he can do to me that matters. But … I don’t want Beast to get in trouble. His life is his own, and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I fucked it up.
“You mean you and Beast fucking?” Crown looks back at me like I’m crazy. It’s still pitch dark out here, but even though I can’t see his face, I can tell he’s pissed off at me. “I’m the vice president, Gidge.”
“So?” I ask, and he scoffs at me.
“So? Cat has a right to know what his officers are getting up to, especially in regard to his own daughter. Beast knew the risks when he touched you; he’ll have to face the consequences.”
“What is wrong with you?!” I snap, standing up from the chair, my hands curled into tight fists. “Can you ever think outside the rule book? Try to judge a situation with a filter of gray instead of straight black and white?”
“The world is black and white, Gidge,” he says, eyes narrowing but lids heavy and soft, like he’s in a whole other world. He’s barely listening to me right now. “You pick a side, and you follow the rules. That’s it. There’s nothing else to it.”
“What a sad, pathetic life you must lead,” I grind out, my pulse throbbing. I’ve got the beginnings of a headache going on, but I’m too wired to sleep. Not yet. “Well, if you’re going to report Beast then you better add Sin and Grainger to that list.” I feel a bit like I’m snitching, and I don’t like it. Then again, Crown’s essentially threatening to snitch, isn’t he? All I’m doing is protecting my own interests, mine and Beast’s and Sin’s. Fuck Grainger. I couldn’t care less what happens to him.
“What, exactly, would I be telling Cat about Sin and Grainger?” he asks, his voice strangely calm, controlled, but tinged with anger.
“I fucked them, too,” I say, and the words surprise the shit out of me.
I haven’t processed it yet, that it actually happened, that I’m not a virgin anymore, that for the rest of my life I’ll probably remember this moment.
Crown just stares at me, and I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m full of shit.
“Grainger was first. Sin was second. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and ask them. They might lie, but then you’re all really good at that, aren’t you?” Crown frowns, caught between scolding me and exploding with self-righteous rage.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asks, voice quiet and steely.
“It means that I want to know more about Kian. I want to know why those men came here, and I want to know why we were all alone that day.”
I’ve never seen Crown snap to attention quite like that.
“You know what happened,” he says, almost softly, but then he stands up and swings a leg over his bike and I know I’m in trouble. “Kian was the Dom’s son; you know that. He raped your sister. What happened to him was righteous retribution.”
“Was it?” I ask, my eyes getting salty and sore from unshed tears. But I won’t let them fall. I refuse. “Because the way those men spoke, it just felt like cold-blooded murder. And either way, was it worth it? Was getting that revenge worth Queenie’s life? Her baby’s? How about Posey’s?” Crown doesn’t say anything; he lets me vent, standing there in the dark and staring down at me.
“Sin and Grainger …” he starts, and I nod sharply, feeling my body start to shake. I don’t regret what I’ve done, but it was a lot. Tonight … was a lot. Before I even realize what he’s doing, Crown’s got his arms around me, and he’s hugging me.
My brain doesn’t know what to make of it, so I just stand there, quivering and holding back tears. I’m not even sure if I know what the tears are for, if they’re for my sisters, or if they’re for myself, a girl who died in spirit the day they died in body.
I just slept with three outlaws tonight. I partied at their clubhouse. I did their drugs.
Is that what I want with my life?
Is that what my sisters would’ve wanted for theirs? Because I know Queenie didn’t. She didn’t want it for me, or for her, or for her baby.
Crown holds me so tight that I start to get confused, emotions bubbling up inside of me that I don’t want. I push him away. His hug shouldn’t mean anything. I barely know him.
When he does step back, his compassion is edged with anger.
“Gidge,” he starts, but I shake my head. I’m not about to listen to a lecture from him.
“It’s my body; I can do what I want with it.”
“I’m not questioning that part of the equation. I’m just wondering why that’s what you want.” His mouth tightens, and he looks up, gazing past me toward the side door, like he’s looking straight through at the three other officers. He drops his moss green eyes to mine, and my heart catches in my throat. “You have more to your future than being a club-whore.”
“Are you calling me a whore?” I choke out, my voice caustic. I keep my eyes locked with his. There’s no way in hell I’m looking away first.
“No.” Just that one word, said with such force that I decide I actually believe him. “But I don’t want to see you at the clubhouse anymore.” His mouth tightens. “Your father and I just had a chat. Things are going to change around here, Gidge—for the better.” I shake my head because I’ve heard this crap before, and nothing ever happened. Besides, even if it did, too little, too late. It’s just me here now, so what’s the point?
When I don’t say anything, Crown rakes his fingers through his curls, mussing them up.
“Sin, Grainger, Beast …” he starts, looking down at me. “I’m sorry, I just … need a fucking minute.”
“Are you jealous?” I ask him as he turns away and moves back over to his bike, leaning over and putting his hands on the handlebars. All he does is laugh at me though, like I’m ridiculous. “What? That’s how you’re acting right now.”
“Jealous, Gidge? I’m disgusted.” He spins back to face me, this cruel hardness coming into his voice. “You’re sixteen years old. The three of them are going to face Cat’s wrath.” He grabs a bottle off the table next to me, but it’s not a beer like all the other guys are drinking. It’s straight whiskey. Of course it is. “They should’ve waited until you were eighteen,” he mumbles under his breath, and my skin prickles with goose bumps.
“Can you really fight off the mafia with a drink in your hand?” I ask as he slugs back several shots worth.
“They’ve left town,” he says, swiping his arm across his mouth and looking at me over the top of it. “Their entire entourage rolled out about an hour ago. And if they want to send some assassins, have at it. I’m a straight shooter, even liquored up.”
“Is that why you got kicked off the force?” I’ve heard random mumblings from Cat, Nellie, Sin, Grainger. Supposedly Crown didn’t choose to stop being a cop, but the look he throws at me for that question is as hard as iron. His eyes get so dark that I decide I’ll never ask that question again. I won’t even think it. “Please don’t tell Cat,” I continue instead, taking a step forward. Crown swigs s
ome more of the whiskey, but he doesn’t offer it up to me. He’s too much of a rule follower for that. “Why start shit over nothing?”
“It’s not nothing, Gidge,” Crown starts, but I’m taking another step toward him, curling my fingers under his belt. My fingertips brush against the flat, hard planes of his stomach, and he sucks in a sharp breath. I’ve seen him fucking girls before, this smooth, confident rhythm that had my heart pounding and sweat beading on my lower back. The last time I saw him was on accident, when I walked into one of the dorms at the clubhouse looking for Nellie. He didn’t see or hear, so he just kept going, his hands tracing over the club-whore’s full, round breasts.
Lifting my face up, I meet his eyes again.
“What is it you hate about me?” I whisper, truly curious. I mean, I know why Grainger hates me. Sort of. And Sin. Pretty sure Beast doesn’t hate me. But Crown? He’s a mystery. He laughs at me, and I frown, teasing his belly with my fingertips.
“I don’t hate you.”
“You act like you do,” I continue, bringing my hands to his belt buckle. He watches me try to undo it, and then reaches down with his free hand, pushing me away. With the other, he swigs the Crown Royal whiskey.
“If that’s what you think, then you’re either in the wrong mindset … or I am.” My brows raise, but I can’t quite figure out what he’s trying to say. My fingers touch his belt again, but he grabs my wrist in a harsh grip. “I’m not going to fuck you, Gidge.” His voice is hard, almost painful to hear. “I don’t know what happened with the others, but they were wrong. This is fucked-up.”
“You think I should’ve lost it to someone my own age?” I ask dryly, and Crown’s face tightens up.
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