Risky and Wild: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Bad Boys MC Trilogy Book 2)

by Violet Blaze

  The thing is, I don't have my car with me, have no cell phone, and it's the dead of night.

  I'm officially stuck in the middle of a boys' club.

  “I'd love a change of clothes, thank you.” Fauna nods and stands up, tossing her drink back before she goes. I sit there and stare at the motorcycle trapped in glass by my feet. It's old and rusty, some relic from times past. I stare it for a while, but my brain is somewhere else entirely, with Royal in that chapel, wondering what he's saying about my sister, about me, if he'll tell me about any of it later.

  “Here we go,” Fauna says, sizing me up as she passes over a pair of black leggings with skulls and crossbones all over them along with a lace trimmed blank tank. “My daughter left a bag of laundry for me to deal with, so they're freshly washed. I think you're a little closer to her size than you are to mine.”

  “Thank you,” I say, taking the clothes and sliding off the stool. The sooner I get out of the bloodstained clothes, the better I'll feel. “Is there a place I can change?”

  Fauna shows me to the women's bathroom and leaves me there to switch out my clothes and splash some cool water on my face. One glance in the mirror and I know I look ridiculous in some teenager's clothes. They're tight in all the wrong places, pulling at my breasts, my hips, emphasizing my curves in the worst way.

  I sigh and kick off my shoes. Those work appropriate kitten heels with the skull leggings? Eh. I'd rather go barefoot. Heading back into the bar, I drop my clothes on an empty bar stool and sit back down to another full glass of whisky, watching as Fauna finishes cleaning up across from me.

  “Thanks for the clean clothes,” I say. “I'll wash and return them as soon as possible.”

  “No rush,” Fauna tells me, dropping a rag in the sink and scooping her blond hair into a ponytail. “My girl's got enough clothes to fill three closets. She won't even miss 'em. Now.” Fauna levels a look on me that reminds me of the night of the party, like she's baiting a lure and tossing it out to sea. “Tell me, why's a deputy mayor playing around with the Alpha Wolves in the middle of a Tuesday night?”

  I force myself to sit still and keep my gaze on Fauna's. Her question isn't a completely unexpected one, but it is a difficult thing to answer.

  “Royal and I,” I start, but that's about all I need to say before Fauna's whistling and shaking her head.

  “I knew it,” she says, more to herself than to me, glancing down and away before she lets her gaze fall back on mine, a wall of glass bottles climbing up the wall behind her. Each of the shelves is lit from beneath with a red glow that reflects back off the mirrored wall and into my face. “So you're sleeping with him then?”

  “I think I'm …” I take a deep breath. “Dating him.”

  Fauna's brows shoot up to her hairline as she leans over and looks straight at me.

  “You crazy, girl?” she asks, but I think the answer to that question is yes, and we both know it. “What do you want to get all wrapped up in this for? I'm not saying I don't love my husband, or the life, but it sure as hell isn't for everyone.”

  “It's not about the … the life,” I tell her, but she doesn't look like she believes me. “It's about Royal.”

  “You've got that nice little career of yours at the mayor's office, and that's just something that doesn't translate over here.” Another pause where Fauna looks distinctly uncomfortable, the black and gray portraits on her upper arm catching my attention. She has a child's face, a cat's, two dogs'. “Does Royal know you're dating?” she asks in the nicest voice possible, like she's trying not to freak me out. “Because he really is the friendly sort, so it's easy to get the wrong idea.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but it's not like that,” I say, my voice getting icy, my hand clenching tighter around the glass. I'm not stupid, and I really don't like the way Fauna is looking at me, like I'm some helpless idiot following Royal around and thinking it'd be cool to marry a guy that's in a motorcycle club. On the contrary, it sounds terrifying.

  “Okay,” Fauna says, giving me another once-over, one that's completely different from the look she gave me earlier. It's a lot less friendly this time. I think I've just lost some of her respect, and I have no idea why. “Whatever you say.”

  Fifteen minutes later, just as Fauna's gathering her things and giving me strange looks like she's about to leave but isn't sure what to do with me, Royal appears in the doorway.

  “There you are. I was just getting ready to go, but I didn't want to leave your girlfriend in here alone,” Fauna says, looking right at Royal, challenging him with her eyes, her stance, her raised brows. He raises one of his own, cutting an impressive figure in his leather vest, dark jeans and boots. My heart flutters as soon as I see him, and I can't get it to stop, not even when Fauna blurts out the information I gave her right in front of her husband, Jack, who's moving around Royal and pausing next to his wife, one hand on her shoulder.

  “Fauna,” he warns, but she's already locked in challenge with the Alpha Wolves' President.

  Royal digs in his pocket for a cigarette and lights up before answering, his gaze swinging over to mine. This is it. The thought passes between us unspoken. I adjust myself slightly in my seat, giving up my chance to butt in, to say no, to put a stop to this. I might not be an expert on club life, but I know that if Fauna gets a confirmation on Royal's and my relationship, then by tomorrow, everyone will know.

  Without saying anything, I tell him yes.

  Could be the biggest mistake of my life—or the best decision I've ever made.

  Only time will tell.

  “Thanks for keeping her company, eh? She's the fucking bee's knees, this one.”

  “Right.” That's all Fauna says as she turns, her purse slung over one shoulder, the expression on her face closed off and guarded as she looks me over again, leaving the bar area with the loud smack of heels on the wood floor.

  “Don't worry about Fauna; I'll have a talk with her,” Jack says, nodding at Royal, his eyes passing over me quickly on his way out. “I'll see you in the morning.”

  “Cheers, mate,” Royal says, lifting his chin and flashing a grin. He takes a drag and waits for the sound of the front door before moving over to stand next to me, his tattooed right hand sneaking out and stealing my drink. I stare at the roses and vines, the small lines of cursive that I still haven't had the chance to read. Next time we're alone in bed, naked and sweaty and sated, I'm going to take his hands in mine and study them until I have every mark memorized. “You and Fauna have a good old chin-wag?”

  “Stop trying to charm me,” I say as I drum my fingers on the marble countertop and refuse to look at his face. Suddenly mine's just burning, lit up and pink and completely out of character for me. When Royal sets the glass down, he lefts his hand up and grabs my chin, turning my face to look at him.

  “Wasn't even trying,” he said, leaning in pressing his mouth to mine, tasting like smoke and tobacco, the smell of leather all encompassing. When he pulls back, I'm breathless and wanting, my thighs clenching tight as I struggle to contain the rush of hormones. This is crazy. Beyond crazy. I'm sitting in a biker bar at four in the morning with whisky in my belly and the president's tongue down my throat.

  I've officially lost it.

  “Was it the accent then?”

  “Definitely the accent,” I say as he looks down at me, studying my face carefully.

  “Did Fauna torture you much?” he asks as the two redheaded guys come in next, followed by Glacier and the guy with the beard. He really doesn't like me, I think as he casts another glance my way that I catch and hold, challenging him. Neither of us looks away, forcing Royal to step between us to break the stare.

  “Not much,” I say with a knowing smile. “She just basically called me an idiot when I told her we were dating.”

  “Don't mind her,” Glacier says, pausing in the middle of the room and glancing over at us, those stupid kitten pajama pants still on. Dragging unconscious rivals around, discussing club secre
ts and torture, getting blood smeared across his white tank, none of that seems to bother the guy as he comes over to us and pauses, his arms colorful swirls of tattoos, his face dotted with silver piercings. “She's just used to all the housewives that come into the garage to flirt with the boys.” He smiles at me, but I feel like the expression comes with a price. Glacier stares at me with pale eyes that seem to dig deep, giving me the eerie feeling of being hunted. Dear God. “Once she realizes that dragging a mayor's daughter into the mix is worth a hundred times more trouble than an easy fuck's worth, she'll lay off.”

  “Bugger off, Saint,” Royal says, as I raise my brows. Saint? The guy's name is Saint? His parents must've had a strange sense of humor. “Don't you have business to attend to?”

  “Sure thing, Pres,” he says, giving me another look before turning away and heading out the front door, whistling something under his breath. Royal gives me an apologetic look before offering his hand. I take it and slide off the metal of the stool, grateful that it looks like we're finally getting out of here.

  “Set up something for this weekend at your place, Dober,” Royal tells him, smiling wickedly as he give his friend a penetrating look, one that says volumes more than words ever could. “Invite everyone. I have a special announcement to make.”

  I shiver, glancing up at Royal's face.

  I'm not usually a betting woman, but if I had to put money on something, I'd say that special announcement, it has everything to do with me.

  Royal takes me straight back to his place in the truck, eyeing his bike on the way out of the clubhouse with a longing that makes me smile. Maybe he can tell I'm too tired to ride two up with him, getting me situated in that warm cab with Evans Blue playing on the speakers. By the time we get to his house, I'm already asleep.

  When I wake up in the morning, I have vague memories of Royal carrying me inside and tucking me into his big wooden bed, the navy blue sheets saturated with his scent. When I pull them up to my face, I feel like I'm drowning in him in the best way possible. Behind me, I can feel the warmth of Royal's body pressed against me, one muscular arm around my waist, the other beneath his pillow.

  Carefully, I extract myself from the bed and pad quietly down the hall into the kitchen. The clock above the stove says it's six-thirty in the morning. My eyes are sticky, my limbs heavy and tired, but at least I feel better knowing my internal alarm clock is still in working order.

  With a yawn, I lift my arms above my head and watch the gray drizzle falling outside the window, coating everything with beads of moisture as the wind picks up and tousles the sea grasses in Royal's backyard. In the quiet early morning like this, I can almost pretend that last night didn't even happen, that I wasn't involved in yet another activity so illegal that not only could it ruin my career but also my entire life.

  I sigh and get a glass from the cabinet near the sink, pleased to see that although Royal's cabinets aren't labeled, they're in relatively decent order. Impressive. Oh, and he doesn't just have plastic cups. My last boyfriend, that's all he had, and I hate drinking out of plastic. I know it sounds weird, but I just don't like it.

  With a sardonic smile and a shake of my head, I fill the glass with water from the fridge and head down the hall and past the guest bathroom; it has all the original touches of a typical Victorian house—clawfoot tub, porcelain pedestal sink, and white subway tiles. It all looks shiny and new and cared for, like Royal spent just as much time polishing this up as he did the woodwork.

  My derisive smile turns real as my bare feet whisper down the hall and sneak back into the bedroom, slipping carefully into the second bathroom with its modern glass shower, soapstone vanity, and heated floors. It must be an add on because it's nothing like the other.

  I pause for a moment, my heart swelling with affection as I stand in the doorway to watch Royal's sleeping face. He's rolled onto his back, his shirtless upper body visible above the crumpled sheets, that banner across his chest with the skulls, roses and pistols adorning rock-hard muscle. It's crazy; I've never dated anyone as in shape as Royal and … wow. Just wow. Just the feel of him pressed against me is almost enough to bring me to orgasm.

  I bite my lower lip and duck back into the bathroom, closing the door behind me and looking around at the scattered items on the counter. There's a razor, some shaving cream, a stick of deodorant, toothpaste, a toothbrush. I poke around, opening the medicine cabinet and taking stock of what's inside. You can tell a lot about a person based on what's in there. Royal's is fairly normal, with a few extra medical supplies than one might expect. I push aside a first aid kit and find some condoms, feeling my face pull down in a frown. Does he bring girls back here? I wonder as I stare at them and then close the mirrored door.

  I don't like the jealous, possessive urge that takes over me as I suck in a deep breath and taste that spicy masculine sweetness on the back of my tongue. Even the bathroom smells like him, like forest and leather and earth. This is real, I think as I look around the bathroom. I really am dating this guy. I can count on one hand the number of times I've showered in a guy's bathroom, especially after sleeping next to him and not having sex.

  “Holy crap, I whisper as I move over and start the shower, climbing in before I realize there's nothing but a bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner and a bar of soap. That's it. I shake my head as I lather up anyway and start to wash. My shower looks like the hygiene aisle at a grocery store: shampoo, conditioner, deep conditioner, shaving cream, razors, bodywash, face wash, a bar of soap. And that's nothing compared to Kailey's place. She has different scents for every day of the week.

  I've just rinsed my hair and started washing my body when I hear a sound behind me, spinning around to find Royal leaning in the open door of the shower and grinning at me.

  “Morning, Pint-Size,” he says as I cover my crotch with one hand and wrap an arm over my breasts. Everything's soapy, so I'm sure the motion does more harm than good when it comes to giving Royal a show, but I do it out of reflex. How weird is it that being naked with someone during sex has literally nothing to do with being naked outside of it? I'm suddenly embarrassed, taking a step back and bumping my ass against the slate tiles.

  Royal's full mouth curves to the side in a lazy, sexy smile.

  “You smell like my shampoo,” he says as he looks me over, nice and slow, from my head all the way down to my toes. “I like that. A lot.” I watch as Royal steps out of his jeans and joins me in the shower, sliding the glass door closed behind him.

  In this tight space, it's impossible for me not to look. Royal's just standing there in all his six foot four glory, his cock rigid and proud, the hot water sluicing between his lips, sliding over hardened muscles and tattoos.

  I press my body against the wall when all I really want to do is drop to my knees and put my mouth around the head of his cock. My heart starts to flutter again, and I feel light-headed and dizzy. Too much, too early, too little sleep.

  A moan slips out when Royal reaches over and slides his hand down my shoulder, taking hold of my wrist and pulling it away from my breasts.

  “I have to go to work,” I say, but it's not really a protest at all. In fact, that also seems to come out in moan format. Maybe I'm just not capable of talking when I have Royal McBride naked and erect in front of me? “I have to … mmm.”

  Royal pulls my hand away from my pussy and pins my wrists above my head, leaning down and taking my lower lip between his teeth. I lean into his touch, arching my neck and trying to connect our mouths for a kiss. The asshole doesn't let me, pulling back with a wicked smirk burning across his lips.

  “What was that, sweetheart? I didn't quite hear you. You have to do what now?”

  “You're such a … a prick,” I say, but Royal just laughs at me, his dark hair wet and sticking to his forehead as he holds me in place with his left hand, tracing my body with his right. His touch electrifies, leaves a trail across my skin that feels like it must be burned. Each spot his fingertips graze over feels
marred, marked, like I could never wash away the sensation of his touch. Like I'd never even want to.

  “That so?” Royal asks, leaning down and brushing his lips against mine again, just enough to make me ache and tremble, strain towards him, but not enough to satiate the burning desire he ignites me. I keep thinking that after this fuck or that one, it'll cool down and I'll be able to think more clearly.

  Wrong.

  Each time I let Royal touch me, that I touch him, it adds fuel to the fire.

  I think I'm in love with him.

  I banish that traitorous thought, just like I did before. One week and three days in … not enough time.

  See, you're all caught up in that. A week. Who cares how long it's been? You like me or not, Pint-Size? Stop trying to map everything out.

  Royal's words flicker through my mind as he kisses his way up my jaw, nibbles on my ear, drops his mouth to my throat. I pull against his hands, but it's not much of a struggle at all. I don't want to escape, don't want to be anywhere but here.

  “Tell me again what I am, Pint-Size,” Royal growls against my ear, his breath making me shiver as I squeeze my thighs together and he leans his body into mine, his erection pressing against my stomach as I suck in a harsh breath and look up to meet that powerful gaze of his.

  “You're a prick,” I say, and he laughs, the vibration in his body sending mine into a frenzy, my nipples hardening into points, my stomach clenching, muscles squeezing as Royal rubs against me, kissing around my lips but refusing to meet me mouth to mouth. “And a tease apparently.”

  “Hey, that's a sexist term,” he whispers, still grinning at me, enjoying the way I'm starting to twist and struggle in his grip. “I take offense to that,” he tells me, cupping my ass and lifting me up, letting go of my arms as he presses me into the wall with his body. “Now you're going to have make up for your bloody bigotry.”