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

by Violet Blaze

  When Royal bends down and puts his warm lips against my ear, I almost squeeze the coffee straight out of my cup, fist clenching around the flimsy paper.

  “How'd it go?” he whispers as I glance up at him, almost bumping our mouths together in the process. Feeling brave in the after-sex glow I'm still nursing, I curl my fingers around the thick, hard muscles in his shoulder and lean up on my tiptoes.

  “Bloody awful,” I whisper and he laughs. “You better kiss me now to make a point.”

  With a masculine growl that curls my toes, Royal plants his hands possessively on my hips and pulls me to him, crushing our bodies together as he curls around me, kisses me hard, tongue sliding into my mouth, drawing a moan from my throat that has nothing to do with the show we're supposed to be putting on and everything to do with him.

  The sound of a throat clearing pulls Royal back, and he glances irritably over his shoulder.

  It's that guy again … Dober. The Vice President. Landon's replacement. The guy my new boyfriend killed's replacement. I shiver a little and wrap my arms around myself. Dober watches the movement, his shaggy brown brows pinching in as he studies me. He doesn't trust me, thinks I've seen too much, know too much.

  I bet he'd kill me if Royal let him.

  “You ready?” he asks and Royal grunts in response, turning to look back at me with an apology in his earthy brown eyes.

  “I've got to head out for a bit, love.” He digs the keys to the truck from his pocket. “I'm sorry. Slight change of plans. Maybe we can postpone our tour for later, yeah?”

  “Sure thing,” I say as he drops the silver keys into my palm.

  “And take the dogs if you want.” Royal bends down and presses another kiss to my mouth, one that's warm and sultry and completely intoxicating. I want to melt into that kiss, let it poison me, drown in it. “Mug's the road captain, so he's basically useless when we're not on a run.” Another big grin tossed my way that makes my heart flutter. “He'll be tailing you today, okay?”

  I nod as Royal pulls away and glances up at the women behind me with a smile before turning and heading towards the gleaming row of bikes parked in front of the clubhouse. He swings his leg over the seat, jams his helmet on his head, and then I watch as flashes of chrome and the growling roar of engines explodes from the gate and disappears down the redwood dotted highway.

  I decide to stop at home and change into my work clothes. They make me feel in control, my shield against the world, against all of this … whatever it is that's going on with Royal. Powder blue wool, nude tights, brown loafers, and a shitload of hairspray to shellac my brunette waves into place … oh, and my Glock shoved into my purse.

  I decide to hit the office, even though I already called in sick. If there's any place in the world that'll serve to remind me of my goals, my life pre-Royal, that's it. I snag a new phone from the cell place before I head in, Mug's rumbling motorcycle trailing me all the way as I leave Royal's truck at my house and take my car instead.

  I abandon him in the parking lot and head inside, past Kailey's empty desk and up the stairs. As soon as I hit the second floor, I can tell something's up by the quiet hush in the room, the way everyone's shuffling papers and playing with their phones, pretending to work while they wait for something.

  I spy my sister at my desk, absently flicking through my files and frown.

  “What's going on in here?” I ask as she blinks up at me in surprise.

  “I thought you weren't feeling well?” she asks, suspicion lacing her words. I ignore her and tilt my chin at the door to my father's office. It's closed, the blinds on the windows pulled, the faintest murmur of voices through the glass. Immediately, my sister switches gears, her blue eyes sparkling. This must be some good gossip if she's willing to abandon her interrogation of me so easily.

  “There are some people here,” she starts, smiling wickedly, like she knows the juiciest little secret and I should feel privileged to be let in on it. “From the FBI.”

  A chill skitters down my spine and my throat gets tight.

  “The … FBI?” I ask, going suddenly light-headed, forced to put a hand down on my desk to catch myself. Kailey flips some blond hair over her shoulder and gives me a look.

  “Maybe you should've stayed home today. Are you sure you're not going to pass out on me?”

  “Why are there FBI agents talking to Dad?”

  Kailey raises a brow at me.

  “That whole suicide thing with Brent, I'm assuming. Not like they told me anything.” She sighs and stands up out of my chair. “Maybe you'll get lucky and Dad and Sully will actually tell you what this is all about.” She shrugs like she couldn't care less and moves away, the pastel green of her designer heels clicking across the blue carpeting.

  FBI.

  Outlaw motorcycle clubs.

  Not exactly a match made in heaven.

  I sit down at my desk, get my laptop out, and pretend to work.

  When the two FBI agents leave my father's office, I stand up, a stack of files clutched to my chest as I watch them make their way to the stairs. On the left, a woman with smooth brown skin and a shaved head curls her fingers around the banister, pausing to whisper something to the man on her right, a big guy with short cropped hair and a warm summer tan that I know he didn't get here. They're both wearing suits, both carrying stoic expressions on their very serious faces.

  Crap, crap, crap. This can't be good. It just can't. I clutch a fist to my stomach and try to calm the rapid thundering of my heart. For all I know, this is routine, a follow-up to Brent's “suicide”. Then again, maybe they're also aware that word contains quotes.

  I bite my lower lip, chewing nervously at the tender flesh as I wait for the agents' heads to disappear down the staircase. Should I call Royal? Is that what I'm supposed to do? I glance back at my father's partially cracked door before setting the files on my desk and heading over there, propping it open with my shoulder.

  “What was that all about?” I ask him as I cross my arms over my chest and find those blue eyes of his flicking up to me in surprise. There's a pair of glasses on the desk, both filled with water. On the other side, my dad has a crystal tumbler of scotch.

  “Lyric, I didn't know you were here. Your sister said you called in sick this morning.” I open my mouth to feed him a worthy excuse, but I needn't have bothered; my dad doesn't give a crap. “That was Heather Shelley and José Garza from the FBI. They were here about Brent.” Mr. Rentz pauses to take a sip of his drink, waving a hand dismissively in my direction. “Actually, they were hoping to talk to you. If I'd known you'd come in, I would've given you the office to talk.”

  I feel my throat constrict again. Uh-oh. This doesn't look good, does it? I called Brent here. Me. He was supposed to be doing me a favor. And yeah, so Royal says he had other plans long before I contacted him, but the suspicion will still be there.

  “Me? Why'd they need to talk to me?” The mayor's already dismissed me in his mind, certain that there could be no roadblocks in paradise, particularly not with his dutiful little daughter. I stare at the back of his dark head, hair sleek and perfect, not a single strand of gray in sight. He's turned away from me now, rifling through some drawer on his built-in bookcase.

  “They're headed to the hospital now to talk to Sully.”

  Fuck.

  “What do they need to talk to him for?” I ask, sounding indignant. My dad turns slightly in his chair to look at me, but pauses when his cell rings, checking the screen and holding up a finger to me as he answers in his cheeriest, most jovial voice.

  “Judge Franco, to what do I owe the pleasure?” A privileged masculine laugh follows, one that makes me sick to my stomach. Philip will be on the phone with this guy for a while, one of his buddies. I don't have time to stick around and wait, so I leave, letting the door swing shut behind me as I snatch my new cell from my pocket and dial up my brother.

  “What?” Sully answers right away, his voice drugged and groggy and thick. Understandab
le considering my new boyfriend beat the crap out of him with a hammer. Dear God, what have I gotten myself into? Am I losing it? Am I really, truly going nuts this time?

  “There are two FBI agents on their way to the hospital to talk to you,” I whisper, sliding into the upstairs bathroom and locking the door. It's a tasteful room with brand-new fixtures, heated tile floors that nobody will ever use, and photographs of the local area. I close the lid on the toilet and sit down, staring across the small space at a green and brown picture of a dewy fern.

  “Wha-” My brother coughs, and my heart skips a few beats. Despite how stupid he is, I really do love him. Part of me wants to hate Royal for what he did, and the other part knows that in Royal's world, what he did for Sully was a favor. “What do you mean?”

  “I guess it's something about Brent, I don't know. But you better not say anything.”

  “Do you think I'm that stupid, Lyric? Jesus. Why are you even calling me? Are you trying to make us look suspicious? We haven't even done anything, so don't act like there's a reason to panic. Brent came here to do you a favor, check on the Wolves, make sure there wasn't anything fishy going on that could compromise the contract with the city. That's it. Simple and easy.”

  “That is not a good story to tell, Sully,” I say, sweat beading on my forehead. “That won't work. Come up with something else.” I can practically see him gawping at me from his hospital bed.

  “It's the truth, as far as you knew a few days ago. Jesus, Lyric, what's this all about?”

  “Don't tell them anything. Nothing at all. Not even that. Let me think for a minute. By the time they come to talk to me, I'll figure out what to say.”

  “Lyric—” he starts, but I'm done listening. I have another phone call to make.

  “I have to go, Sully,” I tell him, putting my sternest, hardest voice into play. “If you say anything, Royal will probably have his boys … help you escape another mugging.”

  There's a moment of silence, punctuated solely by Sully's harsh breathing.

  “Are you serious right now? How do you know about that? Did that guy threaten you, too?”

  “I have to go. Just keep your mouth shut, or we'll both be in hot water. I know there's nothing you hate more than listening to me, but just do it this once and don't fucking argue.”

  I hang up and dial Royal right away, my pulse thumping in my throat. I'm sure I'm overreacting, sure of it, but the punishment for underreacting here is big. Huge.

  “Missed the sound of my voice already, eh, love?”

  I almost smile, but then the situation hits me again and I take a deep breath.

  “I'm not sure if this is a problem or not,” I start, glancing over at a knock on the bathroom door. “I'm in here!” I call, and then stand up to turn the sink on as a sound barrier. “But there were two FBI agents at my dad's office, inquiring about Brent. I guess they wanted to talk to me, but I just missed them. They're on their way to see Sully.”

  There's a long pause as I wait for Royal to respond.

  “I already called him and told him to keep his mouth shut,” I add, and there's a small, tired sigh from that end of the line.

  “Alright. I suppose there isn't much to be done about it until we can figure out exactly what it is that they want.” There's another pause, pregnant and heavy with awkwardness and blurry boundaries. I can tell Royal wants to ask me something else. “Once they're done there, find out what that is for me, yeah? Maybe it's nothing … maybe it's something.”

  I nod, realize he's not looking at me, and tell him, “sure. I'll call him back in a bit. For now I think I'm gonna get out of here, keep playing the sick card, and grab something to eat. How's your … your business going?”

  There's a deep, throaty chuckle from Royal's end of the line.

  “I'll tell you all about it later. Shouldn't be too much longer.” The sound of male voices rises through the speaker, cutting Royal off for a brief moment. “Glad to see you got your mobile back. I'll call you when I'm done here, and I'll remake that pesto we never got to eat.” There's a vicious grin in his voice that does wonders to tangle up my already scrambled insides. I smile against the phone.

  “See you soon.” It feels like there's something else I should say to end this call, a pet name maybe or even an … I love you? But it's too soon, so I clamp down on that and end the call before things can get awkward. “I need a spa day,” I groan, heading out of the bathroom to grab a few things from my desk.

  As soon as I've got my laptop bag in hand, I sneak a glance over the banister and find that Kailey's stepped away from her desk. Using that moment to make my escape, I hit the stairs as quick as I can and head outside to find the clouds parting and weak sunlight basking the front of the building in a brisk bright glow.

  Across the parking lot, Mug sits on his bike, phone in his hands, thumbs sliding across the screen. There's a girl standing next to him, leaning over the handlebars and displaying an inordinately large amount of cleavage. Jesus, these bikers and their boobs. Mug pauses just long enough to nod his chin briefly and acknowledge me before turning his head over to the girl again.

  I'm not two steps out the door when I hear the sound of heels moving across the sidewalk towards me. Considering there's nothing around that side of the building but scraggly bushes and a rocky incline towards the sea, I glance that way, surprised to find the girl from the compound—Mia—and a small gaggle of her friends.

  Fuck.

  That's my word of the day today. I try not to use it too often, not because I'm a prude, just simply because the F-word doesn't sit well in politics, but … fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, lifting my chin up as I survey Mia and her annoyingly perfect complexion. In the sudden afternoon sunlight, she looks a little harsh, all painted up like that, but what do I know about makeup? All I've ever done is try to blend in, cover up, put just enough effort in that I'm unremarkable. Sexiness, good looks—in politics, those are almost dirty words. It's hard enough for a woman to infiltrate a boys' club, so as silly as I find the whole dance, I follow the steps to a T.

  The girls behind and to the right of Mia are just as pretty, just as flashy, in leather and halters and heels. It's kind of funny, seeing them standing there in formation like that, like some sort of biker thug Mean Girls reboot.

  Well, I mean, it would be funny if it wasn't for the murderous look on Mia's pretty face.

  She flips a shiny sheet of brunette hair over one shoulder, leaving nothing but the purple streak hanging in front of her face as she looks me over like I disgust her, dark eyes hard and unyielding. A quick glance over my shoulder shows Mug still embroiled in his conversation with the girl, a perfect match to the rest of the ones standing in front of me. He even looks up, spots us standing there together and makes a face. The blonde in front of him laughs loudly and his attention whips back down to her.

  He must not think these girls are a threat to me.

  He's dead wrong.

  “Help me?” Mia asks with a harsh, broken laugh. I almost feel sorry for her in that moment, standing outside my father's office in a tight red sleeveless shirt, dark denim painted down her long, lean legs. She's gorgeous, flawless really—on the outside. On the inside, I can see that she's broken and hurting. Her laugh tells me all that and more. Mia, this girl with tattoos from shoulder to wrist, she's searching for an outlet for her pain.

  And she's chosen me.

  Mia takes a step forward, heels loud on the pavement, towering almost a full foot above me. God, I hate being short sometimes. I square my shoulders and straighten my spine, raising my chin and giving her my most stoic look, the one I use on men that think they can throw their height around and intimidate me.

  “You've already helped me—right off the Alpha Wolves Compound. Right out of Royal McBride's bed.”

  “If I'm not mistaken, it was you who threw the first punch,” I say, trying to take in the three girls behind Mia—all of them taller than me. There's a redhea
d with gorgeous ruby curls and porcelain skin, and two slim tanned brunettes—one with a short bob and the other with gentle shining waves. They all look pissed, personally pissed, like I've managed to offend each and every one of their delicate sensibilities. “So if we're assigning blame here, then it was actually you that got yourself thrown off the compound.”

  “Do you think you're fucking clever?” Mia asks with a sneer building on her glossy red lips, flicking a hand up and smacking me in the chest. “With your suits and your fancy car? You come sauntering into our place and manage to snag the president for yourself, huh? You must feel pretty accomplished.”

  A flush of irritation colors me as I flick my eyes toward the front doors of the building, praying that nobody comes out and sees this confrontation. This is the last thing I need right now, some sort of catfight in the mayor's parking lot. And the fact that said catfight has everything to do with a one-percenter outlaw MC president? Not good. Things like this, if caught on video, can permanently ruin a career.

  “Listen, Mia, I can understand how you're feeling,” I start, annoyance clear in my tone. I try to hold it back, but I'm not exactly a saint. I can only take so much in one week before I start to crack a little. “But I'm not out to get you, okay? Royal's a big boy, perfectly capable of making his own decisions. If you have something you need to say to him, why don't you speak with him directly?”

  Mia's face twists with rage, turning her pretty mask into something ugly for a split second before she smiles wickedly.

  “Because I have something else in mind.”

  Before I can react, she's reaching out and grabbing me by the front of my dress shirt, buttons popping as she yanks me forward, her friends closing in and dragging me behind the building and out of sight of the parking lot in less than a second.