Matthew’s lopsided smile took away some of her bleakness. “As far as I know.”
“It feels like I’m losing him. That I’ll wake up one day and he’ll be gone.” Voicing her deepest fear made her want to cry. Dumb mural and all the bad feelings swamping her. She wished she’d never seen it. “What would I ever do without him?”
“Survive,” he answered in a no-nonsense tone that seemed to end the conversation. He held his hands up. “Babe, I’m not good with this type of shit.”
“What?”
“Emotions.”
“Everyone has emotions.” She didn’t understand what he meant, so she didn’t quite know how to answer. “You do, too. I’ve seen—“
“I don’t know how to deal with a girl’s emotions,” he interrupted with impatience. “I don’t fuck with bitches who cry and need a shoulder to lean on. That’s not me.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and bristled. “I’m not a bitch and neither is any other woman. Girls don’t like to be disrespected that way.”
He shrugged. “I agree, babe. You’re far from a bitch but I’m not gonna lie to you and pretend I’m something I’m not. I’m good at fucking girls. Nothing more.”
“Oh. Right.”
“You’re wet,” he said after a moment of silence.
His words sounded sinful.
“You are, too,” she murmured, forcing her thoughts away from feeling his mouth on hers again.
He granted her another half-smile, flashing that dimple again. “Yeah, but I don’t have a fucking white top on that allow dirty motherfuckers to see your pretty bra and the swells of your titties.”
She squeaked, her hands flying to her chest, embarrassment coursing through her in hot waves.
“Too late.” He winked at her. “I already saw how cold you are.”
Cold? Uh, no. His nearness burned her from the outside in. “I-I’m not cold.”
“Then why are your nipples so hard?”
Her breath caught at the interest in his blue-green eyes and she started to drop her hands away to show him the places he enjoyed seeing. But, while sex and seeing a naked man—especially Matthew—in real life interested her, she refused to give her mother any more grief. Bev and Avery cornered that department.
Matthew placed a dry towel around her shoulders, then wrung her ponytail out in another. She kept still, not wanting to ruin the moment, barely breathing as he paused to remove the band from her hair to free the rest of it.
While he focused on his task, Zoann studied his strong neck and grave features. His smile softened him and she thought of a joke to make him laugh, dismissing one after the other as juvenile.
He walked behind her and she rocked back on her heels, nerves getting the best of her. All sorts of thoughts flew into her head at his light touches, the rain hitting the trees and the window serenading them.
“Why are you called Valentine?”
His body heat warming her back and butt, he paused his hand. “You sure you want to know?”
“Yes.” She licked her lips and scooted against his erection. “I want to.”
He stepped away from her and faced her again, scrubbing the towel over his head. “You want to what?”
She wanted to a lot of things. Most of them with him. “I want to hear how you got your name and I want to dry your hair.”
Not protesting, he held the towel out to her, then walked to Christopher’s bed and sat on the edge. Once she stood between his legs and began to dry his hair, he spoke.
“I’ve been known to go out of my way for girls I’m interested in. Cards. Candy. Flowers.”
Disappointed at his explanation, she laughed. She continued to ruffle his hair with the towel, her unwavering desire for him confusing her. “I thought you said you were only good for fucking. That’s romance, not fucking.”
He groaned and she paused the towel mid-rub. “Babe, stop saying that word. Please. The sound of your sweet voice saying that goes straight to my dick. You’re wrong, anyway. Romance usually leads to fucking. That’s my means to the end result.”
Her heart sank a little further. He didn’t seem to be a selfish man. But what did she know about men? More important, what did she know about him?
“Shit, babe. Don’t look like that.”
“L-like what?”
“Like I’ve disappointed you.”
“Even if you have?”
“Fuck.”
She flushed at his disgusted tone.
“A man like me is any good girl’s worse nightmare. You’re innocent and I’m just a disgusting fucking pig. I live to fuck and it’s rare that I’ve been held accountable for it. You keep offering me your pussy and I’m going to take it.”
She nodded, but had no response, his words flustering her. Granddaddy insisted she would marry a certain type of man. A doctor or a banker or CEO, someone he considered worthy of her. Bad boys and blue collar workers were strictly forbidden. The thought of being stuck with a boring snob horrified her. Maybe, if her doctor, banker, or CEO drove Harleys and had tats, she could deal with it. The forbidden was an exciting challenge.
“I don’t know if I’m happy you expect more from me or not.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Because you’re seventeen.” He settled his chin against her breasts and looked up at her. “Your disappointment makes motherfuckers accountable, Zoann,” he explained, his arms going around her waist. “If it doesn’t, fuckheads aren’t worth your time.”
She thought about his explanation for a moment, wanting to stay like this with him for the rest of her life and listen to him talk for hours. He’d teach her so much. The dynamics of men and women in relationships. Physical pleasure.
“Are you saying if you think I’m disappointed in you and you don’t want to fix it so you won’t disappoint me again, you’re not worth it?”
His smile brought out his amazing dimple. “That’s exactly what the fuck I’m saying.”
“And you don’t want me to be disappointed?” she asked slowly, needing clarification.
“From lust’s perspective, no.”
Her brows drew together in a fierce frown. “What’s lust’s perspective?”
“It means I don’t fucking know you well enough to believe my not wanting to disappoint you is nothing more than me trying to get your virgin pussy and fucking you senseless. That’s the way I operate,” he stressed. “I find what it takes to get into a girl and play on it. I buy them whatever I can afford. Say whatever I have to. Outlaw, Johnnie and Mort found out my MO and I haven’t been able to live it down after Big Joe called me a walking Valentine.” He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “Here I am. Valentine. Val. Whatever. I can blame your age and inexperience about how easy it would be to get into you, but a lot of time it’s just as easy with older bitches.”
“Right,” she responded, feeling as inexperienced as he accused her. Times like these she realized how sheltered she’d been. She had more than enough to say about school and wrestling and football and her chores. But something mature and worthy for this biker? No. Hoping it worked, she latched onto the name she didn’t recognize, deflecting the conversation back to him rather than show her social inadequacies. “Who’s Mort?”
Val snorted and rolled his eyes, but Zoann could tell he wasn’t being disparaging. “A fucking lunatic.”
“It sounds like you like him.”
“I do, babe. He’s become like a brother to me. It wasn’t always like that, but, yeah, he’s solid.”
“How’d you meet?”
“Through Outlaw. Big Joe sent him to pick up Mort and they ran into me at a diner. Me and Mort knew each other. I was looking for a change and here I am.”
She rubbed the almost-forgotten towel across his brow, too curious about the feel of him not to brush her fingertips across his cheeks.
“Don’t,” he warned her, low, around another groan. “You’re Outlaw’s sister. I can never have you.”
Chastened, she nodd
ed. “I’m going to still call you Matthew,” she declared in a soft voice. She wouldn’t do anything to ever come between her brother and his brothers. “You’re not just a biker in my eyes, so you’ll never be Val to me.”
His tender smile melted her heart. “You’re my favorite girl in the whole world, so you can call me whatever you’d like.”
“Okay.” She stepped back before turning away and heading to the bureau. When she opened the top drawer and looked inside, she slammed it right back shut, her eyes crossing at that magazine photo with that naked woman, her legs stretched wide and showing everything. From the brief glance, it seemed as if magazines filled the drawer. The second drawer contained socks—white on the left and colors on the right, just as Mama did it at home. The third drawer had plain Tee-shirts in a variety of colors.
Finally.
Grabbing a black one, she fought to block Matthew out, but his gaze scorched her every move. She wanted to turn around and talk to him more—touch him more—but his words replayed in her head, so she marched to the bathroom without looking at him. The moment she shut the door, she leaned against it and groaned.
She’d never regret having Christy as her big brother. At the moment, though, she wished the dynamics were different, so she could get to know Matthew better.
A door slammed and he talked before Christopher spoke. Hearing him made her realize she still wore her tight shoes and itchy socks, both now wet. Somehow, she’d ignored her discomfort after her drenching.
The door closed again.
“Bitsy!” Christopher called a moment later.
Zoann’s shoulders sagged. Matthew was gone. Well, when she’d visited he’d been the farthest person from her mind. She’d just make that a fact again.
Val wanted to be a fly on the wall in Big Joe’s office to hear just what the fuck he’d told Rack to have him storm down the hallway and into the main room. Sporting two black eyes, he glared at Val—now dry and relaxed after he’d jerked off—and stomped behind the bar, disappearing into the kitchen. A moment later, he returned holding a mop and went to work sopping up the puddles of water Val, Zoann, and Outlaw had made.
Leaning against the bar to enjoy the sight of Rack’s servitude, Val released the smoke from the cigarette he held. As soon as Zoann left, he’d taunt the fuck out of Rack.
Zoann.
Pulling an ashtray closer, Val tamped out his cigarette and rubbed his hands over his eyes. Dick hacked off with a slip knot aside, Val didn’t need the complication of a seventeen-year-old Catholic school girl with big, inquisitive, whiskey-colored eyes and a glossy head of chestnut hair.
Besides, that was Bitsy, and he’d told her the truth, being more honest with her than he’d ever been with any bitch…girl. She wasn’t just some random hanger-on. She was Outlaw’s sister and the man fucking bragged about how she’d graduate at the top of her class with a college scholarship in hand.
Val should’ve turned her and her fucking lemonade down. If John Boy hadn’t walked in, Val would’ve forgotten all of Outlaw’s warnings away from her and ate her cunt for hours. Fuck.
Rack growled like a mad damn dog and Val chuckled, earning a venomous stare from the mop conductor.
He pointed to the area near the door. “You missed a spot.”
“Go blow a fucking rhino.”
“Taking fucking zoological lessons, Rack,” Val taunted around laughter, unable to stop himself. “Your species is closer in relation to rhinos than mine.”
“Shut up, Valentine.”
Val snapped his mouth shut at Big Joe’s unmistakable command. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw their president standing in the doorway, arms folded. Although he’d spoken to him, he stared at Rack turning ten shades of yellow. Fucking pussy.
Cold blue eyes narrowed. “Not finished yet?”
“There was a lot of water, Boss,” Rack mumbled, gripping the mop handle and casting a longing gaze at the door.
Val wondered if the stupid fuckhead would make a run for it.
“Did I fucking ask you that?” Big Joe growled, stepping toward the other man.
Rack shook his head. “I just finished up.”
“Then get the fuck out of my face before Outlaw comes back out here with Bitsy.”
Glancing uneasily at Big Joe, Rack hurried to save the mop and rush back out when Zoann followed Outlaw into the room. By now, Big Joe, a smoke of his own in hand, leaned against the bar, near Val, staring at the alcohol. Prez smiled at Zoann and held out his arms.
She stood on tiptoes to return Big Joe’s embrace.
“How’s Patricia?” he asked.
“Mama’s fine,” she answered in her sweet voice.
Val remembered to turn away and pretend he didn’t notice her or how Outlaw’s Tee-shirt swallowed her up. She’d be a perfect fit in his arms as he drove into her. Fuck. He had to deny himself her pussy.
Zoann laughed and Val smiled. The carefree sound didn’t annoy the fuck out of him. Instead, it made him remember her earnestness when she’d thanked him for respecting her brother enough to respect her. Of their entire unforgettable encounter that day, those words, spoken with the innocent love of a girl who idolized her older brother, slipped past his jaded outlook on the world around him.
“Granddaddy wants me to cook dinner for him and I’m way late,” she said, twisting her fingers around strands of her long hair.
Big Joe straightened. “Logan wants you to cook dinner?” he echoed, a ferocious frown settling into his features. “Tonight?”
She nodded.
Outlaw lifted his brow, pulling Zoann against him and going into full protective mode. “Somethin’ wrong with that?”
“No.” Big Joe paused a moment.
Unease settled into Val, the tightness around the man’s mouth and the chill in his eyes not too comforting.
Sighing, Big Joe’s muscles tensed. “Outlaw, I need to talk to you. Let Val get her to Logan.”
“Ain’t gonna take me long to get her there. Besides, I ain’t even supposed to be here. If it ain’t for the rain, Val and me woulda been out partyin’.”
“I’m not asking you,” Big Joe said in a hard voice. “I’m telling you that Val’s bringing her to Logan’s.”
For a moment, Outlaw didn’t move. In the years Val had been there, he’d never heard Big Joe order Outlaw to do anything. It sounded odd. Val didn’t like it at all. Fucking insane. As their president, he could order them however he pleased.
“Fuck you,” Outlaw bit out, apparently not liking it, either. “Order me around for this motherfuckin’ club. You ain’t orderin’ me around when it got to do with Ma and the girls.”
“I need to talk to you,” Boss snarled again. “It has to do with the fucking run you’re going on tomorrow. Let Val take her. I’m not asking. If you disobey me, I’m pulling you off the run and barring you from the club for a fucking month.”
Outlaw’s fists balled at his sides, his eyes so furious Val believed they’d laser Big Joe into smithereens. “Outside Bitsy.”
Zoann placed her hands against Outlaw’s chest. “Christy, it’s okay—”
“Out-fuckin-side,” he roared. “If you woulda kept your fuckin’ ass away from here, this wouldna fuckin’ happened, so it ain’t fuckin’ okay. Next time, fuckin’ listen to me.”
Val noted the regret and sorrow in Big Joe’s eyes, so fleeting he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t had to turn away from the hurt pulling Zoann’s features down at Outlaw’s harsh words.
Tears glistening in her eyes, she turned without a word and ran to the door without looking back. Her sob floated in the air, the sound touching Val and making him wince.
Outlaw started for the door.
“Fuck!” Boss kicked the stool. “You hard-headed motherfucker. Let Val take her and I’ll give you three fucking quarters of the profit from the run. Patricia needs her car repaired, right?”
The offer halted Outlaw and he turned, not appeased but more furious. “What the fuck goin’ on y
ou makin’ such a dirty fuckin’ move?”
“Nothing,” Big Joe swore in a moderated tone, tapping his fingers on the bar top. “I really do need to talk to you. I have a call to make in ten minutes and since you’re here I’d like you in on it. I know how much Bitsy means to you, so I want to make it worth your while for not bringing her to Logan. Besides, you can give Patricia the money—”
“For her fuckin’ car?” he growled, darting his gaze to Val and back.
Val understood, though. The last few months had been rough and they barely had enough to maintain their Harleys, club dues, partying, and pussy. Until the payoff for the gunrunning came through, the club had been struggling, which meant the members who didn’t have regular jobs or who were insolvent for any reason didn’t have aid.
“Remember, this is your run,” Big Joe went on. “K-P planned it, but you’re handling the contact and the shipment.”
Not responding to Big Joe, Outlaw’s unreadable gaze touched Val. “Get her to motherfuckin’ Logan, brother.”
Somehow, Outlaw trusting Val with someone so precious to him buoyed Val’s confidence and he nodded, praying Outlaw didn’t lose his shit with Big Joe and end up buried once Val left them alone, a possibility judging by the wild light in Outlaw’s eyes.
Outside, Val found the rain had stopped. He was fucking grateful. Then, he glanced around the parking area and all gratefulness disintegrated at what the fuck he didn’t find—no who the fuck he didn’t find. Zoann.
He jogged through the puddles of water to Traveler, who manned the gate. “You let a girl out? About this tall?” He measured his palm to his shoulder.
Traveler pointed down the street, toward the main thoroughfare through town. “She went that way.”
Val hurried to his bike, soon gunning down the street to the intersection. Reaching it, he glanced one way and then the other. He’d hang a left, the direction of the shortest route to Logan’s farm. Two minutes later, he saw her marching down the street, tangled hair swinging, the oversized shirt covering her curves. Curves he remembered well from the outfit she’d changed into a few months ago.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 123