by Harley Stone
Maybe he’d given up.
I couldn’t help but think of the story he’d told me about passing the Q-Course. Link wouldn’t give up. I didn’t even think he knew what “give up” meant. Something had to be going on. We just needed to hold out a bit longer.
When we were called back into court, I could tell something was up by the look on the judge’s face. She waited until everyone was seated and court was officially in session before nodding to the back of the room.
Four men in suits walked in and headed straight for the mayor. One flashed a badge, then whipped out a set of handcuffs. “Jeffrey Kinlan, Noah Kinlan, you’re both under arrest.”
“What? You can’t do this,” Mayor Kinlan objected. “We haven’t done anything wrong. My son is the victim here.”
“Get up out of the chair,” a second agent said to Noah. “We’ve seen the x-rays. Your legs are just fine.”
To demonstrate, he hefted Noah up and cuffed him.
“What are the charges?” Mayor Kinlan’s attorney asked.
“Possession of controlled substances with the intent to distribute, possession of altered semi-automatic firearms, kidnapping, and sex trafficking to name a few, but I’m sure we’ll find some money laundering and misuse of campaign funds before we’re through with our investigation.”
The entire courtroom watched in shock as the FBI agents escorted the mayor and his son out through the front door in handcuffs. Then, the entire place exploded in chaos.
The judge beat her gavel until everyone quieted down. “In light of this new development, court is adjourned for today,” she said before disappearing out the back of the courtroom.
Still stunned, I stood there, unable to process what had just happened, and unsure of what to do next.
*
Link
Wasp picked the lock on the warehouse door, and I watched in awe. Not because I couldn’t pick a lock—I could—but because Wasp was damn fast at it. More than that, he looked like the type of guy who’d crush a lock in his bare hands, so seeing him at work with his tiny lockpick set got me every time.
“There,” Wasp said, turning the knob and pushing the door inward.
I slid my Glock out of its holster, clicked off the safety, and crept past Wasp. He entered at my back, closing the door behind us. We stood in the faint light from the windows, listening. Nothing. Fearing we’d hit another dead end, I started up my phone’s flashlight app and checked out our surroundings. Empty, dusty shelves. Not even drugs or anything at this location.
Wasp elbowed me and pointed to the floor.
Fresh boot tracks led through the warehouse. Keeping the light of my phone partially shielded, we followed the tracks to a set of stairs. Creeping down the stairs with our guns drawn, I heard voices beneath us. Turning off the flashlight app, I pocketed my phone and kept my Glock ready.
There was a light on at the bottom of the stairs. We stayed against the wall and crept toward it, listening.
“I said I was sorry,” Annabel said. “Why don’t you go get some peroxide and a bandage, and I’ll doctor up that wound for you.”
“Think I’m crazy?” a man asked. “I’m not coming near you. You’ll probably stab me again.”
“Stab?” she asked. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’ve done worse to myself with a sewing needle.”
“Don’t look at me,” a voice I recognized from Emily’s early morning phone call said. “I told you to stay away from the bitch. She’s pure evil.”
“What a horrible thing to say,” Annabel said. “I told you I didn’t mean to spill my tea on your lap. Old age makes one so clumsy.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Annabel was well in control of the situation.
“Think we should go in and save them?” Wasp whispered, obviously coming to the same conclusion.
Guns still drawn, we crept in.
Both her captors were playing on their cell phones when we rushed them. We had them on their stomachs, hands zip-tied behind their backs, before they even knew we were there.
Annabel watched the take-down with an amused smile and a giant shiner.
“Which one of them hit you?” I asked.
“The one I accidentally spilled my tea on,” she replied, pointing him out.
And I accidentally kicked the shit out of him.
Then I took both of their wallets and used my cell phone to snap pictures of their licenses. I turned both of them over, so they could see me and Wasp, and then we let them know how this was going to work. I now had their licenses. I could find them anywhere. I could find their families. I could destroy their lives. The possibilities were endless, really. They were going to forget where Annabel lived and never bother her again, or Wasp and I were going to make sure they were never found again. And unlike these losers, we knew exactly which type of chemicals to use to make that happen.
When I was convinced that they were suitably cowed, I released Annabel.
She accidentally stepped on each of their crotches on the way out.
Emily
Three months later
WHILE I MADE dinner, Link sat at my kitchen table returning emails and texts. We were finally done with both Havoc’s and the Kinlans’ trials. Jeffery and Noah Kinlan were going to prison for a very long time, and Havoc wasn’t. To celebrate, Link and I were having lasagna, chocolate cake, and copious amounts of alcohol followed by—hopefully—another marathon of sex.
At least, that’s what was on my schedule, and with the scalding looks Link kept throwing my way, I was surprised my panties hadn’t melted right off.
Link finished up his calls and pulled a piece of paper and a pen out of the brown paper bag he’d brought in with him. Using his phone as a ruler, he started drawing lines.
“What are you doing over there?” I asked, keeping one eye on him while I layered out the lasagna.
“Preparing a negotiation.”
Intrigued, I asked, “Who are you negotiating with?”
He gave me a look like I was crazy. “You, of course.”
Now I was really intrigued. Adding the final layer of mozzarella, I asked, “What are we negotiating for?”
“Why don’t you come over here and find out?” he asked.
I thought about resisting, maybe even pretending I wasn’t interested, but Link knew me too well for that. I popped the lasagna in the oven and set the timer, then went to see what my man was up to.
“Here’s the deal,” he said, finishing up what he was writing. “I’ve separated this page into two sections. The right side is yours, the left side is mine. We’re going to take turns listing out the things we want.”
I stared at him, shocked.
“What? Isn’t this how negotiations are done?”
“In a divorce, yes. Split the house, the cars, the kids… what is this?”
“Fuck.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure as shit isn’t that.” He plopped a possessive hand down on the top of my chair and turned it so I was facing him. “You’re never getting rid of me, baby. Know that in your heart.”
Strangely enough, that made my heart kind of smile.
“I’m all sorts of fuckin’ this up,” Link said, pushing the pen and the paper away.
I’d never seen him so flustered before. It was sweet and a little strange. “What’s going on?” I asked.
He put his elbow on the table and leaned into it, watching me. “You know I love you, right, Emily?”
Worried about where he was going, I nodded. “Yes. I love you, too, Tyler.”
“No.” He sat up straighter, straddling my chair, trapping my legs between his. “I really fuckin’ love you. I love your laugh and your smart mouth. I love your drive and all the shit you do for other people. I love the way you look at me like I’m the only man on the planet, and I love the way your tight pussy squeezes me when I’m deep inside you. I love the way I want to lock you up and hide you from the rest of the world, but I also love the way you wouldn’t stand for that and wou
ld probably kick my ass.”
“You’re a Neanderthal,” I said with a smile. “But you’re my knuckle-dragger and I love you. I wouldn’t want anyone else trying to club me over the head and drag me to their cave.”
“Good, because I’d kill the motherfucker.”
I was about fifty percent sure he was kidding. Maybe twenty-five percent.
“I know you’re cautious and shit, so I’ve been trying to take this thing between us slow.”
“Slow?” I snorted. “We’ve been together less than four months and have been basically living together three of those. People probably think we’re crazy for moving so fast.”
“I don’t give a single fuck what people think.”
He sure didn’t, which was one of the many things I loved about him. Link was comfortable in his own skin, and he didn’t change or act differently based on who was around us. I’d recently taken him to one of the city benefit dinners, and although he dressed appropriately, he was every bit the big bad biker I knew and loved. Especially when he’d caught some douchebag ogling me and had quietly, calmly offered to cut the guy’s eyes out and put them in his wine glass if he didn’t look away.
You’d think I’d be appalled at such behavior, but instead, I was so hot for him we found a nice, deserted hallway to have a quickie in.
“What are you thinking about?” Link asked, pulling me back into the present.
“I’m thinking I love the way you don’t care what people think.”
He tapped me on the nose. “You gotta stop looking at me like that, or I’m never gonna get through this.”
“What exactly is this?” I asked.
He let out a frustrated growl and dipped his hand into the paper bag, pulling out black leather. “I had this made for you,” he said, shaking it free so I could see the patches on the back.
“Property of Link,” I read aloud, expecting the title to feel demeaning, but it didn’t. Not after spending the past three months with old ladies and seeing the way their men treated them. I understood what all the fuss was about now, and I’d been waiting for Link to give me one.
This was what he was so nervous about? I glanced at him and his eyes were heavy with worry. Did he think I wouldn’t wear it? Determined to set his mind at ease, I slipped it on over my blouse and smiled at him. “How does it look?”
“Later, I’m going to fuck you while you’re wearing just that,” he said.
“Later?” I asked, reaching for his cock. “The lasagna won’t be done for a while yet. Why wait?”
He blocked my groping hand. “We’re not done here, Emily.”
His hand dipped back into the bag, retrieving a small jewelry case and set it on the table.
My heart jumped into my throat.
“I know it’s only been four months, and you’re probably in your own mind right now, listing off all the reasons this is a bad idea, while pushing aside the way it feels right. I have good instincts, Emily. I can read situations and people and I know you can, too. So, before you freak out about this, I need you to know that I’ve been dragging my feet about this because I didn’t want to scare you off. But I know what I want. I want my property patch on your back, my ring on your finger, and someday—if you’ll have it—my baby in your belly.”
Baby? He and I hadn’t talked about kids, but him mentioning them now had my ovaries singing his praises. Yes, I would definitely have Link’s babies.
“I want a life with you,” he said, popping open the box.
It was a ring.
Not just any ring. It was a giant round diamond in a platinum setting.
It was an engagement ring.
Holy crap.
“Say something,” Link said, his eyes pleading. “Don’t you dare chicken out on me now, baby. I need you.”
Too soon. It was such a bad idea, and yet…
“We can wait if you need to. I’ll give you more time.”
“Yes,” I blurted out.
His expression fell. “Okay. We’ll wait.” He closed the box.
“No.” I shook my head as tears stung my eyes. “I don’t want to wait. Yes, Link. The answer is yes. I’ll marry you.”
He stared at me, his expression blank. “Are you shittin’ me?”
I giggled as a happy tear fell down my cheek. “No. I want to marry you. You’re right. Despite all the reasons we should wait, this feels right. I love you, and you need to put that ring on my finger before we both come to our senses.”
He removed the ring from the box and eyed my finger. He slipped off the fake gold band I’d worn since college and slid his rock over my knuckles. “Pretty sure this is the smartest thing I’ve ever done, sweetheart.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said, admiring it. “Thank you.”
He kissed the ring, my hand, then my lips. “Thank you. Now let’s get you out of these clothes.”
Grinning, he stripped me, right there in the kitchen. Then he slid my cut back on me. “Goddamn, you look hot like that,” he said.
“I’ve been thinking about how this should work,” I said with a smirk, knowing I was about to rile up the beast. “Tyler Stafford has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
He stared at me, shaking his head as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Woman, you know how to push all my buttons.”
“Same.”
Then, in traditional Link the caveman style, he slung me over his shoulder and marched me into my bedroom, tossing me on the bed. While he undressed, I opened my nightstand drawer and started rummaging through its contents.
“Hmm. I wonder which toy I should use tonight,” I said.
Growling, he grabbed my ankles and flipped me over on my stomach to slap my ass.
Moaning, I hiked it higher in the air so he’d have better access.
Instead, he slid under me, putting his mouth on my core as he laid down, forcing me to sit on his face. Kneading my breasts, he sucked on my clit, alternately flicking it with his tongue, driving me crazy. Then his tongue slipped inside me and I about lost my mind. Amazed at how good he felt, I grabbed onto my headboard for support and fucked his tongue until I came.
Then Link flipped me back over and took me from behind. As my next climax built, he invaded my other hole with a finger. As he stretched me and fucked me, we went over the edge together.
I collapsed on the bed, and Link joined me, pulling me into his arms so we were face to face. “I love you,” he said, staring into my eyes with such unbridled passion and possession it made my entire body turn to rubber.
“I love you, too,” I whispered, wondering if he could see the truth of that declaration in my eyes as well.
“I know, and now I’m gonna fuck you until you agree to take my last name and become Emily Lincoln.”
He may have been threatening me, but it sounded like one hell of an appealing promise to me. “Fuck me into submission?” I lowered my hand to his already growing dick and gave it a little squeeze, taking it to fully hard. “I’ll never yield.”
He growled and attacked my neck, flinging me onto my back. “I’m counting on it, baby. You know I love it when you fight me.”
I nipped at his neck and tried to push him over, but he grabbed my hands and held them over my head. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
I bucked my hips against him. I wore his ring, his cut, and would have his babies. I had every intention of taking my sexy badass biker’s last name, but there was no way in hell I would make it easy on him. “Then make me pay. Convince me to become Mrs. Lincoln.” The name sent a shiver up my spine. Oh, yes, I was going to marry this man.
His eyes flashed with hunger and lust. “Gladly.” He put his knee between my legs, pinning me. “And you’re gonna love every second of it.”
Copyright © 2018 by Harley Stone
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States
Back Cover:
Fresh out of jail, Dead Presidents MC Sargent at Arms, Marcus “Havoc” Wilson, is trying to lay low
and keep his PTSD-induced temper under control while helping other military veterans rejoin society. In search of relaxation techniques, Havoc stumbles upon an alluring bookstore owner with a violent past of her own who’s able to calm him down in ways he’s never experienced.
Julia Edwards gave up her life of privilege the minute she tried to kill her ex-husband, and she doesn’t want it—or him—back. As a small Seattle bookstore owner, she’s determined to spend her days hidden between the covers of romance novels until her real-life fantasy appears and shakes up her entire existence.
Can these two attempted murderers find peace together? Or will the loose ends from their past unravel their future?
Havoc
SEATTLE DRIVERS ARE assholes. Our traffic jams are legendary, and today, 5th Avenue is a parking lot. At five-thirty p.m., and already dark and stormy out on account of it being January, some narcissistic motherfucker in a Mercedes decided he was too important to wait, made an illegal turn, squeezed in front of a minivan, and almost clipped my bike.
The asshole probably didn’t even see me since he was staring at his phone the entire time. Thankfully, I saw him and swerved my Fatboy out of the way, coming within inches of a parked car in the process.
He had the gall to honk at me. At me! Like I’d almost run him over. Maybe he thought I didn’t deserve to be on the road because I was driving a Harley instead of a Mercedes? Who knew how the minds of these rich, conceited motherfuckers worked? Since there wasn’t a damn place to go, he came to an abrupt stop. I squeezed my bike between him and the parked car and knocked on his window.
Looking at me like I wasn’t worth the air I was breathing, he rolled his window down half an inch like a fucking coward.
“Didn’t get very far, did you, asshole?” I asked.
“Fuck you,” he said and rolled up his window.
It would be so easy to rip my helmet off and use it to bash in the side of his car. Rewarding, even. At least for a couple of minutes. Then the guilt would set in as I remembered how goddamn hard I’d worked to not be the man who flew off the handle anymore. I’d gained a lot of ground over the past few years, and I wasn’t going to let some pansy-ass bitch-boy make me lose it.