BRICK (Lords of Carnage MC)

by Daphne Loveling

  I don’t know how I was expecting him to react, but his amused grin almost sends me into orbit.

  I want to fly at him — pound my fists against his chest, rage at him with all my might — but goddamnit, that’s just going to make him patronize me even more. Suddenly, I want nothing more than for him to just be gone. Anywhere, just away from me. The blood boiling in my veins turns to ice.

  “Please, step away from my car,” I tell him rigidly, my jaw clenched to stop me from screaming. “I’m going home. And I’m finished with this conversation.”

  The twinkle in his eye fades, as he seems to finally understand I’m serious, and seriously angry.

  “Sydney.” His voice drops, low and husky. “I know you can take care of yourself. I’m not doing this because I think you’re a child.”

  His tone is so soft, so suddenly intimate, that it almost feels like a caress on my skin. I shiver a little, and try to shake it off.

  “Oh, yeah?” I retort, but it comes out a little trembly. “Then why—?”

  He takes half a step forward. I freeze in my spot as he raises a hand to graze my cheek with his thumb.

  “Because I think there’s something serious going on in Tanner Springs. And I don’t know what the fuck it is yet. I’m trying to protect you because I’m worried about you.” His hand moves behind my neck and fists in my hair, tugging just slightly until my head is tilted up to his. “And because I’ve been wanting to do this since the first day I saw you.”

  15

  Sydney

  The moment just before he kisses me — when his face is just inches away from mine — feels like it goes on forever.

  His dark eyes are locked on mine. They look hungry, almost savage. So much so that I feel like my skin is melting from the heat that’s arcing between us.

  I feel his fist tighten in my hair. Then, just as my eyes start to flutter closed, his mouth comes down on mine. The kiss starts out hard, demanding, but almost immediately Gavin pulls back — so slightly it’s almost imperceptible, but it changes the rhythm completely. He kisses me slowly, searchingly. His tongue grazes my bottom lip, like soft fire, and with a sharp gasp I open my mouth to his, the wanting making me suddenly dizzy with the force of it.

  He pushes me back against the car, his body pressing into mine. I realize I’m hardly managing to breathe. Every nerve ending in my body is aflame at his touch, alive and yielding to the hard muscularity of him. A sharp throb begins between my legs as his tongue curls around mine, teasing, toying, insisting. My hands reach up on their own and cling to the fabric of his shirt, pulling him toward me, never wanting this to end.

  Gavin grunts low in his throat and tugs my head back, exposing the flesh of my neck. He begins to nip and lick at the skin, sending electric jolts down my body straight to my core. I moan, loudly, and roll my hips toward him, my body instinctively seeking what it knows is there. I almost gasp when I find it — the hard, delicious length of his erection, which I suddenly need him to press into me. I need him to relieve just a little of the ache — an ache that’s only getting stronger and more insistent with every second he touches me.

  As if he knows exactly what my body is asking, Brick’s other arm goes around me, lifting me up and pressing his hips into mine. I barely manage not to cry out at how good it feels when the friction of his hardness grazes me exactly where I need it. I can feel myself soaking through my panties, and that thought leads to the thought of him pressing the huge length of his cock inside me, filling me, and…

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Gavin growls into my neck, releasing me.

  I blink and open my eyes, trying to control the sound of my panting and my heaving breasts.

  “What?” I stammer.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. To put in the motion sensor light and the last camera.” He glances down at my car. “Get in. I’ll stay here until you’re on your way.”

  In a daze, I do what he says, unlocking my car with a shaky hand. I’m not about to beg him to keep kissing me, after all — I have more pride than that — and I’m too confused to ask him why he stopped. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because the kiss was bad or because I smell or anything, because he’s still looking at me with those hungry, feral eyes as I slide into the driver’s seat and tremblingly pull the door closed.

  Gavin nods once as he hears me press the door lock button and watches me put on my seatbelt. A tiny, tiny vestige of my anger at his overprotectiveness threads through my veins, but I’m far too gone for it to reach me. I feel dizzy from his kiss, like I could melt into a quaking puddle right here in the seat.

  I watch myself turn the key in the ignition and put the car into drive, almost like I’m seeing someone else do it. On the way home, my skin feels like it’s buzzing, almost as though someone’s running an electrical current through me. The feeling lasts as I park my car and let myself into the tiny house I’m renting. Inside, I look around in a daze, almost as though I’ve walked into someone else’s life by mistake. Everything feels different, like it’s in hyper-focus.

  It’s weird as hell.

  When I finally start to snap out of it a bit, I can’t help but laugh at myself a little. God, I’m acting like a teenager who’s never even been kissed before. It’s not like I haven’t had my share of sexual partners — though, let’s be honest, I have never had a kiss that affected me quite like that. My body is still thrumming with excitement, the memory of his lips still on mine. I can still feel the tension of his body — the raw power I could sense in the hardness of his muscles — but what took me completely by surprise was the unexpected tenderness of his kiss. Even though somehow right behind the gentle pressure of his lips was something that was just waiting to be unleashed. Gavin held himself back. Why, I’m not sure. But I don’t think it was because he didn’t want more.

  I get ready for bed mechanically, barely registering it as I pull off my clothes and toss them in the hamper. I already know what I’m going to do when I slide between the sheets. As soon as the light’s off and I’m in bed, I reach into the tiny drawer of my bedside table and pull out my vibrator, my breath speeding up slightly. I haven’t had sex since before I moved to Tanner Springs. I’ve definitely made use of battery-operated help since then. But I haven’t been nearly as turned on — as desperate for release — as I am right now, since…

  Well, honestly, I’m not sure I’ve ever been this turned on.

  I move my legs apart, and imagine that the vibrations sliding along my slick folds are his fingers caressing me. Then his tongue, teasing me expertly as I arch my back off the mattress and moan softly. I reach up and pinch one nipple, pulling in a sharp breath as I realize how close I already am. I want to draw it out as long as possible but I can’t, I need it too much, and as I shudder through my orgasm I surprise myself by crying out Gavin’s name in the dark. I fall asleep to the memory of his lips on mine.

  Instead of dreaming about Gavin, though, it’s Devon who comes to haunt me in the night.

  It’s a gambling dream. I haven’t had one of those in months. In it, I’m playing roulette — not blackjack, which was my game back in the day. For some reason, my dad’s the croupier. He looks like he did when he was younger, not prematurely aged by the cancer like he was at the end.There are other people at the table, but I only recognize Devon. He’s wearing his standard black shirt and black jeans. His sharp, angular face is tense with concentration, hungry to win — a look I know only too well.

  I hate roulette. I don’t know why I’m at this table. It’s a game where you almost always lose to the table, eventually. The house edge is high — sometimes over five percent. That’s higher than blackjack, craps, or baccarat. So I know I’m going to have to be careful if I want to walk away from the table with my money.

  I’m not sure why it doesn’t occur to me to just take my chips and go to the blackjack table. Or hell, just leave the casino. Because that’s what I want to do. But in the dream I somehow know that they won’t let me out of here unless I play,
at least once. I tell myself that if I just place one bet, that will be it, and I can go.

  Roulette gives you the chance to win thirty-five times your bet. In this way, roulette is more like slots -- one single bet can win a lot. It's also like slots in that the house edge is very high.

  I place an even money bet, on numbers one through eighteen. Atlantic City has a special rule that reduces the house edge to 2.7% on even money bets, so it’s my best strategy to play conservative and move on.

  Devon makes a Street Bet — a set of three numbers, which will pay out eleven to one if he wins. All of the numbers he chooses are between one and eighteen. Which means if he wins, I win. If he loses, so do I.

  He has almost three times as many chips as I do, and he puts them all in, divided up evenly among the three numbers. I bet the table minimum and no more. Since it’s an even money payoff. I won’t make much off of it even if I win, but I don’t care. All I want is to get out of here.

  An almost claustrophobic crush tightens my chest as I watch my father release the ball. I hate having Devon’s fate linked to mine, even momentarily. A nervous churning starts deep in my gut as we all watch the ball fly around the wheel, ricocheting off the numbers with a ratcheting sound.

  The ball lands on twenty-four, black. We both lose. I realize I’ve been holding my breath, and let it out as silently as I can. I’m almost relieved by losing, because if I’d won, I know I’d be tempted to bet again. I scoop all the chips I have left into my bag and turn from the table — away from both Devon and my father — without a word. I walk as fast as I can without running, but suddenly cry out in pain as Devon grabs my hair and pulls me back.

  “Don’t walk away with my money, bitch,” he rasps against my ear. His breath is thick with smoke and booze.

  I scream loudly, hoping someone will see what’s happening and help me. But as I look around wildly, I know it’s no use. Even though almost every casino I’ve even been in is always packed with people, in my dream there’s no one in sight, and the room’s as black and deep as a tunnel. I launch my purse backward, throwing it as far behind me as I can, and then wrench my hair away from Devon and run as fast as I can, hoping I’m running toward the entrance, and light, and freedom…

  With a start, I wake up in my darkened bedroom. Not a hint of morning light is coming through the window, and the silence of a world asleep is almost deafening. I sit upright and listen to my own jagged breathing, and try to shake off the demons of my sleep.

  You’re here, I repeat in my head like a mantra with every breath. You’re here.

  After way too many minutes, I fall back onto the bed, but I can tell sleep isn’t going to find me again tonight. So instead, I roll over and stand up, resigned.

  A long, hot shower’s the best thing I can imagine to clear my head. And then off to the shop, to lose myself in mixing, baking, and brewing. To be Sydney Banner, of Tanner Springs — and leave Syd Banner of Atlantic City firmly back in the past, where she belongs.

  16

  Brick

  Pulling away from Sydney — resisting the urge to take her up against her car in the darkened parking lot — was just about the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done.

  I didn’t even know I was going to pull away until I’d already done it. I could tell she was confused as hell when I stepped back and told her good night. Hell, my cock was confused, too. Sydney was ready for me — fuck, the way she was moaning and grinding herself against me told me she was desperate for it. I stopped something we both wanted to happen. And I wanted it so bad it was practically driving me crazy, imagining what she would taste like when I spread her tight little thighs apart and plunged my tongue into that sweet pussy of hers.

  Even as I ride back to my place with a raging damn hard-on — my cock yelling at me for letting the moment go — in my gut, I know it was the right decision.

  I’m still pissed at myself for scaring her in the coffee shop that night. I’m used to being in control in the bedroom — hell, I demand it — but I’m not taking what I want from someone who doesn’t want it, too. Last night in the alley, she was vulnerable. And even though I knew she wanted it as much as I did, I sure as hell didn’t want her associating fucking me with getting attacked in the dark by some piece of shit.

  I’m going to have Sydney. I know that as surely as I know anything. But I’m gonna make damn sure that it’s on her turf, and that she knows exactly what she’s agreeing to. I’m going to make her ask.

  Hell, I’m gonna make her beg.

  The next morning, I wait until Sydney’s morning rush is over to show up to the shop. There are only two customers in the Golden Cup when I arrive, both of them sitting alone at tables by the window. I push open the door, the now-familiar bell announcing my arrival. Sydney looks up from filling a small container of something, and colors when she sees it’s me.

  She looks a little tired this morning, the flush of her cheeks standing out against the pale of her skin. She’s not wearing makeup, I don’t think, and it just makes her more gorgeous, more her. Like she’s just a little closer to naked without anything on her face.

  “Morning,” I nod to her, stepping up to the counter. I hold up the bag I’m carrying. “I’ve got that camera and motion sensor light for the back.”

  She looks a little flustered, and I know she’s thinking about last night. It’s fucking adorable.

  “I thought you were coming back tomorrow night!” she murmurs.

  “I said I’d see you tomorrow. This is tomorrow.”

  Her eyes flick toward the customers. “Okay,” she says, giving a slight nod. “You can go back and do whatever you need to do. The back door locks from the inside, so leave it open so you can get back in.”

  I barely hear what she says. I’m too focused on the pale pink of her lips, and the memory of how they tasted last night. Instantly I’m hard, and I shift the bag subtly in front of my crotch.

  “I’ll have it done in less than an hour,” I tell her, and walk down the hall toward the back. I left my drill and other tools in her office, and I go in and grab them, looking at the small desk and chuckling as I get an idea for later.

  I’m done with the installations in forty-five minutes. This morning before I came here, I set the camera up to transmit to my phone, like I did with the others. If anything happens, I’ll be able to access the video wherever I am, whenever I need to.

  I only feel a small twinge of guilt that I’m not telling Sydney this.

  When I get back inside, one of her customers has left. The other, a thin, pinched-looking middle-aged man, is tapping softly on a laptop, ear buds in his ears and an empty cup on the table in front of him.

  Sydney turns toward me expectantly, looking a little less rattled than she was earlier.

  “I’ll take my payment in coffee,” I tell her. “The usual.”

  She gives me a small, shy smile. “Okay. But I’m out of blueberry muffins this morning. You want to test something out for me?”

  “What’s that?”

  One corner of her mouth quirks up, revealing a small dimple I never noticed before. “A kolache.”

  It’s good. The dough is golden and puffy, and in the middle of the round pastry is a little mound of what turns out to be a kind of sweet cream cheese. It’s fucking good with the coffee.

  “If that old bastard doesn’t like this, there’s no saving him,” I tell her when I’ve swallowed the first bite.

  Sydney beams. “I made some with poppy seed topping, too. They’re in the oven now.”

  “Sounds delicious.” I mean it. I’ve had enough of Sydney’s pastries by know to know she’s really good at this.

  “Maybe if you play your cards right, I’ll let you taste one of those, too,” she replies saucily. I don’t know why, but there’s something about the look on her face she gets when she decides to tease me. It makes me want to carry her into the back room and do every filthy thing I can think of to her.

  “How’d you learn how to bake?” I a
sk her instead. I almost expect her face to cloud over, like it usually does when I ask her a personal question. But instead, she actually gives me something like an answer.

  “My mom wasn’t really around when I was a kid,” she tells me. “My dad raised me. I’m an only child, so I spent a lot of time alone, at home when he was at… work. Pretty often I lived in neighborhoods that didn’t have a lot for a kid to do. So,” she shrugs, “What does a bored and hungry kid with a sweet tooth do? Learn to bake stuff.”

  “That, or learn to shoplift,” I smirk, “Like I did.”

  In the kitchen, the oven timer goes off.

  “Should I be leaving you unsupervised in here?” she smirks.

  “Remember, we’re under video surveillance,” I murmur, looking up toward the camera trained on us. “I could never get away with it.”

  Sydney heads back to check on her kolaches. I finish mine in silence, thinking about her ass. A minute or so later, the skinny guy closes his laptop and packs it up into a shoulder bag. He leaves his empty cup on his table and leaves. As the bell rings behind him, I stand and go back into the kitchen.

  “Your last customer is gone,” I murmur against Sydney’s ear as I come up behind her.

  My lips graze the sensitive skin of her neck. I hear her pull in a shallow breath.

  I wrap one arm around her and pull her back against me, letting her feel how hard I already am. Sliding a hand into her jeans, under her panties, I dip a finger into her wetness. She’s fucking soaked. She gasps.

  “Close the shop,” I growl.

  “What?” she says breathlessly.

  “Close the shop. Now.”

  It’s an order, but this is Sydney’s place. She’s under no obligation to follow it, and she knows it.

  She turns her head back toward me, her lips parted. I feel her hips arch back, pressing her ass against my cock.