GRIZ: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (Chained Angels MC)

by Nicole Fox

  “Thank you?” Francesca was still in shock. After being bullied by her mother all of her life, all she would have had to do to make it stop was to stand up to her? “I should have done this way earlier.”

  “You’re welcome, darling,” she said without pause. “Now, we have to figure out what we are going to do about all of this. I like your idea about forcing someone to buy the media for us, then pitching it. We can force him to sign a nondisclosure contract that — ”

  “That sounds great,” Francesca interrupted, yawning hugely for her mom’s benefit. “I’m sure you can figure it out. It’s important that I stay here and focus on Logan’s case, okay? I know you can take care of it better than me, anyway.”

  “If you think that’s best.”

  “I do. Thanks, Mom. Good night.” Francesca hung up before Diane could rope her into something. She was already shaking a little from denying her mother once; she wasn’t sure she could handle doing it twice in one conversation.

  Taking a deep breath, Francesca leaned over the balcony, studying the dark city for a moment. A breeze cut across the balcony, reminding her again that she was out in the cold with very little clothing on, and her feet ached with the cold. She went back inside, hoping the bed was still warm enough to keep her from freezing to death.

  # # #

  Logan

  “He did what?” Logan asked around his toothbrush.

  Somehow, miraculously, Francesca understood him around his mumbling with his mouth full of toothpaste. “He’s been spreading rumors around about me and you. Something about buying some video of what happened at the Gala. I doubt such a video even exists, but we’re looking into it.” She paused for a second, her heated brush/straightener thing pausing halfway back up to her scalp. “Well, I’m not looking into it. I asked my mother to take care of it.” She resumed combing her hair, running the brush through her waves with deliberate slowness. Logan had never seen such a thing and was fascinated by the process.

  After finishing his teeth, Logan rinsed out his mouth before turning back to Francesca. “Your ex is an asshole.”

  “No kidding,” Francesca whispered, looking down at the floor. “Sometimes I wish I would have never met Davis Thorne, but then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to be out in the desert, setting a car on fire. So you never would have given me that ride home.” She smiled, her eyes filled with a dark sort of something that pulled at Logan’s own heart. When had he become so mushy?

  Logan just smiled in reply before turning back to the matter at hand. “So Davis is trying to make himself into your only avenue for salvation. If you stay with me, it will look like you don’t care if your boyfriend is a murderer or not. But, if you go back to him, you will be redeemed in the public’s eye, making himself into a victim. What a creep.”

  Francesca nodded, nibbling on her thumb with a kind of wide-eyed lack of self-awareness that spoke of a long-time anxious habit. Logan wrapped his hand around her wrist, pulling the hand away from her mouth. Francesca's too-wide green eyes looked up at him, barely focused on his face through the shadows of her thoughts. “So, what do we do?”

  Laughing, Francesca pulled her hand away and turned to walk over to her suitcase. She was wearing this silky little matching pair of white-lace underwear that made Logan’s cock stand at attention. There was an unconscious grace about her that swayed her hips and made Logan want to pounce on her for a replay of last night.

  “Nothing,” she answered, nonchalantly. “Mother will handle it.”

  Logan raised his eyebrows, surprise pulling him away from his intense study of her ass. “Oh?”

  Francesca laughed a little, then nodded. “I told her I didn’t want any part of it; I didn’t care what the whole world thinks about us. If she wants to fix my reputation for the sake of her precious show, she can do it her own damn self.”

  “And what did Diane have to say to that?” Logan asked, crossing his arms over his muscled chest, leaning back on the doorframe as he watched her shimmy into a sundress.

  Her brows furrowed a little as she turned away from her suitcase to look at him. “You know, she was completely cool with it. She told me that it was ‘about time I stood up for’ myself.” Blinking, Francesca frowned, then went back to her suitcase.

  Chuckling, Logan headed back to the bathroom to finish getting ready for whatever it was that Francesca had planned for the day. He stared at himself in the mirror, looking for any hint of whatever it was that Francesca saw in him. But he could find no trace of whatever good she saw in him. Perhaps it would be better if she returned to Davis anyway, even just until this died down, just to save her reputation.

  But Francesca didn’t even seem to consider that a possibility. So Logan kept his mouth shut around the idea, leaving it alone. At some point since he met her, Francesca had grown up and started taking responsibility for all the things that were happening to her. Perhaps Logan had grown a little, too. The pre-Francesca Logan probably would have never surrendered to the police no matter what.

  “Now-Logan is doing all sorts of things that then-Logan would never have dreamed of.” But maybe change wasn’t such a bad thing.

  Instead of starting a fight with the woman he was in love with over Davis, Logan decided to change the subject. “So, what are we doing today, Francesca?”

  “A tour,” she answered, a wild grin on her perfect lips. “I’ve never been here before, and I expect to see everything you think is important for an outsider to see. Then, maybe, when we get back to Nevada, I’ll take you on a tour of my turf.”

  “When we get back to Nevada, not if. I wonder if she even knows what she just said,” Logan thought, a smile lighting up his face. Francesca was still talking, but he was no longer listening. Instead he focused on those words that lit his heart on fire. “When we get back. When, when, when.”

  Francesca picked up her purse and started out the doorway. She opened the door to their hotel room, checking to make sure she had everything. After a moment, she looked up at Logan, curious. He smiled after her, picking up his wallet and a few other odds and ends from around the hotel room.

  He followed her out of the door and realized that he really liked the sound of when.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Francesca

  The case and police work was fraught with paperwork; therefore, it didn’t surprise either of them when finding evidence and building a case against Zook took weeks rather than just a few days. Francesca wasn’t happy about the whole thing, but she had little choice but to accept it. It gave them both an excuse to run around the city all day, spending long, passionate nights in their hotel room every night. Francesca wasn’t in a hurry to give that all up, but she was in a hurry to know that Logan was free. Then they could go anywhere: Paris, London, or back to Nevada, where the filming for the next season would be starting without her soon.

  Since they had little to do, they explored Boston. First, Logan took her to all of the museums, famous landmarks, and must-do tourist sites around the city. He avoided his old haunts, keeping miles between him and where his people might be. Until the day the police arrested Zook, Logan didn’t want Francesca to be anywhere near his old stomping grounds. And Francesca was quietly very happy with that idea.

  They relaxed, went to go see movies, went for walks around the park, and just took their time visiting every nook and cranny of the city that was so tall and bright around them. Francesca even grew to like the ugly grey asphalt look of the city, and she began to be able to forget the acidic smell of garbage that permeated the whole place.

  Much to both of their delights, Zook was arrested after three weeks. He’d been caught trying to flee the police, but he was found after a short chase hiding in some old lady’s garage underneath her car. Once that was cleared up, Logan left her for a time, going to ensure that the MC was safe enough to bring Francesca around to.

  He came back looking tired and threadbare. Francesca ran her eyes over every inch of him, looking for injuries, but found
none. He was just tired; the stress from the last few weeks had been weighing heavily on his shoulders, no matter what Francesca tried to relieve it.

  Glad for good news, Francesca decided to celebrate by pulling off all of Logan’s clothing with her teeth. No matter how many times she fucked this man, no matter how many times his huge, throbbing cock pumped into her, making her quiver with orgasms over and over again, she never tired of the feel of him thrusting inside of her like a jackhammer.

  Just thinking about him was enough to soak her underwear right through. It was enough to send lighting through her veins and to warm every corner of her heart, too.

  “What do you think I should wear?” Francesca asked, holding up a t-shirt and a sparkling tank top, trying to decide between them.

  Logan snorted at her. “No one will care, Francesca; just wear something casual and comfortable. It’s a motorcycle shop, so it’s not real clean.”

  “What are your people like?” she asked for the hundredth time, running mascara through her thick, black lashes. “Do you have any women in your club?”

  “Just try to keep them out.” Logan chuckled and pointed to one of the rolled up shirts in her luggage. “Wear this and your jeans and you’ll be fine. As for my people, well, they are as diverse as any group of people, Francesca. I’m not sure how to answer that one; some are jerks and some are friendly. They are all from poorer families, mostly, poorer parts of the city. Most of us get into this line of work because we don’t have any other choice. It’s that or the streets, that or abuse, that or selling drugs. So, I don’t really know how to answer your question.”

  Francesca took in all of that information, feeling a little sick to her stomach. “Were you kicked out onto the streets?”

  He nodded nonchalantly, like it didn’t matter to him anymore. “Yes. My mother died giving birth to me, and my father never forgave me. I have siblings and a father somewhere, but he kicked me out as soon as I was old enough to get a job. The MC took me in, gave me a chance.” Logan’s eyes became distant and dark for a moment before he turned back to her. “But none of that matters anymore.”

  Francesca’s heart fluttered in her chest at the look he gave her. And she couldn’t help but smile back.

  # # #

  Logan

  “And this is Blade,” Logan said, pointing to a short, stocky woman with beautiful, long golden hair, shaved close to her head near her ears.

  The woman was covered even more thoroughly with tattoos than he was, and she grinned like an idiot and shook Francesca’s hand. “Hear you got the boss out of jail and Zook into it.” Blade grinned, displaying a gap in between her teeth where someone had once punched them out. “We owe you for that, girly.” Blade’s voice was that of an eighty-year-old woman who had been smoking for sixty of those years, rough and filled with gravel. Her overly-tanned skin was as rough as leather and just as tough.

  “Blade was my third; Zook was my second. So I guess you are second-in-command now, aren’t you?”

  “Damn straight. I’ve been mostly running this place anyway while you were out searching for clues. And ladies, apparently.” Blade laughed. “You’ll have to watch yourself; I might just be stealing all this away from you while you’re waiting for the cops to clear up your name.”

  “That might not be such a bad thing. Maybe I’ll look into retiring,” he said, keeping his voice low so just Blade and Francesca could hear. Much to his delight, Blade laughed like a damned hyena, and Francesca turned a beautiful shade of red.

  Logan then introduced Francesca to all of his men and women in the MC. He greeted all of the happy faces and took note of those who looked less than pleased at his return. Most were shocked at Zook’s betrayal, but some of the members looked a bit like they were sorry that he failed.

  “I’ll win them over,” he thought, but his heart really wasn’t in it anymore. He saw his world, not through the lenses he’d looked through his whole life, but how Francesca must see them. They looked like a ragtag bunch of losers who had banded together so they could mean something. Perhaps that had been admirable to him once, perhaps he felt like he fit in here for most of his life. But not anymore.

  They toured the rest of the converted warehouse in which most of the MC’s activities, both legal and not so legal, took place. “If I come back here, this will be the first thing I fix. We need to be a legitimate group for the world to take us seriously. It will be 100% clean if I ever become head again.” But he didn’t feel like he belonged at the helm of this anymore. Perhaps he was too old, or too tainted by Francesca’s world to be able to live happily in this one anymore.

  Sighing, Logan showed her around, trying to push those thoughts away and focus on Francesca.

  Francesca glanced up at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the warehouse. “So this is all yours?”

  “Ours,” he answered, immediately. “It no more belongs to me than Diamond Savoy belongs to your mother. I’m just a piece of the puzzle, not the whole thing.”

  “So how many people are part of Satan’s Chaos anyway?”

  Logan’s eyebrows furrowed as he glanced up at the ceiling. “Maybe a hundred, if you count everyone. Not everyone lives here, though; some of the other guys have families, other places to live. Mostly the worst off of us come to live here, and we mostly never leave.”

  The cavernous ceilings were grey and metal, reflecting the sounds of the rain through the whole building. It sounded like a heavy storm of hurricane proportions from inside, but it was a drizzle; the walls echoed noise around. “This is where we house and fix the bikes. We take in a lot of work from other people outside of the MC, too; everyone around here trusts us to fix their bikes when they need it.” Logan pointed to the racks of bikes, standing up in the far corner. Next to them were racks and racks of tools and spare parts, taking up most of the space. The rest was filled with the bikes that the MC owned and used.

  Most of the bikes were free for anyone to use, but a few had names written on them. Logan was happy to see his second ride was still intact. His favorite bike was still back in Nevada at Francesca’s house. Good thing he had a spare.

  “The rest of the space over there are rooms for everyone who lives here and some other communal spaces. And our meeting rooms and some other things. And that’s about it.”

  Blade, who had been following the tour, grinned widely with her gaping teeth. “And of course, there’s the junkyard outside, but it’s not exciting enough to go splashing around in the rain to go see.”

  Francesca’s eyes were huge circles of emerald. “It’s really impressive. You know, other than that one time you drove me home, I’ve never been on a bike before. Can you teach me how to drive one?”

  Logan chuckled. “I’ll drive you around, but you don’t want to get caught trying to drive around here without a motorcycle license.”

  “The police don’t like us much here, so they check everyone driving a bike anywhere near the MC, hoping to bust new recruits.” Blade made a face. “Drives me crazy.”

  Nodding sagely, Francesca looked Blade up and down. “So, tell me the story behind the name ‘Blade,’” she said, grinning at Logan’s tattooed second.

  “Oh, girly, you have no idea what you have just unleashed,” Blade cackled in response. “It all started about ten years ago, on this very spot —”

  And Francesca was riveted.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Francesca

  “So, we’ve seen just about every tourist trap in town,” Francesca said, running her hands through her long, blonde hair. They were lounging around their hotel room, trying to decide what to do for the day. Logan was glancing through a booklet of some sort, looking for anything they hadn’t yet done. But after three weeks, almost everything that looked even a little fun had been done already. “Instead of looking for more touristy things, why don’t we just do whatever you would do if you have a night off here?”

  Logan blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “W
hat would you have done if you just wanted to get out of the MC and you didn’t have any duties holding you back?” she repeated, saying the words slowly. Logan threw one of the ugly throw pillows from the couch at her, but she deftly ducked. “Or were you not allowed hobbies?”

  He frowned, looking a little lost. “Most of my hobbies revolved around fixing the bikes and keeping up with everyone at the MC, Francesca. We didn’t have a whole lot of spare time.”

  “So you did have some spare time,” Francesca said immediately, making Logan roll his eyes.

  “I guess we did have some spare time.”

  “What did you do with it?” she asked, scooting closer and staring up at him.

  Logan melted within seconds, his mouth curving up into a smile and betraying his amusement. “Alright, fine. We would go for rides up in the hills. The hills aren’t far from here, and they have some overlooks. Sometimes we’d bring snacks and just sit up at the overlooks and smoke and drink and bullshit.”