Brianna (Shadow Wolves MC Book 2)

by Daniela Jackson

  “He is not as ugly as his father,” Ziggy says. “Lucky him.”

  Axel straightens and turns to me.

  “Take care of my nephew,” I say in a hoarse voice, choking back tears.

  Then Jax and I jump on our bikes. We visit Samael to share the news and have a long chat with him. Well, mainly Jax has a very stormy chat with him. I just listen to them totally stunned. After that, Jax and I set off to look for my wife.

  Brianna

  This pretty boy starts to annoy me. Why do such pretty boys think that they can enchant every woman? He’s not my type at all, too pretty, too young. Too annoying.

  Zane is my type, my every fantasy and my never-ending pain.

  The pretty boy tosses back his blonde shoulder-length hair and flashes me a beguiling smile. His confidence makes me feel pity for him.

  “A coffee,” he says. “Don’t make me beg you, sweetheart.”

  “I’m at work,” I say in a matter-of-fact tone as my eyes slide over the logo on his grey t-shirt. It says ‘Deadly Crows’, a rock band’s name probably. I can’t recognise his accent. He’s not from the area for sure.

  I want to kick his ass so hard that he’ll fly out of the library through the window at my left. I’m busy. The books on the shelf need a good dusting then four catalogues will require my attention.

  “It’s lunch time,” he says and corrects his chequered shirt that he wears on top of the t-shirt.

  I want to throw up at his hopeless attempt to seduce me.

  He’s really pretty. The kind of guy who can make every woman melt at just one of his glances. He looks like a rock star and oozes the charm of a bad boy contradicting the boyishness of his face. But I want to get rid of him as soon as possible. I don’t need any distractions in my life.

  “What is your name again?” I ask with irritation.

  “Jim.”

  “Jim? Not John? I thought you’d said John.”

  “I said Jim.” He flashes me another smile. “A coffee. That’s all. One coffee.”

  “Listen to me John, Jim or whoever you are. I’m a widow. Capito? My husband passed away only eight months ago.”

  Two students at the table four steps away from us raise their heads at us. Shit. I will lose my job because of that pretty little boy.

  “I’m really sorry for your loss,” John alias Jim says. “Can I do something for you?”

  Get lost and leave me to rest in peace in the comfortable coffin of my lonely little life.

  “Alright,” I growl. “One coffee.”

  The students grin at me. I frown back at them so they lower their heads and look at the screens of their laptops.

  Jim makes a gallant gesture with his hand as I pass him and go to the librarian’s desk to tell her that I’m going to have lunch. The dry old woman nods at me and resumes reading a book.

  I button up my chunky cardigan and hug myself as we step out of the historical building accommodating the library. I like this small town. People are nice here. I have my nice job as a librarian, my cosy one-bedroom flat that started to resemble a hoarder’s cave and a lot of solitude killing me every evening.

  “I just need to take the wallet from my car,” Jim says.

  “Sure.”

  I follow him along the pavement. We turn right into a narrow street. Two rows of small houses with white facades guard both sides of the road. It’s quiet. John alias Jim aims for a black Audi and I saunter behind him reluctantly. The wind waves my knee-length skirt and the leaves of an old tree rustle above my head. Jim pulls the door of his car open and bends into the driver’s side. Uneasiness wafts through me. I did it again. I don’t want to break Jim’s arm so I step back with the intention to run away as fast as possible.

  My lungs expand and a strangely familiar scent settles in my nostrils. My heart skips a beat. Chills go down my spine. I swallow tickly, take a step forward and muscular arms wrap around my chest like a few nooses of a thick rope, squeezing the oxygen out of my lungs. I hiss in pain then freeze.

  “Zane,” I squeak.

  “Jax,” Zane growls and kisses my cheek then bites my earlobe. “Hurry, man.”

  I wiggle in his embrace and attempt to trample his foot but that only makes him chuckle. He’s enfolding me in one arm whilst his other arm is immobilising my thighs. I’m not helpless against men, but I’m no match for Zane. He knows how to immobilise the opponent.

  Jax alias Jim alias John moves closer to us.

  “Let me go,” I hiss.

  “Never,” Zane says.

  The tone of his voice sends coldness into my veins. His hot mouth moving down my neck makes my skin prickle. His teeth marking my neck make me groan. His breath against my cheek makes me burn.

  Jax sweeps his arm and something jabs my arm.

  “Fuck off, you psychos,” I yell.

  “Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” Zane says.

  My body squirms in his embrace then a pleasant laziness takes possession of my muscles. My mind fills with a fog. My vision narrows.

  Then there is blackness.

  Chapter 9

  Brianna

  A throbbing headache shakes me out of the black void of my sleep. That bastard has drugged me. I can’t believe it. My own husband did that to me.

  I open my eyes and flick them over a white cracked ceiling. I’m lying on a mattress in a spacious bedroom. Something digs into my wrist, but I’m too paralysed to even turn my head to check it. My surroundings waver around me as the magnolia walls move to me and from me. Nausea rolls over my stomach.

  “Shit,” I groan.

  “How are you, sweetheart?” a husky voice whispers into my ear.

  A hot breath brushes my cheek and even hotter lips kiss the angle of my jaw then graze my chin.

  “Shit,” I moan.

  Tears prick my eyes as another wave of nausea hits me. Somebody’s knuckles run down my cheek and a thumb caresses my lower lip.

  I start to regain control over my spongy body so I roll on my side. My glance meets Zane’s. We are lying on a metal framed bed that creaks with every movement like a soul tormented in hell.

  “How are you?” Zane asks with concern and strokes my head.

  “Fuck off,” I growl. “You’re a psychopath, you know. The worst kind.”

  I take a deep breath, roll on my other side then fling my body as far from Zane as possible. A sharp pain courses through my wrist as a force makes me bounce back towards the bed. I fall to my knees, my hands clutching the edge of the mattress, and my eyes travel to my wrist.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say.

  My wrist is cuffed as is Zane’s and I’m tied to my husband with a metal chain three feet long. A little key hangs on his cuff.

  “It’s long enough for you to have some privacy in the bathroom,” Zane says as he sits in bed.

  “You are crazy, you know. Let me go. Now.” I tug my cuffed wrist and the chain clinks quietly. “Let me go, you fucking—“

  Zane leaps towards me, griping the back of my neck and my arm, and lifts me up so my feet slide against the floor. Fuck. He is strong. His face turns into a rigid mask as his eyes blaze menacingly like he will twist my neck at any moment. Fear forms a knot at the bottom of my stomach. I spread my feet to steady myself and clench my hands in front of my heart.

  “Listen to me, Brianna, because I’m not going to repeat myself. You are my wife. My. Wife.”

  “Nobody asked me, you know—“

  “Be quiet,” he yells and I cringe into myself as his scorching breath puffs into my forehead. “You are my wife. And from now on you do as tell you. Understood?”

  “You can’t—“

  “Understood?”

  A lump forms in my throat at the threatening tone of his voice and I start shaking. “Understood.” My heart thumps in my ears and I want to pee.

  “Good.” He nods then glides his palm over my head. “Are you hungry?”

  “I need to pee,” I squeak.

  Zane grabs my
unrestrained wrist and pulls me behind him. My naked feet shuffle against the wooden floor that screeches with every step. There is a subtle drowsiness in my head and my brain is working slowly as though I’m still teetering between sleep and awareness.

  We step out of the bedroom, walk along a dark narrow corridor and Zane shoves me into a bathroom decorated in a nautical style.

  He stays outside and the chain seems to be long enough to use the toilet and wash hands.

  I squat down, flatten the chain on the floor and slam the door shut. The chain fits in the gap between the door and the floor. Thank God. I sit on the toilet and pretend that Zane can’t hear me pee. What a humiliation. My chest fills with a consuming fire.

  After washing my hands, I attempt to break the chain, but it’s really solid so I look around. There is a spare toothbrush in a cupboard, still in the packaging, so I use it.

  “Finished?” Zane asks and knocks on the door.

  “I need a shower,” I mutter. I’m clammy with sweat.

  Zane sneaks inside. “I need a shower too, actually.”

  “So how are we going to solve this problem? You have to take this cuff off my wrist.”

  Zane shakes his head like I’m a badly behaved child. He steps forward, gathers my t-shirt in both his hands and rips it off me in one motion. I emit a low scream. Zane puts his hands on my breasts, tilts his head and does the same with my bra.

  “I have no spare clothes,” I mumble at this violation of my personal space and that’s all I can articulate.

  “I bought some clothes for you,” Zane says as his dark eyes roam over my naked breasts.

  My hands jerk up and I hug myself. Heat rushes to my cheeks.

  Zane tears off his t-shirt then removes his trousers and waves his hand at me.

  I can’t move.

  The sight of his hard cock makes my brain melt. My insides melt too. I bite my lower lip and stare at him, mesmerised. Aroused and furious. Ultimately humiliated.

  “Don’t touch me,” I growl.

  I won’t allow him to touch me because if he does I won’t be able to leave him. And I have to leave him. I have to stick to my plan, find a way to escape and lead my peaceful solitary life far from all the shit my father and my husband can pull me into.

  “You want that fucking shower or not?” Zane asks.

  I nod at him.

  It’s just a stupid shower.

  We will be naked but that doesn’t mean anything. Just a quick shower. No touching. No emotions. No stupid plans for the future together.

  Except Zane is my husband and I want him to touch me. I crave his lips on mine and his hands on my breasts.

  Zane steps into an old shower cabin, pulling away a flowery curtain, as my eyes flick over his muscular buttocks. Women could kill for those buttocks. I want to touch those buttocks. Zane turns on the hot water. Steam starts to rise, forming magical garlands. Sweat pricks my forehead.

  I strip off my skirt and panties and join him. We stand opposite each other, our bodies almost touching. Almost. There is an electrified layer of air and water between us, separating us like a chasm. Just a few inches closer and I will be lost. I want to be lost. And I fucking don’t want to.

  I step back and my back rests against the cold white tiling. The water’s streaming down, stroking me, engulfing me in a cloud of pleasant heat.

  Zane tilts his head, eyes narrowing. He holds his cock and strokes himself.

  “Don’t touch me,” I bark and attempt to merge with the tiling.

  My tummy fills with heat and my pussy clenches with need. Damn it. I will go mad because of this stupid shower. A force pulls me to Zane like a magnet. I’m thirsty for him like dry land is thirsty for rain.

  “Don’t touch me,” I repeat through clenched teeth even though every cell of my body craves his.

  Zane leans towards me, his forearm resting against the tiling above my head. “It’s enough for me to just watch your tits.”

  I want to scream.

  No—

  I want my husband to turn me round and fuck me hard from behind. So hard that I’ll be teetering between pain and pleasure.

  “Turn around,” Zane says and it sounds like a command.

  I do as he told me. Embarrassment burns my insides, an incinerating devastation, but deep inside I want to obey him of my free will.

  “Really tempting ass,” Zane says like he’s gritted his teeth. “Really round. Perfect. Now, turn around again.”

  I turn and my glance shifts to Zane’s. He starts breathing heavily and his face tenses. The perfect muscles of his arms and chest contract and the tattoos adorning his skin waver like they are alive as he strokes his cock faster. A moan escapes his mouth. It’s the sexiest male moan I’ve ever heard.

  Zane rests his forehead against the back of his hand. His hair tickles my face as his body almost touches mine. He’s so close to me that his cum spurts onto my tummy. So far from me at the same time like I’m a bird flying high in the sky and he’s a wolf resting in a cave.

  For one desperate moment, I fight my urge to throw my arms around his neck, kiss him and prolong his pleasure. Instead, my hands ball into fists. I’m not going to return to my old life.

  Zane raises his head and his cloudy eyes flick over my face. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

  “Hope you enjoyed it.”

  “Yeah, I enjoyed it very much.”

  “Get off me.”

  Zane raises his hand as though he wants to stroke my hair but doesn’t do that. “One word, Brianna. One word, Brianna, and you can enjoy it too.”

  “No.”

  “You want me.”

  I push at his inked pecs. “I don’t want you, your club or whatever else connected with my father. Capito?”

  Zane smirks at me and I know why. I borrowed ‘capito’ from him. I just like this word. It’s very Zane’s. Mine.

  Zane grabs a bottle of shower gel from a metal shelf. “Hurry.”

  I want to burst into tears, wail out my frustration and desire for him. Slap him on his cheek and then beg him to fuck me.

  My rationality scolds me and I take the shower gel from his hand then lather myself up. Zane watches me with burning eyes. His cock grows hard again.

  “Touch yourself, Brianna,” he rasps.

  “What?”

  “Touch yourself. I want to see you pleasure yourself.”

  “No.”

  “Your choice.”

  He holds his cock and I shiver. My legs wobble. My pussy demands his cock so desperately that I feel like I’m insane. My husband is insane for sure. My God, I’m the most desired wife on the face of the earth.

  Our gazes meet. Our basic instincts clash. We’re as one pure need, animalistic and unstoppable.

  “Touch yourself, Brianna.”

  “Zane,” I shriek.

  I lower my body and sit with my legs folded and splayed. Zane sits on his heels and the cabin suddenly narrows, turns into another realm. Our desire hangs in the air, connects us like strings, pulsates. Everything pulsates. My pussy, my blood, my mind.

  For an instant, my rationality rebels against the ardent flame of my body, the primal call of my lust and I hate myself, I’m ashamed of myself. Then I love it.

  I don’t think. I’m elemental like my need for release. I want to fall into the dark abyss of my hunger for Zane.

  Zane looks at me with his face sharpening. He would do dirty things to me did I allow him to. It’s visible in his dark gaze.

  But I don’t allow him to touch me. I only allow him to watch me.

  My fingers slide down my mound and I search for my clitoris. I start stroking myself. My eyes close. Zane’s raspy moans make me even more impatient. I massage my clitoris, rising higher and higher to my peak. Then I climax violently as my scream fills the shower cabin.

  There is a white nothingness, just a second or two.

  I steady my breath, open my eyes and it’s so fucking embarrassing that I want to die.

  �
�Your pussy looks really delicious, Brianna.” Zane growls like a contented bear.

  “Go to hell, you psycho.”

  Now, I hate myself. I wish I was a cockroach and could hide beneath the floor.

  Chapter 10

  Brianna

  We wrap ourselves in towels and go the bedroom. Zane slips into his jeans then hands me a bandeau dress and a pair of panties. I put them on. He throws my cardigan on my back and we go downstairs. I mean, he’s walking in front of me and I’m walking like his dog behind him. We’re not talking and I’m pretending that nothing happened during our shower.

  Except a lot happened. I want the earth to swallow me.

  As I stop at the bottom of the stairs opening into a lounge, my eyes travel to Jax. He’s enclosed a woman in his embrace. Her back is resting against his chest. They’re standing by the window and the woman is pinching a piece of a black and silver curtain. She’s a bit taller than Jax, very beautifully built.

  Jax kisses her shoulder, exposed by a black vest she has on, and he glides his palm over her belly. She looks like she’s four months pregnant. Her face turns to mine and our glances meet. I’m staring at a Greek goddess. Her dark eyes radiate with warmth tinged with a translucent sadness. A few grey wisps mark her thick long hair of a deep brown colour. She looks twenty-eight at most, but her being exudes some subtle tiredness like she’s gone through hell in life.

  “This is Athena,” Zane says.

  Of course, her name is Athena. Aphrodite would suit her better though.

  I move closer to Jax and her and we shake hands.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say.

  The chain tying me to my husband clinks and a heavy sense of humiliation floods me.

  “Are you hungry?” Athena asks.

  The calm in her voice drills through me like a bullet of ridiculousness, my mouth opens and I feel like I’m the character from a black comedy.

  “Can you help me?” I explode.

  My God, she must be the only sensible person in this room. I just can’t grasp her neutral expression as her eyes flick over my cuffed wrist.

  “My husband is a psychopath,” I continue. “Please, help me.”

  Jax chuckles and Athena flashes me a warm smile.