Ignite (The Disciples Book 4)

by Cassandra Robbins

  She stares at me. Frowning, I return my attention to the road. The compound is pretty calm tonight, thank fuck. I’d be hearing music if a party was going on.

  The clubhouse is the only real place I consider home. From the time I started hanging out with Blade and David in middle school, I would end up here more and more as my parents went through a shitty divorce.

  Blade’s grandfather, the founder of the Disciples, bought this land after he came back from Vietnam. It’s been passed down to the club with every generation.

  “Is this your house?” She sounds confused. You can’t see much of the property in the dark. The smell of orange blossoms is thick tonight. All the lights are on inside, which means Blade is still there. When I pull into my spot, the motion sensor lights flash on. I shift into park and turn off the engine.

  “No. I don’t have a house.”

  She turns to look at me. “I don’t understand. What is this place?”

  The front screen door bangs open and a couple of old-timers emerge. Their cigarette smoke and dirt from the dry gravel infiltrate the car.

  “Is this where your gang lives?” She whispers the gang part, her eyes wide as she stares at Ditch who is just noticing us. Her face is pale in the moonlight.

  “Jesus Christ, I don’t have the time or inclination to explain certain things. But I will warn you one time: don’t ever call us a gang.” She gasps and continues to look around as if she’s expecting a murderer to jump out and get her.

  I rub the back of my neck. “I’m fucking tired. Is this a problem?”

  Her eyes dart back to mine and her vulnerability is pouring out of them. And for some reason, I hate that.

  I don’t want to feel her fear. She wants a hero, someone to protect her. That’s not me.

  Opening my door, I growl, “I guess I figured you’d be fine going anywhere since you seem to think your calling in life is to take your clothes off for men.”

  It’s a shit thing to say and frankly beneath me. I don’t ever trade insults to make a person feel bad—I don’t need to.

  Her eyes widen and the fear is replaced by anger, so there’s that.

  “I… wow. You’re an asshole.” She swings Luscious’s door open and I reach to grab her. But she’s fucking quick.

  “I have absolutely no idea why I ever thought you were a… a good guy. You are without a doubt a monster,” she shouts as she reaches for one of her garbage bags.

  Fuck, she pushes my buttons. “Darlin’, if you thought I was a good guy…” I laugh. “You can’t be that blonde.”

  I get out and ignore the screen door opening and the comments coming from the porch.

  “Don’t call me darlin’. I hate it.” She tosses one bag on the gravel in a dramatic fashion. Then like a true wild child standing on the edge, she grabs frantically for her suitcase.

  “I’d rather take poison than spend one second with you. How dare you call me a… blonde.” She tugs on the large bag, which seems stuck, and blows her hair out of her face. “I can’t believe all those women in your club think you’re so hot,” she continues to shout. “My God, you are truly the most—”

  And I’m done.

  “Not. One. More. Word. Antoinette.” I can’t remember a time I let a woman get to me. Hell, I can’t remember a time I allowed a man to make me this angry.

  I’d put a bullet in her head if she had a cock instead of a cunt.

  “Everything okay over here?” Blade’s voice prompts us both to turn. Antoinette lets out a scream, her hand going to her chest.

  “Oh God, you scared me.” And I want to strangle her. Blade scares her? And she thinks I’m a good guy? Eve stands behind him, not even trying to hide her glee at witnessing this.

  Fucking fantastic.

  My eyes scan the porch. About five of my brothers are watching me like it’s movie night, and that includes Dewey who holds baby Nicole in his arms.

  Blade’s green eyes shift toward me twinkling with amusement. I’m clenching my jaw so hard it twitches.

  He turns to look at Antoinette as if he’s figured it all out. I almost snort, Good luck.

  Taking a breath, I say, “Antoinette, this is our president, Blade, and his wife Eve.”

  She inches her way backward until her back hits my chest. This should make me furious and I should push her away. Instead, I slip an arm around her, pulling her tight to me.

  “Holy Fuucck,” Eve says excitedly as she skips around Blade’s arm to walk over to Antoinette, her hand held out.

  “You’ve no idea how happy I am to meet you.” She beams, literally beams as she shakes Antoinette’s hand and turns toward me, smiling.

  “Stop, Eve,” I say. She laughs as she walks back to Blade who wraps his arm around her.

  “So, you’re Cookie,” Blade announces. I cock my head at him because I want to punch my best friend and it’s not to knock some sense into him.

  “Yes.” She nods. “No, I mean, I’m Candy—”

  “For fuck’s sake, her name is Antoinette.” I grab her hand, maneuvering us around them.

  “So nice to meet you,” Eve chimes in from behind us.

  “Um… yes,” is all Antoinette gets out before I shove her up the porch steps.

  “Prospect. One of you, bring her stuff up to my room,” I say, slamming the porch door in their surprised faces.

  Figures, I’m not lucky enough to find the downstairs empty. It’s scattered with brothers drinking in the game room along with Fosters and Rip playing pool. The snap of the balls makes Antoinette jump. Her hand is cold in my warm one. I look down at her wide-eyed stare.

  “This is it, baby. Welcome to the Disciples.” I can’t help but smirk at her small nod. She looks around as if she’s slightly numb with shock or maybe fear.

  I lean down to whisper in her ear. “You scared yet?”

  “Should I be?” she hisses out.

  Creed, a four-hundred-pound brother covered in tattoos and a long beard, walks by and winks at her. Laughing as she moves closer to me, he clearly senses her fear and for some reason that annoys me.

  I want her fear. She’s mine.

  I’m going to fuck her in every hole she has and after we’ve played and had our fill, we can both move on. I won’t let my obsessive thinking about her smell and tight pussy plague me, and she can go do whatever she wants as long as it’s not in my club.

  “I just… this is where you live? With all of them?” she whispers, spinning around to see the other side of the main room that leads to the kitchen. Most of the walls are brown. It was easier than having to paint away the spills and debauchery that are a regular occurrence here.

  “Let’s go.” I pull her toward the stairs as Fosters starts his singing. I’m not quite sure what he’s singing—his accent gets thick when he’s drunk. She nods, her thin body stuck to me like glue as she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

  Perfect, she’s sorry again. One second she’s ready to kill me; the next, she’s clinging to me.

  The fucked-up thing is I like it, her, all of this. Now that I’ve decided to fuck her, I can relax and be myself.

  Fosters leans against the pool table. Singing to Antoinette, he points the pool cue at her. Rip grabs his shoulder, trying to quiet him down.

  I let it go. Fosters is shitfaced and has no idea that Antoinette is not that kind of girl. Or maybe she is… I mean, she is a stripper—not that there’s anything wrong with that.

  Maybe that’s been my problem all along. I’ve been kidding myself with her vulnerability. Maybe she’s nothing but a fucking little schemer, only better at it than most. Whatever. We can fuck, use each other, and part ways.

  Fosters pushes Rip away and yells over his shoulder, “Axel, my brother. Don’t be stingy.” Holding out his arms, he almost hits Rip with the pool cue. “Let me remind you about all the times I’ve shared with you.”

  “Not tonight, man.”

  She gasps. I ignore it.

  “Fuck, Axel. Come on, man,” he yells as I contin
ue tugging her upstairs. Her bags are already at my door.

  Unlocking it, I walk straight for the dresser where I keep all three burner phones. I need to check on a couple of prospects who are doing some digging for me. Glancing up, I notice she’s standing frozen in the doorway, her big eyes huge.

  “He’s drunk,” I assure her with a grin. “I’m not sharing you. Unless that’s your thing.” I toss the phone on my dresser and grab my pipe to light up.

  “No.” She pales. “It’s not.” Her voice is almost a whisper.

  “Get in here, Antoinette.” Taking a hit, I hold the smoke in.

  She takes one step and looks around. Blade and I have the largest rooms in the clubhouse. He has a pool table in his. I have a mini studio in mine.

  “I just… I think this is…” Her voice trails off as she takes another step. My patience gone, I walk past her and toss her bags into the room, then slam and lock my door.

  “You hungry?” I pull off my cut, tossing it onto one of the chairs, and walk over to my kitchen area.

  “Do you eat meat?” I scan her body. It’s so thin, nothing but toned muscle. Her arms are like twigs but perfectly defined.

  “Yes.” Her voice cracks as she clears her throat.

  “Something to drink?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

  “I’ll take a water, please.” She clears her throat again and looks everywhere but at me.

  I take one from the refrigerator and hand it to her. Our fingers touch. Hers are soft and mine rough, and as I almost wrap my hand around her wrist to bring her close, she pulls back as if I’ve burned her. She feels it, same as I do, that push and pull, knowing that this is going to happen.

  This one is dangerous to me. Her eyes hold nothing back. Desire, fear, desperation, swim in them. She’s terrified. And why wouldn’t she be?

  She’s lost everything and is now in a bikers’ clubhouse with a man someone like her should not be around.

  Ever.

  “Fuck.” I sigh and let out a laugh. All I wanted was to take a shower, get high, and sleep, and here I am.

  I walk to the dresser and grab a phone.

  “Yell-ow,” Skidder, my number one prospect answers on the first ring.

  “Where are you?”

  I glance over at Antoinette who’s still standing with the water bottle. I grab my pipe. Hopefully I can get high enough to eat and get some sleep.

  “I’m at Torque’s garage.” He sounds serious. That’s what I like about this kid—he wants it. Definitely feels the call to be a Disciple.

  “I need you to go to In and Out and get me my usual. Make sure it’s animal style and a”—my eyes sweep her body again—“cheeseburger and fries.”

  “You got it, VP.”

  I’m the best at dealing with prospects. Blade is too busy with his family and running all the club’s shit to mold the prospects into true Disciples. It takes time and energy to get in their heads. There’s a big difference between the ones who are serious and the ones who are only in the club for free pussy and the bragging rights to say they’re a Disciple.

  You give a kid who’s considered a loose cannon or the one with a chip on his shoulder responsibility, and within months, they’re so loyal they would lay down their lives for the club.

  I light up and hold it as long as I can, trying to decide what to do with my ice princess. Exhaling, I offer her the pipe, knowing she’ll stick that nose of hers in the air and shoot me a look that says it’s beneath her. But that’s better than when she makes me want to hold her, reassure her that she’s not alone.

  Yeah, she’s got to go tomorrow.

  “No, thank you.” She crosses her arms, closing herself off from me.

  That’s my girl. I can’t help but smirk as I suck in another long drag of Mary Jane, my body relaxing on the exhale.

  “Let’s take a tour.” Before she can talk, I place my hand on her lower back, pushing her so that she gets a move on.

  “This is my bedroom.” I gesture to my giant California king. I’m not a man who collects things, so for the few things I do have, I’ve spared no expense.

  My bike, car, and guitars—all my stuff is nothing but the best. I work my ass off and deserve it.

  My room is my private haven. I let women in to fuck, but there is an unwritten rule that you leave after I’ve shot my load. Only on rare occasions do I make an allowance.

  I walk her into the next room that holds more guitars, the kitchen, and my couch where I have all my electronics and my small studio set up. I used to have it enclosed like a small booth when I was still writing music and recording, but after a year of not even stepping into it, I had a few walls torn down and now it’s open with padded floors. When I do play, the sound is still adequate.

  “So, you really are a musician?” Her eyes scan all my guitars hanging on the wall.

  “Yeah. A lifetime ago, I had a band. Now I play for pleasure.” Her slight vanilla-citrus scent drifts up to me. From the moment I smelled her, she became one of my favorite smells.

  “Is it true you know Rhys Granger?” Her eyes finally find mine. Her red plump lips are wet from her tongue, and that fucking beauty mark just does it for me.

  I reach down to sweep her hair off her shoulder. It’s soft like silk. Her jacket needs to go. In fact, all her clothes need to go. My mind wanders back to fucking her again.

  “Why? You got a thing for Granger?” It’s a joke. I’m not serious since I know she has a thing for me.

  “I love Granger.” For a second, I’m so enthralled with her lips and beauty mark I don’t digest what she said.

  “Did you say you love Granger?” And here I go again, ready to strangle her.

  “What? You asked,” she huffs, and I’m speechless. This has never happened to me.

  “I love the Stuffed Muffins. Granger is incredibly talented and…” Her voice trails off as I walk away and grab my pack of cigarettes. If I was with anyone else, I’d start laughing. But for some reason, I’m not finding her funny, or cute, or anything but a fucking wannabe groupie.

  “Who told you I know Rhys?”

  “The girls at the club.” Her voice is way more confident when she’s on the defense. “So, do you know him?”

  Again, I almost laugh at her fucking gall. “Yeah, I do. I’ll put in a good word for you. Granger is always looking for a new whore. Although with you being religious, that might be a problem since Granger likes them nasty.”

  I light up my cigarette and take a breath. This is fucking pathetic. I’m fighting with this woman as if we’re a couple and I haven’t even fucked her.

  I walk to my island and grab a bottle of Jack Daniels. Taking a swig, I don’t even look at her.

  “Can I use your bathroom, please?” She’s pissed, not that I blame her. I’m being a dick, but that’s me.

  I bring the bottle to my lips, my eyes never leaving hers as I down a good portion, letting the spicy flavor sting its way to my gut.

  “Second door to the right in my bedroom, princess.”

  She looks down at her feet and nods, heading toward my room. I almost grab her. Instead I bring the bottle to my mouth before I say or do something I’ll regret.

  She hesitates at the doorframe. “I’m filthy. Do you mind if I take a shower?” Her voice drips sarcasm.

  I snort. “Darlin’, make yourself at home.”

  ANTOINETTE

  Leaning against his bedroom door, I try to steady my breathing. This was a mistake. A huge one.

  I can’t even try to understand my emotions. All I know is I want to run and hide. I grab one of my trash bags full of clothes and rush into his bathroom. Locking myself in, I blink and adjust to how clean the room is. Strike that. It’s spotless with a faint smell of bleach.

  “Unreal,” I whisper, fighting back the tears that I’m not sure are from humiliation or shock. I’m locked in a biker’s bathroom, albeit the cleanest bathroom I’ve ever been in.

  This is ridiculous. It all happened so fast. My mind is sti
ll trying to catch up. Closing my eyes, I let the truth of today and my reality crash over me.

  I had no choice, right? I had to have the cops call him. I was in trouble and scared and he was the only person I thought to call.

  What does that mean?

  I take a deep breath and know exactly what it means: he came and he took care of it. It’s time to stop crying and start thinking.

  I push myself away from the door. Checking to make sure it’s locked, I remove my jacket and drape it over a wicker hamper. The bathroom is black—he seems to favor that color if his clothes, tattoos, and bedding are any indication.

  There’s a large dark cherrywood buffet cabinet on the other side of the shower. It’s plain yet classy. The bathroom could be in GQ in a piece on how to have the perfect bachelor pad bathroom. I almost don’t want to put my dirty clothes on his floor.

  This is crazy. I pull off my top and kick off my leggings as I open the large glass door to the shower. It’s spacious, and he has a rain faucet like the one I had in the house I grew up in.

  The shower in my apartment was barely big enough for one person. I had to be careful not to knock myself out when I bent down to shave my legs.

  Turning on the water, I glance over my shoulder into his mirror and frown at my reflection. God, I’m a disaster. Eyes and lips swollen. Pale. I guess I need a tan, but that’s the least of my problems.

  Axel. He’s a problem.

  I take a deep breath and step into the hot water. I’m all screwed up. He’s a combination of everything I want and everything I hate. One second, he’s looking at me in a way that makes it hard to breathe. The next, I want to kick him in the face.

  He’ll put in a good word with Granger.

  Grabbing some shampoo, I roughly wash my hair, replaying all that’s happened… starting with this morning’s fucking mess. I groan at what a disaster this day has been.

  Instead of attending an early morning hip-hop class, I should have stayed in bed. But come on, how could I have imagined Ryan would be such a snake? The moving truck parked on my street should have been a big fat red flag.

  God, the looks on that couple’s faces when they opened the door to my apartment. Thankfully all I was doing was stretching. Had they come in five minutes later, I would have been in the shower probably masturbating to Axel.