Hooked (Viking Bastards MC)

by Christina Phillips

  Okay, that’s a surprise. I thought it was like a cult thing. Obviously not.

  “What d’you really want to do, Grace?”

  No way am I telling him that. “It doesn’t matter.” I try to sound dismissive but my face heats, damn it, which must be the reason why he forks his fingers through my hair and holds my head as though I’m about to escape. As if that would even be possible, given the way he’s pinned me to the bed.

  “I’m not moving until you tell me.” He grins, obviously not caring if I never say another word, and it’s tempting to stay like this. Except my arms are starting to go numb.

  “Honestly, it’s not important.” Not to anyone but me, that’s for sure.

  His eyes narrow and he runs a strangely speculative glance along my naked body. “Porn star?” he suggests, and I actually gape because I don’t think he’s joking.

  “Of course not.” I wriggle, but it doesn’t get me anywhere so I glare up at him. If he laughs…

  “I want to open my own cupcake shop.”

  The look on his face is priceless. I think he would’ve been less shocked if I had said I wanted to be a porn star.

  “Cupcake?” He echoes, as though he has no idea what the word means, and I shift my gaze over his shoulder so I don’t have to see him trying not to laugh. The way my parents laughed eight years ago when I first told them what I wanted to do.

  “Yes,” I say between gritted teeth. “Crazy, right?”

  “Don’t know.” He pulls back, releasing my hands and head, and lightly clasps my thighs. “Can you cook?”

  Is he being sarcastic? “I can bake,” I tell him. God knows I’ve taken enough courses over the last eight years, including a couple of programs under a French master pâtissier, squeezing them in between college and my job. “I have qualifications.” And a business degree. I just haven’t gotten around to doing anything about it.

  “What’s stopping you? Girl like you wouldn’t have any trouble getting a business loan.”

  I push my fists against his chest, but he’s rock solid. “Girl like me?” I repeat, irritated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugs, but it’s obvious he’s finding this whole exchange funny. “Come on, princess. I’m not a dumb shit. You’re from money. And money can always get more if they need it.”

  I’m about to tell him it’s none of his business what I decide to do, when it hits me—he’s not telling me I’m an idiot for wanting to set up a risky business in a less than great economy. He’s just pointing out the truth.

  If I set my mind to do this, I could, because my financial standing is solid.

  “Huh.” I relax my fists, as that revelation seeps into every corner of my brain. Sure, I’ve always known it in the back of my mind, but with so much opposition from both my family and Russell, I’ve never really thought it through.

  He sinks onto me, hard muscle and hot flesh, and my eyes close as he kisses me long and slow. I wind my arms around him, savoring every leisurely slide of his tongue inside my mouth.

  I moan, shifting beneath him. He’s obviously ready, but instead of reaching for a condom he rolls off me, leaving me frowning up at him.

  “No time for that.” His voice is gravelly, and he can’t drag his gaze away from my breasts. “We’ve gotta be somewhere in half hour.”

  Chapter Eight

  Zach

  It takes Grace twenty minutes to get ready, and that’s her idea of rushing it. Not that I’m complaining. In tight jeans and a loose sweater that just skims her waist she looks fucking edible.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense,” she says as I grab her hand and pull her down the hall. “You have to tell me where we’re going.”

  “No, I don’t.” I arranged this yesterday afternoon, after I fixed her car, and it’s kind of weird how much I’m looking forward to seeing her face when she discovers what we’re doing.

  She gives an exaggerated sigh and wiggles her ass as she goes down the stairs in front of me. “Are we walking or taking a ride?”

  “Riding.”

  As we enter the workshop she gives me a smug smile. “You have to tell me where we’re going if I’m driving.”

  “Who said you’re driving?” I toss her a helmet and she clutches it as though she’s never seen one before. “Shift your ass, princess, we’re late.”

  It’s not that far to Cade’s, and we could walk it if we had more time, but I told him we’d be there at six thirty, and as he’s doing this as a favor to me, I don’t want to keep him hanging. The bonus is Grace clings onto me like she’ll die if she lets go, and it’s kind of funny that she’s never been on a bike before.

  I pull the Harley up outside Cade’s shop and Grace carefully dismounts. She pulls off the helmet, and there’s a huge grin on her face as she watches me get off the bike. I can’t help it—I kiss her and wrap my arm around her shoulders. I don’t give a shit if Cade sees.

  “That was awesome.” She stares up at me, her hair all mussed and her cheeks pink. “Not long enough, though. Where are we?” She glances around, catches sight of Cade’s tattoo shop, and goes rigid.

  “Surprise.” I tug her toward the shop. She seems a bit reluctant, and I can guess why. “It’s okay. Cade’s like my brother. He’s the best tat artist and—” I grin down at her oddly white face. “He’s shit crazy about hygiene.”

  She doesn’t look convinced. Sure, the neighborhood isn’t what she’s used to, and I guess looking at the outside of Razor’s Edge with its blacked out windows might give her the wrong idea, but if there’s one thing Cade’s into, it’s safety when it comes to his precious ink business.

  I rap my knuckles on the reinforced door.

  “Zach.” There’s an urgent tone in Grace’s whisper. “Why are we here?”

  For a second her question throws me. Yesterday when she was talking about the iris tat she wanted it’d seemed natural to call up Cade. But why did I? I’ve never taken a chick to get a tat. Never even crossed my mind before.

  Except this is her first time, and the first time is always special.

  No way am I saying that. I leer down at her instead. “So every time you look at the tat on your wrist, you think of me.”

  Jesus, did I really just say that? Before I can talk any more shit, Cade pulls open the door. His glance takes in the way I’m holding Grace, but his expression gives away nothing.

  “You’re late,” is all he says.

  We enter the shop. I have the strange conviction that if I let go of her, she’s going to make a run for it, but that doesn’t make sense. “This is Grace.” Damn, what’s up with my voice? I sound like I’m talking about my club.

  I shoot her a quick glance, and warmth surges through my chest. Again, it’s something I usually only experience when I’m involved in club matters, and it’s fucking weird. Like I’m proud of her or something.

  “Grace.” Cade stands there, arms folded across his chest, and gives me a calculating look. “Zach says you want a tat.”

  She shudders, and the truth slams into me. She’s terrified.

  Well, fuck that. So much for my great surprise. I thought she’d be stoked. Almost as bad is the fact that Cade obviously knows it. He’s not gonna let me forget this screw-up anytime soon.

  “Yes, I’d love one,” Grace says. “Thanks so much for fitting me in at such short notice.”

  My arm tightens around her shoulders, and I give Cade a grin of triumph. My girl might be afraid, but she’s not backing down. No mistaking the pride filling my chest now.

  “Anything for my brother,” Cade says. “You want me to show you samples?”

  “That would be great,” she says.

  Cade saunters to the back of his shop and disappears through the door to his office. I swing Grace around and she winds her arms around my waist. “Thought you were going to bail on me just then.”

  She takes a deep breath. She’s obviously not as sure about this as she made out to Cade. “I don’t think I’d ever have the ne
rve to do it by myself, so…” She hesitates, and her smile is kind of shy. “Thanks, Zach. Please don’t laugh if I pass out when he sticks the needles in me.”

  I laugh, and she gives me a pained look. “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

  She glances around the shop. It’s all in red and silver with photos of Cade’s work over the walls. Her gaze snags on one of the leather recliners in the corner and she kind of gulps.

  “It’s nothing like I imagined. It looks like a dentist’s office, actually.”

  I try and see it through her eyes, which is hard because I’ve hung out in tattoo shops since I was a kid. But I guess the state of the art equipment Cade has would be a shock if she was expecting some unlicensed backstreet fraud.

  Cade comes back in with the samples and his laptop, and Grace makes her choices surprisingly fast. She settles into the chair like she’s about to have a root canal without anesthetic and I thread my fingers through hers and give her a squeeze. “You want some vodka?”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “Not before I’ve finished,” Cade says, as he preps his gun.

  Grace gives a polite smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  And she is, although it takes her a while before she finally sneaks a peek at what he’s doing. “It’s beautiful.” She sounds amazed, and Cade and I exchange a wry glance.

  His work is the best, though. I wouldn’t have brought her here otherwise. By the time he finishes, Grace is gazing at the delicate iris with an enraptured expression on her face. He dresses her wrist and gives her the usual spiel on how to care for her tat, but I know the drill and have every intention of giving her the aftercare she needs.

  She pulls out her credit card, but I’m ready for that. “It’s already sorted.”

  “I can’t let you pay for this.”

  From the corner of my eye I see Cade smirk, but strangely I’m not irritated by Grace’s insistence on paying. “Not up to you, princess.” I take her hand because I can, and give Cade a warning glance. Not that he takes any notice, but at least he doesn’t make any comment.

  We leave the shop, and even though I’m late opening the garage, I want to spend some more time with Grace. “Tell you what.” I pull her close and breathe in the flowery scent of her hair. “You can buy me breakfast as a thank-you.”

  …

  It’s almost six that evening, and I’m just about to call it a day, when Kat enters the garage. “Has Grace moved in or what?”

  I wipe my hands and stroll over to her. “Of course she hasn’t.” But she hasn’t left, either. When I checked on her tat a few hours ago, to remove the dressing and apply some antibacterial ointment, it was like a nonverbal agreement that she’s staying another night, which suits me just fine. “What’s the matter, don’t you like her?”

  Kat shrugs. “She’s okay. Not the usual type you go for.”

  I lock up. “You’ve no idea of my usual type.”

  “Sure I have. And they’re nothing like Grace.”

  I grin, because she’s right, and don’t even care when she rolls her eyes and gives an exaggerated sigh. “It’s nothing serious,” I remind her as we make our way to the door of the apartment. My sister steps in front of me, and there’s a smile on her face I don’t trust at all.

  “Just warning you. She’s cooked dinner.”

  “What?”

  “Dinner,” Kat repeats. “As in, real food and not frozen shit from the freezer.”

  We live on frozen shit from the freezer, except for the times we get takeout. I’m not sure she’s just winding me up. But as soon as I open the door, the aroma of real food cooking makes my mouth water.

  Grace is in the kitchen, her hair scraped up into a ponytail, and I wrap my arms around her and nuzzle her neck. “Something smells good.”

  She wriggles her butt and turns her head to kiss me. “It’s only lasagna. Just a thank-you for having me and for pushing me to finally get my tattoo.”

  There’s no reason to keep on holding her, except I don’t want to let her go. “You bought me breakfast, remember? And I have plenty of ideas on how you can thank me later.”

  Kat makes a gagging sound behind me. “Now I’m really gonna hurl.”

  I ignore her as I eye all the fresh herbs and jars of spices spread out over the counter. “Thought you were into baking.”

  “I enjoy cooking other food sometimes.” She twists around and loops her arms over my shoulders. “When the mood takes me.”

  “You could teach Kat.”

  “Fuck you, Zach,” my sister says as she leaves the kitchen. “Maybe Grace can show you how to do more than stick something in the microwave.”

  “Nothing wrong with the microwave.” I grin at Grace and she smiles back, and it’s crazy how good I feel right now. “Might have to keep you around for another day or so.”

  “Hmm,” she says, as though she’s thinking about it. “I guess I could stay another day. I’m on vacation this week.”

  Her cell rings. She pulls it from her pocket and frowns.

  “What’s up?” I pull back and she gives an impatient sigh.

  “Nothing. Just my ex. I’m not picking up.”

  “He knows it’s over, right?” Not sure why that’s so important, but it is.

  “Oh yes. I think it was clear enough when I dropped the ring in his soufflé and told him to—well, stuff it, basically.”

  “How long were you together?” Why do I want to know that?

  Guilt flashes over her face although I have no idea why. “Four years. Engaged for two. Biggest mistake of my life.”

  Four years? “At least you’re rid of him now.”

  Her cell beeps. She checks it and shakes her head before tossing it onto the counter.

  “So now he’s texting you?” I’m pissed, and don’t even bother trying to figure out why. “Want me to speak with him?”

  “He’ll get the message when I don’t answer him. It’s only his pride, anyway. He doesn’t really want to try again. Well, not unless I agree to do everything he wants, and that’s not going to happen.”

  She looks real mad. If it wasn’t for the fact it’s her jerk of an ex that’s got her like this, she’d look cute with that fierce expression on her face. “What did he want you to do? Kinky shit?”

  At least that makes her laugh. “You’ve got a one track mind. No, it was nothing to do with sex. I wouldn’t have minded doing some…well, anyway. No, it was more his objection to my obsession with the kitchen.”

  I’m more interested in what she wouldn’t mind doing when it comes to sex. Now probably isn’t the best time to ask her about that. “He didn’t want you to open your cupcake shop?”

  “That’s right.” She looks amazed that I guessed. “Obviously, he never took my dream seriously, but the final straw was on Friday night.” She checks on the lasagna while I’m trying to figure out why her ex never took her dream seriously. “He informed me once we were married he didn’t want me messing about in the kitchen at all, because that’s what the staff were for.”

  She says it so matter of fact, as though having staff is nothing out of the ordinary. “He sounds a real dick,” I tell her, while my brain’s still chewing over the whole staff business. “Surprised you didn’t leave him years ago.”

  “Better late than never, and at least I did it before the wedding.” She flashes me a smile. “This is the new and improved Grace Mulholland. Watch out, world.”

  I laugh, even as I file her surname away. “Tattooed and dangerous.”

  “You better believe it.” She waves her hand around as she admires her tat. “I’m so badass. I might get a body piercing next.”

  I grab her waist and swing her around to face me. “I know just where you can get a piercing.”

  She gives an exaggerated shudder. “I can guess. And no thanks.”

  I’m kissing her before I know it, and only the sound of her fucking cell ringing again pulls us apart. “Give it to me.” I hold out my hand, m
ore than ready to give that jackass a piece of my mind.

  She pulls a face as she sees the ID. “Ugh. Can’t ignore this one, sorry.” She sighs and half turns away from me. “Hi, Mom.”

  I lean against the counter and fold my arms. After a few moments she takes a deep breath. “I did tell you that the other night. And no, there’s no chance of us getting back together. He’s—”

  She bites her lip, catches my gaze, and gives a faint smile. Jesus, her mom sounds like a right bitch.

  “I’m fine,” she says. “I’m staying with a friend. No, you don’t know them.” She gives me another smile, but this time it’s downright filthy. “Yes, I’ll see you soon.” She ends the call and lets out a long breath. “Sorry about that. Russell called my parents, thinking I was there, and of course they panicked because I’m not. Although, it proves one thing. He doesn’t know anything about me if he really thought I was there.”

  I grunt, because her mother seemed more worried about Grace getting back with her ex rather than where the hell she’d been over the weekend. “Do they know what a jerk he is?”

  “They think he’s wonderful. Our parents were more thrilled than we were the night we became engaged.”

  I don’t want to talk about her ex, or her parents, or anything about her life, which sounds so different than mine, and it’s not because I never talk about that kind of shit when I’m with a woman. For a few moments I watch her as she clears up the cooking mess, but I can’t shift the unease that’s winding through me. Finally, the reason hits me.

  It’s because there’s no chance in hell that her family would ever be thrilled by the fact that Grace was dating a guy like me. It takes a couple of seconds before that thought fully penetrates, and shock blasts through me.

  I don’t date. I screw around, and that suits me just fine. This thing with Grace is weird, but in another day, maybe two, it’ll be over.

  That shouldn’t fill me with a dull sense of emptiness. I rake my hand through my hair. It must be hunger affecting my gut or something. Sure doesn’t have anything to do with the fact I’ll never see Grace again once she leaves.