Hooked (Viking Bastards MC)

by Christina Phillips

  Ty finishes, pushes the chick back, and shoves his dick into his pants. “Do Zach, sweets,” he tells the girl, and she shuffles toward me on her knees, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  She fumbles with my zip, and the thought of her wrapping her lips around me turns my stomach.

  I move her hand away and she glances up, clearly shocked. I manage to dredge up a faint smile. “I’m good.”

  “Go,” Ty says, and she stumbles to her feet, obviously half stoned or drunk, and Hawk, another brother, catches her before she topples over the coffee table scattered with discarded bottles.

  Ty picks up his beer and focuses on the screen. “Is it over?”

  Kat and her big mouth. She tells Savannah everything, and Sav obviously blabs to her brother. I’ve never been the subject of their gossip before, and I don’t like it.

  “Never started.” The lie burns my throat, but what the hell. I finish my beer, and although I don’t want another I go fetch one anyway. We were together for a month, and I didn’t want us to finish, but she made her choice.

  Ty grunts, and that’s the end of our deep and meaningful conversation.

  …

  Light blasts its way into my head and I groan. My head pounds and my mouth tastes so bad I want to hurl. My mood isn’t improved when a booted foot kicks my thigh.

  I roll off the sofa in the club where I spent the night and hit the floor. At least it fully wakes me up, and I scowl up at my brother as he looks down at me with his usual unreadable expression.

  “What the fuck?” I rake my hand through my hair, but that just makes my brain hurt even worse. I stagger to my feet, and by the time I return from the bathroom, Gage’s sitting on the sofa with his feet propped on the table. By the look of it we’re the only two in the club. Not surprising, considering the day.

  “You’re starting early this year.” He doesn’t even bother looking at me, but the censure in his voice pisses me off.

  “Yeah. You here to give a lecture or drink?” I go to the bar to grab a couple of cold ones, but my stomach heaves at the thought of drinking them. I’d kill for a black coffee right now.

  Fuck that. I take them back to the sofa and toss him one. He catches it one-handed but doesn’t open it.

  “Had a call from Kat. She’s worried about you.”

  That’s all I need, my kid sister ratting on me. “Unlike you, I have a social life.”

  Gage doesn’t rise to the bait. “She reckons you’re pussy-whipped.”

  I can’t figure out who I’m more pissed with—Kat for having the nerve to say that in the first place, or Gage for having the balls to throw it in my face.

  I bang the beer on the table. “Stand up and say that.”

  He complies with evident enthusiasm. “You sure you’re up for it?” His taunt is all the trigger I need, and my fist slams into his jaw.

  Usually, we’re evenly matched, but Gage is sober and I can barely see straight. It doesn’t stop me getting a good few jabs at him, but when he lays me out I roll onto my side, spit blood, and hold up one hand.

  He laughs, grabs my hand, and hauls me to my feet. “You’re losing it, man.”

  He’s going to have a black eye by tonight, but it feels like he’s dislocated my jaw. I gingerly prod it. At least the pain offsets the hammering inside my skull.

  “In your dreams.”

  Gage folds his arms. “You serious about this chick?’

  What the hell? “You want matching black eyes?”

  “She’s the reason you blocked Gray from making prospect. No one does that for pussy.”

  I’m sure there’s a sharp answer to that, but I can’t think of one. “She’s from fucking Malibu.”

  “Nice. No wonder she dumped your ass.”

  I have the urge to punch my brother’s teeth down his throat. “She had to get back to her parents for Thanksgiving.” There’s a deliberate sneer in my voice, but it’s hard to keep up because all I can see is the stricken look on Grace’s face when I told her you’re a good fuck.

  What the hell’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I shut my fucking mouth? Instead I let all the shit come out until I drove her away.

  “Yeah,” Gage says. “Gave her a good excuse to cut and run. No way a girl like that wants anything more than a quick screw on the wrong side of the tracks.”

  Irritation spikes through me. “She’s not like that.”

  “A Malibu princess getting her thrills before she knuckles down and does what Daddy tells her.”

  It’s like he’s deliberately goading me. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger and squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to talk about her, think about her, or see her again. Except I know I’m lying to myself, and worse than that, I’m convinced that Gage has somehow guessed it.

  She didn’t cut and run. She might not have fallen all over my suggestion to stay for Thanksgiving, but she didn’t want to be finished with me.

  No, she wanted me to spend Thanksgiving with her family, even after that godawful meeting with her mother and ex. It was just her being nice, and I’m not used to nice, so like a total prick I told her it was over.

  Just because I didn’t want to admit to her that I needed her this week. Needed her today. Because I didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to get blind drunk and have meaningless sex, not after being with her and seeing how different everything could be. And I wanted all that on my terms, because the minute I step into her world this crazy thing between us can go nowhere but to hell. She must know for us to work she needs to be with me. I don’t need more shit like Sunday morning.

  I don’t do relationships, even though this thing I had with her is the closest I’ve ever come to one. Fuck that, I knew what we had, I just didn’t want to label it. The same way I’m so fucking hard I don’t need to compromise for anyone, as long as I get my way.

  Yeah, I got what I wanted all right. My freedom, the last word, and I lost the only woman who’s ever meant anything to me.

  No way am I sharing that with my brother. He’d have me committed.

  “You’re wrong,” I tell him, but my voice is hollow and it’s obvious he doesn’t believe me. He doesn’t push it any further, though. Instead he goes into the kitchen and makes…

  Black coffee.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Grace

  In my old bedroom at my parents’ house I take a deep breath, and tug on the sleeve of my emerald green dress so it covers my tattoo. Half of our extended family is already here, and the rest will be arriving within minutes for our usual Thanksgiving get-together, but the thought of going downstairs and acting like everything is great churns my stomach.

  Everything isn’t great, and I was so tempted to not show up today, but the fallout from that act of rebellion isn’t even worth thinking about. Besides, the only place I really want to be is with Zach, and that isn’t even an option.

  Charity strolls into the room, her hair piled on top of her head, wearing a red and black silk sheath that’s absolutely gorgeous but will probably give our dad a heart attack. When I arrived home on Tuesday evening and told her it was over with Zach, she just got out alcoholic ice cream and a heap of chick flicks, and we spent the next thirty hours dissecting the entire ill-fated affair until we drove over here this morning.

  Not once did she say “I told you so.”

  “Guess what?” She puts her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows.

  “I’m not in the mood for twenty questions.”

  “Russ just canceled.”

  “Good.” At least that’s one less thorn in my side I’ll have to deal with today. “It’s a shame he didn’t cancel on Mom Sunday morning.” If he hadn’t turned up at our apartment, I’m sure things wouldn’t have escalated the way they did with Zach.

  That’s true, but in my heart I know it doesn’t make much difference. All that happened was it forced Zach to tell me what he real
ly thought and shattered my rose-colored delusion that I meant more to him than a good fuck.

  I shiver and sit at the end of my elegant four-poster bed. Nothing much has changed in the room, despite me not living here for years, and I never really thought much about the fact both my sister and I had our own suite of rooms growing up. Not to mention the ocean views from our private balconies.

  Zach’s entire apartment could fit in here. I’m not sure why that’s such a depressing thought except it underscores just how different we really are. I thought our backgrounds didn’t matter, but obviously whenever he called me “princess,” there was a lot more to it than a term of endearment, as I’d so naively imagined.

  “Typical male.” Charity sits next to me and threads her fingers through mine. “Screws everything up and then does the right thing when it’s too late to matter.”

  I squeeze her hand. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her over the last couple of days. When I broke up with Russell after four years together, it was simply a huge relief. I was only with Zach for a month and it’s like my entire existence imploded.

  “It was never going to work between Zach and me. I just didn’t want to see it.”

  She’s silent for a moment. “What would you do if he turned up, asking for a second chance?”

  I give her a bitter smile. Although I told her almost everything that happened, I kept a couple of things back. Such as the good fuck comment because I can’t even think about that without wanting to shrivel into a mortified heap on the ground.

  There’s no way he’d ever ask for another chance, even if it were something he wanted. Kat was right all along. He only ever wanted me for one thing, and the sooner I face that, the sooner I can start to get over him.

  “If he turned up at the front door right now, I’d slam it in his face.”

  …

  Charity doesn’t leave my side as we do the prerequisite mingling before dinner, themed cocktails in hand. It’s never been a chore before because I love catching up with various cousins and relatives I haven’t seen in ages, but today I have to strangle the desperate urge to scream.

  Mom and Dad join us, just as we’re chatting to one of our great aunts. At least, my sister’s doing most of the chatting which suits me, since my social skills appear to have gone into hibernation.

  “Harmony, dearest.” Our great aunt grasps my mom’s hand and gives her a little shake. “Such a shame dear Russell couldn’t be here today. I was just saying to Charity, I’m sure this will all blow over very soon.”

  Oh for God’s sake. I’m not going to stand here while Mom twitters on about how we’re just taking a little break—

  “Grace and Russell have broken up, Dorothy,” my mom says, and I nearly drop my cocktail glass. “It’s a terrible shame, but these things happen.”

  Wait. What? Since when has Mom accepted that decision? I didn’t think she believed I was serious even when she met Zach on Sunday. Otherwise why did she ask Russell if he was still coming to Thanksgiving today? I catch Charity’s glance, and she gives a barely perceptible shrug.

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing serious.” Great Aunt Dorothy bestows a benevolent smile my way. “You two are destined to be together. The merging of two great dynasties. Imagine the heritage you’ll be able to pass down to your children.”

  Charity chokes on her drink, and I stand there with a stupid smile on my face, when all I want to do is tell the whole room that for the last month I’ve been enjoying wild sex with my biker fuck.

  “It’s more important that Grace is happy with her decisions.” My dad gives me a strained smile, and for the first time it occurs to me that Mom probably told him all about meeting Zach on Sunday. And he’s not freaking out?

  “Thanks, Dad.” I could leave it at that. The fact they’ve both finally accepted it’s over between Russell and me is a huge step, but if I don’t say it now, when will I? If being with Zach taught me anything, it’s that I need to stand up for what I believe.

  Luckily Great Aunt Dorothy decides to move on to another group of captive relatives, so I take a deep breath and plunge in. “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. I’m resigning. I’m going to open my own business, the way I’ve always wanted to.”

  “Grace, sweetheart.” My dad, who possesses nerves of steel in the boardroom sounds completely out of his depth. “Let’s not rush into anything. We can talk about this next week.”

  I nearly agree, especially since a few more relatives have joined us, as though they can smell the blood in the water. Except I’ve put this off for far too long, and it took Zach to make me face it.

  “There’s nothing much to discuss. I’ve wanted to do this since I was seventeen, so I’m not rushing into anything. I’m just finally taking control of my own life.”

  “We didn’t realize you were so committed to opening your own cupcake shop.” Mom gives Dad’s arm a gentle squeeze. “You haven’t said anything to us about it in years. We thought you were happy at work.”

  Did they really? For a moment I think about it, and it’s a shock to realize she’s right. Sure, I took my courses, but I never actually told them how much I grew to resent working in the family business. Why did I always think they knew about my dreams but didn’t care about them?

  I take a fortifying sip of my cocktail before making the decision and handing my glass to Charity. I was wrong about how I thought Mom and Dad would react to my resignation. Maybe I’ve always been wrong and they never expected me to always be the good daughter. It was just my eldest child syndrome kicking in.

  My heart pounds as I slowly inch my sleeve over my wrist, displaying my delicate iris. Every time I see it I’m going to be reminded of Zach, but I guess in time it will just be bittersweet instead of plain depressing.

  Mom hitches in a dramatic gasp and then grips my arm and stares at the tattoo as though she’s never seen one before.

  “An iris.” There’s a strange, choked tone in her voice, nothing like the dignified disapproval I’d imagined. “After my mother?” She looks up at me and I’m totally freaked to see she has tears in her eyes.

  “Uh, yes. I always wanted to get a tattoo done in her memory.”

  “I need a Scotch,” my dad mutters, and a waiter appears like magic.

  “It’s…” Mom clearly struggles for words. “It’s very tasteful.”

  “Huh,” Charity says. “You didn’t think mine was tasteful.”

  It’s a surreal moment. My parents aren’t responding how I thought they would to either my resignation or tattoo. I’ve misjudged them and their expectations of me all these years, and that’s kind of unnerving.

  “So, are things serious between you and Zach?” Mom finally releases my arm and Dad swallows his Scotch in one gulp. “Perhaps you’d like to invite him round some time over the weekend?”

  Perfect. They’re willing to accept I want to change everything in my life, and now I have to admit the rebel I fell for really was nothing but the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.

  Before I can think of the right words to say, my cell buzzes and shatters the moment. Thank God I forgot to switch it to mute. I’m so relieved by the distraction I snatch it up and answer before checking the ID.

  “Grace?” His voice is little more than a growl in my ear. Zach’s calling me? I should hang up. That’d show him, but I’m frozen to the spot. “Tell your fucking monkey at the gate to let me in.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Zach

  She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t cut the call, either, and I pace the sidewalk outside the double gates to the property, where some prick on the other end of the video intercom refused me access. I can see the curved white mansion from the road. It probably has million-dollar views of the ocean and it’s definitely a monumental symbol of the massive gulf between us. There’s a tropical forest surrounding it, as though it’s in the center of its own universe, and all the security cameras in the street are zooming in on me
.

  “One moment.” Her voice is cool as though she’s speaking to a stranger but it still twists me up inside. When she hangs up I shove my cell back into my pocket and let out a long breath.

  I’ve done a lot of crazy shit in my time, but this beats all. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.

  The hell I do.

  I want to see her again. After Gage left me wallowing in a pit of black coffee, it came down to a choice of getting hammered at the club with the usual diet of porn and pussy, or getting on my bike and riding here.

  Pussy-whipped. It’s a hell of an insult, but the truth is, right down at the core, my dad was. And so is Jett. Not that anyone would ever accuse them of it, unless they wanted to lose their balls.

  Doesn’t change the truth, though. They both found old ladies they’d do anything for, and if that’s not pussy-whipped I don’t know what is.

  If it means I get to keep Grace in my life, then count me in. It doesn’t have anything to do with my club or my brothers. It’s between me and my girl, except first I need to get her back.

  You really are the biggest jerk I’ve ever met. The last thing she said has haunted me since the moment she walked out. I’ve been called a lot worse, but none of it tore me up inside the way those few words did.

  She always made me feel like I was something special. Yeah, I’m a bastard, and not just by virtue of my club. Nothing’s going to change that. But she saw there was more to me than my colors, and didn’t know anything about my rep. She saw me, and like a fucking dick I let my pride drive her away.

  I’ve never regretted anything I’ve said to a girl before. And I’ve never chased a chick with the hope of a second chance. But ever since Grace left the other afternoon, the words I threw at her have eaten me alive.

  I don’t compromise. Except I’m here, taking up her offer to meet her whole damn family, and I won’t react to any of their comments.

  I sure as hell don’t do relationships. Because I don’t know how, and the mess I’m in right now is proof of that.

  Yet here I am.

  The gates open and she’s standing there in a long-sleeved, short green dress that shows off her perfect curves and gorgeous legs. Her hair tumbles down her back, and she’s so untouchable and out of my league it’s insane.