Every fiber of my being screams at me to run.
But I can’t. Or maybe I can, my inner thoughts justify. If I run, they will chase me away from the ranch and think I stumbled into them by mistake. That would make it more believable and they wouldn’t want to root out my ploy to divert them away from the Corrigans.
With his free hand, Bear dives into his leather seat pannier and pulls out a bunch of plastic tie-wraps.
He slams me over the fuel tank; the air from my lungs bursts out, and I gasp in short breaths as he wrenches my wrist in front of my wide-open eyes.
“You remember what this is, don’t you?” His elbow digs painfully into my spine.
I close my eyes, and he crushes my wrist between his finger and thumb.
“My mark. My mark,” he roars. “You belong to me.”
Then without caring which way my joints bend, he yanks my wrists together behind my back and tightens a tie wrap around them. The sharp-edged plastic cuts into my skin. Using my hair, he twists my face to see his last laugh.
But I’m already gone. Nothing he can do to me now will hurt. I’ve shut down.
He bends over me and scratches his scruffy beard on my chin and licks his pierced tongue across my mouth and nose. Then pushes me back down with his palm.
“Get on the back,” he barks.
I peel my chest off the tank and grit my teeth against the pulsing pain from my bruised ribs and sore shoulder. I shuffle around to the back and throw my leg over his seat. The stench of his leather vest hits my senses. It’s not like the carefully polished leather of horse saddles, or cowboy boots, but a liquor-laced sweaty smell that comes from a vest that has been to hell and back—repeatedly discarded in the corner of cesspits and seedy watering holes.
“Which way to the ranch?” he yells over his shoulder.
My heart stops, and my head screams, no.
“Why?” I stammer. “You’ve got me… why?” My head shakes with disbelief.
His back rubs up and down my chest as he laughs. “Do you think this will go unpunished, slave? No-one uses my property without paying a tax.”
He revs the throttle on the bike. “Is that it down there?” He throws a fist down the hill. And without a thought, I vault off the back of the bike and run with my hands still tied behind my back to the undergrowth at the other side of the road.
There’s a drainage ditch that runs alongside the whole of this road; it’s where I hid the Harley. I fall into it headfirst, my mouth full of weeds. I push onto my knees and try to balance to a stand. But fall again.
I don’t get very far, but I hope the commotion will at least give some extra warning to Colt and Blue, maybe even bring the cops up here away from the ranch.
Bear squeezes a meaty hand around my neck and drags me to a stand. I kick out at him frantically, and although I land a few, it doesn’t seem to affect him. His hand settles under my chin and he squeezes onto the glands underneath my ears. Slowly, he pulls me tall, his knuckles and studded silver rings push into the tender part beneath my jaw.
His other hand forces into my jeans and he burrows his fingers roughly into me. I freeze over with his intrusion.
“This and you are mine,” he roars. “Don’t you ever forget that. Now get back on that bike.” Spittle sprays my face.
He pushes me onto the road and with a fist in my back lurches me toward the bike. I fall to my knees, and he sticks a foot on my backside. I hold fast, rage building with every breath. He kicks me again. And, with utter despair, I shuffle on my knees toward the motorcycle.
I halt next to the bike and he pulls his small medieval-style ax from a holster.
Good. He might put me out of my misery and go about his sad, sorry life.
But he strokes it like it’s his dick. In his opinion, thicker, longer, harder than any of the other bikers here. A sign of his status at the top of this pile of shit club.
“Do you remember this?” he taunts. It’s his favorite torture tool. Sharpened regularly and the cause of most of my scars.
I ignore him, looking down at the rubber tire of his motorcycle.
He pushes the cold metal of the ax head against my cheek and forces me to look into his face. The venom in my snarl makes him laugh like the madman he is.
“Soul Splitter is gonna make easy work of that Woody of yours.” He laughs. “Although I might get him to pull a snake from my boot first.” His pathetic attempt at black humor is overshadowed by the realization that he knows about Colt. I knew Police Officer Perrins had to leave some clue for Bear to follow up on. But for him to know that Colt is my boyfriend makes me want to puke.
Bear hauls me onto the bike and squashes behind me. His long arms reach around me to the handlebars. The ax balanced between them. He’s caged me onto the bike and drives me toward my destiny. “Wait ‘til I get you back to the clubhouse. I’m gonna rip you in two.” He grabs hold of my hair with his teeth and strips them through it. “Bet you can’t wait,” he rumbles.
His threats of what he’ll do to me don’t worry me, it’s what he’s about to do on the Corrigan ranch that do. And I play over and over in my head the line from Notes in Love. You are my everything. My one. as we roar down the road, skirt around town and circle back to the ranch.
Twenty Six
Colt
A slow burble, alien in these parts, rumbles through my feet. My jaw tenses and I snarl at the nearing enemy.
My lion heart has swollen within the cavity of my chest and I’m ready to take these motherfuckers down.
With a glance up at the homestead, I thank the Lord I can protect Lacey and my family. And nothing these assholes can throw at us will stop me. They don’t know these lands, or what we’re capable of. This is our territory, and they’re not welcome here.
We watched them group on the Top Road and had reports radioed through as they tore through town. And now they’re here.
I narrow my gaze at the gateway to the ranch. We’ve made it easy for them to ride through, leaving the gates open so they will focus further than they should up the driveway. As soon as they are through, the state police will move in and one of my ranch hands will lock the gates behind them all.
The horses stamp in the stable, their hooves kick up against the walls, and I hear Amber shush at them to be quiet. We should have shipped them to neighbors, but didn’t have time. Plus, we didn’t want to alert the gang we knew they were coming. The Dark Angels have been secretly tracked since they left Sacramento and everything pivots on catching them here.
“They’re coming,” Sheriff James hisses. “Just remember, no shooting unless they do. This ain’t no western gunfight.”
I grind my molars repeatedly. As much as I want to see justice done, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep those I love safe. And if that means shooting one or all of these trespassers with my rifle, then so be it.
Like fireflies on a summer’s night, the motorcycle headlights appear. Furtively, I scout the surrounding area to make sure there are no rogue combatants. Lacey said that wasn’t their style and while Blue agreed, I’m not taking any chances. This motorcycle gang may be brash, but I’m not about to get caught with my pants around my ankles.
The motorcycles file through the opening to the ranch lands, staying on the gravel surface. Tires crunch. Engines deafen. It’s hard to keep count, but there must be at least thirty motorcycles, some with two riders. That equates to more than we have dotted around the ranch buildings. But with the state police backing us up, we’ll be fine.
The riders switch up their headlights and I squint against the harsh glare as they draw near.
The sheriff, clears his throat. “Here goes it. Wish me luck and whatever you do, don’t shoot me.”
Bravely, Sheriff James steps into the middle of the yard and holds a flat palm in front of him; the other hand holds back his jacket and rests on his unbuttoned holstered pistol.
That’s Josie’s signal, and she snaps on the security lights from the safety of the ranch office. The ga
ng are now lit up, and the riders temporarily blinded.
The bikes slow but don’t stop and as they get near, they filter off, half to one side of the Sheriff and half to the other. Circling him in a slow, predatory manner and with no respect for his authority.
“Fuck this. I’ve had enough of this macho shit.”
I wave an arm at Blue, and he nods back. We stand and throw out our lassos. I catch one rider in the center of the circle and, with the rope tightly wound around my fist, I yank roughly, pulling him over. The fallen rider takes out two more motorcycles. Blue and Mitchell do the same, and there’s instant mayhem. The bikes aren’t that agile and most topple like dominoes. Suckers.
The smell of spilt fuel fills the air and I wish I smoked so I could throw a lit match on their shit show and get rid of them in one fell swoop.
Then I spot her.
My fist balls at my side.
Golden hair and wide eyes. Directed at me.
“Lacey!”
I square my shoulders and rise on my toes.
The meat-head she is sitting in front of stops his bike and balances it on one foot, thrusting a hand around her neck and squeezing it until her chin lifts with the pressure.
He bares his teeth at me, then sticks his tongue down his chin, like some rabid warrior.
“Lacey,” he repeats in a whiny voice and then laughs.
Something snaps deep inside me.
I fly toward her, and so does Blue. The ranch hands all follow our lead. Clubs. Ropes. Whips. All fly and crack around us.
I launch myself, snarling like a panther, at the shithead that must be Bear. I land the butt of my rifle heavy on his jaw. I’m gonna take this motherfucker out. I wedge the rifle under his jaw and drag him off the bike. When his hands wrap around the rifle, he drops an ax on the ground. Lacey jumps clear of the toppled bike and kicks the ax out of reach.
He jabs an elbow into my stomach and I ignore the sharp pain and pull him clear from her. He roars and pushes at my rifle. It flies across the ground. Good. My fists are now free to punch his ugly face. Over and over.
Bone cracks under my knuckles. Tissue squidges through my fingers. Blood spits from his mouth.
I’m blind with rage and focused on one thing. Pummeling this motherfucker into oblivion. What he did to my girl leaves no space for mercy.
The next punch doesn’t hit the mark. My contact slips in a smudge of sinew, muscle and blood. My arm wrenched back by Blue.
“Leave it,” Blue growls.
I resist his grip. My chest, fueled by adrenaline, heaves as I take in excessive air. Bear slides to the ground, and Carson Perrins lunges in front of me, pushing me back and handcuffing Bear’s wrists. I roar and writhe my arm free of Blue.
Snapping out of my tunneled vision, I frantically scour the scene for Lacey. “Where is she?” I yell to Blue.
With his hand back firmly on my arm, he nods toward the cow barn.
Focusing, I spot her. Held safe in Amber’s arms.
Confident that Perrins has a good hold on Bear, I wriggle free of Blue and rush over to her, through a sea of navy police uniforms.
Amber loosens her grip and steps aside. “I’ll check on Mom.” She balls the tie wrap she’s cut from Lacey’s wrists and pushes her into my arms.
I pull Lacey in as close as I can, squeezing her into my heaving chest. My blood encrusted hand wraps in her hair and my cheek rests on top of her head.
We don’t say a word. The relief and adrenaline pumps through both of us as I watch over her head the police cuff each of the bikers and lead them away to trucks that now cover the front of the yard. Blue kicks out, with wide arms and a long leg to as many as he can as the police haul them off.
“I thought I could lure them away from here,” Lacey says in a voice as quiet as a mouse.
Sheriff James comes across. “Sit tight, I’m gonna leave Perrins and Ledowski and a couple of my guys behind in case there are any repercussions.”
Lacey looks up at me with wide eyes.
“Don’t worry, miss. The feds have locked down the site in Sacramento. This is only a precaution.” He climbs in his car and, with blue lights flashing, follows the personnel trucks away from the ranch.
“I’m sorry.” Lacey bites down on her lip.
“Shush.” I inhale the sweet smell of her hair. “You’re safe now.”
Twenty Seven
Lacey
“I’m sorry, Colt.” I draw his right hand to my face. It swells in front of my eyes. “You need ice on this.”
He curls his index finger under my chin and gently lifts my face to meet his gaze. I know he can see the tears that mist my eyes. They are tears of relief and of love, but I can’t hide them. I can’t hide anything anymore from this man. If he hates me for it, then so be it.
“What did they do to you?” he growls, his eyes dark and venomous.
I shake my held with small jerks. My lips press tight.
“Lacey?” he rumbles, low and long. His fingers glide over my face and throat.
“Nothing, Colt. I’m fine.”
He continues to stare, interrogating the reaction in my eyes.
“I tried to head them off, on the road up there. Stop them from coming to the ranch.” I try to jerk my head toward the road up on the hill, but my chin barely moves under the control of his strong finger. “I didn’t want them to hurt anyone.”
He releases his grip and pulls me into his side. The warmth of his skin pulses through his ripped cotton shirt.
“Come on.” He cups me with his arm and steers me toward the house. “We can discuss this later.”
Inside, Blue and the other ranch hands mill around, boots discarded in the entranceway, coats thrown on the stairway. An arsenal rests up around the grandfather clock. Voices and light filter from in the kitchen and the smell of rich, buttery bourbon is high in the air.
Colt guides me toward a room I’ve never been in before. A door immediately to the right of the main ranch door. A huge oak desk dominates the space, and horns from a prize steer hang on a wall.
Without letting go of me, Colt reaches to a glass shelf and snags a lead crystal decanter and two cut glass tumblers.
Then we go upstairs. To his room.
The drapes are open, the room dim. He sets the glasses on a dresser and pops open the decanter top, slugging amber liquid near the rim of each.
Slowly, he hands over a glass then necks his in one go. He winces at the harsh burn.
His eyes are hungry and lustful, and I can tell there’s only one thing on his mind. The adrenaline from tonight fueling his passion.
I sip on the drink, and it stings at my cracked lips. Colt is impatient and takes the glass from me before I’m even half done. Replacing the glass with his mouth. He pushes me hard up against the half posts that corner his bed. My spine rubs against the wood and my back molds to its shape.
He feeds hungrily on me and presses every inch of his hard muscles against my front. His length is solid against my stomach and he rocks himself against me.
His bourbon flavored mouth wets my lips and chin as he covers me in greedy kisses, his tongue hot and searching. Grunts and groans rumble from his throat. He’s possessed, and he’s about to possess me.
I squirm under his urgency. A searing heat throbs at the apex of my legs. My breasts swell under his hard pressure. He must feel my reaction because he thrusts his hand under my top and roughly pushes up my sports bra, massaging my breast with firm palms. His fingers roll over my nipple which elongates to his touch, and he tweaks at it with short, sharp stings.
His other hand runs down and the heel of his palm rubs against my wet heat, providing relief at the same time as it makes me pant for him. All of him.
Without warning, he pulls back, dragging my bottom lip between his teeth and revealing sparks of hunger beneath hooded lids.
I’m about to explode with need. His feral, predatory expression sends me to the brink of madness.
He rolls my spine agains
t the post and unbuttons the fly on his jeans. The head of his cock throbs in front of me and I reach out to touch it, but with only the chance of a fleeting stroke he pushes me back onto the bed. I frantically pull on the button of my jeans, but he casts my hand aside, ripping the seam open with two hands and yanking them roughly down my thighs.
With no let-up, he leans in and bites through the lace that veils me, pushing a hot, hard tongue to my sensitive nub. Then he rips aside the lace and forces open my legs at the knees, thrusting into my center with one long stroke.
I scream, which makes him furious. Driving into me over and over.
I know what he’s doing and I want him to do this too.
Take me. Own me. Pound every memory of Bear into the stratosphere and drown out every unwelcome touch.
The pain is a tortuous pleasure that surges through me. All-consuming. All owning.
Every single cell sings loudly. Pulsing with exultant pleasure. Bells ring. Sparks fly every which way.
I force my eyes open to watch him as he unravels above me and his face twists into an explosion of pleasure.
He shifts his weight onto his arms at either side of my pushed up tee. Breathes deep in my ear. Then without a word, he presses his lips onto my forehead, a kiss that melts right through to my mind. His lips feather down my nose and onto each of my wet eyes. My cheeks, my chin, lingering on my mouth and kneading my lips with healing pressure.
Then inch by inch he moves aside my clothing, unwrapping me and kissing each part of my goose-bumped skin. Every single place that has ever had an unwelcome finger or tooth. He kisses all of that away. Soothes it. Saves it. Makes it his. Until I’m eventually released, with a foot in his hand and a soft kiss which melts onto the arch of my foot.
He crawls up the bed, taking me with him, and lays my head gently onto the feather pillow, lifting my hair away from my face.
And finally, he smiles. His lips barely moving but with eyes now unlocked from his spell, he fixes me with soft eyes, molten gold, that ooze with the richness of his love.
Notes in Love Page 15