Archangels MC: A Reverse Harem Romance (Bad Influence Book 2)

by Ivy Fox

  “It’s been over three months now. Girl doesn’t look broken to me, and I know she’s working in town. Don’t see why she has to be living with you at all,” Uri remarks, never taking his eyes off her. Cam must be on a roll, because Hope lets out a squeal so full of joy that her head tilts back in happiness. It warms my cold heart. Yes, it has been three months, and I know Hope is probably storing away all the money she’s making at George’s to get her own place, but as long as we can keep her, I’m not going to do anything to spook her away. In the time she’s been with us, I’ve seen her grow from the shattered soul we found on the ground to the strong woman laughing away with my brothers now. The fucking strength inside that woman speaks to me, and I, for one, want to bask in it for as long as I can. No matter whether Uri likes it or not.

  Since I don’t answer him, Uri gives Hope one last glance and then turns my way with an order I’m too glad to follow.

  “Just keep her away from the rest of the men,” he says, and turns his back before he sees my affirmative nod.

  As if I want anyone else near Hope. Yes, I wanted her to see my Clubhouse and be a part of who we are and let her experience firsthand what the Archangels are about. But that’s as far as I am willing for her interaction to go. She’s not a sheep or a pass-around, and fuck if I was going to let my brothers-in-arms think she was.

  Spring days have passed, and in their place summer has taken root. There is no escaping the blistering heat, no matter what you try to do. The only relief a man finds is inside his home if he’s lucky to have decent air conditioning, which my brothers and I are not. Every year we say we got to get that shit installed, and every year it doesn’t happen. Only this year, the sweat dripping down our backs isn’t the only thing that’s making us uncomfortable.

  Long gone is the pencil-thin woman who was battered and bruised, and found on our doorstep. Either it was the pregnancy, or the space and freedom to do whatever the fuck she wants, but she’d gained curves in all the right places. And with this heat, she refuses to cover those curves most of the time, making me, Cam, and Gabe bat-shit crazy.

  Today, she decided to come to this shindig in nothing but cutoffs and a light blue tank top, claiming it was too fucking hot to wear anything else. So fucking simple an attire, and yet the sexiest thing I’ve seen on a woman. I told her that even though this was a family event, she should still put on some more clothes. She just flipped me off and strapped herself behind Cam, showing off her long smooth legs, taunting me.

  I either want to argue with her or fuck her most of the time, always choosing the first since I know damn well I can’t have the second. Not if I’m to make good on the promise I made to Gabriel, which has been more difficult to keep as each day passes. The woman has gotten under my skin, like a bad itch of poison ivy begging me to scratch the ailment until I’m fully satisfied.

  I know I’m not the only one who’s fallen under her spell. Cam with his date nights, and Gabriel with his nightly creeping and daytime training. They are both just as enthralled in her as I am. The only problem is, they don’t seem to have an issue with keeping their relationship simply platonic. I am not as contained. Restraint has never been my strong suit, and when I want something, I usually just take it, damn the consequences. Hope is different, though. She acts all prickly and dour, but beneath her hard exterior is a soft shell begging for sunlight, aching for someone to fill her emptiness with something other than the void she feels. Her silent plea resonates to the heart of me, a heart I thought only beat for the winged crest on my chest. Those thunderous big brown eyes eat at my very soul when they look at me, and I don’t even think she realizes it.

  I watch my girl jump out of her seat and wonder what has grabbed her attention. When I see her run toward my aunt and fall into an embrace, that stupid warm shit grasps my insides once again. Aurora smiles down at her even though they are almost the same height, but Hope loses out on inches with her love for her chucks, while my aunt can’t go anywhere without her high-heel killer boots.

  Aurora dresses as Archangel royalty, as she should. Her tattoos radiate for anyone to see who her people are, and it’s the first time I look at Hope’s flawless creamy skin and wonder how she would look with my mark on her. Angel wings decorating her shoulders, announcing to the world whose she is. I feel my cock come to life at the thought of inking her myself, and all I can do is stroke my beard instead of stroking the member that is in desperate need of attention. My dick hasn’t seen anything in over half a year other than my left hand, but these past three months, they fucking seem to not be getting enough of each other when I have this girl on my mind.

  Just as I’m starting to get a visual of the willowy feathers I would draw on her delicate skin, I see her back stiffen, and all my senses go on high alert immediately. I follow her line of sight, and am troubled to see that Hope seems to have become uncomfortable with my uncle Joe’s presence. It’s not unlike Joe to come to the club on such family days. Of course any other day, the presence of the lieutenant of Warren’s police department at our clubhouse would be an ill omen, but not today.

  I do wonder, though, when Hope was introduced to Joe, and why he made her shit list. Joe bypasses most of the men, saying his hellos to any who acknowledge him, and walks straight up to me at the entrance of the clubhouse. It’s as far as he’s allowed to go, and maybe deep down, willing to. Joe never wanted an Archangel’s life, and he sure made that loud and clear when he joined the police force, but as much as he wants to deny it, his blood is all rebel angel.

  “What the fuck is that on your face, Michael?” he says teasingly, giving me one of his bear hugs, just like he used to when I was a kid.

  “A beard, Uncle Joe. Don’t knock it. Ladies love it,” I say, jabbing him in the gut.

  “Ladies, huh? Heard you were shacked up with just the one,” he says, with a glint of amusement in his eye.

  “This town is nothing but a bunch of gossips,” I huff, not liking that Hope’s name is on every Tom, Dick, and Harry’s lips.

  “Ah, don’t be like that. You know how folks are. New girl and all, working at George’s and being seen with only Archangels as company, folks are bound to talk. She sure is a looker, though. Kind of young for you, don’t you think?” he says as he runs a handkerchief behind his neck to wipe the summer heat off of him.

  “Don’t know what you mean,” I tell him, my brows furrowing at the thought. The thing is, I have no idea how old Hope is at all. Neither does she. But when she arrived at our doorstep, I would have sworn she was around my age, late twenties at most. Now with her all healthy and curvaceous and wearing those skimpy outfits, she might not even be twenty. The damned thing is unsettling, and Uncle Joe bringing that to my attention pisses me off.

  “Well, to each his own, I guess. So tell me, nephew, where is my hard-ass brother? Usually I can find him stuck to you like a damn shadow,” he jests, reminding me of how uncharacteristic Uri’s been recently.

  Uncle Joe is not the only one who thought Uri played favorites amongst his men. No lie there. I was the only reminder Uri had of his big brother, the man he followed blindly into the night whenever the need called for it. My father’s untimely accident hit him just as hard as it had hit me, changing our way of life dramatically. I had barely started high school when it happened. Way too fucking young to step into the role my father had left vacant, leaving his twenty-three-year-old younger brother at the time to grow the fuck up and command the baddest one-percent club on the East Coast.

  Yeah, there were contenders lining up to fill Dad’s shoes, but Uri thought that spot was mine by right. Just because I couldn’t take it then, since I was still a heartbroken pimple-faced kid who knew jackshit about running a club the size of the Archangels, didn’t mean I wouldn’t want the throne when I grew into my cut. So Uri took the weight of the gavel into his hands, but sooner or later he’s going to want me to step up and take what’s owed. Being VP of the Archangels isn’t the title he likes seeing engraved on my cut, but the
rank he’s dangling in front of me, I’m not interested in. I’m just not there yet. Don’t know if I will ever be. Halos are lighter when you have to carry only your own.

  I had broadened my load by carrying two other winged men—my inner circle within the brotherhood and the ones that not only would I die for, I’d kill for, too—Cam and Gabriel. But now with Hope coming into our lives, I feel as if she’s a game changer, and I think Uri knows it. Maybe this is why he’s been scarce this afternoon, leaving me to my own devices. Lord knows he’s made no effort to disguise his distaste for anything pertaining to Hope. He just has to suck it up and deal with it. Soon enough, Hope will be out of our lives, and that will satisfy the bastard. The pit of my stomach feels like it’s being twisted into a fine knot, grinding my insides into a pulp, just at the mere thought of her leaving our home. I push the thought to the back of my mind, refusing to give it any weight today. Today is a day of celebration and nothing will spoil it. Not Uri’s moody attitude toward Hope and not my fucking fear of abandonment.

  Joe’s looking at me like I’m one of his unsolved cases he wants to crack wide open, and that’s when it registers that I didn’t answer him.

  “Sorry, Joe. This fucking heat is messing with my head. Uri is probably just having one of his convos with one of the brothers. How about you and me get a beer and get out of this fucking sun and into some shade?” I tell him, hoping it’s enough to deflect his curiosity. When he places his arm over my shoulder, leading me to one of the tables full of iced coolers, I see that it has.

  “Son, a cold beer on this hot-ass day sounds like heaven to me.” He smiles and I grin back, thinking that some alcohol might be exactly what the doctor ordered to get through this day.

  Aside from Uri’s prickly mood, today has been an amazing day. I love it when the clubhouse is this full of people—the shrieks of kids running around, the music from the band on the stage the brothers built for such an occasion, playing away, making everyone dance or sway their hips as they waltz to get some more food from either one of the tables stacked with everything from potato salad, corn on a cob, fried chicken—hell, to anything, really. Brothers at the grill, packing it high with hot dogs and hamburgers for the hungry crowd, while making jokes about all the fine ass that decided to show up today.

  Can’t argue with that.

  Every townie who’s had a hard-on for an angel is up here tonight, trying to see if they can catch any of our eyes. Good girls playing bad, and bad girls playing good. All of them waiting for what we can give them—ten inches of heaven.

  Still, only one girl has a hold of my attention, as she’s playing hide and seek with Cam and the kids whose folks were cool enough to bring them along. Everyone knows that family days mean just that—family. So if you want to get your freak on, do it inside the clubhouse, where townies can’t go in. Or better yet, keep that shit zipped up tight for the rest of the nights that aren’t family oriented. I’m not averse to a brother fucking his sheep in front of me. I’d do it in a heartbeat if I felt so inclined. But there is a time and place, and today isn’t it.

  I hear Hope squeal in delight as Cam picks her up, right along with one little blonde-haired princess with two ponytails who squeals just as loudly after he finds them hiding away, under the porch steps, no less. Cam carries them each under an arm like trophies, yelling to anyone with ears what he’s won.

  You would think the guy was overcompensating for a lack of attention from a rotten childhood or something with his louder-than-life attitude, but compared to me and my silent sidekick, Cam had a great upbringing. He has two living, breathing, loving parents who doted on him hand and foot while growing up, and even when they retired and moved away, leaving him a big-ass house next to Alleghany Forest, they still called every day just to check up on him. They only rested easy once Gabriel and I had promised to stick by his side.

  Cam loves strays, and well, Gabe and I fit the bill to perfection. The fucker has a talent of seeing a person’s true colors and still accepting them into the fold. To two misfits like Gabe and me, Cam balances us out perfectly. Giving us a bit of light, where there is none to be seen. And by the twinkle in Hope’s eyes, he’s working the same magic on her. She’s able to jab him in the gut, making him release her and grab onto the little pigtailed girl with both hands, preventing her fall.

  “Hope, darling, you wound me. Guess this drop of sunshine will have to be my girl, instead. What do you think, sweetie? You want to be my girl? Take Hope’s place?” He coos, tickling the five-year-old in his arms. It’s dark now, and the only light we have are the Christmas lights the brothers have used to decorate the trees and over the makeshift dance floor, and I still see Hope blush all the way from where I’m sitting.

  “I’m going to grab a drink,” she tells him, not even acknowledging his teasing remarks, and she leaves him there, dancing and laughing away with his little companion.

  When I see her walking over to me, I move a little bit to give her some room on the bench, but not too much. She looks at the small space and wrinkles her brows. Yeah, I know I’m an ass. With the little space I gave her, I might as well have pointed a big sign at my crotch with the inscription ‘Sit here at your own peril’. She grabs a bottle of water from one of the coolers on the table and straddles the bench instead, giving me full view of her back. My fingers tingle with a need to touch her bare shoulders—the same ones I’ve been obsessed with all day, dreaming of ways I could entice her to let me draw, in bold ink colors, big celestial wings. Even though I barely gave her any room at all, she still found a way to get distance from me. Maybe I’ve had a few too many, but that shit isn’t going to fly tonight. I eat up the fabricated distance and place my hands on both of her thighs, watching her skin immediately react to my touch in glorious goose bumps.

  “You cold, sweetheart?” I whisper in her ear, and I see a shiver run through her spine.

  “No,” she bites out, taking another quick drink from her bottle.

  “You sure?” I ask, my voice turning husky when the scent of wildflowers and honey from her hair and skin reach my nose.

  Shit, she smells good.

  “What?” she asks, turning her head toward me, putting us face to face.

  Fuck, did I say that out loud? How drunk am I?

  I’m about to say something else when the first flame hits the sky, followed by another, then another, until the once-star-filled sky is covered with so much light and sound that all you need to do is look up and bask in all its glorious colors.

  Forgetting about any of her previous resistance, Hope leans back into my chest and I wrap my arms around her, loving the way she melts into me as she oohs and aahs with each new blast of color that tinges the night sky. My semi-hard shaft is rubbing between her ass cheeks, and she still seems oblivious to it all as she looks in awe at the rich, radiant images sprawled out above us. It’s only when I feel her fingers entwine with mine does my heart start to drum in a maniac rhythm, my cock taking a back seat to the new pang severing me in two. I swallow dryly, blaming the day drinking for taking me to places I have no business even thinking about, much less considering.

  But this woman…

  Damn this woman…

  She’d make a sinner out of a saint. Make a good man lie and steal if he had to, if it means that he’ll be able to get close enough to get just a whiff of her flowery scent. She can make a hard man believe in a life filled with joy instead of bloodshed. Make an Archangel fall from grace just to kneel at her feet, committing the ultimate sacrilege by worshipping her instead of the deity he’s sworn his allegiance to. We call her Hope, when in fact we should have named her Eve, since she arrived to tempt us in every way.

  Fuck, I need to sober up. Otherwise I’m going to do something I might regret.

  I take my hands away from her, maybe a little too abruptly, since I see the hurt shine through her russet eyes, the same eyes that I have dreamed about every night for the past three months. I grab a bottle of water of my own and drink it
all down, hoping the cold liquid will also cool my wayward thoughts. I can handle my dick wanting to have some fun with my little house guest; it’s the other part of my anatomy, the one that’s strangled in my chest just because of the frown she’s got going on right now, that I don’t want to give any credit to. I pull away from the bench and stand above her, wondering what the hell to do next.

  “Everything okay with you, Michael?” she asks in her velvety smooth voice.

  Fuck!!!

  Is there anything this woman can’t say or do that doesn’t pull some string inside me?

  “Everything’s fine, sweetheart. How about a dance, huh? Show these townies how it’s done?” I jest lightly, trying to salvage my own hide. When I see a little tug on the side of her lip rise slightly, I establish that maybe a dance is just the way to go. The music has an upbeat tempo, and everyone is having fun, so I’ll be at no risk of making a fool of myself by making heartfelt declarations like a damn teenager with his first crush. I offer my hand and she places her delicate one in mine. The electric pull is so strong it almost takes the wind out of me. I man the fuck up and lead her to the dance floor, placing my hand on the small of her back instead.

  Of course the gods must love my pain, because the minute we step foot next to all the dancing couples, the band starts to play a melodic version of Wild Horses. Hope doesn’t even falter at the change of music, and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me to her as if she’s done this a million times with me. I put my eager hands on her waist as she sways us from left to right, humming the melody right along with the angelic voice coming from the stage.

  I look around and see the other couples around us falling under the music’s spell. Some almost dry humping, others just lost in their partners’ eyes. Ironic how I want to do both and can’t do either with the woman in my arms.