Savage Kings MC Box Set 1

by Lane Hart

  “Good,” I say, since I never intended for him to sleep over.

  Or for me to sleep with him.

  Several wonderful times.

  Hold on. He’s not really leaving right this second, is he? While I’m still handcuffed?

  Next, from the pile of clothes he must have rounded up earlier from the kitchen, his white t-shirt goes on, then his shoes and socks. Finally, his black leather MC cut.

  “Dalton?” I ask while jerking on the handcuffs.

  “Oh, right!” he says with a slap of his palm to his forehead. “I left the key for you.”

  “Where? Where’s the key?” I ask, starting to grow more concerned.

  Licking his lips with a grin, he rests one knee on the bed to lean over and place a soft kiss on my neatly-groomed mound. With a wink, he straightens and looks down at me. “Wish I could stay and see how you Houdini them out.”

  “Oh, screw you,” I huff.

  “You want me again so soon?” he asks on his way toward the bedroom door.

  “Unlock the damn cuffs!” I shout.

  He ignores me.

  “Are you kidding me? Dalton!”

  “See ya, kitten,” he says as he looks over his shoulder to leer at my naked body for a few more seconds before he walks out of the room.

  “Damn you!” I yell, while I continue to flail with no improvement. “Go to hell, you asshole!”

  “Funny, that’s exactly where my mother says I’m headed!” he calls back from inside the apartment before I hear the front door open.

  “I hate you!” I screech at the top of my lungs, so loud that the neighbors probably hear.

  “Love you too!” his smug voice yells back before the front door closes.

  My chest tightens while I lie still and silent, listening, waiting. He’s gonna come back, right? I mean, he has to. He can’t leave me like this. It’s physically impossible for me to pull a key from my cunt and unlock the cuffs with my hands above my head!

  Several more minutes pass as I listen to my panting breath and racing heart.

  Oh, god.

  He’s not coming back.

  He’s an outlaw biker. Why would I think he gives a shit about how long I lie here before someone finds me?

  That’s when an embarrassingly loud sob breaks free, deafening in the otherwise silent bedroom.

  …

  Dalton

  I am such a dick.

  I mean, yeah, I already knew that, but I’m taking dick to a whole new level.

  Just thinking about Peyton’s sexy body squirming, trying to get to that key that doesn’t exist is making me hard. I make it five steps down the sidewalk before I turn around and have to stop myself from going back.

  No. No! We need food first. And some rehydration. I mean, a man can only screw so many times in a night without refueling before his body starts to give out.

  Hopefully after some breakfast and OJ, we can get back down to it.

  Since I don’t have a car because, hello, I was kidnapped, I walk on foot to the closest restaurant – a mom and pop country cooking joint that smells delicious. At the counter, I order two of everything they’re serving: eggs, ham, bacon, toast, pancakes, a few muffins, and some fruit with the juice to go.

  After the waitress walks away, I glance around and notice that everyone in the place is staring at me. While I never know if it’s my looks or my cut that draws most eyes, today I’m guessing it’s the goofy ass grin on my face, thinking about the naked woman I have tied up back in her bedroom.

  “’Sup?” I ask the three old women at the closest booth. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

  They giggle and look away after that, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  My cell phone chooses that moment to ring, so I pull it out and answer it. “Yeah?”

  “Where the hell are you?” Reece asks.

  “In Raleigh. Why?” I ask. “Something up?”

  “When you didn’t come home last night, or answer your phone the five times I called, I thought for sure you had been arrested! I checked all the jails in the five counties from here to Wake and didn’t see you on any of the rosters.”

  “Nope, not in jail, obviously, if I’m answering my phone,” I reply with a roll of my eyes he can’t see. “But I could use a ride. Can you have the prospect come pick me up in the van?”

  “Why didn’t you just ride back with him yesterday?” Reece huffs.

  “Because I wasn’t ready to leave yet,” I respond.

  “Same address?” he asks.

  “Yep.”

  Reece mutters a curse. “I’ll send him on his way.” He heaves an annoyed sigh before hanging up on me. That dude really needs to get laid. He’s way too high-strung.

  Finally, after a short, maybe fifteen-minute wait, my to-go order is bagged, ready, and paid for, so I’m on my way back to Peyton’s apartment.

  I hear her sobs before I even turn the doorknob in my hand and the sound is more painful than the bloody claw marks she left down my back.

  Fuck.

  Inside the apartment, I drop the bag of food on the kitchen table and rush to the bedroom.

  Peyton’s crying. She’s curled up in a ball on her side, as much as she can with her arms still handcuffed to the headboard.

  “Shh. It’s okay,” I tell her as I reach for her wet face.

  “No! Don’t touch me!” she yells, making my hand lower instantly.

  “Peyton, I’m sorry,” I say over her weeping. “I was coming right back. Did you really think I would leave you here like this?”

  I reach over on the nightstand and grab the keys, glad I didn’t actually leave them inside of her. She didn’t see them? They were right beside her!

  A second later, and I have the cuffs clicking open. Peyton wraps her arms around her knees that are drawn up to her chest while she continues to sniffle.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” I tell her and place a hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t touch me, you son of a bitch!” she yells before she jolts into a sitting position and starts swinging her fists at me. Hard. Unlike most women, she actually can pack one hell of a punch.

  “Jesus!” I exclaim, while trying to block her blows and capture her wrists to make her stop.

  After several minutes, she finally tires out or gives up, and starts to collapse back on the mattress before I scoop her up in my arms.

  I tense up, expecting her to fight me again but she doesn’t. She lets me hold her.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her as she buries her face against my shirt and I listen to her soft sniffles. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew I’d be right back. You really do think I’m an asshole.”

  She trusted me enough to sleep with me, and then she thought I went and screwed her over. Again. But that wasn’t my intention. Hell, I know damn well what it’s like for someone to have all the power over you and abuse it. That shit leaves scars. Which is why I haven’t let myself get to know a single woman since I got brutally fucked over when I was a stupid, naïve teenager. Eight years is a long time to carry a grudge with the opposite sex, all because of one woman, yet I haven’t been able to let it go and trust that I won’t get used up all over again.

  But I wasn’t trying to hurt Peyton when I handcuffed her this morning. In fact, I thought she would laugh once I came back with breakfast and told her the key was right beside her the whole time.

  She lets me hold her until her crying eventually stops and the sniffles die down.

  “You had me cuffed a lot longer yesterday,” I remind her.

  “You-you’re evil. I didn’t…leave you…restrained to anything,” she hiccups.

  “Do you want to now?” I offer.

  “No,” she answers as she lifts her head and swipes her hand under each eye.

  “You hungry? I brought breakfast,” I tell her.

  “I think I’ll just, um, get a shower.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I reply, wishing I could join her but know that now is not the time to ask.
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  When she tries to slip out of my lap, I kiss her cheek before I finally let go, surprising both her and myself. We freeze at the sweet and unexpected gesture before she gets to her feet and hustles on wobbly legs to the bathroom.

  Peyton showers for a long damn time.

  So long, in fact, I’m pretty sure she’s hoping I’ll give up and leave. But I’m not because I don’t want to go until I know she’s okay. My ass sits right there in the kitchen chair and doesn’t move.

  Besides, I still have another hour or so before my ride shows up.

  Finally, I hear the door in her bedroom open and then her soft footsteps as Peyton heads toward the kitchen, right to the place where we first fucked yesterday.

  “This is a lot of food,” she says when her feet come to a stop at the head of the table. Her blonde hair is still damp but pulled up on top of her head, and she’s wearing a fluffy pink robe. At the moment, she looks the furthest thing from a federal agent as you can get.

  “I wasn’t sure what you would like,” I explain.

  “You haven’t eaten?” she asks.

  “I was waiting for you.”

  “Oh,” she mutters, going over to the pot of coffee I just made and pouring herself a cup into a giant mug that actually says, “I like big mugs and I cannot lie.” How ironic is that since I used lyrics from the same old song on my fake dating profile? Is that why she swiped right so fast, because we had that common interest? Not to mention the bag of Funyuns in the cabinet…

  Peyton takes a sip of her coffee and stares at me over the top of the mug silently.

  “Dig in,” I tell her. Standing up, I motion with my hand for her to grab one of the plates I pulled out. After she comes over and finishes picking through the selection first, I pile the cold food on my plate and then pop it in the microwave for a few seconds to heat it up. Peyton sits down and eats hers cold.

  “Do you normally restrain your one-night stands while you go get them breakfast?” she asks after we’re almost done eating, and I’m relieved that we’re past the tears and to the joking portion of my stupid shenanigans.

  “No,” I reply with a grin. Tossing my fork down on my empty plate, I admit to her, “I don’t normally stay all night. And I never buy anyone breakfast.”

  “Wow. Don’t I feel special,” Peyton replies sarcastically.

  “Last night you wore me out, so I had no choice but to sleep over when you collapsed on top of me. Treating you to breakfast seemed like the least I could do to say thank you for the best sex of my life.”

  True story—my dick is actually raw after the number of times she demanded we use it, but it was so worth it. Good thing she had an unopened box of condoms handy.

  Wait. If I’m sore, then she has to be hurting in her lady parts.

  “Today’s the second day you’ve made me miss work.” Peyton glowers at me rather than respond to my compliment. And I’ve had a lot of sex so that’s really saying something.

  “Did you call in sick?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, so we can go back to bed—” I start.

  “No.”

  “To get some more sleep is what I was gonna say before you interrupted me,” I grumble. “I bet I’m just as sore as you are.”

  “I seriously doubt it,” she mutters.

  “I didn’t hear any complaints last night,” I point out, and don’t miss the smile she tries to hide behind her big coffee mug.

  “My ride is on the way,” I assure her.

  “Good,” she replies.

  “Great. It’ll take another hour for him to get here, though.” I get to my feet and go wash my plate in the sink before standing it up on the drying rack. “If you need me, I’ll be in your bed, sleeping,” I tell Peyton before I head off down the hallway.

  Chapter Eight

  Peyton

  Dalton is the most infuriating man I have ever met.

  And yet, I nearly get up and follow him to my bedroom like a lost puppy.

  Instead of giving in to his good looks or charm, still angry at him for leaving me restrained for what felt like days but I now know was only minutes, I decide to spend my sick day cleaning, even though I’m incredibly exhausted after not getting much sleep for the last two nights because of one hot bastard.

  I have no clue what led to my emotional breakdown. I mean, yes, thinking you may die handcuffed to your own bed before someone finds you is worthy of freaking out about, but the tears? That’s not my usual style. I’m tough as nails. I can handle any fucking thing life throws at me, including a cheating husband who wasted years of my life.

  So why did I lose my shit because Dalton left me? It had to be because of the vulnerable position he had me in. He’s a stranger and an outlaw biker, so I’m mostly angry at myself for falling into bed so quickly with him when I shouldn’t have ever wanted him.

  I’m lost in my thoughts, dusting off the television in the living room, when the doorbell rings, nearly startling the piss out of me.

  Before I can calm my heart rate down enough to go answer it, Dalton comes strolling through the living room like he owns it. His blond hair is even more mussed than before and for some strange reason, it works for him.

  “That’s my ride,” he says with a yawn. “It’s been fun. Call me on Henry’s number if you want a repeat of last night.” After giving me a sexy wink, he wraps an arm around my back to pull me against his body and kiss my cheek again, way too sweet a gesture for the pornographic things we did to each other last night. Then he lets me go and walks out the door, without a care in the world.

  And while I know I shouldn’t ever tell anyone about what I did with him last night, there’s no way I can keep the last twenty-four hours a secret from my best friend.

  “You did what?” Quincey shouts after she brings me lunch on her break and I tell her about the events of the previous day.

  “I got my laptop back,” I point out.

  “After you kidnapped a man and held him hostage for it?” she asks, taking a seat in the same chair at the kitchen table that Dalton occupied just hours earlier.

  “Well, yes, but what else was I supposed to do?” I ask, sitting down across from her.

  “You handcuffed him and brought him here?”

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “And held him at gunpoint?”

  “Uh-huh,” I answer, chewing nervously on my thumbnail since that sounds bad when it’s said aloud.

  “So, a member of a motorcycle gang not only knows where you live but could come back for revenge?” Quincey points out while setting down a container of Chinese food in front of me.

  “Dalton wouldn’t do that,” I tell her.

  “You’re one hundred percent certain about that?”

  “No, but I don’t think he would.”

  “Peyton, you need to move, like now,” she says. “You could come stay with me.”

  “I’m not scared of him,” I assure her, even though I nearly have a panic attack every time I recall those minutes this morning where I thought I was going to die naked and restrained to my bed.

  “You should be!” Quincey says. She even gets up and rushes over to peek out the blinds in the living room. “Those MC guys are all about vengeance. Haven’t you ever watched Sons of Anarchy?”

  “It’s fine,” I tell her with a roll of my eyes.

  “How do you know that for sure, though?” she asks, retaking her seat.

  “Because he stayed here with me last night, all night, voluntarily,” I blurt out.

  Jaw gaping, she looks at me for several silent movements before her lips curl into a grin. “You slept with him?”

  “Yeah, I did,” I admit with a grin.

  “And? How was it, finally ending the long, four hundred days of famine?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer. “Guess that depends on which time you’re asking about.”

  “How many times?” she shrieks.

  “Several.”

  “Several?”

&
nbsp; “Five times,” I answer. “That I remember.”

  “Holy shit!” she exclaims.

  “I don’t know how it happened. After I let him go, he sort of propositioned me, and I didn’t say no. In fact, I actually begged for it.”

  “Wow,” Quincey says. “So you want him to come back.”

  “Of course not,” I huff. “That would be incredibly stupid.”

  “Yes, you do. You wouldn’t turn him away if he did, would you?”

  “I should,” I reply. “Like you said, he’s an outlaw in a motorcycle gang that I’m investigating for multiple murders and a deadly arson. He’s dangerous and I could lose my job.”

  “Yeah, you could, genius. What were you thinking, Peyton?”

  “You saw him. Would you have turned him down?” I ask.

  “Absolutely not, but I’m just a paralegal who can work anywhere. You’re an agent! Now your entire career could be in jeopardy.”

  “No, it’s not, because it’s over. I won’t see him again,” I assure her, even though I can’t help but think I haven’t seen the last of Dalton Brady just yet.

  Chapter Nine

  Dalton

  It’s been two long weeks since the computer heist, and fuck, I really want to see Peyton again. Which goes completely against the rules I made for myself when I was seventeen: One, don’t ever care about a woman more than she cares about you, and two, never get so attached that you can’t walk away without ever looking back.

  Not to mention that Peyton is the enemy of the MC, and she lives two hours away. A woman like her would never want to be with an outlaw biker like me for more than a night anyway.

  Would she?

  She sure as hell hasn’t called me. And there’s not much I can offer her that a common sex toy can’t handle.

  Alone in my apartment at the clubhouse, where I’ve spent way too much time lately whenever I’m not at the nursing home, I turn my bare back to the bathroom mirror. I try to avoid looking at the raised, circular scar of the old bullet wound, the one that almost paralyzed, and nearly killed, me. Instead, I’m more interested in the white scratches that run vertically through my Savage Kings tattoo. The ones that are almost healed. Oddly enough, I want a new set, a reminder of the best sex of my life.