Bad Boys Teaser: A Sizzling Bad Boys Anthology

by Rie Warren

  Then sharp again when Angel propped up above me to fill my vision.

  The blue of his eyes.

  The blond of his hair.

  The ruddiness of his lips still wet from me.

  Muzzy-headed and sleepy, I could only yelp quietly when he dropped over me. A big, warm, welcome weight.

  He rolled to his side, pulling me into his arms. One hand cupped my bottom, the other stroked my hair.

  “Good?” His whisper wafted across my cheek.

  “I can’t move.”

  “In a good way.” A certain note of smugness colored his tone.

  “In a good way.”

  “’Night, cher.”

  “Mmmm.”

  It was the best night of my life.

  A loud crashing sound drove right into my head. The noise jerked me from sleep. I tried to jump up. But a heavy weight pressed down on my body, and it was dark all around.

  “Get off! Get off me!” I scrabbled out from beneath the suffocating mass.

  Flipping from a bed onto the floor, I barely heard a deep grunt and a male voice.

  “Mercy?”

  “Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me!” Fingers scrambling on a bedside table, I grabbed the first thing I could find.

  My garrote.

  A big bulky body kneeled in front of me, but before he could attack, I wrapped the thin wire around his neck.

  I pulled hard on both ends. My foot hit out for leverage, and the nightstand scratched across the floor.

  He toppled on top of me, and I tried to kick him away.

  “Mercy!” Voice rough and low, the man grabbed both my wrists. “Mercy it’s me, goddammit.”

  I thrashed beneath him until he hauled me off the floor. Pulling me into his lap, he pinned my arms at my sides.

  “It’s Angel. It’s just me. Something must’ve woken you up.”

  Angel.

  The MC.

  “Oh no.” I shivered back into awareness. “Oh, Angel.” I buried my face against his neck. “I thought I was in my room. I thought—”

  Light suddenly flooded the room as the door banged open. Two tall figures stood silhouetted in the hall.

  “Y’all all right in here?” One of the men asked.

  I realized Angel and I were both naked, the nightstand upended. My garrote still hung around Angel’s throat.

  Angel tossed a blanket over me then lifted me to the bed.

  “Saint. Revenge. We’re fine.” Facing his guys, Angel rubbed at his neck before untangling the wire.

  The other men’s eyes widened but they kept their mouths shut.

  I wanted to crawl under the bed and disappear altogether.

  “Something woke Mercy up.”

  “Yeah.” The guy I recognized as Revenge stepped closer. “Sorry ’bout that. I banged into a door.”

  “He means he was bangin’ a broad against his door.” Saint’s lips curled faintly upward.

  Angel—still completely naked—herded them out. “Well, nothin’ to see here so get the hell out and keep it down, huh?”

  After he closed the door, he sat on the edge of the bed.

  Retrieving one of my hands, he held it between his two palms. “You’re stronger than you look, you know that?”

  “I thought someone was attacking me.” Shame burdened me again. “Are you okay?”

  I expected him to flinch when I reached up to touch the thin red marks on his throat.

  “You’re strong, but not that strong.” He winked, but a stark pain that wasn’t at all physical lurked in his eyes. “I’ll just leave this little light on then, yeah? I can sleep on the floor if that would make you feel better.”

  “No.” I clutched at his hand. “Stay.”

  I went back to sleep with him cuddling me gently and stroking my hair.

  I woke alone again the next morning, that time relieved. I didn’t want to face Angel after losing my mind in the middle of the night.

  I needn’t have worried. After taking a luxuriously hot shower, I discovered he’d put away the new clothes he’d bought me in his tall dresser. My panties folded neatly next to a stack of his briefs, the tank tops next to his shirts.

  The sight twirled warm emotions in my heart, and when he turned up—bearing another bag bursting with the delicious beignets—he didn’t even mention my crazy outburst from the night before.

  “It’s a beautiful day. Let’s take these outside.” He shook the bag and grabbed my hand.

  He ushered me downstairs, out the back hallway of the bar, and through a back door with leaded windows of the prettiest stained glass. Outside, I marveled at the walled-in courtyard. The square area boasted a trickling fountain, an iron table and chairs, and beds of flowers in definite need of TLC.

  “You like it out here?” he asked as soon as we sat at the table.

  “Mm hmm. Better than being cooped up, that’s for sure.” I tipped my head back, the hot June sun baking into my skin with sumptuous warmth when everything usually felt so cold inside.

  We ate the pastries and drank the coffee he’d brought—birds trilling loudly and butterflies dipping into the flower buds, some of which managed to thrive despite obvious neglect.

  I looked up from licking crumbs and powdered sugar from my fingers to find Angel watching me with a thoroughly unwholesome look.

  “What?”

  His incendiary gaze dropped, and he shook his head so the blond waves tumbled together.

  Then he started to smirk. “The flip-flops.”

  I immediately crossed one foot over the other, curling my toes.

  He yanked my feet up onto his lap where something hot and hard lay beneath my soles.

  After he flung the flip-flops aside, he peered down. “Don’t think I ever got a good look at your toes before.”

  He caressed the arch of one foot, and I pressed down more firmly on his bulging erection just to hear him groan.

  Then he began tickling me with light trails of his fingers, clasping my ankles in large palms while I twisted and squealed.

  “Hmm. Ticklish. Where else?” He easily drew me to his lap until I straddled him, and it was my ass against his thick cock then.

  Instead of teasing my skin into more goose bumps and chills, he rocked me over the turgid ridge. His expression became serious with longing. He stared at my lips, and I instinctually licked them.

  “I like to go barefoot the most. In nice soft grass. There’s nothing finer than a spring meadow, you know?”

  “I think there’s something a lot finer.”

  My breath escaped in a hot puff just before his mouth descended. With a slick swoop, his tongue lunged inside. His lips lingering, Angel pulled my breasts against his chest. Our bodies writhed together and, with just one single stolen kiss, he had me aching to take him inside me. To feel his cock thrusting all the way to my core.

  Shaken and hot, I dragged my mouth from his.

  Urgent need caused hard angles on Angel’s face.

  Inhaling a long ragged breath, he dropped his head back. His hands convulsed on my butt. When he looked at me again, I felt him loosen the straining muscles on his body as if he willed himself not to push me for more.

  He moved his hands to circle my waist, saying, “What do you wanna do now?”

  Still perched on his mounting erection, I searched for a distraction to take our minds off the wild desire growing between us.

  “Don’t you have work to do?”

  “Well, I own the bar and the tat parlor, so the way I see it . . . nope.”

  “Must be nice.”

  He waggled his eyebrows comically, squeezing my hips. “Oui. Real nice.”

  My eyes lit on a line of liquor bottles set up on milk crates against the far wall of the courtyard, gleaming shards of glass littering the flagstones below.

  “You all do target practice here?” I leaped off his lap and put my flip-flops back on.

  “Sure. Gimme me a sec, and I’ll get you all set up.”

  Angel disapp
eared inside only to return moments later with a Glock and a box of ammo.

  He loaded the clip while I watched his efficient motions with the gun.

  Of course, I’d seen him with the shotgun too.

  Hands on my shoulders, he spun me toward the targets and placed the loaded weapon in my hand.

  I looked back at him incredulously. “You trust me with a gun after I nearly choked you to death last night?”

  “The way I figure it, it could’ve been worse. At least you didn’t stick me with the knife. Gave you a blade, didn’t I?”

  I palmed the Glock, getting used to the weight in my hand.

  “You got a license to carry?” he asked from beyond my shoulder.

  “Didn’t really need one in the country.”

  “Technically you do.”

  I flashed him a saucy smile. “You’re a real stickler for the rules, Angel, ain’t you?”

  “Never used to be.” He stepped back from me as I flicked off the safety.

  Taking aim on the Johnny Walker’s, I blanked everything else out of my head.

  I squeezed the trigger. Seconds later glass exploded. I’d blasted off the neck of the bottle, leaving the rest rocking until it settled on the red crate.

  I heard Angel whistle.

  I took a bead on the Wild Turkey. Squeezed. Blasted the neck off without upsetting the rest of the bottle.

  “Holy hell’s fire!” A different voice exclaimed behind me.

  I swiveled with the gun aimed down to see the man called Saint run into the courtyard.

  “Thought we were under attack again.” He skidded to a stop beside Angel.

  “Mercy’s taking a few shots,” Angel explained.

  Revenge—Saint’s dark opposite—sprinted out on Saint’s heels like they were a package deal. The pair who’d seen me at my worst last night inspected me now.

  “Taking a few shots? No shit she is.” Revenge hooked his sunglasses into the front of his shirt. “Only shooting off the necks? That’s fucking intentional. Jeeeesus.”

  “Can I keep going?” I asked the guys.

  “By all means.” Angel folded his arms over his chest.

  I pivoted back around, popping off the last three necks in quick succession. Glass rained down—shimmering, shattering rain that could pierce skin.

  Slipping the safety on the Glock, I turned to see Slade had joined my audience.

  He seemed to be the least outgoing, the most suspicious one of the crew.

  I didn’t get bad vibes off him, but a sort of darkness hung over him.

  He ambled up to the bottles, inspecting the wreckage. “Fuck. Got a real sharp shooter here. Where’d you learn to handle a weapon like that?”

  “From my family, I guess,” I said as he strutted back.

  “Any of them military?”

  “More like militia.” Ducking my head, I handed the weapon back to Angel.

  Everyone knew what that meant, and it wasn’t good.

  I wondered if Angel had told them about the swastika I’d never be rid off.

  I wondered how any of them could even stand to share the same space with me, knowing about the White Lair.

  Out of nowhere, Saint produced five beers. He thumbed the tops off and passed them all around, handing me the first.

  Then Slade clinked his bottle against Angel’s. “Heard Mercy here hogtied you last night.”

  I wanted a hole to open up in the ground and swallow me down to the pits of the earth. Angel’s neck was still striated in thin red lines from the garrote.

  Face flaming, I was about to escape when Angel ran an arm around my shoulders. “What can I say? I like it rough.”

  I almost choked on the first sip of beer I took.

  As soon as I swallowed, I slid my hand across Angel’s chest. “He definitely wasn’t complaining last night.”

  Angel’s lips twitching, he held silent while the other dudes chuckled.

  “Makes sense. Angel’s all dark underneath.” Revenge got in on the action, drawing more laughs.

  “Seriously though. Angel and Mercy. Gotta be some kinda cosmic message,” Saint added.

  “Okay. Miss Cleo.” Revenge’s silvery eyes flashed in good humor.

  “Hey now. I’m a true blue bayou boy. I got the real juju . . . none of that Mystic Meg bullshit.”

  The prospect member of the MC exited from the interior, squinting against the sun that glimmered from above.

  Chase.

  There were so many of them I had a hard time remembering their names.

  But I knew I’d never forget Angel.

  “What up, probie?” Saint pointed the tip of his beer at the youngest guy.

  “You clean the johns yet?” Angel asked.

  “My bedroom need’s a Febreze-ing while you’re at it.” Revenge drained his brew.

  “He can’t get the pussy out of his sheets,” Saint added.

  When Chase pulled a little leather bound pad from the pocket of his jeans, I wanted a hole to swallow him up.

  Reading his notes, he rattled off, “Saint, Lennox says to tell you you’ve got a client waiting on you at Tit for Tat. Slade has to sign for a delivery—”

  “Look!” Saint roared. “We got our own Clark Kent, notebook and all.”

  “Clark Cunt, maybe.” Revenge teamed up with Saint again.

  “You’re all a bunch of assholes, you know that?” I moved to stand beside Chase, taking up the plight of the underdog. “Now I know you have work to do. Best you go do it.”

  “Damn.” Saint set his beer on the table beside the empty beignet bag.

  “Savage.” Slade squinted at me.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Revenge gave me a little salute.

  Angel came forward to kiss my cheek, whispering near my ear, “Nice.”

  Chase straightened his shoulders and stalked back inside.

  “You coming?” Angel asked me.

  “Maybe I’ll see if any of these poor plants are salvageable. Have you got any gardening tools or fertilizer?”

  “Got your fertilizer right here.” Saint made to unzip his jeans and presumably piss on the flowerbeds.

  “Put that fucking thing away.” Angel pointed the Glock at his cock.

  Saint hastily ducked into the building as Angel glared after him with a heavy brow.

  Then he chuckled. “Maybe need to keep you around to teach those bastards some decent manners.”

  He towed me toward a small shed at the side of the courtyard. “Might be some stuff in here.”

  Placing the gun on the table, he took my chin between his fingers.

  His lightest of light kisses washed over my lips before he followed the rest of his men inside Thunder Road.

  Going about my self-appointed task, I stepped into the musty recesses of the shed. Shards of sunlight shafted in through the cracks, and I ducked beneath cobwebs to unearth a trowel and a small rake.

  Bulbs in dusty sacks made a pyramid in one corner. Daffodils. Hyacinth. Narcissus.

  All pretty flowers, but it was way too late in the season to plant them.

  Bringing the tools with me, I kneeled on the ground in front of a bower of wisteria that looked fallow.

  Weed first. Then nurture and grow.

  Hands in warm soil with the summer sun baking overhead, I was at home with the earth.

  I was at home with dirt.

  Not the dark dirtiness of the White Lair, but with this moment. This small new taste of freedom.

  I yanked out weed after weed, creating a pile that surrounded me.

  Hands filthy, I wiped them on my pants before digging back in.

  I’d just unearthed a huge clump when a hard hand—hard fingers—dug into the back of my neck.

  “Angel—”

  “Shut the fuck up.” The voice rasped.

  Oh God. Vernon.

  My brother shoved me face first into the dirt until I sputtered.

  Fingers clenched in my hair, he jerked me up.

  The black tattoos on his h
ead and neck had never looked starker, his eyes never wilder. “Look at my l’il sister the slut.” He wrenched me to my feet. “Two days and already playin’ house with the fucks who killed our Miller and Dewayne. They all take a turn in that snatch of yours yet?”

  “They’re not disgusting pigs like you.” I jabbed both my fists against his mushy midsection, and he spun a few paces away.

  You’re stronger than you look. Angel’s words came back to me.

  Too late.

  Vernon recovered. Propelling forward feet first, he took out my legs.

  I crashed to the ground as he crawled up over me.

  Manacling my wrists beside my head, he slammed them down. “Our uncle told me to get you back, bitch.”

  “Bitch this!” I kneed him in the groin and, when he reared back—howling—I scraped the small rake down the side of his face.

  He cupped one hand to his crotch, the other against his cheek, swearing vividly.

  I quickly clambered away from his kneeling form.

  I made it to the table in time to pick up the Glock. Hands unsteady, I aimed when Vernon stood up.

  “You gonna shoot me? Your last surviving brother?” He advanced, snarling.

  Fingers shaking, I couldn’t switch off the safety.

  Vernon pressed his chest right against the barrel.

  He gave a nasty smile before trying to wrangle the gun from my grip. I struggled, managing to get the safety off at the last moment. But Vernon grabbed my arm. The gun shot straight into the air, not straight into my brother.

  “I knew it!” He threw the gun across the courtyard and spun me against the high wall. He mashed the back of my head into stone. “You don’t have the guts, cunt.”

  He grinded into me in the most perverse way, and I smelled the stench of his sweat.

  “I will kill you, Vernon. You and all the rest of them.”

  His fingers found the brand on my breast, and he squeezed. “Try it. See how far you git.”

  Nine

  Angel

  I HEARD THE SHOUTS and the shot from the bar.

  Mercy was supposed to be gardening.

  Dropping the paperwork, I raced toward the back door.

  Slade sprinted at my back.