Resurfaced Passion (Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga Book 6)

by V. Theia

  “Please. Jesus. Fuck me hard, Reaper. Hard, hard, so hard, please.”

  He did. Like he’d unleashed something from within, he held her close, sucked on her neck and powered each shove like a military operation.

  He fucked her.

  Like really fucked her hard.

  Driving into her with deep strokes, and hell if she didn’t love each one.

  It was sex on steroids, and she was coming so fast she almost passed out.

  The speed, the pace, the feel of it all was too much. Too good. Too everything. She cried out, dug her nails deep into his butt as she held on.

  It didn’t take long for her to milk his cock dry either, he groaned his sexy release into her neck.

  “Tell me,” he rasped next to her ear.

  “That…that was so good,” she whispered.

  She had the impression she’d said the wrong thing because his eyes looked so sad for a second before the look was gone and he leaned down to take her mouth swiftly and hot.

  Some moments later when he’d crawled back into bed and pulled Paige on top of him, roaming his fingers the length of her spine she finally broke the silence. “Tell me honestly,” she said, twisting locks of his hair in her fingers. “I’m the best you’ve ever had in the sack, aren’t I?”

  This made him burst out laughing and he squeezed both her ass cheeks.

  “I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I pretty much broke the sex record for orgasm intensity, Reaper.”

  “Yeah, you did, baby.” he nipped her earlobe.

  Settling into a comfortable silence, his arms holding her close, Paige’s mind was a complete blob of mush but around that ball of blissful mush, below her closed lids she felt peaceful and familiar in his arms. She couldn’t explain the pictures flashing behind her eyes. Ones of Reaper and her having so much sex and cuddling afterward. Just like now, but it was different … different locations, beds, sights and smells, feelings and emotions.

  Man, she was so sexed up she was imagining them in all kinds of places.

  “Paige, you good?”

  “So good,” she replied, and it was only some time later, when sweat had dried on their skin and it appeared Reaper might be dozing off that she slipped out of bed to use the bathroom.

  Freshened up, she came back out several minutes later, intent on crawling back into bed with Reaper, swamped in a big blue t-shirt she’d found on the floor she froze in the doorway; he’d flipped on a lamp and her heart stuttered excited seeing him sitting in the middle of the ottoman at the bottom of the bed.

  His feet spread wide looking like a rogue pirate with his freed hair around his chin and eyes only for her.

  He patted his naked lap with one hand. Enticing her forward.

  The other … was stroking himself to a hardened spike.

  “Get over here, Paige. Round two of riding me.” His words were gentle…coaxing with a hot dirty rumble from deep within his throat and the way he held out his hand to her almost had Paige tripping over her own feet to get to him.

  This was what playing with fire must feel like, she thought. And didn’t she just sprint across the floor and climb all over him, eager to touch the flames.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “What happens in the fight club stays in the fight club… unless you have an old lady.” – Reaper

  Providing services people couldn’t get through legal channels was all part and parcel of the MC. Reaper liked that aspect better than any of the beatdowns they might have to do. Not to say he wouldn’t, he had a hair-trigger he fought to control better these days after what had happened. But he much preferred being on the money end collecting the profits.

  He rode that day with Preacher who was full of stories of his two boys. No one would be in the dark about how fucking happy the road captain was with his family life, he whipped out pictures any chance he got. Reaper wasn’t spared, before they climbed back on the bikes he had a phone in Reaper’s face showing him a video of Tanner Shane rolling from his belly onto his back. “Babies don’t do that this soon, you get me? My kid is smart.”

  Reaper’s mouth twitched at the pride in Preacher’s deep timber.

  The engine purred beneath him and though his back ached, he was glad to have the two-hour ride ahead of him because it meant they were going home to Armado Springs.

  To Paige.

  “You ever think about it?” Preacher asked fastening the helmet strap under his chin.

  “About your kid rolling over? Can’t say as I do.”

  Preacher chuckled. “Having babies.”

  “Hate to tell you, Preach, but as much as I try, I can’t get pregnant.”

  Another barked laugh, and Preacher roared his bike to life, and he lifted the kickstand with the toe of his steel-cap boot.

  “For a ghost, you’re fucking funny, man. Bet your girl wants babies.” He winked and rode off. Leaving Reaper with his mouth open and his heart double-timing.

  Putting a baby in Paige? He’d fucking love it.

  Their relationship was so complicated and sweet. So fucking sweet he woke most days now smiling like a fool just to have her curled into his ribs fast asleep and drooling on his chest with her fingernails dug into his skin like she thought he might sneak out in the night.

  Five days since that night together and they hadn’t been apart yet when it came to bedtime.

  He took Paige out for food, or to a movie and then he either rode her home or went to her apartment. He didn’t mind getting up at three am to drive her home to get changed for work and nor did he mind watching her getting dressed every day in the mirror. He’d come up behind her, slip arms around her waist and kiss her neck just to be rewarded with her smile in the mirror.

  Babies? He’d love a whole houseful of kids if it meant he had them with his girl.

  The entire ride home, that big lug up ahead had put it into Reaper’s mind and now it was all he thought about. The future. The what ifs. The could be’s.

  So much he held to himself.

  Fear mostly, he wasn’t too proud to admit it.

  He was terrified of losing her.

  For too long he’d been in the dark, in the in-between of nothing.

  No sooner had he pulled up in the compound and his phone rang.

  Hopeful it was Paige, he frowned seeing the boss’s name. “Prez?”

  “I need you over at the fight club tonight.” Fuck. So much for crashing out with a movie and his girl. He had plans to pick up a few pints of the birthday cake ice cream she’d loved the other night.

  From the first moment she was on his bike, Paige had loved it and begged for more rides every time he saw her. He had plans after their movie and ice cream to take her for a midnight ride up the mountain. Maybe fuck her over the seat. Something romantic like that. And now Rider was killing him.

  “Is there no one else?”

  “Need a ghost’s eyes, brother. Some shit with Grigori, got word he’s got hooks in the fighter against Tag tonight. Capone and Arson will be around. You blend in and listen for that fucker trying to get his bets through my place.”

  Instead of switching the engine off, he held the phone under his chin and refastened the helmet. It was gonna take him at least thirty to get over to the fight club through the traffic and there was no way he wasn’t seeing Paige, even if it was just for a second.

  For a couple weeks now it had been quiet with the Russians.

  Talk was, ties were severed between them and the mayor. It had been a short unsatisfactory relationship.

  Reaper had owned cartons of milk that lasted longer.

  They’d suddenly vacated that building downtown out of nowhere.

  Lawless had followed a fleet of their Mercedes to the airport and watched them board a plane to Kazan where their pahkan and the base of their operations was situated.

  It appeared as if Grigori was heeding to Rider’s one-time-only warning to get out of town with his life still intact.

  “I’ll string that fuckin’
promoter up by his dick if he’s bringing drugged up fighters through my place.” Rider warned.

  So the objective tonight was simple.

  Be eyes and ears while Capone and Arson were visible to the crowd and check for signs of drug use in the fighters, and any indication it was Russian motivated.

  Most nights this kinda work kept Reaper occupied. Tonight he wanted to be with his girl.

  He found her cleaning off the counters in the diner. He rapped knuckles on the locked door, and she turned a beaming smile on him, rushing over to unlock and let him in.

  “I gotta work.” He told her once he let her lips go free and her taste was well and truly locked in his mouth.

  She soon corrected her fallen face, but he felt like dog shit for disappointing her.

  “You have repairs to work on this late?”

  “No, baby. I’m going to the fight club.”

  She frowned and didn’t fire off the questions he expected her to. “You’ll be careful?”

  “Always,” he kissed her forehead.

  They hadn’t talked about their new relationship, but they’d fallen into it so quickly. Reaper couldn’t help himself.

  Maybe it was wrong.

  Maybe it was a mistake.

  He knew the risks.

  He still couldn’t help himself.

  “It’ll be late when I’m done.”

  She curled under his chin, ran her hands around his waist, along his studded belt and held on. “You can still come by. If you want.”

  If he wants. She had no idea how much he wanted everything.

  “Here.” She pulled from his arms and walked over to her purse, digging into the big tote. God knows how she found anything in there. She came back and handed him a key. “To let yourself in. If you want.” She whittled her lip with her teeth.

  “I want.” He all but growled, some of the tension in his shoulders faded, dipping down he gave her a kiss to remember him all night. “Let me know you got home okay.” She nodded, smiled at him. “And keep these lips warm for me.” He got her perfect blush next.

  He hated knowing he wouldn’t have eyes on her to make sure for himself, but it just meant he’d get back to her all the sooner.

  A last kiss and she watched him climb onto his bike.

  The club knew most of the cops around town. Charlie Timmons, the youngest sheriff in more than two decades, would have a shit fit if he saw some of his officers in the very illegal underground fight club that night placing their own bets, drinking and putting hookers on their laps. They were the guys who knew Grinder—probably owed the Tracker a favor or three since he was in with most of them, he paid for information and they supplied it. Reaper didn’t pay the cops in their street clothes any mind as he walked through.

  He found a corner and stayed there a while, people watching. The place was always a buzz when Tag was top billing. The guy was like an underground celebrity in the fight world. and it showed by the swelling crowd. There were official bookies around the place taking bets before the first fight and so far he’d seen nothing out of the ordinary to suggest the bratva had somehow gotten their people in to fuck around with the betting system.

  It wasn’t unheard of.

  Sometime last year a fighter from New York came through town, someone on his team placed a high bet for the guy to lose. Not only lose but the bet was tripled if he went down in the 6th. Low and fucking behold, the fella, big as an ox, hit the mats so hard in the beginning of the 6th with hardly a touch and didn’t get back up.

  It was after the third fight of the night that Reaper took another sweep through the rooms while the fresh bout was going on. The smell of expensive booze saturated the air, sweat, blood and tears no doubt clung to the concrete floor and no one noticed Reaper as he ghosted through the masses, eyeing everyone like they were in a line up.

  He saw a couple private bets going on that were against the club rules, so he sent a text to Capone who got rid of the guys and banned them from coming back.

  Then he caught a couple fucking in a stairwell. Fucking wasn’t against any rules, so he left them to it. Truth be told he would have loved to be balls deep in his girl right now.

  He rolled the gold band around his finger and went on so he could get home sooner rather than later.

  A scuffling sound alerted Reaper to one of the changing areas the fighters and their crews used. There was only one bout left and that was Tag’s fight, being the main event.

  “Hurry the fuck up before one of those fools sees you!” He caught in a hushed whisper.

  He approached on silent feet.

  None of the areas had doors, for good reason. The fights might be illegal, but they tried to run them fair and in the early days there’d been too much cheating going on. Tampering with the hand wraps, usually soaked in some solution to harden after a while, making the punches that much more lethal. Or there was the druggies who came into the ring so fucking hopped up on dope it was like fighting the incredible hulk.

  Most things flew in their fight club but being a cheat was not one of them.

  And that’s exactly what Reaper walked in on. The guy meant to fight Tag, local to Denver, Duke Woods—a former MMA star who was disgraced years ago when he was banned for using steroids—had a belt around his forearm and a much smaller guy hunched over, injecting him with … well Reaper was guessing it wasn’t good old vitamin C, that was for fucking sure. Not with the way the guy was already pumped as fuck with every vein dangerously protruding on his upper body.

  “Seriously?” He announced his presence from the doorway.

  Startled, they both looked over. It wasn’t hard to pick Reaper as a Souls member once he opened his jacket and flashed his cut with the patch on the front. It was better than flashing a cop badge, he reckoned.

  “Hey, man. Just giving my boy here some meds. All good now, just fluids, you know.”

  “Which is it, fluids or meds?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” the trainer smiled, shoving the drugs paraphernalia into the bag he was carrying. Trying to hide the evidence. Reaper advanced into the locker room. The fighter himself seemed unfazed as he straddled the bench and carried on winding the cloth around his hand and rolling his tree trunk thick neck from side to side.

  “How fucking dumb do you have to be to take dope on our ground? Seriously right before you fight our boy. Fucking hell, that’s some brass balls or plain fucking stupidity.” Reaper chuckled, roaming the room. He’d already text the boys before he let his presence known and now he watched the trainer with sweat dotting on his brow. “It’s not like that, he’s sick. Just vitamins.”

  “Sure.”

  “It is, man. We got a lot riding on this fight, we ain’t gonna ruin it. We wouldn’t do that to the Souls.”

  Reaper switched his gaze to the fighter who was still winding the cloth and tape around his hands. His whole body looked like concrete encased in too tight skin with his veins bulged off the surface. “Cat got his guilty tongue?”

  “He don’t talk.”

  That was a fucking lie, Reaper heard him right before he’d stepped in the room.

  “Who’s bankrolling you tonight?”

  Silence. Twitching eyes. The trainer brushed the sweat away from his brow, holding onto the bag for dear life under his arm.

  “Do they have Russian accents and like to pour vodka on their Weetos?”

  The guy’s eyes pinged to Reaper then looked away. Bingo.

  “Hate to tell you, but you’re going home.”

  “What? You can’t fucking do that!”

  “Can. And did. Get lost, you’re not welcome back again.”

  “We got problems here?” Asked Arson, followed by Capone looking like anyone’s worst nightmare.

  “Caught dumb and dumber here pumping him full of dope.”

  “Ah, dude. You dumb as shit.” Laughed Arson as he picked up Hercules’ workout bag and tossed it in the man’s face. “Get the fuck out of here and you can kiss goodbye to your buy-in fee. You a
in’t getting it back.”

  For a guy stuffed to the brim of steroids he was silent as a fucking corpse. He looked towards his trainer/manager/dope dealer and rose to a lofty height of nearing seven feet it appeared, shrugged and grabbed the bag and walked out.

  Leaving behind a sweating, nervous man.

  “Look, let’s work this out.” He tried. “No one wants to go home empty handed here, they’ve come for a fight, we can give you a cut.”

  “A fair fight.” Capone said darkly. “You tried to jack us.”

  “I can’t go away empty handed, guys. Fucks sake, think about this.”

  “Who bank rolled you?” Reaper asked quietly.

  “God’s sake. You know who. You just said so. They’ll kill me if I don’t pay it back. We didn’t have the buy-in. Not until my guy won.”

  Arson snorted. “He wasn’t ever winning against Tag.”

  “How much you into them for?”

  After some silence, the guy looked at Reaper. “All in all, 90k, we needed a training facility too.”

  Capone whistled. “Sucks to be you, amigo. Now get the hell out of our club.”

  It was pathetic the way the guy begged and pleaded.

  There was no second chances from the Souls. Not with anything or anyone.

  One strike and it was game over.

  Once Rider heard of this promoter trying to swindle the club he’d be lucky to have legs left.

  It was Arson who grabbed the guy by the scruff of his neck and showed him to the door where security was waiting to do the rest, along with kicking out the crew who’d tagged along with them.

  “Why would the bratva roll that much cash to a nobody? He’s had what, three fights and lost two.” Inquired Capone.

  “Who knows.” Shrugged Arson. “Who the fuck cares. Tag won’t be happy he hasn’t got anyone to pound on, but we’re up the buy-in fee. I better go let him know.”

  The crowd would be pissed too, and a lot of bets would have to be reimbursed, not to mention a big hit for the club personally but it would have been far worse had the fight been allowed to go ahead and Tag unfairly lost to a souped-up maniac.

  In the hallway, Reaper listened to Capone fill Rider in on the goings on. Rightly so their prez was out for blood. Within a minute he’d gotten on the other line and made it known both the fighter and trainer would no longer be welcome in any underground fight in most of the states.