by Sam Crescent
He slid his hands down, cupping her ass and lifting her easily onto the counter. She wrapped her legs around him as if they’d been doing this for years. She squealed with laughter when he bit her neck, then shivered with pleasure when he ran his tongue over the tender skin.
“What did he do to you?” he whispered, licking the curve of her ear. He’d done something, that much was clear from the venom in her voice when she mentioned Niall.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about him. I want you inside me.”
Her words sent an electric current straight to his cock. He was only too happy to oblige. He pulled off her t-shirt as she tugged at his jeans. She wore a simple baby blue bra underneath, and there was something erotically innocent about the color that turned Vandal on even more. He cupped her breasts, skimming his lips over the inviting mounds, then dropping his mouth to tug lightly at her nipples through the cotton. She mumbled his name, still fumbling with his jeans.
It was the work of a few seconds to get them both out of their jeans, but Vandal hesitated, his fingers tracing her pert nipples through the bra. “I don’t have a condom.”
She grasped his stiff cock through his boxers, squeezing gently. “Then don’t finish in my cunt,” she whispered wickedly in his ear.
Vandal closed his eyes, lost. She was evil. She was perfect. He tugged down her panties, desperate to be inside her. The counter was the wrong height, so he picked her up and carried her over to the couch, settling her on his lap. Within seconds, he was inside her, his cock sliding home and drawing a long, low moan from her. She ground her hips and grabbed his hands, bringing them up to cup her breasts.
He was lost. She was made for him, her body made to play with, every curve made to explore, that sweet, filthy mouth made for…
He grabbed her hips, stopping her. She gave him a curious look.
“On your knees,” he said. “I want to see what your mouth looks like with my dick in it.”
She slid to the floor with an eagerness that made him groan. Grasping his thighs, she took his shaft into her mouth with deliberate slowness. She ran her tongue up and down, around his head, her eyes locked on his the whole time. Every lick sent hot shivers through Vandal, threatening to break him before he’d really, truly begun to enjoy the sight of her down there.
He knotted his fingers in her hair, controlling her tempo and relishing the muffled sounds of her pleasure as he kept her mouth where he wanted it. “Picture fucking perfect,” he breathed. “I wanna film you next time you do this.”
And there was going to be a next time. Right then, he wouldn’t have cared if she was married to Johnny Madden himself as long as she kept sucking him off, bringing him to the very edge of his self-control. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had made him feel like this—both vulnerable and dominant. It was addictive. She was addictive, and he wasn’t giving her up.
He didn’t care who he had to go through to keep her. Tara Murphy belonged to him now.
****
Two weeks later, Vandal drove into the Psycho City compound riding high and with the sweet scent of Tara’s perfume clinging to his cut. He’d spent more nights at hers than here or his own apartment in the past fortnight, learning how to tease and torment her, and new ways he could be tormented himself. Nights curled up on her sofa watching classic horror flicks and eating toffee popcorn—her favorite food. Nights sprawled in her bed with her leisurely giving him head while he toked a joint, the mellow smoke drifting out the open window and into the sultry darkness.
Nights where he’d shown her the scars he got saving a civilian’s life in a bomb blast in Afghanistan. Nights where she’d shown him the scars that drove her to leave Niall Madden, who was as quick with his fists as his mouth. He loved that she wasn’t ashamed, that she wore the scars like jewels, proud to have survived, to have gotten out. He hated that any other man had laid a hand on her, in passion or violence. He was going to be the last man she showed those scars to. The last man to see her naked. The only man she’d ever want or need.
He parked in his usual spot and took a minute to settle the possessive darkness clawing at him. As much as he could easily spend all day, every day obsessing over Tara, he didn’t have that luxury today. True’s man in the Harleston PD had confirmed earlier in the week that Brutus was being questioned over Beak’s murder. The Black Dogs had fallen into disarray with surprising swiftness, and Johnny Madden was ready to talk to Psycho City. As Sergeant at Arms, and therefore responsible for the MC’s security, Vandal’s presence at the meeting was key.
Johnny had given him a list of people he was bringing to the meeting, and Vandal would be checking every member of Johnny’s retinue for weapons. It was a condition of the meeting that everyone was unarmed, one he’d put forward himself. The Maddens liked to trash talk, and you could never guarantee tempers wouldn’t flare, no matter how mutually beneficial a business arrangement might be. Vandal never took chances with his brothers’ well-being. He hadn’t done it in the Marines and he didn’t do it here.
He found True and Spider already in the chapel, along with Cannibal and Shrike, the club’s Treasurer. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation. True clasped a giant mug of coffee, looking deceptively calm as he leafed through the morning papers, but Vandal saw the set of his shoulders and recognized the tension there. A deal with the Madden Gang would be extremely lucrative. If there was one thing True loved almost as much as his club it was cold, hard cash.
“You’re late,” Spider said as Vandal took his seat.
Vandal made a show of checking his watch. “I showed up right when I meant to.”
“Knock it off,” True said, without much heat. “Now that we are all here, I want to lay a few ground rules.”
Everyone switched their focus to him obediently. True never needed to do much to command attention. Built like a boxer and styled like a villainous Victorian gentleman, he was a compelling combination of rough and smooth. People wanted to stare at him. They wanted to listen. His brothers were no different, especially because they knew he was always worth listening to.
“Hopefully this goes without saying,” True said, sweeping his stern gaze over them all, “but no bullshit today. We know the Maddens like to push buttons—don’t rise to it. And no word about the Dogs. It’s much better for us if they look like they fucked up all by themselves.”
Cannibal snorted. “We’re not stupid, True,” he said. “We’ll follow your lead, same as always.”
True nodded. “Just want to make sure we’re all on the same page.” He glanced pointedly at Vandal.
Vandal frowned, rattled by his President’s veiled message. He hadn’t told any of his brothers he was still seeing Tara, not after Spider’s initial warning. But once he knew she was divorced from Niall, he hadn’t seen that it mattered. Tara and Niall were history, and Vandal sure as hell didn’t pry into his brothers’ sex lives.
Before he could answer, True’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and nodded to himself. “They’re here.”
Trying to push True’s words from his mind, Vandal stood sentry at the door. Adrenaline pumped through him when the knock came, and he blamed True entirely. Smoothing over his frown, he opened the door to greet Johnny Madden and his boys.
Johnny was a dapper-looking man in his fifties, still burly and powerfully built. His ginger hair was flecked with gray and his face bore the lines of both experience and age, but his eyes were what really marked him as dangerous. Shrewd and dark, they pierced Vandal, reminding him of a sand viper he’d found in his room once in Afghanistan. A kind of coldness that said the snake would bite you if it had to, but it didn’t give a shit either way. Johnny had that same detachment.
“Morning, boys,” he said, his voice bearing the faint traces of his native Irish accent. “Beautiful day to strike a deal.”
“I hope so,” True said. He waited until Vandal had patted Johnny down, then rose to greet him.
They clasped hands like ol
d friends. Whether it was an act or not, it settled Vandal’s nerves. It helped that Johnny’s three henchmen were all weapons-free, as agreed, and gave him no trouble as he searched them.
The fourth man was a problem. The fourth man had not been on Johnny’s list. Vandal found himself staring into a pair of steely dark eyes that burned with a naked aggression. Vandal frowned. “Your list said you were bringing three guys, Johnny,” he said, keeping his gaze locked on the unexpected visitor’s.
“Change of plans,” Johnny said. “I figured you lads wouldn’t mind me bringing my boy along. Give him a feel for the business, you know? Niall, say hello to everyone.”
“Hello,” Tara’s ex-husband said.
Chapter Five
For a second, all Vandal could hear was roaring as the blood rushed to his head. A pure, clean rage swept through him and every instinct screamed that he needed to snap this fucker’s neck. Niall Madden smiled at him, a cold, ugly smile that invited a fist. Time stretched out thin and fine between them while Vandal mastered his reaction, his need to hurt this man. His heart pounded at his ribs and his hands shook so hard he had to curl them into fists to hide it.
He swallowed it all, stomped on it. He hadn’t survived this far in life by being a slave to his emotions. And he wouldn’t, couldn’t destroy what True had worked for here by striking out at Niall, no matter how fucking satisfying it would be.
“Is there a problem?” Niall asked him, tone venomous.
“Vandal?” True’s tone was mild, but somehow more dangerous than Niall’s.
“No problem,” Vandal said. He forced a smile onto his face, certain the strain would crack it. He patted Niall down, taking the opportunity to get the measure of him. He was a big guy, a few inches taller than Vandal, and packed with muscle. And Vandal already knew, from the scars on Tara’s back, that he liked to fight dirty. Worth remembering.
“Clear,” he said, stepping aside to let Niall take his seat at the table. The man smirked at him as he passed. He knew. Somehow, he knew. Harleston wasn’t exactly a gossipy little town, but Vandal guessed he couldn’t be surprised. Men like Niall kept tabs on their victims’ lives. The question was, was he going to bring it up here and now, and wreck the deal they were trying to make? He took his own seat, next to Spider. It put him across from Niall, and the Madden boy stared at him, that nasty smirk never slipping.
“Now then,” Johnny said, once everyone was seated. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that there’s some heat on the Black Dogs right now that makes them … unreliable for me in a few avenues. And you don’t need to tell me how lucrative the drug trade is in this town.” He frowned slightly, probably irked that he’d never been able to make any inroads with it before. “So it seems to me we have some useful skills to offer each other, True.”
“I’ve always thought so,” True said. “So let’s not waste time dancing around.”
The deal-making began in earnest. Vandal tried to focus solely on True and Johnny, but his attention kept whirling back to Niall, whose gaze never left him. The inevitability of a clash ground at Vandal. But Jesus fucking Christ, surely Niall wouldn’t start something here? And if he did, could True salvage the meeting? Vandal drummed his fingers on the table, edgy and close to breaking point. Sitting across the table from the man who’d abused Tara was a worse torture than anything he could have dreamed up. He wanted to fight Niall. Wanted to shove his fist directly down the bastard’s throat.
And he couldn’t. It was agony.
“Stop that,” Niall said suddenly, interrupting his father mid-sentence. With the way he was glaring at Vandal, nobody could mistake who he was talking to. All eyes fell on Vandal.
He drummed his fingers harder. “Stop what?”
“Niall,” Johnny said.
Niall ignored him. “Are you an asshole or a fucking moron?” he asked Vandal.
Vandal held his red-hot glare, still drumming his fingers. “I’m an asshole, pal. Which are you?”
A sudden commotion broke out as Niall leaped to his feet, knocking his chair over. Johnny’s other boys rose, too, one of them throwing his arm across Niall’s chest as if to stop him diving across the table at Vandal. To Vandal’s right, Shrike stood with a warning shout. Vandal stayed put, even though every muscle screamed for him to tackle Niall head-on. True and Johnny didn’t move either, and that told Vandal he’d made the right call.
“Niall,” Johnny said again, anger lacing his tone. “What the fuck are you doing, son?”
Niall, red-faced and trembling with anger, thrust his finger at Vandal. “That’s the cunt who’s fucking Tara!”
Vandal bristled, feeling True’s gaze land on him hard, but Johnny just rolled his eyes.
“Really, Niall? Still with this shit?” Johnny stood, facing True. “My apologies, sir. Turns out my son isn’t as ready for this level of the business as I’d hoped. Maybe we should finish this another time?”
“Of course.” True stood to shake his hand. “We’ll be in touch.”
Madden’s boys filed out of the room. Johnny kept one hand on Niall’s shoulder the whole time, barely seeming to touch him, but Niall never tried to pull free. All he did was cast one last, burning look back at Vandal. It was enough to tell Vandal this wasn’t over.
But then, he already knew that.
When the door closed behind Johnny Madden, all the air went out of the room. Vandal exhaled, knowing True was about to chew him out. There was no escaping it. He’d fucked up. He turned to face his President.
True’s expression was clean and empty. When he spoke, it was soft and deliberate. “Are you fucking Niall Madden’s wife, Vandal?”
“No,” he said. “They’re divorced.”
“Jesus wept,” Spider said, slamming his fist on the table. “You think that matters to that psycho—”
“I don’t care what he thinks about it. They’re divorced. He was abusive.”
Spider sniffed. “Boy, unless her pussy spits diamonds, it’s still not worth it.”
Vandal stiffened at the crude words, but bit back his angry reply.
“How serious is it?” True asked him, ignoring Spider’s sneer.
Vandal didn’t hesitate. “I want her as my Old Lady.”
He hadn’t known it until he said it, but the words felt sure and right. Tara was special, someone he couldn’t let get away. Claiming her as his Old Lady was both a statement of his certainty and a measure of protection for her, should Niall decide to do something stupid. And he seemed like a guy who did a lot of stupid things.
True sighed and shoved his newspapers around aimlessly, shaking his head. “And she’s definitely through with the Maddens?”
“He abused her, True.” Vandal couldn’t believe he needed to repeat it. “I’ve seen the scars. Cigarette burns on her back. Yes, she’s fucking through with them.”
Across the room, Cannibal growled. “We really going into business with scum like that?” he asked True.
“I’m not making deals with Niall,” True said. “I’m making them with Johnny.” He turned his attention to Vandal, stormy gray eyes hard and serious. “Make her your Old Lady and you know we’ll go to the hilt for you, if it’s needed. But you’re out of any future dealings with Johnny.”
Vandal started to protest that, but True silenced him with a swipe of his hand.
“There’s no point adding gasoline to the fire. Cannibal can handle security for the next talk. I’m not risking you and Niall crossing paths if you’re really serious about this woman. Johnny will come back to the table this time. Let’s not assume he’ll do it a third time.”
I’m not letting your dick fuck up my deal, in other words. Vandal let it go. “Understood,” he said through gritted teeth. Cannibal knew his shit. Vandal trusted him to run things smoothly, and it wasn’t as if Vandal was being stripped of his rank. Just cut out of Psycho City’s biggest deal in years.
But it was okay. It was fine if it meant he could keep Tara. If she’d become his Old Lady. His
gut feelings about her were so strong, it seemed impossible that she didn’t feel the same about him, but it wasn’t as if they’d talked about their feelings or the future.
He stood, nodding respectfully at True. “I guess we’re done here?”
“Yeah, we’re done.” True waved his hand at him dismissively. “Go do whatever you need to do.”
****
Tara was out of town for a tattoo convention all day, not planning to be back until late in the evening. It killed Vandal that he couldn’t ride straight to Canvas and make his claim. He even toyed with the idea of asking Ling where the convention was so he could go find her there, but quickly dismissed the idea. Ling was protective enough of her friend that she wouldn’t give that information away. Knowing Tara’s history with Niall, Vandal didn’t blame her. In fact, he liked that—but he’d like it better once Tara was his Old Lady and he wasn’t someone Ling guarded her against.
Instead of loitering around Canvas like a stalker, he rode down to the docks and sat on the waterfront. Sunlight sparkled on the water, dazzling him, and he watched fishermen and dog-walkers down on the stony shore with a quiet sense of impatience.
“Hey, bad boy.” Sienna surprised him, sneaking up on him. Seeing her in daylight was always slightly surreal. Out of her hooker gear, in sneakers and a candy-pink tank top, she looked cute and wholesome. She sat down next to him, offering him a warm smile. “How’s life?”
He was surprised her first question wasn’t how’s Cannibal? “It goes on,” he said, cautious. Sienna was solid, and completely loyal to Psycho City, but you never knew who else was hanging around the docks.
“Heard the news about Brutus,” she said. “Is everything okay?”
He recognized the veiled question. “I don’t know. There’s a complication.” He grimaced. Tara was not a complication. No fucking way. But Niall had made himself into one. It was all very well for True to tell Vandal to stay low, but in his gut, Vandal knew that wouldn’t resolve anything. Niall was clearly obsessed. Men like that didn’t just quit.