by Jen Davis
“You need to get over to the new site. Fast.” Though Brick pitched his voice low, it nearly vibrated with intensity. “It’s your girl. Some guy messed her up really bad.”
He may have said more, but those were the last words Kane registered. If he were thinking clearly, he might have asked questions or tried to find out exactly what had happened. He didn’t need to clarify his friend was talking about Mandy. There was no other girl, and they both knew it.
The normal drive time to the new development lasted about five or six minutes. The Harley got him there in three, weaving in and out of the cars on the road, even taking him over a couple of sidewalks.
He drove straight up to the steps outside the trailer, where he noticed right away the door hung open, but two men blocked it. He shouldered his way past them.
Mandy lay on the floor, her back propped against the wall next to the desk. Her left cheekbone was red with the telltale swelling he’d seen on his mother’s face too many times to count. Her blouse was ripped at the sleeve, and she winced as her fingers slid back and forth over her neck. From the unfocused look in her eyes, it was obvious she didn’t register his presence.
White hot rage nearly froze him in place, but the need to touch her, to comfort her rose to the surface. He knelt beside her, resting his hand on her shoulder.
She lashed out, leading with her fists and following through with the weight of her slight body. Her knuckles skimmed over his chest, but she kept fighting, either unconcerned or unaware her strikes weren’t landing.
He slipped his hands around her wrists, holding them immobile, and the wild look in her eyes twisted his gut.
“Let me go,” she rasped, struggling against his grip.
“Mandy.” He said it gently, the way his mom had said his name when he’d woken up in the hospital. “It’s Kane. Baby, look at me.”
Her body stilled, and her gaze shot around the room. From the corner of his eye, he could see no sign of Brick, but Cy and Evan still crowded around the door. She would hate having witnesses to something like this. “Can you give us some space, guys?” He had a feeling they could help him fill in the blanks, but his first priority was taking care of his woman.
The door clicked shut behind him, and Mandy’s shoulders slumped forward. She made a small cry as he pulled her into his arms. “Shh. You’re okay now. Everything is going to be okay.” He kissed the top of her head and rocked her gently.
She didn’t make another sound, but her uneven breaths and shaking shoulders spoke volumes. Someone had hurt her beyond words, and he would not rest until the perpetrator paid the price in blood and fucking tears. But Mandy came first.
Five minutes may have passed—or maybe fifty—but it felt like an eternity before Mandy’s breathing evened out, and she relaxed against him. “I want to go home,” she whispered.
He helped her to her feet, which he realized were bare. “Do you have any shoes?” When her face started to crumple again, he didn’t hesitate. He swept her into his arms and carried her to the door, swiping her purse from the desk along the way.
Cyrus and Evan were keeping vigil at the foot of the stairs, and Evan nodded gravely, jaw clenched, as they passed by. Cyrus rushed ahead to Mandy’s car and opened the passenger door so Kane could release her inside.
Kane closed the door as she wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face into her raised knees. He turned to Cyrus. “Who did this?”
Cy shook his head in frustration. “I didn’t get his name, but he was definitely Old Money, and he definitely had a history with your lady.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I think he might have thought she and I—” He cleared his throat. “He asked if I was the one who scratched up her face with my beard. If she was sleeping with me while they were still together.”
Mother fucker. His jaw clenched. “Was this before or after he put his hands on her?”
“I knew something was up when he went storming into the trailer. He looked like he was ready to burn the place down, you know?” Cyrus cracked his knuckles as he spoke. “I followed him, but he was a little ahead of me. He’d already hit her once by the time I got inside.”
“And then?”
Cy’s hands balled into fists. “When he called her a whore, I let him go long enough to clock him in the face. I didn’t count on him going for her throat afterward. I had to call Evan and Brick to help me pull him off her.”
His instincts tugged him in separate directions. The drive to find this guy and kill him was a fire in his veins. But the need to protect Mandy, to comfort her, and help soothe whatever pieces of her the attack left broken, jagged, and raw…that duty was paramount. He would keep her safe, full stop.
“Where is this guy now?” More importantly, was Mandy still in danger?
“We were going to hold him for the cops, but your girl wouldn’t let us. She was afraid he’d manage to turn it back around on one of us—get me or Evan thrown in jail.” He scoffed. “The day I’m afraid of a prick like him will be the day I need to trade in my nuts for a handbag. But she was kind of freaking out, so Brick took him out of here. Evan really cleaned his clock. Don’t know if the guy will be eating any solid foods for a while, much less coming back around here to make more trouble.”
Seemed like he owed the new guy big time. “Thanks for everything. I’m going to get her home.” He flashed Cyrus a look, meant to convey the depth of his gratitude, then rounded the back of Mandy’s car to approach the driver’s seat.
He was going to kill her ex, but first, she needed him to take care of her.
When he climbed behind the wheel, she hadn’t moved from her curled-up position on the passenger seat. “Hold on, sweetheart. I’m talking you home.”
She finally lifted her head. “Not mine.” Her voice was like sandpaper. “Yours.”
She wanted to go to his place? The idea hadn’t even occurred to him, though it probably should have. Her ex had no idea who he was, much less where to find them. He simply never invited women over; something about the idea of a person he may never want to see again imprinting herself on his personal space. It wasn’t the case with Mandy, though, was it? She was already imprinted on every part of his heart, body, and soul.
“You got it. Buckle up. We’ll be there before you know it.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Amanda
Amanda wasn’t sure what she expected Kane’s apartment to look like. Something cheap or messy, maybe? Dirty clothes on the floor or empty beer bottles on the coffee table. Not the clean, comfortable space he led her into.
She focused on her surroundings, forbidding her thoughts from reliving the events in Xander’s trailer.
All Kane’s furniture matched. The plush brown sofa against the wall clearly came from the same set as the overstuffed chair near the sliding glass door. The same unblemished walnut used on the coffee table made up the two end tables and the small entertainment center supporting the TV.
A landscape print hung, framed, on the pristine cream-colored wall. The beige carpet felt soft beneath the pads of her sore feet.
A prickle of shame climbed inside her. Why wouldn’t he have a nice place?
Because he’s in a nasty-ass biker gang, a sharp voice hissed in the back of her head.
Kane was more than just the club, though, wasn’t he?
The way his brother and his father talked about women—the way they put their fucking club above their family, their jobs, basically everything—it turned her stomach. But the club meant something different to him.
After all, he’d never treated her like trash. Hell, even when he had every reason to hate her, he’d worried about how she was doing after Mike’s crash. Even when he was hurt, even when he thought she kept him from his own child, he gave her a chance to explain. He listened. He was reasonable.
Now he took care of her. He wasn’t going all caveman, beating his chest, trying to track down Nathan, though she had no doubt he wanted to. No, instead he opened his arms and h
is home to make her feel safe. And it worked. At this moment, she wasn’t the least bit worried about her ex. Maybe he’d seek retribution for this, but not here and not now.
Kane stepped in close behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. “What can I do? What do you need?”
She turned into his arms. His warmth seeped into her bones. “I want to lie down,” she murmured. Her throat protested with the effort to speak.
Lacing his fingers with hers, he led her into his bedroom. His bed nearly took up the entire room.
How many women has he brought here?
She blinked away the mental images assaulting her brain.
“I’m, uh, going to go get changed.” Kane stood next to a tall dresser, clothes in hand. “Help yourself to anything in the top drawer if you want to get more comfortable.” He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and shut the door.
Part of her wanted to dig through every one of his drawers, look under his bed and inside the closet. She wanted proof he wasn’t too good to be true, proof she wasn’t a fool to trust him, but trust didn’t come from proof. So, she opened only the drawer he offered and pulled out a gray t-shirt and a pair of black boxers. Quickly, she stripped down to her panties and donned his clothes. They smelled like him.
So do his sheets, she noted as she climbed in his bed. Did he still prefer sleeping on the left side? Unsure, she situated herself in the middle. It was still early evening, but her body was wrecked.
Minutes later, Kane returned, wearing some sweatpants cut off at the knee and a thick white-T. The black and red ink of the tattoos on his arms contrasted sharply against the fabric. She couldn’t take her eyes off them as he climbed into her right and leaned back against the pillows on the headboard.
Her fingers traced over the various devils and angels in the design. Each one was slightly different from the next, but they were all women, either with wings or a pitchfork and horns. The other arm featured a collage of skulls. “Tell me about them,” she whispered.
He scooted down so she could rest her head on his chest. “The tats?” His chest shook a little as he chuckled. “I wish I had some deep meaning behind them I could share, but I don’t. They aren’t based on any real people or anything. The angels and the devils, I guess, they—women can be either. Or both. Or neither. Obviously, my feelings about the opposite sex are complicated.”
He paused. “No, actually. My feelings about you have been complicated. I didn’t really have feelings about any of the others. They were just…there. Shitty of me, I know, but I never lied to them. I never pretended there could be any kind of future for us. I was too dead inside, you know? I was always looking for something to make me feel alive.”
His palm smoothed over her hair. “I got the first devil a year after we broke up. I got a new one every year. Every October twenty-fifth for twelve years after, some remembered the good times, some didn’t.”
“They’re all about me?” she croaked.
“No. Well, not really. More about how I felt about relationships and women at first. Later, I guess, it got to be a tradition. And the skulls, they’re obviously about the club. I got those whenever I got the urge to go back under the needle. Like what I was saying before, I was looking for ways to feel alive. The sting did it. So did my brothers.”
She itched to stop him there. She didn’t want to talk about the club or hear about it. What if it was the one thing ultimately destined to keep them apart? Once they put all their cards on the table, this fantasy of a happy ever after between them would be ruined. Maybe she needed a boot in the ass, though, a swift kick of reality.
Kane kept talking, oblivious to her internal battle. “I know we’re both tiptoeing around the club thing, and I guess I’m a bastard for bringing it up now, but we need to face reality. Okay?”
She squeezed her eyes closed and nodded against his hard chest.
“My feelings about the club are complicated. All the shit I hated about the culture before, I still hate. The thing is, I’m probably a big fucking hypocrite because I haven’t treated women a whole lot better since I patched in, but it’s different with you. I have never and will never treat you the way the club treats the old ladies.”
He pulled back to look at her face. “If it was only about my dad, I would walk away without ever looking back, but some of the other guys, like Cue Ball and Frank, they’re what family is supposed to be. They’re more than friends to me; they’re my brothers, Mandy. They picked me up every time I fell down. Scott too. They would lay down their lives for me. What kind of brother—what kind of person—would I be if I pushed them aside the minute you came back into my life?”
She didn’t even try to answer. A thousand words wouldn’t have been enough to hash it all out, and it hurt like hell to try to say any at all. She shook her head and touched her throat with a frown.
“I know.” He hugged her to him again. “The sad thing is, even if you could talk, I don’t have all the answers. There are days I want out, and it doesn’t even have anything to do with you. Sometimes, I just want to get away from all the stupid fucking choices they’re making, because I can see they’re headed for a disaster, and they won’t listen. I keep thinking I can save them, but every time I try, it’s like I’m beating my head against the wall.”
Two truths shone like beacons in her head. One, Kane wanted out of the club, and two, the only way their relationship could survive was if he made the decision to leave on his own. The way he was talking, it might actually happen. She tipped her head to kiss the spot on his chest above his heart, then burrowed into his warmth.
“Let’s get some sleep.” He flipped the switch above his nightstand, casting the room in darkness.
There would be plenty of time to talk tomorrow. She relaxed into his arms, and for the first time she allowed herself a glimmer of hope. Maybe this time they’d get the happy ending they were long overdue.
***
Amanda woke up with a radiating heat against her back and a rock-hard dick nestled against her ass. She squirmed against the iron grip locking her in a man’s arms. Tattooed arms. Kane.
He groaned, his breath hot on her neck, and his hand moved to cup her breast. The touch sent a zing of awareness between her legs.
How many times had they made love this way? Him pushing in slowly from behind, his fingers plucking her nipples or strumming her clit. There were nights she dreamed of it, waking with his name on her lips and her own hand beneath her panties.
The reality was so much better, even without the penetration she was already craving. But it didn’t have to stop here. She covered his hand with hers and dragged it down to where she wanted to feel him most.
Kane didn’t disappoint. His fingers slid beneath the silky fabric of her panties, over her mound, to the slick slit beneath. His middle finger parted her folds. “Fuck. You’re so wet.”
She tilted her hips toward his hand. “It’s what you do to me.” She moaned as he slid his finger inside her. “It’s what you’ve always done to me.”
The pressure against her ass intensified with his answering thrust. “Feel what you do to me.”
She pumped her hips forward and back, riding his hand and rubbing on his impressive cock. “I’d rather feel it inside me.”
In a heartbeat, his hand was gone, and he was tugging off his clothes. When his dick pressed against her moments later, only the thin silk of her panties separated them.
Looping her thumbs in the elastic, she slid the drenched material down her legs. His heated flesh was already sliding between her lips, teasing her with his thickness, and it took every drop of resolve she had to whisper, “Condom,” rather than impaling herself on his arousal.
A knock sounded at the front door.
Kane slid his tongue along her pulse. “Ignore it.” His fingers toyed with her from the front, as he continued to torment her with the promise of fulfillment from behind.
Another knock.
She groaned in frustration.
�
�Shh,” he murmured. “They’ll go away. Just—”
They both froze with the sound of the deadbolt turning.
“Kane. Why aren’t you answering the door, brother?”
No. Anyone but Scott.
Kane grabbed the comforter and yanked it up to cover their bodies seconds before his dickhead brother sauntered in the room. “You sleeping off a bender or—holy shit—you brought home a piece of ass last night?” The laughter died in his throat as his eyes met hers. The smile on his face twisted into something ugly. “Not just any piece of ass. The piece of ass.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “Your Highness.”
“You can let yourself out the same way you came in,” Kane growled.
“And miss the opportunity to catch up on old times?” He shook his head. “No way.” He parked himself on the foot of the bed. “So, have you managed to pull the stick out of your ass sometime in the past decade, or is it trapped up there forever?”
A vicious kick from Kane knocked him off the mattress, but he popped right back onto his feet with a dark chuckle. “C’mon now, little brother, you know I speak the truth. Getting ditched by Princess Bitch here was the best thing that ever happened to you. But maybe her tight ass is good for something you never told me about.”
Kane sprang from the bed and lunged at his brother. “Get the fuck out of here before I forget we’re family, Scott.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time, with her in the picture.” Despite his big talk, Scott backed out of the room, ducking Kane’s swing.
Both men completely ignored the fact Kane was stark naked. She could not. His physique was damn near perfect. Broad shoulders and sculpted arms framed a strong back that tapered down to his waist in a vee. The muscles in his ass flexed as he walked, and his legs had a thickness they didn’t carry years ago.
She barely even noticed the tattoos anymore, though the relatively empty expanse of skin on his back was a bit of a surprise. There was only…