by Jennifer Ann
Maybe this time I’ll get lucky, and Inferno Glory will take out the two men I despise.
Still eyeing my father hard, I frown. “Isn’t Inferno’s president the one that ordered the hit on Smalls?”
A dark mask of rage slips over my father’s expression, filling the room with an uncomfortably thick amount of tension. “You think I’d ever forget what that rat bastard did? Plannin’ to take care of Colt Sawyer while we’re at it. Been lookin’ for an excuse to use that new wood chipper.” His easy-going smile returns as he slings an arm around Steel’s shoulder. “We’ll save business for later. In the meantime, enjoy yourselves, boys. There’s more than enough premium pussy to go around for everyone.” Throwing me one last vile look, he strides away with Steel.
I should’ve slit Ajax Kennison’s throat in his sleep years ago. The fact that I haven’t is a severe injustice to his countless victims.
Once again, Diesel’s cold fingers inch beneath the backside of my skirt. “We’re bringin’ one of them dancers home tonight,” he declares in a drunken slur. “This time you’re gonna do more than watch.”
Numbness spreads over my limbs as I gaze beyond him to where the experienced blonde dancer straddles Bane’s lap. Sasha watches on, ready to pounce as planned.
It’s time to get the fuck outta this infested playground.
For good.
“Looks like you’re gonna have to fight Bane for them,” I sneer.
As expected, Diesel starts for Bane and the stripper with anger and determination shadowing his features.
My heartbeat thunders against my eardrum with each step toward the door.
The taste of freedom scorches against my throat.
3
Stone
Eyes glued on the biker clubhouse for any signs of trouble, a sense of unease snakes up my backside. Rook and Ryker are morons for letting their women follow through with this plan, thinking they could plant the seed to start a war between the Martyrs of Mayhem and Terrance Fisher. But what do I know? The longest I’ve had a chick in my life involved a 48-hour fuckfest in Okinawa with an oversexed daddy’s girl taking a semester abroad.
I don’t do relationships. Until the band recently signed a deal that promised to put us on the charts, I had jack-shit to offer aside from an ass-load of anger. My folks made marriage look as fun as waterboarding anyway. And that was long before my brother’s accident. After Carson died, I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as either one of them. Started to wish they’d tear each other apart the way they were always threatening.
When I’d had enough, I moved in with my Grandma Mariam. She had life figured out after her last prison sentence—decided she was better off without a spouse. “Marriage is a sport for rich assholes and politicians,” she’d always say. “Not worth the time or energy it sucks from your life.” Sometimes I miss that crazy old bird even more than my brother.
With the band’s recent success, I’m about to come into even more hard cash than what I made boosting cars, crowning me the epitome of a “rich asshole.” But money and chicks are the worst combination. And once In Disarray hits the road, I’m not gonna deal with one up my ass about groupies and shit. I’ve served my time—both in jail and in the military. I’m finally a free man. Why the hell would I wanna add that kind of stress to my otherwise peaceful existence?
The side clubhouse door creaks open. A chick with a fuck-ton of hair the color of caramel, endless curves, and the shortest skirt imaginable slips out into the darkness, eyes darting around the parking lot. Can see her shaking from where I watch less than half a klick away. Whatever lucky bastard’s tapping that must not have a lick of sense to let her prowl around dressed in next to nothing.
Seconds later, the door re-opens behind her, spewing out a stout biker in a leather vest. The chick nearly jumps out of her skin. She fumbles for something inside her bra, quickly producing a cigarette and setting it between her lips before turning to him. Sensing trouble, I make my way closer.
“The fuck you doin’ out here?” the guy barks at her, lips curled with a sneer.
The hot brunette holds a lighter up to her smoke. “What’s it look like, Diesel? Can’t a girl smoke in peace?”
Her trembling fingers drop the lighter. When she drops to her knees to retrieve it, the man grabs a fistful of curls.
“Best be watchin’ your tone with me, bitch!” he roars, hauling her back up to her feet. “Get your ass back inside!”
The hottie screams, swatting her arms though the air. “Get your hands off me!”
He punches her in the stomach.
Somewhere in my head, a switch flips.
Everything around me submerges into darkness.
Hell. Fucking. No.
Swallowing a savage growl, I haul ass to where they’re engaged in a drag-down scuffle. The guy backhands the side of the woman’s head, sending her spiraling down on her stomach with a screeching howl. Don’t know much about “club” practices—maybe this kind of thing’s common. But I’m not sitting on my damn thumbs, watching this shit go down.
The two-way radio strapped to my waist crackles to life. “Stone, where you goin’, man?”
I flick the dial down, muting Morrison’s voice before reaching for my Beretta. I’m expecting the abusive prick to be packing, and won’t be caught off guard.
Pulling the ski mask down over my face, I creep along a row of motorcycles, coming at the dickhead from behind. I press the muzzle to his temple. “Sure this is the last thing you wanna do before you die, asshole?” I sneer. “Rough up a woman less than half your size? What kind of man are you?”
“Who the fuck are you?” he growls, still holding onto the whimpering woman by her thick hair.
“Unless you let her go, I’ll be the guy from your worst fuckin’ nightmare.”
Vibrating with rage, he releases his grip, slowly lifting both arms up at his sides. “What kind of man hides behind a mask?”
“The kind smart enough to know this building’s filled with more cowardly assholes just like you. Now get down on the ground, hands laced behind your head. Don’t pretend you haven’t been in this exact situation before, fuckhead. Guessin’ the cops around these parts know you on a first name basis.” As he complies, I glance down where the chick watches from the ground, favoring her arm like it’s busted. “You all right, sweetheart?”
Looking down into the enormous emerald eyes surrounded by a fuck-ton of dark lashes, a sense of déjà vu grips my spine. They’re the same gorgeous eyes that once belonged to a long and willowy girl with frizzy brown hair down to her elbows. She was like a new tree ready to shed its first leaf. Years ago when I first found the pale skinned kid covered in freckles, hiding in the old apartment building our band used for jamming, I figured it was some punk whose balls hadn’t dropped. Then that green gaze latched onto mine, and I realized it was a young girl. Like jailbait-young. She was so damn terrified—like a mouse on the verge of scampering away.
Everything about her back then screamed sweet and innocent.
The sexy woman glaring back at me is neither of those things.
“Who are you?” she demands, brows drawing down. Then her eyes flicker over my shoulder, and her face pales. “Behind you!”
I turn to deflect a strike from the dickhead. He charges like a rhino, but he’s hammered and slower than a sloth. I kick his legs out from beneath him, slamming him down on his back. His head catches on the concrete curb and he becomes still, eyes closed. My heart ticks a little faster when a gush of blood pools onto the pavement around his skull.
Shit. The guys are gonna have my ass for this.
The chick gasps loudly behind me. “Is he…dead?” From the lick of excitement in her tone, I’m guessing there must not be a whole lotta love lost between them. Can’t say anyone would blame her after what I just witnessed.
Squatting, I press two fingers over his carotid artery, finding a steady pulse. “Not yet.” Scratching my stubble beneath the itchy wool mask, I rise
back to my feet before turning to her. “If he doesn’t bleed out, he’s gonna be angry as a fuckin’ hornet when he comes to.”
Hair gathered behind her head, eyes glazed, she stares down on him. “Dammit,” she mutters to herself. “He’ll kill me for this.”
Delicate features on a pretty little face still make her look the part of a sweet little mouse, but she’s not fooling anyone—least of all, me. Something behind the flint of those dazzling emerald orbs tells me she’s a survivor. It’s the same look I’ve seen in the mirror since I was a kid.
With that tight body and sultry voice, full lower lip begging to be sucked, more curls than my hands could ever handle, sparkling gaze enticing me to touch her, and balls-to-the-wall attitude—it’s as if I’m being bated…tested to my limits. It’s all the things that get my motor running, wrapped up in one extraordinary being. The longer I stare at her, the more my dick stiffens until my jeans are two sizes too tight.
One thing’s crystal fucking clear. There’s no leavin’ her with this monster.
I press the button on the two-way radio. “Time to pull the girls outta there. Light ‘em up.”
“Ten-four,” Morrison’s crackled voice answers.
Her sweetheart lips drop open. “Who’s that? What girls?”
“No time to explain. You have a cell phone on you?” When she shakes her head, I glance down to where she’s still favoring her arm. “Think it’s broken?”
Sucking that plump bottom lip into her mouth, she answers with a slower shake of her head like she’s suddenly afraid of me. If she hasn’t remembered how we know each other by now, maybe it’s occurring to her that she may’ve been rescued by a psychopath.
I crouch down and grab her other arm, scooping her off the ground and throwing her over my shoulder. She releases a surprised squeak, just like a goddamned mouse. She’s as light as I expected, but the weight of her tits on my shoulder feels like a thousand tons. Fuck me…she’s not wearing a damn bra. And she smells sweeter than cherry pie.
“Hold on, lil’ mouse.”
“Wait!” Her fists tug on the back of my shirt. “Let me down! My friend’s inside!”
Hot air shoots from my nostrils as I steal across the yard. Of course she has a friend in need of saving. I’ve fucked this plan to hell already, so there was no chance of whisking her away without there being more complications. “I’ll come back for her—after you’re somewhere safe.”
We’re nearly to the edge of the property when Morrison’s fireworks erupt behind us, illuminating the sky over our heads with crackled bursts. A piercing scream rattles my eardrums, and her fingernails dig into my back. “What’s happening?”
“Christ! They’re fuckin’ fireworks!” I set her down next to the hole Morrison cut in the chain link fence. Her pretty emerald eyes dart around the yard, unsure. She’s as scared as she is beautiful. Something feral inside of me wants to protect the hell outta her at any cost. “Hurry that sweet ass through,” I command. “They’ll be coming any second.”
Her petrified stare lingers on me for a split second, like she’s still trying to place where we’ve met before. Then she effortlessly slips through the fence. I push through behind her with far less ease, collecting her hand once we’re both on the other side. It’s shockingly tiny in my grip, making me feel like a damn grizzly bear. Forced to slow for her short strides, I contemplate throwing her over my shoulder again. But we finally make it to the stolen car, fireworks still shooting across the sky.
I open the passenger’s door, and shove her in. Every second we’re away from the clubhouse, my thoughts begin to clear a little more. Rook and Ryker are unquestionably going to fuck me up for putting their women in danger. Lucky for them, Zoe and Brooke are smarter than any average chick. No doubt they’ll find their way out of whatever shit show was going on inside.
By the time I start the engine and peel out into the street, the lil’ mouse is bouncing around like a kid. Good hand on the back of my seat, she cranes her neck to watch the clubhouse grow smaller. I take advantage of her distracted state, giving my eyes the freedom to roam. Golden complexion, high cheekbones kissed by the sun, pouty lips—as far as I can tell without a lick of makeup—she’s a natural stunner, remindin’ me of the 80s nudie magazines I found in my old man’s stash of Brooke Shields and Farrah Faucet.
My eyes trail down to the tiny skirt doing a dishonorable job of covering her long legs, faded tan still clinging to her shimmery skin from warmer days. Her skimpy shirt clings tightly to a pair of breasts with a generous curve, their hard nipples poking against the fabric. Everywhere she was once skin and bones, she’s all curves and soft angles. Any trace of the timid girl I found all those years ago has been replaced by pure woman, finer than hell, and sexy as shit.
“Where are you taking me?” she demands.
Fucking hell. Even the tone of her voice has a deep, seductive roll.
“Somewhere safe,” I growl out, drawing my eyes away from her body. “What’s your name?”
“Andie.”
I shake the name from my head, deciding “lil’ mouse” is more fitting than a dude’s name. “Listen carefully. I don’t know what your relationship was to that spineless prick, but you’re gonna have to go to the ER and tell the cops—”
“No way! They’d just take me back to my father!”
The fuck? Glancing her way, I scowl beneath the mask as my gut roils. “That was your old man?”
“What? No! He was…never mind. It doesn’t matter.” The hand on her uninjured arm balls into a fist. “That prick thinks he owns me—he’s been holding me there against my will for years.”
Pulse skipping erratically, I shake my head with the visual of her chained to a fucking wall. “Holding you how?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t! What’s this about your old man?”
She turns to stare over her other shoulder. “I can’t go back to him. That’s all you need to know.”
I palm the top of the ski mask with one hand, feeling duped. Her daddy probably disowned her for running off to be with a big, bad biker who turned out to be more than she could handle. I’d be better off booking it to Canada before the guys in my crew learn the lame-ass truth of why I averted from the plan.
“When do I get to see your face?” she snarls, voice all at once hard. “I feel like I know you from somewhere. Your voice sounds…familiar. What’s your name?”
I grunt, eyes narrowing on the road. The only thing that would make Ryker and Rook more livid at this point is if I were to expose myself to the public as a thug, and void the band’s deal. They’ve both rearranged their lives for the opportunity to become a success in the music industry. “Not happenin’. Wouldn’t want you pointin’ me out to your daddy in a lineup.”
“That’s not—”
She’s cut off by the brash sound of my Pantera ringtone. I snatch my phone from the counsel and slip the pad of my thumb across the screen.
“What the fuck happened?” Ryker shouts. “Morrison said you pulled your gun on someone, and ran off with a biker chick!”
Driving with my knee, I press a pointer finger and thumb against the bridge of my nose. “Your women okay?”
“They’re shook up, no thanks to your stupid ass!” he barks back. “You need to come back to my place ASAP! They ran into a serious complication that we need to discuss!”
I glance over to where Andie watches intently, lips pressed together in a tight line. Hot damn, the woman’s brimming with fire and vinegar. “I got somethin’ important to do. I’ll meet up at your place soon as I can.”
“What the hell could you possibly have to do right this moment? Does it have to do with that woman?”
“I’ll fill you in later.”
“Stone, wai—”
Ending the call, I drop my phone into my lap and grip the steering wheel.
“Whose women are you talking about?” Andie demands. “What were they doing at the clubhouse? What wer
e you doing there?”
Watching the middle class houses whiz by, I ignore her while running through my options. Taking her to Ryker’s would be suicide, plain and simple. They’d think I lost my shit for a hot piece of ass. I could dump her at some family restaurant in the suburbs with a wad of cash, or even the Mall of America. That place is generally safe on a normal day, and she’d blend in easily enough. Just not convinced I’m ready to let her fend for herself at this point.
I glance at her over my shoulder. “There a friend’s place you could crash at for awhile? Sibling’s?”
Her eyes narrow into angry slits. “The only friend I have in this world is in that clubhouse.”
Naturally. “She gettin’ smacked around like you?”
She flinches with a guilt-ridden look. “Yeah. She is.”
“Goddammit!” I slam my fist into the dashboard, wanting to fuck something up.
As long as I live, I’ll never understand why some women stay with the kind of asshole who would lay an uninvited hand on them. Women’s bodies are solely put on this earth to be worshiped and appreciated.
Suppose I could take her to my apartment. It’d be relatively safe, without a single picture of myself or anyone I know in sight. Never understood why anyone hangs pictures to begin with. The only people I give a damn about I see almost every single day. Not like I could ever forget any of the guys’ ugly mugs or their hot women. But there’s the danger that she could go digging through cupboards where I keep bills and shit.
Reaching into the backseat, I grab the Quiet Riot t-shirt I was wearing before changing into the all-black getup Brooke insisted we all wear. Ripping the cotton right down the center, I hand a strip of it to the little mouse at my side. “Wrap that around your eyes…nice and tight.”
“Why?”