Judgment Road

by Christine Feehan

  When Reaper slid off the bike, he looked stiff. As if his body hurt. She frowned. "Are you okay? Were you in an accident?"

  He gestured toward the building, removing his gloves as he did. "Inside."

  She considered hitting him over the head with the helmet, but placed it carefully on the bike instead. Head up, she walked in front of him, feeling like a wayward child whose father had come and gotten her from the wild party. It didn't help that several of the club members were seated around the bar and some at the tables. They all looked up when she came in. Some smiled. Preacher greeted her. She nodded to him, but Reaper put his bare hand on the small of her back, under the jacket and flannel, and pushed her into the hall.

  She was very aware of his hand, so hot it felt like he melted right through her skin to her bones. Sinking into her veins. Deeper. To her core. It felt too intimate, as if he had the right to put his bare hand on her bare skin. It shook her how much just his touch sent heat waves radiating through her body. She tried not to think too much about what was between them.

  She wanted him again. She knew that. She just didn't know if her heart could take it. She went to the room she'd had the night before, and he reached around her to open the door. Once inside she turned and faced him, mostly because his hand had burned a hole through her entire back, all the way to her heart and it was melting that as well. She couldn't afford for that to happen.

  As she turned, he flicked on the overhead light and her breath caught in her throat. "Reaper. Oh my God. Sit down. What happened to you? Were you in an accident?"

  "Nope. A fight. A few fights." Those blue eyes stayed on her face. "What the fuck were you doing out there again? You have some kind of a death wish?"

  She backed up until the backs of her knees hit the bed. "You didn't say anything to me, so I thought we were done. It's not like I can live here just because we . . ." She gestured in the air, uncertain what they'd done. Wild sex? Best sex in the world? What? What did biker babes call it? They'd fucked. It was over. He'd made that clear.

  "I told you it was done when I said it was done. You hear me say that?"

  She shook her head because he hadn't said they were done and that just left her more confused than ever.

  "You eat tonight?"

  "Didn't your minions give you a full report?"

  "Babe. Long fuckin' day. You hungry or what?"

  She shook her head.

  "Good. Strip."

  "What?"

  "Take your clothes off."

  "Just like that? I'm not so certain you're up to this, and without any talking or anything, I'm not sure I am."

  "Can't kiss you because my lips are cut to hell. Can't talk because my cock is gettin' in the way. Makes it hard to think when I hurt like a son of a bitch. You shouldn't be so damn beautiful if you don't want me hard as a fuckin' rock when I look at you."

  She bent down to untie her shoes. He stood draped against the door, looking beat up, bruised and swollen, but he was right, she could see the outline of his cock pushed tight against the fabric of his jeans. Even beat up he looked good. He wasn't making a move to undress and that worried her a little. She kicked both shoes off and peeled off her socks, stood up and pulled off his shirt. Her new bra wasn't as pretty as the lacy one he'd shredded, or the beautiful black one that went under the tee she spotted on the nightstand, but it was cheap enough that she could afford it. She wasn't taking chances with him tearing it off her, so she took that off too.

  She had generous breasts. There was no getting around it. Just like her hips--she had those as well. She hesitated before turning to face him after putting the bra on top of his flannel.

  "Keep going."

  When she turned back, he had his jeans open and his fist circled his cock. Her breath caught in her throat. He looked sexy as hell standing there, still in his colors, fully clothed, with his cock out, stroking it slowly, his gaze burning through her.

  "God, you're so fuckin' beautiful it hurts."

  He sounded like he meant it--that he was in awe of her or something. A fresh wave of hot liquid dampened her panties. She pushed jeans and panties off her hips and stepped out of them. She was totally naked, and he was fully dressed. It felt decadent. Sinful. She also felt vulnerable.

  She fully expected him to ask her to kneel down and suck him off, but he didn't. He indicated the bed. "Bend over the bed."

  She couldn't believe the way her heart began to pound so frantically, or the way her body had already started into meltdown. He hadn't kissed her. He hadn't touched her. Nothing. But she wanted him desperately. What was wrong with her?

  "Sure you don't want to lie down? I could ride you," she offered.

  "Body's too sore. Get your ass over that bed. Not going to tell you again."

  She sent him a look over her shoulder, moving to obey, but deliberately slow about it. He caught the nape of her neck and pressed her face into the mattress, one hand sliding between her legs.

  "Fuck yeah, Anya. You're ready for me." He pushed her legs farther apart with his boot. One finger curled into her. "Can't eat you tonight. Hungry for you, but my mouth is a mess."

  She didn't care, although his mouth had given her multiple orgasms. Right now, she just needed him in her. Deep. She pushed back. "Hurry."

  "You're always thinkin' you're going to tell me what to do. Not happening."

  He leaned over her, his body blanketing her, his mouth at the nape of her neck. She felt his lips, whisper soft. Then the erotic scrape of his teeth. More liquid heat. Her heart stuttered. Her belly did a slow roll.

  He kissed his way down her spine, his teeth gentle, his tongue touching her here and there, tiny dots that sent pulses to her clit. How did he do that? One hand swept down her back and over her butt, shaping her, as if he was memorizing her.

  "Love your skin, Anya. Love the way it feels."

  Abruptly he straightened, and in one move, entered her. Just like before. Hard. Fast. Pushing through her tight folds with no warning, just taking her, burying his cock in her sheath. Lightning seemed to streak through her. His fingers bit deep into her hips and he yanked her back every time he plunged deep. Over and over. The flames ate her from the inside out. She went over fast. Too fast. The orgasm caught her before she had time to catch a breath and she cried out, trying to muffle the sound, knowing they weren't alone in the big building.

  He didn't stop or slow to give her a chance to recover. To ease down. He just kept pounding into her, driving her high and tipping her over the edge again. She couldn't stop the shattered cry the second or third time. She didn't know if it was one continuous orgasm after that or if it was more, but she couldn't catch a breath, her voice a sobbing gasp, begging him. For what she didn't know. All that fire pouring into and over her was too much. She couldn't think, only feel. Then it was building into something uncontrollable and she tried to move away from it, tried to get out from under him, terrified this one would drive her insane.

  He gripped her harder. "Let go. Let go for me, I've got you."

  She would have done anything he asked her. He was there, right there, and she gave herself to him completely. It hit, the wave bursting over her, sweeping her away, taking him with her. He gave a hoarse shout that sounded like a gruff version of her name and then he lay over top of her, his heart pounding through his cock. She could feel him inside her.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead into the mattress. They hadn't used a condom again. She knew better. What was it about him that made her lose her mind like that? She was definitely going to get back on birth control immediately.

  He pulled out of her, and she heard his zipper. She rolled over, sprawled half on and half off the bed. "You're sleeping here. Tomorrow I'll show you the house," he ordered.

  She put her hands behind her head, forcing herself not to ask if he was going to sleep with her. Clearly, he wasn't. He'd actually stepped back across the room so he was against the door. Watching her. There was something in his eyes she couldn't read,
but it terrified her. This man was too complicated for her. Too scary. Too sexy. Too everything.

  "I need to know how much it's going to be to fix my car." That should be safe enough.

  "You aren't going anywhere. I told you. You started this with me. I gave you the chance to leave and you didn't take it. You stick it out until it's done."

  She sighed and sat up, feeling more vulnerable than ever naked, with his seed dripping down her thighs. "I don't understand you."

  "What's not to understand? I don't like you putting yourself in danger by going out to that campsite. You don't have a gun. You're a woman alone. You're just looking for trouble."

  That was pretty much what Leslee had said, but when she'd said it, the warning had sounded a lot nicer. "I don't have money yet for an apartment."

  "Made myself clear."

  "If you'd made yourself clear, Reaper, I wouldn't have left. I won't go back out there, but I still need my car. I'm not on birth control. I'll have to get on it, and it takes a month before we're safe. Condoms would be good. Maybe you need to carry them with you or something. You never take your clothes off so fill up your pockets. We'll be golden."

  "Your car is a shit car, Anya. It's held together with rubber bands, electrical and duct tape. There's no hope for that rusted pile of bolts."

  She laughed. It was an apt way of describing her car. She reached for his flannel and pulled it on.

  Those blue eyes burned over her. "Don't like you covering up."

  "You're covered up."

  "Not nearly as beautiful as you."

  How did he do that? It was such an un-Reaper-like thing to say. "Maybe I disagree with that. I think you have a beautiful body." He was covered in scars and tattoos, but she loved every inch of him.

  "Not right now, I don't. You need the bathroom?"

  She nodded. He was pressed against the door, one hand on the knob as if he needed to run from her. He looked bruised. His knuckles were smashed, swollen and torn. One eye was already black. She stood up, clutching the sides of the shirt together and looking around for her panties. He opened the door. "What are you doing?"

  "I need clothes to go down to the bathroom."

  "What for?" He looked as puzzled as he sounded. Like he thought she'd lost her mind.

  "Reaper, anyone could see me walking around half naked."

  He shrugged. "It isn't anything they haven't already seen. It's common practice. No one thinks anything of it."

  She glanced out the door. His shirt did cover her. She followed him out, holding the edges of the shirt together. "It really doesn't bother you, does it?"

  "Nope."

  "It wouldn't have bothered you if we had sex and any of them walked up, would it?"

  "Nope."

  "Why?"

  "We were raised that way. Don't like locks. Don't like walls most of the time. You're my woman, they'll respect that. They'll protect you." He kept walking. "It bother you?"

  Did it? It should, because modesty dictated it should. Because society said he didn't respect her if it didn't bother him that other men might see her body. She would have let him have her against the wall of Czar's house had a child not been close. What did that mean? Had it bothered her that much that she'd seen Ice naked? Not really. He hadn't leered at her, or made obscene gestures. He hadn't made it about sex.

  "I don't know," she answered honestly. Anya stopped abruptly in the hall, her heart beating fast. "Do you share women?"

  He stopped too, turning to face her, looking down into her upturned face. He was close, close enough she felt the heat of his body. "Any man touched you, even one of my brothers, especially one of my brothers, knowing how I feel about you, I'd kill them." He touched her face gently and stepped aside so she could go in alone.

  Anya closed the door and leaned against it. God. He was wonderful and terrible at the same time. They were raised together? Raised to have sex in front of one another? To be that casual about it? Yet at the same time, he claimed he'd kill someone that dared to touch her? She was fairly certain he meant that as well.

  And what did it mean, the way he felt about her? He was maddening. She didn't care that he was waiting, she took her time, brushing her teeth, washing her face, enjoying hot water. She washed between her legs, wincing a little. If he wasn't waiting, she'd take a bath. But then, anyone might walk in. When she was finished, she went out into the hall. He was gone. She sighed, tilted her head back and hit it gently against the wall. So much for their great night together. She was taking a bath.

  He'd done it. Reaper walked down the hall to the common room. He'd had sex with Anya a second time. Fireworks had gone off, but not once had he had a compulsion to kill her. How fucked-up was it that he had to worry about that? That he had to be elated that he didn't want to kill the woman who mattered to him just because he had sex with her.

  He'd been careful to keep her pressed against the bed, to not allow her to touch him, but he planned on experimenting a little. See what he could get away with. He wanted access to the front of her. Her tits were beautiful and his mouth watered every time he looked at them. He had fantasies about her mouth around his cock, although he knew that was what had started the nightmares again.

  He'd heard her laughing in the bar. He rarely went into the actual bar. He always went in through the back door straight into the meeting room. That laugh had changed everything. He'd gone down the hall, curious to see the face that went with the laugh. Her back had been to him and he'd watched her ass as she worked. She had a great ass and suddenly, for the first time that he could remember, he was having fantasies about all the things a man could do with a woman's ass.

  Then he saw the front of her. Those tits. They were perfect, definitely more than a handful, and nicely shaped. Then he'd looked at her mouth. She had the face of an angel. Soft skin. Those large eyes made a man think about bedrooms. That mouth was made for pure sin. He never let his mind go there, not in all those years, not after the things he'd done, but it had. All on its own. Once he started down that path, he couldn't get the image out of his head. That led to the nightmares. That led to his sitting in the bar for over a month watching her. Listening to her voice. Following her to the campground every night to make certain she was safe.

  He joined the others as they filed into their "chapel." This was their private meeting room, the one where they held their votes and talked over any club business. Czar looked him over but didn't say anything. He could tell Savage was pissed at him. When he fought, Savage always had his back. When Savage fought, it was the other way around. This had been the first time he'd ever done it without his birth brother.

  "I've been looking into these Ghosts the Demons told us about," Code began. "I've got a friend, a hacker, one that's like me. I contacted her to see if she's heard anything about them. She said there's been whispers about someone paying big money for information on the clubs, looking for weak links, anyone with a gambling propensity. Looking for anyone who can hack into various clubs' financials. They contacted her and tried to get her to work for them."

  "Your friend take them up on it?" Czar asked.

  Code shook his head. "Told them she doesn't ever take any work involving the clubs. Doesn't want that kind of heat. She did try to trace the source. It seems the Ghost Club originated in San Francisco. They weren't a motorcycle club, but an actual nightclub. A speakeasy originally and then over the years, the family that owned the building kept a small club open. The rest of the building is rented out for various other businesses, supposedly. They have ties in Nevada to gambling operations there."

  "A crime family? Are we talking mafia?"

  "Far removed cousins. I can't see that they're in any way affiliated. But, it looks as if two brothers got together with several friends and started a little operation of their own downstairs in the basement of the Ghost Club. They keep it small, very private, so the cops aren't tipped off. You have to have an 'in' to get in to gamble."

  "Your best guess is these are the 'gh
osts' that took Hammer's wife?" Czar asked.

  "Right now, I'd put it at a good eighty percent. That's where we need to start looking," Code said. "And boss, they're going after the Diamondbacks aggressively. My friend, "Cat," hacked their firewall, well, between the two of us we did it, and they've got files on most of the presidents of the Diamondback chapters here on the Northern California coast and all the officers of each chapter. They're looking for a weak link and they seem to have found one, although I'm not that far into their files to be certain. They need the right member and they need the right president, someone in love with his wife."

  "Can we prove that?"

  Code nodded. "Oh yeah, easy. I've got it any time you want it, but it will take a little digging to get it all."

  "Before we do anything, we need to get Hammer's wife back to him. Then, if any of the Ghosts are still alive, we'll turn the Diamondbacks on them. It never hurts to show a little respect to the big club in the neighborhood. Steele, you want to pick a team and poke around? You've got twenty-four hours. We're on a major timetable here. These men play for keeps. They want the rep that will do exactly what they say. I don't need to tell you to keep it low-key. No engagement. They can't know anyone's looking at them. They might kill her."

  "No problem, Czar," Steele agreed. "We'll find out how many and, hopefully, where they're holding her."

  "Any more business?"

  Everyone shook heads and then they broke up for the night. Reaper stalked out, Savage right behind him.

  "Don't do it again, bro," Savage said softly.

  Reaper nodded.

  Savage nodded back. "I'm headed for bed. Been up twenty-four hours and I'm wiped."

  "Thanks for covering my shift."

  "Absinthe and Transporter have him tonight," Savage said. "I got this bad feeling about the Ghost Club, Reaper. Don't know why, but it's sitting in my gut all wrong."

  Reaper didn't like that. Savage's premonitions often came true. "We'll keep watch over him."

  Savage frowned. "Don't know if the trouble is pointing toward him."

  "Blythe?" Reaper asked with some alarm.

  Savage shrugged. "Don't know yet. You handling this thing with Anya?"