The ground trembles slightly before the loud rumble of bikes fills the air. And I can’t help but hesitate. Maybe if I tie my shoe long enough, I can see these guys. A quick peek wouldn’t hurt anybody. After all, these guys are treated like gods in this area. No man, in my opinion, is that great. But women lose their shit over the MC. So, the president of the Disciples is supposed to be hot? Like superhot, and his vice president and a couple other guys who ride with him are rumored to have giant penises and rock star good looks.
Squinting at the sun, which looks like a big orange ball making its descent, I twist my long hair into a ponytail. This is dumb—I’m late and my dad doesn’t want me around bikers.
I take off and head for my booth, hoping I don’t regret not changing into pants. My daisy dukes are fine right now, but later I might get cold. I usually take a bathroom break and change if that happens. But tonight might be different because of the bikers.
I’m almost ready to open when Pedro walks toward me carrying a Big Gulp, his old darkened face covered mostly by his black cowboy hat. He opens the counter and drags the weathered aluminum chair over, grunting as he plops into it. I frown at the groaning of my chair. His large beer belly hangs out of his red T-shirt.
“Really? I get you tonight?” I say, unable to help but smile. Pedro is ridiculous.
“Yep.” He looks down at his old dusty cowboy boots, takes a sip of his drink, and promptly passes out.
“Fantastic.” I sigh, catching the Big Gulp before it falls. I’d say from the smell of it it’s half rum and half Coke. His loud snoring almost becomes an attraction in itself. It’s busy tonight, so eventually I tune him out and focus on my business. Ninety percent of my customers have sucked at darts. So unlike last night, I haven’t given anything more than a handful of junk and a frog and a bear out. Rolling my neck, I almost grab Pedro’s drink I’m so freaking thirsty. This is stupid. These motorcycle thugs have to be gone. It’s been hours.
I’m about to bring out my “Be back in twenty” sign. I like to lay it on Pedro’s belly.
“Your brother said we can play for free.” I stiffen and feel a tingle start in my belly and travel to my core. I don’t turn around and face the smoky, gravelly voice. Instead I lean over, my hand reaching for my knife. After all, you never can be too safe.
“Sweet Jesus, fuck yeah, I think I can see your pussy if I try.”
I swing around and stare at the pig who dares disrespect me. Instead of a biker, I see a preppy boy with his hands up, almost scared at my venom.
“Sooory, I had no idea. I thought you were, you know…” He looks around as if the men standing next to him will help.
“I mean, I heard that some of the girls here like to…”
I spit at him.
“Obviously not you.” He backs away, knocking into a giant of a man. His height alone would scare the shit out of you.
“You got a foul mouth for such a little punk.” The biker pushes the coward and I want to laugh. The piece of shit looks like he might have pissed his pants.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble.” Then he runs.
My eyes instantly go to the man and the giant by his side. “Thank you. I had it under control, but still, thanks.” I smile up at him.
“I hate pansy-ass shits like him.” My heart is pounding, my chest almost too tight to breathe. I simply stare because this guy is not superhot—this guy is a fucking Greek god.
“I’m closed. And I’m never free.” I glare and suck in much-needed oxygen. If I don’t pass out, I will have a heart-to-heart with Benny. He can’t be promising free shit at my booth.
He stands there with his arms crossed, nothing but his vest and his beautiful abs on display. Jesus, this guy has the most perfect body I’ve ever seen. And even though I’m sixteen, I have seen plenty of couples having sex. The carnival kind of asks for it. Then add my dad and brother selling drugs. Yeah, I’ve seen naked bodies. But I can honestly say this guy makes me have butterflies and I don’t ever have butterflies in my stomach.
He reaches into his jeans pocket and my eyes follow. Now I can see his abs flex and that V that all the girls always talk about. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights up. Full lips wrap around the end. Adrenaline rushes through me and my skin heats.
He cocks his head and smiles, and I see his eyes.
Time literally stops. The noises, the screams and laughter, the rides—everything stops as I stand mesmerized by the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Like green, green. Not hazel, not bluish green. I’m talking green with long dark lashes that make them seriously pop. His face is tan and he has stubble—not a beard like his buddies. He’s a blond. For some reason I had visualized a dark-haired monster. Instead I stare at a tall blond-haired, green-eyed, almost too pretty to be believed biker god. One arm is covered in tattoos and on his chest he seems to have wings with a knife completing the image of a cross, I think. I can’t fully see in this light.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” That snaps me out of the creepy staring fest I’m having with him and his tattoos.
“Eve.” Why the hell would I tell him my name?
His eyes travel over my face, hair, and body as he smokes.
“Yeah, it fits you.” His voice is like seriously heaven. Gravelly and… well I’ve never heard a voice like his. I place one foot, clad in a dirty Converse sneaker, over my other foot. As I meet his scorching stare, presence, whatever, this guy oozes self-confidence. And, for the first time in my life, I fall. Hard. This guy could make me feel things.
“How old are you, Angel?” He leans his strong arms on my counter. Another biker leans his ass on my counter and I shoot him a glare.
He chuckles. “This one’s wild, Blade. I’d be careful if I was you.”
Blade, I guess that’s his name, stares at me and my cheeks burn.
“Answer me.” It’s soft, but I jump at the command and take a step back, then straighten reaching for my knife. I don’t care how gorgeous this man is. I will never be intimidated.
I bring my knife down with a thud. “I’m nineteen.” If I thought my dramatics would impress him and his friend I’m sorely disappointed. They both look surprised at first then burst into laughter.
“Christ, Prez. she’s got a thing for blades too.” The dark-haired cute friend stands up. “I’m gonna go get my cork sucked by that redhead.”
Blade nods, his pretty eyes watering at laughing so hard. I jerk my knife back and gasp when my wrist is painfully grabbed by long tan fingers. My knife easily falls with a clank. Frantically, I look around, but all I see are bikers. God, how many guys does he have with him? A loud snore comes from Pedro. I don’t even bother trying to get help from him.
“Let’s try this again, Angel. How. Old. Are. You?” His face is so close I can smell him and God, he smells fucking amazing. Like smoke and spice.
“I’m sixteen.” That does the trick. He releases me like I have the plague.
His nostrils flare for one moment and he steps back. “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes.”
He nods. “Good. Now wipe that schoolgirl crush off that pretty face. I’m a bad guy, Angel.” His guys snicker and catcall.
He ignores them zeroing in on me and my harsh breathing. “You’re young, so I’m going to give you a pass. But if you ever pull a blade on me again, I’ll pull your pants down and blister your ass.” He turns and walks away, his posse following. I don’t know how long I stand there. It could have been five minutes or twenty. But suddenly a gentle hand pulls me into the cold aluminum seat. I look at Pedro, his eyes full of worry.
“You stay away from that boy, Eve. Everything he said was true. He is bad—bad to the core. Now he showed you mercy tonight, but don’t ever pull a blade on the Blade again. How do you think he got his name? How do you think he became president of one of the strongest MCs on the West Coast?” He reaches for his Big Gulp and takes a long sip.
When he removes his hat, it reveals an old, weathered face painted i
n terror. “Why don’t we close early tonight? Soon we will be far away from this place and the Disciples.”
I stand and rub my arms, suddenly cold. “Yes, soon we’ll be gone.” I should be happy about that. Instead I can’t help but feel cheated. Like I was teased with a really good piece of candy only to have it taken away from me.
My eyes narrow on Pedro. “I thought you were passed out?” Retwisting my hair, I put it up with a pencil since my rubber band seems to be gone. “And the night’s barely ten. I’m not closing.” I tuck the sign away.
Pedro sighs and the loud sounds of the club’s engines firing up drown out all other sound. I hold my chin high, wondering why I’m sad that a monster is leaving.
BLADE/JASON
Present
To say I have no patience right now would be an understatement. I’m fucking pissed and tired. And here I stand in this tiny shithole, looking at a man who needs to be put out of his misery. Yeah, I’m two seconds away from doing James Smith a favor and blowing his head off. The fucking guy deserves more than dying in a chair knowing his son is a thief and a junkie. And his daughter is going to be my whore to pay their debt.
“James? Out of regard for you, man, I’m gonna give you some air.” I nod at Ryder my enforcer and brother, not by blood—by respect. He’s got my back, and I respect the fuck out of him. He leans down. The dude is pushing six foot six, so this tiny box of metal they call a home barely holds him. The air stinks of stale cigarettes. Not to mention half of us have been on our bikes the better part of the day. We smell of pussy, BO, and booze.
When we hear the small sizzle of oxygen releasing, the blond girl held by Axel, my VP, sags with relief. I almost laugh. She can’t be that naïve to not know what’s coming.
James Smith sits, wheezing and choking in oxygen, his hands shaking as if he’s trying to will himself to stand up. But life isn’t fair and his body is too weak to even try.
“Rest, man. I’m gonna ask you one time since I already asked your baby girl. Where is Benny? Where is that piece of shit Paul? And where the fuck are my money and drugs?”
The girl hisses and struggles, again pointless. Axel is a foot taller. All she’s doing is wearing herself out. She’s got a fire, this one. I warned her I was bad years ago. I guess some people hit the shit lottery.
“We don’t know. He doesn’t know. Please don’t hurt him.” Her voice quivers. I know because the trailer is silent save for James gasping and the small hiss of the oxygen machine. All my guys are probably waiting for me to lose my shit. After all, I am the president of the Disciples. We don’t take kindly to bitches with mouths.
It’s an image I need. I don’t actually abuse women and I don’t tolerate my brothers to either. But we come from a long line of sexists. I know a lot of guys join so they can get pussy. It’s an ongoing struggle and making sure your guys are in it for the right reason is another headache. It was a whole lot easier when there were fifty of us, rather than three hundred plus now. We’ve become the biggest 1 percent in the area all because of our drugs, or let me rephrase, my drug that Doc and I perfected years ago. It’s made the club strong and wealthy. But with all that comes a fucking mess to keep together. So, I don’t need shit today. I especially don’t need punks like Paul and Benny stealing from me and being dumb enough to think they can get away with it.
I turn and face the beauty. She’s even more striking than two years ago, and she haunted me then. Her blond hair is longer, wilder, almost beckoning me to put my hands in it. She’s golden and tan, with legs that look like they won’t end. But her fucking baby blues are what pull my soul to hers. It’s all there, everything I crave in those ocean blues. It’s her innocence. Almost like an aphrodisiac making my cock stiffen as I drop my gaze to her pouty red lips. She’s definitely screwed unless her old man comes through for her.
“Eve,” he rasps, causing me to reluctantly turn toward him.
“Let her go. And I’ll give you the deed to all the rides that I own,” he wheezes out.
I look around this shithole too small for all of us.
“James, I don’t want the last of your buckets of deaths. Hell, you only have two left. Your son and his partner owe me ten grand.” I crouch down so as to be on his level. I need him to see I’m serious. “Do you have that money?”
He gasps for air then shakes his head no. His once handsome face is shriveled. I don’t think he’s much past fifty. Tears fall down his eyes as he weeps in his chair.
“James… don’t make me take your baby girl. You know what we do to our bitches. I need you to tell me where your son is for her sake.”
The girl is sobbing and screaming that I’m a monster.
“Shut her up,” I grumble at Axel, who pulls her to his chest, his tattooed hand squeezing her neck until her eyes bug out. But her insane screaming and name calling have stopped. My eyes turn back to James, his whole body stiff.
I lean forward. “You don’t know where he is, do you?”
His yellow-stained hand grasps my forearm. It’s weak but I admire it anyway.
“And you don’t have my money, do you?”
His eyes are red and leak water, but his raspy “No” makes me believe him.
Unfortunately, it also sucks for his daughter.
“Ryder?” My eyes stay on James. “Brand her. She’s mine now. Your debt is paid. If your junkie son shows his face, you be sure to tell him his sister paid his debt.”
The gasping and wheezing are brutal and again I feel like I should do the man a favor and put him down. I mean, that’s what I would do in his situation. He’s probably been living for Eve anyway.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Her high-pitched screams bring a smile to my face. Such a badass. Her long legs kick out and I hear Ox curse as he doubles over holding his nuts.
“Give her to me, Axel.” And like the king I am, I can’t help but feel a possessiveness as soon as her statuesque form fills my arms. My nose breathes her in and she stiffens. She smells like coconut. And I take my tongue and lick her cheek all the way to her neck.
My guys laugh and James wheezes.
Christ, if the man doesn’t have a heart attack, I’ll do him a favor and leave him a pistol. At least he can take himself out. Die with a little dignity.
Ryder grabs her right wrist as she fights, making my cock swell with her labored breath on my chin.
Edge has his lighter out. Heating the Disciples logo. The cross with angel wings running parallel through it. This particular brand is about the size of a quarter. Some of our old brands are huge, but most of us prefer tattooing rather than that. For one, it hurts like a bitch. I watch as the branding iron glistens a bright orange in the dark and dusty trailer.
“I… please… don’t… you can’t do this.” She whimpers and twists.
I pull her tighter, my lips at her ear. “Stop struggling, Angel. If you fight it, it’ll burn your whole wrist.”
She’s terrified, and her body starts to shake. She nods her head and licks her puffy lips. “I’ll behave. I promise. You… you don’t have to do this.”
“Fuck, Angel, thinking of my mark on you does something to me,” I growl into her ear. Her breathing is about as shallow as poor James’s.
She screams in terror as Ryder grabs for her wrist again and turns it over.
“Stop.” I command and feel her slump against me. Ryder’s curious eyes dart to mine.
“Not her wrist. Here.” I hold her chin and her long graceful neck is on display. “I want her. She’s mine.”
If all my brothers are shocked, they do a decent job of not showing it.
“Blade, you claiming her?”
Fuck, what am I doing? I don’t even know this bitch. And here I am claiming her, which I’ve never done ever.
“Do it.” I wrap my hand tight in her long, silky hair. It’s like spun gold around my tan fingers.
Her beautiful eyes are closed as she silently weeps.
“Be brave, baby. Trust me,
you’ll be happy to have my mark.” My eyes meet Ryder’s, his dark eyes questioning. He must be satisfied because we brand her right under her ear. The smell of burning flesh fills the small space.
She hisses but stays still. A wave of admiration for this woman flows through me. I’ve seen most bikers need a bottle of tequila before they get their brand. Even then, they usually howl like a fucking girl.
But not this girl. I turn her around. Her limp body fits into my arms. All I want to do is hold her.
What the hell is wrong with me? Her hands cling to my cut as I cradle her head in my chest. Shuffling and murmurs of approval come from my men.
I look into James’s eyes. He seems calmer, knows I gave his daughter my special mark. The mark of my woman. She won’t be the club’s whore.
Lifting her into my arms, I frown at how light she is and how much emotion this woman brings out of me. The burn is already puckering and angry and needs to be tended. I’ll have someone take a look when I get us back to the clubhouse.
It’s been a long, shitty day. I walk out holding her. It’s dark and the night air’s cooler. Her eyes open and she reaches for her neck.
“Don’t,” I command. She obeys and drops her hand.
“I can’t leave my father.” She starts to struggle. “Please, he will die without me.” I get to my bike and let her slender body slide down mine.
“No, someone will take care of him. Or maybe now that you’re gone he can go in peace. That”—I nod in the direction of her trailer—“wasn’t living.” I take off my jacket and slip it on her. She must be cold because she says nothing. Her mind’s going a mile a minute. I can hear her head dissect my words, knowing I’m right.
“Eve?” Her eyes pop to mine. “Where’s Paul’s trailer?”
“Second one to the right.”
I nod at Axel and Ox. Her eyes dart after them as they approach Paul’s trailer. “But he’s gone—has been for a couple of days.” The hatred that oozes out of her voice makes me pause.
“Did he hurt you?” I was getting ready to forget about all this shit. I have the girl and way too many other things to deal with. But something in her tone makes me want to hunt him and kill him.
Lethal Page 2