Blake: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Hell's Exiles MC Book 2)

by Sassie Lewis

  In a move she’d only recently perfected, Becca had Danil out of his chair, pinned face-down on the counter with one of her stilettos piercing the flesh under his eye. The room went completely still. “Listen and listen good, Danil. As you so kindly pointed out, bikers are my people. I was not only raised by them, but I’m a goddamn mother fucking princess to them. You might be part of Boris’s organization, and yes, that organization is as corrupt as they come, but you are nothing but a lowly worker within it. Get over the fact that I’m better at living this life than you are. That Boris chose me to be head of special security. Because, let’s face it, Danny boy, you couldn’t tell the difference between a con and your asshole if you had a road map and compass to help you. How you’ve managed to stay alive this long boggles the mind.” With that, she released the quivering Russian, holstered the stiletto, and made her way to the door.

  “One more thing before I go, Danil, never ever again forget the fact that you are a lowly worker where I am fucking royalty. If we have to have this conversation again...? Well, next time the ending won’t be so pleasant for you.”

  Feeling a hundred times better, Becca made her way down to the casino floor.

  Blake knew he was being watched from the moment he walked through the casino’s front doors. Not just by the security scattered throughout the place, but also by the patrons gambling away their money. It wasn’t often someone had the balls to walk into this place wearing colors or patches. The general public might not know who owned Kazino Royale, but the riff-raff of society sure did, and they knew better than to mess with Boris Alexandrov. Nothing happened in Reno without Boris’s say so. The consequences of pissing off the old Russian were legendary; you were a wise man to fear those consequences.

  He was wise, but very little scared Blake. Peeling off his jacket, he hung it over the back of the chair, and dropped twenty thousand on the Black Jack table in front of him. The dealer, a bottle blonde with a perfectly made-up face, blanched. Her eyes giving away her discomfort at his presence before searching the surrounding floor for assistance. No one would come to her aid, not if they wanted to keep all their teeth in their head.

  “Give the man his chips, Charlotte, and close the rest of the table.” If he hadn’t been keeping tabs on her, Blake would have had to look twice before realizing that the sultry voice belonged to the princess. The scent of vanilla custard and baked apples engulfed him—she always smelled like his favorite dessert—as she took the chair beside his. It didn’t surprise Blake that, while she seemed fine with him sitting there, she was more than annoyed by his appearance. What surprised him was the authority she spoke with and, more so, the fact that Charlotte obeyed.

  “We don’t allow club or gang members into this casino,” she said, while placing her bet. It was only then that he noticed the large stack of chips in front of her. Blake checked his cards before doing the same.

  “I think you’ll find I’m an exception to that rule, princess.” The dealer took the win, and Blake placed his bet on the new hand; Becca followed suit. She had yet to look directly at him and that pissed Blake off. For some unexplainable reason, he wanted her full and undivided attention. But while she hadn’t looked at him, he’d taken in every aspect of her. Her hair was longer, those black tresses curled seductively around her breasts; teasing him to replace the satiny strands with his fingers. When she had left, she’d been sweetly plump, now, while still soft in all the right places, there was definition to that softness. Her arms and legs had the muscle outline of someone who worked out. Six months hadn’t aged her, but there was now a maturity about her that hadn’t been there before. Gone was the brat who’d haunted his dreams.

  But then, he admitted, he didn’t actually know her all that well. And the more he watched the young, sophisticated woman beside him, the more he began to believe that what he did know had been an act.

  They played a few more hands in silence, his stack of chips getting smaller while hers grew.

  “What are you doing here, Blake? If you’re here because daddy dearest wants me home, forget about it. But if this is a suicide attempt—because, believe me, there are no exceptions to the rules here—stick around, and I’II make sure your remains are properly disposed of.” She finally ran those green orbs over him.

  “Good to see some of the old princess is still alive and kicking. You have always been a bit of a bitch.” And he meant that in a good way. Her feisty side came out at the same time her inner bitch did, and over the past year, Blake found that feistiness a temptation. He wanted to tame it in a way that would probably have his prez killing him. “We need to talk. In private.”

  “And why would I want to be alone with you? Then again, the last time we were alone together, it didn’t work out so well for you, Blake, so I’ll change the question . . . Why would you trust me to be alone with you? I might be tempted to render you unconscious again!”

  The snort came unbidden. “Don’t for one second believe I’ve forgotten that you drugged me. Something you will pay for later.”

  She responded with a snort of her own. “That’s another one.”

  “Another what?”

  Leaning closer, he whispered in her ear. “Spanking.” She turned, their noses touching, confusion clear in her eyes. “For every time you’ve sassed me you’ve earned yourself a spanking. This conversation alone has added three to your tally.”

  She pushed him away, straightened in her seat, and placed another bet. “Obviously old age has made you a little senile if you think I’ll ever let you spank me—”

  “That’s another one,” he said. Turning and concentrating on the table, Blake discovered he was almost out of chips. Irrationally, because he knew it was simply a lack of him paying attention, he blamed his loses on the princess. The princess who had what had to be about forty large in chips before her. He had to marvel at her luck. If they’d been playing poker, he’d say skill, but Black Jack was more a game of chance than skill, so he wasn’t going to give credit where it wasn’t due.

  An idea came to him. He placed a hand on the table, stopping the new deal. He would talk to her in private whether or not she wanted to. Didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun first. “How about we make a personal wager?” Becca raised her eyebrows and made a carry-on gesture with her hand. “One hand of poker. I’m assuming you know how to play?” She merely gave a bold stare. “If I win you come with me so we can talk.”

  “So, does that mean if I win, you’ll piss off and stay out of my life?”

  Damn if that feistiness didn’t have him fighting back a smile. “No. If you win, I’ll let you choose where we’ll have our conversation and I’ll wipe your tally clean.”

  The husky laugh she released had heads turning. Most of those heads belonged to men, their eyes filled with appreciation. Blake gritted his teeth against the unwelcomed and unfamiliar sense of jealousy. “Again, if you ever think I’ll let you or anyone else spank me, you’re delusional, but what the hell. I’ll take the bet because I’m now curious what’s so important. Not only that,” —She looked down at her chips— “It seems I’m only five grand short of getting that pretty bracelet I saw yesterday.” The ditzy voice she used didn’t fool him. She’d always been a bit of a brat, but after having acted as her bodyguard for several months, Blake knew she was damn smart. “I’ll even give you a chance to win a little of your money back; three thousand for me, will be equal and equivalent to one thousand for you!”

  She didn’t wait for his response. “Charlotte, a round of Texas Hold ‘em, please.” Becca directed the dealer.

  “Would you like a new deck, Ms. Anderson?”

  “Not necessary, Charlotte. This is just a friendly game between old acquaintances.” The interplay between the two baffled Blake. He’d known she was staying at the Kazino, but it seemed she had been more than just a guest. What she did next confirmed his suspicions. A flick of her hand and five security guards surrounded the table, with a discernable nod at Becca, they turned their
backs. Protecting the table from public view.

  What the fuck was going on? He’d have to find out later; the game had started.

  They placed bets as each card was dealt, so far it was looking good for Blake. The problem hit when the sixth card was dealt. Blake was out of chips. Something he would have realized before the game even started if that intoxicating scent of custard and apples hadn’t been drugging him for the past hour.

  “You seem to be out of money, Blake! How about a wager inside a wager? I’ll continue to put my chips in, in return you’ll answer some questions for me?”

  Her cocky attitude was beginning to piss him off. Unfortunately, that sassiness also turned him on, and his cock ached like a motherfucker. “I can’t tell you here, princess, we need privacy for this conversation.” He couldn’t tell her what was happening with unknown ears possibly listening in.

  “I’m neither deaf nor dumb, Blake, I heard and understood you the first time. Now are we playing or not?”

  At his nod, she added another three K to the table before asking, “Does my father know where I am?”

  Surely she knew that was a wasted question, so what was she up to? “Yes.”

  The last card was dealt and Blake suppressed a smile. Even without the two blinds he had a full house. While Becca had the four, seven, and eight of heart and not much else. Blake was fairly confident he had this game in the bag. Still, he waited for the last bet to be placed. She threw in then turned to him.

  “It’s your bet, so answer me this: Does what we have to talk about have to do with what happened seven months ago?”

  He simply answered, “Yes!”

  She took a deep breath then looked up at him. “Charlotte, make sure twenty thousand of that is put back in the safe. Send my winnings to my suite and have someone arrange for Mr. Alexandra here to be given a room for the night. I have a meeting to attend, Blake, we can talk over breakfast, I’ll have someone fetch you.”

  Before he could even think What the fuck? she was halfway across the casino floor. Blake wasn’t a good man by any means, but he always honored a bet, apparently the princess didn’t; Blake clearly had the winning hand. With more force than necessary, he flipped her cards, revealing the five and six of hearts. “Shit.” A straight flush beat a full house. He’d just been beat by a leather wearing princess.

  “And that’s why she’s head of special security.” The heavenly accent voice came from behind him. A keycard was placed on the table beside him. “Do you need someone to help you to your room?”

  “No,” he snapped at the laughing man.

  It was as Blake made for the elevator that he realized Becca had not once looked at her Blind cards.

  Chapter Three

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Becca slammed a fist into the wall of the elevator. This day was seriously fucked-up. She wanted a do-over. To wake up and not feel on edge. To not discover someone shadowing her. And to not have Blake, and by extension Hell’s Exiles, back in her life.

  Why the hell was Blake here, now?

  She’d been gone for nearly seven months. Seven blissful months of not having to deal with moronic, Neanderthal bikers. Yes, she was living and working in a casino run by the Russian mafia, but compared to the club members, these guys were sweet teddy bears. Maybe not to those who wronged them, but in general, and barring a few, the guys she worked with were...nice.

  “Damn it, Blake.” Her voice echoed dimly in the empty lift. Now, not only did she have to tell Boris about her stalker, she also had to make sure the biker hating Russian didn’t kill Blake. She might be annoyed with the giant, but she didn’t hate him; didn’t want him dead. What could she say to Boris that would stop him from killing the man Becca had crushed on for more than a year? The man she compared all others to. Hell, it had gotten so bad that she would see one of Boris’s men and compare their traits to Blake’s.

  The lift came to a silent stop and Becca stepped out into the penthouse’s entry. Lassie and Benji, otherwise known as Max and Stephan, stood sentinel on either side of the main foyer. They weren’t Boris’s personal guards, more like his personal fetch and carry dogs, fetching anything Boris wanted, metaphorically pissing . . . ah, marking any space Boris occupied. Hence the fact she’d nicknamed them Lassie and Benji, which pissed them off. And that brought her a cheap thrill, because like Danil, they thought Becca was beneath them. Stephan sneered at her. “You keep snarling at me like that, Lassie, I’ll be forced to take you to the vet and have you neutered. I hear that makes for a more obedient dog.”

  “Bitch!”

  “Jealous? Why don’t you go chase a car and—”

  “Rebecca, please stop teasing my men.” She loved the way Boris’s accent made her name sound exotic. “Now come, I believe you have an issue we must discuss.”

  He didn’t wait for a reply, just turned on his heels and walked out of the foyer. Lassie and Benji snarled again, Becca responded with a flip of her middle finger.

  “I’ll have my men enquire if anyone has seen him around town,” Boris said twenty mins later.

  Becca wasn’t surprised that the old man already knew about her stalker. He reminded her of her grandfather, Razor. They were both as bossy as they came, and expected everyone to bow down to them, the difference was that Boris always spoke and dressed impeccably, while Razon lived in jeans and thought ‘motherfucker’ needed to be included in every sentence he spoke. But no matter how they dressed, they both knew what was going on in their territories, often before anyone else did.

  “Abram went through more of the footage,” Boris said. “The man first showed up about two weeks ago.” A cold shiver worked its way up her back; two weeks and she hadn’t realized that someone had been following her. The guy also knew the security layout of Kazino. At no time had he revealed his face to any of the cameras, something that was almost, but obviously not completely, impossible.

  Placing the coffee cup on the side table, Becca changed the subject. “I added twenty thousand to the safe.” The safe wasn’t for the casino’s money, it was for when Becca did what she had done to Blake tonight. When she thought someone was cheating, she would join the table and beat them at their own game before Boris’s men took over. Any winning she made were considered her bonus. Thinking about Blake made her realize she still needed to tell Boris about him. “Boris? I know you don’t allow certain types into the casino. I also know you’re well aware of my past . . .”

  “Da. Your past is a part of the reason I allowed you into my casino.”

  Becca blinked slowly. Boris’s accent made understanding him difficult at the best of times, even with her language skills, but his use of English was perfect. So the way he’d just worded his statement confused her. She knew her past was part of the reason he’d employed her, but he’d said it was part of the reason he had first let her stay there. Walking through the doors of Kazino Royale had been a gamble on her part. Things could have gone one of two ways: she would either end up with a safe place to hide, or the mafia would kill her. She’d once seen a psychologist who explained that Becca had a little miss-wiring where her flight, fight and freeze responses were concerned. She never reacted or did what most considered ‘normal’. So at the time, walking into a place that could possibly kill her hadn’t even hit her radar, not when all she cared about was being as far away from her father as possible. Still, she didn’t think her connection to Hell’s Exiles would have helped her. “What do you mean my past . . .” A ruckus at the front entrance cut her off. The rough, deep timbred voice, a voice she knew well, had her out of her seat and sprinting to save the imbecile from getting himself dead.

  “Crap.” She hadn’t had a chance to explain what was going on to Boris yet.

  She skidded into a solid wall of leather-covered flesh. His scent of leather and ivory-soap mixed in with the uniqueness of him tickled her nose; it also made things low in her body respond. She’d caught only one whiff of that tantalizing aroma down stairs, her panties had become a sopping mess, af
ter that she hadn’t allowed herself to breathe through her nose. Now, pressed against him, she couldn’t help drawing in a lung-full of that mouthwatering fragrance—momentarily forgetting the situation they were in. A sound from behind had her spinning on the spot, putting herself between the behemoth biker and the two-gun wielding idiots.

  Becca tried to use her body to push the huge man back into the still-open lift. She would have better luck trying to move a mountain, because the giant simply put his hands on her hips, and lifted her out of his way. Fucking stupid man would get his ass shot. She jumped back in front of him.

  Max moved closer, and once again, Becca tried to shield Blake with her body, which really wasn’t working seeing that the freaking biker stood almost two-foot taller than her. “Max, don’t shoot him, please,” her voice quivered. She’d analyze why she sounded on the verge of tears later. Because what she did next stunned even her.

  Blake’s temper soared when the lift door pinged open, and two guns were drawn on him. Really, could this day get any worse? Or longer? After cleaning up the mess in Chase’s front yard, fighting with Quin, and riding out to Reno, Blake had been awake for thirty hours; then the princess had gone and lightened him of twenty grand. He would find out exactly how she’d done that . . . Later.

  Ignoring the fucking idiots ready to shoot him, he took a step toward his prey—the red, skimpy dress she wore acted like a muleta to a raging bull—at the same time she slammed into him. Her short, curvy body pressed tight along his front, which sent a burst of heat directly to his groin. He didn’t have time to enjoy her soft breasts pressed against him before her back, spine stiff, faced him. Her hands rose in front of her, and the scant millimeter between them disappeared as she pushed closer; tried to push him back. Placing his hands on her hips, Blake picked her up, and moved her out of the way. He didn’t know what she thought she was doing, and by the look on the guy’s face moving toward them, Blake wouldn’t be surprised if the man shot him, Becca there or not.