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

by Sassie Lewis

  “Blake.”

  “Did the Russian deal with him?”

  “That’s the weird part, he walked in here like he owned the place, sat at one of the tables, and played a couple of hands with the target. Then he went up to the penthouse. No one stopped him. He was up there for a few hours before going down to her suite.”

  Fuck! “Do you have any idea why Alexandrov would allow him into the casino?” There had to be more to it. The mafia boss wasn’t known for his tolerance.

  “None, Sir. What do you want me to do?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Sir looked over the factory floor. He wouldn’t let this new development become a spanner in the works. He’d worked too hard for too long to let anything mess with his plans. And those bastards from Hell’s Exiles owed him more than they would ever realize. He’d bided his time, for years, had all his players in place. Most importantly, he was smarter than all of them.

  “Plans remain the same. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up as Fred walked in. Fred wasn’t the man’s real name—just as Sir wasn’t his—but like Fred’s namesake, Freddy Kruger, he had a face full of scars and an affinity with knives. The guy was also a sick bastard who Sir trusted to do as ordered. But he also knew better than to trust Fred with his life; the sociopath who turned on his own mother would have no problems turning on him.

  “The next shipment’s ready to move.”

  “You know the drill. Get it done. And, Fred, no mess this time.”

  “There a problem, Sir?”

  “Not yet, but there may be, so keep this one quiet.”

  Fred raised a pierced eyebrow. “Anything I need to know about?”

  “Not yet,” he answered, while punching the keys on his phone. It was time to make the next move.

  Chapter Six

  Becca snuggled into the warm flesh against her cheek; breathing in the rich scent of ivory-soap mixed with man and listened to the slow steady beat of his heart. The heat radiating from his skin calling a responding release from her core that dampened the space between her legs.

  What the fuck!

  Her eyes popped open to take in the outstretched form beside her at the same time memories of the night before flooded her mind. Dammit, not only did she have a panic attack, she’d had a freakin’ nightmare, that had four men running, guns at the ready, into her room. Vaguely she remembered Blake pulling her into his arms, telling the others to get the fuck out while rubbing his massive hand up and down her back, soothing her. Had she asked him to stay? Or had that been his decision? Did it even matter? Because, damn, the man was fine.

  Wiggling in his hold, she put a little space between them so she could take in the view. Six-foot-seven of hard-packed male, in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, took up more than half the bed. Peeking up to see if her movement had woken him, she found his eyes closed. She’d never seen him in such a relaxed state, but even asleep, there was nothing soft about Blake. His long lashes rested against his cheeks, a light bruise decorating one side. Had it been there last night, and she hadn’t noticed? Or had something happened while she slept?

  Caressing his face with her eyes, she catalogued each of his features until she reached his goatee haloed lips. Her mouth watered as she thought about the two times he’d pressed those lips against hers. How that hair had brushed against her skin, adding another dimension to the already thrilling touch of soft lips and stroking tongue. Who knew facial hair would end up being her thing? And damn, the man knew what he was doing. She’d kissed plenty of boys, but none of them ignited a fire inside her the way Blake did.

  Pressing her knees together to stop the flow of moisture, Becca continued her perusal. His tattooed covered chest was sprinkled with a thin coating of hair. Unlike his head—which was shaved so short she could almost say he was bald—and beard, that was still dark, and if she didn’t have ebony hair herself, she would say it was black when in fact it was a rich brown, the hairs on his chest were smattered with gray. Becca found the look sexy. She’d didn’t have a thing for older men, but with Blake, she never thought about the fact he was nearly twenty years her senior. There was just something about him that called to her. He could piss her off and turn her on all in the same breath.

  Traveling her eyes back up, she studied his strong neck which met wide muscled shoulders. Her heart skipped a beat when her eyes once again landed on the bruise decorating his cheek. Who’d been able to hurt this strong man? She didn’t know why she did it, but she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss over the discolored skin. He stirred, the arm wrapped around her tightened, and the hand resting on her ass flexed. His eyes flew open, and those dark orbs stared at her.

  “What are you doing?” His naturally deep voice was even deeper from sleep. The baritone sending a fresh wave of cream to coat her panties.

  She swallowed the saliva filling her mouth, then asked, “Who hurt you?”

  Releasing her, Blake rolled away until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. For a moment she forgot what she’d asked as the sight of his naked back teased her senses. Licking her lips, she asked again, “Blake, who hurt you, and are they dead?”

  “It’s only a bruise, princess. Your brother was pissed that I didn’t want to come out here and get you.”

  Well, that hurt. “I’m not going back to Boulder, Blake. I have a life here. A career . . .” She lost her train of thought as he stood from the bed and stretched. The muscles in his back rippled, and she wanted to feel that movement beneath her tongue.

  “You’re eighteen years old, you shouldn’t even be on the casino floor let alone working here.”

  “Nineteen actually.” She swallowed the saliva filling her mouth. “I turned nineteen last month. And age has nothing to do with any of this. I refuse to be anywhere near that man.”

  “He was grieving—”

  “He was drunk and fucking some club slut on his desk at his wife’s, my mother’s, wake. I didn’t see any grieving going on.” Her words were biting. Becca knew her parents hadn’t had the happy, perfect marriage they portrayed to the outside world. Still, it was no excuse for what her father had done. The worst part was, he hadn’t been there for her. Neither had Chase. With Nessa in hospital, her brother had been too worried about her best friend, his girlfriend, to be concerned with Becca. The only person who had been there for her was the man currently growling down at her. Maybe that was why she was a little more than obsessed with him. No, it couldn’t be that, because she’d been attracted to Blake before that awful time in her life. Hopping off the bed, she made her way into the bathroom, she needed to shower and to get ready for work. “What are you doing?” she asked the man who followed her into the bathroom.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I meant, what are you doing in here?”

  “I saw every inch of you last night. With the way you traipsed around the suite naked, I figured you wouldn’t require privacy.” The cocky bastard leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over that massive chest, legs crossed at ankles.

  Exasperated, Becca replied, “A, this is my suite. No one else should have been in here. B, I wasn’t exactly in my right mind last night. And, C, I need to pee, so get the fuck out!” her voice escalated with each word until she was screaming. Blake pushed off the wall and stepped, no stalked was what he did, toward her.

  “That’s five—”

  “What?”

  “—spankings you’ve earned—”

  “Hey, I won the bet.”

  “—Lose the attitude or you’ll earn more. Yes, you won the bet, but I never said you wouldn’t earn more punishments.”

  Well, shit. He was right, that had never been part of the wager.

  “Do what you have to do in here then we need to talk. One of the things we’ll talk about is how exactly you won last night.” He was looming over her now.

  She wasn’t exactly intimidated by him, but his domineering stance compelled her to respond. “By counting the cards.”

  He blinked rapidly. “Sa
y again.”

  “I can count cards. I’m pretty good at it, can tell when someone else is doing it too. It’s how I got the job here . . .”

  She was going to explain how she’d proven to Boris that she was good at what she did, but figured Blake really didn’t need to know that. Besides, he was now looking at her funny. With a shake of his head, and an uttered, “Unbelievable” he left her alone.

  What the fuck was he doing?

  He’d just spent twenty minutes in the shower jerking off to fantasies of the princess. He was a goddamn biker; he hadn’t had to tend to his own needs since his teens, but over the past nine months, his palm had become well acquainted with his dick. He would have taken one of the sweet butts, but every time he approached one of them, the damn thing between his legs lay dormant. If it hadn’t been for the way his body reacted when Becca was near, he’d have thought himself impotent. Stepping from the bathroom, her lingering scent hit him; it permeated the entire suite, he couldn’t escape it. She smelled like his favorite dessert, baked apples with vanilla custard, and the fragrance had his spent cock twitching behind the towel.

  How did one slip of a girl screw with his iron-control so badly?

  If Quin had any idea how hard Blake was fighting his attraction to the princess, he never would have sent him to fetch her home, he would have killed him instead. But no, the man hadn’t listened to Blake’s plea to send someone else; he made him come and deal with it. And fuck if the girl wasn’t testing his control at every turn. Seeing her naked had put the images in his head to shame, she was fucking built for pleasure, add to that the way she clung to him when she’d awoken from the nightmare, fighting his need was becoming a lost cause.

  Walking into the ’robe where he’d stashed his bag the night before, he spotted his reflection. Gray was starting to appear on his chest, deep creases bracketed his eyes, and a snarl crested his lips. This, more than the prospect of Quin killing him, was why he had to stay away from her. She was a kid. And if he kept reminding himself of that, maybe he’d believe it and keep his hands off her. Maybe.

  “There a reason you’re growling at yourself?” Blake looked up to see Borya, better known as Bear, leaning against the doorjamb. One foot kicked over the other, his arms crossed over his chest, and a grin plastered on his face.

  Blake ignored his smart-assed question. “What are you doing here? I thought you were looking into Becca’s stalker?”

  “Here.” Bear handed him a garment bag, unzipping it Blake found a clean suit.

  “Another one of yours?”

  “Da, but I got you a new shirt.” That was good. Although they were the same height, Blake was broader across the chest than Bear. Height was about the only similarities Blake shared with the other man. Most people didn’t realize they were brothers. Blake was the eldest by three months. No, they weren’t some weird twins born at different times miracle. Blake was the illegitimate child of his father’s affair with a barely-legal Mongolian girl. Bear was the son he had with his Russian wife. Blake’s skin and hair were slightly darker than his brothers. And where Blake’s eyes were such a dark brown, they looked black, Bear’s eyes were a crystalline blue. “Maximus said he’ll have two new suits for you tomorrow, another three by Monday.”

  “I don’t plan on being here tomorrow, so tell him not to worry.” Dropping the towel, Blake put on the dark blue pin-striped suit pants, and the light blue granddad collar shirt, Bear knew him well enough to know that Blake would refuse to wear a tie, by getting a shirt with no collar, Boris couldn’t force the issue; he finished the outfit with his shit kickers, there was no way he was borrowing his brother’s shoes.

  “I spoke to our father this morning—”

  “He’s not my father, Bear. He’s simply a man who knocked up some Mongolian whore then paid her to get rid of me.”

  “ —He is not happy you are here.”

  Well, that made Blake smile. Anything that pissed Viktor Alexandrov off always made Blake happy. “Last I heard he was doing twenty at Ryker’s.”

  “He still has his followers, Blake. Boris has always protected you, protected us both from him, but he’s getting old and Viktor knows that—”

  “Don’t even think of bringing me into the family politics, Bear.”

  “You are the eldest.”

  “Blyad—”

  “Get your fucking hands off me.” The screeched words cut off the conversation which had both men hurtling towards the other room, Blake grabbed his gun from the dresser on the way past. His heart pounded a mile a minute. He skidded to a halt as the scene became apparent: one of Boris’s guards blocked the door while the other held a kicking and screaming Becca back.

  Tucking the gun into the back of his pants, he grabbed the little banshee under her arms, flipped her over his shoulder then stormed back into her room. His hand landing against her ass with a resounding slap.

  One minute she was heading, or rather trying to head out of her suite, the next she was upside down, a large, rough hand slapping her ass. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?” The last came out on a squeal as the air rushed out of her lungs and she landed on the bed. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. It wasn’t the angry look on Blake’s face that stole her words, it was what he wore. She had been too out of it last night to really appreciate the suit he’d worn, but now . . . now she drank in the sight. In short, the man looked edible.

  “Where did you think you were going?” The way he leaned over her made the light blue, what had to be linen, shirt pull taut across his chest. Drawing her eyes to the outlined nipples below. “Princess.”

  She snapped out of her ogling only to snap at him. “Don’t call me that.” He’d once told her it was because she was as pretty as one, but the way he was growling it at her made her it sound like he was calling her a bitch.

  “You going to answer me? Where were you going?”

  “Look, asshole, I don’t need to explain myself to you—”

  “Rebecca!”

  “—but as it were, I wasn’t going anywhere. I was going to the security shack, which is inside the casino. I have a job to do. And just because daddy dearest sent you here don’t mean shit to me.”

  Blake looked ready to kill her, and when he put a hand behind his back, a place she knew his gun was, she kind of freaked. “What are you doing?” She pushed herself further up the bed and away from him. What he pulled on her wasn’t a gun but a phone.

  “Look,” he commanded. He needn’t have bothered she already was, her brain just couldn’t understand what she was looking at. It looked like her, but didn’t. Even in the pitch black of night she could tell the blood was red. Tentatively she took the phone from his hand, morbid curiosity demanding she take a closer look. It was her, but it wasn’t. The girl’s hair was shorter, her chest flatter. Her neck... Jesus Christ, her neck had been slit.

  “This isn’t me.” Why she felt the need to point that out she didn’t know. “Who is she?”

  “We don’t know, but she was clearly a message. Or maybe a warning.”

  She placed the phone back on the bed. Her hands felt dirty like she’d actually touched the body and not just an image of it. “How was this” —she waved at the phone— “a warning? I don’t know who she is. I’ve had nothing to do with Hell’s Exiles for more than half a year. How do you know it has anything to do with me?”

  “She was found hanging in Chase and Nessa’s front yard. It’s not a coincidence that she looks just like you. Whoever did this did it for a very specific reason, we just don’t know exactly what that reason is yet, but we know it involves you.” He sat on the bed beside her. “Becca you need to come home so we can protect you.”

  Rage, red hot, and consuming engulfed her. “You have to be fucking joking.” Jumping off the bed, she paced across the room. “If you think this would make me come home, you’re more fucking stupid than my father.” She ignored his growl. “Why the fuck would I go back to a place where someone is stringing up my loo
k-a-like and slitting their throats? Why would I leave the one place where nothing bad has happened to me? No, don’t answer that, because whatever you say is just going to piss me off more.” Taking a deep breath, she said more calmly, “You do what you need to do Blake, but I’m not going back to Boulder. I’m going downstairs to do my job.”

  “You have a stalker and you think nothing has happened to you here? You’re not stupid, Becca, you have to see the connection?”

  “No, I’m not stupid, I’m also not paranoid. I’ve pissed off a lot of people doing what I do. Taken a lot of money from unsavory types, and Boris has dished out . . . whatever it is he does to people trying to rip him off, because of me. My stalker is probably one of those people and I have a shitload of mafia types hunting him down. If that person also happens to be the one screwing with the club . . .” she shrugged, either way the person stalking her was screwed.

  “Quin wants you home, he misses you.”

  “I really don’t care how Quin feels or what he wants.” She took another one of those calming breaths. “Look, Blake, this isn’t your fault and I shouldn’t be pissed at you. But like I said before, do what you have to do. Me? I’m going to work. And if Quin was so desperate to see me, he could have come himself”

  The guards didn’t stop her at the door this time, but Blake’s “Don’t leave the casino!” had her flipping him the bird.

  Chapter Seven

  Standing on the roof of Kazino, Blake pulled out his phone and dialed Zane’s number.

  “Yo,” the other man answered on the second ring in his usual Texan drawl.

  “Got anything?” Zane wasn’t due to head out for the North run until the end of the week, in the meantime, he was on the hunt for who dumped the body in Chase’s yard.

  “Hello to you too, Blake. I’m doing might—”

  “Cut the crap, Zane, I’m not in the mood.” He’d spent the afternoon with Boris. Discovering that there was more going on at the casino than just Becca being followed. The question was: did it relate to what was happening with Hell’s Exiles? Neither of them could be sure, because although Blakes affiliation to the Kuznetsov Brotherhood wasn’t well known, it was known. He had once been Boris’s head enforcer.