by Lane Hart
“Not every man is built like an ass-kicking tank,” I respond before removing the bottle from his hands to pour myself a big, big glass. This conversation, this entire ordeal, is incredibly surreal. “Some guys come with a little extra padding.”
“Right,” Reece agrees as I take a healthy sip and then refill my glass. “The ones who are lazy fuckers.”
“When do you even have time to work out? You never leave the basement!” I point out, angry at him for putting down Tommy.
“We also have a small gym down there. You would know that if you had ever done more than take a tour of all the bedrooms.”
A gasp of indignation leaves my lips. “What’s with the slut shaming?” I huff. “Do you talk down like that to some of your brothers who sleep with a different woman every single night?”
“Yes.”
“Sure, you do,” I say sarcastically with a roll of my eyes.
“I don’t approve of them sharing women, passing them around like they’re nothing but playthings for their own selfish entertainment.”
“Oh,” I mutter in surprise at the genuine abhorrence in his words and tone. I thought all the Kings approved of the playboy outlaw lifestyle until they found an old lady. “So, the women you’re with, you don’t…share?”
“Hell no,” Reece immediately answers. “Not that I’ve been with anyone in a long time.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
I’m met with Reece’s silent scowl before he says, “So what’s for dinner? Chicken parmesan you say?”
“Who said I was going to let you stay?” I challenge, even though it’s pointless.
“I did,” he answers confidently, refusing to back down. “Besides, you owe me for running off the Chubby Professor.”
“Owe you?” I repeat. “For ruining my date? I don’t think so.”
“You will, one day,” Reece says seriously. “But if not today, then you still owe me for giving you a new driver’s license, birth certificate and social security card three years ago with a different last name, Cynthia Collins. I wouldn’t take your money then, but we can call it even with a hot, homecooked meal.”
“You are persistent, I’ll give you that,” I tell him, unable to help my smile at his tenacity. “And I do owe you.” Back then, Reece had urged me to change my first name too, but I couldn’t. My grandmother named me Cynthia, so I kept it and changed only my last name to Smith. Apparently, there are tons of Cynthia Smiths in the world. On paper, I’m a tiny needle in a haystack. That doesn’t mean I don’t still wake up most nights in a panic after having a nightmare that he found me.
It’s stupid probably. I’m sure my husband has found some other woman to hurt by now. And yeah, I feel guilty that I didn’t have the guts to go to the police to prevent what he did to me from happening to someone else. At the time I was trying to survive the best way I knew how – to get the hell out of Arizona as fast as possible. I didn’t stop until I got as far to the east as I could go on highway forty – Emerald Isle, North Carolina.
“So, are you gonna pay up, woman?” Reece asks when he goes over and pulls out a chair at the small, two-person dining table and takes a seat.
“Yeah, I guess I am,” I surrender with a sigh.
“Great, because I’m fucking starving.”
Chapter Four
Reece
“Goddamn,” I say after the first forkful of Cynthia’s chicken parmesan.
“What?” she asks from her seat across from me where she’s already downed three glasses of wine since I walked through the door. I have no clue if it’s because I make her nervous or because she’s a wino. There are several bottles of that Triton mess sitting around, so I take it that’s her favorite. While the living area of her apartment is spotless like it’s rarely used, her kitchen looks like a hurricane came through it.
I shovel in two more bites and chew them as I examine her place more thoroughly before I look at her again and answer. Pointing at the pile of food on my plate with my fork, I tell her, “This is the best shit I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
“Ah, thanks,” she responds with a proud smile. “Cooking is sort of my passion. I just don’t get to share it with many people…”
“Can I take some leftovers home with me?” I ask while there’s still three-quarters left on my plate.
“Yeah, sure. There’s plenty,” she replies. “Especially since the Chubby Professor won’t be getting any.”
“I did you and that fucker a favor. He doesn’t need all these carbs,” I joke while washing down the chicken with her awful red wine. She’s still guzzling it like water, and she insisted on pouring a glass for me.
“If you say so,” she huffs, still sounding a little pissed at me for running off her date.
“Is the professor the reason you stopped coming to the clubhouse?” I ask between bites.
Cynthia shrugs her shoulders while chewing daintily. After taking another sip of wine, she finally says, “Sort of.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“I’m done fooling around with the Kings,” she explains. “Abe and Dalton are taken, and the rest won’t ever have any real feelings for me. And while being passed around the club was fun for a while, now I want…something else.”
“What else?” I ask, unable to contradict her statement that the rest of the single Kings probably won’t ever give up the lifestyle for a woman, myself included.
“More. A real relationship that could lead to marriage and eventually kids.”
“You’re already married,” I point out, making her wince at the reminder.
“How do you know I haven’t gotten divorced by now?” she questions me.
I simply give her a look that makes it clear that I’ve done my homework on her past and present. She wouldn’t ever risk putting her real name and address on a court document to mail it straight to her abusive husband. Not that he’ll be home to receive mail anytime soon…
“Fine, yes, I’m still technically married even though we’ve been separated for years,” she huffs.
“Does the professor know that?” I ask.
“Not yet. We just started seeing each other. Tonight was our second date. Well, it was supposed to be before it ended abruptly.”
“If you’re done with the MC, then you’re no longer under our protection,” I remind her, ignoring her scowl.
“I know,” she says. “And that’s okay. I mean, if he hasn’t found me by now, he probably never will.”
If he hasn’t found me by now, he probably never will.
God, she really has no fucking clue, does she?
There’s a reason the son of a bitch she’s still married to hasn’t found her yet – he’s currently wearing an orange jumpsuit and hopefully living life as some giant, evil fucker’s little prison bitch.
And I’m the one who put him there.
Not that I’ve ever told Cynthia about how I made sure that bastard couldn’t hurt her again.
After I found out the hell he had put her through, I almost killed the motherfucker. But then I decided he didn’t deserve a quick death. No, he deserved to rot in a shithole prison for repeatedly beating his woman and nearly killing her. If he did it to Cynthia, he would do it again to someone else. It was only a matter of time.
While Cynthia was too scared to go back to her hometown to press charges against him, it was easy for me to hack into his computer, find his disgusting little secret, and put in an anonymous tip with the feds.
I’m not proud of being a nark, but it was a necessary means to an end. Still, I’ve never told anyone what I did, especially Cynthia or my brothers.
Would she hate me for interfering or thank me?
Does she still love the bastard even though he hurt her?
These are the questions that I would rather not ask since I don’t know for certain the answers. I fucking hate all the uncertainties of dealing with people, which is exactly why I love computers.
And while Cynthia should be safe be
cause the asshole has two years left to serve on his sentence, I don’t like the idea of her being on her own, away from the club’s protection if she finds herself in trouble again. There was something nice about seeing her at the clubhouse, smiling and always radiating a happy warmth like the sun. Or, at least I thought she was happy with my brothers. Guess I was wrong, if she’s saying she’s done with us.
Why the hell do I keep including myself in the us? Cynthia and I were never together. Several times over the years I almost said to hell with the sharing bullshit and asked her to spend the night with me. I wanted to be the one who got to talk to her, to run my fingers through her beautiful, red hair and touch every inch of her porcelain skin. But she would always seek out one of my brothers or they would make a move first, before I could get up the nerve to climb the basement stairs, so I never had the chance. I guess I’ll never get one now...
Frowning down at the delicious meal she made, I ask, “How do you know the professor? Where did you meet him?”
“Oh, Tommy’s my neighbor,” Cynthia informs me.
“Jesus, woman, he already knows where you live? Haven’t you learned anything from your past?” I snap at her.
She cringes at my comment but then straightens her back and fires back. “He’s a good guy with a great job…teaching calculus at the community college.”
“That doesn’t mean shit,” I tell her, inwardly pleased that my intuition about him was spot on. “What’s his full name and date of birth? I’ll run a background search on him.”
“Do you really think that’s necessary?” she asks with a tilt of her head.
“Yes, I do,” I respond honestly. “And if you were smart, you would have the MC provide protection for The Toy Box too. A single woman running a business on her own can run into a lot of trouble…”
“No,” Cynthia responds, leaving no room for argument. “And is there anything you don’t know about me?” she asks with a grin. Holding up a hand, she says, “Don’t answer that. Back to my point, I’m not paying the MC part of my hard-earned profits to drive by a few times a day and look tough. You’ll scare away all of my customers.”
“We could be discreet, and do it for free,” I say, making her emerald eyes widen in surprise. I have to admit I even surprised myself with the offer. Torin doesn’t usually let the MC do shit for free when there’s work and a profit to be made. The club is a business after all.
Covering for my slip, I say, “As many times as you’ve fucked my brothers over the years, it’s the least we can do…”
“Hey! That was a low blow,” Cynthia huffs as she hops up from her chair and starts clearing off the table.
I cut my eyes to hers because she just opened herself to another vulgar comment with that phrasing.
Her cheeks redden even though she says, “I don’t have any regrets about my time with the Kings. We were all consenting adults just having a good time.”
“You had a lot of good times,” I remark, wrapping my arms protectively around my plate so that she can’t steal it away before I’m finished. Hell, I even want seconds.
“How would you know?” she asks, giving up on my plate and turning her back on me, whirling around the kitchen like a beautiful tidying tornado. Is she avoiding eye contact because she doesn’t like discussing her experiences with the club?
“The walls aren’t that thick down in the basement, and you were rather loud,” I explain. That’s actually not true, but how could I admit that each of the many times I saw her go off into a bedroom with one of my brothers I found myself feeling jealous of them, which is not an emotion I’ve ever been able to handle well. Only weak men crave what they know they will never have. I don’t have the time or convenience of being someone who is weak. I wasted too much time on the worthless emotion years ago on a woman who was lost to me.
“It’s impossible to be quiet if it’s good,” Cynthia responds with a sly smile. “But back to my point, I do not need the MC’s protection for myself or my business.”
“Why are you being so stubborn about this, woman?” I ask gruffly. “At least let me put up a security system and some surveillance cameras in there and maybe in here…”
“Absolutely not!” she exclaims. “What I do in my store and my apartment is none of your business. I have to think about my customers and their need for privacy.”
I have no clue why I’m so adamant about keeping an eye on her. Maybe because when she first came to town, I was the one she asked for help. If something happened to her, I would feel responsible. If she’s distancing herself from the MC, then the opportunity to watch out for her will slip right through my fingers. I fucking hate not knowing shit and leaving things to chance. I’m also starting to regret never getting a single night with her because of the stupid hang-ups from my past. If I could convince Cynthia to not completely sever her ties with the MC, then maybe I could get a second chance to be with her.
“Hold on. Why the fuck do kids need privacy? Aren’t you worried about the little brats stealing your shit?” I ask her, realizing her previous statement doesn’t make any sense.
“Kids?” she repeats with her brow furrowed. “What kids?”
“The ones who shop at a toy store,” I say, thinking that’s pretty damn obvious.
Cynthia bites down on her bottom lip as if to keep from laughing. “Reece, The Toy Box is an adult toy store.”
I’m so busy watching her teeth work over her stupid lip that it takes a second for her words to sink in.
“It’s a sex shop?” I say in surprise, realizing that “box” has a completely different meaning in the name than I originally assumed. “How did I not know that?”
I know everything. And no, I’m not being narcissistic and I’m also not suggesting that I’m the genius my MC brothers think I am. All it takes is a few taps of my fingertips on a keyboard and I can find the answer to every question ever posed to me. So now I can’t figure out why I didn’t type The Toy Box in Emerald Isle into a search engine to see for certain what they sell.
A giggle draws my attention back to Cynthia who is…laughing at me. “Sorry, but it’s sort of funny. You were over there thinking that I bring joy to children when I actually bring pleasure to adults.”
She provides adults with pleasure. Jesus Christ.
“Men who shop at those places are either perverted freaks or horny losers desperate to get laid,” I grumble when I get up and go back for seconds before she gets pissed at me and throws everything away.
Cynthia’s jaw drops before she says, “I’ll have you know that there are lots of couples who come in and shop together, and plenty of single female customers as well, myself included.”
Her fair cheeks redden even more after she shares that personal tidbit.
And I am absolutely not thinking about a naked Cynthia with all of her ivory skin on display stretched on her bed, her wild red hair like a halo of fire around her while she fucks herself with a damn rubber dildo. And you can bet your ass I won’t be thinking about her later tonight when I’m alone in the shower with my hard cock in my fist either.
Before I let myself go any further down that ridiculous road, I tell her, “Then you should definitely have the MC help out with protection at a damn sex store. You know, to make sure customers don’t get out of hand.”
“For the last time, no! You’ll do more harm than good scaring off men like the professor. Besides, it’s not like there’s any crime in the area thanks to you guys riding on the streets.”
“We don’t ride as much in the winter. People forget we run this city and they get desperate for money around the holidays. It’s when retail stores are the most vulnerable.”
“I’m sure The Toy Box will be fine,” she replies.
“But I’m not.”
Chapter Five
Cynthia
Never in my life would I have thought I would be here in my kitchen, having just shared a home-cooked meal with one of the Savage Kings. Especially one that I never slept with
.
Not only did Reece show up at my apartment, run off my date, and eat enough food for an army, now he’s acting all concerned about me for some unknown reason. It’s blowing my mind and making me want to go climb on his lap to kiss him at the same time.
So instead of continuing to fight his insistence to help, I decide to give in to him. It’s nice having a man want to try and take care of me without asking for anything in return, especially one that’s also a Savage King.
And I’m certain that Reece doesn’t want me. He’s made it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t ever sleep with a woman like me who has been…shared by his brothers.
“Okay. I give up. What do you have in mind for protection?” I ask him as I brace my hands on the back of my empty chair to hear him out.
Straightening in his seat as if he’s proudly reporting for duty, Reece says, “I can come by and install a security system and surveillance cameras tomorrow.”
“How much is all that gonna cost?” I question him.
“Nothing.”
“Then I don’t want them,” I respond.
He blows out a breath that’s so heavy I swear I feel it from three feet away. “I don’t want your money.”
“Fine,” I agree. “Don’t take my money. How about…store credit?”
“Store credit?” he asks with an arched eyebrow.
“Don’t try to pretend like you don’t watch porn,” I tell him. “What sort of fetishes are you into?”
“Do I look like a man with fetishes?” he huffs, scowling even harder than usual.
“That’s not an answer. And yes, every man has a fetish. There’s a video for any and all interests in the store. And if not, I can order it. So, what’s it going to be?”
Reece stares at me silently for several long seconds before saying, “French maids.”
I have to struggle to keep the shock off of my face. I didn’t think he would actually give me a response, or that it would be so specific.
