Reign: A Romance Anthology

by Nina Levine

  No response.

  “See, Sargent Ballintine was right about one thing,” I announced, not usually one for over-dramatics, but feeling like right now, it had its purpose. “If he did this…” I took a step forward, the low blow of my punch connecting right in the soft spot between Cooper’s ribs. He hit the ground hard, dust scattering around him, wheezing as he fought to breathe while also gagging on the pain. “He would get suspended. Written up. And maybe even fired,” I continued, making my way down a now incredibly nervous line of troops. “But as far as I’m concerned, right now, we are just strangers standing in a fucking desert, about to play a huge game of hide and seek.”

  “You have ten minutes to grab any kind of supplies you think you might need,” Regan announced, stepping up beside me. He knew the drill. We’d done this before, except last time, he was me, and I was the little bastard Cooper thought was hot shit and running my mouth. “If you can keep hidden from Huntsman and his men until the sun rises, you move on to the next stage of the recruitment. If you get found, start fucking walking home.”

  It was easy to tell who took this seriously and who was simply there to flex their physical attributes.

  It was all in what they felt was important.

  I walked through the room, carefully looking over the different things they shoved inside their bags. Some went for food, others focusing on clothing and colors that would keep them camouflaged. But it was when I got to my good friend Cooper that I had to stop and raise my eyebrow.

  He was wearing even less than when he’d been dragged from bed, having stripped down to a pair of boxer shorts and a wife-beater—no shoes, no backpack, no stashes of food, or sand-colored face paint.

  “What’s that?” I asked, looking down at the object in his hand.

  He grinned, holding it up for me to see.

  A plastic straw.

  A single plastic straw.

  “What are yo—”

  “Five minutes, soldiers. You better start hiding,” Regan screamed from the doorway, causing Cooper to leap up and disappear out into the darkness, straw hanging from his mouth. And all I could do was watch him go.

  “You think the asshole with the attitude has it?” Rip asked, sliding in beside me and following my shocked gaze.

  “Maybe.”

  Just fucking maybe.

  5

  Zoey

  “I need to speak with Drake,” I told the young kid standing at the gates to the MC compound.

  The place was intimidating, to say the least, with its tall wire fences, the hulking Harley Davidsons that sat proudly in a perfect row, sparkling devilishly. The building was impressive—an old factory which had been renovated and modernized with amazing detail. But I guess that’s the kind of impressive shit you get when you own a building company.

  “Drake’s not here,” the kid responded with a shrug.

  I shook my head. “No, you don’t get it. I need these plans approved like… now, or the builders are going to start building shit we don’t need, and it’s going to cost the company money to take it all down and start again.”

  I’d actually managed to alter some of the plans. They weren’t perfect, but they were a lot more appealing, and I was sure they would add value where the designer before me had lost it.

  The kid screwed up his nose, his foot tapping for a second before he seemed to get a lightning bolt to his brain. “Huntsman can approve the plans.” He reached into a small shed next to the gate, and seconds later, they began to ease open. “He’s inside.”

  I raised my brow. “And who is Huntsman?”

  The kid paused for a second, obviously fighting a smile. “Huntsman is Drake’s dad. The owner of the company and the club president.”

  So he was the big man on campus.

  Someone it would do me well to get to know and to impress if I was hoping to keep this job as something permanent.

  “Thanks,” I called back over my shoulder as I made my way to my car and climbed inside. This was good. This meeting was going to be important.

  I pulled through the gates, my stomach twisting as I watched the young kid shut them behind me. I was now inside a biker compound, locked in, with a group of men who weren’t known for their good deeds. I’d know the company was owned by the club since my first day on the job. Drake had made the connection clear. He laid it down, and you either accepted that part of him, or you walked away.

  His dedication and loyalty were something I actually found a relief. You learned a lot about someone by seeing what they stand for, what they fight for, and what part of themselves they believe to be non-negotiable.

  For Drake, that was his family—something we had in common.

  Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my handbag and the folder of plans and climbed out of the car, making my way toward the single club member I could see. “Excuse me?” I called as I got closer.

  The young man paused, catching a glimpse of me over his shoulder before climbing to his feet. He pulled a dirty cloth from his back pocket, using it to wipe some of the black mess off his hands, though the more he scrubbed them, the more obvious it became that a lot of the black inky looking patterns that stained them was permanent.

  “Yeah?” he questioned, tucking the cloth back in his jeans pocket and sweeping his fingers through the front of his shaggy blond hair.

  “I need to speak with Huntsman?” I shifted from one foot to the other. “I have some plans I need him to sign off on.”

  “He’s bus—”

  “Just in his office.” The new voice pulled my attention to the open doorway that led inside. The grin staring back at me was one I recognized. “Hey, Zo.”

  “You not working today, Rip?”

  “Club business ran late last night.”

  “Thought you might have been hungover again,” I teased, enjoying the way his smartass smile dropped for a second, no doubt remembering what happened when he’d come to work a few days ago after too many drinks the night before.

  He pressed his hand to his stomach, his brow pinching between his eyes. “Drake’s an asshole.”

  “You’re the one that puked in the concrete mixer,” I argued, shaking my head with a light giggle. “It was only fair you cleaned it out.”

  “You sound like Drake,” he grumbled, waving me inside and directing me to a hallway tucked in behind the bar. The other guy with the tattoos followed close behind us. “Dad’s in his office. Just down the hall, the last door on the left.”

  “Thanks, Rip.” My heels clipped across the wooden floor as I made my way down the hallway, acutely aware of the two bikers behind me, their eyes following my every damn move with quiet whispers. Reaching the last door on the left, I looked back at them before placing my hand on the handle, my raised eyebrow enough to have them scuttle away, laughter echoing after them.

  The door was open just a crack, so instead of knocking, I pressed my other hand against it gently, letting it slowly swing back.

  I should have knocked.

  A soft gasp fell from my lips, and his eyes shot up, his dark shadowed gaze meeting directly with mine. “Can I help you?” I shuddered at the sexy rasp in his tone, though I couldn’t tell if that was just the way he spoke or if it was because he was fighting to unload himself into the girl kneeled before him. The one with his cock halfway down her throat.

  Jesus Christ, just look away!

  I couldn’t.

  I was frozen in panic, my mouth hanging open, my heart beating harder. Faster. Sending a wave of warmth radiating through my body.

  His eager companion grabbed hold of his shirt with one of her hands, pushing it up, out of her way. The movement dragged my attention to his perfectly etched abs, looking like they were carved from stone, and suddenly the warmth that had spread through me had begun to gather between my legs, creating a dull throb.

  There was something wrong with me.

  “You going to come in and join us?” Huntsman growled as he swept his fingers through the girl’s ha
ir, gathering it in his hand and pulling it away from her face. What a fucking gentleman. “Or you just like to fucking watch?”

  The amused arrogance was the bucket of cold water I needed.

  Dumped right over my damn head.

  I steeled my spine, lifting the files and trying to keep my hand from shaking. “I’m Zoey, the interior designer. I need these plans signed so I can hand the changes over before the builders start working.”

  He tilted his head like he was studying me.

  The girl in front of him continued on her mission like I wasn’t even there.

  I felt exposed, desperately trying to stop his sharp stare from rattling me. Because I knew that’s exactly what he was trying to do. He was pushing me, taunting me, testing what I was made of. Which only made me stand taller, popping my hip out to the side and raising my brow. He reached up, tugging gently at his beard.

  That fucking beard.

  I swear the moment he touched it, I could instantly feel it pressed between my thighs, the coarseness of it scratching softly at my thighs as his tongue swept over my cl—

  “Well?”

  Clearing my throat, I shook my head, trying to shake the haze from my brain. “Well?” I repeated, unable to keep my voice from cracking.

  “I said either leave it on the table,” he growled, the deep rumble like shockwaves kick-starting my heart, “… or you go back out to the clubroom and fucking wait. Since you already turned down option three.”

  “You offer threesomes to all your employees, or am I just special?” I snapped, pressing the files to my chest.

  “You’re not special.”

  Gritting my teeth, I took a step back, trying to keep my head held high and not let this asshole’s words hurt me. “I’ll wait,” I hissed, shuffling back to the doorway. “I’m sure you won’t last… I mean, be long.”

  I ignored the snickers from the men at the bar as I found an empty table and slammed my files on the top before taking a seat. I knew my cheeks were still flushed, and I couldn’t help but fold my legs and squeeze them together to try and ease some of the ache between them.

  Goddamn man.

  And his stupid beard.

  And his ripped body.

  And his rugged good looks.

  “You bring a pen?” I pressed my hand to my heart, trying to keep it from leaping straight out of my chest. Jesus Christ. Huntsman dragged out the chair opposite me and dropped into it, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve got shit to do.”

  Crinkling my nose, I reached into my handbag and pulled out a ballpoint pen, placing it on the files and sliding them across the table. “You didn’t seem so busy a few minutes ago.”

  He’d begun to reach for the documents but paused, his hand hovering in the air for a second before dropping it with a thud on the small table. I stilled, suddenly very aware of who I was talking to. Huntsman wasn’t just some cocky, brooding biker. He was my boss.

  “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

  “You’re damn right,” he warned, picking up the pen finally and wrapping his large fingers around it. Though, the tension settling in the air around us made it feel like those fingers were on my throat. Squeezing. “What I do in my own fucking clubhouse is none of your business. And neither is where I stick my cock. Unless I’m sticking it in you. So, are you fucking offering?”

  “No, sir,” I rushed out, my brain winning out over my pussy, which was screaming yes, sir. “No. You’re right. I apologize.”

  He clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring before he finally opened my folder.

  The deep suffocating breath I’d been holding finally eased out, my shoulders falling with the long steady breath. The apology tasted bitter, burning my tongue.

  I’d spent a large part of my life letting men dictate my life, with orders, and threats, and abuse. I told myself a long time ago I wouldn’t allow myself to sink below them. No matter what, even if it meant sacrificing.

  But the truth was, this was my dream job.

  It would give us so much stability.

  It would allow us to stop running.

  And if I had to suck up a little bit of my pride for now and give in to this arrogant asshole—so be it. Lesson learned.

  From now on, if Drake wasn’t around to deal with problems, those problems could wait. The energy Huntsman had swirling around him was too much. It was intense, like a cyclone. One I knew could so easily suck me in and tear me to shreds.

  Though, I was fairly sure I would probably love it.

  “Is that all?” He flicked the folder closed, placing the pen on the top and sliding back across the table, standing at the same time.

  I blinked several times, frowning as I leaped to my feet. “Um. Yeah. I thought you would want to take a good look. Maybe ask why I’d made the changes?” Now we were both standing, just a few feet separating us, and I was suddenly acutely aware of just how large this man was.

  His broad shoulders and muscular upper body were practically bursting against the black shirt he was wearing underneath his leather vest, the arms looking like they could rip open at any second. There wasn’t a lot of difference in our height, maybe a couple of inches, but I still felt like his presence made it feel like he was towering over me.

  He was larger than life.

  “Drake trusts you. Said you do good work,” he answered. “I trust my son’s judgment.”

  I couldn’t help the swell in my chest at his words. Knowing Drake had faith in my work and my design concreted my need to fight for this job, to prove even further what I was capable of.

  That also meant focusing on work.

  “Is that all?”

  His sharp question startled me, but I quickly nodded, gathering the papers in my hands and shuffled them like the man’s mere presence didn’t make my heart race for reasons I couldn’t explain.

  Or that I, at least, just didn’t want to explain.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Because falling for the boss was not part of the plan.

  6

  Huntsman

  Having Zoey see me with my dick buried deep in Amber’s throat should have been a good thing.

  She was here so we could keep her and her kid safe.

  Not so I could fall for her feisty fucking smart mouth.

  Yet here I was, ready to walk out after her and drag her back in like a fucking caveman, just so I could see how fucking red I could make her ass for talking back.

  “She’s nice, right?” Ripley commented, trying to act casual like he hadn’t just stirred the fucking pot. When he caught my glare, he rolled his eyes dramatically. “She’s your fucking type, old man.”

  “I don’t have a type,” I argued, walking away, hoping he’d take the fucking hint, but I should have known better.

  “Independent, smart, razor-sharp tongue, and she’s not afraid to use it to put you in your place.” I didn’t respond, but his footsteps followed me down the hall to my office. “Don’t you think it’s about time you took another old lady?”

  I paused, bracing my hands on my desk and hanging my head. “Ripley, just leave it.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to leave it. Maybe I want to see you get over all that fucking guilt you still carry inside you,” he continued, not about to give up, but I should have known that. I fucking raised him. “It’s not your fault Mom was unhappy. It’s not your fault she felt like she couldn’t escape.”

  Talking about Josie always made me feel ill. We were both too young back then to feel like we had a say in our own futures. We both grew up in the club, we did what was expected of us, and we didn’t fucking argue.

  Did I love her? Yes, but not for the reasons you’d expect. I grew protective of her. Almost like a big brother would. I wanted her to be happy, but when she looked at me, for the most part, all she could see was prison walls.

  She was tied to me.

  Her parents refused to let her take any other path that didn’t lead exactly my way. And that meant eve
ntually, she didn’t see me as her husband or as the father of her children.

  She saw me as her captor.

  The concept of love in her mind was illusive. It was something that people only imagined because she couldn’t understand why no one would give theirs to her. Why they couldn’t love her enough to let her follow her own path. Why I didn’t love her enough to fight our parents to set her free.

  “Zoey would be good for you.”

  “That’s enough, Ripley,” I growled, finally falling back into my desk chair. The same one I’d been sitting in about twenty minutes ago when I couldn’t fucking come in some club girl’s mouth because all my dick wanted was Zoey’s.

  Fuck me.

  My son stormed out of my office finally, and I allowed my shoulders to relax into my chair. I had to remind myself, there was a reason she was here. And I needed to start keeping my eyes on our surroundings instead of her perfect fucking ass.

  If you’d told me a couple years back that I’d be celebrating the fact that my daughter was having a baby—with a member of another MC—I would have laughed in your fucking face.

  Firstly, for the fact that I didn’t even know I had a daughter.

  Secondly, because the idea of one of my children being with someone from another club was something they knew wasn’t done. But goddammit, if I couldn’t stop myself from smiling as I watched Meyah’s face light up, as her man picked her up off her feet and swung her around in a circle. That was how it should be.

  The clubhouse was just getting started, shit was going to set off soon, and there were going to be far too many fucking sore heads tomorrow morning. Including mine.

  I wasn’t ready to be Grandad.

  Or Grampa.

  Or Pops.

  I shuddered and shook my head.

  A buzzing in my pocket drew me away from the celebrations, and I pulled out my cell as I headed to somewhere a little quieter. I opened the door to church and closed it behind me, the soundproofing instantly making the room silent. The number on my phone was listed as unknown, and I frowned at it for a couple of seconds before deciding to answer.