Reckless Road

by Christine Feehan

  “I’m tired. Would you mind taking me back to Lizz’s house?”

  “Not at all, Anat,” Destroyer said.

  “I’ll go with you,” Zyah volunteered.

  Anat patted her hand. “Lizz loves you dearly, Zyah, but she isn’t quite ready to see too much of you. She doesn’t need reminders of Francine’s treachery right now. You stay with Player. The two of you need time together. Let a couple of old women grieve together. Tomorrow François will be here and we’ll have a fine celebration, although I don’t know when I’ll have my home back.”

  “We can use my home,” Player said.

  “Or mine,” Czar said. “Or the clubhouse. You tell me what you want and it’s yours, Anat. Alena will let us use the restaurant as well.”

  Anat blinked back tears. “You’re all very good to me.”

  Player thought it was the other way around. He drew Zyah close as they watched Destroyer put Anat in the van. The club helped him put out the fire, and then they left, leaving him alone with his woman.

  * * *

  Player sat on the edge of the bed, his pounding head in his hands. His body was covered in sweat. He was never going to be rid of the nightmares. Never. They’d lessened with Zyah sleeping beside him, but nothing was going to erase his past. Careful not to disturb her, he padded to the shower, hoping the hot water would relieve the terrible jackhammers threatening to rip his brain apart.

  “Water on,” he ordered. “Lights dim. Blue.” He felt almost sick with pain.

  Resting his forehead against the tile with his arms spread out, bracing himself with his hands on the walls of the shower, he let the water spray over his body from every direction. Above him, the multiple rows of shower heads rained down on him, providing a gentle rain that encompassed the entire large enclosure. Four of the side shower heads pulsed harder into his body, massaging his muscles. He hoped that would distract him from the pounding in his head.

  “Honey. You should have woken me up.” Zyah’s arms slid around his waist. She pressed her breasts to his back. She was short enough that her soft mounds fit quite snugly into the curve of his back above his buttocks. “I don’t like that you don’t wake me when you have nightmares. This isn’t the first time.”

  Was there hurt in her voice? In her mind? He couldn’t tell because it was all he could do to concentrate on keeping the pain from spilling over into her mind. He wasn’t giving her that.

  “Babe. Go back to bed. I’m all right.”

  She didn’t move. Or speak. She stayed still, her arms wrapped around him, her face pressed to his back now, just as tightly as her tits. He could feel every breath she took.

  “This happens. It’s going to keep happening. We both knew it would.” He dropped one hand over hers and rubbed back and forth, taking some solace from just having her close. “Can’t get away from it. Don’t like it touching you.”

  “You’re not all right, Player. You hurt like hell. I can feel your headache and you’re protecting me. It’s like a battering ram. If you’re protecting me, I can’t imagine how bad it is for you. Why wouldn’t you want my help?”

  There was definitely hurt in her voice. His heart clenched hard in his chest. He couldn’t cope with that right now.

  “Babe. I love you, but I can’t make things better for you when my head is coming apart the way it is.” He tried to turn his head to look at her. That required opening his eyes. Thank heavens he’d called for blue lights or he wouldn’t have been able to take it.

  Zyah had stepped to the side of him, and her face was tilted up, looking up at him. Water ran over her from the many long rows of shower heads. Beads of water ran in rivulets over her shoulders and down the curves of her body.

  “You aren’t supposed to make things better for me, Player, I’m going to make them better for you.” She raised her voice to a command. “Water off.” Her chocolate eyes darkened, and she indicated for him to walk ahead of her. “Out.”

  If he could have managed, he would have smiled, but he obeyed her. His woman going all bossy on him could make him hard under the worst of circumstances. She rolled her eyes at him when he glanced back, his hand fisting his cock.

  “Grab a towel instead of your cock and get on the bed. Lie down on your stomach.” She toweled off and went to the cabinet where he’d put the many items he’d gotten from Hannah at the Floating Hat.

  “You turn me on when you’re so damn bossy, woman.” He was telling the strict truth. He stretched out gingerly in the center of the bed. Just moving his head around hurt. That didn’t seem to stop his wayward cock from reacting to her, though.

  “I turn you on all the time. Just waking up turns you on,” she said.

  She moved into his line of vision, or rather part of her body did. He had his head turned toward her. He could see her narrow waist and generous hips. He loved the shape of her hips. The junction between her legs, those dark curls she’d shaved like a little landing strip that left her lips bare for him because he’d shaved her that way one day. She’d kept it for him. He liked to tease her with his mouth and tongue and teeth. Those little curls drove him nuts. But the bare lips and access to her clit made her all the more sensitive.

  Zyah put one knee on the bed and crawled over him. Her hands, coated in lotion, began to massage the knots in his neck. She was quiet, working on the knots, letting the lotion do its magic along with her fingers. He was very conscious of her body straddling his. Her legs positioned on either side of his back, her pussy pressing into him.

  All at once, when his guard slipped, she poured into his mind. Zyah. Soothing. Gentle. Just sliding in and filling him with her. Completing him. She found every one of the rips his past memories had put in his mind, mending them in the way she did. Zyah drove away the nightmares, replacing them with her sweetness, the way she loved him. The way she gave herself to him every single day.

  He closed his eyes, surrendering to her magic. It wasn’t the lotion. It wasn’t even her hands. It was Zyah and the way she took care of him. Already his house was filled with warmth. In the weeks she’d been living with him, she’d transformed the beautiful structure into the peaceful sanctuary he’d envisioned when he’d bought it.

  Lizz had decided to move in with Anat, and the two women seemed to get along very well together. Lizz had the upstairs and Anat the downstairs. That decision had alleviated Zyah’s worry that Anat would be alone if she moved out. Torpedo Ink still watched over Anat, taking turns as she did her physical therapy on her leg, but she was much more mobile now. Both Lizz and Anat frequently had dinner with Player and Zyah at Crow 287 or lunch at the Floating Hat. The little tea and bath and body shop had quickly become a favorite.

  François had visited three times, bringing Anat such joy, Player couldn’t help liking the man. The third visit, he’d brought his wife and children. That time, they’d all had a barbecue at Czar’s so the children could play together. That had been a big hit, and Lizz had actually gone along. Zyah had really enjoyed getting to know her uncle and his family.

  “Now that your head isn’t pounding, Player, and I know you’re feeling so much better,” Zyah said, “I want you to tell me why you haven’t been waking me up when you get these nightmares. They’re coming frequently. You go off by yourself, play your music, or if they’re particularly bad you head for the shower. Sometimes you go for a ride on your bike. I don’t like being shut out, honey, so you’re going to have to tell me why you’re not waking me up immediately.”

  He’d been feeling relaxed. Just like that, tension shot through him. Instinctively, he knew she wasn’t going to like the answer. It was a legitimate one, though.

  He half turned, catching her around the waist, warning her so she had time to stretch her legs out, and then he rolled, tucking her under him. Her hair was wrapped in a warm towel, making her dark eyes larger, the lashes all the more noticeable. He traced her high cheekbones with his
thumbs.

  Wedging one knee between her legs, he nudged her until she accommodated him and he sank into his favorite place, cradling his body in her hips. She had a lush body, all curves, all feminine. Sometimes he wondered how he’d lived without her.

  “Player.” She’d perfected the art of the one-name inflection. Just like any club member, she could speak volumes with just one word. Low. Gentle. A brush of heat. A reprimand. Telling him to get on with it.

  He bent his head and nipped her neck, then licked the spot soothingly, feeling her answering shiver. “I love you, Zyah. I want you for you, not because you can make my nightmares go away. Or because you can repair my brain when it’s torn up. Or my mind when I’m all over the place.”

  “Player, honey—”

  “Let me finish.” He kissed his way down her throat to the curves of her breasts. “You were very casual about telling me you didn’t want me to be with you for the great sex or because of your ability to repair my mind or take away the nightmares. You only said it once, and then you let it go. I thought about the times I wouldn’t commit to you and you kept trying over and over, giving yourself to me full on. We had a connection. We knew each other through that connection. I knew what you were like. You knew what I was like. And then I was trying and you took me back, but I could feel it wasn’t the same. There was a little part of you that held back. It wasn’t like before, when you were all in. That very casual statement was the reason why.”

  Player shifted his body just enough to be able to kiss his way back up to her chin. To her lower lip. He used his teeth to tug on her lip just because it was so bitable. One hand slid between her legs just to make certain she was slick and hot for him. She was. He knew she would be. He had grown accustomed to the shifting of his heart now, the way it seemed to melt when he felt such love for her overwhelming him.

  “I realized no one would want to be wanted for their ability to repair damage to someone’s brain, or to chase away nightmares.”

  Before she could protest, which he knew she would, he took her mouth. Slow. Gentle. Loving. Flames burned hot the way they did every time they kissed. Kissing ignited some deep well of fire in both of them so that a storm came together, no matter how gentle he wanted to be. He caught her legs, lifted them at the knees and urged her to wrap them around his hips as he lodged the head of his cock in her slick entrance.

  She was so hot. Burning. Tight. He always wondered if he was going to make it into her, especially when he was like this, invading slowly. He loved looking into her eyes. Watching her as he joined them together. Her eyes always darkened more. Went wide. Dazed. A little shocked.

  “Player.” She breathed his name this time. Almost reverently.

  He heard the love in her voice. Felt it in his mind. She swamped him with the emotion. He pushed deeper into that scorching-hot tunnel, one slow inch at a time.

  “Never think that way, honey. I know you love me. I want you to wake me up.”

  Her breath came in the delicious little ragged musical pants he particularly loved to hear. He pushed deeper through those tight silken petals. Staring into her eyes when he took her this way always made him feel like he was looking into her soul and she was looking into his. It was incredibly intimate. Incredibly beautiful. He reached for her hands and threaded their fingers together as he rose over her, driving deeper, needing to be fully surrounded by her.

  “I have complete confidence that you love me, Player.” Her fingers tightened around his. Her legs tightened around his hips.

  “I’ll never get over the nightmares.” He surged forward, burying himself those last few inches. “Bog, baby, you’re so tight. I’m never certain I’m going to survive, it’s so good.”

  He moved in her slow, withdrawing, feeling the friction dragging over his shaft, over his ultrasensitive crown. The breath left his lungs in a rush. His woman. His miracle. He pushed back just as slow, one inch at a time. She rose to meet him, her hips matching that slow rhythm, in complete harmony with him. Savoring each other. Worshipping.

  “I know they’re a part of you. I love all of you. I don’t want to be shut out of any part of you, Player. I want all of you, including your nightmares. Including your past. You don’t give that to anyone else. Only me.”

  Her hot tunnel surrounded him like a scorching-hot fist of living silk, squeezing and gripping until he thought his head might explode from the sheer pleasure. He couldn’t keep that deliberate, measured pace that smoldered, a slow burn that built and built until the flames raced up his spine, threatening to consume him. He began to surge into her with harder, faster strokes. Forks of lightning streaked through his body, spreading through the fire until he could barely breathe.

  Player, tell me you’re with me on this. It’s important to me. I have to know you’re with me, that you understand how important it is to me to be this connected to you always.

  He could read her so easily when their bodies were one. When their minds were. Their hearts were so connected, and he swore their souls somehow had been woven together. Yeah. He read her. She wanted that closeness, even if it meant seeing his past and the ugliness of the life he’d had as a child. Sharing the worst of him. Knowing the ugly things he did to escape. Knowing the things he did to bring down those who preyed on children. She was willing to live with his sins. How could he not love her? Worship her? Feel so fucking much for her he burned with it?

  I’m with you all the way, Zyah. If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me.

  You give me your word of honor while we both can still think straight.

  You’ve got it, baby. He smiled down at her, looking into her eyes as he gave her his word. And then he was lost in her body. Burning in the flames and loving every minute of it. Loving her with everything in him.

  TERMS ASSOCIATED WITH BIKER CLUBS

  1-percenters: This is a term often used in association with outlaw bikers, as in “99 percent of clubs are law-abiding, but the other 1 percent are not.” Sometimes the symbol is worn inside a diamond-shaped patch.

  3-piece patch or 3-piece: This term is used for the configuration of a club’s patch: the top piece, or rocker, with club name; a center patch that is the club’s logo; and a bottom patch or rocker with the club’s location, such as Sea Haven.

  Biker: someone who rides a motorcycle

  Biker friendly: a business that welcomes bikers

  Boneyard: refers to a salvage yard

  Cage: often refers to a car, van or truck (basically any vehicle not a motorcycle)

  Chapter: the local unit of a larger club

  Chase vehicle: a vehicle following riders on a run just in case of a breakdown

  Chopper: customized bike

  Church: club meeting

  Citizen: someone not a biker

  Club: could be any group of riders banding together (most friendly)

  Colors: patches, logo, something worth fighting for because it represents who you are

  Cut: vest or denim jackets with sleeves cut off with club colors on them; almost always worn, even over leather jackets

  Dome: helmet

  Getting patched: Moving up from prospect to full club member (you would receive the logo patch to wear with rockers). This must be earned, and is the only way to get respect from brothers.

  Hang-around: anyone hanging around the club who might want to join

  Hog: nickname for motorcycle, mostly associated with Harley-Davidson

  Independent: a biker with no club affiliation

  Ink: tattoo

  Ink slinger: a tattoo artist

  Nomad: club member who travels between chapters; goes where he’s needed in his club

  Old lady: Wife or woman who has been with a man for a long time. It is not considered disrespectful, nor does it have anything to do with how old one is.

  Patch holder: member of a motorcycle cl
ub

  Patches: sewn on vests or jackets, these can be many things with meanings or just for fun, even gotten from runs made

  Poser: pretend biker

  Property of: a patch displayed on a jacket, vest or sometimes a tattoo, meaning the woman (usually old lady or longtime girlfriend) is with the man and his club

  Prospect: someone working toward becoming a fully patched club member

  RESOURCES

  Bikers Against Child Abuse (BACA)

  bacausa.com

  Advocates for Youth

  1325 G Street NW, Suite 980

  Washington, D.C. 20005

  1-202-419-3420

  advocatesforyouth.org

  U.S. Department of Justice

  Project Safe Childhood

  810 Seventh Street NW

  Washington, D.C. 20531

  AskDOJ@usdoj.gov

  justice.gov/psc/index.html

  MaleSurvivor

  350 Central Park West, Ste 1H

  New York, NY 10025

  1-800-738-4181

  malesurvivor.org

  KEEP READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM

  LIGHTNING GAME

  THE NEXT NOVEL IN THE GHOSTWALKER SERIES

  BY CHRISTINE FEEHAN

  AVAILABLE MARCH 2021 FROM BERKLEY

  Rubin Campo stood in front of the small cabin made of mostly broken lumber his brothers and father had dragged or cut from the trees in the forest and pieced together. No one had lived there in years, but he and Diego came back every year and fixed the place up. He had no idea why. Some compulsion buried deep in them that pulled them back, he supposed.

  They’d been born there. The cabin hadn’t been so large then. At the time it had been one room. His two older brothers and father had begun expanding it as the family grew in size. Eventually, there were nine children. Had their father not died when his horse stepped in a hole and fell, rolling on him, breaking his father’s neck, there most likely would have been more children.