Tracking Numbers: A Bad Boy Protector Romance (Lost Boys Book 1)

by Janice M. Whiteaker

  Without warning, Evan grabs me tight around the waist and switches our places, lifting me off the ground and setting my bottom on the counter. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him tight against me as his mouth crushes against mine. This time he’s the one kissing me. Hard. Rough. Needy.

  The towel twisted around my hair topples to the floor. His hand grabs my damp locks, fisting them tight. He uses the grip to pull my head back so his mouth can move to my neck, licking and biting my skin. He moves to my ear. Sucking my lobe between his teeth.

  “You’re so perfect.” His voice is a low growl against my skin. He pulls the neck of my robe over my shoulder and tastes his way down my throat and across my collarbone before pulling away.

  He’s stopping again. Putting the brakes on something I want more than I should.

  I try to grab at him. Keep his body close to mine but he catches my wrist and holds it. He shakes his head at me. “You can control everything else, Kerri. Not this.”

  He pulls my hand to one side while his fingers work the knot at my waist, freeing it in a few seconds. Evan drops my wrist and uses both hands to spread my robe. His eyes roam my naked body, the fingers from one hand trailing his gaze, burning a path of fire with his touch. His other hand hooks under my knee from the inside and lifts my leg out and away from my body, opening my pussy to his gaze. His hand runs down my center, between my breasts and over the curve of my belly. “Beautiful.”

  I can’t breathe, waiting to see what he will do next. I’ll take whatever he wants to give me and probably still hope for more. I’ve never been with someone like Evan before and I can’t get enough of the way he makes me feel. Strong but submissive. In control but under control.

  And sexy. Really, really sexy.

  Maybe that’s why he finished me off in under thirty seconds the only time I managed to convince him to touch me.

  I’m used to intellectual types with slow hands and hesitant dicks. It was what I sought out. What I tried to pretend I wanted. All in the name of maintaining control.

  Because I don’t want to end up like my mother.

  I always thought it was an all or nothing situation. I either had control or I didn’t. Until now.

  Now I’m wondering if there might be a third option.

  A man like this one.

  Evan drags his fingers back up my body, never coming close to the place I want them most. He shoves my robe down my arms with both hands until I’m only sitting on it, completely naked. He drops to his knees in front of me and before I can react my legs are over his shoulders. He grabs my ass and pulls me to the edge of the counter. I grab onto it with both hands as he spreads his palms over my stomach and uses his thumbs to part the swollen folds of my pussy. He blows across my clit. The slow, steady stream of cool air across my heated flesh is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Another exercise in opposites that I never knew I needed until I met Evan.

  “You like that, Numbers?” His voice is low and deep between my thighs. Another line of cool air flows over me and I gasp. It’s almost as powerful as a touch. That, along with the anticipation of his mouth on me, has my knuckles turning white as I hang onto the counter for dear life.

  His mouth hovers over me, the rough hair of his jaw scratching against my thigh as he leans to one side. I can feel the heat of his breath now as he exhales slowly. Evan slides a finger inside me. His eyes are dark as he watches it disappear into my body and ease back out, glistening and wet. He pulls it free then looks up at me as he slips it into his mouth.

  “I like the way you taste, Numbers.”

  I am suddenly concerned I may have bitten off more than I can chew with this man. He doesn’t give me much time to entertain the thought because a second later his mouth is on me and I forget everything except the way he makes me feel.

  Powerful.

  Protected.

  Desired.

  His mouth is hot and wet as he laps at my clit, sucking it gently between his teeth until my thighs lock around his neck.

  Holy shit, not again.

  “Evan I—” It’s too late. I grab his hair and hold his mouth against me as I come for him for the second time.

  In under thirty seconds.

  My head falls back against the cabinet as he stands between my legs and pulls me into his arms.

  “You don’t give me much time to enjoy myself.” I hear the smile in his voice as he nuzzles my neck.

  “Don’t get cocky.” I push at him. “You’ve seen what I’m used to.”

  His body tenses. “Have I?”

  It’s a simple question that I immediately regret giving him the opportunity to ask. Tracker is not going to like finding out the man he considers a pussy has been in mine.

  Oh shit. That reminds me. I shove him for real this time and jump off the counter grabbing my robe as I go. “What time is it?”

  Tracker leans against the counter, his eyes narrow. “Please don’t tell me you fucked that guy from your work.”

  I pull my robe on as I rush to my room. “I won’t.”

  I check the clock on my nightstand and feel a little better. I pull out a skirt and shirt and hurry to my dresser to snag panties and a bra. I manage to get on everything but my skirt by the time he makes it to the doorway.

  “So what you’re telling me is that guy fucked you and still ran away when a dangerous man grabbed you in a parking lot?” Tracker’s voice is even and deep. Each word carefully enunciated and spaced perfectly against the next.

  I have my skirt in my hands and pause to look up at him. “You’re not dangerous.”

  “That’s not true, Kerri.” Tracker watches me closely. “Under the right circumstances I am capable of things you wouldn’t imagine.”

  I zip up my skirt. “You can’t kill Nelson.”

  “Yes. I can.”

  I tip my head back and blow out a breath. Jesus. One minute I’m embarrassing myself on a counter and the next I’m arguing against homicide. “Okay. I will concede that you are possibly capable of killing him.” I look back at him with my eyebrows raised, giving him my serious teacher face. “What I’m saying is just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

  He works his jaw from side to side.

  I roll my eyes and push around him. I don’t have time to watch him mull this over. “And he would probably die of heart failure if you even got too close to him.” I turn around and push past him again back into my room. I grab my forgotten shoes from the closet and hold them up in explanation as I pass again.

  I stop by the bathroom to pull my hair back into a bun and grab my tube of mascara. Tracker leans against the doorway as I fight a brush through my hair.

  “So you’re saying I could accidentally kill him and that would be acceptable?”

  I flip off the bathroom light and push him toward the door. “No killing.” I grab my work bag off the table as we pass and pause at the door to slip my shoes on. Tracker stuffs his feet into his boots and grabs the car keys off the entry table.

  “You’re no fun, Numbers.”

  ****

  “YOU’RE SURE I can’t kill him?” Tracker glares down the hall as Nelson stands outside his office chatting way too comfortably with a student.

  “I’m positive.” I open the door to my classroom and flip on the lights. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in my office?” I turn and find Evan still outside the door staring at Nelson and the girl who can’t be more than nineteen. He finally turns to look at me. I smile. “There’s free wifi.”

  Evan walks into the room slowly, his eyes moving around the space. “I want to stay close to you until we know exactly who wrote that message on your door.”

  I can’t imagine they would risk grabbing me in the middle of a lecture but then again I would never imagine many of the things my father and people like him would do.

  I look at the man wandering around my room like he’s in a museum. How did he end up one of my father’s members? Evan isn’t the kind of man I remember from my
childhood. Those men were older. Harder. Louder.

  I wonder what the club’s like now. Are most of the members like Evan...

  Or my father?

  I mentally shake myself. It doesn’t matter what the club is like. That is not my life.

  Never will be.

  I take a deep breath and check the clock. “My students will be here soon.” I point to a spot at the back of the room. “This is a smaller class so there will be plenty of empty seats.” I grab a notebook off my desk and drop it in front of him along with a pencil. “If you just sit there it will be weird. I’m sure it won’t be the most exciting hour you’ve ever spent but try to look like you’re listening at least a little.”

  He opens the notebook. “You might be surprised at what I find exciting, Numbers.”

  I lean down and look him in the eye. “It’s Ms. Wallace.”

  I straighten as the first of my class wanders through the door, barely giving Tracker a second look as they sit down and start to get organized for my lecture. This is my favorite class. It’s a gen-ed algebra class so I get everyone. Students from all walks of life and all ages. People who haven’t even thought of math in years.

  I love it. I love the challenge of proving math isn’t as scary as they think it will be. That they are capable of more than they could imagine.

  I start my lecture, purposely ignoring the man sitting near the back beside Carlos because for some reason it makes me a little nervous to have him there, watching me do something I’m proud of. Something I worked very hard to achieve. It’s probably about as exciting as dirt to him and I shouldn’t be worried he’s quietly judging me for loving math. I take a deep breath and try to relax.

  After a few minutes I forget he’s there, which is actually a mistake because then I accidentally look Evan’s way. What I see scatters my train of though and leaves me speechless.

  He’s helping Carlos.

  Evan points to the work I have neatly laid out across the board and then back to the notebook in front of him. His voice is low enough I can’t hear what he’s saying but it’s clear who’s doing the explaining.

  My heart skips a beat.

  I am so screwed.

  9

  THE RIDE HOME is a little too quiet. Actually, Kerri has been quiet since her classes for the day ended. Maybe she’s just all talked out but I don’t think that’s it. It’s something else that’s bothering her.

  “I’m not trying to be invasive.” I glance at her. She doesn’t even look my way so I keep going. “I just don’t want to assume you’re going to be safe at work. It’s not worth the risk.”

  Her head snaps to face me. “So, you’re smart.”

  It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact but it sounds more like an accusation and I don’t know how to take it, so I shrug.

  Her eyes zero in on the side of my face. “Why in the hell are you working for my father if you’re smart?”

  I know she doesn’t mean it as in insult and I don’t take it as one. It’s actually a question I’ve been asking myself a lot lately. One I haven’t found a good answer to yet. I know how I started with the club but as far as why I’m still there? “It’s not something you can just quit doing, Kerri. You know that.”

  “Do you want to quit?” The words rush out of her mouth.

  I pull into her parking space beside Butch’s bright yellow Camaro. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

  I owe her father my life. He’s made that very clear to me on any occasion I stepped too close to being out of line. I’m sure King will mention the debt again when he deals with what happened at his house. And he will deal with it.

  Kerri’s father rules the club with an iron fist. It’s how our small little independent club managed to eat up more and more territory over the past ten years. Taking out anyone and everyone in our way. Doing whatever her father told us.

  Because we had to.

  As a kid I didn’t realize what King was doing when he took me in. Even if I did, at eighteen I wouldn’t have cared. It would have been worth it. For the first time I was fed and clothed and had a warm bed to sleep in.

  So I did whatever he asked of me.

  King said steal. I asked how much.

  King said find them. I asked how fast.

  King said burn it down. I asked how hot.

  But now I’m not so sure I want to do what he asks. I’m not so sure I agree with the way he’s built his empire.

  Actually, I am sure.

  I don’t want to do anything he asks and I don’t agree with anything he does. Including the way he treats his daughter and wife.

  Especially the way he treats them.

  I climb out of Kerri’s car and open her door. She slides her hand into mine and climbs out, giving Butch a little wave as we walk to her apartment. “What about Butch?”

  Butch is my best friend in the world. Has been for five years now. I don’t know as much about his past and he doesn’t know too much about mine but I would guess we’re more alike than I know.

  And we’re a lot alike.

  “He struggles like I do.” I open the door to her apartment and let her go in. “I’ll be in in a minute.” I pull the door shut and go to find out if anything interesting happened today.

  I know nothing happened here. Butch would have called me, but there’s something else I’ve been keeping my eye on and I want to know if my friend has heard anything on that front.

  He rolls down his window as I approach. Butch tips his head back in greeting. “Sup.”

  I lean down, resting my palm on the top of his car. “Anything?”

  Butch shakes his head. “Nope. Not a thing. Pecker hasn’t left his house today at all.”

  I look around the quiet parking lot. “I guess we just keep an eye on him and make sure he’s not up to something behind our backs.”

  Butch frowns at me. “He’s always up to something behind our backs.”

  King is always playing a game. And we were his pawns. Just like every other kid he recruited to be a part of his ‘organization’. The man who was once the closest thing I ever had to a father is different than I thought. Or maybe it’s me that’s different.

  I used to look up to Kerri’s dad in a fucked up sort of way. He got what he wanted, when he wanted it. It didn’t matter what it took or how many people he had to take down in the process. He was ruthless. He was callous.

  He was crazy.

  I can see that now.

  And King’s only getting crazier. That’s why we started to watch him.

  I glance at Kerri’s door to make sure it’s still shut. “He tried to knife anyone else at the clubhouse?”

  “No.” Butch rubs his hands down his face. “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I straighten. “We just all have to stick together until we figure out what’s got him wound up.”

  In the ten years I’ve been in the club I’ve never seen the president like he is now and I’m worried. In the weeks before I came to protect Kerri he was increasingly paranoid and hostile. It was a double-edged sword being assigned to a job so far away. It meant I was away from him but it also meant I wasn’t there to help protect the newer members. The young kids he recruited over the past few years who still feel like I used to. They’re the ones most at risk because they won’t expect it when he turns on them.

  Just like the one he tried to stab a few days ago.

  Butch slides his window back up as I walk away, the weight of what’s happening in the club resting heavy on my shoulders. I know he feels the same way. I can see it in his face. It helps to know I’m not alone. I’m not the only one who’s realizing what King’s doing is fucked up. That the way our club is run isn’t the way other clubs are run.

  I give my friend a wave before I close the door and lock the deadbolt. I take a deep breath and stare at it, trying to get my head on right for Kerri.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I put on my game face and turn around. “Nothing.
” I take in the change in her appearance. Flannel shorts and an oversized v-neck t-shirt. “Not planning on going anywhere I take it?”

  She wrinkles her nose at me. “Ha ha.” Kerri flops down on the couch. She eyes my dark wash jeans and fitted t-shirt. “What does a man like you wear to relax?”

  I give her a smile. “Nothing.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “In that case, yes I plan on staying in tonight.” Kerri rests one bare foot on the coffee table and crosses the other over it. “Relaxing.” She folds her hands in her lap and stares at me.

  It’s a challenge.

  One she doesn’t expect me to take.

  Lucky her I’m feeling particularly generous this evening.

  I peel my shirt off over my head.

  Kerri straightens and her eyes widen. Other than that, she doesn’t move. I’m pretty sure she’s not even breathing at this point. Her eyes are on my chest, moving slowly over the images my skin has collected over the years. It’s like a timeline of my life. Of my pain. Hopefully one day, of my happiness.

  I stop as the last bit registers.

  I’ve never let myself consider finding happiness. It was another thing I knew wasn’t meant for men like me. Men who’ve done bad things. Men who’ve hurt people. Men who are so broken there’s nothing strong enough to fix them.

  But then I found something that might be strong enough.

  I toe off my boots and kick them in front of the door. My fingers work the button on my jeans as I watch her. No one’s ever looked at me like she does. Like I’m more than nothing.

  I push down the zipper and let my pants drop to the floor.

  Kerri sucks in a breath. I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t wear anything under my jeans or if it’s the fact that a permanent reflection of my life is etched all the way down the left side of my body, inked over my ribs, down my hip and onto one thigh. I step out of my pants, pushing my socks off with them and straighten.

  I watch her throat work as she swallows. I feel naked under her gaze, but not because I’m bare.