Callous Criminal (Vicious Vipers MC Book 3)

by Lynn Burke

  Still, not my type, I reminded myself of the dirty-talking club whores who didn’t mind being used without all the promises and gentle caresses a woman like Pia would want.

  “I’m sorry for grabbing your arm yesterday morning.”

  My brow furrowed, but I smoothed it within seconds, still holding her stare. “I don’t like to be touched.”

  “I could tell.”

  Goddamn, that searching, intuitive gaze…

  “Why?”

  “Long story,” I grumbled, sitting back and grabbing up my coffee again, putting the subject to rest.

  She watched me sip, her focus lingering on my lips as I lowered the cup.

  Being a little intuitive myself, I knew right where her mind went when I licked the flavor of warm coffee off my lower lip. Her pupils widened slightly, twitching need through my dick again.

  “How do you…” Pia tore her focus off my mouth and let out a nervous laugh again, grabbing for her own coffee and hiding behind it while sipping.

  “How do I what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, beyond fucking intrigued by whatever went through her head.

  “Sorry. Runaway mouth.” Red rushed up from her chest to flush her entire face. “Totally inappropriate,” she mumbled, breathless with forced laughter.

  I considered for all of two seconds before replying. “Zero intimacy if you’re wondering about fucking.”

  Pia’s focus jerked to my face again, blinking as she digested my blunt words. “You mean you never…”

  “I fuck a woman over a piece of furniture when I need to. Otherwise, it’s easier just having one of the club whores suck me off without touching me with anything other than her mouth.”

  Pia stared, lips parted. She hadn’t run off—but maybe she should have.

  “Sorry.” I cleared my throat, realizing how crass I sounded. “I tend to spew shit. There aren’t too many sensitive ears around the club.”

  Chapter Six

  Pia

  I should have been offended, not totally turned on, panties soaked and heart beat thumping in my ears. Zero intimacy—zero touching other than fucking a willing, impersonal hole.

  Wow. Just … wow.

  My mind whirled as fast as the coffee bean grinder in the background. “You could … um … always tie a woman up. Keep her from touching you. At least experience the intimacy of doing it face to face. Seeing her eyes when she comes.” I snapped my jaw shut, the blood draining from my face as I realized my thoughts spilled out in actual words.

  I did not just say that. What the heck is wrong with my filter?

  His cold eyes heated, lighting every inch of my skin on fire, and I cursed myself for spewing shit like he’d claimed to do seconds earlier. What a mess we were.

  “Sorry,” I hurried to toss out, same as he’d done. “That was totally inappropriate, too.”

  “Not a problem. Really.” A ghost of a smile twitched his lips, stealing my breath and rushing more wetness to my already soaked panties. “Kinda nice hearing a sweet little girl like you get all nasty and shit.”

  I let out a shaky laugh instead of the moan wanting to rise from my heaving chest. He’d called me little. And sweet. And, his tone hinted at wanting to corrupt me.

  Just … wow.

  “So, what are you doing in Southie?” I blurted, my voice tense as hell, needing to calm down already.

  “Did your homework since yesterday, I take it?”

  “Well.” I shrugged, feeling like a sheepish little lamb—the pet name I’d heard him call me at the strip club echoing in my ears all night long while trying to sleep.

  “You’re a good woman, Pia.” The heat in his eyes lowered a few degrees until it blinked out, a wintery gaze taking its place. “You don’t want to get involved with a man like me.”

  Ryker stood and turned as though to walk out without another word, leaving me hanging that quickly. All alone.

  “I’ve always wanted to ride on the back of a Harley,” I blurted and snapped my jaw shut again.

  He paused and turned, studying me.

  “I know you don’t like to be touched, but would my holding onto your vest bother you?” I asked, eyeing the leather lying over his chest.

  “Cut.”

  “Huh?”

  He grasped the edge of his black leather vest with his free hand, gesturing to the vest with his coffee. “It’s called a cut, and to answer your question, I don’t know. Never had a woman on the back of my bike before.”

  His statement echoed in my head, and I waited, breath held as he seemed to consider with his still cool green eyes.

  “Got any plans for the day?” he finally asked as though resigned to the fact he wouldn’t be rid of me so easily.

  I shook my head, trying to find my voice for a change. At least I wasn’t spewing shit about wanting to dig into his brain, stir up his pain, and try to heal him of it so he might one day touch me.

  “Tell me when and where, and I’ll pick you up. Take you for a little ride—see what we both can handle.”

  I nodded and managed to spit out my apartment address, all-too willing to be aggressive rather than careful like any smart woman. I didn’t even know the man.

  “Give me your cell.” Ryker held out his hand.

  I dug it from my purse without thought, handing it to him between two fingers so he wouldn’t need to touch me in the exchange.

  He took my cell, swiped it on, his fingers flitting over the screen. Seconds later, a muffled ding sounded from somewhere on his person, and he handed my phone back to me.

  “I texted my cell,” he said. “Let a friend know what you’re doing and with who. Give her my number.”

  I blinked up at him before taking the phone he held out to me, careful to keep our fingers from sliding alongside one another even though I longed for a touch from his calloused hands.

  “Okay.”

  “Two?”

  I nodded, having lost my voice again at the thought of tasting freedom in a few hours’ time—on a rumbling bike, the bad boy biker looming in front of me close enough I would smell his soap.

  His semi-smile reappeared for a flashed second, revamping that fire between my thighs.

  “See you soon, little lamb.”

  Swoon city.

  I stared after Ryker as he first grabbed a box of munchkins then strode from Dunks like he owned the building, the damn city, his steps confident and sure.

  Determination to heal the sex-on-wheels man flooded through me as quickly as he’d enticed my libido into hyper-drive. He’d been hurt to have such an aversion to touch, and I wanted to heal him.

  Crazy, but I didn’t just want to—I needed to. Ryker McGrath needed to live again, connect through intimacy he didn’t seem to think he missed out on, and I would show him how. Wouldn’t hurt to enjoy the hell out of him if given the chance, too.

  But until that time, I needed to make some calls and find Dasia a new foster home.

  Chapter Seven

  Ryker

  I lounged on my bed at Mom’s, legs stretched out, but booted feet hanging off to the side as requested by my sister. The scent of watermelon lingered in my nose, but I pushed aside thoughts of Pia’s glossy lips wrapped around my dick and pulled out my cell.

  “Devil,” I said the second he answered. “Need you to do something for me.”

  “Whatcha got, Ryker?”

  I gave my tech geek Viper brother all I had—Pia’s name and number, the young woman’s name she’d saved from the strip joint the night before. Said girl, one Dasia Walker, hadn’t been working for Mikey long. He’d been more than willing to cough up her full name for me when I’d stopped by on my way back to Mom’s with Jenny’s donut holes.

  Mikey and I went way back, and he owed me a few favors, anyway. I made sure to assure him he wouldn’t catch any shit from anyone for hiring an underage dancer.

  “She’s a ward of the state,” I told Devil. “Need to know who she’s staying with.”

  “Mind my asking why?�
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  While Devil’s fingers clicked on keys in the background, I told him all I knew, all Pia had shared even though it wasn’t much. Mikey hadn’t known jack shit other than the lies Dasia had put on the application.

  Fake ID. Fake address.

  “So what’s your plan?” Devil asked.

  “To kill the fucker.”

  “Hmm.”

  I waited, silence on the other end as he worked his magic that couldn’t be met by any other acquaintance of mine. Devil should have been head of the fucking CIA. FBI. Had he finished at MIT, he would have been top of his class, no doubt.

  “How about we make some money off the fucker instead?” Devil finally said, a hint of smile in his voice.

  “Who is it?”

  “CEO of Griffey Industries.”

  “Get the fuck out.” I scowled. “Why the fuck is he taking in foster kids?”

  “His wife is on a few boards for kid charities.” More clicks on the computer. “Shit,” Devil huffed. “She’s a regular Mother Theresa. You should see all the shit she heads up—fucking donates millions to.”

  “And her sick fuck of a husband takes advantage—it’s why he allows the foster kids in his mansion. Fucking cocksucker.”

  “No kids of their own… What do you want me to do?” Devil asked while I continued to stew in my disgust and anger.

  A soft knock sounded, and Jenny poked her head in the door. “Mind if I run down to the corner store real quick? I’m dying for a box of ice cream.”

  “Go on. Take a bit of time for yourself. I’ll be here until close to two.”

  “You’re a doll,” she breathed. The second Jenny shut my door again, my brow furrowed back to its deep groove.

  “Tell Vigil everything,” I told Devil, my thoughts lingering on my baby sister and the shit she suffered through. “Extort the ever loving fuck out of Griffey, then I’ll slit his goddamn throat afterward.”

  “You got it, brother.”

  I’d enjoyed the sweet revenge of slicing the throat of the fucker who’d hurt Jenny—and I’d gladly do the same to every pervert who thought to touch too-young, too-innocent girls. Vigilante justice was my fucking reason for living.

  Soft-looking blonde hair and searching blue-green eyes with their glints of gold entered my mind.

  Having another reason for living would have been nice for a change from the cold hearted callousness ruling my soul. If only I could get over my hatred of touch and every goddamn trigger that set my nerves and stomach on edge when someone touched me without my consent—which I never fucking gave.

  Chapter Eight

  Pia

  My heart pounded in my chest, and I fought off major anxiety as Ryker’s bike shot northward on 95, zipping past cars and big trucks alike. I fought the need to squeeze him with my thighs and wrap my arms around him, hanging on for dear life.

  What had started with my hands lightly on his sides, our skin separated by his cut and t-shirt, had turned into more a white-knuckled death-grip on that bit of leather, my lifeline to safety. What could be had of it, anyway. At least a helmet protected the top of my head.

  I focused on breathing and exhaling to counts of eight, reminding myself of where I sat, how I’d dreamed of doing so, and what my entire body experienced—pure freedom.

  The rush of wind, fresh air unhindered by concrete and brick. Eventually, I settled as the miles sped past, releasing tension from one muscle at a time from my head to my toes until I could take stock of my surroundings, enjoy the thunder of the engine. Live the fantasy I’d concocted the morning before.

  My smile started out slow, but ended up stretching my face until it hurt, moisture ripping from the corners of my eyes even though I wore sunglasses to protect them from the whipping wind.

  I laughed. I couldn’t stop the giggles from rising, and I felt an overwhelming urge to lift my hands out to the side, shrieking like a banshee released from the depths of hell.

  Euphoria filled me beyond anything I’d felt before, a rush of life. Breathing easy. Free. My backside wasn’t too happy with the hard leather I sat upon, but in that moment, I didn’t care.

  The bike slowed as we neared an exit somewhere in New Hampshire, back roads leading us off the highway. Cooler air caressed us easily as we passed through woods, the sun dappled across the black road ahead in bright patches. Kisses of sunlight licked at my face as we meandered through nature, twice the noise of the bike sending squirrels scrambling from the road for safety in the trees.

  My hold on Ryker’s cut eased a bit, and feeling confident and a bit rebellious, I brushed the inside of my thigh against his outer one as though shifting in my seat.

  He didn’t react.

  A few minutes later, I repeated the action with my left leg as we rounded a bend.

  Again, he made no move, not so much as a flinch.

  Progress as far as I was concerned. Perhaps touching without skin contact was okay. It would certainly be a better starting point for tearing down his walls.

  We’d been on the road for close to three hours, and my ass killed me from sitting on the narrow seat behind Ryker. Numbness crept in until he finally stopped at a small diner in the middle of no-man’s land.

  Ryker shut the engine off, and the sudden quiet hit me like a full backpack to the side of the head. I slid off the back of his Harley, groaning at the stiffness in my legs and butt.

  A smirk lifted his lips as he watched me. “You alright?”

  I grimaced again while flexing my backside in my tight jeans. “I think so.” I grabbed a handful of my flesh and kneaded, lifting first one knee than the other, trying to stretch out a bit.

  Ryker actually chuckled, the sound lighting me up inside and warming me through. “Hungry?” he asked.

  I bit my tongue before spewing the sudden thought about wanting a taste of him.

  His gaze darkened with lust as he stood, though, his focus on my face and probably catching my thought. “A look like that will get you in a whole lotta trouble, little lamb.”

  I gulped, imagining myself tied up and at his mercy, an impersonal hole for him to take however he wished.

  Wow. I should not be turned on by that…

  “After you, little lamb,” he said with another chuckle, motioning toward the diner.

  Trying to grasp hold of my raging hormones and cursing my soaked panties, I strode toward the restaurant, clueless how the evening would play out.

  I’d been unable to do a damn thing for Dasia, and had decided I needed to enjoy my time away without worrying my poor fingernails to death like I’d have done otherwise if I’d sat at home all night long. Alone.

  Ryker had offered escape in more ways than one, and the desire to take advantage of every second, every experience offered, pushed me forward.

  The only waitress in the place took our order for burgers and fries, and Ryker turned his full focus on me, leaning onto the table with his elbows, his eyes more green than hazel in the sunlight shining through the window beside us.

  “What are you doing here, Pia?”

  “Enjoying the hell out of my life for a change,” I replied with a full-on grin, fingering the flatware on their cheap paper napkin. “Even with a sore as hell backside, I’ve never felt so liberated. All that fresh air.” I outright laughed and glanced around the fifties-themed diner with its old vinyl records and pin-up girls plastered to the walls. “I wanted to throw my hands out to the sides and laugh my ass off.”

  Ryker still watched my mouth when I turned back toward him, the left side of his curling a bit in a half-smirk.

  The tingles between my thighs intensified, and I squeezed them together, needing to ease the ache. “I love your smile,” I blurted, my face heating as I jerked my focus back up to his eyes.

  “I don’t do it much, but there’s something about you…”

  I raised an eyebrow, butterflies having the time of their life inside my stomach. “What?” I couldn’t help but ask, sounding all breathless and needy.

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nbsp; He took his time studying my face as though memorizing every line, every angle. Did he think about caressing my cheek? Kissing my lips?

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Pia,” he finally said. “Wholesome with a side of naughty I’m not even sure you’re aware of.”

  “My inappropriate word spewage, you mean,” I said with an embarrassed laugh.

  “Yeah. I like that shit.”

  My smile widened, my face and body warmer than a microwaved diet meal for one.

  “It’s one thing hearing a club whore talk like that, but a woman like you?” Ryker tipped his head to the side, his smirk returning. “Hot as fuck.”

  My breath left in a rush as sexual energy rippled between us. I wanted to climb over the table into his lap, rip at his beard and eat at his mouth, drinking in his breath, his taste. Him.

  “Goodness.” I fanned my face, forcing my attention off his intense stare to the silent juke box in the corner and the only other couple in the restaurant sitting beside it.

  “While I want you to feed more of my fantasies with your word spewage,” he said, “I find myself wanting to know you—what other secret parts you hide beneath that motherly nature and conservative clothes.”

  I hesitated, completely thrown off my guard. The few men I’d dated over the years hadn’t been interested in me beyond seeing and feeling up what I hid by my clothes. No one had ever mentioned my protective drive to care for innocents—but Ryker had picked up on that part of my personality. Honed in on it, even, wanting to know more about it rather than my thoughts on being tied up and used.

  “Wow. Um … okay. What do you want to know?”

  “Anything.” His gaze lightened as he sat back to allow our waiter to set our drinks in front of us. “Everything,” he said as she walked off once more.

  I held my straw and took a sip of tonic, the bubbles burning down my suddenly dry esophagus as I considered where to start—and what all to share without revealing personal information no one else needed to know.

  “I grew up in foster care, too.”

  Ryker nodded as though unsurprised by my confession.