Untitled Book 2
Page 4
I hear a woman yell in the background, “You try making a penis cake! It is hard!”
“You called me just to tell me that story, didn’t you?” Vinnie asks, smirking. “What cake is Lana getting, then?”
“Red velvet with cream cheese icing.”
“That we bought from the store!” I hear the other woman yell.
Vinnie laughs, then says, “Tell Anna I said hey, and I’ll call Lana tonight to wish her happy birthday. You all stay out of trouble, you hear me?”
“Okay,” Faye says into the line. “We miss you, Vinnie!”
Vinnie looks a little uncomfortable, but says, “I miss you all too.”
Faye cuts the line, and Vinnie and I are left in silence.
“They sound fun,” I say, hoping he’ll offer me some information. I know nothing about the man next to me except that he’s a biker, he knows my cousin, and that he’s both sexy and infuriating. I’d definitely like to know more, starting with who those women are, the ones he seems to be so close to.
“They are” is all he says though, leading me to wonder if one of the women belongs to him. I ignore the feeling of disappointment that hits me, knowing it has no reason to be there. Yesterday I wanted to strangle him, and today, what? I’m upset he might be taken? There’s definitely something wrong with me. What did it matter if he has a girlfriend? By the end of the week he’ll be gone and I’ll never see him again anyway. On to the next bodyguard, until I’m probably hunted down by my father’s enemies.
Yeah, I know just how serious the situation I’m in is. I can pretend otherwise all I want, but the truth is, eventually they’re either going to catch me or I’m going to have to leave the country with a whole new identity. I spoke to Talon about the latter, and although he doesn’t want me to leave, he says it’s an option he’s considering. I know Talon is working on something because he told me he just needs a little time. I really don’t want to leave, so I’m hoping we figure something else out. I have some ideas, but I think for now I’ll keep them to myself.
“Any last stops?” he asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Nope,” I say, popping the p. I look out of the window. “I’m good.”
“All right. See, we survived our first outing without any of those bastards finding us,” he jokes, turning up the music a little louder. “We’ve got this.”
“Don’t even joke,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Besides, we haven’t made it home yet, and you might have just jinxed us.”
“I don’t believe in any of that shit,” he replies, silencing his phone as it rings again. “You make your own luck.”
“You don’t believe in fate?”
He shakes his head.
“What do you believe in, then?” I ask, turning to study his profile.
“I believe in loyalty, my family, and working my ass off to make sure things go my way” is his reply. I contemplate his words. That was all he believed in? Why did that make me feel a little . . . sad? He was a grown-ass man, and like he’d said, his parents didn’t want him, so maybe that’s why he doesn’t believe in fate. When he says his family, he has to be talking about his MC. For a moment, I feel a tiny bit jealous that he has that. My father is in prison, my mom died a few years back, and any friends I have are fading away as time goes on without my contacting them, so really, I’m alone.
And he isn’t.
So while I was the one who got adopted as a child, he’s the one who has a family now. Funny how that works out, isn’t it? We can relate to each other, but at the same time we can’t. Growing up in a world like this is hard enough; I can’t imagine having to do it without parents, or someone to look after you. The foster system is a joke, everyone knows that, and God only knows what he went through.
“Loyalty is everything,” I agree, thrumming my fingers on my thigh. “I do believe in fate and destiny and all that crap too though.”
He chuckles as he pulls onto our street. “All that crap, huh? Sounds real important to you. But yes, you seem like one of those happy-go-lucky, always-look-on-the-bright-side type of people.”
I don’t think that that’s a bad thing. There’s nothing wrong with being hopeful, seeing the positive in situations and the good in people.
“You know what I mean,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m a closet romantic. I think that everything that’s meant to be will be, when the time is right.”
“Jesus,” he grumbles, stopping the car at the front of the gate. “Is this the shit that Zada Ryan writes? No wonder none of the men will read it except Tracker.”
I jump on that. “Who’s Tracker?”
“Stay here,” he commands, leaving the car to put the gate code in. When he comes back I ask, “Is Zada Ryan one of your biker chicks? That’s how you know her, isn’t it? That’s so fucking cool!”
He glances at me and frowns. “You have crazy eyes again.”
Great, that’s twice he’s seen my fangirl face.
“You’re not going to answer me, are you?” I gather.
“Nope,” he says, sounding cheerful. “I told you, after this I’ll organize a day where you can meet her yourself. Your own private signing.”
“If I’m good,” I mutter, remembering his past words.
“You planning on being bad?” he asks, parking the car.
“I was,” I admit. “I was going to be a little bitch and make your life hell for judging me when you didn’t even know me.”
Vinnie snaps his head to me, eyes wide. His shoulders start shaking as he begins to laugh. “Are you serious?” He hits the steering wheel, laughing harder. “You were going to make my life hell?”
“Yes,” I say, eyes narrowing at his amusement. He clearly doesn’t appreciate how uncomfortable I could have made his situation. “I was.”
“Oh, fuck,” he groans, shoulders shaking some more. “Shay, you’re fuckin’ hilarious.”
Shay.
No one I know calls me Shay, but I find myself liking it. And even though I wasn’t trying to be hilarious—I was just being honest—I also like when he laughs.
“Come on, let’s get inside. You can tell me more about this nefarious plan of yours.”
SEVEN
“SO you were just going to be a bitch? That’s not much of a plan,” Vinnie says, eyes dancing with amusement. He grabs the fruit and vegetables and packs them away in the fridge.
“I was going to behave the way you expected me to,” I say, opening the pantry and putting away the items in my hands. I leave out everything I need to make dinner. “You were making me out to be this spoiled little diva, so I was going to lay it on thick and make your life miserable while you’re here.”
“So what happened?” he asks, leaning back against the counter and watching me. “You changed your mind? You were still a bit of a bitch yesterday, you know.”
“You took me out for the first time in a month, and you took me to the pet store,” I say, my eyes gentle on him. “And you sat there for over an hour without complaining while I hugged puppies. Not many men would do that. So I forgave you for being a judgmental asshole because there is obviously more to you than meets the eye.”
He was patient and he was kind. Yes, I saw the way he was looking at the woman who worked there, just daring her to come up to us and kick us out. He had my back, giving me something when he didn’t even understand why it meant so much to me. I like puppies; they make me happy. I’ve always wanted a dog, but my mom was allergic, or so she said. I personally think she just wasn’t an animal person, but either way, I never got the puppy I asked for, even though I begged every birthday and Christmas. There’s nothing puppies can’t cure. If you’ve had a stressful day, cuddle a puppy.
Vinnie surprises me by throwing his head back and laughing. “Fuck, Shay. You can’t just go around calling bikers names and shit. Not all of them might be as nice as me.”
“Well, lucky for me I got stuck with you,” I say, opening a chocolate bar and taking a bite. “Do you want some?”
“That wasn’t a bite,” I protest. “That was half!”
“Look at the size of me compared to you. Since I’m almost double you, it’s only fair that I get more. Do the math, Shay.”
I quickly shove the rest of the chocolate in my mouth before he makes a play for that too.
“Sexy,” he comments, smirking as I struggle to chew with my mouth so full.
I simply shrug and throw away the wrapper, then say, “I’m going to start cooking. Are we doing anything tomorrow?”
“What do you want to do?” he asks, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his back still against the counter.
“Do you think we could go for a run? Along the beach or something?” I ask, thinking how amazing that would be. “Maybe get some ice cream afterward?”
He studies me, considering. I flash him a hopeful smile and point to the ingredients for the lasagna and chicken I was about to make him, just to remind him how nice I am.
“All right.” He gives in, looking amused at my tactics, his lips twitching upward a few times. “Not like we have anything else to do.” He pauses. “Besides keep you alive. Are you sure these guys are still looking for you? Either they’re shit at tracking people, or they don’t care anymore.”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “My father hasn’t contacted me about anything in weeks. Talon might know what’s going on. He’s usually the one who makes sure I’m safe, and sometimes he goes and visits my father in prison.”
“I’ll give him a call,” Vinnie says, not sounding too happy at the notion.
“You don’t like Talon?” I ask, wondering what his deal with my cousin is.
“It’s complicated” is all he says, quickly changing the subject. “How long until the food is ready?”
“You realize it’s not even dinner time yet, right?” I point out. “It’s only like three o’clock.”
He points to the meat on the table. “Yet you’re laying the ingredients out and making me excited. I’m fine with an early dinner. Just make enough for seconds when we get hungry again later on.”
“Demanding much?”
“Hey, I took you to see puppies, remember?” He grins cheekily, making my expression soften. “I’m going to do a perimeter check.”
“All right,” I say, puffing out a sigh. He playfully tugs on my hair as he passes me and I watch him exit the kitchen. Just yesterday I made a big deal about my being in the kitchen cooking just because I was a woman, and here I am, the very next day, cooking him a meal. I grumble to myself as I start to prepare everything, then decide to play some music while I cook. I put on my favorite playlist, then get to work on the lasagna.
Vinnie better love it.
* * *
“Do you dance like that in public?” Vinnie asks, making me almost drop the pan in my hands. I turn around and look at him, confused by the odd expression on his face. I’d just finished the meal and was doing the dishes, and I’m sure his timing wasn’t coincidental.
“What?”
He gestures to my body. “I’ve been standing here for a few minutes watching you dance. Is this how you dance when you’re in public?”
“Yeaaah,” I reply, dragging the word out. “What’s wrong with how I dance?”
“Nothing,” he says, picking up on my tone. “It’s just pretty . . .”
“Pretty what?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. He’s about to insult me, I know it. What the hell was wrong with my dancing? I thought I was a pretty good dancer, as a matter of fact. I danced growing up and all through high school, and I had good rhythm. In fact, people often commented how great I was at dancing when I used to go clubbing.
“Your moves are even sexier than the women I’ve seen at Toxic,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and clearing this throat. “They’re fuckin’ sexy moves. If you were mine there’s no way in hell I’d want you to dance like that in public, because every man would be staring.”
I wipe my wet hands on the tea towel and close the space between us. “Did you just say that I dance like a stripper?”
He puts his hands up. “Not exactly—”
“Oh, that’s right,” I say, tapping my finger on my cheek. “Sluttier than a stripper.”
I try to keep my face straight so he thinks I’m serious, even though I’m just playing around with him. I know I’m a decent dancer, but I also know that I do like to dance sensually.
“That’s not what I said,” he growls, lowering his hands. “They’re just sexy moves. All that winding and grinding and shit—you know what I mean.”
“Clearly I don’t,” I say in a dry tone, hiding my amusement. “I just spent more than an hour cooking for you, and you walk in and tell me I dance like a stripper and shouldn’t dance in public. Am I missing anything?”
“You’re overreacting,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No,” I say, grabbing the plate with his crumbed chicken. “This would be overreacting.” I open the trash can and pretend that I’m about to dump the food when Vinnie grabs the plate from me and holds it aloft.
“I can’t believe you almost did that!” he says, sounding both surprised and upset. “What the fuck, Shay?”
I start laughing at his expression. “As if I’d throw away food.”
“What?” he asks, checking over the food, not even paying any attention to my words.
I roll my eyes. “The food is all there, Vinnie, now take back the stripper comments.”
“Sorry” by Justin Bieber starts to play. An apt sound track for the moment.
“All right,” he groans, putting the plate back down on the table and pulling me against his body for a hug. Bad idea. The feeling of being pressed up against him isn’t going to help with my attraction to him. “I’m sorry, Shay. I’m so fuckin’ sorry that you dance like a stripper, and that you have terrible taste in music.”
As his words hit me, I struggle to move away, but he keeps me pinned with his giant arms wrapped around me. “You jerk!”
“I’m not done,” he growls again, lifting me in the air and throwing me over his shoulder, my arms dangling. He walks with me outside, and the second he heads in the direction of the pool, I start to squirm harder.
“Don’t you dare throw me in there, you asshole!” I squeal, legs waving in the air.
“What a great idea,” he says, standing on the edge of the pool. In one swift movement, he tosses me in, the cold water surrounding me in an instant. I push off the bottom and swim to the surface, where Vinnie is laughing like a fucking hyena. Pushing my wet hair out of my face, I send him the dirtiest look I can muster.
“I’m never cooking for you again. Ever,” I grit out, swimming to the edge and jumping out. I look down to discover that my white top is now completely see-through, my nipples pebbled and very visible. I glance at Vinnie to see that, yes, that’s exactly where his gaze is. Covering my breasts with my hands, I look at his face and wait for him to notice me staring at him. It takes a while, and I realize it’s because my skirt is also pasted against my body, showing off every curve and crevice that I own.
“Can you stop looking?” I growl at him. “And get me a towel?”
“Nope,” he says with a wide smile on his face, lying back on the hammock and putting his hands behind his head. “I think it’s my turn to enjoy the view.”
He actually wasn’t going to get me a towel! I can’t believe this guy. I don’t think I’ve met anyone more infuriating in my life. Deciding to drag him down with me, I run with my hands still covering my breasts and jump on him, getting water all over him. I wrap my arms around his torso and bury my face in his chest.
“I don’t know how this is meant to be punishment,” he says, his tone having gone husky. I still my movements, just lying there on him, suddenly aware of the position I just put us in. Slowly,
I lift my head and look into his brown eyes.
“You’re wet now,” I blurt out, staring at his lips. He has nice lips. Full, and firm. Sensually shaped. I wonder if he is a good kisser. Who am I kidding, of course he’d be.
“I’ll bet you’re wet too,” he murmurs, licking his lips.
Shit.
I was wet—all over.
Outside and inside.
How can such sleazy words excite me?
“Shut up” is all I manage to respond.
He brings his lips closer to mine, and I know this is a terrible idea. The worst. But I still don’t pull away. As a matter of fact, it’s me who closes the last bit of space between us; it’s me who initiates the kiss. The second my lips touch his though, it’s like a switch flicks, and he takes over, cupping my face with his hand and deepening the kiss. He slants his head to the side, makes a growling noise in his throat that turns me on even more, then swipes his tongue against mine. I grip his T-shirt with my hands, pulling him closer to me. I can feel his hard cock pressed alongside my thigh, straining against his jeans. It makes me realize what we’re doing, so I break the kiss. Both of us are left panting. It really was the worst idea, so why did I want to kiss him again? Why did I want him to strip off my clothes, then his? We watch each other in silence, the air tense and thick between us.
“I should go get changed,” I blurt out, not knowing what to say, wanting to leave and stay at the same time.
His throat muscles work as he swallows. “Yeah, all right. Fuck, Shay.”
That pretty much summed it up.
I slide off him and head inside without turning back around.
But I have to admit, it wasn’t easy to do.
EIGHT
Vinnie
I STAND in the shower, letting the warm water drip down my body. I stroke my cock with my hand, up and down, thinking of Shay, imagining that she let me fuck her on that hammock, outside in broad daylight. Fuck. Her body, her taste. The look in her eye. I don’t remember ever being that fuckin’ hard in my life. She’s so tiny and petite yet has curves in all the right places; a round, bubble butt, and tits just the perfect handful. I imagine I’m deep inside her, fucking her raw, until I come in my hand, spurting all over the tiled wall.