Reaper's Legacy
Page 21
“Not a bit. You want equality, babe? That’s equality.”
“Yeah, you’re practically a feminist,” I muttered. “Em wasn’t fighting, Ruger. She’ll have a scar the rest of her life. And how is it women have equality when it comes to taking a hit but the rest of the time they’re just some guy’s property?”
“Stop talking shit about things you don’t understand,” he growled. “‘Property’ is a term of respect. It’s part of our culture. You start judging us for that, you better start judging every woman who changes her name the day she gets married, because it’s the same damned thing.”
He stopped, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.
“When you’re someone’s property, you’re a woman the brothers will die to protect,” he continued, his voice softening. “They’ll die to protect your kid, too. Don’t turn that kind of loyalty into something ugly because you don’t like the words we use. Dancer, Marie, Maggs? They’re proud to be property, because they know what it means. Nobody forcing them to do anything.”
I swallowed, processing that.
“So tell me this,” I asked. “Why did Horse tell me that Marie’s ‘worth every penny he paid for her’? Because that sounded a little fucked up, and I don’t think he was joking.”
“You’re at the clubhouse for less than a day and you’ve already heard about that?” he muttered, almost to himself. “Jesus. A little fuckin’ discretion would be nice.”
“Yup, don’t want to scare away the new girls with reality, do we?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “Marie and Horse are fine, and they’re getting married next month, so I think it’s a moot point.”
“Holy shit, did he really buy her?” I asked, eyes widening. “Ruger, that’s—I don’t even have words for that!”
“Good, maybe you’ll shut up,” he said. “If you’re interested, I have an update on Em for you. You know, your friend you’re so worried about? Maybe a little more important than lecturing me about women’s rights, ya think?”
I froze, shamed. Ruger was right. I’d been more focused on fighting with him than on Em. How shitty was that?
“Yeah, I’d like to hear how she’s doing,” I said. I tossed Puff to the side and rose to my feet. He stepped forward into my space, doing that intimidation thing he was so good at. “So how is she?”
“She’s fine,” he said after a long pause. “It wasn’t much of a cut. About three inches long and not deep at all. We got a friend of the club who came by, gave her some stitches to make sure she stays all pretty when it heals. Antibiotics, just to be careful. Last I saw her, she was high as a kite on oxy and singing some kid song about kittens and mittens. Picnic’s not feelin’ quite so festive, gotta admit.”
“That’s good news,” I replied, staring at his chest blankly. He really was way too close. “I got a text from Maggs an hour ago, but I wasn’t sure if she was downplaying things or not. I don’t like your parties, Ruger.”
“First part wasn’t half bad,” he said slowly, a knowing smile stealing across his face. “You know, in the shed?”
He reached out and touched my neck lightly, then wrapped his fingers around it.
“My marks look good,” he continued. “Might keep ’em on you long term, haven’t decided yet. But you need to learn not to flirt with other guys, babe. You’re claimed now.”
“One, take your damned hand off me, because I am not claimed,” I said. He ignored me. “And two, I didn’t flirt with anyone!”
“You flashed your tits at the whole damned club,” he said. His hand tightened ever so slightly on my neck. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to show he could.
Oh, I didn’t like that at all …
“Take. Your. Fucking. Hand. Off. Me,” I growled. This time he did, but at the same time he pushed me forward with his body, unbalancing me. I fell back on Noah’s bed, almost hitting my head against the wall. Before I could roll away, Ruger dropped down over me, trapping me just as surely as he had back in my Seattle apartment.
“I was wearing a bra and Maggs told me to do it,” I hissed, not bothering to fight him. That’d probably just turn him on. Perv. “She said he needed to check me out if I wanted to waitress at The Line. I need a damned job, Ruger. Didn’t seem like a big deal. Half the women there weren’t even wearing shirts. It’s not like I took off my bra.”
“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he snapped. “Of course Buck checks out potential waitresses … at the club. During business hours. He did that to piss me off and get me out of the ring. He played you to win a bet, Soph—he’d never hire you without my permission, anyway.”
“Why did Maggs say it was okay, then?” I demanded. Damn, he was heavy. He smelled good, too, which I hated. Predictably, my body wasn’t listening to my brain again, because I had the urge to spread my legs and wrap them around his waist.
“Fuck if I know, but she did it on purpose,” he growled. “Might want to ask her about that. She set you up, and that means she set me up. I’ll have words with her later.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“You leave Maggs alone,” I said, glaring. “If someone needs to ‘have words’ with her, it’ll be me. If you and Horse had a problem, would you want me involved?”
“Jesus, you’re a pain in the ass,” he said.
“And you’re a disgusting pig man. No respect for me at all—”
“I respect you,” he said, frowning. I snorted.
“Yeah, I’ll bet you fuck all the women you respect in public? And what the hell was that shit about coming on my stomach? I’m not a damned porn star, Ruger—I’m still all sticky and disgusting. Kinda hard to clean up in a Porta-John.”
“This house has three showers, babe. Not my fault you haven’t taken one yet. I like the idea of me all over you, so no rush on that.”
“I was busy packing! I wanted to get out of here before you got home, asshole!”
“Yeah, I see that,” he muttered. He leaned down, his face so close our lips almost brushed. “You’re not moving out, babe. You’re mine. We covered this. Done deal.”
“Oh, I’m definitely moving out,” I told him. “Not even you can think this is healthy, Ruger.”
He smiled at me with the eyes of a predator.
“I don’t care if it’s healthy,” he whispered. “Whole damned world’s unhealthy. You think all those people living in giant houses on the lake have happy, pretty, perfect lives? You think those bitches aren’t backstabbing each other while their husbands fuck interns on their lunch breaks?”
I shook my head.
“My friend Kimber’s not like that. Her life’s nice and normal and not crazy at all.”
“Then she’s one in a thousand,” he replied. “Because I swear to you, sometimes the nastiest shit happens behind the prettiest doors, while everyone laughs and smiles and pretends everything’s okay. Here’s the thing about my world. We’re fucked up. We own it. We take care of business and move on. In twenty years those ‘healthy’ people you’re so jealous of will still be backstabbing each other, and their kids will, too.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I said.
Ruger scowled and pushed himself up abruptly. Then he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of wheat. I squawked as he carried me out of the room and up the stairs to his loft, kicking and punching him the entire time. Didn’t do a bit of good. I don’t know what I expected—maybe that he’d throw me down on the bed and ravish me, like a movie or something. He didn’t. Instead he carried me into his big bathroom, dumped me in the shower and turned on the faucet.
“What the hell are you doing!” I shrieked as cold water hit me, still fully clothed. Ruger grabbed the shower hose and started spraying me down with it.
“I’m showin’ you respect,” he yelled back at me. “So sorry I got you all messy earlier. Just doing my best to make this relationship healthy and clean, because that’s so fuckin’ important to you. Aren’t I a fuckin’ prince?”
We glared at each other.
“Jesus, you fuck with my head,” he said roughly. “My cock gets hard just thinkin’ about you. You’re in my dreams every night. I wake up in the morning and all I think about is you in my house, you and Noah finally mine. My family. It’s even better than ridin’ my bike. I’m crazy for you, Soph.”
I shook my head, stunned. I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t afford to.
“You’re just saying that to control me,” I whispered, not sure whether I was talking to myself or him.
“Fuck me, you just don’t get it, do you?”
He took my mouth in a fast, hard kiss and I fought him for about two seconds. Then I gave in, because my body recognized him, needed him. Suddenly there were too many clothes between us. Our hands scrambled and I discovered that water-logged jeans—even cutoff ones—must be the least convenient thing on earth to wear when you need quick access.
Still, I managed to get them down and kicked away just as he grabbed my waist, spun me around and leaned me against the counter. I looked up to see him in the mirror, face flushed red with need, eyes capturing mine as he slammed his cock deep inside. It filled me fast and hard, stretching me until it bordered on pain. I gasped, the sound a mix of pleasure and pain.
I’ve never felt anything better in my life.
“Fuckin’ crazy for you,” he muttered, fingers digging into my skin. “Always have been.”
“Ruger …”
Then he took me, forcing me to brace myself with both hands as he pounded me from behind. One hand steadied my hips while the other reached around to my clit. That piercing of his slid along my G-spot, the hard little knobs of metal on the top and bottom of his cock head carrying me to a whole new level of sensation. My orgasm hit with agonizing speed and I screamed, pulsing around him.
Ruger thrust three more times and then he came, too, hot seed spurting.
Shit. We’d forgotten the condom again.
He pulled out of me slowly and we looked at each other in the mirror, our chests heaving. He was fully clothed and I still wore my T-shirt. My hair was sopping wet and scraggly, and eye makeup ran down my face.
I was a hot mess without the “hot” part.
“Do you have any diseases?” I asked, my brain valiantly fighting for control. He shook his head, still watching me in the mirror.
“I always use a condom,” he said. “Never fuck a girl without one, actually.”
“Fucked me without one twice,” I said, my voice dry. “Wanna rethink your answer?”
He offered a smug smile.
“I know you’re on the pill,” he said. “So pregnancy’s not the issue. Also know you’re clean. You’re my woman, so why shouldn’t I feel you around me? And I swear to you, babe. I have never, ever fucked anyone without protection before. I even donated blood about two weeks ago—all clear.”
“That’s a relief,” I said, straightening. I looked around for my panties and shorts. They’d landed near the toilet, dripping water everywhere.
“How do you know I’m on the pill?” I asked, reaching for a towel to wrap around myself.
“Found ’em in your purse,” he said without a hint of shame. I looked up, startled.
“Why were you in my purse?” I asked, not pleased.
“To get your phone,” he replied, tucking himself back into his pants. “I wanted to set up the GPS on it.”
I stopped cold.
“You have GPS tracking my phone?” I asked, incredulous. “What the hell is wrong with you? You want to chip me like a dog, too?”
“I want to be able to find you if there’s an emergency,” he said, his face growing serious. “I know it sounds paranoid, but we had a real bad situation last winter … Marie and Horse would be dead right now if I hadn’t had GPS on her. Nearly died as it was. Now I do it for all the girls in the club. Don’t worry, I don’t spy on you or anything. But it’ll be there if you ever get in trouble.”
“I don’t even know where to start,” I said, closing my eyes. I was exhausted, I realized. No wonder my brain wouldn’t kick in and tell me what to do.
“Let’s go to bed,” he said. “I’m tired. You’re tired.”
“I’ll sleep downstairs,” I told him, clutching the towel as I reached for my clothes.
“You’ll sleep up here with me,” he replied. “You can fight me on it and lose, which is more work for both of us, or you can just give in. Gonna end the same either way.”
I looked at him and knew he was right. I’d set him straight later—right now I needed rest.
“Can I borrow something to wear?” I asked, trying not to yawn. “I’m too tired to go get dry stuff.”
“I’d rather you sleep naked.”
“I’d rather you go fuck yourself, but seeing as that’s not an option, can I borrow something to wear?”
He smiled at me.
“Knock yourself out. Shirts are in the top drawer, underwear in the second one down.”
I left the bathroom and looked around to find his dresser. Sure enough, the top drawer held a variety of T-shirts. I found one with a Reapers symbol on it and pulled it out. Then I moved down to the next drawer. Most of his stuff was black or gray, but a flash of pink in the back caught my eye.
What the hell?
I pulled out a pair of silky, pink panties.
“Jesus, Ruger,” I said. “Is there anywhere in this house women don’t leave their lingerie? It’s like a damned Victoria’s Secret in here!”
I turned to him, holding the panties out with two fingers, disgusted. He cocked his head and gave me a strange smile.
“Those are yours, actually,” he said slowly. “You left them behind.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That first night,” he said. “With Zach. You left them in my apartment. Had ’em ever since.”
I froze, and studied them more closely. It’d been a long time, but they did look familiar. I’d been so sad to lose them, because I’d bought them special …
“I can’t decide if that’s just a little bit creepy or really, super creepy,” I said finally, glancing over at him. He shrugged, eyes holding mine steady.
“You asked me the other night if wanting you was a new thing,” he said, his face free of mockery for once. “It’s not a new thing, babe. Not a new thing at all.”
I woke suddenly, wondering where the hell I was. A strong, masculine arm lay across my stomach, pinning me down. A vaulted cedar ceiling rose overhead. I turned to see Ruger lying facedown next to me, and it all came back in a rush.
I needed to get out of here before he woke up and started in on his you’re-my-woman-and-I-own-you bullshit. I couldn’t afford to play around anymore—Noah had been through enough already.
Lifting his arm cautiously, I rolled out of bed and turned to look at his sleeping form. Ruger’s back was half covered by the sheet, and for the first time I had the chance to study his ink in full light. His perfectly sculpted body wasn’t just sexy. It was literally a work of art. His arms were a mass of patterns and designs so intricate I had trouble following them, but dominating his right bicep was a picture of what had to be Noah’s Ark. The animals marching away from it were fantastical, dragons and demons and snakes, but the Ark itself was unmistakable.
My breath caught. How had I never noticed that before?
He shifted in his sleep, the sheet slipping lower. I couldn’t allow myself much time … I wanted to leave before he woke up and we started fighting. Given our track record, I’d have sex with him again if that happened. My clit perked up and sent an urgent memo to my brain endorsing that option. Screwing a man-whore had one advantage—he certainly knew what he was doing.
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As for the pink panties I wore? I didn’t know what to think about that. It should’ve grossed me out, but it mostly just turned me on. All those years I’d been lusting after him, and he’d been lusting after me, too. Not enough to stay faithful, of course. But he’d still wanted me.
My nipples joined my clit in petitioning for another round.
I ignored both of them.
Nothing had changed. The party, Em, all the reasons I should avoid the Reapers. Ruger and I simply couldn’t be together. But for a few minutes, while he still slept, I let myself study the incredibly sexy man who’d been an unofficial father to my son. Across the top of his back was a broad, curved banner of ink matching the patch on his cut that said “Reapers.” Their symbol—the Reaper himself—covered the center, and I saw just a hint of the bottom rocker, which I knew would say “Idaho.”
Strange as it sounds, the combination of his club colors and the Ark illustrated Ruger’s contradictions perfectly.
Strange spots covered his shoulders, and along his side I saw just a hint of the panther’s claw reaching around from his hip.
He shifted and I froze, reality crashing back down.
I needed to get out or we’d have another fight. Realistically, we’d have another fight regardless, but a little break would be nice. I went downstairs and found my phone, checking the time. Seven in the morning. It took me less than thirty minutes to finish the last of my packing. Then I carried everything out to the car, loaded it, and climbed in.
I turned the key in the ignition, feeling sad and just a little wistful.
Things would turn out, I told myself firmly. I was doing the right thing. As if to prove my point, the sun was already high and bright. Birds were singing like in some stupid Disney movie. I turned out of the driveway onto the road and saw Elle, Ruger’s neighbor, walking along with her dog. She smiled as she saw me, waving me down. I pulled over.
Elle’s eyes flicked over the car, noting the presence of boxes and the lack of a child.
“Trouble in paradise?” she asked dryly.
I smiled ruefully and shrugged.
“You could say that,” I replied. “Ruger and I live in different worlds. I realized it doesn’t matter how cheap the rent is, staying isn’t going to work.”