by Raven Dark
Oh, boy.
I sit up, swallowing. “Vicious?” I say slowly. “What the hell are we doing here?”
He dismounts and takes off my helmet, then takes my chin lightly between his fingers. “I should have taken you here before I ever touched you, but I couldn’t wait. We’re going to get you a birth control injection, Anne.”
I draw back and blink at him. The irritation that rises in me is sharp and intense. I swing off the bike. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t want you getting pregnant, Anne. I’m good at pulling out, but that is far from a foolproof method of contraception. I won’t saddle either of us with such a responsibility.”
I drop my arms, shaking my head at him. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Why? Would you rather end up pregnant?”
“No!” Oh, God, no. I love kids, and I want them, but not now. “But were you even planning on asking me? Do you care if I want the shot at all?”
Truthfully, I loved that he wanted to take care of me, that he wanted to look out for us, but his taking me here without even telling me just felt so…
So controlling.
“Is this how our relationship is going to be, Vicious? With you making all the decisions and I have no say?” I didn’t know if I was ready to give up the sort of control he wanted.
“Anne. Sit down.” His eyes flick to the bike seat I just vacated.
“No.” I cross my arms. “Answer me.” If I don’t stand up to him now, it will set the precedent for our entire relationship. He will always think he can walk all over me, and if I know him, he could never respect me if I became like that.
“I will answer.” His voice is low and calm and the sound of it annoys me, making me sound irrational in comparison. “Sit. Your ass. Down.”
“Not until you stop being an ass.”
His eyes widen, and for a second, I think he’s going to force me onto the seat. Instead, Vicious let’s out a soft chuckle. The respect in his eyes confuses the hell out of me. He comes around the bike and drops his arms.
“All right then, listen to me. It’s not in my nature to ask for anything. It just isn’t. I do things my way. It’s the only way I know how to be.” He brushes my hair back from my shoulders. “I enjoy sex, Anne. I want you all the time, every way I can get you. These past few days, I’ve been eating, sleeping, breathing you. I’ve jacked off practically every hour since we met, just to keep from going crazy.”
My brows go so high I’m surprised they don’t fly off. His words make every muscle in me coil with need. A nervous smile tugs at my lips at my effect on him, and at that trademark boldness of his that’s quickly becoming a favorite trait.
“You…you have?”
“Yeah.” He traces the line of my throat where my button-up shirt dips. “Neither of us are ready for a kid right now. It’s my responsibility to see that nothing happens that you’re not ready for.”
God, he makes the utter submission he’s expecting sound so logical. Or maybe it’s because part of me wants to just let go and trust him so completely to take things where they should go.
“You should have said something. You caught me off guard.” I sigh. “This is just happening so fast.”
A low sigh leaves him, and he cups my nape. “Not fast enough, beautiful.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “Not nearly fast enough.”
“My mother would have a cow if she knew we were here.”
He shakes his head. “You need to stop that. Stop letting your mother control your life. Especially when she isn’t even here. As you pointed out last night, you aren’t a child. You’re old enough to make your own decisions.”
“Or let you make them for me?” I quip.
He pinches my chin with a smirk. “Exactly.”
I swat him on the chest hard, and he snorts.
Asshole.
We walk into the clinic, Vicious holding my hand all the way to the counter. Every person in the place turns and stares at him, and I grin, feeling a rush of excitement. I’m walking next to a god, and he’s all mine.
But when I look closer at some of the stares we’re getting, the anxiety clawing at me deepens. I can just imagine what they see. The big scary biker, but also the man walking a much younger girl into a place like this. They probably think he’s just a dirty old man getting his hands on me.
Thank god I don’t know anyone here.
After we let the receptionist know I’m here for the appointment Vicious set up, we sit in the waiting room. There’s a handful of women waiting, young and old, and one or two with an awkward looking dad or a nervous boyfriend. Vicious sits beside me with my hand on his knee wrapped in his warm palm. He doesn’t seem fazed at all. I can’t help wondering what they’re thinking. Are they imagining what he’s doing to me that I need birth control? I’ve never done anything like this. I feel a little like a teenager going in to buy condoms and trying not to look at the clerk behind the counter. How can he sit there, bold as brass without batting an eye?
And once again, he either doesn’t notice the sideways looks we’re getting, or he doesn’t care.
After nearly a half hour, Vicious lets go of my hand and grabs a magazine from the table near us.
“Anne Portman?” The receptionist comes into the front room with a clipboard and a friendly, thankfully non-judgmental smile. “The doctor will see you now.” She nods to Vicious. “Your father can come too, if you’d like.”
Ohhhh, my God. My face burns so hot the skin should be melting off. Shoot me. Just shoot me.
Vicious’ shoulders shake with suppressed laughter that makes me want to smack him again.
He stands up with me and envelopes my hand in his. The woman’s eyes go to our linked hands, and her face looks as red as mine feels.
“You’re not…oh, dear.” She clears her throat. “I’m so sorry. If you’ll follow me…”
When we leave the clinic after I’ve had the shot, I shake my head up at him. “Vicious, I’m so sorry. That was awkward.”
He laughs, that deep, rich sound that makes my insides tremble. “Don’t be. It was hilarious.”
We make our way across the lot to his bike. “So you didn’t feel…” I can’t bring myself to say it.
“What?” He picks up the helmet. “Like a creepy old man?”
“Yeah.”
“Nah. Being in the club, you learn not to give a fuck what anyone thinks, real fast.” He slips the helmet on me and buckles it securely on my head.
I hug him, adoration filling me until I can’t resist going up on my toes and pecking him on his smooth cheek.
“What was that for?” He squeezes my hip.
“I just love that about you.”
“What, that I’m an ass?”
I giggle. “No. That you take everything in stride. I wish I was more like that.”
He helps me on the bike. “You’ll learn to be. Trust me.”
Oh, I truly hoped so.
We ride into another part of Hamden, and Vicious takes me to an afternoon movie. I joke about him taking me to see the latest Walt Disney film, and he makes a face like he’s swallowed a lemon. We settle on Avengers: Endgame, something we both love and doesn’t offend his male sensibilities.
After, we eat at a local bar. He’s friends with the owner who lets me in as long as Vicious only gives me soda. We talk for hours about nothing and everything. It’s strange; I’ve only known him a few days, but it feels like I’ve known him my whole life.
We play a couple of games of pool, and Vicious shows me how to score. I’ve never played pool, and he makes a point of leaning over me with his hand over mine on the cue, guiding the shot. He wins every game. We laugh and talk some more.
Jesus, I could lose myself in him and die a happy girl.
We’re on our sixth game when it all goes to shit.
It’s going on nine, and the night is still young. Vicious orders buffalo wings. I’m surprised he hadn’t had any booze all day, but then it makes sense when he has to dr
ive me home later.
We’re sitting down with our wings, when one of his friends from the club shows up. The fellow Heathen is almost as big as Vicious, but with chestnut hair, dazzling green eyes, and a cut that looks like it’s going to rip across his back if he moves too much. He’s hot, but not even close to my leather god. He can’t be older than thirty.
He also has a woman on his arm, a blond bombshell with wild hair, a lot of dark eye-shadow, and black fingernails that are almost as long as the fingers themselves. Vicious gives the guy a brotherly hug and orders wings for them both.
The newcomer raises a surprised brow at me and smirks at Vicious. “You haven’t been up to the clubhouse all day, and now I see why, brother. I wouldn’t take her near a bunch of horny bikers, either.”
The moment he says this, the woman with him looks me up and down, those baby blues flashing with contempt and jealousy that immediately makes my insides clench.
Focused on the guy and not seeming to notice the woman’s expression, Vicious grins and takes my hand. “Anne, this is Cooker. And that’s his Old Lady, Birdie. Birdie, Cooker, meet my Anne.”
His Anne. I wanna die. He’s always said I’m his, but he’s never said it in front of his friends. Somehow, I’d been worried the moment he was faced with them, he’d become distant, realizing I didn’t fit in with his crowd. Instead, he puts his arm around me and pulls me close, not a care in the world.
“Anne,” Cooker says, his arm tight around Birdie’s pencil thin waist. “You better watch yourself with Vicious. There aren’t a lot of women who can handle an ornery old cuss like him.”
“Who are you calling old?” Vicious swats him on the side of the head and Cooker just laughs. “Respect your elders, there, boy. I can still lay you out.”
“I have a better idea.” Cooker gets up and nods to a dart board nearby. “Best out of three. Settle it like men.”
Vicious grabs my chin, lays one on my lips long enough to leave me swaying, and stands. “Bring it on.”
Birdie and some of the other women in the place whoop and thump the tables as the two men cross to the dart board, clearing it off.
“Get him, Cook,” Birdie shouts, cheering her man on.
Vicious gives her the finger and I giggle.
“Right back at ya,” she says.
I watch her with a growing fascination that makes me almost forget the look she gave me earlier. I’ve never seen a woman like her before. She really is gorgeous, but in a rough, tough sort of way. Her leather jacket has more studs and zippers on it than I count. She has a black bird that looks like a raven tattooed on her chest above her crop top, and studded leather bracelets cover her wrists. Before she sat down, I saw a studded belt around the waist of her skin-tight black jeans.
I have an instant, almost irrational dislike for her that I think goes beyond her earlier sneer, but she’s Vicious’ friend, so I might as well try to get along. She turns to me as the men get into their game. I swallow and force myself to speak.
“Birdie, those nails are incredible. How long did it take to grow them to that length?”
She glances at her nails with a shrug and takes a swig of her pale beer. She looks about Cooker’s age. She focuses on me. “I guess Vicious got lucky with you, didn’t he?”
I blink at her. The words are complimentary, but I can hear the acid in them. “Sorry?”
“Oh, don’t be sorry.” Her smile is a twist of her mouth. “He needs a nice young piece of ass once in a while.”
Ouch.
She picks up my Coke and sniffs it. “Is that soda?”
“Yes,” I say, beginning to feel suddenly cornered. “Why?”
Her eyes flash with a vindictive light. “You know Vicious likes to drink, right?”
“Okay?” Where the hell is she going with this?
“How is that going to work?”
“How is what going to work?”
“Okay.” She titters. “I’ll talk slower. How. Is. That. Going. To. Work?”
I draw in a breath and let it out, waiting for her to go on.
“How old are you, Anne?”
Oh, shit. Here we go. I almost tell her out of reflex. Evasiveness is not normally my thing. I catch myself just in time. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, Birdie.”
Her eyes widen with mocking shock. “Big words for a kid.”
Kid? Oh, I officially hate this woman. I hate that my eyes sting.
“Vicious loves to hang out in the bars with the guys,” she says. “But there’s been too many bars serving underage customers, and the authorities are cracking down. The bartenders are getting twitchy. Most won’t even let anyone who even looks underage in anymore. You got in here because Vicious is close with the bartender, but what about other bars? How’s this gonna work if they won’t let a kid like you darken their doors?”
This is where I’m supposed to leave, but I know if I do, she’ll only think I’m a coward, and something tells me looking like a wimp in front of this woman would be a bad move.
“Are you going to cry like a baby, Anne? Why don’t you go home and watch Dora the Explorer.”
Jesus Christ.
“You wouldn’t be causing trouble again, would you, Birdie?”
Vicious’ calm but deadly voice is like a slice of heaven. I hate myself for not walking away earlier, so that he wouldn’t have to save me from the big bad biker bitch.
Birdie sits back and smiles, pure satisfaction.
Cooker comes up behind Vicious. “What’s going on here?”
“Your woman seems to have forgotten how to behave in pubic again, Cook.” Vicious grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s go, Anne.”
“Birdie.” Cooker shakes his head at her and yanks her out of her seat to her feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you? How come every time a new one comes, you always turn into a—”
Birdie ignores him and shakes her head at Vicious. “She’s not right for you. How long do you think it can last before you’ve had your fill of her?”
“Birdie, enough!” Cooker snaps.
“Suck it, Birdie,” Vicious growls. He stomps out with me.
By the time we’re outside, I’m shaking. I hate confrontation, and I’ve never been good with women who tear others down. Besides, Birdie might be a bitch, but she’s gotten into my head, calling up all my worst fears. Fears about how this could possibly last with Vicious, fears that before long, he’ll see me as nothing more than a naïve child who isn’t worth his time.
Cooker comes out of the bar alone and offers me an apologetic shrug. I assume Birdie is still in there.
“Sorry about her, man. Anne.” He sighs. “She’s not usually this bad.”
I shake my head, wordlessly telling him it’s okay. It will be once I get out of here. Once I’m back home in Whiskey where I belong, where I understand the rules and life makes sense.
“Just get a handle on that one, Cook,” Vicious says quietly. His hand squeezes mine almost painfully hard. “Anne’s here to stay, so Birdie better slow her roll and get used to it.”
Here to stay. It sounds so…. permanent. My heart dances.
“I can see that. I’ll have a word with her. She won’t sit for a fucking week after that. Seriously, congrats, both of you.” He gives Vicious a bear hug. “It’s good to see you happy again.”
Again?
“Nice meeting you, Anne. See you in a couple hours, Vicious? There’s club business tonight.”
“Of course. Later, brother.”
When Cooker disappears into the bar, Vicious turns to me and rubs my arms. “You all right?”
I heave a sigh, feeling like I’ve been put through a meat grinder. Confrontations of any kind always leave me feeling shaky and wrung out, and I’m not sure why. “I’m fine,” I say sadly. “Just take me home, okay?”
Vicious massages my arms and nods. “You got it, beautiful.”
He walks with me down the street to where he parked his bike, his arm draped over my
shoulder. I love the feeling, but it also makes me feel sad, knowing at any moment I could end up feeling it for the last time.
“Is she always like that?” I ask.
“No.” He massages my nape. “Don’t listen to that hag, Anne. She was just trying to get under your skin.”
“Why? What’s her problem, anyway?”
He pulls me closer. “Birdie doesn’t like young, new meat.”
“Meat?”
“A figure of speech, beautiful.”
“Okay, but why? What’s her issue with younger women?”
He sighs. “Birdie was dumped by her old man a few months ago. For a younger woman.”
“Oh. Man, that’s lousy.”
He nods. “It’s made her bitter.”
“No kidding.”
“Really, beautiful, forget her. We’ve been trying to get Cook to dump her ass for weeks.”
“Why won’t he?”
“I think he feels sorry for her. He doesn’t want to be the next guy to abandon her.”
That made sense. I couldn’t help liking Cooker.
“Why do they call him Cooker?”
“He’s a chef. He cooks for the club more than the women do.”
“Oh!” I smiled, some of my dour mood lifting. Now I really like him. I loved to cook just about anything.
We ride back to Whiskey, but with every mile, my mind rolls over everything that’s happened that day. First, the receptionist at the clinic, and then Birdie. The more I think about either, the more my stomach ties itself in knots.
I know I shouldn’t waste any time on Birdie’s insults, but I can’t help thinking she had a point. How on Earth could this work?
At the time, the clinic receptionist’s flub had seemed funny, but coupled with Birdie’s behavior, now I feel anxiety eroding away the lighthearted mood the day had taken on.
Close to Whiskey, we stop at a gas station, and Vicious cuts the engine. “You want me to stay with you for a little while when we get back to your house?” he asks, pushing my hair behind my shoulder. “I have to go back to the clubhouse later, but I have a little time.”
“I don’t want to go home yet.” I slip my arms around him and bury my face in his chest, in the soft leather of his cut.
