Bad Boys Teaser: A Sizzling Bad Boys Anthology

by Warren, Rie

  “I’m not exactly fit for company.” Her gaze flew behind me as the door banged closed.

  The black-haired bastard ducked inside right behind me.

  He barked a laugh. “Now you sound like Mamere.”

  “I heard that!” Mamere sassed back and—as if summoned—she and Sol appeared.

  She immediately crushed Storm to her bosom. “Don’t make me take a willow switch to your backside. You ain’t so big.”

  He laughed boisterously when she let him up for breath, then he was spun toward Mercy, who looked like a waif in front of us.

  “I don’t have my Mary Kay lipstick on either,” Mercy whispered gamely.

  Storm’s guffaw joined mine.

  And I knew she’d won him over just like that.

  Like she’d won my heart and soul.

  “Should I call you Storm or Nash? I’m still a little confused about that whole thing.”

  “You and me both.” My brother winked. “Most folks just call me bastard.”

  “I will not hold with that kind of language in my house.” That time Mamere threatened with a broomstick instead of a sawed-off, and Sol made his own greetings to the man he’d helped out during the last battle.

  With the scene outside cleared, we gathered at the picnic table beneath the bright stars. Sol began cooking with some shouted directions from Mamere, and the rest of the MC settled in for a little jubilee.

  The drinking began, but I stuck to coffee, Mercy to water.

  She had a long way to go yet on the road to recovery.

  I was just lucky she was still alive.

  She was still by my side.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her—not because she was frail or sick or she might fall apart at any moment. But because a righteous new love shone through her.

  Love for herself.

  Her fingers curled around mine, and she flicked her honey-blonde hair over one shoulder.

  She leaned closer to Mamere when she ordered Storm to: “Show me some photos of my great grand bébé.”

  We were gonna give her some great grand bébés too.

  I hoped.

  One day.

  Sixteen

  Mercy

  I COULDN’T STAY UP late that first night. My eyes started drooping. My hearing even got muzzy. I managed to remain awake long enough to get a little acquainted with Storm. The black-haired man would be intimidating in any other situation—he almost dwarfed Angel, which was no mean feat. But Mamere constantly gave him her special brand of Cajun tough love, and it was impossible to feel threatened when he stammered or blushed as she lightly berated him over one thing or the other.

  I stayed up long enough to thank the MC men for . . . well, for saving me not once, not twice, but at least three times.

  I stayed up long enough to be reassured the nightmare was truly over at last.

  I hadn’t wanted to put Mamere out of her own bed again, but she’d insisted as had Angel.

  The following days were no picnic despite finally being free of my kin’s terrifying prison-like existence. Getting off the smack cold turkey . . . there was no quick fix or easy remedy. I endured the aches. The chills. The nausea. The churning cramps as my guts gnawed for more heroin after being pumped full and nearly out of my mind for several days.

  The pain of getting clean was all worth it to be well again.

  To be whole again.

  Most of the men went back to the bar. I stayed out at the bayou. Angel came and went, although he only left on Mamere’s insistence he’d like to be suffocating me with all his hovering and hand-wringing.

  By the time I’d recovered, I’d become a crack hand at Bourré. And that was no mean feat either.

  We were all back in town now. The bar completely reopened, the same for Tit for Tat next door. During my convalescence in the bayou, Angel had purchased even more clothes and feminine items for me.

  As well as another blade.

  “You’re gonna turn my head clean around with all these fancy gifts.” I’d flirted, fluttering my eyelashes and swishing the knife to feel its balanced hilt.

  Angel grinned. “Hey. Nothin’s too precious for my girl.”

  Then he’d gifted me with another pair of flip-flops, going down on one knee as if presenting me with Cinderella’s bejeweled slippers.

  He was kind and handsome and generous and patient. So very patient with me. He only told me about the fate of my immediately family a couple weeks after that horrific shakedown in the swamp when they’d come hunting for Angel and his men.

  Vernon was dead.

  Uncle Ned and cousin Ricky were in custody along with the others who’d survived.

  I’d needed no further details.

  I had no tears to shed for them.

  Angel and I had sat silently for quite a while, holding onto one another as the final weight lifted.

  All I had left of them were scars from wounds, scars from needle marks, and the swastika brand.

  The scars would fade.

  The brand was permanent.

  Except I’d begun to change that too. I went for regular sittings at Tit for Tat. Saint had started my new tattoo with a beautiful multi-ringed planet. The brand was still raised beneath, but had been transformed.

  The extensive new ink would take at least another month until completion, but once finished, the first planet would grow into an entire colorful galaxy across my upper breast. From there, the tats would flow up to my shoulder where the bright universe would combine with the shooting stars, just like the start of my new life with Angel.

  Angel had only grumbled a little at the beginning of my sessions, and Saint took his work seriously. He only flirted when he knew he could really piss Angel off.

  Like the time he’d mentioned over a breakfast of the usual beignets in the courtyard, “I’m gettin’ your girl naked today.”

  Angel had vaulted over the table in an instant. He upset Saint’s chair until they both went sprawling to the ground.

  They grappled good-naturedly, neither one doing much damage, although they sure got dirty in the process.

  When Saint gave Angel a hand up, Angel took another swipe at his ribs, growling, “You mention naked and Mercy in the same sentence again and you can kiss your tattooing career goodbye ’cause I’ll break both your arms off.”

  “And here I was planning on doing a striptease in front of all the bar’s patrons tonight.” I’d rolled my eyes then went back to licking powdered sugar off my fingers.

  They both had the decency to look sheepish.

  “I shouldn’t have disrespected you like that, Mercy.” Saint had apologized.

  “I might be just a little overprotective.” Angel kicked at a pebble with his boot.

  “Jealous more like,” Saint grumbled.

  Then they’d started shoving one another, and I’d left them to it.

  Aside from Angel, the bikers were all like brothers to me. Brothers who treated me like my own never had. With care and respect, and light teasing thrown in.

  I hadn’t gotten medical intervention for the overdose or the addiction. I hadn’t wanted to be put on methadone or any other replacement, and I definitely didn’t go in for that psychotherapy stuff. The only concession I made to my shady past was to get tested for any and all diseases that could’ve infected me from the needles or the unprotected . . . the rapes.

  I hadn’t been in touch with the other women who’d been rescued from the White Lair, either. Angel had told me they were safe, and there’d been a mention of witness protection for testifying against . . . well, against my uncle and cousin. Likewise, there’d been no sign of Grace. Slade combed all the likely spots, but he’d found dead end after dead end.

  Guilt over her disappearance was the one dark spot in my existence.

  Despite missing Grace and worrying about her, I reveled in my newfound freedom. This was the fairytale—my life with Angel. This was heaven—a biker bar in the middle of New Orleans.

  I even had my own
ride.

  Angel had wanted to buy me some top-of-the-line sporty thing, but there was no way I’d allow it.

  I drove around in an old Ford pickup, which might’ve seen better days what with a touch of rust and a few deep dents, but somehow I figured we were made for each other.

  But the best ride was still on the back of Angel’s Harley, holding him tight around his taut abdomen while the wind churned up by his speed caused a permanent smile on my face.

  That was where I was now. Angel took a particularly sharp corner, and I squealed in delight. My loose hair a wild tangle when he throttled down to a stop, I hugged him even more tightly around the middle.

  His shoulders stretched his T-shirt, and his firm ass stretched his jeans when he dismounted to give me his hand.

  He took off my helmet then his before grabbing the necessary items from his saddlebags.

  “Where are we?” I stared in wonder at the massive tree that shaded across a green grassy area.

  Why, the giant live oak spread out large as a mansion, and the sight took my breath away.

  “The Tree of Life.” Clasping my hand, Angel led me toward the magnificent oak.

  The Tree of Life. After all we’d been through, it made perfect sense he’d bring me here.

  “I thought you’d like it.” He smiled down at me.

  “It’s . . . awesome.” I couldn’t stop looking at the tree with its mighty gnarled trunk and hanging swags of Spanish moss.

  Short grass tickled my toes once I kicked off my flip-flops. I’d even painted my toenails a cheery cherry red color. Angel spread out a blanket then reclined on both elbows while I twirled just once beneath the hot summer sun. Then I joined him on the blanket.

  Other people had the same idea as us, picnicking here and there across the meadow, but he’d picked our lunch spot a goodly distance from anyone else.

  Angel hooked his finger at me, and I crawled forward.

  His hand delved beneath my hair, and he tugged me lightly to him.

  I toppled on top of him, my breasts against his chest then my lips against his. His tongue cruised lightly across the seam of my lips before mine darted out to join the chase.

  A harsh groan thundered through him, and he crushed me harder to him. His tongue drove deeply to paint the insides of my cheeks then twine around my own seeking tongue.

  Pulling away too quickly for my liking, Angel simmered with male hunger he kept denying.

  He cleared his throat, folded his hands tellingly over his lap, and suggested, “Maybe we oughtta eat.”

  I unpacked our picnic, just simple fare of thick sandwiches, some fresh fruit, a couple of beers.

  He unwrapped one of the sandwiches and handed the first half to me. Sitting sideways between his thighs, I leaned against his propped up knee. I made sure my hip butted against the large shape of his growing erection, my loose skirt slipping a few inches higher on my thighs.

  Chewing on a bite, he stared down at my legs for interminable moments, and my flesh sizzled for him.

  Then he swallowed, and his hand fell to my inner thigh.

  I nearly combusted on the spot.

  He skimmed fingers as high as the hem of my skirt, but never high enough, and I had trouble keeping my mind on the food when all I wanted to do was ravage him.

  He ate another whole sandwich, his hand sometimes coasting down one leg and back up the other.

  My nipples tightened into peaked buds beneath my tank top, and I yelped when condensation from my beer bottle dripped to the upper curve of my breast.

  With a shaking finger, Angel swiped the drop from my skin.

  Then—his eyes capturing mine—he sucked his fingertip into his mouth.

  Fire flared in my neediest place.

  He cleared his throat again and took a long pull from his beer.

  “What do you want to do tonight?” I asked, popping open a container of fresh fruit.

  I was hoping he’d say you.

  Instead he got all fidgety, nearly dislodging me from my comfy seat, and stammered, “Gotta . . . um . . . gotta do a stock check before the bar opens, and I think the prospect is getting a little too big for his balls so I gotta put him in his place and . . .”

  It was cute watching Angel avoid any mention of fucking when I knew getting me on my back in his bed was exactly what was on his mind.

  “Sounds interesting.” I dangled a section of ripe, juicy peach over my lips then sucked the gushing tidbit between my lips with a lewd slurping sound.

  Kind of like when I’d given Angel head.

  His cornflower blue eyes dilated into full-blown arousal. He shuffled around some more, a frown creasing his forehead. I thought he’d smash his beer bottle within the white-knuckled grip of his hand.

  We hadn’t had sex since that night I’d left him to go back to the Lair.

  I imagined Angel was waiting for me to initiate the first move considering all that had passed. His concern was thoughtful and all, but every furtive glance, each negligent touch—no matter how innocent—purely made my heart race, my body hot, my sex molten. The nights spent together in bed held us captive in tense awareness of one another. Undiluted lust transferred back and forth, his ragged breaths echoing my pent-up need.

  Sheer sexual torture.

  Now, today, he was just too much. His wavy blond hair, his rugged features, his incredible body . . . and the big bulge of his cock molded against the soft material of his jeans.

  I couldn’t wait any longer. Not even for the time it would take to get back to Thunder Road. In my estimation, he was much too patient.

  Straddling his lap quickly so I could feel his thickened cock against my center, I moaned.

  He dropped his beer to grip my hips. “Whoa. What are you doing?”

  “You’re a smart boy. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

  “Boy?” His eyebrows lifted.

  “Man.” I purred, scandalously rolling my hips over him.

  “We’re in public.” His voice husky, he pumped up against me.

  “No one else is nearby. And besides, my skirt is covering us.” Lacing my hands behind his neck, I licked up to his earlobe, tasting the soft flesh and a slight trace of manly sweat.

  Hands on my thighs, he halted my sensual gyrations. “Mercy—”

  “Are you scared of me?”

  “No, but—”

  “Don’t you want me?” Pouting, I knew it was a ridiculous question.

  His snarl fierce, he dragged my hand right to his groin where a hard heat pulsated. “What do you think?”

  I gave a smoky laugh. Edging just slightly back, I ripped through his button fly. And god bless him, he’d gone commando. His shaft rose from a nest of blond curls, steely hard and completely engorged. The purplish head slickened with precum.

  Bigger than I remembered. Flipping my skirt up over his raging hardness, I handled the beast beneath the light fabric. I folded my fingers around his cock and pumped slowly.

  “God, Angel. Haven’t you jerked off since—”

  “No.” Jaw clenched, he struggled to drag his jeans to his thighs.

  He made sure my skirt covered all the bare skin beneath and up to his ropey abs while my fingers skated beneath his shirt to the hard washboard muscles.

  His fingers pushed my panties aside then delved into the spilling wetness of my slit. “Haven’t you masturbated since—”

  “No,” I breathed out gustily.

  Our mouths crashed together, tongues tangling wildly. We couldn’t get deep enough or wet enough or there fast enough. I stroked his throbbing pole, and he twisted his fingers in and out of my liquid insides.

  Primed and pumped and ready, Angel groaned when I angled his shaft to ride along my labia. Holding his big meaty staff against my soaked swollen pussy, I moaned.

  “I haven’t gotten the results of my tests yet.”

  Neck craned back and full of strong cords, he gnashed out, “You’re killin’ me.”

  “We can still fuck. Just n
eed a condom.” I spread my liquid and his precum all over his rigid lurching rod.

  “So you think I just carry a condom around for a quickie?” Hard planes carved his face as he squinted at me.

  “Yes.”

  He answered with only a tight grin. Then he looked around to make sure we were still unwatched and in a relatively private area. He dug out his wallet. A few moments later, beneath the shadow of my skirt, the condom was on, and I was so ready.

  I lifted up and eased him in. I couldn’t stop my breathy gasp when he slowly tunneled up into my welling tightness. He spread me to dimensions I’d forgotten, and I clamped down on the powerful dick impaled inside me.

  He buried his lips in my neck. “Mercy . . . uhnnn.”

  To the outsider, with my skirt covering our joining, it looked like we were just a canoodling couple.

  Beneath my skirt, heat sweltered. My cunt shivered and his cock thickened. We didn’t move—Angel holding me seated tight against his groin. Kissing and gasping and clinging, we became that one connected moment that stretched into infinity.

  I began grinding, and Angel cursed quietly.

  He shifted up, driving even deeper, and I saw stars.

  Mewling and pining and in a feverish heat to have him, I breathed out, “I have to move more.”

  “Slow.” Angel licked my neck, palms climbing beneath my top to briefly cup my breasts. “Go slow.”

  I moved tentatively, riding halfway up his cock in slick slow increments. “Like this?”

  “Merde. Yes.”

  I dropped back down, not half as slow. When I slammed into his pelvis, fire shot through my veins. Angel’s mouth covered mine, taking my scream and twisting it around his talented tongue.

  He bit my neck. His hands pumped me up and down, slowly, sliding, slick and writhing.

  His thick tool climbed so high inside me, my womb opened, my heart opened, my lips parted.

  I arched to the blue, blue sky as light flashed, and liquid fire tore through me.

  Angel bit my neck at the last moment, his mark making me come again. And his cock pulsed in waves I urged with each unending milking motion of my body.

  Collapsing into him—onto him—I never wanted to move again.