by Snow, Nicole
He stopped and stared If he was furious, he did an incredible job hiding it. Finally, he got a better hold on me, whirled me around, and pressed me gently to the wall near the stairs.
Stinger's eyes pierced mine, whirling with confusion. “What're you talking about, Alice? What the fuck happened here?”
It all came pouring out. There was no use hiding it.
I told him everything. I owed him the full brutal truth after he'd saved my life. When I got to the part about how they threatened me with that beast, Hatter, how I spilled the news about the Rams, he bared his teeth.
“I'm going to kill each and every one of those fucking assholes,” he said, strangely calm. “Already said as much, but I really fucking mean it. It's gonna happen.”
“What about me?” I said, tears beading in my eyes.
“I don't give a fuck what they forced you to do. It's nothing the club can't handle. They want a piece of us, they're gonna get it lodged up their asses. Now come on, baby.”
He let go. I kept shaking, staying planted against the wall as I watched him stalk over to the dead man. He flipped over Wasp's body and brought out a knife, tracing it down his collar, cutting a neat oval around the SLINGERS MC patch on the backside with the smoking pistol.
“Stinger?” I swallowed hard, waiting for him to face me. He stood up, the leather he'd cut off in hand.
“I'm done here. Let's get you outta this fucking place.”
Upstairs we went. He had me halfway through the door to the driveway, where his truck was parked, when he pushed a gun into my hand. It was heavy, strange, familiar.
I recognized it – nine millimeter. This wasn't the first time I'd held a gun in my life. Heck, one of the first memories that came back was Dad teaching me how to shoot when I was seven. But I hadn't fired one for a long time, and never when a situation really needed it.
“Keep that shit close. I'm gonna let you in the driver's seat with the engine running. Stay there. You take off if anybody comes sniffing around. I need to clean this fucking mess down here.”
We were outside. I watched as he unlocked the truck, started the engine, and then stepped aside, holding the door open for me. A crescent moon lit up the weirdly tranquil street, and I eyed him up and down. He looked just like a crazed prince taking me into a carriage.
“You're not mad?” I closed my eyes, forcing out the words. That stupid cut on my neck was starting to burn for the first time, or maybe it was just raw guilt inflaming the wound.
“I already told you – the club can handle these fuckers. So can I.” He reached out, helping me up into the driver's seat, leaving no time for my doubt to leave me outside and vulnerable. “You think I'd rather have you dead and quiet than alive because you said what you needed to?”
I looked down at him, shaking my head. I wasn't sure what the hell to think anymore. His eyebrows quirked up and he shook his head.
“Christ, baby. Looks like we're gonna have to start all over. You really haven't figured out shit about my priorities, have you?”
He walked off before I could answer, retrieving a tarp and what looked like a heavy box from the back of the truck before heading inside the house. I slumped in the leather seat, feeling the truck's heat blast out on my chest, trying to revive the girl who'd died in the crawlspace.
How the hell was he so calm and collected? I chewed on that question for the next twenty minutes as he worked to disappear the corpse. I took one last look at the quiet neighborhood and the house, knowing damned well I wouldn't be coming back.
Later, he came out, carrying several big lumps wrapped in the tarp. I had a sick vision of him cutting Wasp down to the size. He threw the bundles in the back and spread a bigger tarp over it.
It was sick, yeah, but I couldn't feel bad about it. All four Slingers deserved to be cut to a thousand pieces for making me flip and endanger the club. They deserved worse than that for killing my father.
Now that I remembered who Nero was and what he'd done, I couldn't get it out of my head.
I put the gun in the glove compartment and carefully climbed over the stick in the middle to the passenger seat as soon as I saw Stinger coming. He slid into the driver's seat like nothing happened, eyes and hands focused on backing the truck down the driveway and getting us onto the road.
We drove right past the Filthy Crown on the way out, heading northeast, leaving Coeur d'Alene behind. It was obvious where we were going, but I had to know what else he had in store.
“Well? What's the plan?” I rubbed my neck. Stinger saw me wince when my fingers brushed the cut.
“We're gonna drop the piece of shit in the back off and let his bones thaw for spring. Then I'm bringing you home.”
“Home?” I'd never thought about Missoula that way before, not until recently, when I figured out how fucked I really was.
Couldn't say it felt wrong.
“Yeah. Don't give me any fucking lip about it either, baby. It's not ideal – I get it – but I'm gonna do whatever it takes to make sure nobody lays a finger on you again, much less a goddamned knife.” He drew a sharp breath and ran his eyes up and down my body. “You're done running, and I am too. I made my mistake two months ago when I let Blaze keep me from tracking you down. I've seen the light, Alice, and it's fucking blinding. Let's get this straight: if you go running again, I will come after your ass. I don't care if you want to put a damned bullet through my skull even more than those other fucks.
“From now on, you're my responsibility. Mine. And you're gonna find out I don't let what's mine break or hurt or fucking die. I'll lose everything before that happens. Truth is, I can deal with Blaze and the asshole Slingers. They're a fart in the wind. But you...this shit...I can't deal with risking your ass or having you outta my sight for one more second.”
I turned away, staring out the window into the frigid night. His hand reached for mine, pulled me back toward him, refusing to let me sink down into the cold abyss. Shame and guilt and uncertainty had nothing on his rough, possessive warmth.
I stared at him. He gave me a look that stuck with me before he turned back to the road.
“But Stinger...”
This. Is. Insane, I wanted to say, counting off all the reasons.
I had a thousand buts blowing through my head. So many they all ran together and stopped my tongue in its tracks. His hand squeezed mine tighter, sealing my lips for good.
“Welcome home, baby. You're here, long as I've got you in arm's reach.” He paused, running his thumb up and down my hand, circling my palm. “If the next fucking words outta your mouth aren't a thank you, then I don't want to hear any other shit. I want you to trust me.”
“I do,” I said, bowing my head and fighting down the brutal lump forming in my throat. “And thank you. For everything.”
He nodded, a low rumble in his throat purring satisfaction. We drove on in silence, making good time. Tonight, the roads were almost completely deserted. We couldn't have picked a better night than Christmas to turn off on a desolate road he seemed to know.
I helped him haul the half-frozen pieces of Wasp's body to a small ravine. Stinger took them from my arms and shoved them down the mountainside. We watched them slide through the snow to a frozen stream.
“More snow's forecast for noon tomorrow. Should take care of his bits and pieces for a few weeks. Ninety-nine percent chance his ass is chewed to pieces by predators long before anybody comes sniffing around in the spring. We're good.” Stinger winked. Pretty reassuring for a man experienced in death and destruction.
But he only killed when he had to, bringing his outlaw kind of justice to the bastards who got in his way and anything he cared about.
It was a long walk back to the truck.
Numbness gnawed at my whole body, and not just because it was cold. He'd killed a man, a devil, killed him for me. I never broke down once when we were finally inside the vehicle, following the highway to Missoula.
My eyes wouldn't stay off him for the rest of the
ride, only looking away when he caught me staring for too long. We didn't talk much.
The ride was...peaceful. Safe. Warm.
Everything Idaho wasn't.
All that was quintessentially Stinger surrounded me, and I'd never been happier just to bask in his glow. A deeper tingle started beneath my skin, the same heat that caused me to flush whenever I danced on the stage, thinking about him.
Jesus, we'd just hidden a man's hacked up body together. I'd narrowly escaped getting killed and tossed in the boonies myself. Yet, here I was next to the last man I expected to see, pure need simmering in my blood, an ache in my brain begging to get closer to him, offering every inch of my flesh in gratitude.
Had I lost my mind? Was it even psycho gratitude when this attraction felt so fucking right?
I huddled in a ball, folding my arms, pressing my legs together. Wet heat lit between my thighs. So wrong but so painfully hard to ignore...
When I looked at him again, I was smiling. I laid my head on his shoulder, and he didn't resist, despite the little grunt of surprise he made when he sensed me there.
Somehow, someway, I was going to salvage the most fucked up Christmas of my life. Crazy? Probably, but definitely not impossible.
Especially because when I rubbed my head on him, I felt his words, true and clear in muscle and leather.
Welcome home, baby.
Home.
The way there had been terrible, and it wasn't over yet. But I was going to give it a chance, and if my home was truly in his heart, then I'd figure it out soon.
Kiss by kiss, tear by tear, wrapped around his gorgeous body. Tonight, there was nowhere else I'd rather be.
“Baby? We're here.” He nudged me gently.
I jerked up and rubbed my eyes. Crap, how long had I been out? Did the drive back to Missoula take all night?
There was a tiny hint of blue on the horizon. Today, every normal person across town would be waking up to gifts and good cheer. I just wanted to go back to sleep, safe in his arms. Anything to forget my life taking its latest turn toward shit creek.
“You okay?” he asked, staring at me and rubbing my arms. “You slept like the dead for three hours. Took a little longer than usual to get back with shit icing up. Would've been a lot faster on my bike if we'd had a thaw.”
I blinked dumbly. “Seriously? It's the dead of winter, Sting!”
He shrugged. “This bullshit's not half as bad as a real blizzard on the Dakota plains. I grew up during some cold, harsh times. This mountain shit's nothing.”
His eyes said he was making a huge understatement. Now, he had me curious. Just when I was going to press him, he clicked off his seat belt and then did the same for mine.
“Let's get inside. I'm sure this isn't the kinda holiday you were expecting...but I can think of plenty things better than yammering on in this cold fucking truck.”
I laughed. Maybe it was because I was so tired my emotions were confused, twisted. The man we'd killed and hidden seemed like a million surreal miles away. Whatever it was, I reached for his arm with my hands and gave him a good squeeze.
God, he felt good. Strong. Right.
In a heartbeat, we left the truck and I followed him inside. He made sure to keep his jacket sealed up tight around his cut and the shirt underneath. There were still a few obvious droplets of blood that had to be cleaned.
Upstairs, Stinger's place was a lot cozier than I expected. His unit had a little fireplace, and paintings of thick forests and men on motorcycles hung on his walls. He left me on the big leather couch and went into the kitchen, probably brewing up something to warm us up.
I expected coffee, tea, maybe even a cup of cocoa. Somewhere between the bathroom and the kitchen, he lost his coat and stripped off everything except his jeans. I gawked like a fool when he came into the room shirtless, carrying a long tray full of snacks, coffee cups, and a couple tall glass bottles.
Jack and Bailey's. I should've known a man like him would need more fire to heat his belly than plain black morning brew.
Damn, and what a belly. Stinger looked at me and smiled when he saw me studying his skin. His flesh was like a canvass, heavily tattooed from his tight packed abs to his muscular back.
I'd seen other guys at the clubhouse walking around on wild nights, sporting the same big grinning devil, the club's logo, just like the one on Sting's chest. But everything around it was unique, long pitchforks and whips going up his arms; sleek, sharp loops with spikes that might've been the ends of maces or scorpion’s tails.
He pushed my coffee over to me with a smile, holding up both liquor bottles. I pushed my finger against the Bailey's. Anything that was sweet and good for taking the edge off was fine by me.
Then again, staring at him was taking me somewhere long before I sipped my Irish cream. Shit, my memory wasn't the only thing returning after all these months. Being in the same room with him, this close and blissfully free from danger, meant the temptations I'd tried to bury were back too – back with a vengeance.
I tried to ignore them, focusing on the crackers and meat he'd brought out. It wasn't much, but it hit the spot after a long night dancing and dumping a bastard's body off in the woods.
Never thought I'd take something like this so easy. I guess remembering Dad's murder made me numb to it, or maybe it was just a sorta grim satisfaction at taking down one of his killers that helped smooth things over.
“You really like to play up the Stinger thing, huh?” I said. Maybe if I talked about his tattoos, I wouldn't look like such a freak
“That's my road name, baby. Real name's Lucas.”
“Lucas.” I rolled it on my tongue. It felt good.
“Yeah. Nobody called me Stinger 'til I was a prospect. I beat the shit out of this fuckstain who killed my sis with a belt before a brother put a bullet in his head.”
I almost spat out my drink and coughed. Holy shit.
He snorted and looked down. “Sorry. Dunno where that came from. I've never told anybody shit about it. Moose is the only guy who knows because he was there.”
“Wow.” My fingers were shaking as I took another sip, trying to steady myself. “My dad died too. What am I saying?” I looked at him and smirked. “You and the other guys took care of his body. The Slingers were there when it happened. Their President beat Dad to death with a mug – a fucking mug. We couldn't fight back. They drugged us with something different than what they used on the club.”
Sting nodded. I closed my eyes, pursing my lips.
“Whatever. I'm just glad there's been a little payback. Finally.”
“Right on,” Stinger growled, his face tightening.
So much for Christmas. Normally, just thinking about the nightmare that caused my brain to blackout for months would've caused me to tear up. But here, on this couch with him, our eyes were locked together, too deep and intense to slip into sadness.
Why did the crazy look he gave me look so familiar?
Holy shit. I know those eyes. I see them staring back at me in the mirror every day, hard and full of hurt, tucked away so all the world's predators can't cause more pain.
Jesus. I should've figured it out months ago...
Stinger reached for me first while I was debating putting my hand on his knee. He jerked me close, just barely careful enough not to spill my coffee. I set it down and leaned into him, enjoying his warmth. God, his smell was even better with his bare skin on mine, surrounding me, sweat and strength and just a hint of motor oil.
“We've both put some serious shit behind us, baby,” he said, his voice a low, comforting rumble. “And there's probably more ahead. There always fucking is. But you know what?”
I looked up, brushing my cheek on his stubble as I turned. His lips were coming painfully close, and they looked far too good to ignore much longer.
“What?”
“It doesn't matter. Not a damned bit. What's important is having you here so I can grab hold of your pretty head and tilt it at the now. I want
you to see me, baby.” He paused, tightening his grip. “You got any fucking clue what a maniac I've become all these weeks you've been away? I haven't been myself. Not by a fucking long shot. I can't use Jack or sluts or dropping fucks who deserve it to get you outta my head. You're still there, sweet and sexy as the day I met you, hooked in my skull deep. So fucking deep.”
My breath hitched. He picked me up, twisting me around so I was in his lap. His fingers smoothed their way through my long black hair and took hold.
He wasn't asking anymore. He was taking what he burned for, every hard inch of him, and I was too wrapped up in want to resist.
Sting's muscles tensed, shaking a little as he held me, electrified with the same raw ache sifting through my skin.
“Can't fucking think straight when you're not around. No pleasure or pain's gonna change that because it doesn't exist. Fuck, I can't get the thought of you under me outta my skull, Alice. Just you and me. You, stripped naked, sweating, screaming my name, your pussy shaken to kingdom come while I bust nuts inside you, crazy like the animal I am...” His words melted in the red hot blood hissing to his head, overtaking his tongue.
“Stinger...”
Oh, God. His eyes bored right through me, feeding the fire smoldering inside me again and again and again. My pussy tingled and swelled like it was about to convulse without him even touching me, wet cream thickened between my legs – the same legs shaking when his hand reached between them.
He pushed his thumb deep, teasing my clit. So hard and sudden I gagged myself with my bottom lip, but I couldn't stop the moan when he cupped my mound and pulled me up. He lifted me higher onto him, the better for his savage lips to meet mine.
This kiss was deeper, a sticky, seething mess of emotion running to my core. Distance and serious fucking need had done a lot to make it better, or maybe it was so hot because I was finally ready.
Ready to let his storm flow through me. Ready to open to his power, his lust, his crazed hips slamming against mine and shooting pleasure I could barely fathom straight into my emptiness.
