OWNED: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Blood Warriors MC)

by Naomi West

  Besides, she'd made up her mind. Her dress was ruined, and she was now on the marital lam. She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. With her high heels still on, she took off across the church lawn and headed for a small path led through the trees and out to main road. The most important thing right now was to get away before anyone, especially Wyland, found her.

  Hopefully, she'd be able to figure things out from there. If not, she'd come up with something. She was determined, now.

  Chapter 5

  Cutter

  Cutter whipped down the road on his chopper. He ignored the speed limit signs as he stitched a line between the other vehicles, zigging and zagging in and out of traffic. Cars honked, but he didn't even bother to give them the finger. Besides, that would have meant taking his hand off the throttle.

  His knuckles were sore and white from how tightly he was gripping the handlebars. One name kept flashing in his mind like a giant bloody red neon sign: Wyland fucking West. The only son of a bitch he really had a problem with after so many years.

  He took a deep breath, though, and tried to control his anger. Beating the shit out of the new assistant DA on his wedding day wouldn't exactly be a great way to begin stating his case for why the Vanguard should be left alone, but Cutter couldn't understand what the guy's deal was. They were trying to go completely legit, trying to divest all their less savory businesses and income streams. For the law to crack down on them now, when things were so sensitive, so in flux, was almost overly punitive, like something else was at work.

  It had to have something to do with their past, with the three of them: Cutter, Liona, and Wyland. Back in high school, the two young men had been a tight, if odd, pairing. Wyland had been on the student council and was the class president. Cutter, back then, had been just another kid who'd lucked into a friendship with a richer kid. Even though they were from different sides of the track, so to speak, they'd had a tight bond.

  But, then along came Liona. She'd been the new girl their senior year, a transfer student who'd come along when her dad's work relocated her family. Somehow, she'd fallen in with Cutter and Wyland and their duo became a trio.

  For Cutter, his friendship with Liona was always something more. He'd been in love with her from the first day they'd met. Her smile, her easy laughter, her quiet, focused strength. He was drawn to her, longed for her. But Cutter was an uncertain kid back then, scrawny and small, with no self-confidence. Times had changed, of course, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough.

  Wyland had felt the same way about her. He'd made his move first, before Cutter could muster his courage. Seeing them together had gnawed at him until he'd finally confessed his feelings to Liona. Things hadn't gone well from there, and when the dust settled and Cutter's mind had cleared, she and Wyland were already gone. Off to college, and out of his life forever.

  At least, forever was what he'd thought. Now he didn't know what kind of feelings he had for her. He just knew he wanted her out of his head, and wanted Wyland West's meddling out of his dealings. The rest of the MC didn't deserve to be targets just because of some high school bullshit. That was asking too much of them.

  With all that swirling in his mind, he raced on, trying to beat the clock. He was just a few minutes away when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He downshifted and veered to the side of the road, a symphony of car horns blaring in protest at his sudden stop. A beautiful bride in a flowing white gown was tramping through the trees. Mud crept up the hem of her dress and covered her heels, but her face was angelic. More than that, he recognized her almost instantly, and his blood seemed to stop in his veins. For years, he'd seen those beautiful eyes, those perfect lips, every time he closed his eyes at night. And, for just as many years, that face was the first thing he saw in his mind's eye when he woke up in the morning.

  It was her. Liona Copeland, coming out of the forest, walking away from the church. She wasn't more than twenty feet from him, but he could see the look of concern on her face plain as day. That same look she'd had in math class when she almost remembered how to do a problem, but couldn't quite get it.

  “Desmond?” she exclaimed, using the name his parents had given him. “Desmond Hawes? Is that you?”

  Cutter grinned. He hadn't seen her or heard her voice in years, and there was still something about her that lifted his spirits, made him feel like he was on cloud nine.

  “Lose your way, or something?” he asked as nonchalant as he could manage.

  “You're a biker now?” she asked, incredulous as she emphasized the word biker. She seemed oblivious to the rest of the traffic and the fact she was in a wedding dress as she stared at him. “And you wear leather?”

  “Like you've got any room to talk on weird outfits.”

  She hiked up the bag on her shoulder, readjusting the load, and looked down at herself. “Yeah, well, this is just for today.”

  He checked his watch like he didn't have a care in the world. “Don't you have some place to be right about now?”

  “Well, I did,” she said, and glanced back over her shoulder, almost like a scared animal on the run would. Something was wrong here.

  “Not doing it, then?” She shook her head. Cutter sighed and looked away, down the road. “Wyland's gonna be pissed.”

  She shot daggers at him when he turned his gaze back to her. “That's the last thing I give a shit about,” she said. Something about her attitude, the way she held herself as she replied, said the exact opposite, though. She cared about his opinion, even if she didn't care about him.

  “Running away, then?”

  “Gonna try,” she said, a slow, uncertain smiling creeping onto her face. She seemed to hold her breath before saying, “Wanna help?”

  “Help out an old crush?” he asked, a little grin on his lips. “And piss off that motherfucker Wyland in the process?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “Of course!”

  He jerked his thumb behind him. “Jump on.”

  She sighed in clear relief and swung a leg over the seat behind him and climbed aboard. With her overnight bag tucked between them, she leaned forward and instinctively wrapped her arms around his waist.

  He hated to admit something like this, even to himself, but it felt damn good to feel her touch again. Even after all these years, and all the changes that had happened in their lives. Except, this time, it was different. He was different.

  “Ready back there?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Yeah,” she said, “let's go.”

  They took off, heading back the way Cutter had just come. The cars blared another symphony as he cut across traffic, this time hollering out a victory call.

  Chapter 6

  Cutter

  They pulled into the Vanguard clubhouse's parking lot on Cutter's bike. Liona's wedding gown had fluttered behind them the whole way, even though she'd wrapped up all its extraneous cloth beneath her when she'd straddled the seat and climbed aboard.

  He hadn't been able to think of any better place to take her. And she hadn't been able to come up with any solutions either. So, by default, they'd settled on the clubhouse. It was far from perfect, that was for sure, but at least Wyland would never come looking here for her.

  Besides, he didn't have any plans of letting her out of his sight. He wasn't exactly sure what kind of leverage it might give him over Wyland, but he could spot an opportunity coming from a mile away. And this woman right here was an opportunity if he'd ever seen one.

  “This your place?” Liona asked, a note of disbelief in her voice as she looked around at the trees on the perimeter, and the old metal building in front of her. Clearly, it was the kind of place she wasn't used to.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  She shouldered her bag again, hitching it up a little higher. “No reason,” she replied. “Just, well, isn't it weird living in a place like this?”

  “Nah,” he said, reaching for the bag on her shoulder. “It's home.”

  She g
lanced down at his hand, and the help he offered, and just shook her head. “I've got it.”

  “Suit yourself,” Cutter said, then headed off to the front door of the clubhouse, resisting the urge to look back and see if she followed.

  “How many guys live here?” she asked as they pushed through the entry and went inside.

  “We got rooms for seven or eight guys, me included,” Cutter replied as they headed back to the small room reserved for him. “We keep it pretty low-key most nights, though. Weekends, all bets are off. Still, it ain't like it used to be. We all gotta earn an honest living now.”

  Her face was a case study in wonder as she looked around at the empty building, at the flags up on the wall, the posters and the hunting trophies. All the others were gone still. The ones who worked at Farm to Fable were probably still in the middle of their closing duties, and a lot of the other guys had errands, jobs, girlfriends, and all manner of other reasons to be out and about.

  “Honest living, huh?” she asked as they turned down the hall that led to the rooms.

  “Absolutely,” Cutter said with a grin. “You're looking at the head chef and manager for Farm to Fable.”

  “Wow! Really?” Liona said, surprise in her voice. “I went in there once, but I didn't know you were the owner. I thought it was some guy named Slick, or Gash, or something.”

  “Cutter,” he said, grinning. “That'd be me. I was probably in the back house, making your brunch.”

  “Cutter? All of you guys got nicknames like that?”

  “Most of us,” he said. He shrugged as they turned a corner and were presented with a whole new row of doors.

  “So, which do you prefer? Desmond? Or Cutter?”

  “Cutter,” he growled. “Might confuse the guys otherwise.”

  “You run the whole thing? The restaurant, I mean.”

  “Yep,” he said as they stopped in front of his bunk door. “What'd you think? About the food?”

  “Had the eggs Benedict,” she replied, her words clearly less reserved on this topic than they had been on the subject of her wedding. “It was pretty good, I guess.”

  “Pretty good,” Cutter said as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the door, “you guess?”

  She rolled her eyes. “The hollandaise was a little lumpier than I prefer, okay?”

  Cutter grunted. He'd never been able to take criticism well. Especially not when it came to his cooking. He turned back around and pushed the door open, leading her into his room.

  “Welcome to my digs,” he said as he flipped the light on and showed her his place for the first time. It wasn't perfect, and he’d be the first to admit it, but it was still home.

  “Oh,” she said, glancing around the room at all the license plates he'd gotten from the various states he'd visited, the shot glasses from all the national parks he'd ridden through and camped at, his various books and bike repair guides. “At least it's clean.”

  He hadn't expected her to be impressed. It was a bachelor pad, after all. A one room bunk with an attached bathroom. It wasn't exactly a place to settle into, that was for sure. She turned to smile at him and slowly reached out to grab his hand. “Thank you, by the way.” She paused and licked her lips as she wrapped her slender, soft fingers around his big callused paw. “I mean it. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along when you did.”

  Her touch sent tingles through his hand, through his body. He cursed himself. Part of him knew he shouldn't be acting like this. He'd pushed her out of his mind years ago, had thought he'd finally gotten over her. He was harboring the assistant DA's fiancée. He needed to be smart about this. One wrong move, and his ass would be on the line.

  “Well,” he replied, carefully taking his hand away from hers, “we used to be best friends, right? And, clearly you don’t have anyone else, so here I am.”

  Her smile drooped into a frown as he removed her hand from his, but in the next moment she appeared to shake the funk off. She took her bag off her shoulder and tossed it on the bed. She sat down next to her piece of luggage and looked down at herself, at her muddy wedding dress. Silence filled the room, suffocating him.

  “So,” Cutter said after a long, uncomfortable moment. There was an elephant in the room, and they both knew it was there. “About this wedding escape?”

  “What about it?” she mumbled, her eyes still downcast.

  “What happened with the ceremony?” he asked, trying to pick his words carefully. “Why'd you leave Wyland at the altar?”

  She pressed her lips together and toyed with the fabric of her dress, her hands pulling at the ruined material. She'd always fidgeted like this when she was nervous.

  “Nothing, then?” he growled. He didn't have much patience for this kind of thing. Never had, probably never would, and it was one thing that had always created a distance between them. “No explanation?”

  More silence.

  “Suit yourself, I guess,” he finally said.

  She just looked up at him after he spoke and kind of shrugged. “Not much to say, really,” she said after a while and gave him a weak smile. “Just didn't want to marry him, I guess.”

  He slowly nodded his head. “Well, alright then,” he said. He could push and pry all day long if he wanted, but if this Liona Copeland was anything like the Liona Copeland he'd known all those years ago, she wasn't going to budge if she didn't want to. And, clearly, she didn't want to.

  Outside, the noise of multiple bikes began to fill the lot and the surrounding area. It was about that time, Cutter figured, for the guys to be coming back after closing up at the diner.

  He raised a calming hand as she looked around, almost a little frantically. “It's cool,” he said. “It's just the guys getting back. Nothing serious.”

  “Oh,” she said, calming a little. “What are they going to say about me being here?”

  It was his turn to shrug. “Dunno. I'm the president, though, so I've got more than a little say on whether or not you stick around.”

  “The president?” she asked, her eyes lighting up as she gave a little laugh. “You're the head of these guys?”

  Cutter grinned. “Yep. Been top dog for a couple years now.”

  “So, you think they'll let me lay low here for a while?”

  “Ain't gonna know until I put it to a vote.”

  Truthfully, he wasn't sure of what their initial reaction would be. He still hadn't told her about Wyland coming after the MC, putting their guys in jail, or any of the Vanguard's other plans. And, for now, things were going to stay that way. He didn't want her to think she was just being used, even if that’s what it looked like. He realized now, as he stood in the same room with her, that he did have feelings for her. Latent, deep, almost below his consciousness, but there nonetheless. He hadn't gotten rid of them, he'd just buried them down deep enough to forget about them.

  He frowned. Some of the guys might want to play it safe, and keep clear of her because of her relationship with Wyland. They wouldn't want to stir that pot. But, deep down he knew something wasn't right about this, about the way she'd just left him at the altar. Sure, the guy had been kind of a dick before, when they were back in high school. But, the two of them been together all this time. She wouldn't have left him without good reason.

  Regardless of the outcome, he needed to convince the rest of the Vanguard of his plan, and Liona was at the heart of it. Otherwise, they'd think he was just asking them to stick their necks out to protect an old flame of his, and he couldn't ask something like that of them. Not even under better circumstances.

  “No idea, then?”

  Cutter shrugged and gave her his best poker face. “Better get to it. You stay here and get settled.”

  “Yeah,” she replied. “I'll get changed and stuff.”

  He nodded and excused himself from the room. He made sure the door was closed completely behind him and headed out to the living area. The guys were already hooting, hollering, and cracking beers. They we
re off work, after all.

  Chapter 7

  Liona

  Liona stayed on Desmond's bed ... wait ... no. She'd have to keep reminding herself that he wasn't Desmond Hawes anymore. He was Cutter, now. Which, if she was going to be honest with herself, fit him a lot better. Especially after how he'd changed.

  Back in high school he'd been a string bean, the type of guy who was held together by just bones, strips of sinew, and a prayer.

  Now, though ...

  Goddamn, what a transformation! She stifled a giggle as she thought about it. She'd been able to feel his rippling abs beneath his shirt as she held onto the back of his bike. She pictures his arms flexing on the handlebars.