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

by Naomi West

  Of course, he wasn't a bad looking guy before. He'd always had a strong chin, with a great jaw line. She could almost imagine those arms of his, holding her close, holding her tightly. He was strong, stronger than Wyland, she was sure. Deep down, she could see a hidden tenderness beneath all his tattoos and scars. It was in the way he looked at her, the way his eyes lingered on her. Did he still have feelings for her? Like he had back then?

  God, she couldn't believe she was actually thinking this way. She'd just left her fiancée at the altar and thrown her old life away. Instead of thinking of her next move, she was thinking of another man, and how his body would feel pressed against hers.

  She shook her head, clearing the steamy thoughts of her old high school friend from her mind. There was a time and place for that kind of thing, and it wasn't here.

  Desmond ... Cutter at least seemed hopeful the rest of the guys would let her stay. That was a start, at least, a jumping off point.

  She sighed and looked around the room. Yeah, the little place was a bachelor pad. There was nothing feminine about this place, no woman's touch. She grabbed her overnight bag off the bed and got up to go into the restroom. She stripped out of her wedding dress and began to change back into the jeans and top she'd worn earlier in the day. As she did, she began to consider her options, mentally lay out what was available to her.

  If Wyland hadn't frozen her accounts out of spite, he'd be checking on any kind of purchases she made. He had the passwords on those, had all the control. Which meant she'd be depending on Cutter for support and shelter. That might work, but she hated the idea of relying on him, even after everything.

  Liona dug her phone out of her bag. She'd put the ringer on silent as she'd trampled through the forest, ruining her dress and shoes. The ringing had been so incessant, so irritating. She couldn't bear to turn it off and have her father’s voice go to voicemail. In this day and age, there just seemed something so undignified about that, so disrespectful. It was like ghosting on someone you were dating. She just couldn't do it. Of course, she realized, that was what she'd just done. Even if it had been out of desperation.

  Twenty missed calls, all from the usual suspects. Ten from her father, also on behalf of her mother, Liona was sure. Nine from Carly, of course. Just one from Wyland. She didn't need to listen to his voicemail to know the hidden threats that would be contained in his words, the promises of shame both physical and emotional that he'd heap on her for the stunt she'd just pulled. One thing was for certain. She didn't need to put herself through that. Not yet, at last.

  She kept the phone on silent and dropped it back in her bag. She'd call her father and Carly later, after things were decided by Cutter and his friends. Once she knew she was safe and had a place to stay.

  She checked herself out in the mirror. Her makeup artist had been great. Even tramping through the trees, and riding on the back of Cutter's bike, it had barely smudged at all. Now, though, she turned her thoughts back to Cutter. A man like that, he was dangerous. She knew that. She'd seen the movies, the TV shows. Men like him, they were used to getting what they wanted. And he wanted her.

  She'd felt his eyes on her, even in her wedding dress. Felt them tracing over her bare shoulders, over the line of her neck, and the swell of her breasts. She was willing to bet that, even after all these years, he still wanted her. Old flames died hard, wasn’t that the saying?

  Again, she found herself thinking about him. Liona could feel her heart racing in her chest as she considered what his muscular tanned body would look like beneath that tight white shirt of his. How the rest of him would feel ...

  Shit. Why was she so excited by the prospect of Cutter taking his payment from her in the form of her body?

  Chapter 8

  Cutter

  “So, lemme get this straight,” Smalls said, his best belly heaving under his vest and shirt, “you're telling us, we got the fiancée of the motherfucker who literally just put our boys away this fucking morning hiding out in your goddamned bunk?”

  Cutter and seven of the other Vanguard were seated in the conference room around their central folding table. This was a safe place, the only safe place, to discuss business of this nature. It was sound proofed, checked for bugs on a regular basis, and all their cell phones were left outside in the kitchen freezer, with their batteries disconnected. Business like this didn't happen outside the room.

  Cutter nodded. “That's what I'm telling you.”

  “And, you and this chick,” said Mowgli, one of the other guys, “you go back to high school?”

  “Right,” Cutter replied.

  “Cutter, man,” Smalls said as he lay his hands out flat on the table, palms up, and shook his head slowly from side to side, “I don't know what you want us to do with this. I mean, this shit's fucked up. This could be considered kidnapping or some shit.”

  “Kidnapping?” Cutter asked. “She's here on her own, man. You can ask her. Any of y'all can. She climbed on my bike of her own free will.”

  “You know as well as I do,” Smalls replied, “that don't mean nothing. They can pin all sorts of shit on people. Look at what they're doing to our boys already.”

  Cutter nodded. It was a concern of his, especially with the precarious situation they were already in with the transition from illegal to legit business affairs. This was a bad time for everything to happen, but it was happening regardless of how they felt.

  “I see your point,” he said, biting the inside of his mouth as he mulled it over. “But, how're they going to know she's here? She's got as much interest in staying gone as we do.”

  There were murmurs of agreement around the table.

  “Alright,” Smalls said. “I'll give you that. But, say we're able to help her. What's in it for us?”

  “Leverage,” Cutter said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table. “I'm telling you guys, there's something here. Something she ain't telling me yet.”

  “So, you want us to just protect her like some goddamn Snow White, then?”

  “At least until I can figure out what she's got on this guy. That's all I'm asking for. Maybe she can give us enough to get rid of him, disgrace him or some shit.”

  “I don't know,” Smalls said, shaking his head. He may have been Cutter's second, but he always had the club's best interest at heart. And he sure as hell wasn't some pansy-ass yes man. That’s one reason Cutter had elected him to be his right-hand man.

  “Well, why else would she leave this guy at the altar?” Cutter asked.

  “Maybe,” suggested Squirrel, a big, musclebound biker that had just gotten patched last year, “she just ain't in love with him no more.” Squirrel wasn't exactly the best name for him, but that was the nickname one he'd come with when he asked to become a prospect.

  Silence ruled the table for a moment, as all the men mulled this idea over in their heads.

  “Well, why the hell would she still have been with him for so long?” Cutter asked, shaking his head. “They were together for years, Squirrel. Why up and leave him now? Hell, why did she even agree to the wedding in the first place?”

  “Could she have met someone else?” suggested one of the other guys.

  “Wouldn't make sense, either,” Smalls replied. All eyes turned to him. “Well, she would've run off with him, then. Right? Instead of Cutter?”

  Nods of approval went around the room.

  Cutter had to hold back a laugh. These guys could run a statewide criminal syndicate, put fear into the hearts of other MCs, and be dangerous enough to have the local authorities on edge. But they couldn't figure out why one woman left her fiancée at the altar. It really was pretty funny in a surreal kind of way. The Marx Brothers would've had a field day.

  After a little while, Cutter spoke up. “I want to remind everyone, though, what's on the line here. We're about to be legit, guys. No more dealing, no more running guns, no more pulling protection on other dealers, or fighting for territory the way we used to.” Cutter paused
for effect as heads began to nod around the table. “This is about us making our money legally, about us not having to launder our money anymore. When we get these other deals settled, we're gonna be free and clear ... and legal. No more worries about jail or prison, just focusing on the future and building something better for ourselves and the people that come after us.”

  He paused and licked his suddenly dry lips before beginning again. “Now, I think Liona, she's the key here. I think. I need y'all to trust me on this, just like you did with Farm to Fable, and just like y'all have been with everything else.”

  The other Vanguard murmured their support, murmured their misgivings. There was a lot on the line, just like he'd said. But, sometimes life was like gambling. You couldn't win if you didn't take the risk. No one won at roulette unless they spun the wheel.

  “So, what do y'all say, then? Should we put it to a vote?” Cutter asked after a couple more minutes of wild conjectures were thrown around and promptly shot down. There wasn't the full MC present, but they had enough to outnumber the other guys if their decision was unanimous. “Should we keep her and protect her?”

  A few more moments of rumbling, then, finally, some reluctant shrugs. “Yeah,” Smalls said. “Let's vote. A preliminary one, until we can get a full meeting.”

  Cutter nodded. Since he was president of the MC, his vote counted twice, according to the bylaws of the Vanguard. But, two votes were generally only enough to sway a vote when things were tight. In his experience, there was generally consensus amongst the men. He felt like they wanted it that way, to act with one voice instead of as a fractured crowd. The club was about solidarity to outside threats, after all, to people who wanted to tell them how to live.

  But, at least with this preliminary vote, he'd be able to feel out the group. Later, when everything came down to a full vote, he was confident that either the situation would be over, and Liona would be gone, or he'd have gotten them in so much trouble that a vote wouldn't matter one way or another.

  “All in favor?” Cutter asked, raising his hand.

  Everyone at the table, every single one of them, slowly raised their hand.

  “Then it moves forward,” he said. “We'll see what we can get out of her, and in the meantime, we'll keep her warm and fed and out of sight. Next full meeting we get, we'll call another vote. Cool?”

  “Cool,” Smalls agreed.

  “Motion's carried, then?” Cutter asked the room.

  All the men nodded their head, silent as the gravity of what they'd just agreed to do began to set in. Times ahead were going to be tough, but Cutter knew he and the rest of the Vanguard would be up to the challenge. They always had been, always would be.

  They were Vanguard, after all.

  Chapter 9

  Liona

  “No, Dad,” Liona said into her phone, “I'm fine. I'm somewhere safe, okay?”

  “I just don't understand why you can't tell me what's going on, honey. Your mom and I are worried sick about you.”

  She was seated on the edge of Cutter's bed again, but this time in her old clothes. The soiled and ruined wedding dress was draped over the back of a chair that stood in the corner. It seemed to glare at her with insubstantial eyes, like the conglomeration of cloth and tulle resented her for not using it properly.

  She twirled a strand of hair idly and averted her eyes from the dress, from the guilt. “Dad, I'm fine, alright. I'll tell you when I'm ready to come home.”

  “But, why are you hiding, hon?” he asked, genuine bewilderment in his voice.

  What she wanted to say was: “Because my ex-fiancée is a sick fuck who's been physically and emotionally been abusing me for years, and I know it'll just be a matter of time before he murders me.”

  Instead, she merely shrugged it off. “I don't want to talk about it right now.”

  “Liona, honey, you gotta tell us, though. Wyland's not saying anything to either of us, but I can tell his parents are really upset. Well, his father is. His mother's just a wino.”

  Liona laughed knowingly. “Yeah, that sounds like her. Valium and Chardonnay. Don't worry, that doesn't have anything to do with me leaving her son at the altar.”

  “It's just ...” her dad started to say, then trailed off. “I ... I don't know.”

  “What dad?” Liona asked. Her dad had always been forthcoming with her, even if she hadn't been that way with him, especially over the last few years. “What's wrong?”

  “What you did,” he said after a while, trying to pick his words. “I know you probably had good reason, or thought you did, at least. But ...”

  “But what?”

  “It was just rude,” he said, his voice rising out of the pleasant, mild-mannered decibel range he normally kept.

  Liona was surprised he'd actually raised his voice like that. The word choice, though, was all too familiar. To her dad, politeness ruled over everything. He was the most polite, considerate man she'd ever met in her life. Everything he did, even in private, was seemingly dedicated to preserving civil order. He'd never yelled at her when she was growing up, never struck her in anger, or even as a punishment. He was simply ‘nice,’... but not in an artificial way, like two-faced Wyland. He was genuine, true to his word.

  It killed her to have to hurt him this way, and her she felt herself choke up a little. “I'm ... I'm sorry, dad. This is something I had to do. And, I guess it hadn't seemed real until the day of. So, I'm sorry. Okay?”

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  Liona's heart sunk. “Dad?”

  “I'm here.” He sighed into the phone. A long, sad sigh that carried with it the weight of years of parental responsibility. “Well, I love you, honey. And your mom does, too. Call us when you can, okay?”

  She smiled at his words. She knew they loved her, but his words just seemed to alleviate some of the guilt she was feeling. “Okay, dad, I will,” she said. “You can count on it. And I love you guys, too.”

  “Okay,” he said, and she could tell her probably had his lips tightly pressed together like he always did in this kind of situation. “We'll talk to you soon, honey. I love you.”

  “Bye, dad. I love you.” She ended the call and dropped the phone down on the bed next to her.

  Well, that had actually gone better than she hoped. She hated leaving her dad in the dark like this, but there wasn't anything else she could think to do. She couldn't exactly tell him she was crashed out with a bunch of bikers on the outskirts of town. That definitely wouldn't have flown. But, at least now he and her mom knew she was safe.

  She rearranged herself on the bed, pulling her legs up and crossing them. She rested her face in her hands, with her elbows on her knees, and stayed like that for a moment. She needed to call Wyland next. She didn't know how she was going to do handle it, though. How could she call her tormentor, especially after this slap in the face she'd just given him? He'd be out for blood.

  Just, then, though, the handle on Cutter's door turned. She looked up from her cradle to see her old friend return, two cups of coffee in one hand.

  “Thought you might need some,” Cutter said, gesturing with the coffee.

  Liona smiled up at him. “Got anything stronger?” she asked.

  He smiled a little smile and set the cups down on top of his old, beaten down dresser. “Bourbon okay?” he asked as he pulled open the top drawer and pulled out a bottle of Buffalo Trace.

  “Please,” she said, nodding. Her eyes tracked over him, over his MC vest, over his arms. They looked even better than when she'd first seen them on the side of the road.

  He opened the bottle and began to pour a finger or so in each cup. “Gave you cream,” he said as he poured her dram, “and a little sugar.”

  “Perfect,” she said as she took the warm cup from him. “So, what'd you guys decide?”

  He took a sip of his coffee. “We put it to a vote,” he said over the lip of his mug, his steely eyes boring into hers, “and you can stay.”

  If she
hadn't been holding he hot cup of spiked coffee in her hands, she would have burst out in applause. That was the first good news she'd heard in ages. Literally.

  “But,” he said.

  Her heart sank. “But?” she murmured.

  “You can stay, for now,” he said, emphasizing the last two words. “That was a preliminary vote, since the whole club wasn't here.”

  “Geez,” she said, “how often do you guys vote?”

  “Just on big things,” he said. “But, it was unanimous, which is good. Like I said, we'll still need another one.”

  “When will that be?”