by Zoey Parker
Another MC guy had brought along a couple pairs of sweats and stuff for me and Zoe—Pres/Clav’s daughter, I finally learned—to throw on.
She woke up soon after Pres’s arrival and was pretty groggy and freaked-out, but also really happy to see her dad again. She immediately burst into tears, but I was pretty sure they were of the relief variety.
It took like what seemed like forever after the cops and ambulances arrived before we were allowed to leave the scene and go home to Dom’s place. The paramedics treated Dom and Zoe first, then checked me out, too, before turning their attentions to the beaten men in custody.
The cops had wanted full statements from me and Zoe and Dom, which we did to the best of our abilities, but I was nearly passing out from exhaustion and nausea and what soon amounted to a migraine, so Dom promised we’d go into the station soon to give full reports, and he got me out of there as quick as he could.
Once they all heard about my three up-close-and-personal experiences with the Taser, everybody was more than willing to give me leave; apparently, those things are known for packing a serious long-term punch. So, that was excellent news. I had yet more awesomeness from fucking Fielding to look forward to.
But I knew I had Dom, and Dom had my back. I loved him so much, and I was feeling more lucky and grateful than precious and mean about the whole thing.
Everybody assured us that Fielding and Ronn were both going to be going away for a very, very long time, and that all of our actions were clearly in self-defense and called for (even though I knew that, strictly speaking, that wasn’t exactly the way it went down). I think the cops were so disgusted by my story and Zoe’s, that they were happy to turn blind eyes to the little damage we had done to the two porno degenerates and murderers.
Anyway, by the time we finally got back to Dom’s, I was beat. He was beat. We didn’t need any more words between us, anyway. He got us some water and gave me some headache and pain meds, took some himself; then we stripped out of our clothes and climbed into bed for skin-contact comfort, and we slept, wrapped up in each other’s arms.
The next morning I woke up groggy and stiff and hungry and thirsty and generally uncomfortable. But when I opened my eyes and saw Dom’s beautiful face smiling so sweetly and happily at me, none of the rest of it mattered. It all fell away, and I said the only thing that did matter.
“I love you, Dom. I’m way over my head in love with you.”
His smile expanded till it took up his whole face and lit his eyes like beautiful green stars. “Sienna, I love you, just as much and more, right back. And I am never letting you go.”
And morning breath or not, we kissed. And it was the sweetest kiss ever.
Epilogue
Dom
Our breaths meshed and our bodies began to heat up again. In short time, our mutual need for each other was ripping out of control, and we both had our hands and tongues and mouths and fingers and legs and arms and hips all over each other: gripping, pulling, pushing, rubbing, squeezing, molding, licking, sucking, biting, and thrusting. We were like animals, fierce creatures of need and want, until finally I rolled her onto her back, and she wrapped her arms and legs around me, and I nudged my cock to her soaking wet entrance.
“Sienna. Look at me.” Her face was dark and flushed with need and blood and desire; mine had to have been, too.
Our eyes held, and I ran my hands down her arms until I grasped her hands. I lifted them to the sides of our heads, resting her arms against the bed. Locking our fingers together on each side, I thrust myself smoothly inside her slowly, allowing her body once again to adjust to my unusual size. All I was aware of was joining with her, and her eyes, and her hands, and her sweet scent and mine combined, and I wanted more, and I breathed her in more, and I needed her more.
It had been weeks since the incident. Weeks without sex, without making love. There had been days when she wouldn’t let me touch her. I understood. She went through hell. She needed time. I gave her that; I let her call the shots. And tonight, when she finally came to me, softly, sweetly, and asked me to make love to her, I was ready, willing, and more than able.
So tonight was all about her, and all about us. We’d made it, and we would go the distance. Of that, I was damned sure. I would do anything for this woman.
She finally broke our gaze to look down; she was watching me enter her. My gaze followed hers, and it was so beautiful and sexy I got lost in looking. By feeling, I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began. We watched together as I came in and pulled out and came in, again and again. Our bodies matched rhythm. We crashed together, perfectly.
Eventually I let go of her hands to curl my arms under her shoulders, to keep her in place through my thrusts, protecting her head from the headboard. Our mouths met again, our tongues imitating the movements of my cock in her pussy.
I sensed when she began to go up in the sensations and lost awareness of our surroundings, and I reached down to thumb her most sensitive nub to help her get there. And she did; she flew up, and I lost her briefly in a gorgeous display. I grabbed hold of her hand again and bucked and bucked and cried out. I was gone, too.
Then I collapsed on top of her, and we laid there together, a disaster of limbs and sheets and sweat and hair and scent and heavy breath.
And slowly the air eased, and our awareness returned. And I kissed her neck and turned her into the little spoon to my big, and we slept.
# # #
Two years later…
“Dom, please! Make it stop! Go away! You asshole! What did you do to me?”
I chuckled. “Mouth, babe. You and that damned mouth. You’re doin’ great, Sienna.” I was behind her, propping her up, rubbing her lower back with both my hands, letting her tug and pull on whatever part of my head she had a current need to grasp: hair, ears, jaw. I took it. I could take it. She was going through something I could never even comprehend, so it was a fair trade, I figured.
“Aaargh!”
“Breathe, baby. Just breathe with me.”
The contraction eased up, and we breathed together in the short resting time. Her grip relaxed for the moment, and she almost started crying. “I hate being a bitch to you. I just can’t help it right now. This fucking hurts, Dom.”
“Baby, I love you. You are giving me the most precious gifts in the world today. Do what you need to do. I’m here, I got you, and I am never letting you go. So yell all you want, we got this. You and me, babe. Fuckin’ forever.”
“Aaargh!”
“Breathe.” And we breathed.
And that was when Manuel was born. Tania came just three minutes later. And they were everything.
I never had any idea how much my life would change when I first saw Sienna at that club from hell, but I would never change a moment of our story if it meant that it ended any way other than this.
Sienna and I had married a couple of months earlier, but we had planned it for a full year. That she had gotten pregnant was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one, and the timing of the wedding really had nothing to do with the babies.
Babies! Two! That had been a shock. But a perfect one. You could not have found a more joyful—okay, and a little freaked-out—man on the planet than me.
I had a woman whom I loved beyond my wildest dreams, and we were now the proud parents of the two most perfect babies.
Yeah, yeah, I knew that there would be tough times ahead. Life was no easy ride. I got it.
But man, I was blessed. Every day. With my woman, with my life. And I would never stop showing her my gratitude and love.
Even when she gave me lip.
THE END
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(Bonus Novel #1) A PRICE TO PAY: A Dark Bad Boy Romance
By Zoey
Parker
We’ll both pay the price for crossing the line.
There are some things in this world a man should never do.
But as far as I’m concerned, the rules can go f*ck themselves.
I’m Cain Vale.
I do whatever the hell I want.
Of course, that’s part of the reason I ended up in this situation:
Bleeding from a cracked skull, as a lifetime of naked sluts and roaring bikes flashes before my eyes.
A life well lived, but I’m not ready for it to be over just yet.
Not when there’s revenge to be dealt.
Once I’m back on my feet, the men who betrayed me will pay dearly for their crimes.
They will suffer.
Scream.
Beg for my mercy.
But my injuries are worse than I thought.
Until I can ride again, my president tasks his kid sister with helping me recover.
What she doesn’t know is that, while she’s in my household, she’ll live on my terms.
She’ll please me.
She’ll taste me.
And by the time I’m finished, she’ll know how it feels to be owned.
Prologue
The pistol in Missy Dermott’s hands was slick with sweat as she waited for Death to find her.
She had pulled the shower curtain closed and was hunkered down in the bathtub, hearing her own panicked breathing echoing off the ceramic just inches from her ears.
She stared at the tiny motel bottles of shampoo and body wash standing on the edge of the tub like blank-faced soldiers marching to their doom, and thought about how unpardonably stupid she had been.
Missy told herself that she should have known this was a trap—the brutal kind with rusty metal teeth that would tear her whole world into bloody chunks the moment it snapped shut.
She'd spent her entire life around her brother and the rest of the Blood Eagles, and even though her gender meant she'd never become an Eagle herself, she'd still absorbed enough of their outlaw mentality that her antennae were always up and twitching, ready to warn her when danger was closing in. That keen awareness she'd cultivated had saved her from lots of arrests and hazards in the past.
Today, though, when she'd needed it the most, it had deserted her. And why?
Because she'd been distracted. Because on the day when it mattered most, her mind and her heart hadn't been focused on what they should have. Because she'd actually been dumb enough to believe that when happiness came knocking at the door, even a hardass like her deserved the chance to invite it in without worrying whether it was hiding a knife behind its back.
And now she'd pay the price for it, along with everyone she'd ever cared about.
Drops of condensation formed and rolled down the inside of the tub, and Missy realized she was still breathing hard against its milky surface. She closed her eyes and willed herself to take slow, deep breaths. Loud gasping and panting would only betray her location more quickly.
Death was coming.
Not a metaphor, but a man with a singular purpose. Every second brought the increased certainty that he was getting closer with each step, scenting the night air for her, ready to draw back the shower curtain and reach in and snatch away her life before she had time to blink.
Missy knew that the gun in her hands might not be enough to stop Death when it came for her. But she'd fired plenty of guns in her life. She was a damn good shot, and she intended to do everything she could to put a bullet between its eyes before it had a chance to take her. One well-placed bullet—that's all it would take. One bullet could be the difference between living and dying in the next few minutes.
But as Missy hefted the revolver in her hands and felt its unexpected lightness, she had the slow, sickening realization that she wasn't even sure she had one bullet.
How many shots had she fired a few minutes before? She was surprised to discover that she couldn't remember, and she kicked herself inwardly. When the bullets started flying at the Eagles, she had just aimed and squeezed the trigger again and again, her blood pumping so loudly in her ears that it drowned out the thunder of the guns and made her forget to conserve her ammunition.
She offered a silent prayer to anyone who'd listen as she flipped open the revolver's cylinder, spinning through the chambers.
All empty. She'd fired all six of them without even realizing it. And as far as she knew, only her sixth bullet had managed to put one of the bastards down. She may as well have shoved the rest of them up her ass for all the good they'd done her.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. The kind of rookie mistake that was usually made by some amateur who couldn't keep her cool, not the daughter of one of the founding members of the Blood Eagles. Not the kind of mistake Missy would ever have made in a million years, if she hadn't been so worried about...
No. No time to think of him now. Only Death, and how to deal with him when he got to her.
As if on cue, Missy heard the flat smack of the door being kicked open in the motel room next to hers. She gritted her teeth as she listened to Death tearing the place apart like a cyclone, slamming the closet door open, flipping over the small desk, and shoving the bed aside to check underneath. She heard the sharp rasp of plastic rings sliding against a curtain rod on the other side of the bathroom's thin wall.
Well, so much for hoping Death is dumb enough not to check the shower, Missy thought queasily. She peered down at the gun in her hands and wondered if she could try to bluff him.
She immediately realized the question was moot. There was no choice. It was either that, or throw it at him and hope for the best.
And even if I don't shoot like a girl, Missy thought, I do happen to throw like one.
She stifled a hysterical giggle at this thought. Her nerves were sparking, stripped down to the copper. She knew she just had to keep it together for a few more minutes. Just enough to get out of this tub alive. Just enough to find a way to save her endangered Eagles from sudden extinction.
Missy heard Death stomping back to the door of the room next door, and braced herself. A moment later, she heard the sound of the cheap wood splitting away from the lock as the door to the room she was in slammed inward. There were the same sounds of furniture being pushed aside, this time accompanied by frustrated grunts.
Missy raised her gun, preparing for the inevitable. She told herself that she had to look cool, menacing, and in control. She had to instantly convince Death that she had the drop on him. Even a momentary flicker of fear or uncertainty in her eyes would be her undoing.
The shower curtain was raked aside, revealing the face of Death. He had beady black eyes that were set close together over a beak-like nose, and there were three tear-drop tattoos running down his left cheek. His upper lip was fixed in a permanent snarl by a jagged scar that lifted one corner of it.
Death carried a .44 semi-automatic with a long barrel that gleamed in the dim light of the bathroom, but before he could raise it, Missy thumbed back the hammer of her revolver with a loud click.
“Drop it,” Missy growled, “or prepare to feel fresh fucking air on your brain.”
Death blinked for a moment, surprised. Then he threw back his head and laughed.
“Man, I knew girls were supposed to be bad at math, but this shit's ridiculous,” he snickered. “Here, chica, let me teach you some basic fucking arithmetic. Six bullets...”
With the speed of a striking cobra, he smacked the revolver out of Missy's hands. It bounced off the wall and hit the bathroom floor, cracking the tiles into splinters.
“...minus six bullets...”
Before Missy could even raise her hands to defend herself, the barrel of her attacker's gun smashed against the side of her head.
“...equals you're fucked,” he finished.
Black waves of pain crashed against each other in Missy's skull until the world around her was swallowed up by a dark and bottomless ocean. She felt her knees give out and she started to sink beneath the chur
ning waters of unconsciousness, lower and lower with no bubbles, no way up, and no way of knowing whether she'd ever see the sunlight shimmering on the surface again.
Chapter 1
Cain
Four Days Earlier
It was an unseasonably warm evening, given the fact that it was December 12th in the small town of Micanaw, Ohio.
As Cain Vale stood a short distance from the rear of the Happy Teepee Motel & Trailer Camp and pissed into the scrubby grass, his thoughts turned to this same date two years before. It was a day he felt sure he would always remember, for three reasons.
The first reason was that it was the day Cain had been awarded the rank of Vice President of the Blood Eagles MC, and the patch that went with it.
