His heart still pounded every time he thought about her going up against Gilbert Tregre and his leopard. The man was evil and his leopard even more so. She’d tried to gloss over the telling, knowing he wasn’t going to like how she’d done it, but she was alive, and that was what mattered to him. She’d been quick thinking, courageous, and she’d stayed alive.
Anton had answered the question of why Gilbert Tregre had challenged Timur for Ashe. Like Anton, Gilbert had been close enough to Ashe that he felt the difference in his leopard and wanted to give him that gift of calm. Had he just realized Evangeline could do the same thing years earlier, he might have been a different man, or he might have been a worse one. They’d never know.
They’d closed the bakery for a couple of months stating they were expanding. Building was in progress. That meant replacing the floors that would have evidence should they ever be under investigation. Putting the two shops together allowed Fyodor and Timur to build in more defenses besides just bulletproof glass in the front. He should have replaced the windows in the kitchen when he’d replaced the front of Evangeline’s store.
“Come to bed,” Ashe murmured sleepily without opening her eyes.
“I like looking at you.” He wasn’t lying. He loved looking at her.
“I like feeling you next to me.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. Joy always welled up when he was near her. “You sleep like a starfish, all spread out. It isn’t like I can fit.”
“You fit perfectly.”
“Don’t try seduction. I’ve already taken care of you tonight. Twice. You’re becoming insatiable,” he teased.
“If that’s the only way I can ever get you in bed with me, I have no choice then.”
The laughter in her voice felt like velvet rubbing caresses over his skin. How did she do that? How did she make him feel so happy? What had really changed? He was in a dangerous job, with cops believing he was a criminal. If the criminals found out what they were doing, there was no place in the world any of them would be able to hide for long. None of that mattered because Ashe made it better.
He settled on the edge of the mattress, his palm on the curve of her right cheek. He spread his fingers wide. “You make my life so much better.”
Her lashes fluttered and then lifted. She angled her head so she could look at him. “I’m so in love with you, Timur.”
“I live in a very dangerous world, malen’kiy smerch . You might be my little badass tornado, but we’ll have a family. You’re going to get pregnant, and our children will have to go to school with other children whose parents won’t want you or them around their families. Money can buy a lot of things, baby, but the looks they’ll give you won’t be nice. They’ll whisper behind your back …”
“I’ve thought of that,” she admitted. “Mostly, after talking to Evangeline. I grew up away from everyone, so I have no reference to what it would be like in school. She didn’t either, and she’s worried for her children. She asked me if I thought it would be a terrible thing to homeschool them. At the time, I said it was a distance in the future and we should cross that bridge when we came to it. Still, it made me think.”
“What did you think?” He began a slow massage. Her skin was always so warm and inviting. She never moved away from him or denied him touching her. He loved that about her.
“I didn’t know what to think. I really didn’t miss going to school because I never went. I didn’t miss having other children around. I was too busy. When I got older and went out on my own, I had to catch up socially. All the books in the world don’t prepare you, but I did it. Evangeline said there are other women, wives of some of the other men. She likes them and says I will too. They’ll have children. Our children can be friends.”
He bent his head to press a kiss to the small of her back. “You’re absolutely right, they will have children, and we can make certain they get together.”
“What are you going to do about your uncles? Lazar and Rolan?”
“Nothing. Not right now. We’ve gotten word out to all our friends to watch them and every entry point we know they use to get in and out of the States. We’ll be prepared, but the more time we have, the better that will be.”
“You don’t sound worried.”
“I’m not. Their greatest weapon is a leopard. Leopards are scarce. We killed not only his top man, but several of his best soldiers. We also destroyed the leopards who had joined with Beau and Gilbert, which meant his local recruits are stamped out. If we missed any of them, Drake is bound to ferret them out. He’s that pissed. He isn’t likely to miss anyone or anything this time around. And Joshua is looking closely at all the men who had originally worked for Rafe Cordeau. Neither Lazar or Rolan is going to chance losing any more of their assets until they’re stronger. That means alliances. We’re working on a plan.”
“What if they just decide to kill all of you and get it over with? They could put a hit out on you.”
“We would know immediately. He would have to go to someone like Elijah. There is no way he knows Elijah, or Joshua, for that matter, is working for the other side. In any case, baby, we’re safe for a while. They might not make their move for a long time. Or they’ll decide to come after us immediately. I have no control over either choice. At the moment, they’re in Russia and we’re here. All we can do is prepare and keep our eyes open.”
“I suppose you’re right. They just feel a little like a sword hanging over our heads. That has to be the way my parents felt their entire lives.”
Living with a sword hanging over his head was the way he’d lived his entire life, and it felt natural to him. “I wish I could have met them. I would have thanked them for teaching you how to defend yourself. You probably saved Gorya’s life. Possibly Jeremiah too.”
She made a face. “Jeremiah needed someone to shoot him.”
He laughed and she joined with him. “You two fight like brother and sister.”
“Don’t ever tell him, but I kind of feel like he’s my brother,” Ashe admitted.
“Has Fyodor told Evangeline about her father and uncle?”
“Yes. Yesterday. We’ve had work crews in tearing up the place just in case those damn cops come around looking for Evangeline’s pastries. Speaking of, what was up with all the charcoaled croissants they had to throw in the Dumpsters?”
She leaned over and bit his wrist. He retaliated by smacking her bottom, not that it did much good—she just laughed.
“Don’t ever say the word croissant in front of me again, Timur. And just so you know, if someone tells you baking is far easier than cooking, don’t believe a word they say. I told Evangeline she was a liar, a straight up liar.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek, right where his handprint was. “The word croissant is stricken forever from my vocabulary.”
“It had better be stricken from Jeremiah’s as well,” she said. “And do we have to have fire alarms? I really hate the things.
“Absolutely we do.” He nuzzled her back with his chin and then planted a trail of kisses from her shoulder to the dents just above the curve of her buttocks. “I forgot to tell you.”
“What?” She half lifted her torso up, but he pressed her back down with a hand to the middle of her back.
“Armande confessed everything. Beau threatened his sister. He said he was terrified they’d kill her if he didn’t cooperate.”
She frowned. “Do you believe him?”
“I’m not certain. I don’t know what to think about him. It’s Drake’s problem. He’ll interrogate him and decide what to do. We’re out of that.”
Timur wrote a short poem on her back. Nothing fancy or flowery, just the way he felt, like waking up to sunshine. She didn’t realize that every dirty Fed or cop that came at them was going to be put in the ground. They had no choice if they wanted to live. They couldn’t be blackmailed. They had to appear dirty even to the men working for them outside their close circles. It was the only way to stay alive.
“What about Christophe and Ambroise?”
“Fyodor is handling that, which is a very good thing. I’ve got other things on my mind.”
“What other things?” She eyed him suspiciously.
He stroked a caress over her bottom and then shifted his body, sliding between her widespread legs. “This kind of other things.” He hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her to her knees, one hand at the nape of her neck so she stayed with her head on the mattress. “I know how you can’t go without me for more than”—he glanced at the clock—“an hour and fifteen minutes.”
Her laughter was muffled by the sheets. “You’re so right. Feel me.”
He did as she said, slipping his hand between her legs to find her slick and hot, just the way she was every time he did it. “Now you’ve got me in a dilemma. Do I feast on you? I’m pretty hungry. My woman refused to cook dinner tonight.”
“You know darn well I can’t cook, and you only asked to tease me. I wouldn’t want you to go hungry though.” She wiggled her bottom at him.
She was so beautiful she took his breath. He laid his forehead against all that soft skin, skin that was his because she gave it to him. Her gifts were priceless. When he married her, and that was going to be soon, she was going to get the book of poetry he had written for her. Every word was what he felt about Ashe Bronte Mostafa, soon to be Ashe Bronte Amurov. That was such a better fit with her exotic name.
“I want your mouth,” she demanded.
He found himself with a silly grin on his face. “Then you don’t get to move. The moment you move, I take it away.”
She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Apparently you want to play one of your many silly sex games.”
She loved his games and he knew it. “Sexy games,” he corrected. “And just so you know, I’m so in love with you too. So much so, baby, that we’re getting married as soon as the doc gives Gorya the okay to attend our wedding.” Before she could answer, he began one of his favorite things—devouring her.
Keep reading for an excerpt from
VENGEANCE ROAD
The next book in the new Torpedo Ink series by Christine Feehan
Available January 2019 from Jove
BREEZY Simmons leaned against her pickup for a moment, staring at the large building that housed the Torpedo Ink Motorcycle Club. Her heart beat so hard in her chest, she was afraid she might vomit. The world spun uncontrollably, and she quickly leaned down, putting her head between her legs, drawing in great gulps of air. She caught a glimpse of two men on the other side of the compound as her head went toward the asphalt, and she didn’t recognize either of them. That made her pounding heart sink.
She couldn’t possibly have the wrong club. This had to be them. She was running out of time and options. Drawing big gulps of air into her lungs, she slowly righted herself and took another cautious look around. The two men stared at her from across the parking lot. She was careful not to look at them too long. She didn’t want them coming anywhere near her. She needed to get in and out very fast.
The Torpedo Ink compound was extremely large and had a high chain-link fence surrounding it. There was even razor wire up on top of the fence, making the place look like a fortress. The rolling gates were wide open, and she’d driven her truck right inside, parking as close to the clubhouse as possible. She deliberately left the door to her beat-up pickup open and the engine running. Hopefully no one recognized her and she could get in and out of the building quickly, once she ascertained these were the right people, the ones she was looking for.
In the early morning hours the club was just beginning to stir. Clearly they’d partied hard over the weekend. In the enormous side yard, the one with the beautiful ocean view, she could see the embers in the fire pits glowing as the breeze stirred them up. A man with his back to her watered them down with a hose. He wore a tight tee and jeans, but no colors. Still, she knew this was the home of the club calling themselves Torpedo Ink. She sent up a silent prayer that this was the one she’d been looking for.
There were empty bottles strewn around the grass and on the ground to the side of the building in the wide expanse of open field. Cars, motorcycles and trucks were scattered around the parking lot, although no one parked where the club did. Their motorcycles were lined up neatly and a prospect watched over them. He sat on the curb looking at her. She was parked too close to the precious bikes, but she didn’t care—although it had drawn the attention of the prospect.
Another long line of motorcycles was parked a short distance from the clubhouse and a prospect watched over those bikes as well. He looked at her without much interest, which indicated to her that these bikes belonged to a visiting club. He wasn’t as interested in protecting the grounds as the prospect closest to the clubhouse.
She had to get this over with. Just being in such close proximity to an MC made her sick. The fact that she knew what had gone on at the party made her even sicker. That this might be his club and she had to risk running into him made all that far worse.
Breezy squared her shoulders, dragged the envelope off the seat and turned all in one motion. The prospect was on his feet. If she knew for certain this was the right club, she would have thrust the letter into his hands and left, but she was guessing from a process of elimination.
She purposely hadn’t kept track of him, especially when she heard, a year after she left, that eighteen members of the Swords had set up the international president for assassination and had allegedly wiped out a number of members and disappeared. She knew who those eighteen members were immediately and, knowing them, she knew it was possible when others said it wasn’t. She’d run as far from the life as she could and now she was pulled right back in.
The parties. The violence. The utter disregard and disdain for women. She shut that down fast and walked with brisk, purposeful steps to the club. She yanked open the door and went right in. It smelled just the way she remembered. Booze. Sex. Weed. Her stomach lurched. God. God. She couldn’t stand walking into the clubhouse, let alone anything else.
The common room was enormous. One side held a long, curving bar; in the center of the room were tables and chairs, and the other side had several couches and armchairs. Sleeping bodies were everywhere. A woman picked up bottles and put them into a garbage bag, dumping paper plates along with the other trash as she moved through the mostly naked bodies strewn around the floor. She glanced at Breezy but didn’t say anything. She kept picking up trash as if on automatic pilot. Breezy remembered what that was like. She could have been that woman.
Breezy didn’t recognize any of the men lying on the floor or slumped in the chairs that she could see, and her heart sank. She paused by the long curved bar, her gaze going from one face to the next. Half naked or naked men and women were draped in chairs around the room or on the floor. Most snored softly, but one woman was busy going down on a man with wild blond hair and ice-blue eyes. Three teardrops were tattooed like drops of ice dripping down his face.
He slumped in a chair, looking almost bored, his eyes at half mast as the woman knelt at his feet, her mouth busy, while another one kissed her way up his chest. Across from him, a second man who looked exactly like the blond, obviously his twin, watched, his fist around his impressive and somewhat intimidating cock. The one with the teardrop tattoos indicated to the woman kissing his chest to go to his watching brother with a jerk of his chin. She immediately dropped to her hands and knees and crawled between the thighs of the other man.
It was them. The right club. The men she had searched for. She’d found them. She recognized the twins and her heart kicked into overdrive. How could she not recognize them? They were gorgeous men. As cold as ice, but beautiful. The one with the tattoos—Ice had been his name—suddenly lifted his gaze and met hers. Her heart stuttered at the recognition she saw in his eyes.
She slapped the envelope onto the bar.
“Give that to Steele.”
She turned to go, her gaze sliding around the
room once more.
At the sound of her voice, three women stirred in the far corner of the room, their sleeping bodies pushed aside by the man who lay under them. The movement drew her eye. He half sat, shoving at the dark hair spilling onto his forehead. It was thick and wild, a little out of control. He blinked drowsily at her. Her heart faltered. Stopped. They stared at one another, and her stomach lurched.
Breezy threw dignity to the wind. She ran. Fast. She heard the sharp whistle following her, but she had already flung herself into her pickup and she threw it into reverse, her foot stomping on the gas pedal. She pressed down hard, and the truck roared as it backed all the way through the rapidly closing gates. Men poured out of the clubhouse—she could see them through her windshield when she glanced at them—but they were mostly naked, and the gates had closed behind her with a loud clang. She was on one side, the side of freedom; they were on the other, those gates holding them in. For once, luck was on her side.
She backed straight into the street, thankful it was so early and there was no traffic. Throwing the pickup into drive, she nearly spun out of control as she overcorrected, before straightening out and taking off toward Highway 1. She had a plan, just in case, and she was grateful she’d made that plan. Her entire body trembled, so much so that it was difficult holding on to the steering wheel. But she did so, her knuckles turning white.
Why did it hurt? He’d made it very, very clear she was nothing to him. Another club girl. No, lower than that. A whore. One her family pimped out. A drug mule. Nothing. She was nothing. She’d thought he was her world and all the while he’d been plotting to take down her family’s club. She’d loved him. He’d used her and then threw her away, shattering every dream, every hope she’d ever had.
Her vision blurred, and she swiped at her eyes, furious that he’d made her cry again. That he could make her cry again. She’d cried enough tears over him. The liar. He was just like all the others in the clubs. Women were nothing to them. Nothing. They used them. Humiliated them. She’d been born into that life, but she didn’t have to stay there. She wasn’t that girl. Not anymore. Not ever again.
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