Hard Truth (The Alpha Antihero Series Book 4)

by Sybil Bartel

  Sheetrock raining down on her shoulder, she went stock-fucking-still and glared at me.

  I punched the wall again. “Answer me!”

  “Yes,” she yelled. “Is that what you want to hear? I came every damn time! How about that? Is that good enough? Does that justify your anger?”

  I walked the fuck out.

  Aiming for my Road King, leaving every fucking candle burning, I had the garage door up and my keys in hand before she caught up.

  “You brought me here,” she accused. “You were the one who kissed me. You don’t get to walk out!”

  “I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

  “Includin’ gettin’ your dick sucked and callin’ me a whore?”

  I turned on her in anger. “I never fucking called you that.”

  “No, you just implied it, and why not?” Her face red, her breath fast, she shoved me. “It makes it all my fault, doesn’t it?” Her finger jammed into my chest. “You get to stay high and mighty, because you claim you never fucked another woman in seven years.”

  “I didn’t,” I roared.

  “YES, YOU DID.”

  “I never fucked them!”

  “I don’t care!” she yelled back, shoving me again.

  Instead of laying a hand on her, my arm swept out, and I knocked every goddamn thing off my work bench. Tools hit the ground, shit flew across the garage, and I roared out in powerless anger. “I DIDN’T FUCK ANYONE.”

  “Well, maybe that’s your problem!” She kicked the tire of my bike with her bare foot. “Maybe you should fuck me!” she screamed as both her arms flew out and she turned to my Hog.

  Shocked motionless I watched the ball of fury that was once my woman roar in rage as she shoved with all her might and pushed my bike over.

  The Harley slammed to the ground, she turned to walk the hell out, and I snapped the fuck out of it.

  Lunging, I snatched her by her hair.

  Her head jerked back, her arms flew up, and she grabbed my wrist. “Let go.”

  Yanking her back against my chest and holding her there, I force-walked her to the workbench and shoved her down.

  Enraged, no control, holding the back of her neck, I spat anger at her. “You want to be fucked?” I pressed down on her hard. “Is that it? You want my fucking cock?”

  “Fuck you!”

  “ANSWER ME.”

  “Do it!” she taunted. “Fuck me, you asshole.” Stomping on my foot, she thrust her hips into my junk.

  I yanked her bullshit shorts down and slapped her ass.

  She yelped, but then she slammed her fist down on the bench. “Is that all you got? Harder.”

  I slapped her harder.

  My hand stinging, her ass red, my dick rock-hard, I unbuckled my belt. Yanking the leather free from my jeans, I wrapped half around my hand. “You want my fucking cock?” I whipped the belt against the workbench.

  She jumped, then cried out as her hair pulled against my tight hold.

  “Answer me,” I demanded, whipping the belt again. “You want me to fuck you?”

  “Fuck. You.”

  “Answer!”

  “Yes,” she ground out.

  I cracked the belt against the wood harder. “Not good enough.”

  “Fuck me right now, goddamn it!”

  Dropping the belt, yanking my jeans down, I fisted my dick. Then I did the last fucking thing I had any goddamn right to do.

  I shoved into her.

  My groan bled into her scream, echoing off the walls before hitting the early morning sunrise through the open garage door.

  Dry on the outside, wet on the inside, her cunt constricted around me.

  Jesus.

  Fucking.

  CHRIST.

  Too far gone to tend to her, I didn’t work her. I pulled out and slammed back in.

  Her hips hit the bench, her nails dug into the wood, and she cried out.

  My balls tight, my dick already pulsing, I spat words out as I thrust into her so fucking hard, the workbench shook. “Is this what you wanted?” Fuck, fuck. “You wanted my hard cock inside you?” About to fucking explode, I didn’t know what the hell I was saying. “You want to come on my dick?”

  She grunted as I slammed into her again.

  “You want your fucking cunt filled with my seed?”

  An unintelligible sound came out of her open mouth.

  “Who do you goddamn belong to?” Out of my head, I didn’t wait for a bullshit reply. We both knew who she belonged to. “I fucking own you. You come for no man. You don’t fuck any other goddamn cock but this one. You fucking hear me?” I slammed into her so hard, her thighs slapped against the wood, the bench banged into the wall, and her feet came off the ground.

  She cried out in pain, anger, desire—I didn’t fucking know.

  I didn’t care.

  Her cunt was hot, wet and shockingly tight, and I kept pounding into her as my head left my body.

  I was driving away my anger.

  Pounding away our past.

  Erasing every goddamn piece of shit who ever fucked her.

  She was mine.

  I was hers.

  I was anger.

  Because of her. Because of Hawkins. Because of the Hangman assholes. Because of River Ranch. Because of every-goddamn-thing.

  I fucked her harder.

  She cried.

  The sun rose.

  I fucked her.

  Light streamed into the garage.

  I fucked her.

  The workbench banged.

  I fucked her.

  Her back arched. She cried out. Her cunt spasmed around my dick.

  Like all those years ago in a different garage, I roared out my release into her womb, and I fucking fucked her.

  But she fucked me.

  With a thunderous growl, his voice ripped from his chest and roared through the garage. His fingers digging into my hips, holding me down, he let go and released inside me.

  After seven long years, Tarquin Scott came inside me.

  My pussy sore, my thighs bruised, my stab wound smarting, my face scraped up from the wooden bench, my lips curved up. “Tarquin,” I whispered.

  His shirtless chest heaving, his sweat-slick skin hot against me, he covered my back with his body, but he didn’t say anything.

  His hard length still deep inside me, his release already leaking out, I closed my eyes and breathed it all in.

  Finally, I was where I belonged.

  This was what we’d needed, what he’d needed. To be inside me, where he belonged. We needed to erase all the bad memories with good ones. I didn’t care how we did it. Words were just words, but his body inside mine, there was no mistaking that. There was no room for the past when we were like this.

  My heart feeling the first traces of hope, I placed my hand over his bloodied, bruised knuckles gripping the edge of the bench, and I whispered what we both needed to hear. “I’m yours, only yours.”

  He jerked his hand away, his chest left my back, and in the next instant, his thick cock abruptly pulled out of my body.

  My pussy still holding on to every inch of him that I could, I wasn’t prepared for his sudden movement. Gasping at the discomfort of his unapologetic departure, panic hit, and I turned to look up at him. “Tarquin?”

  Buttoning his jeans, not making eye contact, his grabbed his belt. “Go get cleaned up,” he ordered, his voice strained.

  My stomach bottomed out as his seed ran down my leg. “What are you doin’?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

  Threading his belt, he didn’t answer.

  I fought tears. “Tarquin?”

  His huge arm muscles bulging, he picked his bike up and inspected it.

  I begged. “Talk to me.”

  “Inside, Shaila.” All emotion gone from his tone, his expression locked, he squatted next to his bike.

  Oh, God. “I’m not sorry about what we just did.” It was the first time I could remember coming since I’d lost our baby
. I didn’t care how it’d happened or that he was rough or that parts of it hurt. I didn’t care if it made me bad or weak or screwed up that I’d enjoyed every second of it. “I don’t want you regretting it.” Please don’t regret it. He was inside me now. “Please.”

  “The neighbors will be up soon.” He reached for a wrench on the floor.

  Oh, God.

  He was shutting me out.

  He regretted it.

  Tears welling, my shorts at my feet, his come running down my legs, I didn’t care about the neighbors. I didn’t care about anything except the suddenly closed-off River Ranch-Ranger-biker squatting next to his Harley, tightening a bolt, who refused to look me in the eye.

  My Tarquin always looked me in the eye.

  Ashamed and drowning in crushing hurt, I picked my shorts up. Walking to the door that led into the house, praying it was unlocked, I forced myself not to look back. The handle blessedly turning under my hand, I went inside a house that was never going to be my home, and I was immediately hit with dozens of flickering tea lights scented like orange blossoms.

  My hands flew to my mouth to stop the audible part of my cry as tears dripped down my cheeks like his seed dripped down my legs. Starting to shake, from emotions, from pain, from wanting a pill and a drink so bad I hated myself, I didn’t understand how I had anything left to break.

  But then the Harley roared to life, and it didn’t matter whether I understood it or not.

  Hurt eclipsed everything as the modified pipes rumbled, muffled only by a single wall. Desperation driving me, I reached for the door to the garage just as I heard the distinctive click of him putting the bike into gear.

  I yanked the door open. “Tarquin.”

  His muscles flexed beneath his ink-covered shoulders, and he revved the engine. Not even glancing back, he took off.

  I shut the door and burst into tears.

  Then, with his sticky release running down my legs and tears streaming down my face, I blew out every single candle.

  I drove the fuck away.

  Ten miles later, knowing what I had to do, I pulled over and fished an old T-shirt out of my saddlebag and threw it on before I dialed my cell. It rang three times.

  “Luna.”

  I didn’t identify myself. The fucker knew who was calling. “I need a favor.”

  Luna muttered a curse in Spanish. “You’re out of favors.”

  “You sleep next to the reason I can ask for any damn favor I want.” Asshole.

  “Fine.” He sighed. “What do you need?”

  “Get her out of my house and keep her safe in one of your secure apartments. Couple days.”

  “Jesucristo, what the fuck are you gonna do?”

  “I’m n—”

  “You know what,” Luna interrupted, “don’t tell me.”

  “I wasn’t about to.” Who the fuck did he think I was? One of his ass-kissing employees?

  “I don’t want to know,” he continued as if I hadn’t said shit. “I don’t want to implicate myself. And for the record, if you get arrested again, I don’t know you. Don’t call me, don’t call Kendall, don’t call L&A. You’re on your own.”

  “I’m not going to get arrested.” Maybe. “How fast can you come get her?”

  “It’s seven a.m. and I’m four hours south. I’m not your personal retrieval service. I need time to set something up. I’m busy as fuck.”

  Not my problem. “Hire more jarheads.”

  “Come work for me and you can do your own damn armored transport.”

  Refraining from telling him to fuck off, I didn’t say shit.

  “Cristo,” Luna muttered. “Give me a minute.” He hung up.

  I waited on the side of the road.

  Thirty seconds later, he called back. “All right, four hours, Shade and Ronan will be there. I’m on a timeline. I need them back here ASAP, so tell her to be ready.”

  Fuck. “She doesn’t know she’s going, and she needs her clothes from Talerco’s.”

  “Madre de Dios, fucking perfecto.” Luna inhaled deep. “Fine. They’ll handle it, but you’re gonna owe me for this. Next time I have to deal with any fucking MCs, anywhere in the goddamn state, you’re handling it.”

  “I’m not a fucking biker.” Or one of his employees.

  He snorted. “Right. Where you calling me from? It sounds like you’re sitting on your bike on the side of the damn highway.”

  Prick. “Owning a Hog doesn’t make me a biker.”

  “The simple fact that you called your Harley a Hog says it all, but I don’t give a fuck what you ride or drive. You look like a biker and shoot like a sniper. That’s all I care about. So fucking remember this moment, because I will cash in one day. Four hours. Shade and Ronan will be there. Warn her or don’t, I no longer care.” Luna hung up.

  I made one more call, then I shoved my phone in my pocket and drove to Hialeah.

  Sore between my legs, my face stinging where my cheek had scraped against the wooden workbench, I got in the shower in the guest room because I couldn’t bring myself to walk back into his bedroom.

  My body aching like I’d run ten miles, I scrubbed down and washed my hair. When the fluffy towel was around me, I could barely stand. Physically and emotionally drained, I wanted to fall asleep and wake up and just have everything be okay. But I didn’t get okay.

  I’d never gotten okay.

  I was the daughter of a conniving murderer and a junkie, and clearly I hadn’t found my way outta trouble yet.

  Crawling into Kendall’s bed, hating that she’d lived here, hating that she’d gotten to spend time with Tarquin, hating that he’d left, again, I closed my eyes. If I could fall asleep, I told myself shit would be better when I woke up. I could call the surf shop once it opened, ask Braige to come get me, and then I could just… not look back.

  The thought made tears well, and I shoved it down like I always shoved everything down.

  “Come on, girl,” I whispered into the soft pillow. “Just go to sleep. One thing at a time.”

  Sun streaming in through the filmy curtains, the covers pulled up to my chin, my body naked except for the towel still wrapped around me, I somehow managed to fall asleep.

  What felt like minutes later, a deep voice interrupted my sleep a second before the bed dipped.

  “Wake up, princess.”

  Maybe it was because it wasn’t his voice, maybe it was because I’d lived in a clubhouse for seven years and had never gotten uninterrupted sleep, but I didn’t flinch at the sound of the unfamiliar male voice. I didn’t even stir.

  But I did wonder if this was it.

  Was I going to open my eyes for the last time?

  Take my last breath?

  Was some dirty Hangman going to gut me before I could scream?

  “Princess not working for you? Too subtle?” the male voice asked. “Come on. I know you’re awake.”

  Opening my eyes, I rolled over.

  The driver, Shade. With another man standing in the doorway who looked everywhere but at me. Both of them were in black cargo pants, black boots, and black polo shirts with an L&A logo on the chest. Shade had two guns strapped to his waist, one on each side like he was going to draw them simultaneously, and the other man had only one on his right hip.

  Dropping my plastic bag of clothes from Talon’s on the bed, Shade set my boots on the floor, then stood. “Up and at ’em, princess. We’re on a schedule.”

  I blinked.

  Shade smirked. “Let me guess, Ranger boy didn’t tell you we were coming.”

  He didn’t phrase it as a question, but I answered it anyway. “No.”

  “We’re here at his request. It’s apparently not safe for you to be alone. You’re coming with us.”

  What? “Where?”

  “Miami. Luna and Associates headquarters. One of the secure client apartments, to be exact. Let’s go.”

  Alarm spread. “Where’s Tarquin? I’m not goin’ anywhere till I talk to him.”

&nb
sp; This time Shade didn’t bother with a smirk, he outright snorted. “Good luck with that.”

  The man in the doorway looked at his watch. “We needed to be on the road two minutes ago.”

  Shade tipped his chin toward the other guy but kept his gaze on me. “What RC said.”

  “RC?” I asked, trying to process everything.

  “Ronan,” the man in the doorway corrected, looking down the hall. “That many candles is dangerous.”

  Shade smirked again. “Trust him, he should know. He was EOD.”

  My head was spinning. “EOD?” Where the hell was Candle and what was he up to?

  “Yeah, he was an explosive ordnance disposal tech. AKA bombs. You don’t want to fuck with him. Time’s up, princess. Throw some clothes on and let’s go.” Shade turned toward the door. “You got thirty seconds.”

  I suddenly remembered the new phone Tarquin had given me that I’d set on the nightstand last night after he’d tossed me on his bed. The way he’d held me after that seemed like a lifetime ago. “I need to make a call.”

  “Hurry up,” Shade called over his shoulder. “Twenty-five seconds. If you’re not dressed by then, I’m carrying you out as is.” Following Ronan, he stepped into the hall.

  I scrambled for my phone, thankful I’d brought it into Kendall’s room and prayed Tarquin had programmed his number into it. Seeing that he did, I dialed as I yanked a shirt over my head.

  The call went straight to voice mail, then Tarquin’s deep, recorded voice haunted me. “Don’t leave a message. I don’t give a fuck what you have to say.” The beep sounded.

  Pulling on shorts, I left one anyway. “Tarquin, where are you? Two men from L&A are here, and they’re sayin’ I’m not safe and that you told ’em to come get me. What’s goin’ on? I’m not goin’ anywhere till I hear from you. Call me back.” Not bothering with my boots, I grabbed the flip-flops that were in the bag and dropped them to the floor before stepping into them.

  Shade walked back in. “Time’s up, princess.”

  “Quit callin’ me that.”

  “Copy that, princess. Let’s go.”

  Asshole. “I’m not goin’ anywhere till I hear from Tarquin. And I’m definitely not goin’ to Miami. I have a job to get to.”

  Hands on his hips by his guns, Shade gave me a look. Somewhere between bored and disinterested and solidly in the put-upon camp, he sighed. “Easy way or hard way. Your call.”