Her Ransom: Royal Bastards MC - Miami, FL

by Addison Jane

  The guy was gorgeous, he was sexy as hell, and when he opened that damn mouth and spoke, you could tell he was smart as well.

  A more than lethal combination if I didn’t protect myself. “No, but go ahead, tell me about your name?” I asked, pressing my fingers to my temple.

  Hype strummed his fingers on the wheel. “Hypnos. God of sleep. Grew poppies outside his cave.”

  Poppies.

  I frowned. “As in… opium?” My brain fought back to high school science, the switch switching on, my eyes lighting up. “Heroin? That’s what this is about? You’re dealing heroin?”

  No response.

  His eyes still focused on the road ahead.

  “Wow, you must feel really damn good about yourself, filling the streets with that shit.” I turned my body to face him with this building anger simmering in my veins. “It kills people! It destroys families! I work in a fucking hospital. Are you kidding?” I couldn’t comprehend right now, how I could feel anything about a man who was infecting the world with something so damn toxic.

  Not a care for anyone else but his precious club.

  Hype pressed his foot to the brake, jolting my body forward for a second and slowing us all the way down. His jaw was clenched, his lips pursed. “When’s the last time you had a drug-related incident at the hospital? When’s the last time someone came in, overdosed? High? Fucking dead?”

  My brain was ticking over.

  Over and over, but nothing came.

  I couldn’t think.

  I couldn’t remember. And I blamed him for being so freaking close for not being able to get my head right.

  He slammed his palm against the wheel, my entire body jolting like I’d been shocked. “Not fucking recently, right? You wanna know why, princess?” he taunted, turning his complete attention to me for a brief second like he needed to know I was listening. “Because I am the fucking king here.”

  I couldn’t breathe.

  “We are bastards! Yeah, I never said I fucking wasn’t, but if there is one thing you won’t find in our city, it’s a motherfucker dealing their drugs on our streets.” He turned back to the road, suddenly releasing me from the intense look in his eyes and allowing me to breathe again. “When I was fifteen, I walked in on my mom dead. Overdosed. She’d been there like that for at least a couple of weeks. The smell made me vomit.”

  I couldn’t move.

  Couldn’t speak.

  His face was pinched so tight it was like he was in some kind of physical pain. “I’d been practically living with Hatch and his parents at that point. The club took me in, fed me, clothed me, made sure I had lunch to take to school, and I was passing my classes. They have high standards for their teens.”

  Suddenly, the tables had turned. Here I was, ready to lay down, fight him, make him feel like a horrible human being, and yet, I wanted to reach out. To comfort him.

  It was a brief fleeting second but, in that moment, I could see he wasn’t this stone-cold, do- what-the-fuck-you-have-to-do machine. There was a vulnerability there, and it grabbed hold of my heart. It dragged me back, reminding me he was simply human.

  He finally sat up, straightening his back before rolling his shoulders like he was fighting to keep his shit under control, and yet all I wanted was to see it. To see the raw part, so I could explain to myself maybe why I was finding it so fucking hard to look away from him.

  Hype, the criminal, the drug trafficker, and the only guy who’s ever made my mind and body feel the way they do when he touches me.

  “We send our shit to other places,” he continued. “That was a choice I made when I started this. Yeah, you might think that doesn’t make a fucking difference, but it eases me. Our other chapters take it, other cities…” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What they do with it, their business. What we do with it or don’t do with it, is fucking ours.”

  “Why are you explaining this to me,” I questioned softly, the anger disappearing.

  “I don’t pretend to be a fucking saint,” he snapped, the sharpness at the edge of his tone cutting through me. “But I take responsibility for my fucking choices. For the things I fucking do. Because I do it for the club, and to support my fucking family… the people who had my back when no one else did. And when it comes down to it, you’d do the fucking same.”

  “That doesn’t make it okay.” My voice was barely above a whisper, all the fight I’d been building in me was gone.

  “No, but if I had to kill someone to keep my club and the people I care about safe and alive, guess what I’d do? Grab my damn gun. Does that make it fucking right?” he challenged, turning to me for a second, his eyes narrowed darkly. “No. But I’d still do it. I’d kill them. Over and fucking over. And if you don’t understand that, then you’ve never had anyone in your life that you’ve loved enough to fucking kill for.”

  Then he was done talking.

  And I felt like a fucking idiot.

  I didn’t know what hurt more.

  The fact that I actually understood his reasoning or the fact that maybe he was right.

  Maybe there was no one in my life who I’ve loved hard enough to kill for?

  And if that’s the case, how do I know I’ve even felt love at all?

  HYPE

  My brother led the way up the short set of steps and into the modest little home on the most average little side street.

  There weren’t many houses here, a few places like this scattered up and down the street that backed onto the local golf course. It was good, close to town, close to the Tampa clubhouse, but still out of the way.

  For the most part, I’d stay with her, have one of Nycto’s boys on watch around the clock too, but I needed to head back down today to meet with Sage’s dad. If he’s as dirty as Arthur said he is, he could just name his price, and we could be done with all this bullshit. No fucking drama. Then I’d have to watch Sage walk out.

  Half of me hopes it’s that fucking easy.

  The other half?

  That half hopes that Jason Calder is a bastard, and I had an excuse to come back up here and fucking take advantage of Sage’s anger.

  Nycto stepped through the door, Sage right behind him with my hand on her back, her lips zipped closed, and her eyes looking absolutely exhausted. The ride up here had been more than fucking painful. Apparently, my dick didn’t understand just how badly she wanted to cut him off right now because he couldn’t help but be fucking rock-hard for half the ride.

  “It’s nothing fancy. Living room, kitchen, dining, bathroom, hallway with two rooms. Hers has a bathroom attached,” Nycto rattled off, his eyes on her, examining, looking her over.

  I guess you could say that there was one massive difference between the Tampa club and ours—our choice of business.

  “Bitch is hot,” he praised, folding his arms across his chest and admiring her for a second.

  Sage spun around, her eyes narrowed nervously on him before looking to me. Maybe for some kind of reassurance. “I could get you some money for her if this shit doesn’t work out with her daddy.”

  Her softly tanned skin looked like it instantly paled, her shoulders slumping, and her body becoming weak.

  “That’s right, pretty girl,” I teased, knowing it was hitting home right at that moment that yeah, our club had been pretty fucking good to her so far, but there were some out there who would have already had her working the streets if they got their hands on her. “My ransom could be shit compared to what some of these assholes will pay for you.”

  She hit me with a heavy glare, tears balancing precariously on her bottom lashes. “Go on then, do it!”

  I was already moving before I knew it, wrapping my arms around her and lifting her off her feet, carrying her straight through into the bedroom at the end of the hall. “You wanna be a whore?” I growled, tossing her onto the bed.

  She sat shocked for a second before finding herself and scrambling back to her feet. “Turns out I already am,” she spat back, the tears d
ripping now. “With the way you treated me yesterday, that’s what I fucking feel like.”

  A wave of fire rushed over me, an angry blaze swirling around me. “You think I treated you like a fucking whore? I could have invited every single one of my fucking brothers over last night. I could have let them all fuck you. One after the fucking other.” I moved forward, seeing the way she was struggling to breathe, knowing that she was right now imagining just how fucking bad it could have been.

  “I did everything but treat you like a fucking whore,” I growled, rushing forward and getting right in her space. She jerked back, and I grabbed her wrist, tugging her back toward me. Her eyes were sparkling with tears, her soft pouty fucking lips were just begging to be kissed.

  What the fuck was it about this woman that got me so twisted?

  I dipped my head, placing my mouth right beside her ear. “Instead, I worshiped you. Made you come, over, and over, and ove—”

  “Stop it,” she hissed, trying to push me away.

  But instead, I reached up, my hand at her throat, forcing her to suck in a sharp breath. She grabbed my belt, holding it tightly to try and steady herself.

  Maybe she was naïve.

  Maybe she was fucking stupid for taking a criminal like me home with her.

  She didn’t know me.

  She didn’t know what the hell I could have done to her.

  “I bet you can still feel me inside you, can’t you?” I growled, tightening my grip on her neck just enough to force her mouth to fall open. Letting go of her wrist, I pressed my palm to her stomach and slipped my hand down the front of her panties, enjoying the way her eyes watched me, narrowed and disobedient, but she didn’t object. My finger slipped between her folds, slowly circling her clit. “Bet you’re trying to fight the memories right now, the way you screamed, the way you begged for more because no other fucking bastard has the balls to give you exactly what you want. All those things you’re scared to be excited by because no other man would understand.”

  Her body was fighting the reaction she was having. Her hips pressed forward, eagerly seeking more pressure, more something so she could get off. All while she glared up at me, that fierce little kitten who growled at me last night, growing up, finding herself, finding her strength, her fucking roar.

  I moved my fingers a little faster.

  Flicking them back and forth, my cock hardening as I listened to her breathing build and her heartrate pound against my palm. “I could let Nycto ship you the fuck out of here in seconds,” I warned with a whisper, at the same time admiring how her body was moving, grinding against my hand. “It would be such a shame to ruin such a perfect fucking pussy, but maybe you need to learn.”

  I pulled my hand from her pants, her shoulders drooping and her fingers tightening on my belt. She was right there, right at the fucking edge, and I’d pulled back.

  “You need to learn I’m the one in control here.” I raised my fingers to my lips, collecting that delicious fucking taste of her on the end of my tongue. “And you don’t come until I say you do.”

  “I’ll make myself come,” she spat, her voice barely a whisper, but with that sharp defiance instantly making me want to bend her over right now and shove my dick in every fucking hole.

  “You’re pushing it, Sage,” I warned.

  “Or maybe I’ll ask one of your brothers to help.”

  I let her go and turned, pulling my fist back and driving it into the fucking wall. The plasterboard gave way, cracking instantly under the pressure, and along with it, tearing out my goddamn stitches. I felt each one of them pop, snapping under the pressure. “Motherfucker!” I cursed, my now aching hand going to the wound, pressing hard against it as I felt it open straight back up again. “Goddamn!” I threw my head back, pinching my eyes closed.

  The door slammed open, Nycto and Hatch rushing inside. “What the fuck is going on?” My president demanded with a roar.

  “Here.” Petite fingers tugged at my hand, pulling the pressure away from my wound and quickly replacing it with a cloth. I was fucking sweating, the pain shooting up and down my arm, almost as bad as when Hatch had fucking sliced through me yesterday.

  “Stop touching it. Stop!” The sharpness in her tone had changed. The angry edge gone.

  I dropped my chin, opening my eyes to find Sage standing right in front of me, a determined glare on her face as she pressed a white towel against the stupid cut. Not my fucking brightest moment.

  She looked over her shoulder at Hatch, who just happened to be fucking shooting laser beams at me with his death stare. “If you have some first-aid stuff, I can re-stitch it.”

  Nycto’s studying gaze moved between the three of us.

  Maybe waiting for something to break.

  It was fucking inevitable.

  “Yeah, I’ll call Dash and get him to bring it over from the clubhouse,” Nycto answered finally, slipping his phone from his pocket as he left the room, throwing one last confused look over his shoulder.

  “You let her patch you up,” Hatch started, his heavy tone already a dark warning. “Then we need to get the fuck back to Miami and get this shit over with.” He turned, stomping back out and pulling the door shut behind him.

  Sage jumped when it slammed, her fingers slipping just slightly, making me cringe. “Sorry,” she whispered, her eyes falling to the floor. “Here, hold this.”

  I covered the cloth with my hand, and she instantly jumped back, putting space between us like there was some kind of electric field forcing her away. “You know how to stitch it up?”

  She shuffled back, sitting on the bed. “Yeah, I started my nursing course a few years ago.”

  I frowned, shaking my head. “You’re in school?”

  “Was in school.”

  The anger swirling in the air had settled. I knew I should just walk out, put the distance back between us so there were fucking boundaries. But I couldn’t. I wanted to know her, wanted to know what made her, her.

  I was just going to have to do it my way—by being the fucking bastard I am. I moved back, taking a seat on the small chair a few feet from the bed and leaning back, waiting.

  Her fingers picked at the blanket beneath her, plucking tiny bits of fluff and thread. “My mom was killed when I was thirteen.”

  I knew.

  “She hid me under the stairs. But there was no room for her.”

  “She protected you.”

  “She abandoned me,” she whispered, the emotion in her tone surprising me. “Left me there, not thinking about what kind of scars that was going to leave on my soul. I had to listen to them beat her… rape her. Kill her.”

  I could feel that anger building again, beginning in the bottom of my stomach and radiating outward. But this time, it wasn’t about her, it wasn’t about me or fucking us. It was about the damage someone had done to hurt her.

  It was about the things I could see haunting her.

  I wanted to take that. To fucking take it away and replace all that damn pain that she never deserved.

  “For the most part, I was okay with the medical side of things,” she continued, clearing her throat a couple of times and covering the uncomfortableness with light laughter. “It was the mental side I found myself not coping with. I couldn’t do rape kits. I couldn’t look abuse victims in the eye without thinking, Well, you’re lucky to be alive!”

  She shuddered, that kind part of her soul, knowing that it was just anger had her thinking those things.

  “I’m a horrible person.”

  “You’re a survivor,” I argued, her eyes jerking up to meet mine.

  “A survivor who keeps to herself. Who doesn’t go out. Who can’t stand silence. And who still has nightmares.”

  “We do what we have to do,” I argued, wondering how she hadn’t seen it yet. “You are a fucking survivor because you do what you need to do to survive. Whether that be sleeping with the television on or choosing to stay in on the fucking weekends instead of going out. And you know
what, sometimes those people need to talk to a survivor. They need to hear that it gets better.”

  She stared at me for a few seconds.

  I wanted to walk over, wrap her up, and fucking stop anything from hurting her. But right now, I knew it was best if I kept my distance.

  Things hadn’t even begun, and this fucking rollercoaster was already shooting straight out of the damn gates.

  And off the fucking rails.

  HYPE

  “He’s pulling in the driveway now,” old Arthur explained, taking a seat in his armchair.

  He sipped at a glass of whiskey. The one I’d opened last week while we were there.

  Warden told me afterward that the bottle was probably worth upward of a few thousand dollars. Maybe more. But I didn’t feel bad, the shit was good.

  “How’s your wife?” Deep taunted, standing beside Arthur’s chair and nudging the old guy with his elbow.

  “Ex-wife,” Arthur snapped, slamming the glass down on the side table with a heavy frown. I knew Arthur well, we’d been working together for years, but it was only recently I’d started to see him change. He’d become not as easy-going. A little fucking uptight. “Decided it wasn’t going to work out.”

  Honestly, when you were running a police station and dealing with fuckers like me on a daily basis, I didn’t really blame him.

  My head shook back and forth as Deep’s eyes lit up like fucking Christmas morning. “You think since you’re done with her, I can grab her number?”

  Loose walked past Deep, collecting him in the back of the head, letting him know to shut the fuck up.

  “You think Jason’s going to be a problem?” Hatch questioned, ignoring my other fucking brother as he leaned back against the mantlepiece, picking up a picture frame and examining it before placing it back down. “You said he’s played the game before.”