by Lilly Atlas
A warm feeling had traveled through her when he called her babe. Ridiculous. He used the endearment on just about anything with breasts, but still, it felt more intimate than Doc or Stitch, or even her name.
Striker rode slower than he had on the way out, and Lila was able to appreciate the trip. She tried to ignore the way the muscles of his back rippled under her breasts, and the heat from where her sex was molded to his backside, but it was fruitless.
Without city lights to provide a glow, the desert night was ink black. They were cocooned by the stars and blanket of darkness that surrounded them. She couldn’t tell where the sky ended and land began. The result was an impression of limitless oblivion.
Riding a Harley through the desert after dark was something she could imagine herself becoming addicted to, leaving the stress of the day far behind, and reveling in the peace of the quiet night. Of course, she would require the hard male body between her legs to top off the experience. She frowned as she realized her thoughts had done a complete three-sixty, leading her right back to her attraction to Striker.
Before she knew it they turned onto her sleepy street, and coasted to a stop in her driveway. Disappointment surged through her at the realization that she may never have this opportunity again.
Lila tugged her helmet off, shook out her hair, and clambered down from the bike as Striker killed the engine. He made no move beyond removing his own helmet, so she reached down to pull his sweatshirt over her head. Striker stopped her with a hand on her arm, and hauled her toward his big body. With his legs still straddling the bike, his torso was angled toward her, and he pressed his mouth up to her ear.
“Thanks for saving my prospect tonight, Doc. You amaze me every time I watch you work.” He skimmed his lips over her ear and she shivered in response.
“I’m glad I could help.”
Striker rubbed one large hand up and down the center of her back, directly over her spine, and Lila wanted to purr like a contented cat. Her back was a little sore from hunching over the couch to close Kenny’s wound.
“I don’t want you to go inside and stress about this all night. There isn’t a soul who knows, beyond the guys who were there, and they would die before ratting. I wouldn’t have involved you if I couldn’t protect you. Your reputation is too important.”
His lips still brushed the sensitive skin of her ear with every movement, but the words themselves touched something deeper.
“Keep the sweatshirt. Wear it to bed. I want to go to sleep tonight knowing your skin smells like me.”
Just like that, Lila’s panties grew damp. She’d never had such a strong physical reaction to a man. But Striker was no ordinary man; he was sex and sin personified, and apparently that did it for her. She turned her head so their lips were just a breath away. “I’ll be sure to get rid of the extra layers then.”
Striker growled, literally growled, and clamped a hand around the back of her head holding her in place for his lips to claim hers. Desire shot through her as the taste of him flooded her senses. She tasted smoke, a hint of the whisky he snagged from Kenny, and danger. It was a powerful combination she was helpless to resist.
When she opened her mouth to him, a moan escaped, and his tongue tangled with hers. His kiss made her dizzy, and she gripped the leather of his cut with both hands to ground herself as they devoured each other. After a quick nip to her lower lip, he pulled back with a curse. Her head spun as she pulled in air.
“You need to get inside before someone sees us, and I need to get back to the clubhouse to deal with all this,” Striker said, his hand never leaving her back.
Lila blew out a breath and nodded, not trusting herself to speak at the moment. After he fired up his bike, he turned, winked at her, and roared down the street, probably waking half the neighborhood.
Lila rolled her eyes as she made her way up the driveway. She couldn’t help the grin that broke across her face as she mouthed holy fuck. She had no idea what had happened, but she wanted to know when it could happen again, because one taste of Striker was definitely not enough.
Just as she reached her door Lila heard her phone chime. Excitement shot through her at the thought it might be Striker. Shaking her head, she dug it out of her bag. She needed to give herself a firm talking to before she crashed into major disappointment.
A text message notification lit up the phone, the number unfamiliar to her. Lila swiped it open to read it, and a chill ran up her spine. She quickly scanned her surroundings to see if anyone was lurking on the street. Her block was dark and soundless, illuminated only by the floodlights outside a neighbor’s home.
Feeling exposed and vulnerable, Lila darted into the house and threw the lock on the door almost before it closed. After taking a few cleansing breaths, she glanced back down to reread the text.
Really Doctor? Spending your free time with the No Prisoners?
Chapter Six
“I’d like to conclude with a quick story about why this is such an important topic.” Lila clicked a button on the remote control and a picture of a smiling high school boy appeared on the projection screen. “This is Kyle. Before I continue, I’ll let you know I have written permission from Kyle’s parents to share his story with you.”
Lila looked up at the crowd, pleased that those in attendance had their eyes riveted to the screen. “Kyle was a high school senior. A straight A student, popular with the girls, and captain of his football team. After graduation, he planned to attend Notre Dame on a football scholarship. They offered him a full ride. He was going to major in computer engineering. Typical kid who had the world at his feet, and endless possibilities.”
Her eyes drifted to the clock. Eight twenty-five. She’d timed it perfectly.
“Kyle took a nasty hit during the school’s homecoming game. He told his coach he remained conscious, but had a quick flash of black when he hit the ground. They called a time out while Kyle was attended to. He had a mild headache, but otherwise seemed completely normal to his coach and teammates, so they put him back in play. He made it through the rest of the game and his headache got worse. But he wanted to be there for his team, or so he told his girlfriend later, so he toughed it out and didn’t speak up.”
Lila took a deep breath before she continued. This story always had the power to bring her to tears. Such useless waste of a promising young life. “That night, after the homecoming dance, he was driving his girlfriend home. They were on the highway, going about sixty, when, according to her, he yelled out that his vision was spotty and he couldn’t see. The car veered across the yellow line and he was killed on impact. His girlfriend survived, but she’ll require the use of a wheelchair for the rest of her life.
“This tragedy was born of a lack of education by the coaches, parents, and students themselves. I aim to change that by providing the proper safety information to ensure something like this doesn’t happen here in Crystal Rock. I want to educate coaches on the correct way to assess for a concussion, and provide them with an algorithm for action. Thank you so much for giving me your time this evening. I’ll stick around for a while, should anyone have any questions.”
The people in attendance, mostly parents and teachers, stood and clapped. She felt the weight of this task float off her shoulders the moment the applause began. Lila walked down the steps of the pop-up stage, and John Heath, the school board president, took the place she had vacated at the podium.
“I’d like to thank Dr. Emerson for the time and effort she put into this presentation. Typically, we meet and deliberate before we take a formal vote, but in this case it’s not necessary. Each member of the board is eager and excited to move forward with this project as soon as possible. So, it is with great pleasure I officially tell you your project has been approved, doctor. We look forward to working with you to ensure the safety of our younger generations.”
Triumph surged at his words, and an enormous smile broke out across her face. This was why she’d moved away from home, this opportunit
y to own her life. To create something and nurture it from its inception without always wondering if it only succeeded because of her family’s name or deep pockets.
The board president descended the steps, and walked straight toward Lila with his hand held out. “Congratulations, Dr. Emerson. Yours was one of the best proposals we’ve had in many years.”
She accepted his handshake with a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Heath. I’m very passionate about this project and can’t wait to begin.”
“We have a small budget to award you, but you’ll probably need to do some fundraising as well to increase your spendable capital.”
She had to bite her lip to distract herself from the desire to jump up and down with giddy delight. No sense in sabotaging the project before it began by acting unprofessional. “I’m going to assemble a committee of people from the community, and begin working as soon as possible.
“Excellent,” he said and he held his hand out again. “Will you stay and join us for coffee?”
She shook his hand again. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Heath, but I didn’t get much sleep last night and I have to be at the hospital by six tomorrow, so I need to take a pass on this one.”
“Well then, you have a wonderful night.”
“Thank you, you as well.” Lila bent down and gathered her purse off the floor before she turned to leave the high school gymnasium. A number of people, some she’d met before at the hospital, shook her hand and complimented her as she passed by. After another fifteen minutes of small talk, she walked out into the cool night air.
The sun had set, and the parking lot was cast in shadows. Lila glanced around as a prickle of unease worked its way up her spine. This presentation had taken so much of her mental energy that she’d shoved the worry over the unnerving text message into the back recesses of her mind. Now she stood alone and vulnerable in a darkened parking lot. Maybe she should have taken it a bit more seriously.
The chirp of a car being unlocked sounded through the quiet night, and Lila jumped with a gasp. “Shit,” she muttered as her keys fell from her hands. Damn whoever sent that text. By the time she reached her car, she was furious over the fact that someone had scared her. She prided herself on having taken control of her life; she wasn’t going to allow some punk make her fearful of every bump in the night.
For a moment last night, she had wondered if she should tell Striker, and now the idea flashed through her mind again. She let it marinate for a moment, then dismissed it. It was probably just someone messing with her; no point in making a big deal about it until it became one.
Striker rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, trying to relieve the tension in the muscles. It didn’t work, and he rested the palm of his hand on his gun as the door to Black’s opened and three Grimm Brothers walked into the bar. Each man held their arms out for Jeter to pat them down. They knew the drill, and had left any weapons outside.
Striker turned and caught the eye of the bartender. He gave the man a nod. With a quick glance at the three men who made their way to Striker’s table, the bartender headed into an office at the back of the room and closed the door with an audible thud. They’d given the man a grand to shut the bar down for one hour. More than enough to compensate for any lost business.
Really, the bar owner had no choice. What could one man do against five No Prisoners who needed private use of his bar? But they had a good relationship with him, and there wasn’t any point in fucking that up, so they paid him off.
Striker turned his attention back to the scarred wood table as Jackal, the Grimm’s president, slid into the booth opposite him and his president, Shiv. Striker didn’t recognize the man who took the seat next to Jackal. He wasn’t the Grimm’s vice president. The third man remained by the door, near Jester.
“Shiv, Striker.” Jackal nodded at them. This wasn’t the type of encounter where you shook hands and asked about each other’s families. They’d be civil for the sake of business and the preservation of both their clubs, but there was no love lost between the men.
“Where’s Snake?” Striker asked of the Grimm’s VP.
Something that looked a lot like fear clouded Jackal’s eyes. “He’s taking care of some other business.”
Striker didn’t buy it. Something wasn’t right, but it was too late to back out now.
“We need you out of Crystal Rock.” Shiv didn’t waste any time or breath on pleasantries. “I get that it’s a pain in the ass for you to transport your shit around our town, but it’s just too damn bad. It’s always been that way, and that’s the way it’s gotta stay to avoid bloodshed.”
Shiv paused, and Striker jumped in. “Cops in our town know we don’t deal in Smack or Molly or whatever shit you’re pushing these days. They’re getting wind of product coming through our town, and are starting to sniff around. We have a handle on them for the most part, but it’s only a matter of time before a do-gooder cop gets tired of it and calls in the Feds. We’re both fucked if that happens.
“You need to move your shit through Scorpions Trail like always and keep out of Crystal Rock. I know you don’t want a war any more than we do, and if the Feds show up, I promise we’ll steer them right to your door.” Scorpion’s Trail was a path through the mountains the Grimms had been using for years to transport drugs. It was difficult traveling, but the mountainous terrain kept them off the grid, and made it very difficult for the cops to set up a sting. The Grimms typically hired illegals to run the drugs from Mexico through the mountains with the promise of a place to stay.
In a surprisingly vulnerable move, Jackal ran his hands over his face. On closer inspection, the man looked weary and haggard. His long hair had grayed and deep wrinkles were set in his thin face. Jackal was only forty-seven, but he had the look of a man who’d lived his life hard and wild.
Jackal turned to the man on his left and jerked his head toward the door. The man stood and walked to stand by Jester and the other Grimm, near the door, leaving Jackal alone at the table with Shiv and Striker.
“I’m having some trouble with a few of my members,” he said while he stared at Shiv.
“Snake?” asked Striker.
Jackal gave one nod but didn’t elaborate.
Was he for real? Striker couldn’t believe what he was admitting to them. It was time for Jackal to stand down as president. Clearly he didn’t have control of his club anymore.
Shiv appeared just as unimpressed as Striker. “You need to handle your shit, Jackal. It’s not my problem that you can’t keep your little boys in line. Get your club under control. We’ve got plenty of contacts down in Mexico ourselves, wouldn’t take much to mess with your supply from that end. No more popping in our bars after a run, no more surprise visits to our hospital. Keep your men out of our territory. Stick to Scorpion’s Trail or I make some calls.”
That was the threat that would be most effective. The majority of the Grimm’s money came from running drugs. It was a bit of a stretch to let Jackal believe they could fuck up their supply with just a few phone calls, but it was true they had plenty of MC contacts down in Mexico, and with some effort could probably damage the Grimm’s imports.
Jackal nodded and stood. “Consider it done.” He motioned to his men and left the bar.
Shiv looked at Striker. “This shit stinks worse than a six-week-old wank sock.”
Striker grimaced at the image, and swallowed down the last of his whisky. “I hear you, Pres. There is definitely some shit in that cesspool. We did what we could for tonight. I think the threat of lost money will keep them in line.”
Striker wasn’t so sure he believed his own words. His gut wasn’t happy with this entire situation. “Jester,” he called out. “Let Black know we’re done and he can reopen.”
With a nod, Jester jogged to the back of the room and pounded on the office door. Black emerged a few seconds later.
“Thanks, man. Appreciate your flexibility,” Striker said as he handed him an envelope full of cash.
�
�No problem, Striker.”
Striker rose from his seat and stretched. He was relieved this meeting was over, even if he wasn’t thrilled with the outcome. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his pants and glanced at the time. Almost nine. Lila should be done with her presentation to the school board by now. Two thoughts assaulted him at the same time. He hoped it went well and they approved her project. And why the fuck did he remember what time her presentation was?
Chapter Seven
Lila sighed as she bent down and tied her running shoes. Clearing her mind today would require an extra-long run. She was an avid runner, using the exercise to destress and process her thoughts.
It was Saturday morning, almost a week after the night that she now referred to as temporary insanity night in her head. Work had been busier than usual this week with multiple meetings and a higher than normal patient flow, leaving her little time to wrap her head around the events of the previous Sunday.
There hadn’t been any more strange text messages, and as the week went on, she became more confident it was an isolated incident. Someone who had seen Striker at her house and disapproved of their association, maybe a neighbor? Still, she kept her doors and windows locked at all times, and was a little jumpier than usual once night fell.
Lila caught sight of Striker’s sweatshirt lying on the top of a clothes pile on her bed. She hadn’t washed it, and had worn it every night. A huge part of her knew it was beyond stupid, but the smell of him wrapped around her as she drifted off to sleep was too enticing to pass up. She shook her head, frustrated with her inability to put the man out of her mind. Thoughts of him were dangerous and wouldn’t lead anywhere productive.
After a couple quick stretches, Lila chose the playlist on her phone that usually lasted long enough for her to complete a seven to eight mile run. As she jogged down her steps, an older model dirty green car captured her attention. It sat parked in front of her neighbor’s house, and Lila made a mental note to check in on the woman later. She was elderly, never left the house, and as far as Lila knew, hadn’t had any visitors since Lila moved in.
