Beast: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Hounds of Hades MC) (Asphalt Sins Book 3)

by Naomi West

  “I want to tell you something …” I lower my voice instinctively, since I’m voicing matters left silent for years. “Maybe it makes sense for you not to go to the police about Connor, since, you know, you’re an outlaw and everything. But did you ever stop to think about why I didn’t?”

  “No,” he says. “Honestly, the thought never crossed my mind. In my world the police are somethin’ to be avoided at all costs.”

  “I committed a crime, Xander, that’s why I can’t go to the police about Connor, ever. It was when we first got together and he’d somehow tricked me into liking him, really liking him. I know it’s hard to believe but once I thought he was my Prince Charming. It seems so silly looking back on it now but somehow I tricked myself—or he tricked me—or both—into believing that he was this really nice guy. He wooed me, I guess that’s the term for it. And then he told me he needed me to do him a favor, and like an idiot I said yes. He wanted me to carry a suitcase full of cocaine into a hotel, up to the presidential suite, and then leave it at the door. I didn’t want to do it, but I sensed that he’d stop being so nice if I didn’t, so I did.”

  I swallow. The memory of that long walk is all too fresh in my mind, of the paranoia that infected every moment in that hotel, the looks of the doorman and the receptionist, the glances of the other guests. The smiles which might not be smiles but secret looks.

  “So he has that over my head. So that’s great.”

  “That doesn’t matter anymore,” he assures me, taking my hand, giving it a squeeze which gives me strength. “You don’t need to worry about Connor. I’ll protect you. He won’t get to you ever again. If he leaks anything about you to the police, I’ll pay them off. You’re safe. Cormac’s safe. I promise.”

  “Can you promise, though?” I ask. “Really?”

  “I can,” he says firmly. He offers me a wicked smile, the same smile that precluded sweating and nakedness and moaning and a sweet wet joining of flesh last time. “I promise that I can promise.”

  “I might take you up on that bath offer,” I say. “If you’re okay looking after the little guy?”

  “I’m okay. Just don’t tell the fellas that this is how I spend my evenings these days. It might make it more difficult for folks to be scared of me.”

  “I don’t know. You can be pretty scary.” I bob up and down on the armchair, which squeaks as though in pain with each movement.

  “How many apologies to you need?” he snaps, but his smile takes the sting out of it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry … is that enough, madam, or would you like more?”

  “Ha, ha, ha.” I leave the two of them and go into the bedroom to get the towels, and then shoot him evil eyes as I walk back across the living room to the bathroom.

  The bathtub fills up quickly as the room fills up with steam. I go to the mirror and stare at myself, wiping the glass with my forearm, my image blurry and out of focus. I look terrible, drawn-out; I look like a woman who has been driving nowhere for a couple of days. My eyes are pitted and dark with lack of sleep, which makes the sleep clinging to my eyes look even stranger. I step back and let the mirror steam up again. Sometimes nothing good can come from gazing at a reflection.

  Xander doesn’t have any bubble bath but I manage to get some bubbles going with the bodywash, using a third of a bottle to create a few paltry bubbles, and then I lower myself naked into the tub. All at once my body feels cleaner and fresher, the water cleansing me, attacking the sweat and the terror and the dirt. I dunk my head, soaking my hair; when I reemerge Xander is standing over me.

  “He’s asleep,” he says. “I’m pretty good at this babysitting stuff.”

  “Despite what you said when we first met.”

  He starts taking off his clothes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “That tub looks big enough for the both of us.”

  I wriggle around. This tub might be just big enough for another me-sized person, but Xander is built like an MMA fighter, all hard muscle.

  “Um, I don’t think it is …”

  But he ignores me, stripping completely naked and then climbing into the tub. The water level rises and spills over the rim onto the floor. His feet slide up the tub, pressing against my hips. He grins at me, grabbing a handful of water and splashing his face.

  “You’re an animal,” I say.

  “Yes.” He locks his gaze on me. “I am.”

  He takes me then, leaping across the tub—water splashing everywhere—and pulling me up to a kneeling position and then turning me around and bending me over. I push my ass out for him, grip the edge of the tub, and gasp as he slides forcefully and deeply and beautifully inside of me. Both of us are full of pent-up passion, withheld lust. Both of us explode into the moment. Everything happens very fast. I push back on his cock quickly, causing water to cascade everywhere, and he drives into me. Then I shut my eyes and suppress a moan equal parts pleasure and disbelief. The orgasm comes more suddenly than I knew orgasms could. It strikes my pussy like a comet and then there’s a moment of stillness—one, two—and pleasure reverberates all around me, my pussy getting tight and heat filling my belly at the glorious abruptness of this. Reverberations upon reverberations of pleasure seize my body, my fingers and my toes curling in ecstasy, my head feeling heavy, and yet feeling more awake than I have in days. Finally, I collapse forward, getting a mouthful of water before rising up and spitting and gasping for breath.

  He empties himself inside of me, and then we slide back to our previous positions.

  “You’re a dog,” I tell him, pussy aching coolly.

  “I am,” he agrees.

  But apparently even the happiest of moments has a sell-by date. We wash up and get out of the tub, go into the bedroom, and find that Cormac is nowhere to be found. My baby is gone. And the window to the fire escape is wide open, a light breeze pushing the curtains inward.

  “Connor,” Xander says, kicking the armchair.

  “Connor,” I repeat, clenching my fists.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Xander

  “What is it, kid?”

  “We’re fuckin’ riding, that’s what. The fella who burned down Arsen—that Connor fucker—he’s gone one step too far for me, old man. He’s kidnapped my girl’s kid.”

  “Kayla,” the old man says. “And that’s Arsen’s kid.”

  “Is this gonna be a problem?” I ask, voice tough but nervous inside. If Christopher makes a problem out of this, I’m screwed. Ranger ’n Maxwell will help, but the old man has more pull in the club than any of us.

  “A problem?” He sounds confused, like the question came out of nowhere. “No. I reckon Arsen would be happy you were taking care of them.”

  “Let’s hope that’s true. I’m gonna go check out a laundromat he’s using as a front.” I give him the address. “Meet me there.”

  “Ride safe.”

  “Ride hard.”

  I get off the phone and go around the apartment, quickly gathering my things, throwing on my jacket and getting my guns ready. Fucking Connor, fucking animal, sneaking in here like a coward and stealing a child. But I can’t push all the blame away. I shouldn’t’ve let my goddamn guard down. It was a stupid mistake, one Kayla might pay for in the worst way a mother can. Fuck. Fuck!

  I ready myself and then make for the door, the murder in my chest more vengeful than any I’ve felt before, even hotter than what I felt toward Connor when I found out he’d killed Arsen. Killing a man is one thing but stealing a kid, stealing a goddamn fuckin’ kid? That’s something else. That’s something we just don’t do. We avoid civilians, at least we’re supposed to, and kids and women especially. I’m at the door when Kayla walks up next to me. She’s dressed in jeans and a hoodie, the hood pulled up, not crying or distraught but hard as though carved from stone.

  “I’m coming with you,” she says.

  “Kayla …”

  She grabs my jacket and brings her face to mine. “I�
��m coming with you.”

  I look into her eyes. They’re no longer sweet or delicate. Something has awoken in her. The only sign that she’s upset is the trembling of her lip, but that could just as easily be anger. She steps back and waits for me to argue, but I’m not going to argue ’cause I know there’s no winning it, not where her kid is involved, and I know that the more time we spend here jerking off, the more time Connor has to cause some real damage.

  “Come on, then.”

  We go down to my car and I drive us quickly to the laundromat, breaking more’n a couple traffic rules. I pull to a stop outside and jump from the car, standing in front of Kayla as we walk so that if anyone decides to fire a shot from the window, she’s at least partially shielded. Christopher, Ranger, Maxwell, and four other guys approach me, meeting me just outside the door.

  “Fellas.” I nod. “Thank you for comin’. Will someone take Kayla round the back and keep her safe? She wants to be here, but there’s no reason she needs to be in the thick of it.”

  One of Christopher’s men makes to move, but Kayla folds her arms. “I’m not hiding while my baby is in danger. I might be able to help.”

  “You got a gun?” Ranger looks at her sideways.

  “No,” she admits.

  “I hate to break it to you, miss,” Maxwell says, his voice the icy cold it gets before bloodshed. “But in a gunfight, it pays to have a gun.”

  “They won’t be expecting a woman,” she counters. “Maybe I can cause a distraction or something.”

  “Is there any talking you out of this?” I ask, turning to her.

  She looks up at me, face solid. “None.”

  “Fuck’s sake.” I click my neck side to side. “Make sure to stand in between her and the bullets. All right, we’re going in.”

  I kick the main door open, gun raised, checking the corners. At first it seems like the place is deserted. The men spill in behind me. But then Cormac cries from the back of the laundromat, wailing at the top of his lungs. Kayla makes to step forward but I put my arm out, stopping her. “Wait,” I whisper.

  “Yes, wait,” Connor says, walking out with a shotgun aimed at me. A moment later, around seven of his cronies join him, all of them tooled up. Tattoo-Face is there, as well as men just as large and tough-looking as him. Gathered around Connor, they look like armored beetles gathered around a spider. Our men point their guns right back at them, bloodshed like a scent in the air, a scent I know well. “It’s so nice of you to join us. I was going to say hello earlier, but it sounded like you were having too much fun.” He licks his lips, eyes flitting to Kayla. “When she gets going, she really can be fun, can’t she?”

  “Shut your fuckin’ mouth.” I take a step forward, gun aimed squarely at his head, other hand behind my back where I’ve stowed my second.

  “Tut-tut.” He waggles his shotgun. “That’s not very nice behavior. Didn’t your drunk of a father teach you any manners? What about your whore mother who dropped dead after your little shit of a brother was born?”

  “Easy,” Christopher whispers. “He’s trying to bait you, kid.” He raises his voice. “What is it you want, Connor? A man don’t kidnap a child unless he wants something.”

  “What do I want?” He glances at the ceiling as though the answer might be there. “I’ve asked myself that question many times, especially when I was a child; I asked it then most of all. I used to think it was money, and then women, and then money and women. But now I know that more than anything all I want is for people to shut the fuck up and do what I say. Kayla was good at that, back when I had her under my spell. That’s all I want from life. So, what am I telling you lot of sweaty fucks to do? Simple. I won’t ask you to sacrifice any business. I won’t ask you to stop coming after me. All I ask is that you allow me to reunite a mother and her child. Give me Kayla and walk away today. You can come after me later, if you want. But all I require is the girl.”

  “You’re out of your fuckin’ mind.” I take another step forward. “If you think I’m going to—”

  “Wait!” Kayla snaps, standing at my shoulder.

  “Get back,” I hiss out of the side of my mouth.

  “He’s right.” She looks at him, her face softening. “Life has been so hard since we split up, and what can I expect? Maybe there were some ups and downs when we were together, but at least I knew what to expect. At least I knew that I would always be safe. And now that I have a baby I have to keep him safe. Only Connor can do that.”

  This is a trick, I tell myself. This is some kind of ploy. Be ready. And yet the words still puncture me, feel like a punch to the chest. The words still twist me and fuck me up. Maybe it’s the just the sight of her now: walking sexily to the desk, lifting the partition, and then going over to Connor. The partition is now completely open, resting on the opposite side, a four-foot entranceway. The men around me shuffle, ready; they know what’s going down.

  “Well,” Connor says, smiling at her. “I can guess why you’re doing this. You don’t want me to hurt your baby. But you know me, Kayla. I’m never one to turn down an offer when it comes from a lady as sweet as you. And anyway, I know just how malleable you really are. After a month or two under my thumb, you’ll do as I say. You’ve always been good like that. A real good, obedient whore.”

  “Oh, you.” She giggles, the most sickening sound I have ever heard. “You say such—oh, oh no …” She collapses onto the floor.

  There’s a half-second when Connor and a few of the other men lower their guns, not by much, but in life and death sometimes an inch or so can make a difference. I fire quickly, striking Connor in the neck, a spurt of blood gushing out. And then everything goes crazy, gunfire blaring all around us, men falling, blood spraying. I charge at Connor, firing a second shot which hits him in the chest. I’m lost in a blood haze, barely aware of what’s happening around me but for the constant tat-tat-tat of gunfire. I bat away his shotgun and smack him across the mouth with my pistol, and then lift him up by the neck and body-slam him down onto the floor behind some drying machines.

  I bring the gun to his head—bullets make metallic clanging sounds as they ricochet off the machines around me—and lean close to him. “I hope that fuckin’ hurts.” I twist my thumb into the wound in his neck, causing him to shudder and let out a whining animal noise.

  He is covered in blood, his neck and face smeared, his chest turning dark with the spreading pattern. “You think—think—that I’m scared of dying?” He grins, teeth coated in blood. “I’ll always—remember—how he screamed—your little—brother—your—little—coward.”

  I press my gun against the side of his head. “Who did it?” I snap. “Was it you, or one of your cronies? I know it was you but was it really you? Did you get your hands dirty or did you pass it off to somebody else?”

  His smile gets wider. “A chance to—kill an Angel? That was—all me.”

  I pull the trigger, his head snapping to the left, his mouth hanging open stupidly. Lying there like that he doesn’t look like a spider at all; he just looks like a too-tall man who finally got what was coming to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kayla

  Nobody notices the scared woman crawling on the floor, even if the scared woman is the one who started the mayhem. When I round a corner, away from the gunfire, I jump to my feet and charge into the back room, where I hear Cormac’s screams despite the far louder wailing of gunfire. My ears would pick out those screams even if I was standing next to a volcano; they are tuned for them.

  They’ve put him in a cardboard box in the corner of a room with no windows. The first thing I do when I find him is to bar the door and find myself a weapon, settling on a long pipe of metal leaned up against the wall. I take it, practice swing it a couple of times, and then pray that I don’t have to use it, because if I have to use it that means that Xander and his men are dead and that Connor’s men will be coming for me. Then I go to the box and crouch down, stroking Cormac’s cheek with my finger; I
can’t pick him up because I need my hand free for the pipe.

  “Hush,” I whisper. “It’s okay, little angel. Everything is going to be okay.”

  He grabs my fingers, nuzzling them with his nose, and stops crying for a moment. But then the gunfire gets even heavier, so loud it shakes the room, and he throws his head back and lets out another scream. I can’t stop myself. I toss down the metal pipe and lift him out of the box. I can’t sit here while he’s crying like that. I clutch him to my chest, kissing him on the cheek, holding him like he’s full of helium and I don’t want him to float away.

  “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word …”

  I sing to him as sweetly as I’m able to, standing on the fringe of a battle zone. He keeps crying, but the space between his sobs gets larger and he squeezes onto me tighter, as though as scared that I’ll float away as I am that he will. I wonder, idly, if I should try and find a way out of the building, maybe the back entrance, but the idea that I’ll walk out that door only to be met with a bullet—a single bullet that ends two lives—is too much to handle. And then I wonder if I should leave Cormac here and go searching for an exit, but that idea is too much as well. I can’t leave my baby, not now, now when I’ve got him back and I know he’s safe because I can touch him. I won’t replace secure reality with anything lesser.