Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink #1)

by Christine Feehan

  He didn’t want to let her go, but holding her close was putting his brain into a kill-or-be-killed frenzy. It wasn’t safe. She wasn’t safe with him. He let her go abruptly, noting as he did that he shouldn’t have held her wrists so tightly. She’d have bruises. He didn’t put bruises on women. He was so fucked. He had to stay away from Anya Rafferty.

  She swallowed hard and, still looking into his eyes, directed her question to his president. “Do I still have a job, Czar?”

  He could tell she was holding her breath. He was. He didn’t know which way he wanted the answer to go.

  Czar looked to Reaper. “It’s up to you, brother. You want her gone, she’s gone.”

  Shit. Shit. Fuck. She just stood there looking at him, her eyes wet, lashes dripping. He took a breath. There was no saving her. None. “I couldn’t give a shit,” he lied.

  “Get back to work, Anya,” Czar ordered. He was looking at Reaper, not at the bartender.

  Relief flooded her eyes. Her face. Her body. For a moment she hung her head, just breathing deeply, and then she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and gave Reaper a snippy look. “Thanks, Czar, and I came back here to remind you we’re still short on that order. Nothing came in today. I checked everywhere. Either someone took it, or they lied and didn’t send it.”

  “Who signed for it?”

  “I think it was Preacher. He was on yesterday as well as tonight. When he checked the order, we were short. I rechecked like he asked me to, and he was right.”

  “We’ll take care of it,” Czar said and glanced over his shoulder at Ice. Ice nodded his understanding. No one stiffed them. No one. If the company wouldn’t make good, they were going to be very sorry.

  Anya turned and walked back down the hall toward the bar. Reaper watched her go the entire way. His gaze was glued to her ass. She had a sway that made his mouth water.

  Czar nudged him. “Go home.”

  “You didn’t fire her.” He didn’t stop looking at her. That long thick ponytail called to him. He’d wrap all that silk around his fist, and use it to guide her head wherever he wanted it to go. He was so damned hard he couldn’t take a step.

  “More reason to keep her around than let her go.”

  “Never asked you for a fuckin’ thing, Czar. Not one. Never. You didn’t give me this. Why?” Because he needed to know.

  “You had your chance to get rid of her. You didn’t take it.”

  “You know fuckin’ well I wanted her gone. Why is she still here?”

  “You sat in that bar every night for over a month, Reaper. You followed her home every night. You want her gone. You tell me why she bothers you so much.”

  “That’s not the point.” She was at the bar now, leaning toward a customer. Laughing that laugh. Giving that to one of the wannabe hard-asses. He was looking down the front of her shirt. Leering. The lean had her bending over slightly. Just enough to make Reaper’s head want to explode. “She isn’t what she wants us to believe. That could be a threat to you.” Even as he said it, he knew it was bullshit. He knew it wasn’t the truth.

  “I think she’s more of a threat to you,” Czar said.

  Reaper tore his gaze from Anya and looked to the man he’d respected since he was not quite five years old. Czar wore a smirk. Reaper shook his head. “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m a threat to her? You know me. You know what I do. Hell, you were the one who sent me out for that first kill. I kill people.”

  “People who hurt others, Reaper. There’s a difference. You don’t kill indiscriminately. We’re not assassins anymore. That was what we were trained for. It was our job. We did what we had to do to survive. We all survived because of you. Eighteen children out of nearly three hundred. Those eighteen live because of what you did for us. You aren’t what you think.”

  “I am. You’re the one who doesn’t see it because you feel you owe me.”

  “Is that what you think? I feel I owe you? I would have let her go if that was the only reason. Figure it out, Reaper. Now get some sleep. And have Lana or Alena look at that mess on your ribs before you go to bed. Then tomorrow, I want you to see the doc.”

  Reaper stalked down the hall without acknowledging him. No way in hell was going to bed now. There were three idiots leering at the bartender, and he wasn’t going to allow them to hurt her in any way. She sure as hell wasn’t going home with one of them—not that she’d ever done that. The two waitresses often did, but never Anya. But she closed. That meant she was alone in the bar and anyone could wait in the dark for her.

  He found a table to the rear of the bar. It was dark and the music was loud, annoying the hell out of him. He sat down with his back to the wall where he had a good view of the bar. She was beautiful. He leaned his head against the wall and stared at her, not caring if anyone noticed. He was too damned tired to care. He was mesmerized by her. The way she moved. The way she talked to her customers. So easy. He didn’t have that gift and he never would.

  Betina, one of the waitresses, appeared in front of him. “Reaper, you’re back. It’s so good to see you.” She bent forward until her breasts nearly tumbled from her tank top. She wore it two sizes too small, and her red lace bra showed against its black fabric.

  “Coffee.” One word. He hated even giving her that. He kept his eyes on the bartender. On Anya. She noticed the waitress at his table and was already pouring his coffee for him. Still, for some reason, there was a little frown on her face as she watched Betina practically shove her tits in his face. He wanted to push the woman away, but that would require touching her.

  “Anything I can do for you tonight? Just say the word and I’ll be happy to oblige.” She smiled again. All predatory.

  Anya was suddenly there. She put the mug of steaming hot coffee on his table. “Betina, we’re packed tonight. You know what Reaper’s order is, so get moving.”

  Betina looked shocked. She straightened immediately, glared at Anya and then flounced away. Anya turned away as well. Not looking at him. Not saying one word to him. He had no idea what his body was going to do before his brain kicked in. He caught her wrist, preventing her escape.

  She stood facing away from him, taking a deep breath. He waited. She finally turned toward him, biting her lip, looking apprehensive. He turned her wrist over very gently, the pad of his thumb sliding over her delicate skin. There were marks already coming up. Smudges. His fingerprints. On her skin. A part of him. That should make him feel like a fucking dick, ashamed of using such force. He was strong. He prepared his body every single day for war. He knew better than to manhandle a woman.

  He loved those fingerprints on her wrists. He took both hands, using his thumbs to slide over them, wishing his prints were tattooed on her. “You have trouble with those idiots at the bar, you look my way. Understand me?” It was an order. He didn’t ask. The three were getting drunker, and they wanted trouble. They also wanted Anya. She nodded, and he allowed her to pull her hands away. She walked back to the bar.

  Betina leaned into the bar, getting drinks for one of the tables. Deliberately she’d chosen to slide in between the three troublemakers. One palmed her butt, squeezing and making obscene noises, his tongue out of his mouth, simulating what he might do to her. She threw her head back and laughed, pushing back into him with her ass. When she turned with the tray, she made certain her breasts brushed his arm.

  The bar had a bouncer they employed, Fatei, one of the newer prospects. He’d been in one of the schools in Russia with Czar’s brother, Gavriil. He seemed to be a good man. He never interfered unless a waitress gave him a signal. He didn’t now. Reaper picked up the mug and took a sip of coffee. It was fresh and hot. He needed that. He stretched his legs out in front of him to ease the wound in his side. To ease the ache in his jeans.

  He shouldn’t have spoken to Anya. He shouldn’t have allowed her to put her hands on him. He could still feel her palms, just as if they’d melted through his shirt, right beneath his colors, and branded him to the bone. T
o the fucking bone. That’s what she’d done. He touched his chest. He shouldn’t have unzipped his jacket before going into the bar, but the blast of heat always got him when he came in from a ride, so he’d done what he always did. Now he wore her brand.

  He wanted her. He considered that. Let it settle in his mind. It wasn’t an order to seduce a woman, it wasn’t the school run by pedophiles and sick, twisted criminals forcing him to perform every sex act imaginable. This wasn’t something contrived. For the first time in his life, his body chose. He chose. His choice was her. Anya Rafferty.

  She should have left while she could. Czar should have gotten her out of harm’s way. He’d tried to save her. Sort of. Now it was far too late because he’d become obsessed with her. He wished it was Betina. He could use Betina and throw her away. She wanted that kind of lifestyle, but Anya held herself aloof. She was that elusive one. There, but not really. Unattainable. She didn’t encourage or want her customers to put their hands on her.

  He took another swig of coffee. The good thing was, he’d come in so late, the bar would close soon. He was tired and he wanted to get some sleep. He’d make certain Anya was safe and then hit the sack and sleep as long as his body would let him.

  He drifted, letting his mind wander, but like always, when he did, he didn’t go to a good place. He hadn’t seen many good places. When he was four, his parents had been murdered and he’d been taken from his home along with his younger brother and two older sisters to a “school” to rehabilitate them and make them into useful tools for their government. It turned out that Sorbacov, the man behind the murders, was using the students in their particular school for his own twisted pleasure.

  He jerked awake, refusing to go there. Russia was a long way away. Sorbacov was dead and could no longer force them to kill for him. The survivors had banded together, forming their club, coming to the United States, to the little town of Caspar where they made a permanent home. It as Czar’s idea. His woman lived on the coast and he’d come to claim her. Her and every kid needing help for miles. Where Czar went, the rest of them followed.

  “Honey, need another drink. Come over here. I’m feelin’ neglected.”

  Reaper narrowed his eyes when one of the three men called out to Anya loudly. She was serving another customer down toward the end of the bar. Preacher had hung it up for the night, leaving the closing to her. Most of the bikers were gone, just a few hanging on until the bitter end. Reaper didn’t like it that the three hard-asses were still there. They were waiting for the bar to close so they could go home with the waitresses, or they were waiting for Anya to be alone.

  She sent a sweet smile to the biker. “One minute.”

  She turned back to her customer, smiling at him. White teeth. A soft pink lipstick showing off that pretty bow of a mouth. He couldn’t decide whether he liked her upper lip or lower lip better, but suffice it to say, he loved her mouth. He didn’t love it when she gave that biker her smile.

  Very slowly he drew his legs back from the long sprawling stretch, pulling them from under the table so he could move fast if the man got out of hand. He glanced at Fatei. The prospect was alert, already having marked the three as trouble. The call for last drinks had just gone out so it was legitimate enough to ask for a drink. Just about everyone left in the bar was calling out, not that there were very many.

  An old man sat on the stool at the far end. His name was Bannister and he was often in. He had long gray hair and a grizzled beard. He wore an old vest that had seen better days, but the man was obviously an independent and he’d been in their world a long time. He rarely talked, he was polite, but he gave off the vibe that he wanted to be left alone. He finished off the last of his drink, but didn’t leave. He turned toward the three hard-asses and just waited.

  Anya smiled at them, both hands on the bar, no leaning this time. “What can I get you? We’re closing in ten minutes and I’m shutting it down, so last call.”

  “We’re waiting for you, baby,” one said. “I’m Deke. This is Trident and Skid.”

  She flashed another smile. “Drinks.”

  “Another round of shots.”

  She nodded and turned away. One of them reached across the bar, making a grab for her hair. She was gone before he touched it, and his hand dropped away. Fatei closed in on one side, and to Reaper’s surprise, the older man did so on the other. All Anya had to do, if she felt unsafe, was raise her voice and call for help or press the little panic button behind the bar. Either way, Torpedo Ink members would pour out of the meeting room and annihilate anyone threatening her. She worked for them. She was under their protection from anyone but him. He was the only one she’d need that kind of protection from because he was right there, waiting to take anyone out who even looked as if they might harm her.

  Deke looked to his left at the older man and laughed, straightening up. He was a big man and knew it. Most likely he hadn’t been challenged very often. “Got a problem with me, old man?” His tone was belligerent.

  Anya swung around, put the glasses on the bar unnecessarily loud and poured out the shots. “There you are. We don’t tolerate trouble in here, Deke. Bannister is a regular.”

  She reached across the bar and put her hand on the older man’s shoulder. Reaper hated that. More than hated that. She was touchy-feely. What the hell was that about? He’d never understood. Watching her, he knew it was a part of her makeup and she’d need that. When she was with him, there wouldn’t be touching other men. Not. Ever. He’d have to learn to touch her often. To give her that.

  What the hell was he thinking? With him? He was out of his fucking mind. She did that. She twisted him up until he couldn’t think straight. He wasn’t looking for a woman, an old lady. He wasn’t looking to be tied up in knots. Things like this didn’t last. Certainly not with a man like him. He was no prize. He was hard as nails. A killer. A scarred, weary man needing to inflict pain on others and have it inflicted on him. What place was there for a woman with a man like him?

  “You want coffee, Bannister?” Anya laughed softly at the old man’s expression. “Don’t look at me like that. It won’t poison you.”

  Deke, looking annoyed, tossed his shot back. “Let’s go,” he snapped to the others, looking around the bar. He spat at Fatei’s feet and then stepped off his stool, hitting Bannister hard with his shoulder.

  “Trash,” Bannister said. “They’ll never be more than that. Men like that find one another. You got anyone waiting around to make certain you’ll be safe tonight? I don’t like the way they were looking at you.”

  Reaper moved just enough to creak the floorboards. Bannister spun around and then settled when he recognized Reaper and the Torpedo Ink colors. He nodded, relief on his face. “Good. You’ve got someone.”

  He started across the room toward the door. Reaper signaled to Fatei to go with him. It wasn’t only Anya the three hard-asses might go after. They were mad and drunk enough to pick a fight with the older man.

  “You got this tonight?” Fatei asked. “I saw the others leave out the back door.”

  Anya nodded, mistaking the prospect, thinking he was talking to her. “I’m good, Fatei. Thanks for your help tonight.” She glanced at Reaper from under her long lashes. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll lock up. Czar and the others go out the back door and lock that one.”

  For his answer, the same answer he’d given her every night he’d been there for over a month, Reaper went back to his table. He was out of coffee and lifted the cup. He needed the caffeine to stay awake. Anya brought the pot to him, crossing the floor and pouring him another cup. He’d had three now, more than he normally ever drank.

  Betina and Heidi, the other waitress, collected all the empties and put them in the dishwasher and then wiped down all the tables but the one Reaper sat at and then called it a night. No one approached his table other than to bring him coffee or ask him if he wanted a drink again. They sure as shit didn’t bother him to wipe the table down.

  He watched
Anya walk back to the bar. It was a thing of beauty, the way the woman walked. Her blue jeans were tight, cupping her ass. His palms itched. His chest burned. Yeah, she’d marked him, branded him, the little witch.

  She was tall, with legs that went on forever. Legs that would easily wrap around his waist when he picked her up and drove his cock into her. Her hair was gleaming under the lights, and her eyes were large and heavily lashed. He liked the end of the night when they were alone in the bar and the night was all around them. She worked and he fantasized, which wasn’t exactly fair, but if he offered to help she would have said no. He knew, because a few times, he’d gotten up and put the chairs on the table for her. She hadn’t liked it. He still did it and supposed he would tonight, although it would hurt like hell when he raised his arm on his left side.

  “What is it about me you don’t like?”

  Her voice startled him. Shocked him. She didn’t speak to him, he didn’t speak to her—that was the unspoken rule between them. She was breaking some law between them. She wasn’t looking at him. She was working behind the bar. Cleaning up. Counting the money in the till. She never took a dime or siphoned money off; he knew because he made Code check carefully. Nothing with numbers ever got past Code.

  “Reaper, you started this by trying to get me fired. I need the job. I would very much like to know what I’ve done to make you try to get me fired. I can’t afford to lose this job.”

  She did pause then, tilting her head, looking him straight in the eye.

  “You have the job.” That much was obvious. Czar, for some bizarre reason, backed Anya, not him. That kind of thing never happened. He didn’t want to think too much about what Czar was trying to tell him by letting Anya stay on with him. It didn’t matter that Czar had thrown it on his shoulders and he’d ducked giving an answer, Czar knew Reaper wanted her gone.