Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink #1)

by Christine Feehan

  “You don’t look anything like Betina.”

  “Do you have an old shirt I can wear?” She was desperate. She wasn’t going to cry again, but she had to change and get to the garage to her car. She kept her head down, hair tumbling around her face so she didn’t have to look at him.

  “Anya.”

  That was it. That was all he said. Her name. Nothing else. Her name sounded like a caress, a soft swipe of velvet over her skin. Fingers touching her face where the teardrops had been. She should have known he wouldn’t let her get away with it. The silence stretched out. She couldn’t stare at her shoes all day. Taking a breath, breathing him in, she slowly straightened and forced herself to look up at him.

  “You don’t want to wear that top, I’ll get you a flannel to cover you up, although nothing as beautiful as you should ever be covered.”

  Her heart clenched hard. Her sex spasmed. He casually threw out compliments that she could tell weren’t meant to be compliments. He meant them. To him they were facts.

  She nodded. “Thanks. And then I’m just going to the garage to see about my car. I can walk there from here. It isn’t far.”

  His piercing stare was unnerving. It was all she could do not to squirm under his gaze. Finally, he sighed, shook his head and turned, walking out of the room. When she didn’t follow he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Coming?”

  She wanted the shirt, so yeah, she was going to go with him, although being with Reaper even for a few minutes was a bad idea. She couldn’t help checking him out as she followed him down the hall to his room. She peeked in the open door, but didn’t go in. The room was much like the one she was staying in, but messier. It had the look of a room where the resident lived out of a suitcase, or in this case, a duffel bag. He rifled through it, came up with a shirt and tossed it to her.

  Her heart did that weird stuttering thing it sometimes did when she was around him. She found herself just staring at him. He was sending so many mixed messages her head was spinning, or she could have been really hungry. It wasn’t like she’d had a lot to eat lately.

  Reaper stalked across the room to her, took the shirt from her hands and held it out so she could slip her arms in the sleeves. He stood close to her. Too close. She inhaled him with every breath she drew. Twice she tried to speak, but nothing came out. She couldn’t look up at his face so she stared straight ahead. The view was good. A tight tee stretched across all those delicious muscles. She itched to trace them with her tongue.

  His hands came up to the buttons on the shirt, and he began to slip them through the buttonholes. One by one. Slowly. His knuckles slid over her breasts, sending scorching heat rushing through her veins. A gentle brush. Damp heat moistened her panties. Another brush and the air was gone from her lungs. The third brush coiled need so deep and strong in her she thought she might spontaneously combust. She breathed shallowly in an effort to maintain.

  His fingers caught her chin and he tilted her head up. She quickly veiled her eyes with her lashes.

  “You wanted to stay. You’re not runnin’ because it gets a little rough.”

  “I’m not.” That was exactly what she planned to do.

  “Don’t lie. I’m takin’ you to a late breakfast or early lunch, not to your car.”

  “Reaper.”

  “This conversation is over.” He caught her hand and pulled as he walked down the hall toward the common room.

  “Just because you say it’s over doesn’t mean it is,” she protested, telling herself she was going with him because he was bigger and stronger, not because he was hot as hell and she wanted him with every breath she took.

  He sent her a look that ordinarily would have made her run. She was in the lion’s den. There was no running, so she followed him. Lana and Alena sat on stools at the bar. Both turned as they entered. Their smiles faded when they saw Reaper’s face.

  “Not happy with either of you,” he said as he stalked past them.

  “Reaper,” Lana started, but he dragged Anya right out the door, not saying another word to either woman.

  At least she wasn’t the only one. She knew Lana and Alena were important to every club member. She heard the way the men talked about them. Every mention of their names was said with respect and affection.

  Reaper took her directly to his bike and handed her the dome. He straddled the big machine and backed it out.

  “Are you going to at least tell me how that wound is this morning?” Anya asked. He was walking with his normal loose-limbed stride. Well, he didn’t walk exactly. He prowled. Stalked. There wasn’t really walking. God, she found him hot. Nothing had changed overnight.

  “Nope. Get on the bike.”

  She sighed and climbed behind him. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that both Lana and Alena had come to the door of the clubhouse. Behind them crowded several of the members. All watching. All staring. She shivered and involuntarily pressed closer to Reaper. He did what he always seemed to do—reached around and caught her hands, pulled her arms around him and pressed her hands to his waist. She ignored those watching and snuggled close, wiggling until she was right next to Reaper, so she could feel every inch of him. The bike roared to life and then they were riding with the wind. She freakin’ loved being on his motorcycle with him.

  Once on Highway 1, they headed south toward Sea Haven. The wind tore at her face and hair. She had shoved most of the thick mass into the helmet. It wasn’t long before he turned off the main highway to a road leading east. She suddenly had a bad feeling. She thought he was taking her to a restaurant, but as far as she knew, this was private property.

  He rode between two gates and continued along a narrow lane that led through the property. A house loomed up. He drove right to it and stopped. She stayed right where she was. He killed the motor, and she still didn’t move.

  “Where are we?” She couldn’t keep the suspicion out of her voice.

  Before he could answer, a little girl burst out the door. She was no more than five or six. “Uncle Reaper! I didn’t know you were coming.” She ran right down the steps, hopped around the motorcycle like a bunny and then seemed to notice Anya. The hopping stopped and curiosity crept onto her delicate features. “Who are you?” The child had the reddest hair she’d ever seen. Freckles spread across her nose, just a dusting, but Anya found it adorable.

  “Emily, this is my friend Anya. I want you to be very nice to her and show her around. She’s been having a little bit of a tough time lately. Can I count on you?”

  Anya’s mouth dropped open. His entire demeanor changed when he spoke to the child. His harsh features softened. He didn’t smile, but his mouth didn’t seem so hard. His voice was gentle. Sweet even.

  Emily studied Anya’s face for a long time even while she nodded solemnly. “She’s really pretty.”

  “Great skin,” Reaper conceded.

  Anya’s mouth refused to close. She was a little afraid bugs would fly into it. He shocked her. She didn’t think Reaper could be so easy or soft. She couldn’t believe he was talking about her skin. Great? He thought she had great skin? He held out his arm to steady her as she climbed off. She felt strange curling her fingers around his biceps to swing off the bike. When she looked up, a woman stood on the porch with Czar, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

  “Reaper. Anya.” Czar smirked at his friend.

  Reaper flipped him off. “Lookin’ for breakfast or early lunch, Blythe. Are we too late?”

  Blythe flashed him a bright smile, her gaze sliding to Anya. “You’re never too late for food around here, Reaper, you know that. Come on in.”

  Emily reached up and took Anya’s hand a little shyly. That sprinkling of freckles across her nose endeared her even more to Anya, as did the gesture.

  “Blythe’s a good cook,” Emily confided in a loud whisper. “Everyone likes to eat here. Specially Ice and Storm. They never stop eating.”

  Czar laughed. Blythe joined him. Anya couldn’t help but notice Re
aper still hadn’t cracked a smile.

  “Should we expect everyone this afternoon?” Blythe asked Reaper.

  He shrugged. “Probably. They’re all being asses. Even Alena and Lana. I thought I could count on them.” He stepped back to allow Emily to escort Anya up the steps.

  Blythe shot Anya a quick, sympathetic glance. It made Anya breathe a little easier. Czar’s wife seemed normal. The house was beautiful, with wide-open spaces. She noticed that Reaper hesitated at the door before he stepped inside. She didn’t know why that tugged at her heartstrings, but it did.

  “Unusual circumstances, Reaper,” Czar said. “They’ll figure it out.”

  Anya had no idea what they were talking about. Half the time, the club members seemed to talk in code.

  “Maybe you’d better fire up the barbecue, honey,” Blythe suggested to Czar. “We can do something simple like hamburgers and veggie burgers. It will be easier to feed a large group.”

  “Large group?” Anya echoed faintly.

  Reaper glanced over his shoulder at her. “Emily is right there. She’ll show you around and keep anyone from saying anything mean.”

  “Was someone mean?” Blythe asked, sending an anxious glance toward Czar.

  Instantly he wrapped his arm around her and kissed her. It wasn’t a little peck on the cheek by any means. It was a full-on kiss to end all kisses. Anya had to look away. It wasn’t hard to see that the president of Torpedo Ink was madly in love with the woman who wore his ring on her finger.

  “I really shouldn’t stay,” Anya said, deciding if she didn’t speak up for herself, she was going to be entangled deeper and deeper in a world she didn’t understand, didn’t want—that didn’t want her in it.

  Reaper stopped in his tracks. He turned, his motorcycle boots surprisingly noiseless as he stalked across the room straight to her. Both hands went to her waist. He didn’t break stride, but kept walking, taking her to the wall so she was trapped there, his body holding her prisoner. She looked around him, expecting Blythe to say something, but Czar had already swept Emily and his wife into the next room, leaving them alone.

  She stared up at Reaper’s implacable face. He could have been stone for all the expression she got. He had that scary vibe again, the one he’d lost when little Emily had skipped down the steps outside and rushed him.

  “You aren’t leavin’. We had this discussion, and we’re done with it.”

  Her breath hissed out as she struggled to hold her temper. “It isn’t a discussion if one person lays down a decree and the other doesn’t get to talk.”

  “That’s all the discussin’ we’re going to have over this. Keep an open mind and let yourself have a good time. Blythe and her kids are … special. Give them a chance.”

  Great. Now if she didn’t stay she’d look judgey. Well, she kind of was, if she were being honest. After first meeting Betina and Heidi, and then Lana and Alena, she had no more interest in meeting the women in the club. There wasn’t anything to say without looking like she was giving in to him, and she had the feeling the slightest inch with him and he’d take that proverbial mile.

  His hand came up to her hair. He sank his fingers deep, pulling gently on the strands. “They hurt you, didn’t they?”

  She pressed her lips together tightly. She wasn’t a tattletale, running to her daddy to fix it because someone hurt her. She’d never had that option. No one had protected her. No one had fixed things for her. No one had ever given a damn whether she was hurt or not.

  His body was so warm. Too big. Too close. He’d taken a shower and she could smell that faint scent she associated with him. Man. Motorcycle. Outdoors. She took a breath and her breasts brushed his chest.

  “Stay, Anya. You have a job. I’ve got a place for you to stay. The fuckin’ thing is an albatross around my neck. Big house right on the cliff. It’s empty right now. You could stay there and help me get the fuckin’ thing fixed up. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it.”

  She frowned up at him, not understanding. “Are you saying you have a house? Your own house?”

  He fiddled with her hair, nodding.

  “You own a house but you don’t live in it.”

  “Got nothing in it. Bed in the bedroom is all. Never slept in it. Halfway through the night I have to get out of there so I can breathe. Four walls close in on me sometimes. Czar insisted we all have a home, so there it sits, like a crouching monster, waiting to eat me alive.”

  Wow. Okay. What did one say to that? She had the strange desire to put her arms around him and hold him close. There was a lot he was saying in that strange description of his home. Her body was going up in flames, but it was her heart that had her worried. Reaper was such a strange man, violent, impenetrable, abrupt, alone, sexy as hell, suddenly sweet and then this … vulnerable. She could maybe hold out against his sexy, his sweet, but never this. Never such a strong man giving her something she knew he didn’t give others—especially not his club brothers.

  “I’m not the best interior designer,” she said, lying her ass off. She rocked at it. She’d always wanted a home. Always. She’d dreamt her entire life about having her own home. Her own family. A man she could spoil. She’d learned to cook, although there was only her to cook for. She baked amazing desserts. She made bread. Every apartment she’d ever had she’d worked to keep clean and make as nice as possible because it mattered to her. She even read books on gardening, because someday, she was going to do that too.

  “You’ve got to be better than me.” He stepped back, allowing her to breathe air that wasn’t all about Reaper. He took most of the heat with him.

  “Stick close to Blythe when the others get here,” Reaper advised.

  She frowned at him. “Do you think the others are coming?” By others, did he mean Lana and Alena? She hoped not. She’d rather Betina and Heidi show up. At least they didn’t pretend to be anything but what they were. She liked them both. She didn’t want their life, but at least she liked them. She could understand wanting to be a part of something, and both women were determined to be part of the club in any capacity they could. Anya wanted to tell them they were doubtless going about it the wrong way, but what did she know?

  She probably had put Lana and Alena on a pedestal. The two of them were almost revered by the male members of the club. She knew how rare something like that was. Every club member she’d met talked about them as if the two women were the backbone of the club. She’d been there long enough to realize the backbone was Czar. But the two women were definitely loved by the men in Torpedo Ink.

  Reaper reached for her wrist, his long fingers closing around it like a bracelet. He was gentle this time as he led her into the kitchen where Czar leaned against the counter, his gaze fixed on Blythe’s face as she deftly sliced tomatoes. She was laughing, her head back, her eyes shining. On the counter was Emily, her father’s arm around her waist. It was a normal scene, a casual one, but it choked her up. Czar had a family he loved. She’d never seen this side of him, and it was beautiful.

  Czar turned his head as they entered the room, his gaze dropping to Reaper’s fingers circling her wrist. “You ready to give me a hand? I thought we’d fire up the big grill.”

  Reaper nodded. “I heard the hogs arriving.”

  He had? Anya hadn’t heard anything. Did he mean the motorcycles or the men because they ate too much? She didn’t know, nor did she care. She was going to do exactly what he said and stick close to Blythe. Hopefully, that would get her through the lunch. In the afternoon, she’d get to her car, pick up her clothes and some money and find out how much the repairs were going to cost her.

  Ice and Storm sauntered in. She kept her eyes on the floor, trying not to think about Ice naked. He had a good body. A gorgeous body. Not that she’d looked, but how could one unsee something like that? He gave her a small salute and then leaned in to kiss Blythe on the temple. “Got coffee, babe? I need caffeine.” He plucked Emily off the counter and swung her around. “Hey beautif
ul. Where’s my kisses?” She squirmed until he put her down, and she ran a few feet from him.

  “You don’t get any, Uncle Ice,” Emily screeched, her brown eyes dancing in merriment. “I’m giving them all to Uncle Storm.” She raced across the kitchen straight into Storm’s open arms.

  Storm braced himself and then pretended to stumble back against Savage, who leaned down and kissed Emily’s forehead. “That’s called stealing,” he said. “Just pointin’ it out, Em.”

  “You’re taking up space in my kitchen,” Blythe said. “Pick up a knife and get busy, or head out to Czar and Reaper.” She pointed with the blade of her knife to the door leading to the backyard.

  The twins held up their hands in surrender. Anya could see she was losing Emily to the good-looking bikers, but she couldn’t blame the little girl. She caught Savage watching her as she stepped to the counter and picked up a knife and pulled a tomato to her.

  “How bad is he hurt?” She kept her head down. It was stupid to ask when she was certain Savage wouldn’t answer.

  “It’s under control. Not the first time, won’t be the last.”

  She was pretty sure she got that. She nodded, pretending great concentration on her tomato. “Thanks, Savage.”

  It felt strange talking to him. Savage, like Reaper, rarely spoke. Certainly not to her. She wasn’t part of the club and never would be. There was no role for her, other than bartender. Still, they’d protected her.

  “Reaper was hurt?” Blythe asked, pausing in her slicing.

  Savage shot her a glance. “No big deal, babe, he’s fine. You makin’ your potato salad?”

  “I thought pasta,” Blythe said. “It’s faster.”

  “Potato,” Savage said decisively. “Or both.”

  Blythe laughed and pointed with the tip of her blade. “Out.” As soon as he was out of the kitchen, she pulled out a bag of potatoes. “They love to eat. I can never keep enough food in the house.”