Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink #1)

by Christine Feehan

  “I need clothes to go down to the bathroom.”

  “What for?” He looked as puzzled as he sounded. Like he thought she’d lost her mind.

  “Reaper, anyone could see me walking around half naked.”

  He shrugged. “It isn’t anything they haven’t already seen. It’s common practice. No one thinks anything of it.”

  She glanced out the door. His shirt did cover her. She followed him out, holding the edges of the shirt together. “It really doesn’t bother you, does it?”

  “Nope.”

  “It wouldn’t have bothered you if we had sex and any of them walked up, would it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why?”

  “We were raised that way. Don’t like locks. Don’t like walls most of the time. You’re my woman, they’ll respect that. They’ll protect you.” He kept walking. “It bother you?”

  Did it? It should, because modesty dictated it should. Because society said he didn’t respect her if it didn’t bother him that other men might see her body. She would have let him have her against the wall of Czar’s house had a child not been close. What did that mean? Had it bothered her that much that she’d seen Ice naked? Not really. He hadn’t leered at her, or made obscene gestures. He hadn’t made it about sex.

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. Anya stopped abruptly in the hall, her heart beating fast. “Do you share women?”

  He stopped too, turning to face her, looking down into her upturned face. He was close, close enough she felt the heat of his body. “Any man touched you, even one of my brothers, especially one of my brothers, knowing how I feel about you, I’d kill them.” He touched her face gently and stepped aside so she could go in alone.

  Anya closed the door and leaned against it. God. He was wonderful and terrible at the same time. They were raised together? Raised to have sex in front of one another? To be that casual about it? Yet at the same time, he claimed he’d kill someone that dared to touch her? She was fairly certain he meant that as well.

  And what did it mean, the way he felt about her? He was maddening. She didn’t care that he was waiting, she took her time, brushing her teeth, washing her face, enjoying hot water. She washed between her legs, wincing a little. If he wasn’t waiting, she’d take a bath. But then, anyone might walk in. When she was finished, she went out into the hall. He was gone. She sighed, tilted her head back and hit it gently against the wall. So much for their great night together. She was taking a bath.

  * * *

  He’d done it. Reaper walked down the hall to the common room. He’d had sex with Anya a second time. Fireworks had gone off, but not once had he had a compulsion to kill her. How fucked-up was it that he had to worry about that? That he had to be elated that he didn’t want to kill the woman who mattered to him just because he had sex with her.

  He’d been careful to keep her pressed against the bed, to not allow her to touch him, but he planned on experimenting a little. See what he could get away with. He wanted access to the front of her. Her tits were beautiful and his mouth watered every time he looked at them. He had fantasies about her mouth around his cock, although he knew that was what had started the nightmares again.

  He’d heard her laughing in the bar. He rarely went into the actual bar. He always went in through the back door straight into the meeting room. That laugh had changed everything. He’d gone down the hall, curious to see the face that went with the laugh. Her back had been to him and he’d watched her ass as she worked. She had a great ass and suddenly, for the first time that he could remember, he was having fantasies about all the things a man could do with a woman’s ass.

  Then he saw the front of her. Those tits. They were perfect, definitely more than a handful, and nicely shaped. Then he’d looked at her mouth. She had the face of an angel. Soft skin. Those large eyes made a man think about bedrooms. That mouth was made for pure sin. He never let his mind go there, not in all those years, not after the things he’d done, but it had. All on its own. Once he started down that path, he couldn’t get the image out of his head. That led to the nightmares. That led to his sitting in the bar for over a month watching her. Listening to her voice. Following her to the campground every night to make certain she was safe.

  He joined the others as they filed into their “chapel.” This was their private meeting room, the one where they held their votes and talked over any club business. Czar looked him over but didn’t say anything. He could tell Savage was pissed at him. When he fought, Savage always had his back. When Savage fought, it was the other way around. This had been the first time he’d ever done it without his birth brother.

  “I’ve been looking into these Ghosts the Demons told us about,” Code began. “I’ve got a friend, a hacker, one that’s like me. I contacted her to see if she’s heard anything about them. She said there’s been whispers about someone paying big money for information on the clubs, looking for weak links, anyone with a gambling propensity. Looking for anyone who can hack into various club’s financials. They contacted her and tried to get her to work for them.”

  “Your friend take them up on it?” Czar asked.

  Code shook his head. “Told them she doesn’t ever take any work involving the clubs. Doesn’t want that kind of heat. She did try to trace the source. It seems the Ghost Club originated in San Francisco. They weren’t a motorcycle club, but an actual nightclub. A speakeasy originally and then over the years, the family that owned the building kept a small club open. The rest of the building is rented out for various other businesses, supposedly. They have ties in Nevada to gambling operations there.”

  “A crime family? Are we talking mafia?”

  “Far removed cousins. I can’t see that they’re in any way affiliated. But, it looks as if two brothers got together with several friends and started a little operation of their own downstairs in the basement of the Ghost Club. They keep it small, very private, so the cops aren’t tipped off. You have to have an ‘in’ to get in to gamble.”

  “Your best guess is these are the ‘ghosts’ that took Hammer’s wife?” Czar asked.

  “Right now, I’d put it at a good eighty percent. That’s where we need to start looking,” Code said. “And boss, they’re going after the Diamondbacks aggressively. My friend, “Cat,” hacked their firewall, well, between the two of us we did it, and they’ve got files on most of the presidents of the Diamondback chapters here on the Northern California coast and all the officers of each chapter. They’re looking for a weak link and they seem to have found one, although I’m not that far into their files to be certain. They need the right member and they need the right president, someone in love with his wife.”

  “Can we prove that?”

  Code nodded. “Oh yeah, easy. I’ve got it any time you want it, but it will take a little digging to get it all.”

  “Before we do anything, we need to get Hammer’s wife back to him. Then, if any of the Ghosts are still alive, we’ll turn the Diamondbacks on them. It never hurts to show a little respect to the big club in the neighborhood. Steele, you want to pick a team and poke around? You’ve got twenty-four hours. We’re on a major time table here. These men play for keeps. They want the rep that will do exactly what they say. I don’t need to tell you to keep it low-key. No engagement. They can’t know anyone’s looking at them. They might kill her.”

  “No problem, Czar,” Steele agreed. “We’ll find out how many and, hopefully, where they’re holding her.”

  “Any more business?”

  Everyone shook heads and then they broke up for the night. Reaper stalked out, Savage right behind him.

  “Don’t do it again, bro,” Savage said softly.

  Reaper nodded.

  Savage nodded back. “I’m headed for bed. Been up twenty-four hours and I’m wiped.”

  “Thanks for covering my shift.”

  “Absinthe and Transporter have him tonight,” Savage said. “I got this bad feeling about the Ghost Club, Reaper. D
on’t know why, but it’s sitting in my gut all wrong.”

  Reaper didn’t like that. Savage’s premonitions often came true. “We’ll keep watch over him.”

  Savage frowned. “Don’t know if the trouble is pointing toward him.”

  “Blythe?” Reaper asked with some alarm.

  Savage shrugged. “Don’t know yet. You handling this thing with Anya?”

  “Trying to. Don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Trying not to get her killed, but fuckin’ don’t want to give her up.”

  “Then don’t, Reaper. Hang on to her. The club has your back. I have your back.”

  Reaper nodded, but inside his gut knotted tighter. Anya deserved so much more than a man like him. If he had any decency in him, he’d get rid of her so fast her head would spin. Instead, he was trying to pull her in deeper. He made his way back down the hall. Under the door, he could see the light was out. He turned the knob, noting she hadn’t locked it this time. She was learning.

  He hadn’t pulled the privacy screen and neither had she. Moonlight spilled through the window. Anya lay on her stomach, the beams hitting her back and the curve of her butt. He sank into the chair just across from the bed and tugged off his boots. His shirt came next, then he peeled off his jeans. Every muscle hurt like hell. He stretched out his legs and leaned back, his gaze on her body. She had a fantastic body.

  “Stop staring at my butt.”

  Her voice was drowsy, a little amused. It washed over him like the breath of sin, a temptation he’d never be able to resist, not even now, when he was so tired he could barely hold his head up. His body didn’t want to move, but it still managed to make his cock harder than titanium. He leaned his head back against the wall, his fist closing around his shaft. After so many years of total control, he was beginning to like the fact that his cock went rogue every time it was near her. Or he thought about her. It didn’t seem to take much.

  “Can’t help it. Love your ass. Gives me all sorts of ideas.”

  She turned her head to the side so she could see him. He was in the shadows, but the moon was spilling enough light into the room that she could probably make out his fist pumping his cock.

  “Are you always hard?”

  “Apparently around you.”

  “Hmm. Well, come to bed.”

  His heart stuttered. Tripped. Raced. Not yet. He didn’t dare take that step yet. He had to be careful. He hadn’t let her put her hands on him. He’d tested his reaction that first time in the hallway, when she’d tried to shove him. It had been a miracle that he’d been able to let her keep her hands on him without triggering violence. He wasn’t going to push it, not yet. One small step at a time.

  “Go to sleep. I like sittin’ here lookin’ at you.”

  “You’re jacking off.”

  “That I am.”

  “You’re jacking off looking at my butt.”

  “I am.”

  She smiled, but didn’t lift her head. “Kind of a waste.”

  “Not from my point of view. Enjoying the moment. When I’m ready, I’m putting my mark all over your back and that pretty little ass. Going to rub it in and let you wear me all day tomorrow. When you’re working and I’m sitting there watching the men go crazy, I’ll know you’re wearing me on your skin.”

  She shifted just a little, folding both arms under her head. He could see the outline of her breast, the swell of the side. “I just took a bath.”

  “That’s good. You won’t need a shower. I’ll be there all day. I’m going to write on your back and ass and that will stay there too.”

  “You’re a little kinky.”

  “You’re just figuring that out?”

  That made her laugh. It was small but melodious, playing over his skin like the cool touch of fingers. “What will you write on me?”

  “I’ve been thinking on that.” Her gaze was on his hand, watching that tight fist slowly pumping up and down. Her eyes on him made it all the hotter. He could feel the burn starting in his balls, a slow buildup this time. “‘Reaper’s woman’ right across that sweet little ass.”

  “I have no idea why you can make just about anything sound hot, but you manage.”

  “Spread your legs wide.” He waited. Counted his heartbeats through his stroking fist. She complied slowly, and his cock jerked hard and leaked more fluid. He used his thumb to smear it. “Put a pillow under your belly.” It took three lazy pumps before she pushed a pillow under her tummy. That lifted her just enough that with her legs spread, he had a good view. She was beautiful. And damp for him. “Slide a hand between your legs and get yourself off. I want to watch you.”

  His mouth went dry when her butt muscles bunched and her hand slid between her legs. Her fingers curled in, and he heard her gasp. His gaze was riveted between her legs, watching her fingers disappearing, working, sliding in circles around her clit and then disappearing again. His fist tightened, squeezing harder, jerking up and then down faster. She was so sexy. He’d never seen anyone sexier.

  His breath left his lungs. Her breathing turned ragged. His hips thrust, adding to the pressure in his balls. Her hips bucked. He couldn’t take his gaze from her, his fist tight, pumping until pleasure was bursting behind his eyes, and he knew he was close. So close. He got up slowly, careful not to jar his stiff body. Took the necessary steps to get to the side of the bed, the side her face was turned toward so she could see his every movement and he could see her expression.

  Bliss. Pure bliss. That’s what she looked like, a woman in the throes of passion. Flushed face, half-closed eyes, lips parted, her breath ragged.

  “You close, baby?” He hoped she was. She looked like it. “I’m there.”

  She nodded, unable to get the words past the waves that were overtaking her. He felt his release like a volcano rising, long ropes of white-hot liquid splashing across the small of her back and over her buttocks. Whips of white, claiming her body. That wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted to claim all of her. Not just her body, her heart. Not just her heart. He wanted her fucking soul, because he was damn sure she’d somehow captured his in that long month of watching her.

  “Stay still,” he ordered and reached for her hand. The one that had been inside her. He pulled it to his mouth, deliberately sucking on her fingers, one by one. Taking what belonged to him. Her taste was addicting. He loved that she just lay exactly as he’d asked, watching him, her eyes dark as he licked at her fingers.

  With his palm, he spread those white ropes all over her buttocks and back, caressing her skin, rubbing it in as if it was lotion. Then, with one finger, he wrote what he wanted tattooed on her back. Reaper’s woman. “Someday, I’m going to have Ink tattoo my fingerprints like bracelets around your wrists and this on your back where I can see it when I fuck you.”

  Her lashes fluttered. “You think you’ll be doing a lot of that?”

  He liked the tinge of amusement in her voice. He always listened for that note when she was bartending. She was brightness in a world that could be bleak and ugly. He always saw a light around her, spilling out from inside her.

  “I know we’ll be doing a lot of that.” He rubbed his finger along her lips until she opened up and sucked deep. Her tongue slid along his finger, and his spent cock jerked again. Fuck, the woman would kill him eventually with her tempting ways.

  She smiled around his fingers, those long lashes veiling her expression. “I’d say something about the condition of your body, all those bruises you have, but you wouldn’t tell me how you got them even if I did.”

  “Told you. I got in a fight.”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  If her tone had been anything but mild, casual even, he would have abruptly walked out. He’d told her as much as he was going to and that ended the conversation, but he could tell she wasn’t really pushing.

  He slid his finger from her mouth, trailed it down her chin to her shoulder and then slid it under her arm so he could trace the side of that soft mound exposed
by the way she was lying on the bed. “You’re going to sleep just like this, aren’t you? Let me soak into your skin so you’re wearing me all day.”

  “You really meant it, didn’t you?”

  The smile was in her voice again. That did something to his insides. Turned him to mush, and he didn’t like the sensation. She was crawling inside him too deep. Places he didn’t want her to go. Places where she might see things better left alone.

  “Yeah, I meant it.” He realized he had meant it. Just like he meant the tattoos, just as he meant to keep her. The thought brought him up short. Abruptly he turned away from her and caught up his clothes. Just the act of bending over to pick up his jeans and shirt, to collect his carefully folded cut, hurt his body. He needed another long soak in the tub. He yanked the door open and turned back to her, picking up his boots.

  “Aren’t you coming to bed?”

  He ignored her question. He thought it was rather obvious he wasn’t. He wanted nothing more than to lie next to her all night. Holding her. Watching her sleep. But he wasn’t taking chances with her life. He was already a selfish bastard just for what he was doing. “You going to give me what I want?” He knew the question was far more than asking her if she was going to let his seed remain on her. Or the tattoos or the writing. He wanted to know if she could handle him the way he was. If she would even try.

  She eyed him as he stood there, holding his clothes in one hand, his boots in the other, but she didn’t lift her head or turn over. She didn’t get up and storm into the bathroom to remove every trace of him.

  He found himself holding his breath. He didn’t have much to give her. He didn’t know how long he had or what mistakes he’d make—and there would be a million of them. He had to find ways to know what they could and couldn’t do together. He was asking for a miracle and giving her very little in return. Still, he wanted that miracle. He needed it. He stood in the doorway, naked, uncaring if the world saw him that way. Knowing he was naked and vulnerable in other ways, stripped down where only she could see with her sparkling, jeweled eyes.