ALTERED BY LEAD: UNDERCOVER SINNERS BOOK 2
Page 8
No, instead he does the 'lean in', putting his hand on the wall next to my head.
"Hey, I've got a question for you," he starts, and the look in his eyes tells me I'm not going to like what he's about to say. "Is there a reason your asshole friend danced with my old lady without my permission?"
"Your old lady?" I question, trying to piece together what, exactly, is going on here.
"Or a reason your other friend decided it was his place to tell her off?" Is that what Weston did when he whispered in that girl's ear? I can see her from across the bar, smirking at me. The man stands up and glances over his shoulder in the direction of the door, but Colt and Weston are still outside doing god only knows what. As he turns, I catch sight of the back of his jacket, and my throat goes dry. Shady Cove Motorcycle Club.
Crap.
The one person in this whole bar we should probably stay away from is standing right in front of me.
The guy turns back and then reaches out to grab me by the arm.
"Your friends think it's okay to dance with, and then insult my lady? We'll see how they like it when I fuck you against the bathroom wall." The man shoves me forward, sending me stumbling into a swinging door. I open my mouth to scream, but he barrels through and it swings shut behind him. With the loud music and the chatter from the bar, it's doubtful anyone will be able to hear me anyway.
But I don't need them to hear me, do I?
When the big guy comes at me again, I wait for him to reach forward and then duck under his arms, going straight for his balls. Surprisingly, this was the very first move that both Hawke and Mace tried to drill into my head. Unfortunately, during practice they both wore cups, so I never quite got that satisfying feeling of slamming my elbow right in their prized packages.
Not like I do with this guy.
I hit him hard where he hurts, and the grunt I receive in return is more than satisfactory.
The man stumbles as I slip out from under him, going down to one knee for the briefest of seconds before he's back on his feet. He comes at me again, but this time, it's clear he's taking me just a bit more seriously.
"You fucking cunt," he grinds out, his voice hoarse and broken from the impact to his groin. He swings at me, and I duck out of the way. Another thing that the guys taught me: use my size as an advantage, not a hindrance. I'm smaller, lither, and more nimble than any massive muscle-head I might come up against.
On my way up from my crouch, I spin and swing a leg out at the biker's shin, loving this new feeling of freedom. I can defend myself. And not just with words or threats about who my father is.
The biker guy catches my foot and yanks me forward, knocking me back on the floor. I hit so hard that my head begins to spin and for a second there, I see stars.
"You're one, crafty bitch, I'll give you that," the man says, moving over to lock the bathroom door. "But a few tricks aren't going to be enough to get you out of this."
I struggle to get to my feet, feeling hot liquid drip down the side of my face. When I lift my fingers up to touch it, they come away crimson. Shit. The man turns and heads back my way as I use the wall for leverage and stand up. He's undoing his pants as he goes, and it's pretty damn clear what his motivation is here.
As I blink through the stars in my vision, I hear the music cut off outside the door followed by the sounds of a struggle. The biker dickhead looks as confused as I am, glancing over his shoulder as the door comes off its hinges, and West appears, panting hard and wiping sweat from his forehead.
Before anyone can speak, West raises a length of pipe (where the fuck did he get that?!) and swings it at Axel. But the man isn’t as dumb as he looks, ducking underneath the weapon and throwing his considerable bulk Weston’s way.
West sidesteps him, letting the man throw himself against the dirty tiles on the wall before he hooks an ankle across the biker’s shins and pulls, using the man’s off-balance stumble to his advantage. Axel crashes to the floor, but manages to roll out of the way of West’s pipe, shoving up to his feet and coming for me again.
Maybe he thinks he can use me as leverage to get Weston to drop the weapon? Who knows, but I’m ready when he barrels my way, throwing open one of the stall doors and hitting him in the face. The move doesn’t do much more than slow Axel down, but that’s all I need. I slide past him and put myself in line with Weston, two against one.
“You goddamn bitch,” Axel growls, reaching down and pulling a knife from his boot. West doesn’t give him a chance to use it, moving forward with lightning speed, and feinting left with the pipe. When Axel goes to move out of his way, West kicks out, sending him to the floor, and then slamming the end of the pipe into the man’s stomach, knocking the air out of him.
With a swift kick to the face, West leaves the dude groaning on the cracked tiles and snatches my sweaty hand with one of his.
“Would you believe this was hanging on the wall as a decoration?” he asks, and I almost smile as Axel moans and curses from behind us.
I grab onto West and let him drag me from the shitty bathroom. In the main bar, all hell has broken loose with patrons beating the crap out of each other with anything they can lay their hands on. And right in the thick of it?
Yep.
"Colt!" Weston barks, ducking under a swinging pool cue and snatching the back of Colt's shirt in his free hand. He must have dropped the pipe somewhere, but who cares? We don’t need it anymore. Time to move our asses.
Not stopping to try and break up the fight, Weston drags both Colt and me out of the bar and hauls us across the parking lot to his fancy car.
"Get in," he snaps at us both, but I need to physically shove Colt into the passenger seat and sit on top of him. He's protesting and growling at me, cursing someone called Hank and threatening all kinds of violence.
Weston slams his door and guns the engine without even bothering to do up his seat belt. "Shut him up, would you?" he suggests, sounding a whole lot calmer than a few moments ago. "I should have warned you: Colt and tequila don't mix."
Blame it on my overactive libido, but when Weston tells me to shut Colt up, only one thing springs to mind.
Reasoning with him.
Hah, I'm joking. I totally kiss the living shit out of him.
Chapter 7
Natalia
Colt groans into my mouth, his hands gripping my hips as my tongue demands his full attention. Our teeth clash as we maul one another while Weston mutters pained curses from the driver’s seat. But he told me to shut Colt up, so he has no one to blame but himself.
Someone moans—maybe me—and Colt shifts me around until I'm straddling him, my head squished against the roof of the car and my cunt grinding against his erection.
"Colt …" I gasp, when his hands find the waistband of my pants and fumble for the button. He's drunk as shit, but that doesn't seem to be hindering his game.
Until it does.
"Colt?" I pull back as far as the tiny sports car will allow, frowning at the sudden limpness in his body. His hands just fell away from my pants and his head lolls to the side. "What the—"
Maniacal laughter from Weston confirms my suspicions.
"I can't believe he just passed out," I exclaim, patting Colt's cheek a couple of times and getting no response other than a throaty snore.
Stunned, I shuffle back around until I sit sideways on his comatose lap and fold my arms over my chest. "No one's ever passed out on me mid-hookup before," I grumble, feeling the weirdest sense of rejection flooding through me. Am I that much of a shitty kisser?
Weston shoots me a dark look, but quickly returns his gaze to the road. "As badly as I want to be a cunt and let you think Colt's not that into you ..." He shakes his head with a sigh. "Trust me, Natalia. It's nothing to do with you and everything to do with how badly tequila fucks him up. That, and the fact that he’s not supposed to mix alcohol with his medication."
I grimace, bringing a hand to my mouth. "He's still on meds? Why the fuck was he drinking?"
Frowning, I inspect Colt's sleeping face. Damn he's one pretty man, even with the new haircut and prominent scarring. There's something oddly intimate about watching him sleep, too. Despite the fact that I've fucked all five of my new colleagues, I haven't really slept with any of them. That would imply there was so much more going on than just sex.
Then again, isn't that what the new game is? To make me love them?
"What are you thinking?" Weston asks, his voice cutting through the dark thoughts in my mind. "Your whole body just tensed up and you look like you're going to stab Colt in his sleep. What just happened?"
I startle, not realizing I was projecting my emotions so clearly. If Hawke had seen that, he would have made me run ten miles as punishment.
Shaking my head, I sigh. "Nothing. Just occurred to me how little I really know you all."
Why I choose to admit that truth, rather than bullshit something about needing to get my clit flicked, I have no idea.
Weston is quiet some moments after I say this, then when he slows and pulls into the driveway outside our hideout, he places a hand on my knee.
"You might think that, Natalia," he tells me in a serious voice, "but I'd venture to say you know us all better than we know ourselves these days."
What the fuck he means by that, I don't get a chance to ask. Weston exits the car, then comes around to the passenger side and helps me scramble off Colt's lap.
"Here, I can help," I offer, as Weston struggles to haul his friend’s dead weight up the front stairs. I hook a shoulder under one of Colt's limp arms and between the two of us we manage to drag him through the front door and drop him onto a moth eaten couch.
"He can sleep it off here," Weston murmurs, propping Colt's feet up and tucking a pillow under his head. Lastly, he drops a scratchy, crocheted blanket over the top of him. "Come on, I have vodka in my room." My brows shoot up and a lazy smile curves Weston's lips. "Unless you're done partying for the night?"
I snort a laugh. "Lead the way."
Weston has a bit of swagger to his walk as he heads up the stairs, and I follow without hesitation. I don't even flinch when I feel a pair of furious eyes burning holes into my back from the darkness of the kitchen, or when I hear the clink of ice in a whiskey glass.
Fuck Hawke and his bad mood, I'll deal with that shit in the morning when I'm hungover and I already hate the world.
"Hey, how come you get a bigger bed?" I demand, pausing in Weston's bedroom doorway and frowning at the massive, new bed dominating most of the room. "What the hell, dude? I've been sleeping on that saggy ass piece of shit with a spring digging into my back and you—" I break off, shaking my head in disbelief.
"What?" Weston gives me a funny look, grabbing an unopened bottle of vodka from the bedside table and twisting the cap off. "Why didn't you order a new mattress on Prime? That was like the first thing I did when I arrived the other week."
He holds the bottle out to me and I snatch it, taking an indignant swig. "Remember that chat we had about my granny panties?" I run my tongue over my lips, enjoying the lingering burn of alcohol in my throat. Weston nods, but his gaze is totally fixed on my mouth. "So if Hawke can't even buy me underwear to fit, why would he deign to order me a new mattress?"
West's brow creases. "Good point. We're going to fix that for you tomorrow."
"Hawke's attitude?"
He snorts a laugh, taking a sip from the bottle and handing it back to me. "I wish. No, I meant your wardrobe. And a mattress too, if you want."
My brows raise, and I take another swig of vodka before replying. "Why?"
"Because Hawke's being an insufferable prick and you deserve better, Natalia. You've proven your loyalty and worth to this team so what he's doing now is just channelling his own frustration. It's not fair and it’s not healthy."
I lick my lips again, feeling the pleasant numbness of intoxication spread through me. The tequila back at the bar hadn't even really touched me, but a few big mouthfuls of vodka is hitting me in all the right places.
"Well, thanks West," I murmur, peering up into his coffee brown eyes.
His gaze is hot, full of lust and desire, so it's no surprise when he moves closer and bends his head to kiss me. What probably is a surprise, is how I turn away right at the last second and leave his lips to brush my cheek instead.
"Harsh," he whispers, laughing slightly and not moving away. In fact, his hand tangles in the back of my hair—I'd lost my hair tie somewhere during my fight with Axel—and his body presses closer to me.
I bite back a grin, enjoying my little power play. "Sorry, West. Not interested."
He laughs again. "Liar."
I don't even try to hide my smile this time, but he doesn't hold me back when I slide out of his grip and create some space between us. It just so happens that means I'm practically sitting on his bed.
Fuck it.
"Is that what you brought me up here for, West?" I ask him, not annoyed so much as curious. If I hadn't known about their dumb fucking bet, I'd have already jumped right on his dick. But knowing they intend to play with a whole lot more than my body, that they want to mess with my heart, it's soured the whole thing. To cover the distaste at that thought, I take several more gulps of vodka.
He turns to face me, cocking a pierced brow for a moment then narrowing his eyes.
"The thought crossed my mind," he admits, "but do you want to know the truth, Natalia?"
I give him a look that says, "of course I do, dumb fuck."
A small smile plays across his lush, pierced lips. "I wanted to test a theory."
That isn't what I'd expected.
"Oh?" I'm nervous now, and hoping he can't see the tremble in my hand clutching the vodka bottle. "What theory is that?"
He takes two steps closer to me—because that's how little room there is between his door and his huge ass comfy mattress—and takes the vodka from me to sip himself.
"I think you know."
I still. "Know what?"
The bet. He means the bet. He knows I know about the bet. But how?
He grins, nodding like I just confirmed his suspicion. "Hawke's an idiot, for the record. Were you listening or did someone tell you?"
I clamp my lips shut and fight for a neutral expression, but he just eyes me shrewdly. Holy fucking damn, how did I overlook how observant Weston is? Mother. Fucker.
"The Natalia we held captive in that church would have been stripped naked and riding my cock like it was made of cocaine right now." He cocks his head to the side, his eyes predatory as he probably pictures that. He’s right, though. Their bet is the only thing holding me back from everyone bar Arsen. Sex with Arsen doesn't count because he's a fucking psychopath.
"So now what?" I ask, unable to hide my curiosity. What's he hoping to achieve by confronting me on this?
Weston draws a pensive breath, placing the half empty vodka bottle on the bedside table then bracing a hand on either side of me. He only touches the mattress but he's so far up in my business he may as well have hands all over me.
"Now … now I want to cut a deal with you, sweetheart." A mischievous grin lights his face up, and I can't help myself, I grin back.
"What kind of deal?" Alcohol sits warm in my stomach and my limbs are all tingly. It's taking all my fucking restraint not to close that small gap between us and grab one of West's lip piercings in my teeth.
His hooded gaze takes a quick tour of my body—or as much as he can see under my baggy clothes—then returns to my face with fire in the rich brown depths. "Let me win."
I splutter a laugh, shaking my head. "Wh-what? Not a chance in hell, West!"
Even as I shut him down, a little voice in my head laughs at me, but I smother it fast. There's no way I'm falling in love with these pricks. No fucking way.
He rolls his eyes at my protest, but his smile do
esn't falter. "Come on, Natalia. I'll split the winnings with you. Seventy-thirty."
"Hah!" I scoff. "You're dreaming. Unless you mean seventy to me and thirty to you?"
He chuckles and leans closer still, his warm lips just a hair’s breadth from my neck. So close I feel like my pulse is about to jump from my skin and smack him in the mouth.
"Fine," he breathes, and I stifle a moan as his breath heats my skin. "Fifty-fifty."
I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back the whimper threatening to escape, but cant do anything about the way I tip my head back and basically hand deliver him an invitation to my body.
"How much money are we talking?" I answer, and cringe when I hear how needy and lust-filled my voice is.
"Two million," he whispers, placing a teasing kiss over my galloping pulse. "Each."
"Oh, fuck." I lose the tenuous hold on my willpower and crash my lips into his with a desperate groan. Not that he's complaining. Weston meets me head on, shoving me back into his crazy soft mattress and basically climbing on top of me.
For a few moments we're all hands and lips, teeth and tongues while we strip each other in a frenzy. It's not until I'm in nothing but my saggy old lady bra and panties that my brain catches up and I push Weston back a couple of inches.
"Hold up," I pant, trying to create space between us and really just getting distracted by the hard planes of West's chest. Fucking hell, he’s cut. My trysts with Arsen have become so wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am that I never get to just play anymore. And good fucking god, don't start me on the last time I got an orgasm during sex with him. Selfish prick.
Weston's tongue swipes over his lower lip, teasing at his piercings and making my focus waiver again. Shit. What was I saying?
"Natalia ...?" he prompts, and I shake my head slightly.
"I don't—" I swallow, finding my breath. "I don't know what I was going to say."
"Does that mean I can take these ugly fucking undergarments off you now?" His hot gaze rakes down my chest, and I shrug one shoulder coquettishly. I seem cool on the outside, but on the inside, my body’s in a hot panic.