Bedlam: Hell's Heathens MC (Book Two) (MC Romance)

by Raven Dark

  “You heard him, he said he—”

  “Don’t give me that,” he says in a low, soft tone that nonetheless seems to call the truth out of me. “He was lying. He scared the shit out of you, and he pulled a gun on you. What was he after? How do you know him?”

  “It’s a long story, Gar.”

  “I like long stories.”

  I sigh, feeling trapped, and yet somehow wanting to tell him all of it.

  “I’ll get it out of you,” he says, and his lips quirk again. “Even if I have to drag you upstairs and tie you to my bed until you tell me.”

  My brows go up to my hairline. He’s trying to lighten the situation, but he also means every word. I’m supposed to be mad now, but instead, my pussy clenches. I slump against the wall again.

  If I tell him, how long will it be before the whole club knows? Worse, I give it an hour before Whiskey’s rumor mill starts working overtime. Once that happens, my parents finding out is inevitable. I might as well start digging my grave now.

  As if taking pity on me, he searches my face and then his eyes turn gentle. “Listen, I’ve seen enough scared women to know when one needs help, when she’s caught up in something. And anyone who has dealings with Max can’t be into anything good. I can help you, but only if you tell me what’s going on.”

  I drop my shoulders. “I wish I knew the answer.”

  He quirks a brow.

  Yeah, I know, there’s no getting out of this, and in some strange way, I don’t want to. I have stepped into something bad, and after the way he handled Sinclair, I know that, without a doubt, not only can he help, but I need his help.

  “Fine,” I say in a very small voice. “But not here. We’ll talk after the wedding.”

  “No, we’ll leave now.” His hand engulfs mine and he heads down the hall toward the backyard.

  Instinctively I pull back, not ready to tell Anne or her guests why I’m leaving.

  “Trust me.” He massages my nape. “I know how to keep secrets.”

  We’re outside before I can reply. Gar surprises me by giving Anne, Vicious, and those sitting with them a polite excuse that I’m not feeling well and he’s taking me home. The urge to trust him swells in my chest, along with a trickle of respect.

  We walk around to the front of the clubhouse to the same black bike I almost knocked him from earlier. It’s gorgeous, with flames and skulls painted on the sides. I tug on his hand before we reach the bike.

  “Never ridden before, have you?” He picks up the helmet from the seat and tosses it to me.

  He’s right, I haven’t, and while getting on that thing unsettles me, especially after seeing him almost wipe out, that’s not why I’m balking.

  “It’s not that.” I run my fingers along a lick of flame on the black helmet. “I…I can’t go home.”

  For now, until I decide what to do, home is with my brother and parents, all of whom will likely be there. The sun is setting; they won’t turn in for hours yet. I’m not going into that house until I’ve stopped being scared shitless. Not when they’ll only worry.

  “Then I won’t take you home. We’ll go somewhere private and talk.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Or rather, you’ll talk, and I’ll just listen. You need it.”

  God, why does he have to make it so hard to dislike him? There’s something about this man that makes me feel so protected and safe, like I can tell him anything and he’ll somehow make it okay.

  The thought is so ridiculous, I almost laugh.

  I should be running now, but instead, I stand there with my thoughts spinning while he slips the helmet onto my head and does up the chinstrap. Then he takes my hand and helps me onto the bike, an awkward endeavor with this huge dress.

  When I sit on the seat, the skirt rides up, bunching almost to my waist. My cheeks burn; I just know my ass is showing. Before I can adjust the cloth, Gar pulls the skirt down enough to cover me. I notice that his palm brushes my ass, which I’m pretty sure is deliberate. I scowl at him. He winks and then swings onto the bike himself.

  I ball up the length of the skirt and tuck it between us, enough that it won’t flap everywhere or get caught in the wheels.

  His starts the motorcycle and the roar of the engine makes me yelp. I throw my arms around him, then blush furiously when I realize what I’ve done.

  “I think I’m scared of this thing.” I am, but Anne’s told me about her rides with Vicious, how free and exhilarating it feels, and a spark of excitement hits, too.

  “Don’t be.” Gar puts my hands on his washboard stomach and rubs the back of them. “Just hold on and let me do all the work, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe.”

  My eyes sting at the promise in his words, as I have a feeling he’s promising to protect me from more than just the dangers of riding his motorcycle. They sting, because I know that once he finds out what I am and what I’ve done, he’ll walk away. He’ll walk away and shatter my heart before he even has it in his hands.

  We ride through the quiet streets away from the clubhouse as the sun sets over the countryside, blanketing it in the pale purple-silver of the coming night. I should be afraid, of the bike, of him, of the conversation ahead, and on some level I am. I can feel he’s as dangerous as the vehicle he dominates. Yet the longer I have my arms around this huge man’s strong frame with my cheek pressed to the leather of his cut, the more I feel myself relaxing and enjoying the ride.

  We must look ridiculous, with him dressed in his leather cut and faded jeans and me decked out in a frilly pink dress, but Gar doesn’t seem to care. The thought makes me smile.

  The wind whips at my face and hair, and the rumble of the bike feels strange vibrating between my legs, its animalistic purr filling my ears with raw power. I can see exactly why Anne loves to ride—it is thrilling.

  It is thrilling—he is thrilling--and right now, that’s what’s causing the knot to form in my belly.

  Because here’s the thing about moi.

  Gar says I’m his. He says I’m his in a way that screams of forever, but I’ve seen that look before. I’ve heard that same tone, the one that promises more than a single night of hotness between the sheets. I believed it. Until it turned out to be a lie.

  I believed in forever once. But in my experience, for men, forever only lasts until the next best thing comes along. If what I know about MC life is true, Vicious’ devotion to Anne is an exception. And I’ve learned that even the most charming prince can turn out to be a frog in disguise. Or a coiled snake waiting to bite.

  My throat tightens with hope that hurts in its futility, and I squeeze Gar’s waist tighter as if his presence alone will wipe away the last six months.

  His fingers massage mine, as if to offer comfort. I swallow the lump in my throat. He seems so sincere. In his need to help me, to protect me, in his promise to keep me safe. I push all that down and think only about him, about the ride, until the rest of the world falls away. He keeps his hand over mine, and suddenly it’s easy to forget that it isn’t only us. I let the thrill of him, of the ride, take me away to a place where there are no worries, no fear, no past mistakes, and no Max Sinclair.

  We pull up at a secluded spot, a wood on the outskirts of Whiskey. Gar cuts the engine, kicks down the stand, and swings off the bike. I look up at him, biting my lip.

  “Anne’s right,” I say softly. “That was awesome.”

  Gar smiles and touches me under the chin. Then he takes off my helmet, sets it on the seat, and helps me off.

  I look around. We’ve pulled up close to a small stone bridge that crosses a narrow stream which cuts through the woods at the back end of town. The brook rushes over rocks, a calming, peaceful sound. Darkness is coming, the warm summer air giving the evening a sultry feel. It’s incredibly romantic, and when I consider what Gar’s expectations might be, it only increases my mounting anxiety.

  “Come here.” Gar takes my hand and pulls me over to a large oak tree, sitting under it with me. Leaning against the tree with one knee up, he
pulls me into his lap so that my back is pressed against his warm chest. His arms close around me, one around my waist, the other around the shoulders from behind.

  “You’re very presumptuous, you know,” I tell him, squirming.

  He lets out a low, delicious chuckle, his breath fanning my ear. “I like holding what’s mine, so get used to it.”

  The words twist in my chest like a knife because I know what he’s feeling will vanish like a puff of smoke when he finds out the truth.

  “Please… Don’t say that, Gar.” Inexplicably, I keep my voice from choking. I had the perfect boyfriend once, had someone I thought would be there through thick and thin, and when he found out, even he changed. Even he became cold and cruel.

  “Why?” he whispers. “Is the thought of being with me so terrible?”

  I shake my head. Was it only hours ago that I couldn’t stand him?

  “Are you afraid of the club?”

  I shake my head again. Okay, that’s not entirely true. It does scare me to realize what he’s into. Some of the men in the Hell’s Heathens MC are criminals. Vicious himself is the Sergeant at Arms, which apparently means he procures the men’s weapons. But Gar makes it easy to forget that at least some of his life revolves around violence. He makes it easy not to care, perhaps because the very thing that makes him dangerous makes me feel less afraid of worse things.

  “No,” I finally say. “It’s not that.”

  “Then why?”

  “If you knew what I did, you’d hate me.” I look up at him. “That shouldn’t matter. You’re an arrogant ass, but I don’t want you hating me. Stupid, right?”

  He snorts softly and rubs my arms. “Sweetheart, if you knew half the things I’ve done… Trust me. I’m the last one to judge.”

  I take solace in that, in knowing that his secrets are bigger than mine, and that mine are safe with him, even while in the back of my mind, I wonder just what monsters he has in his past.

  Unsure where to start, I take a beat or two, thinking.

  He just sits there in silence, waiting with his arms around me like a protective wall.

  “My father had a heart attack last year,” I finally say carefully. “My parents used to pay for my tuition, but when he ended up in the hospital, that wasn’t an option anymore. Medical bills, you know.”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  “I worked at The Eatery, but I didn’t make much there in tips. I’d already gone through a semester, and I wasn’t about to drop out. The doctors said that when you have a heart attack you’re always at risk for another one. My dad can’t be under any stress, so I wasn’t about to go to him begging for money. So I….” I swallow. “A girl I go to school with works at the Foxy Lady in Cincinnati… and I um.” My throat chokes.

  On the name of the strip club, Gar’s arms tighten. Only for an instant, but it was there. He says nothing. Too afraid of what I might see in his face if I look, and too afraid of what he’ll say if I press for a reaction, I make myself go on.

  “Sasha made it sound great. A thousand dollars a night if you’re good. One year of tuition paid in a month. I didn’t see any other choice.”

  Gar remains silent for a beat, then another. A kind of low-key panic starts to thread its way through my gut. His arms loosen around me, and I feel an absurd stab of loss.

  Slowly, I turn and look up at him. His eyes are raised to the sky, his jaw tight.

  I heave a sigh. “Gar. Please say something.”

  He’s pissed, I just know it. Again, what he thinks shouldn’t matter, but it does. I close my eyes on an old memory, shoving it away.

  Gar’s eyes snap to mine. His chest rises and falls and then he sits up and cradles my face in his hands. “Okay. First of all.” His voice is very low. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Sandra. I get it. You were stuck.”

  I shake my head. “It was the stupidest decision of my life. I—”

  “No.” His palm cups my chin. “Not stupid. Desperate, maybe, but not stupid. What you did was very brave. It takes guts to put aside your pride and take the risk you did.”

  “But you’re making it sound noble or something. I had a choice, Gar. I could have quit school.”

  “And lose all that you worked so hard for? No one can expect you to do that. Do you think your father wouldn’t feel terrible or end up more stressed if he thought he was responsible for you losing a chance at an education?”

  I blink at him, incredulous. “How the hell are you not mad?”

  Everything about his club screams of old-fashioned thinking, commanding a woman’s place. Not to mention, I’d expected a man of his age to be a lot less…open minded.

  “Why aren’t you stomping off in disgust?” I ask.

  “Why would I? You did what you had to.”

  “Because that’s what…” I trail off. “I don’t understand. You seemed pissed at first.”

  “I was. I am, but not with you.” He pushes to his feet and paces a few feet away before turning to me. “If you had enjoyed it that would be one thing. Some women do. I hate to see any woman pushed into doing something that hurts them. But this school friend of yours sounds like she tricked you. She pulled an innocent girl into something she had no idea how to handle.” He rakes his hand through his hair. “I’m guessing that’s where you met Max?”

  Shame twists in my stomach in spite of what he said earlier. I nod at the grass. “It wouldn’t have been half as bad if not for sleazebags like him.”

  “What happened?” His voice is a little gruff. “Sandra, did he hurt you?”

  I snap my eyes up to his. “No. Nothing like that. He was just…gross. Handsy and vulgar and always making sick jokes.”

  “Then what’s he after?”

  “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure.”

  He gives me a confused look.

  I lean back on my knees. “He said something about giving him back what’s his. And then he asked me if I’d “watched the videos’.” I shake my head. “I have no idea what he was talking about.”

  Gar kneels in front of me and takes my shoulders gently. “Did you take anything from him?”

  “If you mean did I steal anything, no.”

  “Are you sure?” he demands. “It’s important, Sandra, think.”

  The urgency in his tone jars me. “What…? No. I didn’t, I swear. Gar, what’s your deal with him? I get the feeling he’s a bad guy. What’s going on?”

  “That’s not for you to worry about. What’s important is that he’s after you for something, and we need to find out what. A man like him doesn’t give up until he has what he wants, or until someone is dead.”

  My eyes go wide. “Dead?” I croak. Nausea washes over me in a wave. “Well what the hell could he want? I don’t have anything of his.”

  “He thinks you do. Which means you’re in danger.”

  “Shit.” It’s my turn to stand. I wrap my arms around myself. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.” I push down the fear eating at me and look at him. “What the hell do I do?”

  “For now? You’re staying with me. With the club. I’ll protect you.”

  A laugh bubbles up at his proclamation. “Gar, I appreciate the big strong bad man offering to protect the helpless little damsel, but—”

  “I’m not offering, Sandra. I’m telling you. You’re staying with me until this is over. Until we find out what the fuck this dickwad wants and deal with him, you aren’t leaving my sight.”

  I let out a shaky sigh. Vicious is great with Anne, and I trust him, but I also know the club guys aren’t saints, and I’m not certain that being beholden to them is any better than being beholden to the kind of people I left behind when I quit the Foxy Lady.

  I can’t go to the cops, not unless I want to make things worse. I drop my shoulders in wordless acceptance. “So what happens now?”

  “For now, we’ll go back to the clubhouse, and you stay there. And then, after...” He pauses and steps closer to me, his steely eyes heatin
g.

  I lick my lips, my heartbeat speeding up. “After, what?”

  Looming over me now, his fingers capture my chin, just firmly enough to make his point. “As soon as we get to the clubhouse, I’m taking what’s mine.”

  Before my brain can even form a reply, Gar’s head swoops in, and his lips devour mine.

  3

  One Wild Ride

  Oh, God.

  Anne’s right. I am in trouble.

  The second Gar’s lips claim mine, every other thought flees from my mind. All but that one, and even that one takes a second to filter through beyond the jolt of raw heat and electricity that shoots through me.

  Gar doesn’t take his time. His lips pry mine apart, hard and hot. His fingers glide over my nape and then cup it, his other arm banding around my waist, holding me in place. His tongue spears in, searing mine, demanding everything I have. He leaves me zero time to think or react. With this single kiss, he chases away my worries, my fears, until all that’s left is him and me.

  I whimper helplessly. I’ve never been kissed this way. Every stroke of his tongue makes it clear he knows what he’s doing. A girl could die happy being kissed like this. My nipples bunch and poke at his chest, so hard there’s no way he can’t feel them. An ache starts between my legs, a low yet intense burn that makes one thing clear. I could get lost in this man if I’m not careful.

  Still holding my nape, Gar lifts his head. My senses clamor, my skin on fire. I rock dizzily on my heels. A smile toys with his mouth, wicked with triumph. Damn. He knows he’s getting to me.

  “Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “If you pass out, I’ll have to carry you again, and we both know how much you hate that.”

  The playfulness in his eyes simultaneously makes me realize I can trust him and pisses me off.

  “For the record, if I sleep with you, it doesn’t mean I’m going to marry you or anything, Gar.”

  Fuck, why did I say that? It sounded a lot less slutty in my head. But I know why. After Skeet, I am not ready for what I see in his eyes. For the eternity in them.