Cutter's Claim: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (The Demon Squad MC Book 2)

by Monique Moreau

  Holding the katana in midair, he slashed downward. Cutter stood close enough to feel the whip of air against his cheek. Loki canted his head to the side, inspected the gleaming metal and his facial expression relaxed. He took a clean, light cloth and applied a new coat of oil. Bringing the sword closer, he mused aloud, “It needs sharpening.” With a cutting look and a smirk, he continued, “To optimize, ya know, to slice up flesh.”

  “Christ, you’re sick. The way I am with women is the way you are with slicing flesh? No thank you, yo.”

  “Like I said before, you’re a pussy. Pussies only know one thing, how to control other pussy.”

  Cutter was at the point where he was about to rip the hair out of his scalp. That’s what talking to Loki did to a man.

  Carefully placing the sword down, his gaze pierced into Cutter. “Respect. Life has no meaning without respect. I show respect to my blade. I demonstrate respect to the maker of the blade. To the hundreds of years it took for a culture to create the blade. I work to deserve the katana in my hand. Like my club. What do you revere? I sure as fuck don’t see you treating anything with respect, except the pussy in your bed. And once they step out of your room, they’re back to being nothing.”

  Cutter threw his hands up in the air. “Get off your high horse for once in your fuckin’ life. You don’t touch women. It’s not natural. Only shit you play with is knives and guns. You hide behind them.”

  “And you hide behind twisted pussy,” Loki countered.

  “Fantastic,” he responded derisively. “We’re even, so let’s squash this bullshit. You talk big about respect for the club. It’s time to show it because the Squad is going under. Are you ready to take one for the club if it brings your ego down a notch, you condescending motherfucker? I’m not big on pride, but you pride yourself on everything, including shittin’ on the pot, like a damn king. Only one king here.”

  “What in the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Are you wantin’ to know something from me? Damn, guess there’s a first time for everything. I thought you were the all-knowing guru.” Cutter motioned with his hand, taking in Loki’s sword and materials. “Then you don’t know that Prez is on his way out.”

  Loki’s large frame tensed; his eyes flat, dead.

  “Yeah, that’s right. The position of leader. You’re sure as fuck not steppin’ into it. A few of the brothers may want the job, but they don’t have what it takes. That leaves one person and you know who that is.”

  “Fuck!” Loki bellowed. He took the handle of the purified katana and whipped it through the air.

  “Is that the way you respect your toy?” Cutter commented drolly. “I’ve got a woman upstairs tied to my fucking bed, waitin’ on me, but I came down here to speak to you. You put me through my paces with your knife cleaning, ritualistic bullshit. It’s time you fuckin’ man up.” Stabbing his forefinger at Loki, Cutter growled, “Shit’s goin’ down, and you’re gonna give your oath to Kingdom. He’s our future and you better fall on the right side of it.”

  Swiping his hand down, he backed away and held the swinging door open. Before exiting, he instructed, “You go back and play with your toys. I’m done.”

  Behind him, Loki grumbled, “Never thought you had it in you, Peacemaker.”

  Whatever. Up till this point, he’d tried his best to avoid drama. Taking the stairs three at a time, Cutter paused on the landing. The sounds of snoring coming from open doorways reverberated in the hallway. The image of a certain raven-haired beauty with haughty eyes plagued him.

  He tiptoed into his darkened room and pulled out some workout gear. After slipping on a pair of boxing shorts and tying up his running shoes, he quietly slipped back out the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sage had planned a girls’ night out after work, since Kingdom was out of town. Freshly dressed, Greta stepped out of the office bathroom as Sage’s cell rang. Kingdom was home early. After arranging to meet him at a bar downtown, Sage pleaded, “Come along.”

  “No way, I’m not going to cockblock Kingdom. No good being a third wheel with you lovebirds. Your public displays of affection are downright embarrassing.”

  Lying back on one of the office couches, Sage flung off her high heels and wiggled her stocking-clad toes. “Cutter will be there as well. It’s been a week since my party, and don’t think I didn’t notice how you guys were eyeing each other. His baby blues didn’t leave you once.”

  “I’m pretty sure they did. He had some bitch hanging all over him.”

  “Pfft. He’s a biker. The PDA code is totally different. It didn’t mean a thing.”

  Goosebumps swept down her arms to the tips of her fingernails. Seriously, I never knew nails could tingle. Thank God Sage wasn’t privy to her body’s automatic reaction to his name. “Hell, no” hovered on her lips when Sage said, “Biker or not, if you’re going to experiment, I trust him to take care of you.” Greta’s lower jaw detached, and her mouth gaped. They had danced around the topic of her bent predilection.

  Conspicuously avoiding Greta’s gaze, Sage hurried on, “At the end of the night, you decide whether or not we drop you off at home. The ball is in your court.”

  Unbelievable. Sage was pimping for him. Clearing her throat, Greta replied, “You’ve certainly thought this through. Whether he’s my type is irrelevant. I don’t want him manipulating you. Sage, you have no idea what you’d be signing up for.”

  “I respect your opinion, but this is between me and Kingdom. Not you or Cutter.”

  “And what does Kingdom say?”

  Sage’s lips flattened. “I don’t appreciate the way you and Kingdom are acting about this.”

  Huh. That meant that he wasn’t on board with being president. Good to know. Even so, her accusation rankled because it was Cutter’s doing. “We want what’s best for you.”

  “Kingdom is being irrational. Since my miscarriage, it’s like I’m made of spun glass and, quite honestly, I’m getting sick of it. My birthday party proved that the brothers and bitches appreciate me.”

  “It was a party. Bikers are at their best when they’re drinking and whoring.”

  Sage raised her nose and sniffed. “I understand that you have issues, Greta, but you’re a bit jaded.”

  “And you’re too damn naïve to see the truth,” she retorted.

  Sage breathed in sharply. “I’m not an idiot,” she said in a small voice. The hurt in her tone made Greta want to slap herself.

  Wrapping her arms around Sage, she insisted, “Of course not! They do love you. Who wouldn’t? The problem is that it takes so much to head an MC.”

  “It’d be Kingdom, not me.”

  “It’s all-consuming,” she forged on, “and I don’t want you shackled to a club filled to the brim with idiots. I mean, you’ve seen Whistle and the other prospects. Am I right?”

  Sage cackled, “Yes, well…they are idiots.”

  “That they are,” Greta confirmed with a resolute nod of her head.

  Sobering, Sage pulled away gently, and implored, “They need Kingdom. Cutter is right about that, and I’m not going to jeopardize the club’s future. Kingdom should take the position.”

  Damn that Cutter. “Please, tell me what he said so that I can set you right.” She cringed at the face Sage made. Oh, no, she’d pricked Sage’s savage avenging streak. If there was someone out there to save, Sage would swoop in to do the saving. “Please don’t make any hasty decisions. This is a super-serious, life-changing decision.

  “Since the miscarriage, I’ve thought long and hard on how to raise my children. They should grow up as part of a community, with people I trust. I’ve never had that, Greta. For you, it was dysfunctional, but the Squad is not the Dark Horsemen.”

  Understatement of the fucking year, but still.

  “All MCs are dysfunctional!”

  “That’s not true,” Sage argued stiffly.

  She was going to murder that son-of-a-bitch biker. “What did he say to you?” she gr
ound out. Guilt flickered over Sage’s face. “Cutter has been feeding you bullshit. What did he say, exactly?”

  “It’s not something he said—” Breaking off, she approached Greta with quick strides, and hugged her fiercely. “I think that you’re protecting me but I’m asking you to stop. Focus on yourself. I’m sick with worry about you. You are a beautiful, incredible person and you should enjoy life a little. Even if you’re not interested in Cutter, you have a chance to discover whether it works for you.” A wave of embarrassment swept over her.

  Squeezing tighter, Sage persisted, “I may not understand everything, but you’ve told me enough, and I’m honored that you have. When it comes to sex, judgment and intolerance is woven into the fabric of our culture. Especially for women. If I can attain happiness in this brief span of time we have on this godforsaken earth, then I’ll do anything to find it for you, too.”

  Greta’s nose burned, pressure building behind her eyes. Sage had pried open a gaping hole she struggled every day to shut down and bury away. She hadn’t been touched in forever. “I’m not interested in Cutter.”

  “Yes, you are,” Sage refuted pertly. “At least enough to hook up with him. He’d never hurt you and he’s experienced. For Pete’s sake, we aren’t talking about a relationship, we’re talking about taking advantage of an opportunity. That’s all.”

  Sage clung onto her as Greta rolled her head, landing it on Sage’s shoulder, and groaned, “He drives me crazy, and not in a good way.”

  “Pfft. That’s only because he pushes you out of your comfort zone. Come out tonight. It will be the four of us. He knows how precious you are to us. If there’s one thing about Cutter, he doesn’t force women to like what he likes. If they do, then they hook up. If they don’t, he leaves them alone.”

  “We haven’t exactly seen eye to eye.”

  “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “He’s ready to eat you alive.” Sage gave her a sly look. “And you’re interested, I see it in your eyes. You can pick up arguing with him another day.”

  She could kill two birds with one stone. Experiment with him and maneuver him into giving up his ridiculous quest. But was she seriously considering being intimate with a guy she resented? The image of Cutter at the party, his pretty-boy lips licking her juices off his fingers, prodded her. The loud slurping sounds he made as he sucked off his fingers brought on a shiver of anticipation. The desire to return the favor, to taste him, had occupied her ever since.

  “Does Kingdom know?”

  “Don’t worry about him. I’ll keep him distracted and he won’t notice a thing.”

  She doubted that, but she’d let the white lie pass. With a teasing lilt, she noted, “My, you’ve thought of everything.”

  Sage stroked her hair. “It’s wrong to waste time. You are so special to me, and I will make sure you have nothing to fear.” She shrugged. “Anyway, it’s not as if anything serious would come of it.”

  Her last sentence shocked Greta like a slap to the face. Sage hurried to add, “I mean because he’s a biker and all.”

  Greta swallowed through the elastic band constricting her throat. Of course. He was a biker. Lust must be melting her brain, because, for one moment, insanity slipped through her defenses and it hadn’t mattered. He was who he was, and she was who she was. No compromise could change the facts.

  Right, she had nothing to lose.

  “Fine, I’ll do it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Kingdom had come back early from Virginia, smuggling in contraband smokes, and contacted Cutter to meet up with him at a warehouse. Several hours of waiting for the pickup while his brother paced, poking away at his phone, nearly drove him insane. Finally, their counterpart showed up, they loaded up the merchandise, and then were free to ride away. Kingdom crossed through various neighborhoods, toggling his cell between his shoulder and jaw, talking to Sage. Smoke blew out of Cutter’s nostrils and he twisted his head toward the open window, biding his time until he was free to prowl for fresh meat.

  After disconnecting, Kingdom threw his cell on the console and faced him. “Sage is bringing Greta. Her way of torturing me for being away. You’re comin’ along to distract her.”

  “What happened to your lecture about her being off-limits?”

  “Fuck that. I can’t have her using Greta as a shield. We had a disagreement about the club.” Eyeing him carefully, he added, “Don’t bother denying that you’re behind it. You owe me, so you better take care of Greta.”

  Hell, he wasn’t one to contradict a direct order. His momma didn’t bring up no fool.

  They rode down to the Brewery District. At some dipshit yuppie bar, they ordered a round of whiskey. Being among yuppies didn’t stop a slew of women from blatantly checking them out. The woody flavor with hints of vanilla rolled on his palate, and Cutter settled onto the barstool with a sigh. Tasted like Greta’s cream on his tongue. His teeth clicked as if he was latching on to her clit. Swiping his hand down his face, he rubbed the bristles on his chin.

  Cutter spun the dark liquid in the glass in looping coils. The incessant tapping of Kingdom’s fingers on the bar halted, and he looked up. Sure enough, the women were standing by the hostess. Greta threw her head back, laughing in response to something Sage was saying. From his vantage point, those brilliant green eyes of hers called to him like beacons. And her hair. Fine, silky locks of black ink lay over her breasts, begging to be wrapped around his fist.

  Moving toward him like a sleek goddess, she wore the most revealing outfit he’d seen on her yet. The smooth, tanned skin of her bare arms gleamed under the dim light of the bar. But what cinched it for him was her choker. Three layers of pearls. Classy, and tightly wound around the tendons of her neck. It was like a cattle prod to his balls.

  “Babe, you’ve got no idea what you’ve unleashed,” Cutter whispered under his breath.

  “Huh?” Kingdom asked.

  “That bitch is fine,” he said aloud.

  Her choker was a green-fucking-light and, he was well-versed in the stoplight colors. In his world, the stoplight was the basic method of communication between sexual partners. Green meant his partner was ready. Yellow meant that he was pushing her limits. Red meant “back the fuck off.”

  As she glided toward him with the grace of a dancer, his muscles locked up. Desire, mixed with nerves, rolled off her and poured molten lust into his bloodstream. Drawing near, she cocked an eyebrow, and her hand straddled the curve of her hip. His dick got hard so fast it practically punched out of his button-fly to get to her.

  The first words out of that sassy mouth of hers were, “Stop staring. It’s rude.”

  After a day wrangling with Kingdom’s moody ass, his patience was running thin. He caught her wrist and hauled her up to him. Bringing his mouth to her ear, he said, “You keep this up and you’ll find your plump backside red.”

  Christ, his voice almost cracked. A flush started on her high cheekbones and spread down to her collar bone. He bet it ran down over her tits and darkened the nipples puckering beneath her shirt.

  “I’m going to leave if you get bossy.”

  He was about to tell her what he’d do to her mouthy attitude, but Sage glared at him and ordered, “Play nice.”

  Cutter grunted and gestured Greta to the stool next to him, away from Sage and Kingdom. A look passed between her and Sage. Sage gave a slight nod and Greta seated herself on his other side. He drew close, caging her in his arms, and backed her up against the bar. Her high tits jutted forward, taunting him to suck them through the stretch cotton of her shirt. Craning her neck to maintain eye contact, her pupils discharged flashes like flare guns. He ran a calming hand down silken tresses that reminded him of satin ropes. He lifted a fistful and brought it to his nostrils. Her scent was rich and earthy, with a dollop of honey. It wrapped around his cock like a tourniquet.

  He whispered seductively, “What do you want to drink?”

  Greta closed her hand over her hair and tugged it out of his grasp. Hi
s jaws locked at her demonstration of control. She glanced down at his drink. “Whiskey.”

  “A chaser?”

  “Nope. Straight.”

  There it was again. Her, maintaining control. His arms locked as he glared down at her. “I’ll allow it. For now.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cutter thought she couldn’t hold her liquor. Pu-lease. High tolerance was in her blood. She discreetly rubbed her sweaty palms against her skirt. Holy sweet Mother of God, he was the hottest thing ever. Messy blond hair and blue eyes, with the body of a minor god. A shower of tingles rained down on her. He handed her the glass and she tossed the drink back like a pro. Swiping her tongue over her lips, she handed him the empty glass. “Another.”

  He gave her a vicious scowl and she struggled to suppress a laugh. So easy to rile up. He called to the bartender and joined her in another. Clanking their glasses together, they took their shots at the same time. His fingers tensed around the glass, lips flat in a tight line. “Bartender!”

  Within a second the poor man slid another round toward them. Stopping her as she reached for her shot, he lifted it and brought it to his mouth. The cords of his throat shifted as he worked the liquid down, and she bit down on her lip so hard that she almost drew blood. He’d hijacked her drink, but, boy, was it worth it. Cutter’s hand covered hers. “Slow down. I have plans for you later and I wanna make sure you feel everything I do to you.”

  She almost groaned aloud but kept her expression unimpressed. “You’re being a bit presumptuous. You have yet to prove that you’re worth my time.”

  “Prove? Baby girl, you do not want to test me.”

  “Oh, but I do. I’m not going anywhere with you until you show me that it’s worth my while.”

  A wicked smile curved his lips. “Alright. Let’s bet on it.”

  Adrenaline raced through her veins like a speedball of heroin and cocaine, and the first words out of her mouth were, “Make me come and I’ll go home with you.”