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

by Monique Moreau

  Which meant he made it his business to kill, in cold blood. Before he realized it, his fingers were prying her jaw open, his tongue plundering her mouth. She gave her usual whimper, but an instant later, she was snatched from his clasp. His face whipped around, and Shadow stood before him, holding Greta behind him. Red fury swarmed his vision, and he thundered, “Get your fuckin’ hands off her or I will end you, motherfucker!”

  “I’ll take you down if you hurt her. I don’t give a fuck who you are.”

  “Hands. Off. Her.”

  Greta swooped out from under Shadow’s outstretched arm, shook off his grip, and stomped her foot. “Fuck you both! I’m not anyone’s property.”

  Fucking hell, he didn’t need Greta goin’ on a rampage.

  Rounding on Shadow, she spat out, “I haven’t seen you in a decade, so don’t you dare act like you care. No need to pretend anymore, remember?” The asshole’s face went slack. “Say what you came to say and get the hell out of my house.” Then his little spitfire wheeled around and skewered him with a look that could kill. “And you! This is none of your business.”

  Dead silence. Heat scorched his skin like he was covered in burning sand. Once this was over, he was gonna collar her and torture her for days. He may have lost his cool for a moment, but there was a limit to his tolerance. The timbre of his voice dropped to an intimate level, “Greta, you mouthing off ain’t gonna work out for you. You want me to show him how I trained you to use that cheeky mouth of yours?”

  Fire and ice fought for dominance, but smart woman that she was, she got hold of her temper and lowered her gaze. In a somewhat deferential tone, she said, “If this is too much for you, then maybe you should leave, because I need to hear him out.”

  Swear to God, he was going to take his largest paddle to her ass. This asshole wasn’t spending a fucking second alone with her. Unwittingly, her tremoring hand slinked around her throat like the collar she was craving. Fuck, his woman was straight-up scared. Greta swallowed, and pleaded with him wordlessly. As much as he hated to relinquish an ounce of control, he had to trust her to deal with this scum, because he knew next to nothing about their dynamics. Fuck me. This is what I get. Should have gone public with her long ago and slapped a jacket with my name on it on her back.

  “Make it quick,” he growled. Greta slumped against him. “I’m making a compromise, but don’t give me an ultimatum.”

  Her gaze slanted up toward him, and she shot back, “Riiight, because this is your home.”

  Christ, his woman could trigger a temper tantrum in a saint. Gesturing to the other biker, he warned her, “Last warning, woman. Provoke me again and I will strip you and fuck you in front of him. Then, let’s see who has a claim.”

  He took the long chain hanging from his wallet and shook it in front of her. It was a chain he’d refashioned from one of her collars. Color drained from her face, because, yeah, she knew he had no qualms about lashing her wrists behind her back and using it as leverage while mounting her from behind. She may not want to acknowledge him in Shadow’s presence, but in the end, the Dark Horseman would know who was boss. Turning her in his arms, they faced Shadow together, and he ordered grimly, “Talk Horseman. You have five minutes.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Greta collapsed on the sofa in Sage’s home. Shadow crashed through her life, wreaked havoc like the spawn of the devil he was, and then ran his ass back to whatever hellhole he’d come from. Once Shadow had driven out of sight, Cutter took out her collar, cuffed her, and dragged her to the floor. Then, he fucked his anger out on her. Greta was recuperating from a blistering climax while he contacted Kingdom and made plans to meet at Sage’s house. There was protocol to follow when approaching another MC, and Shadow had disregarded it. Once he approached her without permission, it wasn’t about her anymore. She shuddered.

  A potential situation between clubs was bad enough without hearing that Scorpion was sick. Shadow’s eyes turned shifty while he was relaying his message, so he was lying—Scorpion wasn’t sick, he was on his deathbed. Right about now, her emotions were flailing around in her ribcage.

  Loki walked through the door, nodded to her and Sage, and joined Cutter and Kingdom in the kitchen. Sage took Greta’s hands into her own and rubbed warmth into them. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ll work this out.”

  Coming from Sage, it almost sounded true. After Shadow left, she received a text with the location of the hospital. More proof that Scorpion was bad off. It was also Shadow’s lovely way of making clear that he had her number, because she sure as hell didn’t give it to him.

  Slim arms wrapped around her hunched shoulders as she dropped her head into her hands. “There’s a solution and we’ll find it. Nothing is going to happen to you. Not ever.”

  Walking into the living room, Cutter declared, “There’s no guarantee, Sage. It’s a clusterfuck. Best not to hand out false hopes.”

  Callous bastard. Her chest throbbed, and she willed herself to breathe. Her other option was to lunge and claw him to death. Anything to release the frustration and rage coursing through her.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Cutter warned sternly. His glower promised retribution if she did a tenth of what she fantasized doing to him. Sweet, fucking hell. How did he read her so well?

  “Hey, at least she’s trying to make me feel better,” said Greta.

  He flexed his body in her direction, but Sage flung herself across Greta. An instant later, Kingdom shoved Cutter against the wall. “Can you keep your shit together for one fucking moment? Stay. That’s a fucking order.”

  Panic rushed up her throat. Kingdom was blaming Cutter, but it was her fuckup. Kingdom backed off but he remained against the wall, spearing her with a withering stare.

  “Sorry, Cutter,” she called out from her seat on the couch.

  He let out a growl in response. Worried that if she stayed any longer, she’d continue provoking him, Greta jackknifed off the couch and strode toward the door. “I’m outta here.”

  By the time she reached for the door handle, familiar fingers wrapped around her nape and turned her into his chest. Her head hung down, and he draped himself around her, enclosing her in his arms.

  “We gotta see this through,” he pressed.

  “Scorpion’s on his deathbed. He will make it happen.”

  “Make what happen?”

  Bile billowed up from her gut, but she fought against the band around her throat and choked out, “The marriage between Shadow and me.”

  ※※※

  Say what? He must’ve heard wrong because there was no fuckin’ way the Horseman was going to touch, much less own, the woman he loved. End of story.

  Jumping from the couch, Sage rushed toward them and cried, “What did she say? What. Did. She. Say!”

  Kingdom pounced on her and hauled her against his chest, urging her, “Calm down, babe, this isn’t helping the situation.”

  Greta burrowed into Cutter like a wounded animal.

  “Look at me, Greta. This ain’t your fuckin’ fault.”

  “It is,” she rasped.

  “We’ve been blindsided. You had no idea that Scorpion would die or lose his goddamn mind.”

  “I should’ve known, but I grew complacent after so much time had passed.”

  Kingdom comforted Sage in the background. Cutter palmed Greta’s throat, and her quiver of breath heated his nipple through his shirt. Eventually, her breathing subsided.

  Sage came toward them, and Greta moved into her outstretched arms. “We’ll work this out. You’re not alone.”

  Over Sage’s shoulder, Greta fastened her gaze on him. He nodded, reassuring her, and she said, “He’s had plans for me with Shadow since I was a kid. Since he hadn’t shown any interest in me in years, I thought he’d given up his quest.” Twisting her hands, she continued, “There were signs that he was watching, though. Little things. A guy who wouldn’t stop asking me out suddenly left me alone for good. A landlord who was overly friendly sudd
enly stopped knocking on my door. You know what I mean…”

  Yeah, he fuckin’ knew exactly what she meant. Any club worth its mettle would behave the same way. They didn’t approach her, but they were present, slipping in and out of the corners of her life. Worst of all, their behavior meant they thought they owned her. A tension headache battered against the cage of his skull like a jackhammer.

  “Go on,” he ground out.

  “Shadow must not have an old lady, or not one Scorpion approves of. Otherwise, he’d continue to ignore my existence.”

  His nostrils flared, and an animalistic sound emanated from the pit of his soul. “Not necessarily.”

  The bastard was sick, and although the last thing he wanted was Greta near those fuckers, he wouldn’t selfishly keep her away from her father near the end of his life. If Greta was right and Scorpion had plans for her and Shadow, Cutter wasn’t too worried. Regardless of how she felt about it, she was Squad property. That gave her options, including visiting him safely. Reuniting with an estranged parent on their deathbed was a powerful thing, and he’d do anything in his power to make it happen for her.

  “Babe, Scorpion won’t hurt you. I won’t allow it. You’re imagining the worst, and”—Greta opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand to quiet her—“you may be right, but you will be my old lady when we show up in Camden. Shadow or no Shadow, you’re off the market. Period.”

  “I don’t want to go,” she grumbled.

  From behind them, Kingdom interjected, “Cutter’s right. You’ve gotta see him. The Squad must also address the transgression of another club lurking around our territory and approaching you without permission. Can’t let that slide.”

  “Scorpion is not Prez or Chopper,” she countered. Kingdom’s face drained of color, and Sage grasped his hand. Greta hurried to add, “There’s a huge difference between these men, and he’s not worthy of my attention.”

  “Truth is, brave girl, you will regret it if you don’t resolve this,” Cutter replied.

  “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  “You sure about that?” Cutter asked gently as he caught her by her waist and stroked up and down her arm. “Not one question you want him to answer? Not one last thing you want to say? This will be your last chance.”

  Greta faltered, “I-I’m not saying that there isn’t a part of me that wants to see him. It’s just that I’m sure that it will be a disaster.”

  “You know, when my moms was dying, I had resentments built up because of Tommy, but I put them aside and showed up for her. True, she didn’t change, but it gave me peace to know that I did right by her. No regrets. Then, when Prez got sick, I learned to quit being lazy and step up. Death makes you realize things and puts life into perspective. At least, you’ll get the chance to face the past.” Stroking her cheek, he continued in a low voice, “You’re holding onto the pain. Facing Scorpion may free you.” He took her mouth in a blistering kiss. Breaking it off, he promised, “I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”

  In the background, Kingdom uttered, “Loki, set up a meeting with Kite, the president of the Squad chapter in Jersey. For backup. Greta’s doing this with Cutter. You’re gonna have a little chat with whoever’s in charge and seek compensation for the slight on our rep.”

  Chapter Forty

  Cutter realized that she wasn’t nearly ready to see her father, so what did the asshole do? He fucked her until she was too sated to fight back. Filled her with his come to remind her of her lack of free will before telling her that they were riding to Jersey. On the bike, she put as much distance as she could between them, but he swerved around bends and corners like a NASCAR driver, forcing her to clutch him for dear life.

  Once they crossed the state line, Loki split off to meet up with Kite and prep for their appointment with the Horsemen the following day.

  The hot sun was waning by the time they reached Camden, the city ruled by The Dark Horsemen. And her hometown.

  Everything was achingly familiar. The streets, the traffic lights, even the lampposts. Everywhere they rode, pieces and parcels of her past came unglued and memories floated unhindered in her mind. Her hands itched to throttle him from behind. Stress did that to her. Made her want to take a swing at him.

  By the time they drove onto the block that housed the Dark Horsemen, she was crushed against his back. Her nerves were zapping around like dragonflies in her belly. He clasped his gloved hand over her thigh and gave her a reassuring squeeze. The façade of the clubhouse hadn’t changed much. An addition had been built, but other than that, the building was stuck in the same dirt yard, along with the same scrawny trees struggling in the inhospitable soil.

  Cutter rolled his bike right on the sidewalk, and a prospect jumped back like the devil was on his ass.

  “What the fuck?!” the prospect shouted as he peeled himself off the chain-link fence.

  Cutter planted his boot on the asphalt and stabilized his bike.

  “Nice show of force,” she commented.

  Whipping off his helmet, he looked over his shoulder at Greta and quipped, “That a compliment?”

  Above the prospect hung a placard with an image of a horse rearing up on its hind legs, etched in red. Greta’s vision was shrouded with the faces of past ghosts, some angels, but mostly demons. Gulping down the lump lodged in her throat, she traced the edge of her choker, her lodestone. Her spine stiffened. No, she wasn’t going to cower. Not this time.

  The prospect approached them but halted when Cutter turned his focus on him. Narrowing his eyes at the prospect, Cutter snapped, “Go tell whoever’s in charge that Greta’s here.”

  The prospect stood, glued to his spot, for an extra beat. Then, shaking his head, he beelined it to the clubhouse. Swinging off the bike, she withdrew her helmet from her head and clenched it against her hip. It dug in at a sharp angle and would most likely leave a bruise, but she’d deal with Cutter’s complaint later.

  “Greta.”

  Their gazes connected. Standing beside her, he laid his hand on her back and rubbed in circles. She caught the lapel of his cut and thumped her head against his heart.

  “Breathe.”

  His authority radiated through, and the knot of breath stuck in her lungs unraveled and shuddered out. She inhaled a gulp of fresh air, and like a canister of gas released, it cleared her mind. Pushing up the sleeves of her jacket, she thrust her shoulders back, her gaze level at the entrance.

  “You’ve got this, highness.”

  ※※※

  Greta shoved against the beat-up door sticking to the frame, and it swung open. Stepping inside, her vision adjusted to the dim lighting, and her breath caught.

  The bar.

  The plain wood was scuffed with a glut of nicks and dents. The bar was where she spent her afternoons doing her homework while following Shadow from under her eyelashes. Listening to every word he said, watching every move he made.

  Eyes sharp, she scanned the gathering of bikers until her gaze landed on one person. A grisly biker was rounding the bar. Greta escaped Cutter’s hold and flung herself on him.

  Scudder.

  Poppy to her. A nickname she’d come up with to tease him when he tried to distract her from one of Scorpion’s rages. Wrapping her arms around his thick neck, she felt two spots burning in the back of her head. Cutter, probably glaring at her from behind.

  “You remember an old man like me, princess?” Poppy’s gruff voice cracked.

  She clung to him tighter. Buried in his leathery neck, she muttered, “I could never forget you. Drowning my sorrows with you and a big glass of Coke with ten ice cubes, just the way I liked it.”

  “Liked? Don’t you like it anymore?”

  “Without you making my special drink, how could I?”

  Abruptly, Cutter’s hand was on her nape. Manhandling her in the presence of the entire MC. Before she could react, she was whisked off Poppy and brought to his side. His rough palm wrapped around her trachea to
keep her in check. Scudder’s keen eyes flicked to Cutter’s hand. Without shifting his gaze from Scudder, Cutter demanded, “Who’s he?”

  Just great, he was going all barbarian warrior on her. Vibrating like a tuning fork, she hummed lightly under her breath. His grasp flexed around her throat. Pressing forward, she tested the pressure on her throat; his hand tensed to tell her he was onto her. Yeah, yeah, he’d reprimand her for taxing him in a hostile environment. His sole focus should be on her safety, blah, blah, blah. Greta leaned back into Cutter and grabbed his solid thigh, stroking it to pacify him.

  “This is Scudder. He’s an old friend who helped me,” she sniffed softly, “through bad days.”

  His fingers twitched around her neck. “He better not have put his hands on you when he helped you.”

  She elbowed him in the gut. Unfazed by the insult, Scudder inspected Cutter’s Demon Squad patches. Bikers shifted and gathered around them at the bar, emitting a series of low growls. Tension crackled in the air. Her gaze bounced from man to man, some she recognized, some she didn’t.

  Then, the old man’s features relaxed. At the softening of his expression, the pack of brothers eased off. “Glad to see Greta with a man who knows a prize when he sees one. And protects her like one.”

  Whew. Her chest caved in and she caught herself before slumping over in relief. Scudder held Cutter’s even gaze with one of his own. Pretending to be in a huff, she moved out from under Cutter and planted a fist on her hip.

  “Do you mind? I’m not an object. And I can take care of myself. Very well, I might add,” she emphasized.

  “She’s a work in progress,” Cutter remarked drolly.

  Scudder snickered, “Yep, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Always was a handful.”

  Greta glared at Scudder. “Are you kidding me?”

  Ignoring her, Cutter said, “Don’t I know it. She’s feisty, but I wouldn’t want her any other way.”