"I'll always come for you, Sonia," he assured. "I have to admit, knowing you were in their hands scared the hell out of me. I haven't gotten over it. I don't like you out of my sight. When you're working, I listen all the time for the sound of your voice."
She sent him a smile over her shoulder and it warmed him. Stirred his body. Every look on her face, from sweet and happy to sexy to angry, wreaked havoc with his body, but it wasn't a bad problem to have.
"I haven't wanted you too far from me either," she admitted. "I send the guys into town for supplies because I'm a little afraid to go by myself."
It was the first time she'd ever acknowledged that. He'd guessed it, but she'd never told him. "Next time you want to go into town, tell me and I'll go with you."
"You have your own work. I am not going to disturb you."
He set glasses out. She liked sparkling water. It wasn't his favorite, but it was hers and he made certain the house was always stocked with it. "I like going into town with you, babe. No big deal. Ask me next time."
She sent him a look, her nose wrinkling. "You always sound bossy."
"Because I'm the boss."
She made another face, but there was laughter in her eyes that faded quickly. "I couldn't believe when you walked into that room. I was terrified for you. I didn't understand what you were doing. After I heard the owls, I knew you were waiting for a signal to let you know the outside guards had been taken care of."
He nodded. She needed to talk. She still hadn't gotten to what had happened to her when she was alone with Nikita and Filat.
"Why didn't Evan come to back you up?"
"He had to chase down some of the leopards running away. Which reminds me, I've been biding my time, but tonight is the night."
"For what?" She poured the sauce into a gravy boat.
"I told you to run. I made it very clear that you were to get out of there." He carried over the bowl of plantains.
She set the rice and green beans on the table. "It was a good thing I didn't, you would most likely be dead."
"I doubt it, but you helped. Still, that's beside the point. You made me a promise." He began carving the roast. It smelled delicious. "I owe you a punishment and I'm collecting tonight."
Her eyebrows shot up. Her face flushed a soft rose. "I don't think so. Not when I saved you. If anyone is getting punished around here, it's you. You walked into that house without backup. You deserve it way more than me, and I think tonight's the night."
He laughed as he put the meal on the table. "I have news for you, baby. You're quite a bit smaller than I am. In some things, such as this, brawn wins every single time." He sank into the chair opposite her, his body hard.
She loved this game between them as much as he did. He'd always thought, even if he found the right woman, the one his leopard claimed, she wouldn't want his kind of play. He doubted that many women would even try, but Sonia was as hot as he was just talking about it.
Her eyes had darkened with desire. Her breathing had changed. Her nipples were hard beneath the T-shirt. His woman. So beautiful. He reached into his pocket and found the box. That small velvet box. He slid it across the table to her.
Her lips parted. "You aren't even going to wait until after dinner?"
"I have more surprises for after dinner. This is more suited to now." He watched her face carefully. She was unsuspecting.
Very slowly she opened the lid. Her eyes went wide with shock. Very slowly her lashes lifted until she was looking up at him. "Joshua?"
"Askin' you to marry me, baby. I want you with me here, every night. I can't sleep without you. Can't think without you. I'm so in love with you it's crazy. I hope you feel the same way about me."
She bit her lip, staring down at the ring.
"There's a little gold chain, Sonia. You'll have to wear it around your neck rather than on your finger, just to be safe. If you shift, your leopard will wear it. I measured her neck to make certain it would fit."
"Aren't you supposed to get on your knee?"
He put down his fork and leaned toward her, staring her straight in the eyes. "I plan to get on my knees tonight up in our room. You're going to be screamin' yes and my name over and over for hours. Right now, I'm not makin' you do that. You just have to say it once for me right now and I'll be happy."
She took the ring from the box and held it in front of her. The gold chain slithered onto the table. She put it around her neck. "Yes, then. The answer, right here, this once, is yes. I can't promise I'll be saying that again tonight. You might be, though. Begging, I mean."
He grinned at her. He couldn't help it. She looked beautiful with his ring settling between her breasts. "Take the tee off, so I can see it against your skin."
She raised an eyebrow. "You just want to see my breasts."
"That too. Take it off for me."
She did it slowly, pulling it up inch by inch until the undersides of her breasts peeked at him. As she pulled it up farther, he could see the ring nestled between the two soft mounds. She tossed it onto the chair beside her and continued eating, looking every inch a queen without her shirt on.
"You know, Joshua, it doesn't make sense that you think I'm going to say yes over and over tonight when I already said it now."
His woman. Smart. He fuckin' loved that about her. "You'll be saying no first and giving me all kinds of grief when I tell you the rest of your surprise. Not the little gifts I've got waiting for you--well, technically, they're for both of us; those are engagement gifts--but the rest of your surprise."
Now she had her fork down. "What rest of the surprise?" Clearly she knew him now; her voice was wary and the look on her face full of suspicion.
"We're getting married right away. We fly out tomorrow, and we'll get married in Vegas. Molly's going to stand up for you. Bastien is coming along so they can have time away together."
"I'm not marrying you right away, Joshua. Are you nuts?"
He was calm. He had expected her objections. He continued eating, watching her. Thinking she was the most beautiful woman in the world and he loved her so much he could barely breathe with it.
"I haven't gotten over the fact that I was never married to Sasha, for one thing. And there's my house. I have to decide what to do with it. I don't like the idea of giving it up."
"You can't even walk into it. It isn't good for a house to stand empty. Especially here."
"You're not going to railroad me, Joshua."
He could see it on her face. That love. That softness. Sweetness. All for him. She was going to marry him. They both knew it, but first, they were going to have one hell of a night with her trying to hold out and him convincing her. Putting his mark on her. Claiming her his way. He couldn't wait.
Keep reading for an excerpt from
JUDGMENT ROAD
The first book in the new Torpedo Ink series by Christine Feehan
Available January 2018 from Jove
THE wind blew off the sea as the three Harleys made their way through the last series of snaking turns and hit the straight stretch on Highway 1 running parallel to the ocean. The night was well under way, a fact that Savva "Reaper" Pajari was well aware of. He had to report to the president of his club, Czar, the moment they arrived back in Caspar, but time didn't matter for that. Even if Czar was at his home in Sea Haven, tucked in close to his wife, Reaper would just hit the roof and climb in through the bedroom window. He'd done it more than once.
He lived for two things: riding free and fighting. He needed to feel solid muscle under his knuckles. He needed to feel fists hitting his body, tapping into that well of ice that covered every emotion. That swift explosion of violence and sweet pain as fists connected was his life, and had been his life since he was five. Now he needed to stay sharp somehow, in this new bullshit direction the club had taken.
He rode along the highway, aware of the others on either side of him. Brothers, some for over thirty years. Men he counted on. Men he called family. Still,
he was apart from them and he knew it, even if they didn't. He turned his head toward the ocean. Waves sprayed up into the air, rushing over rocks and battering at the cliffs. Sometimes he felt like he was those battered rocks, time wearing him away, little by little.
His soul had gone so long ago that he couldn't remember having one. Now his heart was slowly disappearing. There wasn't a place on his body without a scar. He had another to add from this last trip. He also would have to have Ink tat his back, three more skulls to add to the collection of those resting in the roots of the tree on his back.
Viktor Prakenskii, the man known as Czar, was the best man he knew. Reaper's job was to stand in front of Czar, his self-appointed task from the time he was a little boy. He'd been doing it for so long now, he didn't know any other way of life. He stood in front of all his brothers and sisters--in Torpedo Ink, his club. He was proud to wear the club colors. He'd die for those colors and still detested any mission he ran if he had to take them off.
They turned off the main highway onto Caspar Road leading to the town of Caspar, where they'd set up home. They'd designed their compound around the old paymaster's building for the Caspar logging company. They had spent the first few months working on the building, turning it into their clubhouse. It housed multiple bedrooms, a bar, their meeting room--known as the chapel--and a kitchen. They shared bathrooms, whichever was closest to their assigned sleeping room. Czar had insisted each of them purchase a home nearby. He wanted those roots put down deep.
Reaper didn't give a damn where they all slept. As long as he could defend his club and their president, he was fine. The compound had a bed, and right now, he needed one. He was going on forty-eight hours without sleep. He'd stitched up the wound in his side himself, making a piss-poor job of it too, but all he'd had was a little whiskey to disinfect it, and that had burned like hell. It still did.
They rode up to the compound and Storm and Keys parked their bikes while he scanned the lot. Either Czar was home or at the bar. Reaper was fairly certain he'd be at the bar waiting for a report. He didn't like to disturb his wife, Blythe, or their four adopted children. Reaper didn't shut his bike down as he waited for the others to turn to him.
"Goin' to find Czar," he said, unnecessarily, but they were looking at him like he should say something. He didn't like stupid shit, like the formalities that seemed so important to others. He didn't care if people liked him; in fact, he preferred they stay the hell away, except for his brothers, who understood him and made it clear they expected him to at least talk once in a while.
"I can report in," Keys offered. "You could use the downtime."
Reaper shook his head. "Won't be able to sleep right away. I have to check on him anyway. You know how I am."
"Want company?" Storm asked.
He shook his head. "Not necessary. Savage will be with him, probably a few others. Get some sleep. We all earned it." Savin "Savage" Pajari was his birth brother. Like Reaper, he acted as sergeant at arms, protecting Czar at all times. Between the two men, they had their president covered around the clock whether he liked it or not. "I already texted Czar we were comin' in when we were an hour out."
He was certain if he did that, Czar would go to the bar rather than have Reaper come to his home--exactly what Reaper wanted. It was the new bartender. Reaper didn't like anything out of the ordinary. He didn't trust it. The woman was definitely something out of the ordinary. Code could find dirt on anyone, but he hadn't found a single trace of her anywhere. She worked for cash, under the table. She wore designer jeans, but she drove a beat-up car on its last leg, rust breaking through the paint. The fucking thing smoked every time she turned the engine over.
Torpedo Ink had a garage up and running. Did she take her car there to get it fixed? Hell, no. She drove off every night thinking no one knew where she was going. That was the hell of it. She drove back toward Fort Bragg, took Highway 20 and turned off at the Egg Taking Station, a campground in the Jackson Demonstration Forest. Why the fuck would a classy woman bartend in a biker bar, drive a beat-up Honda Civic older than she was, and be camping? It made no sense. He didn't like puzzles, and Anya Rafferty was not only a puzzle, but one big headache.
Reaper had watched her for over a month. Five weeks and three days, to be precise. He'd learned she was a hard worker. She listened to people, remembered their names and what they liked to drink. She flirted just enough to get good tips, but not enough to cause fights. She was generous with the waitresses, sharing tips she didn't have to share. She was careful and guarded yet gave the illusion she was open. She was kind to those less fortunate.
He'd watched her give a homeless man a blanket she carried in her car, and twice she'd brought him coffee and a meal. Twice she'd spent money he was certain she didn't have to get food or shoes for someone living on the streets. She seemed to have an affinity for the homeless, and he was certain she knew all of them by name. She volunteered in the soup kitchen Saturday mornings even though she couldn't have had more than a couple of hours of sleep.
She didn't flinch around the bikers, but it was obvious she wasn't from their world and didn't have a clue how to fit in. She took her cues from Czar and sometimes asked him questions. She'd never asked Reaper a single question, but she sent him a few shy smiles, which he didn't return. He'd spent more time in the bar in the five weeks she'd been there than he'd ever spent in a bar in his life.
Reaper glanced away from the compound, up toward the bar. He could see the lights shining through the dark from the banks of windows. His heart accelerated. His cock jerked hard in his jeans. That was unacceptable, and that was why the woman had to go.
Everyone in his club had been taught to be in complete control of their bodies at all times. They had been beaten, starved, tortured and had unspeakable things done to them in order to shape them into disciplined killing machines. He felt very little emotion and certainly not physical attractions. The bitches partying hard, getting it on with anyone and everyone, did nothing for him. Not one thing. He often walked through a room full of half-naked or naked women and his body didn't so much as stir.
But one look at Anya Rafferty . . . Listening to the sound of her voice. Her fucking laugh. The way all that hair fell around her face like a dark cloud. A waterfall. She had more hair than two women put together, and he found he thought a lot about that hair when he should be thinking about keeping his president alive. Or himself. He refused to allow his cock to drive him. That part of his anatomy would never drive him. He didn't trust anyone, especially not a woman who made his body ache until his teeth hurt.
He sighed and turned his Harley, heading for the bar. He'd told Czar that Anya had to go. She was a problem. Nothing about her added up. Nothing. Protecting Czar was his number-one priority, and if she wasn't forthcoming, she had to go. He told himself that shit, but he knew it wasn't the truth. He hated bullshit. Detested it. Especially when he was trying to bullshit himself. He could make all the excuses in the world, but the truth was the bartender upset him. She got under his skin without trying.
Once in the parking area, Reaper swung his leg over his motorcycle and forced himself to stand upright, his two feet planted on solid ground. He'd been on his bike so long he wasn't certain he had the legs for earth any longer. Placing his dome on the bike, he did a casual sweep of the parking lot. In that one moment, he took in every detail of the cars and lines of motorcycles parked there. He recognized several of the bikes. Two prospects were lounging close, keeping an eye out. He didn't acknowledge them, but he saw every detail. He removed the small leather bag from one of the compartments hidden in his bike and made his way across the parking area toward the bar, still looking around to every parking spot.
What he didn't see was the bartender's old rust bucket. He paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, breathing deeply, not knowing if that made him happy or if his mind went somewhere he refused to acknowledge. She was gone. Czar had done what he'd asked and her presence was removed. That should make
him happy. Well. He was never happy. He didn't know how to be. He'd forgotten. Relief maybe--except now he had to go to the campground and make certain she was okay. Damn it. He swore under his breath and climbed the steps leading up to the bar. His gut burned like hell with every step, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the ache in his chest.
Music poured out of the building, a loud, drubbing beat. That only added to the pounding in his head. He ignored it and yanked open the door. Raised voices and laughter mixed with the clink of glasses. Funny, now that it was an established biker bar, the place was hopping almost every night.
He stepped to the side of the door and took a long look around, noting every jacket or vest with colors. Mostly small-time clubs or weekenders. A couple of legitimate road warriors. Three wannabe hardasses, drinking, looking for women and most likely a fight. Five badasses sitting in the corner wearing Demon patches. They noticed him the moment he walked in. All five were packing and they weren't drinking, at least not enough to say they were there for a good time. He did a quick inventory of his body. He could move fast if needed. He never minded a good fight, and most likely, any minute, he'd be welcoming one. He let the Demons see his gaze linger on them before he allowed himself to scan along the bar.
He had a gun tucked in his waistband at the small of his back. Another was down in his boot along with a knife. A third gun was inside his jacket, easy access, just a cross-body pull and he was in business. The truth was, he rarely used a gun or a knife when he killed. He preferred silence, but weapons came in handy occasionally and he was proficient in the use of all of them.
He knew he was looking for the bartender. Anya. He fucking loved that name. It suited her face. Her voice. It was possible her piece-of-junk car had broken down and she had hitched a ride with someone. He didn't see her anywhere and it pissed him off that he'd even looked. Worse, the pressure in his chest grew.
Tonight's bartender, Preacher, looked harassed. He glanced up from the sea of customers and shot Reaper a welcoming grin, his eyes scanning for wounds. His gaze dwelt for a moment on the blood on Reaper's shirt and then jumped back to his face. Reaper gave him a nod, indicating he was fine and Preacher nodded back. He jerked his chin toward the hall behind the bar. There was a doorway to the left of the bar, but Reaper stalked across the room and flipped up the jointed wooden slab that allowed him to walk through the opening to get behind the bar. He moved down the long hallway straight to the office.
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