by Devney Perry
“No,” Nick repeated, his stance firm and unwavering.
“Why not?” Stone asked. “This shit is serious, Nick. Show some fucking loyalty.”
I was surprised at the older man’s sudden anger. If anyone in the room was going to lose their cool, I had expected it to be Draven. Even Jet was now wearing a serious look. But not Draven. His expression remained impassive.
Holding up a hand, Draven immediately silenced Stone’s protest. “This deal with the Warriors will not end well if we don’t have your help.”
“Don’t fucking talk to me about bad endings. I’ve seen firsthand what can happen to the innocents caught up in a rivalry between motorcycle gangs,” Nick said.
“What happened with the Travelers and your mother was tragic,” Draven said. “I underestimated them and I won’t do the same with the Warriors. You of all people should understand my need to strike first, keep the damage and casualties contained.”
At the mention of his mother, Nick’s already-tense body became rock solid. The muscles of his forearms pulsed as his hands formed tight fists.
“She’ll be safer if you help us,” Draven said.
“I seriously fucking doubt that,” Nick snapped.
“She” must be me and I had to agree with Nick. Helping his dad’s motorcycle gang would only court trouble.
“Think about it,” Draven said casually, like he was asking Nick to consider dinner plans, not go against everything he stood for as a firefighter.
“My answer won’t change,” Nick said.
“We’ll see,” Draven muttered and stood from the couch.
Jet and Stone followed. All three moved toward the door without another word. With their backs to me, I got a good look at the embroidery on the backs of their vests.
In Old English lettering, Tin Gypsies arched above an intricately stitched skull. Beneath it read Live to Ride. Wander Free. One half of the skull’s face was a gypsy with a colorful head wrap and sugar skull stitching around the eye, mouth and nose. The other was stitched entirely with silver threads, making it look like metal. Behind that half of the skull was a wave of red, orange and yellow flames. On a canvas, I would have considered the artwork beautiful. On the back of their vests, it was chilling.
From the doorway, Nick and I watched the men climb inside a large black truck and drive away.
“Have you helped them before?” I asked when they were out of sight.
“Once.”
I sucked in a sharp breath and closed my eyes.
“Not something I’m proud to admit, Emmy,” he whispered and walked to the couch.
“When?” I asked.
“Right after Vegas,” Nick said. “Dash was hell-bent on joining the club and my friend had just gotten killed. I figured if I helped, then maybe things would settle and Dash could learn how to protect himself. So I helped Dad burn down the Warriors’ clubhouse. I had just finished my training up here with the previous fire chief. I made sure the fire was untraceable when it got investigated.”
“Did anyone get killed?” I asked.
“No.” He shook his head and sank into the couch. “I told Dad I wasn’t helping unless he could ensure the building was empty.” His frame deflated, his shoulders hunched as his head turned to the floor. I was certain that Nick had punished himself thoroughly over the years for helping his father.
Meanwhile, my head was still spinning as I tried to process the fact that Nick had aided his father in committing a serious crime. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Say you won’t leave me now that you know about my past.”
My answer was automatic and true. “I won’t leave you.”
“Say it again.”
“I won’t leave you.”
Nick pushed himself up off the couch and came right into my space. He brushed his lips against mine, then nuzzled his bearded cheek into my neck and kissed the hinge of my jaw.
A quiet moan rolled from my throat. The jaw kiss was a new thing. He’d been doing it for a few weeks now, and each time, tingles would explode on my cheek. This man knew exactly how to make me shiver.
Nick’s mouth hit mine and I let out another moan. His tongue dominated my mouth and I had no choice but to slant my head and give him full access. Spanning my ribs, he hoisted me up into his arms and carried me into the kitchen, whipping off my pajama shorts before setting me on the counter.
When my ass hit granite, it was only covered with satin black panties. And then it wasn’t.
“Close your eyes, Emmy.” He placed a palm at my chest and gently pushed me back so I was lying on the counter. His hands traveled slowly to my knees, caressing the bare skin on my legs.
Starting with my right side, he trailed kisses along my inner thigh as he gently pushed my knee to the side. Then he did the same on the left.
That beard was going to be my undoing.
I wanted to open my eyes but I knew better than to ignore his orders. When we were fooling around, he was in charge. And since that had always worked out really, really well for me, I didn’t protest.
Waiting for Nick to touch me was agony. I was thoroughly primed and ready for his mouth, but it never came. Moments passed without any noise, not even his breathing. My pounding heartbeat and labored pants were the only sounds in the room.
The way Nick could anticipate and read my body always baffled me. The second before I was about to crack, his breath was against my center.
One long stroke of his tongue, and my back arched off the counter.
“My sweet Emmy,” he whispered before a second stroke, this one moving all the way up so he could flick my clit with the tip of his tongue.
I gasped when he gave up the strokes and latched onto my clit, gently sucking and nipping until every muscle in my body was shaking.
Nick normally brought me up and down a few times before finally making me come. But not tonight. He kept at me until my orgasm swelled.
When it burst, I screamed Nick’s name, writhing on the counter as the sensation rocked my body, his tongue diving inside my pulsing sex.
“So good,” I panted when my orgasm finally stopped.
“We’re not done yet, Wife.” I felt the tip of his cock at my entrance, spreading my wetness onto the condom. He slid inside, pausing for a moment to let my body adjust, and then he let loose.
His hands gripped the back of my knees, keeping them spread apart wide, while his hips pounded forward. Nick fucked me rough and hard. The sound of his skin slapping against mine echoed in the kitchen.
White spots broke out behind my closed eyelids as I clawed my hands against the granite surface, seeking a grip as another intense orgasm ripped through my body. Every muscle in my core pulsed around his thick cock.
Nick’s pounding became desperate as he raced toward his own release. I opened my eyes to watch him come. His head was tipped to the ceiling. The cords of his throat tightened just before his mouth fell open with a deep groan.
Wrapping my legs around Nick’s hips, I pushed myself up from the counter so I could press my chest against his. His hard cock was still twitching inside me as I threaded my fingers through his beard and pulled his mouth down to mine, tasting myself on his lips.
I broke our kiss to inhale some much-needed oxygen and collapse against him. The spicy smell from Nick’s sweat filled my nose as I breathed heavily against his neck.
“Say it one more time,” he whispered.
“I won’t leave you.”
By the end of the day, I was wiped and glad to be back at Nick’s for the night. The first thing I did was shed my work clothes for a pair of wool socks and one of Nick’s flannel shirts. Then I joined him in the kitchen, sipping a glass of wine while he whipped up us some dinner.
“How was your day?” Nick asked.
“Long,” I said. “I’m exhausted. Work was good though. I can’t tell you how good it feels to see Mason come to school clean and well-fed. He’s really coming out of his shell too.”
Thes
e last two weeks at the Drummonds’ had done Mason wonders. Since the incident at Kira Robertson’s house, I’d had a few nightmares but Nick had been my savior those nights, pulling me close and telling me everything was all right. Seeing Mason happy today made every nightmare worth it.
He was finally able to act like the six-year-old kid he was. I just hoped that his time with the Drummonds could last, that maybe they would find it in their hearts to make him a permanent part of their family.
“I’m glad,” Nick said. “That kid deserves some happiness.”
“Absolutely. How was your day?”
“Brutal. I’m fucking wiped,” he said. “I ran around town picking up cash boxes from the breakfast tickets, which was probably a good thing for me to do today. I would have fallen asleep at my desk. We’re going to bed early.”
“You won’t hear me argue. So did you count the money?”
He nodded and grinned.
“And?” I asked, poking him in the chest.
He laughed, clutching his pec. “Ouch!”
I rolled my eyes. “Nick! Tell me!”
“Nine thousand, two hundred and fifty dollars.”
“Yes!” I shouted, raising an arm in the air. “We should easily make the rest from the calendar sales.”
“Raffle sales were big. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you helping out.”
“No thanks needed. I was happy to.”
Working side by side with Nick to reach his goals had been fun. Sure, I could have just written him a check for the ten thousand dollars but I hadn’t wanted to use my money to help him, I’d wanted to use my mind. And the end result was worth all of the added work.
“So, any word from your dad?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. But let’s talk about it after dinner.”
“Okay.”
The troubles with Draven had consumed most of my headspace today. Mostly, I had been worried about how Nick was feeling. If he wanted to wait until later to talk, that couldn’t mean good things.
We ate simple but delicious club sandwiches for dinner and retreated into the living room to relax before bed. Nick worked to start a fire as I lounged on the couch, enjoying the pops and crackles as the fire came to life.
Home.
My house was five minutes away. But here with Nick, this felt like home.
It would be so wonderful to live here together someday. That was, if I didn’t completely alienate him by asking for a divorce. And the longer I put it off, the more likely that was to happen.
But with all the drama from his dad today, it wasn’t the time to bring it up. Nick didn’t need any more stress than he was already dealing with so I’d delay our conversation, yet again.
The fire was roaring and Nick settled next to me on the couch. “Jess called me today and gave me an update about Robertson’s boyfriend.”
“And?”
“The boyfriend pleaded guilty to all of the charges. We won’t be seeing him around again for a long time.”
No trial and an extended stay at a correctional facility meant the chances of me seeing that whacko’s face ever again were nil.
“And it gets better,” he said. “Guess who packed up and moved to Wyoming this weekend?”
“Aunt Kira?” I asked hopefully.
“Oh yeah.”
“Good-bye.” I smiled and waved my hand in the air.
“That was the good stuff, Emmy,” Nick said.
My nose scrunched up.
“Dad called me all fucking day. Even had Dash try a couple times. He’s putting on the pressure for me to help.”
“Are you considering it?”
“No,” he said. “But phone calls and visits are just the beginning. Dad’s fucking stubborn and rarely doesn’t get his way. He’ll start to escalate his persuasion techniques.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Threats. He’ll probably find some way to use you against me. Force me into it.”
“Oh my god,” I whispered.
“Don’t freak out yet,” he said.
“Too late.”
“He won’t hurt you, Emmy.”
“You just said he would threaten me.”
“Yeah, he will. But not with physical violence. My guess is he’s already done some digging and found out you’ve got money. That’s probably where he’ll start. I can see him blackmailing me. He’ll probably threaten to hack your bank account and empty it.”
“Good luck, Draven.”
My father was paranoid about security and cyber-attacks. He had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars keeping all of us physically safe. But Trent Austin had spent millions protecting his fortune and those of his children. Even though he hadn’t personally inherited the fortune from my grandfather, he had always made sure my money and my brother’s were secure.
“His hacker is good. It could happen,” Nick said.
“It’s doubtful,” I said, “but they’re welcome to try. In fact, I hope they do try and that when they hit up against my father’s security blocks, it pisses them off.”
“If he gets in, you’ll never see that money again.”
“If that’s what it takes so you don’t have to commit a felony, fine by me.”
“Honestly, Emmy? I don’t know if I can let it come to that, to risk you losing everything just for me.”
“He’s a manipulative asshole. Don’t you dare give into him, Nick,” I said. “It’s not right. And if you don’t stand up to him, he’ll never quit and leave us alone.”
“I know.” He let out a long sigh and his shoulders fell. Nick carried so much on those shoulders. I wished his family would stop adding to the load. I hated to see him like this, defeated.
“I despise your dad!” I shot up from the couch and started pacing in front of the fireplace.
“He’s not my favorite person either.”
“What else? Other than going after my money, what else would he do?”
“I don’t know,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “He’ll get creative.”
“Is there anything we can do to get him to back off?”
“Not really. When I talked to Dash today, I asked him to help explain to Dad why I’m not doing it. I think he understood but at the end of the day, Dash is always going to be loyal to Dad and that fucking club.”
“Then we’ll just have to deal with whatever comes. I’m not scared of Draven. He can push as hard as he wants, I’m not giving in. And neither are you.” I continued pacing, mentally noting everything I was going to say to Draven the next time I saw him.
“Come here, Emmy,” Nick said.
“No. I’m too angry to sit.”
Nick grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me across the space between us, directly onto his lap. “I love that temper, Emmy. I love that it’s for me. I’m telling you all this so you’ll be prepared. But I don’t want you getting yourself worked up and worried. We’ll do like you said. Deal with it as it comes. Okay?”
I nodded.
“It means the world to me that you’d give up your money just so I can avoid adding another black mark. But I don’t think—”
Pressing my fingers to his lips, I silenced his argument. “It’s just money. It’s not what matters. This is,” I said, placing my hand on his heart. “Please don’t give into him.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Easter Sunday. A day that reminded me of pastel frilly dresses. My father had always insisted I wear some elaborate little-girl ensemble for the annual brunch my family hosted at our New York estate. Our staff would spend the week preparing the gardens with hidden treats. All of the children, including my brother, would race outside to see where the Easter goodies had been hidden.
All of the kids except me.
I had been forced to remain on our veranda with a pre-filled basket of candy so that my dresses wouldn’t risk damage. The egg hunt had lost its appeal in my teenage years, an
d college students wouldn’t think of partaking in such a juvenile activity.
So this year I was finally free to do something I had wanted to do my entire life: crawl around in the grass and dirt, searching high and low for plastic eggs filled with candy.
And I had enlisted Nick to help. He was currently outside hiding eggs while I stood by the dining room window, spying.
We were spending a quiet holiday together. A glazed ham was currently in the oven along with an amazing potato dish Nick had created. We were also having a layered salad that I had made last night. Gigi had given me the recipe and assured me that I couldn’t mess it up.
“Emmeline!” Nick shouted, scaring me away from the glass. He was pointing at me through the living room window. “Stop cheating!”
I stuck out my tongue and abandoned my post to get another Diet Coke. Why had I thought this would be enjoyable? The anticipation was killing me.
While I waited for Nick, his phone rang. Draven.
“Decline!” I told the phone, pressing the red button.
It had been a week since Nick’s dad’s unwelcome visit and Draven had not backed off his phone calls. Every hour Nick’s phone would ring and go unanswered. By Friday, Draven had decided to start calling my phone as well.
And sure enough. The second Nick’s phone stopped ringing, mine started. “Oh for the love . . .” But it wasn’t Nick’s father calling my phone. It was mine.
I hadn’t spoken to my father in months, not since he had called to berate me for ending my relationship with Logan. Our only communication had been via email and updates through Steffie. I’d sent him a note congratulating him on his engagement. He had forwarded me the receipt from paying Fred Andrews for my divorce papers.
“Hello, Father.”
“Emmeline. Hello.”
“Happy Easter. Steffie texted to say that your annual brunch went well.”
“It did indeed. Have you plans for your holiday?”
“Nick and I are having a nice dinner soon. Then I imagine we will relax.”
“Of course. Your husband,” he said. “Exactly the reason for my call. Fred Andrews told me he has yet to receive your divorce papers. When do you plan on ending this ridiculous marriage of yours?”
