by Marata Eros
I don't believe that's true. “I don't like the possibility of Jerstad making bail, and those type always do. Just tell me what you know, what his address of record is.”
Perry whistles low, and since he's been undercover on another case, his hair's grown to epic proportions. When he shakes his head, a mass of thick shoulder-length spiral curls bounce around with the movement. “No can do. Yeah, so perfect. Then you can go over there and kill him, get your ass booted to the can, and I can't mooch microbrews off you on the weekend anymore. That doesn't suit my needs very well. It's all about me.” He smirks, looking like he just sucked a raw lemon. “No fucking way, pal. I'm into the full-mooch situation, not a partial mooch. It's all the way or nothing.”
I roll my eyes. “You're lucky I like you, or I'd kick your ass.”
He mock-shoots me. “You'd try.” His smirk widens into a grin.
Grunting, I admit, “I want to tag Jerstad's ass so he doesn't go after Candi.”
“Jesus. He's not going after your sister. She's a federal agent and damned dangerous. And if he's half as smart as you say, he'd know that means incriminating himself. He won't commit to that. Even for his sick vendetta.”
I snort, narrowing my eyes at Perry, and change subjects. “You know, Candi wouldn't have put you in that headlock if you didn't come on to her with one of your lame lines.”
His face goes sullen, brown eyes hard. “It was a brilliant line.”
“Nope.” I fold my arms.
Perry frowns, saying nothing for a few seconds. “Fine.” Crossing his arms over his muscular chest, he continues, “I guess I could have been more original.”
“Any reference to her name being sweet or any bullshittery like that is an instant guillotine for romance.”
“Right,” Perry says, glum.
I get back on task. “Don't play me. I know you've got a bead on Dear Old Fucking Dad.”
His smile is wicked. “Yup.”
“I don't want either of us to hide, but I want Candi safe.”
“Puck—God, that girl can take care of herself.”
I know this, but every time I look at my sister, I see the helpless girl getting raped by Samuel Jerstad. As far as I'm concerned, she'll never be safe enough. “Humor me. Just keep surveillance on him for twenty-four hours, Perry. Give me enough time to get a semi-permanent plan for Candi.”
She probably has all kinds of plans.
“And the kid?” Perry asks.
“Calem's in protective custody, waiting for placement.” My exhale is rough.
Perry notices. He frowns. “What?”
“Candi wants him.”
His brows jump “What? That's crazy,” he says with an expression of surprise mixed with doubt.
“Not so crazy, really. I mean, she's been having to hand over these kids for three years. I think Candi just wants a happy ever after. And there is no husband and kids in her future.”
Except an MC prez. I put that thought out of my head. “And Calem's special,” she had told me.
“Okay,” Perry stands, pushing away from my kitchen table, where he had only one beer. A record. “I'll get a guy on it. But I'm telling you, Samuel Jerstad would be a class-A moron to try to do anything to Candi—or you. He's a suspect, even if he's crying like a bitch about police brutality.”
I was pretty brutal. But he's still breathing, so it wasn’t brutal enough. I glance at my knuckles. The skin had been torn clean off my right hand, scabbed over hard now.
Jerstad is no moron, but he is determined and cruel, and as far as I remember, he’s all about holding a grudge.
“I fucked things,” I admit, still unrepentant. Nothing felt sweeter in that moment than crushing the man who hurt us without mercy.
Perry shrugs. “Jerstad was still at the scene when Candi was attempting a handoff. Doesn't matter that the other guy she put in the hospital had a record that was clean as a whistle. The boy corroborates some of it—”
“You know we can't use Calem's testimony.”
“Points a damn steady finger that they were there for any reason other than taking in the sights. We all know they're guilty. We just have to find that shred of evidence that underscores what we already know.”
I want to kick something. “So much fucking work down the drain.” The only reason I don’t feel like I just wasted three years of my life in the MC is we managed to save kids through it all. That's it. Though if I were honest, I'd say the MC life was more to my liking than I thought it would be.
The freedom and the ride had some appeal. But the bad elements of Chaos, like hurting women, was never my thing. I'd been expert at getting out of those details.
And I never thought I would say it, but easy pussy gets old. Maybe I'm just tired, but I want something more. Same shit everybody ends up wanting in the end.
“And that fuck Dagger telling the Road Kill chumps to tag the FBI agent,” Perry says out of the blue.
Dagger. That prick. “Storm?”
Perry nods. “Loved that biz.” He rolls his eyes. “And of course, Mover and Dagger are MIA. That's not suspect at all.”
“Troubling-as-fuck.”
“Yup.” Perry starts walking toward the door. “Lots of loopholes and no closure. But that's the feebies’ problem.” He turns, half-facing me with a big hand on the old glass doorknob of my front door. “I know you want to protect your sister, Puck. But we've got a guy impersonating FBI.”
“If Dagger's an FBI agent, I have a uterus.”
Perry's lips twitch. “That's what I'm saying, circling uterus territory.”
“Fuck off.”
He grins. “Anyways, then we have Mover, handing out free advice to civilians and then disappearing.”
Perry's right. That's the feds’ problem, but where it impacts my sister, it becomes mine. And goddammit, I always had a feeling about Mover. I had three years to observe him as the Chaos Riders’ president. Anyone who isn’t a fucking moron would get a sense of a man after all that time.
“And my sister is dating the Road Kill MC president,” I break the news as gently as a bull blasting through a china shop.
Perry leans against the door as though the wind just got knocked out of him. His muscled arm bulges as the doorknob creaks under his grip. “What in the blue fuck?”
I give a sage nod. “Yeah. She's insane. But they have some…” I whip my palm around. “Connection.”
Perry gives a short laugh, but not like it's funny. “I suppose you're quoting her.”
“Basically. It's my attempt at girlspeak in a nutshell.”
Perry groans, mock-banging his head on the front door. “Candi couldn't have picked anyone worse.”
“Yeah, but it's her life, and I'm not the boss of it.”
Perry meets my eyes. “Even for her own good?”
I pause for a second then concede, “Even that. Besides, Viper is a good guy where it counts. Navy vet. Did two tours in the Gulf. Overall, they're not bad men—Road Kill MC. Have a moral code. Might not be the same one as most, but they’re consistent as death.”
His face turns thoughtful. “What kind of men are they, Puck?”
Fuck. The men I'd like to be a part of. But that part's not verbally consumable at the moment. “The kind of men who don't abuse women,” I finally say, though I know shit went down Candi's not being totally up front about.
“Except the fed that hurt Candi.”
“Yeah. That fucker, Storm. Too enthusiastic with the roleplay.”
Our gazes meet, and an unspoken assent passes between us. No one who’s legit has to go that hard to convince others they are.
“Got your hands full,” I tell Perry.
“No.” He shakes his head, his good humor returning. “The feds do. This is their mess. Got Mover missing. Have the other dickhead playing agent. Candi's been ousted.”
“Technically, no. But Ted did put the seed in her ear about retiring.”
Perry chuckles. “They are so not having your fisticuffs ass ba
ck.” He snickers.
“Fuck off.”
“You're getting repetitive.”
I point at the door, and Perry opens it. “Go watch Jerstad,” I tell him.
Perry's all serious now, brows dumped low over eyes a perfect shade of root beer. “If he's there, I'll have my eyes on him.”
Guys don't hug, but my gratitude is palatable, and Perry's no fool, so he reads the emotion easily.
“This doesn't mean we're taking long showers together, Johnstone.” I smile. He does too.
Then he's gone, and I'm staring at my beat-up wood door. The glass knob winks in the dying afternoon light slanting in from the back-door window, and dust motes float through the air. The windowpanes in the doors mirror each other perfectly.
I think about Candi being with Viper. He's too fucking old for her. Candi's too fragile to be with a man who's that hard. I dump my head into my hand. Wanting to pray. Not knowing who to ask. Or even what to ask for.
*
Viper
I wrap my arms around Candice, loving the feel of her soft small body against me. She erases my old pain, and in my own way—in the only way I know how—I try to ease hers.
I know pain. Gave it out. Took it. Seen things. Done worse. But this slip of a woman has filled the hole in my heart with a precision so neat, it terrifies my old ass.
“Thanks for using a condom,” she says sarcastically.
Shit.
Hate the feel of a woman with a condom. Grim necessity within the club. Mainly because the sweet butts have been with everyone.
Raincoats shall be worn by anyone with a cock. Which is everyone. Candice was different. Can't get enough of kissing her. Don't kiss the club whores. Too intimate.
Reminds me of Colleen and the million kisses I gave her. Every one of them straight from my heart. Gave that woman every piece of me. Surprised I have any left.
I trail a hand along Candice's side, pausing at the injured rib. Sitting up, I still her slight movement with my hand when she would do the same. Bending over the injury, I kiss the deep-purple bruise close to her sternum, and nuzzle my face against the silky skin of her breasts.
Her bright-gold eyes look at mine. Tiny lightning strikes of green catch the light as silence stretches between us like taffy. Grasping her face as gently as a hollow egg, I turn her to the side of the cheek I slapped. There is no mark on her skin. Only the one in my memory.
With one arm, I swim over her body and kiss that cheek. Not lightly, but deeply, moving my lips over every bit of skin. I start at the corner of her eye and move downward on a diagonal, missing her lips by a centimeter.
Candice opens her mouth to speak, I think, but I don't allow it. Instead, I kiss her lips, and her tongue sinks between mine.
She groans. “I taste myself.”
I laugh against her skin. “Hell—you should. I've eaten a banquet of your pussy lately.”
She grabs the sides of my face, kissing me more deeply. Spreading her legs, I cup her ass and sort of toss her legs around my waist.
Candice hugs me to her tightly. “You're great at it,” she purrs between pants.
“I'm like fine wine, babe. I just get better at all that shit with age.”
Softly, she shakes her head. “Never had a man do what you do, make me feel like I do when you do it.”
“Love pussy.”
“I think you like saying the word.” Candice's lips quirk, but not like she's especially amused.
“Yeah, I do. I don't mean it like a dis. I'm a worshiper—long-term worshiper of the Vagina.”
She laughs, and I kiss her nose then her mouth. “Love the way women smell, how soft they are, the noises they make.” I slide a hand between us, cupping her mound and sinking a finger inside her wetness.
She does a half-sigh, half-groan, eyelids fluttering.
“Like that,” I whisper.
“You didn't wear a condom,” she says again, but not like she's really mad.
I spread her legs wider, caging her face with my hands. She's so tiny, my fingers span from her chin to temple. “You're special.” I kiss her again. “Special to me.” Hurts to say it, though it's the unflinching truth.
Her eyes open all the way, sharpening, though making a woman have that many orgasms is something I work hard at. Love seeing Candice have pleasure. By my hand, my body, my cock. “Are we going to talk now?” I ask.
Usually that's the woman's line, but when said woman has your balls in one hand and your heart in the other—a man finds he gives a shit.
Candice nods. “You didn't leave me alone.”
I couldn't be more surprised by her words. Shaking my head, I touch the space on my chest above where my heart lies. It's sappy but the truth. “Felt something besides the numb. Wanted to exhaust this.”
“Even if I told you no.” Her face is neutral, tough to read.
I'm still talking about the truth here. “Especially if you told me no.” My eyes hold hers. “Nothing good is easy. That's been my experience.”
Candice wraps her hands around my neck and whispers, “Thank you.”
I lean away. “No, it's me that's thankful. After I lost Colleen, a part of me died with her.”
She doesn't ask me who Colleen was. Probably knows just from how I said her name or because she's a fed and they have an inside track. Either way, I keep on confessing. “I was just going through the motions of shit. Not really living, just existing.”
“That's not living,” Candice agrees.
“Yeah.”
Her hands slide down my bare arms, trailing over the contours of my muscles. “I know because that's what I was doing.”
My heart beats a little faster. I'm killer at reading innuendo. “Was?”
Her sudden smile is happy. My answering one is hopeful. I don't have to see my face to know it. I feel the emotion deep inside myself. A fracture. But not like a break. More like heat, seeking the source of all the small cracks of grief and emptiness and fusing them together to become whole again.
“Not anymore. I think I've never felt more alive than I do right now.”
I can't stand it anymore. I have to know. “Because of me?” I ask in a voice so quiet, part of me hopes Candice didn't hear me.
“No.” Before my stomach drops like a rock, she finishes, lacing our hands together, “Because of us.”
I'm brave enough to believe.
Chapter 26
Candice
I'm going to have to take one of those day-after-sex abortion pills. That's my name for it. It’s not really called that. It's more along the lines of “egg implantation disruption,” or some other feel-good verbiage like that.
My mindset sounds cavalier, but the truth is, I've been irresponsible with Viper. The first time, I could forgive myself because of the unimaginable circumstances. But the multiple times afterward? No.
What I've allowed has been deliberate, like all my sexual encounters are—how often I want and with who I want. But I’ve mostly kept men and companionship on the contemplative mental backburner.
Women work through childhood sexual trauma differently. Every experience is unique. Every transgression has shades of difference.
My father raped me. Other women have been raped by the one man they thought would be their protector. Most shy away from sex after the experience, getting triggers at the thought of actual recurrence.
Not me. I always knew whatever man I was with—was not him. I never choose men like my father and always put myself in control of me. I was not unconsciously drawn to repeat the events that scarred me. But the horror of what Samuel Jerstad did doesn't fade. It's on a shelf, seldom dusted, carefully tucked away inside the confines of my mind. I can't take the trauma out of the fabric of the human being I became.
Being with Viper, a man I thought would be my torturer but ended with him giving me the most tender, mind-blowing sex I ever experienced, was the single greatest unexpected event of my life. Having feelings for him crushes me. Because sex is easy. Fe
eling is devastating.
The only man I ever allowed myself to feel anything for was Puck. And that's my blood. Not corrupt blood like the man who raised us, but pure blood. Loyal. True. Kind. All the things my father never was. And now, I feel like Viper offers all those traits, and more.
“A piggybank for your thoughts,” Viper says, brushing the loose strands of hair from my forehead.
I close my eyes to avoid his penetrating stare. “Thinking about my father.”
Eyes darkening with emotion, he says, “I'd kill that fucker if he was here in front of me now.”
I see the emotion. His face is suffused with the same intensity that drew me to him. Genuineness that a person can't fake. At least, not to someone as jaded as me.
“I know,” I whisper. “I don't understand how we've come to this point so fast.”
He lifts a muscular shoulder then lets it drop. “But here we are. Can't take back shit that happens like this, Candice.”
I trail a fingertip along his strong jaw, feeling the bristle of day-old stubble. “We're such different people.”
Viper nods, and I thread my fingers through his hair, thick and short. I love the butchered strands beneath my skin.
“Colleen was my wife.”
I don't acknowledge I knew. But seeing facts in a file are dead words on a computer screen. Here's the flesh-and-blood man before me. Different.
“Died of breast cancer. Couldn't have kids.” His eyes are dry. Probably cried all the tears he ever would. Ever could. “Promised myself I'd have fun with women, that somehow I'd be tarnishing her memory by taking another old lady. Not that there'd ever be anyone who could fill her stilettos.” His smile is so small, it's hardly there.
I remain silent, letting him speak.
Viper's eyes move to mine. “Then you came along.” He's still propped on an elbow, and his free hand goes to my long hair, fisting the deep-auburn strands. “I meant to hurt you. Get a hold of whatever fuck was hurting kids and clean up my MC's backyard. That was it.”
He tightens his grip just shy of pain. “But I couldn't do anything but adore your body, Candice. It's all I am capable of.” Viper draws my face to his and kisses my lips softly. “It's like I've got a guardian angel, and all this time, his hands were tied. And the minute he was free, he put you here in front of me.”
