Knuckle Down (The Cursed Ravens MC Series Book 2)

by Chantal Fernando

  “Theory,” she says, laughing. “You should see your face right now.”

  I try to school my expression and shake my head at her. “I’m sorry! No judgment, I promise. I just don’t really know anyone your age, so I have no idea what goes on in schools nowadays.”

  “Willow doesn’t have a boyfriend,” her sister tells me, sighing exaggeratedly. “And neither do I. Dad says we have to wait until we’re sixteen before we’re allowed to date.”

  “Dad would scare off anyone anyway, I don’t think it matters how old we are,” Willow grumbles, hugging the navy pillow I keep on my couch.

  “Damn straight,” Knuckles calls out, and Willow flashes me a look that says, I told you so.

  “Wait until you’re sixteen, worry about it then,” I tell the two of them, hiding my smile.

  Although with Knuckles as their dad and an MC at their back, I can’t imagine they’re going to have much luck.

  But that’s for future them to worry about.

  10

  “I’ve never had this before,” Willow murmurs, eyeing the spiced chicken and rice. “It smells good though.”

  She’s not lying, my whole house smells delicious.

  “I made half of it without chili,” he says, then looks at me, a dare in his eyes. “And half of it with chili.”

  Guess he didn’t forget about that one.

  “Can’t wait,” I say, bringing a bottle of apple juice and placing it on the center of the table with four cups. “Do you want a beer?”

  He nods, and I head to the fridge and pull two out. We all start to eat, and as my mouth starts to burn, I pretend it’s absolutely fine. I don’t mind a bit of burn, in fact I enjoy spicy food, but he must have put a whole damn packet of chili into it. It’s tasty though, very much so, and he definitely nailed the meal.

  “How is it?” he asks me, chewing his own mouthful.

  “Amazing,” I tell him honestly. “In case you want to show off some more, I have plenty of other meals I’d love someone else to make for me.”

  His smile is devious, slow spreading, and knowing. “I guess I’ll be back here tomorrow night. Put in your order.”

  “Tomorrow?” I ask, coughing as another bout of spice hits me. “That’s awfully soon, don’t you think?”

  “No,” he replies a little too cheerfully. “You have to eat, and I don’t like the thought of you having to cook.”

  “I’ve been doing that my whole life, I’m sure I’ll survive another solo meal,” I reply in a dry tone.

  “That was before you met me.”

  Wait, what?

  I’ve never met someone so fucking bossy, demanding, and presumptuous in my entire life.

  “Don’t you have to work?” I ask him, arching my brow.

  “I’m flexible. They need me, they’ll call. And if I have any business to handle, that will get done before I come here for the sleepover.”

  “Sleepover?” I ask, eyes going wide. “You can’t be serious.”

  I clear my throat, remembering we have an audience and I shouldn’t be saying shit like that in front of his kids. “What I mean to say is, thanks for the offer, but I have plans tomorrow night.”

  “What plans?” he asks, cracking open his beer.

  “Dinner with my best friend,” I straight-out lie. “So you see, this little rendezvous will have to happen another night.”

  The fact that I’m not telling him to fuck off speaks wonders. I’ve done worse to men who’ve pushed me less than he has. I clearly need to see a shrink about my choice in men and why I seem to develop a soft spot for certain people.

  “You just got rejected, Dad,” Willow snickers, and I feel terrible they witnessed our immature display.

  Feeling the need to defend him for some reason, I say, “I have plans with a friend, Willow. Trust me, I doubt anyone would reject your father.”

  “I know, my mom says he’s a ladies’ man,” Westley adds absently. I don’t miss the way Knuckles’s lips tighten at her comment, and I wonder what the deal is there. Is he on good terms with their mother? It seemed that way when she rang him, but I guess it might not always be easy to co-parent with an ex. Westley tries to pour herself some juice but struggles with the big bottle, so I reach over to help her. When I’m done, I can feel Knuckles’s eyes on me, but I don’t look back at him.

  “Did I tell you that Celina is a journalist, Willow?” he asks his daughter.

  “What? No way!” Willow beams, eyes wide. “I want to be a journalist or a reporter when I’m older! That’s always been my career goal. You have to tell me everything, Celina, like how you got your job and stuff like that. When I have my work experience can I come to your work?”

  I open my mouth, then close it, and turn and give Knuckles a chiding look. He knew Willow would love this and want to know everything. This just gave him another in.

  The man plays dirty.

  And the fucked-up thing is, the way her eyes just lit up at the thought of doing what I do . . . I love that. I live for it. She reminds me of me when I was younger, so determined to make her mark on the world.

  “What do you want to know?” I ask, and the two of us share a smile, from one ambitious girl to another.

  It looks like tonight won’t be ending anytime soon, and when I don’t overthink it . . .

  I’m okay with that.

  “Thank you for having us, Celina,” Willow says, giving me a hug. “Will we see you again?”

  I glance at Knuckles over her head. “Ummm. Sure, I mean I’m sure your dad will organize something.”

  Westley’s arms are around me the second her sister lets go. “I can’t wait to tell my friends about how pretty you are, and about your dogs and how you live in a mansion.”

  “Oh,” I murmur, eyes flaring. “I don’t know about all that, Westley, but I’m glad you had a good time.”

  The girls disappear into the car, and I watch them close their doors, until something blocks my view. Or someone.

  I lift my gaze and stare into those brown eyes.

  “About tomorrow—” he starts.

  “I told you, I have plans,” I interject.

  “Yeah. How about I take you out for lunch on Monday then? You probably get your break around noon, yeah? We can go to Bravo’s,” he decides, and before I can even reply he cups my chin with his rough hands and kisses me, catching me off guard. That must be why I don’t push him away, right?

  Oh fuck.

  He tastes like mint and sin, his lips fitting against mine perfectly, his fingers moving to my nape as if to hold me in place, but little does he know I’m not going anywhere. He sucks on my lower lip, biting gently, then deepens the kiss, dipping me back. He ends the kiss, leaving me breathless, my back still arched, relying on his strength to keep me upright.

  That was the best kiss I’ve ever had.

  And it was in front of his kids.

  Shit.

  “Monday?” I ask breathlessly, and he chuckles and nods, nuzzling my neck and pressing his lips against the sensitive skin there.

  “Monday. Message me what time you have your lunch break,” he murmurs, hands moving to my hips as I straighten, then letting go of me. “Give me your phone so I can put my number in it.”

  I grab my phone and hand it to him, watching him closely as he saves his number and gives it back to me, flashes me a smile, and then leaves.

  “You’ll never get a seat at Bravo’s with no notice,” I call out as he starts to make his way to his car. I mean sure, I could drop my boss’s name and try to get us a table, but I hate doing that.

  “Let me worry about that,” he replies, and then orders me to lock my door.

  I wave to him and the girls, and head back inside.

  And lock my door.

  I scrub my hand down my face and look into Kobe’s big googly eyes. “What have I gotten myself into?”

  He tilts his head to the side, probably as confused as I am.

  I’m having lunch with a biker by the name o
f Knuckles on Monday, and I’ve never wanted to fuck someone more in my life.

  There, I admitted it.

  That’s the first step, right?

  I head upstairs to bed, all three dogs sleeping in my room on the floor.

  And even in my dreams, the bastard finds me.

  I stare at the cursor on the blank screen after deleting the same sentence over and over again. It’s not unusual that I come into work on a Sunday, I kind of like that no one is really around. It’s quiet, and it’s a great place for me to come and think, or to get some extra work done if necessary. Today, however, my mind is going places that I don’t like. I keep thinking about a story I want to write. One that would make my career. One that sheds light on a certain infamous motorcycle club that everyday people can’t help but be fascinated with. I could write such a good fucking headline too.

  CURSED RAVENS: GANG OR FAMILY?

  I delete the words and sit back in my chair, sighing heavily. And then I do some internet research, just to satisfy my curious mind and find out what the rest of the world thinks they know about the MC.

  And then I come up with an idea.

  What if I wrote a positive story on the MC? About how they are like a family, a huge one with their love of bikes the common thread. What if I focused on the motorbikes and the lifestyle, and educate the public on the fact that they are so much more than just criminals?

  CURSED RAVENS: THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MC

  I could turn something negative into something positive.

  And I could even make page one in the process.

  11

  “You’re late,” Robert says as soon as I enter the office.

  I glance down at my watch. “By one minute.”

  “That’s still late,” he declares, handing me a stack of paperwork. “You can’t write one decent piece of work and then decide that the rules don’t apply to you. Are you ready for the pitch meeting?”

  Did he really just go there?

  This here is the problem with working with your ex-boyfriend. I shouldn’t have shit where I eat, but I did, and now I have to see him every day, after he cheated on me and made a fucking fool of me in front of everyone. I’ve considered applying for a new job, but this is the newspaper I’ve always wanted to work for, ever since I was a little girl, and I’m too stubborn to let him ruin that. He’s not going to win, and although he fucked me over, it’s me who gets to walk around with my head held high because I didn’t betray anyone, and because, unlike him, I’m a good fucking person.

  “I’m ready. No need to worry about me.”

  While Robert isn’t my boss, he’s a senior editor and is good friends with my boss, so he’s higher ranked than me.

  “Good,” he says, and then walks off.

  “Good morning to you too,” I mutter under my breath. “Asshole.”

  After the pitch meeting, where Tim loved my idea about writing an exposé on the inner workings of the MC, I spend the morning doing some research and follow-up with sources, but when it hits eleven my phone beeps with a message from Knuckles.

  Does 12 work for you, beautiful?

  Yep.

  Okay, I’ll meet you out front.

  Is he going to come on his motorcycle? I’ve never ridden one before. Erin said she’d take me, but it would be a whole lot more fun riding on the back of his. I glance down at my black pencil skirt and blouse and reconsider. I can barely spread my legs enough in this to walk, never mind get on the back of a bike. The next hour goes by slowly, but as soon as the clock hits twelve, I’m out of there, bag in hand. He must have arrived a little early because he’s already outside waiting for me. Punctual, I like it.

  “Hey,” I say, smiling at him. I glance behind him and see his bike. “You came on your bike?”

  He’s wearing a leather cut today, with a few patches on the front. One of them reads SERGEANT AT ARMS.

  “You’re the MC’s sergeant at arms?” I ask him, remembering what I read on the position online. It explains his road name, because I’m pretty sure the sergeant-at-arms job is to keep order, by any means possible.

  He glances down at his cut, as if he forgot he was wearing it in the first place. “Yeah. Come on, I thought we could walk to Bravo’s, especially since you can’t ride in that skirt.”

  I don’t miss the quick change of subject, but I let it slide.

  “I do like that skirt,” he murmurs, not hiding the fact that he’s clearly checking me out. “Kind of want to kill anyone who is walking right behind you though.”

  I roll my eyes, then look away as he grabs my hand and leads me down the busy pathway, all the professionals heading out to lunch at the same time as us.

  “So you managed to book Bravo’s?” I ask, impressed. “You must know someone, because there’s no way you could have gotten a table otherwise.”

  “I might have a connection or two,” he admits, running his thumb along my knuckles. “Bravo’s has the best food in the city, and there’s always a table there for members of the MC. We don’t have to worry about booking.”

  “Underworld connections,” I mutter, shaking my head with a smile. “Being badass gets you amazing food whenever you want it, who knew?”

  I should have chosen a different career. Actually, like Willow said, being a journalist is pretty badass in its own right, although some days it sure as hell doesn’t feel like that.

  “Being badass gets you anything you want,” he adds, grinning. He lifts our joined hands up. “Including the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “You don’t have me yet, buddy,” I reply, eyebrows rising. “You’re a little too cocky for your own good, you know that?”

  “I like to think of it as being optimistic.” He looks down at my black block heels. “Can you walk in those? I can carry you, if you like. Or we can walk slower. I forget that you have small legs.”

  “I’m fine,” I tell him. “But thank you. These shoes are comfortable, or I wouldn’t wear them to work.”

  “Right, beauty and brains,” he mutters to himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever dated a woman who has had her own career before.”

  I wince. “We’re not rare, you know. It’s modern times. Women don’t need men to thrive.”

  “Need us to reproduce though.”

  “Actually—”

  I’m about to tell him about sperm banks, when he cuts me off. “You still need men for sperm. How about to make you come? Yeah, there are toys, but nothing beats skin-on-skin contact, connection, and sexual tension. Don’t even argue with me on this.”

  “Not going to argue with that one,” I reply, licking my suddenly dry lips. “Nothing beats naked cuddling.” I pause, then add, “After hot, dirty sex.”

  “I knew I liked you,” he says, smirking. He leads me up the stairs to the restaurant and opens the door for me. “At least I get to sate one hunger for you for now.”

  Is it suddenly getting hot in here?

  “Mr. Knuckles,” the waiter greets, smiling. “We have your table waiting for you. Please, come through with your guest.”

  With a hand on the small of my back, Knuckles ushers me to what is clearly the best table available, with a view overlooking the city.

  “Wow,” I whisper, as he pulls my chair out for me. “This is something else. I think when I ate here that one time I was in the corner by the wall.”

  “No more corner tables for you,” he says, amusement filling his gaze. “Can you have a little wine? Or do you want something else to drink?”

  “I can have a glass,” I tell him. “But no more, or I won’t be going back to work.”

  “Where will you be going then?” he asks, glancing over my blouse.

  To the closest bed. With him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  The wine is poured, and the menus are delivered. Struggling to decide on what to choose, I ask what he usually orders.

  “I like to try something different every time,” he says, studying the menu. “And they keep changing it
up, so there’s always something new. I had the prawns last time, they were good.”

  “I love seafood,” I tell him, getting excited. “Maybe I’ll get that then, it does sound good.”

  “You won’t regret it,” he says, placing his menu down and studying me. “Do you always wear that shit to work? Fancy shit? You look so fucking sexy right now.”

  I lean back in my chair, resting my elbows on the table. “Yeah, what else am I going to wear to work? It’s business attire.”

  “I don’t know, I guess a tight skirt that shows off the curve of your ass didn’t pop into my mind when I pictured you walking out of your office today.”

  “Not everyone is as pervy as you,” I reply, arching my brow.

  “That’s true,” he admits, laughing to himself. “Can you blame me though? I don’t know what it is . . . but there’s just something about you. I seriously haven’t stopped being hard since I first saw you.”

  I’d just taken a sip of my wine, which I proceed to almost choke on. “We’re at the fanciest restaurant in the city, can you not say that shit here?”

  “Fuck, you being uptight just turns me on more,” he groans, shifting in his seat. “The waiter better hurry up or we’re not going to make the meal.”

  “Says who?” I ask, licking my lips. “I’m hungry, and unlike you, I don’t get to come here all the time.”

  “You will,” he says, running his hand down his beard. I find myself wanting to do the same, to play with it, and run my fingers through it, preferably while he’s inside me.

  I don’t know when I decided I was going to sleep with him, but it’s clear that this is inevitable. Maybe I just need to get him out of my system, and then he can go back to his life and I can go back to mine.

  Just two consenting adults having some good sex.

  No harm done, right?

  12

  “These prawns are the best things that have ever entered my mouth,” I say, softly moaning. “Seriously, whoever the chef is here, he or she was sent from the heavens.”