Dark Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 6)

by James, Marysol

  So, yeah. She needed time to get herself together, organize a second plan. Then she’d make her move, though she imagined it’d be way harder to get him down and out again. She’d have to get seriously creative about escape now. After all, she’d totally tipped her hand about not being some sniveling, passive nitwit, and she’d bet that he’d already locked up all the frying pans.

  “I need to get some more rest,” she said, reluctantly telling him the truth. “Where’s my bed?”

  His eyebrows shot up his forehead. “You want to go downstairs?”

  “If that’s where my bed is, then yes.”

  That stopped him. The bed downstairs was small and uncomfortable, and the basement was freezing cold right now, since he hadn’t had time to turn the heat on yet. No goddamn way he was putting her down there, not when she was still pale and shaky. She needed warmth and comfort, a fresh bandage, some more antibiotics. She was staying right where she was, where he could keep an eye on her.

  “You’re staying here,” he ground out.

  “Why?”

  “Because I ain’t walking up and down those goddamn stairs every hour to check on you,” he said. “Fucking waste of my time. I’m gonna lock you in here until it’s time to shoot you up with drugs again, and change your bandage.” He glanced over at the fireplace. “And I’ll be taking the pokers and the matches with me when I go. I guess it goes without saying that I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, huh?”

  God, what an asshole. Worse, he was an asshole with a serious case of split-personality disorder, and he was giving her whiplash. One minute, he was the kindest man that she’d ever met, so genuinely caring and gentle – and the next he was sarcastic and cold, and just so damn hurtful, his words slashing at her like knives. Her anger at his hot-and-cold routine rose so fast, it took them both by surprise. Livid, Shay sat up straighter, and the intensity of her glare just about knocked him backwards.

  “Oh, right,” she spat at him. “You don’t trust me? Last time I checked, I wasn’t the one holding you against your will in some cabin in the middle of goddamn-nowhere. I’m not the one carrying the fucking gun, and I’m sure as hell not the one calling the shots here. You and your dickhead MC buddies kidnapped me, and I had exactly zero say in any of it. You all just decided one day to stop my entire life because you think that by having me, you have my brother by the balls. You’ll keep me alive until you get what you want from him, and if he doesn’t give it to you, then I’m as disposable as a kleenex, right?” Shay drew a deep breath, her heart pounding with rage. “When your Prez asks, are you gonna be the one to end me, Warren? You gonna be the one to put a bullet in my brain and bury me out behind this place? Hell, you boys probably have a whole pile of bodies out there, huh?” She huffed out a laugh. “And you don’t trust me? Because I got one up on you, and did the only logical thing in my situation, and tried to save myself? Fuck you.”

  Startled at this outburst, Warren narrowed his eyes at her, slid right on in to dickhead mode. “You about done bitching at me?”

  “You can always gag me again if you don’t like what I have to say,” she shot back.

  “Gag you?”

  He advanced on her now, so slow and menacing. Shay fought to not draw back, and managed it. She held her ground – well, such as it was when she was on her half-naked ass in a bed – and just turned up the wattage on her glare.

  Fuck this guy. Seriously.

  He stopped right in front of her, and she had to tip her head back to hold his eyes.

  “Gag you?” he repeated softly. “You think that’s the worst I can do to you, darlin’?”

  She tensed, suddenly all-too-aware of just how vulnerable she was. God, she doubted she could walk across this room, let alone defend herself in a fight and then tackle the mountain again.

  “Answer me,” he said, that tone of absolute command back in his rough voice. “You really think that’s the worst I can do? Don’t be fooled by the nice-guy act I’ve been playing out of necessity, girl. Don’t you know who you’re dealing with here? Don’t you know what I am?”

  Yeah, she knew who she was dealing with, and she knew damn good and well what he was, but she was too angry to be careful now. Her mind made up, Shay held his eyes. She wasn’t backing down. It’d be like surrendering – and she was never again going to surrender to an MC thug. That’d be like dying, in all the ways that deeply, truly mattered to her.

  “So do your worst,” she hissed. “I fucking dare you.”

  Warren kept his face blank, but he was beyond shocked at what the hell was going on here. One minute, they were connected, talking and laughing, even mildly flirting… and the next, they were at each other’s throats.

  Well, it was too late to stop now. He had to take this as far as necessary to make Shay stop challenging him. Make her stay quiet and cooperative until she could leave, safe and whole. If she caused any more trouble, and Ace and Kirk found out about it, they’d put her down. They’d hurt her in ways that he couldn’t even bring himself to think about.

  He didn’t want that to happen to her; he thought that if they got their hands on her, they’d take something from Shay. Something vital, and pure, and good. They’d rip her beautiful, shining heart clean out of her body, and leave her empty and hollow. Permanently broken.

  He couldn’t let that happen. He had to scare her enough to go quiet. He had to save her from harm.

  He stiffened his resolve, put on his coldest, hardest face. The one that he used just before pulling the trigger.

  “You dare me, huh?” he said softly. “You sure you want that?”

  She tossed her head, and that small gesture of defiance goaded him on. Fuck, if she ever did that to Ace or Kirk, showed them that kind of disrespect? She’d be dead.

  Or, worse, they’d do things to her that would make her pray for death.

  Warren wouldn’t be able to stand that. He wouldn’t be able to watch that happen to her. No, he had to be cruel to be kind now. He had to break her spirit. Bring her to heel.

  God, but he hated having to do it.

  He leaned over her, planted his hands on either side of her on the mattress, stuck his face right in hers. To her credit, she didn’t back up, not one inch, and despite his worry and anger, he found himself admiring her guts. But those guts could get her dead.

  Time to break her. Just a little bit. Just for now.

  “You wanna hear about my worst, darlin’?’ he asked her. “OK, then… here’s the kind of shit that I could do to you, if I set my mind to it. I could tie you up again, tie you to this bed. I could cut that sexy underwear right off your body, and have my way with you, over and over again, and there’d be nothing you could do about it. Nothing. I could fuck you until you begged me to kill you, but I’d deny you that small mercy.”

  Shay paled, but held his eyes.

  “Or I could tie you down and lock you in the basement. Not feed you for days, not give you water. Hell, darlin’, I could rip your stitches open again, withhold antibiotics, wait for your leg to turn septic. After all, we just need you alive for negotiations… who the fuck cares if you’re missing a leg when this is all over and done with, huh?”

  Shay froze, beyond terrified now. That sweet, gentle man was gone now – long, long gone – and all that stood in front of her was a brute. A brute who, ultimately, held all the power, and had all the control. A brute that she may have pushed too far.

  “You want me to do any of that, girl?” he snarled. “Maybe all of it? I’m game and I’ve got fucking nothing to do up here to pass the time. I’ve got a pair of handcuffs downstairs, and your name’s on them. You just say the word.”

  Shay swallowed hard. Yeah, the MC asshole was back full-force, and in a crazy way, she was thrilled. It was way easier to hate him when he wasn’t being nice to her, when he showed his real face.

  The fact was that he was a d
angerous man, and she was alone with him. No matter what else happened, she wanted to live through this ordeal, and the surest way for that to not happen was to antagonize him. She’d pushed, and now she knew where his lines and limits were. No sense shoving him too far over them – she’d only get hurt. Maybe hurt badly. Hurt in ways that she’d sworn to never be hurt again.

  Yeah. It was time to back down. Just a little bit. Just for now.

  “Fine,” she responded, faking cool disdain. “You win. I’m done talking.”

  Without another word, she lay down again, hitched the blankets under her chin, turned her back on him. He stared at her, just for a second, surprised at how quickly she’d called uncle, then he realized that they had nothing more to say to each other. They never had done, really, and her needing him so desperately had just been temporary. Now that the drama was over, they were back to the status quo: once again, they were jailer and prisoner. He was an outlaw, asshole biker, and she was at his mercy.

  Yeah. It was time to put the badass mask back on. Time to be exactly the kind of monster that she thought that he was. The kind of monster that he was slowly, but surely, becoming. For real, and for good.

  “Thank Christ you’re gonna finally shut up,” he growled at her, just for good measure. “You’re giving me a fucking headache.”

  He spun now, stalked out of the bedroom. He slammed the door, made a big production of turning the lock. Then he just stood outside in the hallway, almost shaking with the desire to go back to her. To apologize, and crawl in to bed with her, and hold her.

  He didn’t do any of that, though. No, strangely, he found the return to this fucked-up power imbalance a relief. It was easier this way. Better for both of them.

  Well. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

  Chapter Six

  Sarah Matthews paused outside the store, gazed at the display in the window. Wow. If these dresses were any indication of what Elise Jordan was capable of producing, then Sarah was going to get the wedding dress of her dreams – and Jax was going to see a serious dip in his bank balance. Sarah could have sworn that one dress had actual, real diamonds sewn in to it. They flashed with an icy fire in the bright winter sunlight, dazzling and delighting her.

  “You ready, hon?”

  Sarah looked at her Mom, returned her smile. Annie Matthews looked almost as excited as Sarah felt, and was practically dancing on the spot.

  “So ready, Mom,” Sarah said. “Let’s do this, yeah?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Naomi Abbott chimed in with enthusiasm. “I’m dying to see you all bridal-fancy.”

  “It’s just a first fitting,” Sarah reminded her, fighting to stay calm. “Nothing fancy today.”

  “Who cares if it’s just a fitting?” Naomi said. “It’s not like we’re shopping for a new blouse here… this is your wedding dress. I think a bit of excitement is in order, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Sarah said, and the massive grin that she’d been valiantly suppressing finally broke out across her face. “You’re right… I’m at excitement level ten, I promise you.”

  “Only level ten?” Gabriela Torres asked, her black eyes sparkling.

  “OK, OK,” Sarah conceded. “Level eight-hundred-and-four. Out of a possible ten.”

  “That’s more like it.” Gabi nodded in approval. “Let’s go, ladies.”

  They trooped on in, and were immediately thrown in to a world of shimmering whiteness, and lovely floral scents, and sparkling shoes and tiaras.

  Yep. They were in Bridal Central, no doubt about that.

  “Hi.” A surprisingly sultry voice spoke from behind a pouffy white gown. “Is one of you Sarah Matthews, aka ‘the future Sarah Hamill’?”

  “I am,” Sarah responded to the white puffball. “Elise?”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  The owner of the voice appeared now, and damned if she didn’t look like her voice: she was lush and curvy, with hair the color of molasses, and eyes the color of whiskey. She looked like the kind of woman who drank whiskey, actually, but only at two a.m. on a weekday, and in a dimly-lit and smoky jazz bar. In other words, Elise Jordan looked like nothing but sex on shapely legs, and the other women stared at her, momentarily speechless.

  “Hi,” Elise said, extending her hand to Sarah first. “How you ladies doing?”

  “Uh, good.” Sarah blinked, took Elise’s hand. “Thanks so much for agreeing to help me. I know it’s incredibly short notice. My wedding is in less than four months, after all.”

  Elise shrugged, shook Annie’s hand. “I’ve worked on shorter deadlines, believe me. You’d be surprised how many women go out dress shopping and it all ends in tears, so they call me in a panic. I’ve become pretty good at burning the midnight oil to get things ready in time for a wedding.”

  “Really?” Gabi said, shaking Elise’s hand now. “Lots of women have trouble finding a dress to fit them?”

  “Oh, yeah. The wedding industry isn’t known for its flexibility in terms of dresses for women with curves.” Elise looked Sarah up and down. “You’re stunning, Sarah, and I’m thrilled to be working with you. We’re going to create the perfect dress for you to marry Jax, I promise you.”

  “Thanks.” Sarah smiled, and relaxed completely. “I have a good idea what I want.”

  “Excellent.” Elise turned, waved the women over to a bunch of chairs and sofas. “Coffee? Tea? Champagne?”

  “Champagne?” Annie parroted.

  “Yep.” Elise grinned at her. “You want a glass, Annie?”

  Annie glanced at her watch, just to confirm that it was barely noon. “I probably shouldn’t….”

  “Probably not,” Elise said amiably. “But will you anyway?”

  Annie looked at her daughter, saw Sarah giving her that grin. The one that had emerged more and more often since Jax had wandered in to her life. It was pure, shining, devil-may-care happiness, and for a while there, after Sarah had been beaten in to a coma, Annie had been afraid that it had been lost to her forever. Every single time that she saw it now, she felt nothing but grateful to still have her daughter with her.

  “Go on, Mom,” Sarah said. “Live dangerously, huh?”

  “I totally will,” Annie said, feeling wicked. “I’ll accept a glass, with thanks.”

  “Done.” Elise turned to the others. “Champagne all around?”

  “Coffee for me, please,” Naomi said. “A latté, if you have it.”

  “We have it and coming right up. The rest of you?”

  It was bubbly for everyone else, so Elise nodded at her assistant Colin. The man dashed off, and returned within minutes with chilled Champagne in elegant flutes with the longest, slimmest, most delicate stems that the women had ever seen.

  “Your coffee will be ready soon,” he told Naomi. “Sugar?”

  “Please.”

  “Brown? White?”

  “Brown, thanks.”

  Colin nodded, darted away again.

  “So.” Elise waved them in to a sitting position, sat herself. “Your dress, Sarah. Tell me about it.”

  “OK.” Sarah recalled the conversation that she’d had with Jax a few weeks earlier. “I want a simple, clean design, nothing fancy and frilly. I want it to be tight around my breasts and hips, but loose around my legs. Oh, and Jax specifically requested some sparkle to bring out my eyes.”

  “Perfect,” Elise said, scribbling madly on a pad of paper. “Color?”

  “Uh…” Sarah hesitated. “Gabi says that blue is in for brides this spring, but I’m not sure that –”

  Elise’s amber eyes lit up. “No! Really?”

  “Really – what?” Sarah said, startled. “Is blue a horrible idea?”

  “Good Lord, no.” Elise looked thrilled. “I think blue is gorgeous, but so few women think that they can pull it off, and they stick with white or cream.”


  “You think I can pull it off?” Sarah asked timidly.

  “With that coloring?” Elise gazed at her fiery curls falling around her porcelain skin, at her clear blue eyes. “No doubt.”

  Sarah smiled. “So, let’s look at blue.”

  “You’re on.” Elise scrawled a few more notes on her pad, stared at it for a second. “Length?”

  “Long,” Sarah said. “But not ‘dragging-seven-feet-behind-me’ long. Like, ‘to the tops of my feet’ long.”

  “A train? A veil? A tiara?”

  “No to all of the above.”

  “Aw,” Gabi said, truly disappointed. “No tiara? Really?”

  “Nope.” Sarah drank some Champagne. “I’m not the shiny lady crown type.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know about that,” Annie interjected. “When you were a little girl, you slept with a crown on for about three months.”

  “I – what?” Sarah goggled at her mother.

  “Yep. You refused to take the thing off, even to go to playschool.”

  “What crown was this?” Sarah said, totally perplexed.

  “Remember one Halloween when you and Noah went out dressed up like a king and queen?”

  “Ummm… maybe.”

  “You guys were – what? Maybe four years old, I guess. Anyway, it was the only costume that Noah would even consider putting on, and he said that he’d only go trick-or-treating if you dressed up as a queen. You wanted to be a ballerina – had your heart set on it, actually – but as soon as you heard that Noah needed you, you forgot about the tutu and went for the crown.” Annie smiled at her daughter. “Turns out, you loved the damn thing so much, you never wanted it to come off.”

  Sarah was silent, trying hard to remember this, but she truly didn’t.

  “I was so proud of you,” Annie said, a tremor in her voice. “So proud that you’d give up being a ballerina for your brother, just ‘cause he needed you. Even then, honey, even when you were so young, you always did what you could for Noah.”