by Franca Storm
“Whatever,” I mutter, turning away and stepping out into the storm. Wow, it’s really coming down. It takes all of a few seconds before I’m completely drenched from the downpour.
As I make my way over to my bike, I take a quick glance back at him. He’s still smoking, his back to me now. Good. He’s done bothering me. He better be after the shit he said to me when I first showed up here. Asshole. There’s no way I’m even going to spare him more than a second-long glance until he apologizes for what he said. No man treats me that way and gets away with it. It’s going to take a hell of an apology to put us back on speaking terms. I’m talking blood, sweat and tears. Argh! Dickhead.
I reach my bike. And then someone steps in front of me.
Shit.
I recognize him straight away.
Grit. He’s the biker I put in the ICU during my run-in with Black Thorns a little while back. His fault. He made the mistake of raising his hand to me. I guess he hadn’t counted on a woman being able to defend herself and take him down.
He hasn’t changed one bit. He’s still the huge drill-sergeant type I remember. His blonde hair is even styled in a crew cut. He has tattoos covering both his arms—sleeves—like Ax. Silver chains hang from his neck, onto his white t-shirt. He also has them hanging from his black jeans. And he’s drenched like me, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too focused on me. Uh oh.
“Remember this?” he seethes, pointing to a three-inch jagged scar beside his left eye.
“Yeah, I remember,” I answer. My brass knuckles did that. “You shouldn’t have tried to touch me.”
He cracks his knuckles in front of me and his eyes flash. “Gonna even the playing field now. The rest of the boys are too scared to touch you cuz they think you’re a fucking biker princess. Well, not me. As far as I’m concerned, you lost that princess title when your dad died.”
I stand my ground and glare up at him. “Chauvinistic meatheads like you don’t scare me. So, you can keep trying all you like, but it won’t work. Just give it up, Grit.”
“You need to learn how to bite your tongue, sweetheart. It’s gonna get you in a shitload of trouble.”
“Why? Because you’re a big tough guy?”
“Damn straight, bitch. You think Prez putting out a do-not-touch order on you the moment you stepped into the clubhouse is gonna stop me here?”
“Doesn’t bother me either way. I’ve had a crappy couple of days. Throwing down with you will make me feel a hell of a lot better, so take your shot.”
He shifts his weight and readies his fist. I brace myself to block it before it can make contact.
“Grit!” a voice roars above the thunderous noise of the storm.
Grit stills in surprise and his eyes dart behind me. “Fuck you,” he mutters.
He throws his fist. Someone lunges between us, deflecting his blow.
It’s Neil. He shoves me behind him quickly.
“Prez said hands off,” he tells Grit.
Grit’s eyes are enraged slits. The veins in his temples look like they’re on the verge of popping out of his skin.
“Inside the clubhouse,” he counters. “We’re outside here. Besides that old bastard’s getting soft.”
This dissent from him for their president is news to me. It seems Neil is surprised too, cuz Grit tells him, “Right, you ain’t noticed as much as the rest of us. It’s cuz you’re never here. You don’t sleep here. You only set foot in the clubhouse to get your orders and for the occasional pussy parties when you’re hard up.” He shakes his head. “Ever since Kim, brother.”
Neil growls at the mention of her name.
“Just saying. Prez is getting soft. We shoulda already gone to war with the Mavs. Taken ‘em the fuck out. But he sends you in instead to work with a woman, to do it on the down low to find him. He don’t get it. With Broker around, taking your dad out won’t be enough. And—”
“Club business!” Neil hisses.
Grit’s eyes flick to me and then back to Neil and he tells him, “Won’t be an issue if you step aside and let me deal with the mouthy little bitch.”
Neil shakes his head. “She’s a woman. Don’t be a pussy.”
Grit smirks viciously. “Nah. Thinks she’s a damn man, so I’m treating her the way I’d treat any fucker who disrespected me and the club. You should be the one to do it; she’s your contact.”
“Let it go, brother.”
“She put me in the ICU. Gave me this scar. Trig never did shit ‘bout it either. Well, lo and behold, she’s right here now, Ax. So, I’m gonna do shit ‘bout it now. You feel me?”
He steps into Neil, clearly thinking he’s gonna step back. But he doesn’t. He stands his ground, protecting me. Why? He didn’t seem to care about that earlier. Telling all the boys I hate bikers was putting me right in the line of fire.
“We got a problem here?” Grit demands.
“You touch her and, yeah, we do.”
He snickers. “You really wanna come to blows here over a bit of—what did you call it?—yeah, that’s right: virgin-tight pussy?”
“She’s ain’t pussy! She’s mine!” Neil roars, incensed at him calling me that. Shit, where did that come from? It certainly wasn’t the way he was coming across on the clubhouse doorstep.
But I’m not his and I tell him, “Like hell I am.”
Not taking his eyes off Grit, he yells to me behind him, “Yeah, you fucking are! The second you let me into your bed, you were mine! I marked you, Rox! And you fucking loved it. So, just…hear my words…you are mine, woman!”
Oh my God! I’m too shocked to say a thing.
And, judging by the look on his face, so is Grit. “You claiming her?” he asks, incredulous.
Neil nods. “Yeah.”
“You know how it works. You’re claiming her then the shit she pulls is on you, brother.”
“Fine. You wanna challenge me then?”
Their eyes lock and neither of them moves a muscle for several seconds.
And then Grit blows out a breath and steps back. He glares at me for a second before turning away. Grunting to himself with frustration, he makes his way back inside the clubhouse. Once he slams the door behind him, Neil turns around to face me.
He looks me over, shaking his head. Yeah, I look like a drowned rat. Although, right now, Neil isn’t looking much better. He’s also soaked through. My hair is dripping wet, hanging down my back. My jeans are drenched and sticking to my legs. The only thing repelling the rain is my leather jacket. The scarf around my neck isn’t faring too well either. His eyes zone in on it then and he steps into me and pulls it down. He grins when he sees his marks on me—hickeys all over my neck. They’re all over my boobs too, but thankfully those are covered. A primal growl comes from his throat. He obviously likes seeing his handiwork. Urgh. Caveman.
I bat his hand away and fix it back into place. “I told you not to manhandle me.”
“I’m sorry ‘bout what I said in front of the boys.”
“Neil—”
He grabs my hand and squeezes it gently. “I mean it, Rox. I was just really riled up. My head was a mess—still is. Finding out your connection to my mom’s murder. You showing up here. Fact that Skinner laid his hands on you. It’s heavy shit.”
“I didn’t know that’s what was gonna happen to her after she helped me. If I’d—”
“No. Stop. It’s okay. Weren’t your fault. I just…freaked out.” He gestures between us. “This…with us…it’s screwing with my head, Rox. I dunno which way is up when it comes to you, you know that? You’ve knocked me on my ass, woman. Making me feel shit I ain’t used to feeling. So, for fuck’s sake, tell me it ain’t one-sided. It was more than fucking, yeah?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “It was,” I finally admit.
Shit, I’m taking a big risk here. I’m knowingly attaching myself to him. But, seeing him standing before me, putting everything out there, laying things on the line, what else can I do?
And as far as
apologies go, he hit the nail on the head. It was good, especially for a hard-as-nails biker not used to backing down. And I know he’s hurting about his mom and earlier was him just reacting to that by lashing out. But I needed him to know that I’m not going to stand for that; that he can’t talk to me that way. Ever again. And it seems he understands that.
I need to make sure though. “Neil, I can only imagine how you’re used to talking to women, but I am not one of your previous whores. Do you understand me?”
“Babe, yeah, I get it.”
“You’d better, because if you ever talk to me that way again, especially revealing extremely personal things like you did in front of your boys, I will walk. No explanation. No words. We will be done. I mean it.”
He scrubs his hand over his face roughly and tells me, “You’re the first, you know that?”
“First?” I ask, confused, because it’s damn clear he’s not a virgin by any means.
“First…relationship,” he says. “And…it’s new to me, Rox. I ain’t gonna hit shit right on the money every fucking time. I’m gonna fuck up.”
I nod. “I get that. Me too, Neil. I’ve never done relationships before either—never anything more than sex. So, I’m laying down the law on this issue, okay? The way you talk to me in--”
“Babe, I get it. Message received. You got my word on it. I swear to you I ain’t never gonna fuck up with that and talk to you that way again. You’re my girl. It’s my job to treat you good and…respect you, yeah?”
“Respect me?” I say, grinning, because I’m happy he really does get it. “As an equal? Not just a piece on your arm or something?”
“Yeah. You got it, babe,” he says, stepping into me. The smile that’d been on his face moments before fades and his eyes bore into mine. “But the shit you said ‘bout Skinner. If you ever fucking--”
I hold up my hand, cutting him off. “I was out of line big time. I’m so sorry I said that. It’s not true at all. You have nothing in common with him. It was just…firepower…when you were attacking me like that on the clubhouse doorstep.”
“Rox, I’m dead serious ‘bout that. If you think there’s any shit I got in common with that fuck, you admit it right now cuz I can’t be with someone who--”
“You’re nothing like him,” I tell him firmly. “I’m sorry I even said it. You’ll never hear that from me again.”
He draws in a deep breath. “All right,” he agrees.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and pulls me against him. Looking down at me, he tells me, “What I said was true, you know? Shoulda kept it to myself, but still true. Your pussy’s real fucking fine, babe.”
I roll my eyes. “Just what every girl wants to hear.”
I try to pull away, but he grabs hold of my hips and lifts me off the ground, holding me up in front of him and making me shriek in surprise.
“Stop running, Rox.”
His eyes lock with mine and I know he can see the pain in my eyes that I’m failing to hide. And the fear, the fear of getting hurt with taking the risk of letting him in.
“I get it. You were orphaned at sixteen cuz Dealer and your mom were killed. You’ve been on your own since then. You had to get tough fast. But—”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it, babe?”
I shake my head. I can’t get into it.
“I ain’t putting you down ‘til you give it up.”
“Neil! It’s pissing down! I don’t want to have this conversation here.”
“No. You don’t wanna have it, period. Well, too damn bad. Here it is.”
“I’m not like the women you’re used to. I don’t want to be tied down. I don’t want that. I run free, okay?”
“Ain’t looking to clip your wings, babe. So, how ‘bout you stop worrying ‘bout way into the future and focus on the here and now, huh? And, here and now, I’m telling you I want you. I want you in my bed. I want you in my life. You feel me?”
His words melt my resolve, reaching a part of me that I always keep guarded. And I can’t help it; a huge grin spreads over my face and the next thing I know I’m nodding in agreement. I’m dropping my walls and letting him in. We’ve already admitted this thing between us is more than just sex; kinda like a relationship and now, I’m actually agreeing to run with it with him.
“Yeah?” he asks, grinning right back at me.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He lowers me back to the ground and wraps his arm around me, kissing the top of my wet hair.
When he pulls back a little, his eyes stray to my 1970 Triumph Bonneville T120 and he shakes his head with disbelief.
“What?” I ask.
“Shit, I just can’t believe a woman who claims she hates bikers so fucking much, is riding ‘round on a bike as sweet as that.”
I shrug it off and walk up to it.
“What you doing?” he calls.
“Heading back.”
“Uh uh. No fucking way.”
“What?”
“You can’t ride in this weather.”
I laugh. “Come on.”
“I’m dead serious. Dead being the choice word there, cuz that’s what you’ll be if you get on that bike and try to ride outta here in this crazed storm.”
I hesitate, realizing the truth in his warning. My eyes dart to the clubhouse and then back to my bike. “Well, I’m going to have to risk it, because I’m not going back in there. Once was more than enough. Besides, I’m not a fool. Those guys hate me.”
“Just Grit. And you’ve given him good reason to, babe. But you got no other choice right now.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me away from the bike. I pull back. “No, Neil.”
“Rox, I got a room here. Hardly ever use it, but I will tonight.”
“You want me to stay in your room with you, in the clubhouse?”
“Yeah.”
“Where all you guys fuck your…women? I don’t think so. I’m not—”
“I know you ain’t. Christ, it was obvious the second I buried my dick in your pussy, babe. You don’t fuck around. Girlfriends stay here too, so relax.”
“Girlfriends?” I choke out. Yeah, shit. I guess that’s what I just agreed to, right? Hearing the word shocks me though; the label making it all the more real…and scary.
He just smirks at me. “Yeah, I claimed you, babe. So, that’s what you are. Deal with it.” He lunges at me and gathers me into his arms. He presses his hand to the back of my head, hiding my face in his shoulder. “There. Keep your head down, don’t mouth off to the boys and all will be right as fucking rain.”
I try to kick him a couple of times, before I give up, realizing it’s actually my best bet to back down here for once in my life.
Chapter 18
~Roxana~
I wake up to a sight that is still really new to me: a man asleep in bed with me.
I never stay after the deed is done. Never. Yet, here I am now.
That’s why it’s more than a little surprising that I’m not actually freaking out.
It feels…okay, I guess. Not uncomfortable or awkward like I thought it would.
Neil takes up two-thirds of the queen-sized bed. That works out fine for me, because I’m tiny compared to him. It’s not like I need much room.
The clubhouse was dead quiet all night. Apparently it’s because it’s on lockdown—no outsiders are allowed to come in or out, except for me. I’m not sure whether I’m the exception because of the deal I made with Trigger, my relationship with Neil, or my longstanding biker princess status thanks to my dead former-club president dad. Who cares? I’m glad I came up during a lockdown, because it meant no club whores last night. Thank God. The last thing I want to hear all night long is a bunch of guys getting it on with their sluts. Although, that just makes me a hypocrite, because Neil and I didn’t exactly spend all night just sleeping. We did…stuff. And he reminded me that his tongue is my kryptonite. Holy hell.
I shake
my head, willing those thoughts away. I need to get going and head back to the city. The rain is no longer pounding down on the roof and there are no roars of thunder to speak of, so it means the storm has stopped. I’m good to ride now.
I move to sit up, but Neil flings his arm across my boobs, driving me back down into the bed.
“It’s early,” he says, his voice rougher than usual with sleep.
“I’m always up early,” I tell him, trying to pry his arm off me. But it’s dead weight right now.
“Mmm…those naked tits feel so good rubbing against my arm, babe.”
“Don’t you have a meeting soon?” After speaking with Trigger yesterday, he said he needed time to look into a few things before he discussed our deal with the rest of the club. I guess the meeting Neil mentioned to me late last night after Trigger caught up to him in the hallway is about the deal I offered them.
“Church,” he mumbles.
“What?”
“That’s what we call it. Church, babe.”
“Oh.”
“Guess you dunno everything ‘bout us after all, huh?” he teases.
“Never said I did.”
He chuckles and buries his head further into his pillow, while his arm is still pressed tightly against me, holding me in place. My eyes stray to his chest and the brutal scar there.
I reach out and trace my fingers over it. He shudders. “How did this happen?” I ask softly.
His eyes snap open and he looks down at my fingers on him. Something flickers in his eyes. Pain? But then he just shrugs and says, “Long story. Told you I don’t talk ‘bout it, remember?”
“How long?” I say, ignoring his I-don’t-talk-about-it comment.
He smiles and his arm leaves me as he raises himself up in the bed. Instantly, his eyes are on my boobs. But then they drift to my arm. “What ‘bout yours? I know Skinner did it.”
“You heard what I said to Ralph. I let my guard down.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “How? What exactly went down? You told Ralph you went there to ask him ‘bout Dealer’s death. How’d it escalate?”
