Reign (Sin City Outlaws #1)

by M. N. Forgy

  Opening the cab door, I point at them both.

  “Stay. I’ll be back.”

  JILLIAN

  Heading to my usual hunting spot, my phone starts to vibrate like crazy in my cup holder. Picking it up, it’s Zeek. My finger hovers over the Accept button. Should I? Shaking my head, I put it down. No, he needs to work harder to show me I’m not just some piece of side tail. As soon as my phone stops vibrating, it starts back up again.

  “Jesus, the man is relentless.” Bikes roar up behind me, clearly going way too fast. They pull to the side, allowing a white truck to pass between them. It looks like a lifted Cummins. It’s a big truck, and speeding, as well.

  I swear if this is Zeek’s way to get me to talk to him, chasing me down while I’m on duty, I’ll shoot him. My heart flutters that he would do such a thing, but realistically that would out both of us and what we’re doing. I doubt it’s him.

  A motorcycle rides up beside me, clearly a Sin City Outlaw. Looking behind him, he gives a thumbs-up.

  What the hell?

  My car is suddenly thrusted forward, the wheel trying to slip from me.

  Fuck!

  Glancing in my rearview mirror, bright headlights blind me as the truck slams into my cruiser again.

  I scream as my body pushes against the seatbelt with force.

  The truck clips me again, making me lose control of the wheel and drift sideways. I reach for my radio to call in backup, and white lights head right toward my door. Thinking fast, I cover my face and brace for impact. The truck slams into the side of my car, flipping it like a tin can.

  My head bangs against the roof of the car over and over again as it rolls. The windows break out, and my body feels like it’s being smashed into the ground with every flip.

  Finally, the car stops, everything upside-down.

  My breathing is harsh, and my chest hurts. I cough, the dust from the desert filling my mouth. My wrist and ankle scream with pain.

  A motorcycle pulls up to my window, and a boot steps down right in front of my face. I close my eyes, tears falling rapidly. Terror wracking my body that I might die here tonight.

  “Let this be a warning. You don’t fuck with the Sin City Outlaws.”

  The motorcycle and the truck make an illegal U-turn. They’re leaving. A sob escapes my mouth, my emotions and feelings everywhere. I reach for my radio, but I can’t reach it. I grab the one over my shoulder instead.

  “5Paul69. Open radio. Send backup.”

  “All units, all units. 5Paul69 needs assistance. Calling all units.”

  Headlights shine from the opposite direction of where the Sin City Outlaws drove off.

  Brakes screech as a car comes to a stop. I try to pull on my seatbelt, but it’s locked up and won’t let me out.

  “Jillian!”

  I stop struggling at that.

  It sounds like Zeek. Is he here to hurt me, too? He sounds panicked, though. My thoughts race, my heart picking up its pace because I’m not sure what to do.

  Boots skid, like someone sliding into home base in baseball, and Zeek is suddenly in my face.

  “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  Tears spring from my eyes. I swallow, trying to get my shit together.

  “I’m stuck. My seatbelt is stuck,” I croak.

  Pulling a gigantic buck knife from his boot, he cuts the seatbelt, and I fall out of my seat.

  Sirens sound in the distance, the faint light of red and blue.

  “You need to go. They’ll recognize you.”

  “Fuck that. I’m not leaving you.”

  “You have to. You have to go. Nobody is going to believe that you just stopped on the side of the road to help me.”

  His face contorts in pain. His plush lips are in a hard line, wrinkles distorting his forehead. He jumps up and runs. Slowly, I crawl out of the broken window, but my body seizes in agony.

  “Wait, let me help.” My head snaps up, surprised Zeek didn’t run when given the chance. He has on a black baseball cap and a white hoodie instead of his leather cut. He actually looks like a normal civilian. Grabbing my hand, he helps pull me from the rubble.

  My legs weak, I fall in to him. His large, bear-like arms catch me, pulling me close. Lifting my head, I peer up from under my wet lashes.

  “I’ll kill them if it’s the last thing I do, Jillian,” Zeek promises, his voice laced in anger, as if he feels the pain I’m experiencing this very moment. More tears fall; my cheeks feel chafed from all the crying, my eyes swollen. My arms clutch him tighter, his body heat a comfort.

  “But you cannot tell anyone who did it.” He lifts my chin, making sure I have 100% eye contact.

  “What? Why?”

  He blinks, like my question stunned him.

  “Because my club will kill you.”

  TEN

  ZEEK

  Sitting on the tailgate of the truck, I watch every officer and deputy assess the scene. Finally, an ambulance shows up to take Jillian to the hospital.

  “Sir, I want to thank you for helping our deputy tonight.”

  I nod and stand quickly. “Yes, of course.”

  He holds his hand out and gives me a firm shake. I smirk, my chest feeling all cozy and shit. I’ve never done a good deed before, and to be praised for it feels foreign.

  “Did you see anything prior to pulling up? Any cars or anything?” I shake my head out of imaginary land. I can’t tell them who did it. If I do¸ they’ll think Jillian spilled their names and they’ll come back to finish the job.

  “I sure didn’t.” I grimace, shaking my head.

  “Okay. Well, again, thank you for helping out. The lieutenant thanks you.”

  He gives my arm a pat and starts to walk away.

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  He walks backwards while explaining, “They’re taking her to the hospital now. I think she’s just banged up, probably spooked, but nothing too serious.”

  The doors to the ambulance shut. That’s my cue. Climbing into my truck, I follow the ambulance. I’m not letting her out of my sight.

  ***

  At the hospital, I have to sit in the waiting room because I’m not family. I also don’t want anyone to notice me waiting for her, so I don’t force myself into her room either.

  Across from me sits Alessandra. Every time I look at her, she quickly looks away. So far, she’s the only one who notices it’s me. Inhaling a sharp breath, I look down and rub my hands together anxiously.

  The clock ticks above the coffee pot loudly, my foot tapping against the linoleum floor impatiently. Is there something wrong? Is she worse than I thought?

  Standing up, I wring the back of my sweating neck.

  “Fuck!” My voice booms furiously.

  Alessandra jumps in her seat.

  The doors open, and out steps a doctor and Jillian. She has a fresh bandage on her lip, and her ankle is in one of those boot things. I want to stand back and wait until the doctor leaves, but I can’t. Just waiting here is killing me as it is.

  “Is everything okay?” I step up to them, my forehead sweating.

  Turning, she smiles at me, and my chest constricts.

  “Yeah, she’s fine. Little banged up, and she’ll be sore for a few days. However, a bubble bath and those muscle relaxers will help with that.” The doctor points to the paper in Jillian’s hand.

  “Thanks again, Dr. Mathews.”

  He nods and walks back into the ER.

  Silence fills the air. I’m trying to read her body language, her attitude, to see if she’s still pissed at me for handcuffing her to the bed and leaving her, or that my club went after her, but I can’t figure it out.

  “Hey, are you okay? I came as soon as I found out. Your dad is blowing up my phone.” Alessandra steps in front of me, and it pisses me off. It’s taking everything I have not to pick her up and set her aside.

  Jillian shifts her gaze from me to Alessandra. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just want to go home.”

 
“You want me to take you?”

  “I’ll take her,” I butt in, not asking but telling. Alessandra’s eyes burn intensely as she gives Jillian a hesitant look.

  “You sure?” She tries once again, but before the words are out of her mouth, Jillian is nodding.

  “I’ll be fine,” Jillian assures her. Alessandra gives me a death glare, and I give it right back.

  “I’ll call you later, Jill.” Her eyes never leave mine as she walks away. Finally.

  Awkward silence sets in.

  I’m not sure what to say or do. Do I bring up the fight, or do I let it go and focus on her?

  She looks up at me, her eyes a little glossy, and I realize she’s not just upset with me, but hurt. I brought that pain, and I actually care. In fact, it pains me to know that I did it.

  “I’m sorry,” I state on an exhale, the apology catching me off-guard. Her sadness dims, and I can’t contain it anymore; I grab both of her arms, pulling her close.

  “I screwed up. I know that. But when it comes to you, I’m a goddamn mad man.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” she whispers.

  “You don’t need to be sorry for anything, Jillian,” I mutter into her hair.

  “I do. I was that insane jealous girl, and I went nuts assuming that because you slept with me, that we were together. If you can’t tell, I’m kind of new to this, too.”

  I smirk. Her innocence, and the way that bottom lip trembles, is going to be my demise.

  “In your defense, all chicks are insane.” Her body wracks with laughter, tears sliding down her face.

  I thumb the apple of her cheek, the tip of my finger soaking up the wetness. Slipping my thumb down, I rub it on her bottom lip. Her mouth parts, and teary eyes look at me with hunger.

  I want to taste her sadness, feel it against my skin. Sadness isn’t something I feel; it was weeded out of my core when I was made president of the club.

  Kissing her lips, the coldness of her tears presses against mine. Licking her bottom lip, salt and something sour fills my mouth. Cold, wet, salty, and sour. It sounds depressing.

  “I’m taking you home,” I mumble against her damp lips.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m staying, and that’s not up for debate.” I’m not sure what my uncle is fishing up, but I apparently know nothing of it, and I’m not going to chance them coming after her again. If it means they see me here, then so be it. I’m starting to think my brother Lip was right when he told me my club was corrupted, refusing to be a part of it. In a club, there should be order, respect, loyalty, and most of all brotherhood. But out of all twenty of our members, I only trust three.

  That’s not a brotherhood.

  ***

  I help Jillian into the big truck, and we head off.

  “You got a script to get pills?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t take medicine. I don’t need them.” I arch a brow, shocked. Everyone I know would either be selling those damn things or snorting them. As surprised as I am, I think she should take them. I’ve been in a wreck before, and her body is going to wind up so tight she won’t be able to breathe.

  “I’m going to fill it, just in case.”

  I pull into a pharmacy, and drop the script off at the counter. Bubble bath. The doctor said something about her getting a bath to help.

  Finding the aisle for bath products, I’m dumbstruck. They have every fucking scent for bubbles—cupcake, lavender, cookies and cream. I grab the cupcake one, the sprinkles catching my eye. The thought of bubbles on Jillian’s tits makes a throaty growl rumble from my lips. Sprinkles and bubbles on Jillian is an even better idea. My dick springs to attention. Standing in the bubble aisle at a pharmacy, staring at bottles of soap while sporting a teepee with my dick, is not my best moment.

  “Can I help you?” My head snaps to my right, finding a little blonde store clerk staring at me with that dreamy look.

  “Yeah. I don’t know which one to get.” I set the cupcake one down.

  She slowly trails her tongue along her pink, glossy lips. “You look out of place over here.” She giggles.

  “I’m sure I do.” I smile. I’m about as tall as the damn display.

  She slides her finger seductively along the bottles. “Is this for you, or someone else?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She shrugs and gives me a sideways glance.

  “Well, if you’re just wanting a little more lubricant for yourself, then I would suggest a thicker liquid. But if it’s for a woman friend, like a girlfriend,” her tone goes dry, her face turning into one that looks unamused, “then it’s whatever. Get the Mr. Bubble.”

  The word ‘girlfriend’ sucks the wind from my lungs. Taking a deep breath, I run my palm down my face.

  “It’s for a girl who is a friend. One I like to have sleepovers with. I mean, one I’d like…” I shake my head, my words not making any fucking sense.

  She rolls her eyes, grabs the Mr. Bubble and hands it to me.

  “Here.” I take the bottle from her hand, noticing it doesn’t look near as flashy as the others.

  “Really, this one?” I ask, eyeing the frilly labeled ones on the counter.

  “It gives the most bubbles. The others smell good, though. You could maybe mix them.” She turns and walks back to the counter.

  “Fuck it.” I grab the cupcake and one that says ‘sugar sprinkles’ along with the Mr. Bubbles.

  JILLIAN

  Zeek comes out, carrying a bag of things. What the hell did he get?

  He throws the bag in the back seat and pulls out of the parking lot. My leg hurts, my neck feels tight, and my ribs ache. That wreck really did a number on me. The doctor gave me medicine, but I’m not one to take meds unless I absolutely have to. Hopefully, the pain doesn’t get much worse, though or I’ll definitely have to.

  The ride to my place is quiet, giving me time to think, which is just stressing me out more.

  Arriving finally, Zeek steps in, shuts my door and locks it. He acts paranoid, and that has me on edge.

  “Are we safe?” At first, I wasn’t sure about him coming home with me, but I feel safer knowing he’s here.

  His eyes narrow. “I’m not sure.”

  Crossing my arms, I pop my hip out. “How can you not be sure, Zeek? You’re the damn president. Why did your club attack me? Isn’t that something you would know about—hell, order even?”

  He drops the bag on the floor, his eyes flashing with anger. Uncrossing my arms, I swallow hard.

  “I can assure you, Jillian, I didn’t order the hit on you.” He grips the back of my head and brings my face close to his. “You’d think I would fucking know what’s going on in my own club, but I don’t.” That last part hurts him; I can tell by the way his face softens.

  “Do they know about us?”

  Letting go of my head, he shakes his.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “If they did, would they kill you and me both?”

  His chest rises. “Let’s not talk about it anymore.” He just threw up that wall, the wall not talking about the club, or the shit that goes on within it.

  My phone rings in my pocket. Fishing it out, I see it’s my dad.

  “Hello?”

  “Jillian! Are you okay? I’ve been trying to call.”

  “Yeah, just a little banged up. The car is totaled.” That will go in my file.

  “Jesus.” He sounds stressed. “No leads on who did it?”

  I look at Zeek, his eyes serious.

  “No, it all happened so fast.”

  “We’ll go over your camera, see if we can pull anything. You need me to come by? Your mom made a casserole.” Panic rises in my chest. If he comes here, he’ll see Zeek.

  “No, I’m fine. The doctor gave me some meds, so I’m just going to take some and go to bed.”

  “Okay. I’m sure you’re tired. Why don’t you take a few days off, and I’ll call tomorrow and see if you need anything.”

  “Yeah, that sounds grea
t.” My eyes dart to Zeek, who is watching me, making me nervous.

  “Love you, Jilly Bean.”

  I smile, my eyes wanting to prick with tears over lying to him.

  “Love you, too.”

  “Everything okay?” Zeek questions as soon as I remove the phone from my ear.

  Snapping out of my pity party, I toss my cell phone on the couch.

  “Yeah, just my dad checking in on me.”

  The couple across the road starts yelling, catching my attention. Pulling the curtain back, I spot them on the lawn pointing and screaming. They do this once a week, before nearly screwing on the front yard. Fixing the curtain, I head toward the radio and turn it on, a commercial about pizza coming on.

  Zeek picks up the bag he brought in and heads into my bathroom.

  “What’s in the bag?” I follow behind him.

  One by one, he takes out three bottles of bubbles.

  “I wasn’t sure which one you’d like.”

  I smirk, holding up the one closest to me. “You got me one that smells like sprinkles.” The fact that he remembers I love sprinkles hits me in every fuzzy way possible. Opening the lid, I inhale the candy smelling soap.

  He smiles that big, toothy grin and turns the faucet on.

  It’s a hard choice between Mr. Bubbles and sprinkles. I bite my lip, trying to decide.

  “How about we do sprinkles tonight, and Mr. Bubbles tomorrow.” I hand him the sugar sprinkles, and he dumps a shit-load in. Steam and bubbles waft into the air.

  Standing, he pulls his sweatshirt off, and then his shirt. His gilded abs nearly blind me with their perfection.

  “What are you doing?” My eyes are glued to his chest.

  “I’m getting in with you.” He says it like it’s obvious.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Seeing those girls on him, it still stings a little bit.

  Grabbing both sides of my face roughly, he forces my eyes to focus on his. “Jillian, I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t know we were doing the whole monogamy thing. It seemed like a trap destined for failure. I have never been exclusive before, so I didn’t think twice about it.”

  “And now?”

  His brows furrow, his jaw ticking with thought. “And now, I’ll be a one-woman man, because even if I don’t want to be, you’ve made my cock a one-woman kind of guy. He seems to only like you. It’s agonizing.” The way he says that last part, it comes out like he’s literally in pain and I can’t help but smile.