by Nicole Fox
She was smart. She was tough. She was compassionate. She was also a hell of a good business woman, as all the evidence indicated.
“I’m going to miss her,” I realized at last. “Hell. I am going to miss her.”
I took a sip of my drink and felt myself overwhelmed by grief, longing, and anger. I was angry at her for leaving, and angry at myself for caring. I guessed that’s what a real woman did. She opened a man up to all sorts of emotion.
A jingle of a bell at the door told me another customer had come in, but I didn’t bother turning around to look. I wasn’t interested in cruising for chicks, and I wanted no company from the idiotic, low-level bikers that frequented this bar. So when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I balled my fists and turned, quite ready to punch someone’s lights out.
It was Joey.
“Yo, man,” I complained. “You should be careful. I was about to break your jaw.”
Joey smiled. “Sure, if you could have gotten the punch to land, in the state you’re in.”
I scowled at him, but took the joke. It was okay coming from Joey.
“What do you want?” I growled, taking another drink.
He sat down beside me. “Well, first, I’d like to know why the hell you’re spending money to drink here, when there’s a party going on at the clubhouse. Something bothering you?”
“No,” I grunted. Obviously, Joey saw right through it. However, instead of pressing me, he, too, ordered a drink.
“You know,” he said quietly, “Farrah was asking about you after you left. She looked pretty disappointed when she couldn’t find you.”
“Really?” I asked. I tried to sound like I didn’t care, but either the liquor or my own excitement made it impossible.
“Really, dude,” Joey continued. “In fact, she said if I saw you, I should tell you to meet her at her apartment. Here.”
He dug in his jacket a second, then pulled out a crumpled bit of paper and handed it to me. A quick glance showed an address. It was quite close by, actually.
I scowled at it, stuffed it into my pocket, and then continued drinking. Joey watched me, one eyebrow raised.
“So … you going to go?” he asked after a minute.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m too drunk to drive.”
Joey frowned. “I know that neighborhood. It’d be a ten minute walk from here, tops.”
“So?”
Joey sighed, then took a big sip of his drink. “I don’t know,” he said. “Farrah seemed pretty cool. I thought you liked her.”
“No.” It was a drunken burst of a word, sounding like a toddler. Joey rolled his eyes.
“Well, I liked her,” he said. “She was certainly better than that Honi bitch. I saw her sneaking out of the compound, actually. No goodbye to Montengo or anything. Just grinning to herself and counting a wad of cash that looked ten inches thick. Could’ve been ten fucking grand right there. I bet she got it from Montengo.”
I froze, letting his words filter through my liquor-fogged brain.
“Ten grand, you say?” I demanded.
Joey leaned back in surprise. “Yeah, something like that. I mean, I couldn’t count it, but it was definitely a fuck ton of money. She certainly looked pleased.”
I whistled, letting all my surprise and relief out in one long breath.
“That clever girl,” I murmured. “That beautiful, caring, clever girl.”
And with that, I leapt to my feet, tore a fifty from my pocket and slammed it onto the bar—not caring that I was giving the barkeep about a two hundred percent tip—and dashed for the door.
“Wait, where are you going?” Joey called after me.
“To Farrah’s!” I declared. I seized the gleaming knob, bursting out into the fresh air.
“All right!” Were Joey’s final words. “But make sure you walk, you asshole!”
I didn’t walk. I ran, grinning, all the way there.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Farrah
I was at my computer, taking sips from a glass of wine and trying to distract myself with work when a sudden slamming of my door made me jump about six feet in the air.
“What the—”
I whirled around just in time to see Connor bursting in. I guess I must have forgotten to lock it.
“Farrah!” he exclaimed. Then he took three great strides over to me, scooped me up into his arms, and laid an enormous kiss right down on my lips.
“Connor!” I gasped, blushing. “I thought you were angry with me!”
“How on earth could I be angry with you?” He laughed, then set me down. He noticed the documents up on my computer and asked, “So what are you working on?”
I smiled. “Actually, it’s a whole new system of bookkeeping for the MC chop shop. And if you look here, there’s a method for Joey to start working in his classic car restoration. He told me about it at the casino, and I think it could be a solid money making venture, if done right.”
Connor stared at my work, a huge grin on his face. I had hoped he would be impressed, but now, he looked positively jubilant.
“That’s fucking awesome, Farrah,” he said. “You really are a Devil’s Daughter!”
I nodded. “As crazy as all this has been,” I admitted quietly. “I’ve really enjoyed working with the club, and … I’d like to keep working for it, if you’ll have me.”
I didn’t look him in the eye as I said that. I knew how motorcycle clubs felt about female members. But I needn’t have been afraid. He touched my chin with his finger, then tilted my head upward until our eyes met.
“There’s nothing more I would like in this world,” he said, and then kissed me again, long, fully, and deeply.
“Farrah,” he said, as he pulled away, leaving me blushing and dizzy. “Farrah, dear, would you like to go to the bedroom with me?”
He extended his hand, eager, welcoming, and yet totally accepting of my answer, whatever it was. I was Princess to him no longer, but Farrah Michaels, the Devil’s Daughter.
“Yes,” I said. “I would.”
# # #
We made love about twelve times that day, then six the next, and then only four the third day, as our bodies were getting sore. We gave ourselves a day off, and then returned to the wild abandon of our lovemaking. Because that was what it was. Lovemaking. We would, of course, fuck, too, but I sensed the difference. It was in his kisses, and the way our eyes met as our bodies posed above one another.
After about a week of that, Joey turned up at the apartment to request, as he grinned broadly, that we turn up at the motorcycle club for a bit, as there was some important business to be getting on with. We laughed, clumsily slipping into our clothes as if we were drunk. I rode on the back of Connor’s bike to the compound, feeling so proud now to be a real Devil’s Daughter, and resolving to get a bike of my own as soon as all the money started rolling in.
A month later, however, something happened that made me realize that that would have to wait.
“Connor,” I whispered, waking him up one morning as I wore my fluffy white bathrobe. “Connor, I’m pregnant.”
“What?” he gasped. “Oh, Farrah, that’s wonderful!”
Then we made love again, just in case.
That night, as we were sitting on my porch, looking up at the stars, Connor asked me to marry him.
A warm blush filled me up, and I threw myself upon him and buried him in kisses. “I will, Connor! I will!”
And as I held him close, I realized that, even after everything I’d been through, I was the luckiest girl in the world.
THE END
***
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BONUS 2 – HELLFIRE: A Dark Romance
By Ni
cole Fox
He’s as hot as hellfire – and dangerous as sin.
Gunner Wilson is the human equivalent of a motorcycle – loud, dirty, and built to ride all night long.
He’s spent a night with damn near every girl in Texas.
Well, every girl except me.
I’m new in town, but I haven’t even been here for a full day before Gunner saunters over and starts tempting me towards his bed.
He’s hot as hell and I’m dripping wet just looking at him…
But I’m not that type of girl.
Silly me.
I might as well have just slept him.
But how was I to know the truth?
That, in just a little while, I’d be married to the bastard…
And pregnant with his baby.
Chapter One
“You’re killing me, Gunner.” The woman in the white tank top ran a hand through her thick, platinum blonde curls and stuck her ample chest out a little. “Sure you can’t just patch it?”
Cam “Gunner” Wilson straightened to his full height of six-foot four inches, forcing his gaze up from the woman’s chest to her face again. He wiped his hands on a greasy rag and then flashed the woman — Peggy? Patty? Something with a P — a grin. “Gotta be replaced. That crack’s too deep and too wide. The whole thing could fall in on you if you so much as hit a pothole.”
Her expression was exaggeratedly horrified. “Jesus. How much is it gonna run me?”
Gunner leaned against the woman’s bright yellow Mustang, broad, tattooed arms folded across his chest. He glanced at the web of cracks in the windshield. “Depends. Anywhere from two hundred to a thousand.” He could feel Durango eyeing him. They’d never done a windshield replacement for more than four hundred.
The woman sucked in a breath, and Gunner met her pretty blue eyes once more. He recalled a wild night last year — the two of them, half drunk, fully loaded, soaking her twelve hundred thread-count sheets in their mutual sweat. “Shit.”
He tossed the rag aside. “Tell you what. I’ll try my damnedest to make sure you’re not looking at more than three hundred.”
Peggy-Patty’s face positively lit up. “Omigod, Gunner, that would be incredible.” She had a hot smile—full lips stretching back to reveal gleaming white teeth. Gunner almost wished he could recall the details of their encounter. Had those straight, perfect teeth latched onto his skin? Had her long pink nails raked down his back? Had she screamed his name? Probably. They all did.
She couldn’t seem to keep her gaze off his chest. His once-white sleeveless shirt was smeared with oil stains and clinging to him with the Texas humidity and was ripped in strategic places to show his ink.
He heard Durango snort, and tossed the fucker a glare.
He grinned back at the woman, unable to resist the temptation to flirt, even with a woman he’d already bedded. Hell, looking at her now, he was almost tempted to go in for round two. Except that wasn’t the way he played. And anyhow, she was a bit older than he liked them — had a kid who was in high school, he remembered suddenly, so she was likely in her late thirties. Still, she’d been a tiger in bed. Probably had some flabby-gutted loser of a husband who couldn’t give her an orgasm. Gunner was recalling more details—the way those firm, round breasts had bounced as she’d ridden him. Those legs that went on for days. His own deep growl as he came inside her…
Shit, he really was hard up if he was thinking about pissing on the same tree twice. But he’d made it with every available woman in this town. If Romedo didn’t get some fresh blood soon, he was gonna have to start going back for seconds.
“Gunner?”
Shit, she’d been saying something, and he hadn’t been paying a lick of attention.
“Yeah?”
“I’d really like to say thank you for this.” She nodded at the Mustang. “Maybe a drink sometime?”
Ah, shit. “Maybe sometime,” he agreed casually.
“You still have my number?”
Not a chance. “Sure. I’ll call you.”
“All right.” She winked at him. “Looking forward to it.”
He nodded, pulling a battered pack of Camels from the pocket of his worn jeans. He stuck a cigarette between his lips and tipped his head toward the car. “We’ll need a couple of days to replace that windshield. You got a ride home?”
“A friend’s picking me up. Well … more of an acquaintance. My new neighbor has a daughter — lovely young lady. We just met yesterday when she was moving in. She agreed to pick me up if the car had to stay in the shop.”
A lovely young lady, huh? How young we talkin’? He dug out his lighter and lit the cigarette.
Gunner didn’t go in for barely legal, but twenty and over, and he’d have to figure out a way to meet this girl. “New in town? Or just new to your neighborhood?”
“New in town. The father doesn’t say much, but he’s nice enough. The daughter — I get the impression she’s a bit lonely. Certainly was eager to talk to me.”
“She in school?” A neutral enough question. If Peggy-Patty was like,Yes, she’s finishing her junior year at MacArthur High, Gunner would know to quit sniffing around. But if this ‘young lady’ was at the University … fair game.
He got started on Peggy-Patty’s paperwork, trying to play nonchalant.
She didn’t answer, and he glanced up to find her eyeing him. “She’s a nursing student. Good Lord, you got a one track mind.”
He laughed and ashed his cigarette. “I didn’t say anything, ma’am. Just curious.”
“Ma’am?” She shook her head. “You’re making me feel like an old lady. Listen, I knew all about your reputation before I screwed you, but this poor gal’s still getting her bearings. Don’t go pouncin’ on her like a horny tom cat, you hear?”
Gunner wanted to ask what the girl looked like, but he had a feeling Peggy-Patty wasn’t about to give him measurements. “Fair enough.”
She looked him up and down, and her gaze rested just a little too long on his crotch. She shook her head again, a little ruefully, but with an amused smile tugging her lips. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, Gunner Wilson.”
He grinned and dragged on the cigarette as he went back to work. He tried to keep an eye on Peggy-Patty so he could see when her ride came, but he got distracted doing some detail work on a Chrysler and trying to ignore Durango’s whispered jibes. Durango was his — well, it wasn’t like he had best friends; he wasn’t a fucking thirteen-year-oldgirl— but his closest pal. They were both members of the Horned Devils Motorcycle Club, working at J&J Auto by day, going out on whatever missions Silverback had assigned them by night.
“You fucked her, didn’t you?” Durango whispered.
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” Gunner muttered around the cigarette, trying not to smirk.
“Aw hell. How old is she? Forty? Forty-five?”
He pinched the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and blew out a stream of smoke. “Jesus, she’s thirty-two if she’s a day. Look at the rack on her.”
“How was she? A screamer?”
“They all are.”
“You dog.” Durango laughed. “Seriously, you fuckin’ ass-sniffing, tit-humping old dog.”
Gunner snickered and stubbed out the cigarette. “Shut up.”
“Hey, man,” Durango said after another minute. “Did you think something was weird about Silverback last night?”
Cesar “Silverback” Ortiz was the Horned Devils’ president. A gruff old curmudgeon — hard to tell when something was up with him, since he always had a bug up his ass. But yeah, Gunner had noticed the old man had been particularly grim last night when they’d all been over at the clubhouse shooting cans in the backyard.
Gunner shrugged. “Dunno. Figured it was just the heat.”
Durango rubbed the back of his neck. “You think it could be Jaws’s boys again?”
“Better not be.” He glanced over at the woman, who was waiting by the curb. Kept his vo
ice low, just in case she had good ears. Gunner and Durango tried not to discuss club business at work, but sometimes it was necessary. “We made it damn clear last time where the turf lines are.”
“You know Jaws, though. Like a dog hurling itself against a chain. He’s gonna keep testing us.”
“Well. If the dog keeps biting, we’ll have to put him down.”
Durango shook his head and grabbed a socket wrench. “Any excuse to pull out the big guns, huh?” He got on a backboard and rolled himself elegantly under the F-150 he was working on.
