Lonely Rider - The Box Set: A Motorcycle Club Romance - The Complete Series

by Melissa Devenport

  Now that some of the swelling was gone, Kate realized that the guy was handsome. If the whole danger factor was thrown out the window. Or maybe, she was ashamed to admit, maybe half his attraction came because of it. The other half was real. He had beautiful eyes and what was probably beautiful skin. A gorgeous face that a guy who did bad shit for a living didn’t deserve. As the bruises faded and the swelling went down, a strong bone structure was revealed. He had model like good looks combined with the type of underlying hardness that most women were mental about. Kate summed it up as the classic bad boy look.

  Or classic bad guy looks. Strong brow, deep set eyes, straight nose, though that had been busted to shit and now had a permanent bump near the base, right between his eyes, full lips that weren’t just full because they were swollen, a hard jawline with a fresh growth of black stubble, killer cheekbones… he basically had it all. Totally. Fucking. Wasted. Because he was bad. And not in a good way.

  “Yeah, four days.” She swallowed hard when she recalled that he’d asked her a question.

  “I- I’ve… been out- that… long?”

  “Yeah. Lots of time for whoever is coming after you to find where you are and kill us all!” She yelled the last few words, annoyed with him for showing up. For being so handsome. For putting them all in the situation there were in. She barely resisted the urge to lean forward and drill her thumb in to the horrible line of stitches she’d put in him herself, just to drill home her point.

  “I’m…”

  “No. No, don’t say you’re sorry. That means shit all to me and my sister. Probably to Jack too. I don’t know why he didn’t just call an ambulance the minute we heard that thump outside. Did you know that you interrupted a nice dinner? One my sister and I spent all day preparing?”

  “I’m-” he choked out again, but she cut him off.

  Her eyes strayed, embarrassingly enough, to his chest, where the sheets were folded away down nearly to his waist. Kate was woman enough to admit she’d been around the block a few times. She’d had more than her fair share of experience with men. Not bad. Just… well- she liked guys. She always had. Lately though…

  She finally felt like she just- grew up. It got old. The whole dating thing. The dinners and the movies and the walks and the drives. All of it. It was all just so stupid and pretentious and fake. God, even the whole sex thing wasn’t very good. She knew when she reached that point, that she either was batting for the wrong team or she needed to take a break.

  She’d opted for a break since she’d never once in her life found ladies attractive. Pretty, yes. Beautiful certainly. Sexually attractive, no. Not that it wasn’t okay with her, because she didn’t care at all what people chose for themselves. It just wasn’t for her. She knew she was worn out. Exhausted. Sick and tired of it all.

  She’d just hit thirty-one and she was already as jaded as a mean old lady. One who lured children in and put them in her oven. Oh wait, that was more like a witch. She didn’t think she’d reached hag status. Yet.

  She gave herself a shake. Her whole angry tirade started when she’d noticed the damn guy, who looked like he was still minutes away from latching on to the grim reaper’s hand, popped a damn hard on under those sheets. She’d seen it. She’d have to be blind not to notice.

  And her entire body noticed.

  As in, she had to clamp her thighs together to keep the heat from swelling higher. It escaped her tight pressure and ached there anyway. As in, her nipples chaffed against the lace of her bra. As in, her heart missed a beat. Or two. Or several. As in, her blood fired up in the most womanly, feminine way possible. She was very familiar with the feeling of being turned on.

  But not like she was at the moment. Worse, the feeling didn’t fade. It got worse. She literally could feel that her panties were moist and slick.

  It was the most inappropriate response on the planet. So she did what she did best when she felt threatened or when she was annoyed with herself. She got mad. She let him have it. And he laughed at her.

  “I’m…”

  “Oh for god sakes,” she exclaimed, exasperated. “Just spit it the fuck out.”

  “I’m sorry-”

  “Oh, I know you’re sorry. I know you’re reeeaaal fucking sorry about all of this.”

  The guy tried to shake his head and winced, since it must have hurt. A shiver crawled up her spine at the thought of reaching out and sweeping her fingers over his warm brow again. She was checking to see if he was still fevered. If maybe that shoulder injury would carry him off and dispose of him for them. No such luck. His fever broke the day before and hadn’t come back.

  “No.” He squeezed the word out like it hurt. “I’m- sorry- but I- need to- piss.”

  Oh my god. Oh my god, no. Not much could render Kate Reid speechless. No guy had been capable of that since she was fifteen and learned that boobs and a butt and a pair of pouty lips were all she needed to get her way just about every single time. She’d run circles around boys, then men, for half her life.

  That’s what it is. She realized the real reason she was so pissed off at the moment. Because her easy charm and her good looks weren’t working. The guy, other than popping a hard on, showed no reaction. He said she was pretty like he said it all the time. He popped a hard on like he’d be good at fucking, but no one would ever be capable of breaking his heart. His black heart. Because this guy wasn’t a normal guy. He wasn’t a good guy. He probably wasn’t even sane.

  “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “That’s just great, isn’t it?” She looked him over, let her gaze sweep shamelessly up his naked, heavily muscled chest. He had a nice lean waist and crazy broad shoulders. He was solid, hard, striated muscle under velvet skin. Even if the fading bruises marred the landscape, it was still a damn beautiful landscape.

  Fuck me! Why am I even noticing? Oh right. Because I can’t not notice. He’s insanely gorgeous. Any woman would think he’s sexy. I’m not a traitor because I noticed. I’m not a traitor for feeling. It. I’m not. I’m not…

  “Uhhh… a little- help- over here.”

  She stood, planting her hands on her hips. “You know, we’ve all sat up, guarding you. Taking turns watching you. Making sure you didn’t expire. You’ve been a lot of trouble. I should let you piss all over yourself. It would serve you right for coming here and trying to ruin Jack and Tia’s lives.”

  “I didn’t try- to- ruin- anyone’s- lives. Just had… nowhere- else to go.”

  “You should have gone to a fucking ditch and stayed there!” As soon as the words popped out of her mouth, she realized how horrible they sounded. She and Jack and Tia all assumed that something shitty went down and a whole of shitty stuff before that. They’d all assumed that Creed was the bad guy.

  Creed stared at her through his horribly bloodshot eyes. They remained devoid of emotion, and then, suddenly, his lips turned up at the edges. The motion looked like it hurt, and the shadow of a smile faded as quickly as it appeared.

  “I’m sorry,” Kate whispered. “That was- really horrible. I- I’m normally not mean at all. It’s just we’ve all been on edge and we’re all sleep deprived and honestly, it’s been terrifying having you here not knowing if you’re going to live or die, not knowing what or who is coming.”

  He gave a brief nod, probably all the movement he could make. “I- it’s- okay, but- I… still need to piss.”

  “Okay, okay.” She threw up her hands. “Right. Well, you’re not getting up. You can barely get your eyes open or force out words. No way you’re getting out of that bed. Which leaves one option. Me. And- uh- me getting you something to piss in.” She groaned. “This was really a whole lot easier when you were unconscious.”

  He had the nerve to smile at her, a smile that wrinkled up his eyes, before he let out a groan of his own.

  “Right. I won’t make you laugh anymore. I got the memo. Not that I was trying to. You took a real beating. Your ribs are bruised. Jack thinks so. Aside from being shot, it probably feels
like you’ve been put through a meat grinder.”

  “I’ve had… worse.”

  “Don’t tell me about it. I seriously don’t want to know. Jack’s orders, not mine. The less me and Ti know about you, the better. So I’m going to get a damn cup or bag or something and you’re going to piss in it and just lay there, quietly, and heal up and stay conscious and when Jack gets home, he can figure out what to do.”

  Creed slowly nodded again. He kept his eyes trained on her as she moved, gathering up the gun that really was loaded and really was left on the nightstand beside her. No way was she leaving that behind for him. He was probably playing her. He was probably totally capable of making a lunge for it. She wasn’t going to take that chance.

  Kate had never held a loaded weapon before the shooting range. Now, oddly enough, it felt almost comfortable in her hands. She just hoped to hell she wouldn’t have to use it. On Creed or anyone else who might be coming after him. Lord, the thought was terrifying. It sent a chill skating up her spine and her stomach rolled. Something bitter and acrid clawed at her throat, but she swallowed hard and pushed her fear away. She had a bigger problem at present and there was no way she was going to let Creed piss her sister’s bed. Not on her watch.

  She finally found a clear sandwich bag and headed back to the room. She half expected for him to be out of bed, lying in wait for her, booby trap already prepared, but he was where she left him, just as pale, just as exhausted. His eyes looked tired, and not the kind of tired that comes from being near the grave. The kind of tired that a person learns from hard living.

  “Okay. I have this.” She held up the bag and learned what true mortification was. She knew she was probably the ripest shade of red. Tomato red. A tomato left on the vine for six months too long fucking red.

  He stared at her. Stared at her hard. And nodded once. She wondered what the hell that was supposed to mean. As in, go ahead, touch my cock, put it in the bag, let me piss, permission?

  Kate took a steadying breath. I can do this. I’ve touched a cock before. It’s just a dick. Just like anyone else’s. Don’t look. Don’t worry. It will be over fast. Just… do it. Get it done. Count to ten. Take a deep breath.

  She edged closer and just as she was about to lift the sheet, she wondered if she’d have to, like, shake it off or something. She didn’t know whether to cry or howl with laughter. It was kind of funny. In a really gross, embarrassing, horrible sort of way.

  Kate peeled back the sheet slowly. “There’s a reason I’m not a nurse,” she grumbled. “This makes me wish I had a job to go to.”

  Creed grunted, like that was supposed to mean something. She steeled herself, reached out, and grabbed his cock. She nearly shuddered at the feel of him. He wasn’t hard, but he kind of- got that way- at her touch. She wanted to reach up and slap him on the damn face, but she figured he didn’t have a whole lot of control over his body at the moment. She herself had felt straight shots of wild lust when she’d noticed his earlier hard on and that certainly was against her will.

  “Alright.” She brought the bag closer. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Go ahead… I guess.”

  She waited. Nothing happened. She waited a few more seconds. Still nothing. Finally, after a long while, she looked directly as his cock, which even half hard, was still probably about eight fucking inches long and so wide that it made all the wrong parts of her ache.

  “Are you going to piss or not?” She nearly screamed.

  “You- uh- know… I think- I don’t have to- after all.”

  She let out a cry of rage, ripped the bag away and threw back the sheet. He was lucky she forgot the gun in the damn kitchen. Because, she swore to god if she hadn’t, Creed or whatever the fuck his name was, would be minus his cock.

  And it would be a shame since his cock, she damn well hated to admit, was a real nice one.

  Chapter 4

  CREED

  After the whole pissing stunt, the woman who was supposed to be watching him fled the room. She didn’t come back. The daylight drifting in through the small window to his right, eventually faded to dusk.

  He had nothing to do but stare at the few pieces of furniture in the room. A matching dresser and nightstand set. An original oil painting of flowers. Whoopty fucking do.

  Creed leaned further into the pillows, body in utter agony. He wished he hadn’t pissed off the woman. She would have been a better companion than hours of boredom. Not only was she beautiful, she was absolutely stunning when she was mad.

  He’d never seen a more beautiful woman. Her sapphire eyes came alive when he pissed her off. She was fiery, all hot wit and insane spirit. She was a real handful, the kind of woman who liked to chew men up and spit them out just because she could.

  Not that it mattered to him. Man eater or no, she was fucking gorgeous. His blood stirred just thinking about her. Which he did, for hours. What else was there to do?

  Finally Creed heard the echo of a door opening somewhere else in the house. Muffled words were exchanged, probably about him. He was surprised there was no angry yelling or screaming about what a dirty pig he was.

  When the door opened, he wished to hell that sapphire eyed goddess was the one entering the room. Of course, it was Jack. Bit of an anticlimax, but he really wanted to see him too. To thank him and to ask his help.

  But Jack dashed that idea within a second.

  “Look. I’m glad you’re awake.” He stood by the side of the bed, his features hard, his eyes like steel. “I’m glad you got away and survived whatever happened. I don’t want you to tell me. I don’t need you to tell me. I just need you to rest up and get better, because I need you to go. I have a family now. I’m not the guy I was before. I have a wife and she’s…” he cut that off with a shake of his head. “Never mind. I just need you to be able to sit on a bike or be well enough to drive yourself out of here. I can get you a vehicle or a bike if you need, but you need to leave. You have three more days and then you’re out of here, whether you can stand up or not.”

  Creed cracked a smile, even though it hurt. “Nice to see you too, Jack.” The truth was, he must be on the mend. He felt stronger with each passing hour that ticked by. The pain diminished to a dull ache. He doubted that he’d even need three days.

  Although he wanted to take them. Just to see that woman some more.

  “I don’t know how you found me.” Jack shook his head, clearly not pleased. “But if you did, then they can and will as well.”

  He wore the clothes of someone who went to work in an office. Did the nine to five thing. He had an actual dress shirt on, black with black slacks. And a belt. A real belt with a silver square buckle. He looked fresh and clean. Not at all like the Jack he remembered, but he sure as hell didn’t have the wrong guy. Despite his white-collar look, the violence in his eyes was unmistakable.

  “They won’t,” Creed assured him. “I have ways of keeping tabs on people that no one else is able to do.”

  “You always were the best tracker and the best hacker.”

  “No one says hacker anymore,” he wheezed. “That’s old man shit.”

  One of Jack’s nice blonde brows arched up in the middle and a hard line appeared just above the bridge of his nose. “Yeah? You feel like a young man now, Creed? You’re playing a young man’s game. Fuck, do you have any idea what it means to even reach your age doing the shit you’re doing?”

  Right. The ripe old age of thirty-four. “I know that each day might be my last. I’m okay with that.”

  “Clearly you weren’t. Because if you were, you would have had the decency to leave me and my family alone. Instead, you came here, bleeding all over the place. You’ve scared the hell out of my wife and her sister.”

  “Her sister looks like she can handle her own.”

  Jack’s lips thinned out. “I’m not fucking playing here, Creed. That still your damn name?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

  “Funny. Since you never lived by anything or for anythin
g.”

  “Funny as in haha or just funny?”

  “Fuck you,” Jack spat.

  “If anyone’s going to do that, I would hope it’s the blue-eyed goddess out there.”

  The fact that Jack didn’t murder him right there pretty much told Creed that he didn’t know about the whole pissing stunt. Or about the hard on he’d tented the damn sheets with. The woman hadn’t spilled. He liked that. She was tough. Tough and pretty. A lethal combination, but then again, he liked toying with death.

  “Just shut your fucking mouth and concentrate on getting the hell out of here. You need a bike? Car? Truck? I’ll get it for you. Fake ID? I’ll get that too. You just need to leave. As soon as possible.”

  “I’ll go,” Creed promised. “Tomorrow.”

  Jack actually looked hesitant. Some emotion flitted across his face, but it was gone. It vanished behind the concrete wall that Jack had always been real good at constructing around himself.

  “You know why I helped you. Because we were brothers once. I don’t have any family left. Closest I got is Percy and he’s miles and miles away. I- I couldn’t just let you die. You were banking on that when you found your way here. No matter what you did, you knew I wouldn’t turn you away.”

  “Does it matter that I didn’t do it?” Creed croaked. The longer he talked, the worse his voice sounded. His throat was dry and aching, nearly raw.

  Jack shook his head and something close to sadness lit up his eyes. “No, man. It doesn’t. They’re coming for you and they’re going to kill you all the same. So tell me. Truck. Car. Bike.”

  Creed ground his teeth together. He’d never been what you’d call a team player. He did what it took to survive and he made no apologizes for it. He didn’t choose that life for himself. He was born into it, learned it from an early age. It was in his blood and he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t go straight like some of the guys did after Slim Rick bit the dust and the whole club scattered like ashes on the wind.

  The sorry truth was, he needed a family. He wanted a place to call home. He realized that, as he was hauling his sorry ass up Jack’s neat and tidy front steps. The guy really was the closest thing to a family he had left.