Rough & Ready (Notorious Devils Book 5)

by Hayley Faiman

  “Can you wear your hair up?” Prescott asks as he slides his jacket on.

  “Why?” I ask, furrowing my brows.

  “Want those pieces of shit to see my mark,” he growls.

  I close my eyes then open them, a smile slowly playing on my lips. I don’t wear my hair up; instead, I gather it to the opposite side of my tattoo and I braid it down my shoulder. Prescott grins and traces his road name with his index finger.

  “Gorgeous,” he rumbles.

  “Let’s go,” I suggest.

  “I feel like fuckin’ you again,” he chuckles.

  “Can we fuck after?”

  I watch as he throws his head back in laughter and wraps his hand around the back of my neck, giving it a gentle squeeze before he presses his lips to my nose in a kiss. Then tells me, yeah.

  We walk out of the house together, his arm slung around my shoulders, my arm wrapped tightly around his middle. I’m trying not to show fear, but I’m scared shitless. I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen when I see these men again, but I guess I’m going to find out in just a few minutes.

  Snake

  With my hand wrapped around Ginger’s, I gently tug her through the cold air and into the slightly warmer warehouse. MadDog has a man, a tech wizard, and he hacked and searched and found four more of the Aryan Brotherhood. They’ve yet to find any of the pregnant women, or any women at all, which is disheartening. But maybe these four pussies will yield some useful information by the time we’re finished with them.

  I know when Ginger has seen them. They’re all lined up, their feet bound as well as their arms, and they’re dangling from the hooks we have hanging from the ceiling.

  “Prescott,” she whimpers.

  I look down at her. I’d wondered if this would do more harm than good, but I decided, as did she, that she needed to face her abusers. Now, I’m not so sure, based off of the fear that I see clearly in her eyes as she gazes upon them.

  “These men hurt you, baby?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

  “Yeah,” she says through trembling lips.

  “You want first go at ‘em?”

  I watch as her eyes move to each man, then back up to me. I see a decision has been made, but I can’t tell what it is. Then she rises to her toes, places a kiss on the corner of my mouth, and speaks.

  “They’re worthless. Get whatever information you can out of them, then finish them,” she says with a shrug.

  “My strong little Georgia Peach,” I murmur as my hand slides around her waist, pressing against her lower back.

  “I’ll see you at home later?”

  “Yeah, baby, you will,” I grin before my lips brush against hers. “Free, take my woman home, yeah?”

  “Sure thing. C’mon Ging,” Free says as he walks up to us.

  “I love you, Pres,” she murmurs.

  “Love you more than I’ve loved anything else in my whole fuckin’ life, peaches,” I grin. I release her and take a step back.

  Free holds out his hand, and I watch as she slips her smaller one inside. Together, they walk out of the warehouse. I like that she didn’t want to stay, that she didn’t feel the need to shed blood. Maybe she does; maybe she’s leaving it all for me—I don’t give a fuck. I’m just happy that those demons didn’t reappear in her eyes at the sight of these four pieces of shit standing before me.

  “Ready to sequel like piggies, boys?” I ask.

  None of them respond, but their fear is so apparent, I can fuckin’ taste it.

  “Let’s have some fun, boys,” I say to my brothers as we approach the four dead men hanging.

  I strip my clothes, keeping them separate from my cut and boots. I have to burn them in the morning, but I’m too fuckin’ tired to worry about it right now.

  I shower and wash the blood from my hands and face before I turn off the water and grab a towel. Once I’m fairly dry, I make my way to the bed, our bed. I pull back the sheets and crawl between them, wrapping my arm around Ginger’s middle and sliding my thigh between hers.

  “You’re back,” she whispers as my lips touch her shoulder.

  “Yeah, I’m back,” I admit.

  “It’s handled?” she asks, her body stock still.

  “Yeah, baby, it’s all handled,” I mutter.

  She turns around in my arms, and I wait for the demons, deciding that they must have entered her eyes while I was gone. I’m pleasantly surprised that, through the moonlit room, I see absolutely no trace of them.

  “I wonder how many more there are out there?”

  “Wish I knew, peaches,” I murmur as my nose slides alongside hers.

  “Thank you,” she whispers before her lips brush mine.

  “For what?” I ask, pulling away from her so that I can look into her face.

  “For being you. For being my rock during all of this.”

  “Fuck that rock bullshit,” I spit as I pull us both up to a sitting position. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops in surprise.

  “Pres,” she gasps.

  “I’m not your fuckin’ rock, peaches. You are your own fuckin’ strength. You don’t need me. You have me to support you in any way that I can, but baby, you don’t need me. You’re so fuckin’ strong, so strong.”

  “Pres,” she says as her lips tremble and tears fill her eyes.

  “So strong, Ginger.”

  Ginger

  Prescott’s whispered words of my strength undo me. He sees me as this ultra-strong woman when I feel anything but. I feel weak, and just tonight, I couldn’t hurt those men who brutalized me. Yes, they hurt me, and yes, I wanted to hurt them, but something inside of me couldn’t do it. Maybe it’s exactly what is inside of me that is the sole reason I couldn’t do it. I can’t keep it to myself a second longer, so I tell him.

  “I’m pregnant,” I whisper.

  “You’re…” his voice trails off as his eyes widen.

  “Do you want a boy or a girl?” I ask with a grin.

  “Pregnant,” he breathes. I watch as his face slowly breaks out into a huge smile.

  I wait for his real reaction. Right now, the news is settling. Then he lifts his head, his smile still wide, and he practically tackles me to my back. One of his hands wraps around the inside of my knee and he spreads me wide.

  “Move those panties to the side or I’m ripping them off,” he demands, his voice deep and husky.

  I do as he requests, and his cock presses against my center. I quickly move my hand out of the way before he slams completely inside of me. I gasp when his hands grab mine and press then above my head. He intertwines our fingers and starts to slowly thrust in and out of me.

  “Prescott,” I whisper. Our eyes connect, and I watch as he sticks his tongue out and slides it along his bottom lip.

  “Pregnant with my baby,” he rasps as he continues to fuck me, his long and lazy strokes making sure I feel every inch of him inside of me.

  “I am,” I nod.

  “Peaches,” he moans as his hips roll and his pelvis grinds against my clit.

  We don’t speak. Our eyes stay connected, as do our hands and our bodies. He slides inside of me, over and over again, slow and steady, with long, languid strokes, in no hurry at all whatsoever.

  “Pres,” I whimper once I feel my heart start to race as I climb closer toward my release.

  “Come,” he demands on a groan.

  He speeds up and I start to pant, climbing closer toward my release. Then, without any warning, I cry out with my climax as my body shakes. He grunts and then his hips start jerking wildly as he fucks me a little harder and a little faster before he arches his back and lets out a cry of his own, coming inside of me.

  I shiver when his hands release mine, but slide down my arms as he lowers his face. His lips touch my neck, his tongue gliding against my inked skin. He continues to gently thrust in and out of me as we both catch our breaths.

  “Marry me, peaches,” he rasps.

  “What?” I ask in surprise.

&n
bsp; “Marry me. Marry your Old Man,” he murmurs.

  My hands fly to the back of his neck, my fingers twisting in his hair and I search his face.

  “You’re serious, “I breathe.

  “Fuck yes, I am.”

  “Yes, yes I’ll marry you,” I cry out as I giggle.

  The movement causes me to lose him from my body. He looks at me in awe for a split second before his head dips and his lips press against mine in a hard, bruising kiss.

  “Later today?” he asks.

  “Today?” I practically choke.

  “Yeah, peaches, today.”

  I nod, before I smile. He settles behind me, pulling my back against his chest as his tongue traces my neck, like he does every night before he lifts a hand to my breast and squeezes it, telling me to go to sleep.

  I lie awake, unable to fall asleep quickly.

  I can’t wipe the smile from my lips.

  I’m pregnant, Prescott and I are getting married, and I’m finally content—completely happy.

  Snake

  I hold onto her, knowing she’s not asleep. It takes her far too long to sleep, but her body finally relaxes and her breathing evens out. I don’t sleep, though. I lie awake and look at her tattoo, my name on her neck, my baby inside of her, and tomorrow my ring on her finger.

  Everything that I have ever wanted is finally come to a reality.

  This woman owns every piece of me, from the inside out. I’ve never been more proud of a human being, as I am of this woman in my arms. She’s stronger than the biggest badass I know. She’s everything. And soon she’ll be my wife; then she’ll be the mother of my children; and with any luck, that strength will transfer on to them.

  Almost a year ago, I thought I’d lost her. Nine months ago, I thought she was lost to me. Three months ago, I dragged her ass back here, and I’ve not regretted one second I’ve spent with her—not one single fuckin’ second.

  I can’t wait for the future.

  I can’t wait for what insane shit she’s going to bring into my life.

  I can’t wait for how much love she’s going to bring to me.

  I can’t fuckin’ wait.

  ROUGH & RICH

  NOTORIOUS DEVILS #6

  I call his cell phone. Again. He sends my call straight to voicemail, and I glare as his voice barks out orders to leave him a message. He calls himself Soar, and all of his little buddies call him that, too. I’ve even got it tattooed on the front of my hip, some misguided act of love and encouragement.

  God, I’m such a fucking idiot.

  Soar.

  How stupid.

  His name isn’t Soar. It’s Sloane Huntington, III. I doubt any of his brothers know that, though. Just like none of them know that my name isn’t Genny, it’s Imogen. We’re frauds, the two of us. I’m not some badass biker bitch. I’m Imogen Carolina Stewart-Huntington, the wife of Sloane Huntington III.

  We’re both from well-to-do upper class families. Not just upper class—no, more like elite. Our parents are trust fund babies, as are we. Neither of us have had to work a day in our lives. We could both spend to our heart’s content and still have plenty of money to give our children.

  I met Sloane when we were in high school. We went to a private school, where we were famous for our parent’s titles, our hand-me-down last names, and our breeding lineage.

  Sloane was a bad boy. He was beautiful in every way a boy could be beautiful to a fifteen-year-old. His blonde hair was never out of place, yet he looked as if he couldn’t care about it. His leather jackets were expensive, yet looked like he beat the shit out of them—his jeans were the same.

  We were married the day after I turned eighteen. He was twenty-one. He’d been running around with the club by then. Nothing much, just during the week in Shasta, a couple hours from San Francisco. He always reserved his weekends to spend with me. I loved it. I felt so special, considering I was in high school and he was older than me. I thought I was really something. He even took me to all of my formal dances after he left school.

  Then we got married.

  That’s when things started to change.

  I didn’t know what being a Notorious Devil meant.

  I didn’t know about the women, the booze, the drugs, and the constant parties.

  I didn’t know about being left at home alone for days while my husband slept with other women.

  “Sloane, where the hell are you?” I snap once his greeting is finished. “I’m not taking this shit anymore. I’m done.”

  I always say that, too.

  That I’m done.

  Then he comes home and sweet-talks me back. Every time. I hate myself a little more each and every time I stay with him instead of leaving and going back home to my parents. They were pissed when I married Sloane. They didn’t understand why I wouldn’t go after someone else, anyone else.

  Now, fourteen years later, I see exactly why they were so angry. Sloane hasn’t grown up. He hasn’t changed. He hasn’t taken on the responsibility of his father’s company, and he’s still running around getting high, fucking whores. He has zero ambition in life. At this rate, his little brother will be running his father’s company and everything will completely bypass him

  I hear something in the next room and I know it’s Cleo. She’s been staying with me for a few days while her man and Sloane have been gone on a run. I feel like a bitch for ignoring her, but I’m so angry that I’m not good company anyway.

  The phone rings in my hand but it’s not Sloane on the other end, it’s MadDog, his president.

  “Need you to come down to the clubhouse, darlin’,” he murmurs into the phone.

  MadDog—now he’s a member of the club that I can respect, and one of the only ones. He has ambition, he’s in charge, and he doesn’t take shit from anyone. He’s also fiercely loyal to his woman, Mary-Anne. God, they’re so cute and perfect; they make me sick and bitter.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, my heart racing inside of my chest.

  “Just come on down here. Bring Cleo, too,” he says and then ends the call.

  “Cleo, we’re being summoned to the clubhouse,” I call as I walk out of my bedroom and into the doorway of my guestroom where Cleo has been staying. Her head jerks and she looks at me, giving me a sad smile and a nod.

  We take separate cars, probably because she thinks I’m a bitch. I am, though. Or at least I am now. I wasn’t always. When I was young, I was fun, always down for a good time, and always smiling.

  Sloane used to call me his Sunshine.

  He hasn’t called me that in at least ten years.

  I walk into the clubhouse and MadDog tells me, with regret swimming in his eyes, that Sloane’s been arrested.

  “What did he have?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry, babe, I don’t know. I only know they hooked him up and carted his ass off,” Torch says, keeping his voice soft and gentle, like I’m some kind of wounded animal.

  I nod, understanding filling me. He’s gone. I’m done. The entire room watches me like I’m a freak show, waiting for me to go insane. I look around until my eyes catch MadDog’s.

  “I’m leaving. I’m not coming back. I’m going home to my family, and I’m sorry, but I’m divorcing his ass,” I announce.

  “Now, Genny. We don’t even know if the charges will stick,” MadDog rumbles.

  “No, fuck that. He doesn’t give a fuck about me. He cares about the club and the drugs and the whores. I’m not on that list anywhere. So, he can have it all. He doesn’t have to worry about me anymore,” I announce as I tamp down my emotions. I’m on the verge of tears, so I take a step toward the front door.

  “Babe, you know that’s not true,” Colleen says.

  “Do I?” I ask, arching a brow. “I know he doesn’t come home for days, sometimes even weeks. I know he’d rather fuck those whores then come home to me. I know that what I want—it doesn’t fucking matter.”

  “What do you want?” Colleen asks.

  I shake my head
. No way am I telling this room full of people what I want out of my husband. No way am I telling them that I want him to come home at night, to hold me, to whisper to me that he loves me. No way am I telling them that I want him to slide inside of me bare, make love to me, and fill me with a baby.

  I’m thirty-two years old.

  I want a family.

  I can’t let my own husband have sex with me without a condom because I literally do not know where his dick has been. No way am I telling them that I don’t want to lie awake at night, crying because my husband doesn’t want me. The only man I have ever been with doesn’t want anything to do with me. The man I love with everything that I am can’t stand to look at me.

  “Everything,” I whisper, giving them that and nothing else.

  “That’s too much,” Colleen whispers back.

  “Then fuck Him,” I growl before I turn and walk out the door.

  “Genny,” Mary-Anne calls out, chasing after me.

  “What?” I ask, whirling around and giving her a dirty look. I don’t mean to be a bitch, but its basically just my personality anymore.

  “Don’t leave. The club will help you out. We’re your family,” she says. I know that she’s been really sweet, helpful, and kind, but she doesn’t know shit. I let out a humorless laugh and shake my head.

  “I don’t need the club’s help,” I snort.

  “Don’t leave like this,” she whispers.

  “I envy you. Having a man like MadDog who obviously loves the hell out of you and would do anything to keep from hurting you, it’s amazing really. I want to hate you, but you’re too damn sweet,” I chuckle. “I’m glad you have a man like MadDog, but please, don’t put Soar in the same category.”

  I open my car door and slide inside, start the engine, and drive to my parent’s house. I leave everything in Shasta. Not wanting one single memory to come with me. Sloane’s fancy ass muscle car is in the garage of our house, as is everything else of ours. He can throw my stuff away, or give it to one of his whores. I don’t give a shit anymore.