“Get her to the small room.” I look over my shoulder. “Curly, pull her car around back and bring me everything she has inside. We need to figure out what the hell is going on. Vampire, put some guys on watch. I want the area monitored around the clock until we know why the fuck she almost killed me.”
Loki carries her past the women who are standing in the doorway. I’m sure they heard the gunshot from the kitchen.
“You been tastin’ chilies on the side, Prez?” one of the brothers asks.
“Shut the fuck up,” I tell him. I’m pissed off. Not for the obvious reason that the bitch almost killed me…it’s Saturday, one day after I’ve taken over my new position as president of the Crows. The first order of business was cleaning up the yard. I received a few grumbles and ignored them. As hokey as it sounds, we need bonding time. The only two exempt from the early morning call were Coke and Vampire. They went out last night and buried Fox and Clutch in the desert. They returned early this morning and slept in, not joining us until noon. Things were running smoothly and our sense of camaraderie was growing.
And now fucking this.
The temperature is over a hundred degrees and I promised the guys enough beer to put them under the table if they gave me a full day. Red picked us up a large sub sandwiches for lunch along with the promised beer. The bar at the club has always been a stock your own and don’t fucking touch another’s stash. That’s in the wind, and I plan to keep the bar full from here on out. Alcohol isn’t any better than drugs but it’s legal. I’m prepping for police fallback with the change in leadership. I don’t trust Oho and his pal or Pauline as far as I can throw them.
I remove my bandana and wipe my face. I need a shower and one of those beers. But more than that, I need to know who she is and why she fucking aimed a gun at me. I walk over, turn on the hose, and let the water run over my head and chest. I don’t bother wiping it off. I’m almost dry before I enter the clubhouse. That’s the Arizona heat for you.
Inside isn’t much cooler. Fans are going and the evap is running full blast. It only cools things a fraction of what we need to be comfortable. It’s something we’ll tackle soon. I also need to finish moving myself in. The club needs too much work for me to live at a separate location.
First things first.
I pass Red and tell her to grab me a beer. I walk into the small room while Loki is going through the woman’s pockets. She’s still out, which isn’t a positive sign. Doesn’t matter much. Chances are good she won’t be leaving this room alive. I hit a woman for the first time yesterday and now I’m thinking about killing one. The thought makes me cringe. Doesn’t stop me from knowing it might need to be done. Fuck me.
The biggest question right now is why she pulled the shot. I can’t fathom what she was thinking. She checked me out and I read appreciation in her expression. Believe me I was doing the same thing. The woman’s hot as fuckin’ sin. I examine at her again. Her button shirt is half undone. A black sports bra covers her medium-sized breasts. Early twenties I guess now that I get a better look at her. The blood on her face doesn’t hide her refined features or her heritage. She’s not just pretty—she’s exotically beautiful. Her arms draw my attention away from her face. Even with the shirt covering the upper portions, she carries defined muscle that most women don’t have. Takes a lot of work to obtain that kind of physique. Who the fuck is she?
I leave the room and return a minute later with a wet rag. I toss it to Loki because I don’t want to touch her. I need to keep this real and the thought of putting my hands on her does something strange to me. Too strange and I’ll leave it at that. If she comes to, I won’t be adding sexual assault to my criminal jacket. Her fucking body turns my dick into a steel pole. Always thought I went more for the petite ones. Fuck.
She groans when Loki passes the rag over her face.
“I got her things, Prez,” Curly says. He has a medium-sized travel bag, a purse, and the paperwork from the car. I take the bag from him and push it against the wall. I loop the purse over my arm. Curly hands me the paperwork and I unfold the white pages.
“It’s registered to Sofia Guadalupe Acosta,” I say aloud.
The crash of a bottle a few feet from the door to the small room startles me. I look up at Red, who’s standing to the side of Curly. Her face is frozen in shock. She dropped the beer and it’s spilling all over the floor. Our eyes meet. Fear is unlike Red, but that’s exactly what I see. Even yesterday when I planned to remove Pauline’s ear, Red wasn’t afraid. Squeamish maybe but definitely not afraid.
“Who the fuck is she, Red?”
“I…” she looks behind her and for a moment I think she’s going to turn and run. Her eyes come back to mine. She obviously decides it’s a foolish decision. “She’s Fox’s kid.”
I’m not sure I hear her right. I met Fox in prison, where he was second in command of the Aryan Brotherhood. I never met a more racially bigoted person in my life. This dark-haired, dark-skinned, Hispanic woman could not possibly be Fox’s daughter.
I pass my hand over my stubbled head. “Why the fuck did she just pull a gun on me?”
Red takes a breath, which I’m sure does little to calm her nerves. “She hated her father. I don’t know what she was thinking.”
“You better come up with something fast.” My mind is racing with the possibilities and none of them look good for Red.
She shakes her head, her eyes big as she half leans half falls against the wall.
“Skull,” I yell. He comes up behind Red. “Keep Red with you.”
Red’s voice turns frantic. “I swear I didn’t know she would try to kill you. It doesn’t make sense. I thought she would be cheering after I called her earlier and told her about her father.”
I grab Red’s throat, my fingers cutting off her supply of oxygen. “You told someone outside the club that Fox is dead,” I say in disbelief. “That’s a fucking death sentence, Red. I should get it over with right now.”
Her fingernails dig into my wrist as her face turns red and then purple. I finally release her and push her back against Skull as she coughs and gasps for air. “Get her out of my sight.” Fuck me. Fuck women. What the hell am I supposed to do with this information? The better question is how the fuck do I keep Red and this woman alive? Not all the brothers are as passive as me when it comes to the treatment of women. Red betrayed us and this woman almost killed me. They’ll be lucky if the men don’t string them up and have an old-fashioned lynching.
Another moan comes from inside the room. “Bring a cot in here. We have two fold-ups in the storage room,” I tell Curly. When he walks off, I address Loki. “Grab the first aid kit and I’ll stay with her.” The woman is now sitting up. Loki is squatting beside her giving assistance. Her face is buried in her hands. Loki moves away and I take his place. He hustles from the room.
“I don’t know what the fuck you think you were doing, but you’re in a whole lot of hurt, lady, and it has nothing to do with the gash on your head.”
Her laugh is a cross between a squeak and a groan if that’s possible. “Maybe the hit to my head will kill me,” she says without looking up.
“Would make things simpler on me,” I say honestly.
“Go ahead, but make it quick.” Her hands move away and her head tilts back. She squints up at me blinking against the bright light from the uncovered single lightbulb in the ceiling. Her large brown eyes capture me.
This is insane. She’s so fucking gorgeous that it’s hard to pull my eyes away. I should kill her now and put my dick out of its misery. Fuck me but the last thing I want is to add her death to all the other fucked up shit I’ve done. The problem—she knows her father’s dead. I can’t trust her to stay quiet. “That would be the easiest for both of us,” I say. I shift a little closer. She smells good. I inhale the scent into my lungs while trying to keep it from scrambling my brains even further. I slide a few wisps of hair away from her face and say, “You’re lucky I don’t like easy.”
Sofia
I PULL BACK A little from Dagger’s hand against my back trying to put some distance between us. I touch my fingers to my forehead. It hurts, and my fingertips come away sticky with blood. There’s a dull throb in my head and the light hurts my eyes.
Dagger watches me like I’m an insect he wants to dissect. His blue eyes are ice cold. The smell of dirt and sweat dripping from this man overpowers the room. There’s something wrong with my female wiring because I want to rub my nose along his skin. I want to lick the salt crystals that outline the trails of sweat. And I still want to bite that damn bottom lip of his.
He’s a Desert Crow. A skinhead. One of the reasons my mother feared for her life. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve dreamed of killing my father for so long. This man took it away.
I’m rocked by the knowledge that I have nothing to live for. My world is upside-down and hurt swells inside my soul. The last person I want to see me come apart is this man. I blink back tears. Fucking tears. I hate them. Instead, I concentrate on the dirty, ugly walls with patched holes. The room is completely bare, the floor is rough wood, and the ceiling is stained yellow. Seeing the stains helps me control my emotions because if the yellow isn’t water, one or more guys took aim at the ceiling and pissed straight up.
They will kill me—the only question is when. Lorene can’t help me; she has her own trouble. I force myself to face Dagger. His eyes have small crinkles at the sides now. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they hold compassion. I’m startled away from those deep blue depths when there’s a noise at the door. I turn my head and watch the man I saw when I first regained consciousness enter the room with a first aid kit. Behind him, another man enters with a folding cot and a chair. It’s a small room, and Dagger and I are sitting dead center on the floor. The two men at the door stay back. I release a small gasp when Dagger lifts and cradles me against his chest. I weigh one forty on a good day. He steps back suddenly and I have no choice but to grab his shoulders. He backs into the corner as the men unburden themselves. Dagger doesn’t look at me. He keeps his eyes glued to the two men setting up the cot and chair. I glance down and see a brace on his left wrist that I hadn’t noticed before. I notice bruises and swelling beneath the dirt on his arm.
“Curly,” Dagger barks, and I grip him a little tighter in surprise, “bring another cloth and some warm soapy water along with a beer and a bottle of water.”
Curly gives me the stink eyes and makes sure I know he’s not happy. He makes a low grumble deep in his throat before leaving the room.
“Anything else, Prez?” the other man asks.
“Tell the ladies we need to eat in the next hour.” This man doesn’t hesitate or look at me before walking out.
Dagger stares at the door for a moment before releasing my legs as if it’s an afterthought. I slide down his body and his slick warm skin hits my sensitive flesh. I realize my shirt is unbuttoned. Hell, my nipples turn to pinpoints beneath the tight material of my sports bra. As soon as my feet hit the floor I try to pull away. Unexpected dizziness swamps me. The dull throb in my head intensifies and I groan softly. Dagger steers me to the cot and I gratefully sit down. I cover my eyes and take deep breaths.
I glance up when Curly enters again with a large bowl and dry cloth. He sets them beside me on the cot and continues giving me the look. Does he think he’s scaring me? If he doesn’t stop with the attitude, I’ll knock the scraggly hair off his chin.
My anger is back and simmering, just waiting to unleash.
“Thanks, Curly, I got this.” Dagger’s voice thrums inside my head. Not in a good way. The ache from a few minutes ago turns to a steady pound.
“Humph,” Curly replies before he walks out. Dagger strolls over and closes the door behind him.
Now we’re alone in the room again and I don’t know where to look. I reach for the cloth to place it in the water. Dagger steps up and wedges one jeans-clad knee between mine. I’m surprised enough to look up. His eyes burn into me. It’s the strangest thing, really. My body is so aware of him. My breasts tingle, my hands sizzle with the need to reach out and touch him.
I don’t know what he reads on my face but his eyes have gone cold again and his voice is even more intimidating. “Put down the cloth.”
I’m no good at following orders, never have been, especially those given by men. I have no idea why the cloth slips from my fingers and lands in the bowl. Dagger leans in and picks it up. His chest is inches from my eyes and his tats fill my vision. The ink appears prison-grade, but the artwork is intricate. A Grim Reaper stands over a crying woman holding a swaddled baby. The design weaves into swirls of flowers with branches that turn to thorns as they flow further out across his chest. It’s devastatingly beautiful in a dark, haunting way.
“While I clean your face, you’ll answer my questions.”
I have my own question and it centers on the tattoo. I shake off the empathy the artwork invokes. The tone of Dagger’s voice helps. Harsh and demanding has never worked in anyone’s favor when dealing with me. Mr. Boss Man is about to find out that pushing my buttons is not going to work. “And if I don’t?” It would have sounded tough if I hadn’t winced when the cloth touched the edge of the cut on my forehead.
The cloth goes still. “You have no idea the fucking trouble you’re in, princess.” He leans in closer so his hot breath hits my cheek. “I don’t think you really want to find out.”
My hands form fists and it takes everything I have not to leap up and deck him. “I’m sure I won’t be the first Latina you’ve killed, nor will I be the last,” I say instead, keeping my voice as steady as possible.
The fingers of his injured wrist grasp my chin and he raises my head higher. “You actually think the worst thing I could do is kill you?”
I glare at him and allow my rage to build. It’s a warm rock inside my chest and it’s growing hotter. “I never thought you’d be into brown skin,” I taunt, his gut-wrenching tattoo completely forgotten.
He laughs. It’s not a happy sound and it sends chills down my spine. “To me and my men,” he puts the emphasis on men and his smile disappears, “all pussy is pink where it counts.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. Fucking asshole.
It doesn’t escape me that he’s willing to pass me around his men either. And he’s not finished handing out threats. “Dying is the easy part, it’s what leads up to it that you need to fear.”
Fear is not something I’m accustomed to and I don’t plan to give into it now. Good looks aside, Dagger is just like my father. If I weren’t so dehydrated, I’d spit on him.
He tips my chin up until my neck is all the way back, placing my head at an uncomfortable angle. My hands go to his. They’re like iron. “First question: Was Fox your father?”
I was groggy, but I clearly heard Lorene, who they call Red, spill the beans. This small detail is of no consequence. How much do I want to share before they kill me? Dagger eases his grip and I tell him the truth. “Frank Tison, who you call Fox, was my father.” It’s actually nice to emphasize the past tense even though I didn’t cause his demise.
“How old are you?”
I have no idea why he cares. “Twenty-six.”
“I figured younger.”
Most people do.
He goes back to cleaning my face. The water feels good in the hot room. I wiggle a bit because his knee is pressed between my thighs intimately. Too intimately for my tastes.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He doesn’t let me answer. “Who knows you’re here?”
Do I want them thinking they’re fucked if they kill me? I think so. No good reason for me to answer this question. I remain quiet and Dagger continues cleaning my face. When he’s finished, he opens the first aid kit and pulls out a butterfly bandage and some ointment. He’s being deceptively quiet and it worries me more than if he threatened me again. He’s methodical in his doctoring skills, I’ll give him that. When finished, he rests everything on the cot and
calmly buttons my shirt, which I had forgotten about. His fingers skim across my hot skin and I inhale sharply. This doesn’t go unnoticed. He looks at me with a calculated stare. I break eye contact and glance over his shoulder at the closed door.
He finally steps back, removing the pressure from between my legs. I immediately want it back. My pussy throbs to the same beat as my aching head. God, what I would give to hump his leg right now. This man has me caught somewhere between anger and lust. I have a healthy sex drive, always have. I’m usually discerning, though. Skinhead assholes have never been on my radar. Just the opposite. Yesterday the last person on earth I would want to fuck is the man before me.
He’s watching me closely. “You sure you don’t want to answer the question?” His eyes darken from steamy pools of light blue to hard, murky ocean waters when I refuse to speak.
He lifts his hand and for a moment I think he’s going to hit me. I don’t flinch. I’ve taken beatings—I can handle what he dishes out. Pain and I are old friends.
I’m shocked when his fingers run through my hair. Pins and needles feather over my scalp and he’s not even touching me. I want to lean into his fingers like a cat and purr. We’re caught in some kind of hot, fucking sexual daze. My gaze lowers. I can see his cock straining against his jeans, proving we’re both aware of the invisible sexual burn between us. My gaze slides up over his ripped abs and bulging pecs. The pulse at his throat beats fast. I glance higher and our eyes lock. I want to eat him, lick him, devour him. His eyes tell me he wants the same.
The spell breaks when one of his men enters the room. Dagger takes a bottle of water from the guy, uncaps it, and hands it to me. I’m too thirsty not to gulp down as much as possible. I watch Dagger while drinking it. He grabs his beer, twists off the top, and takes a healthy pull before giving it back to the other man. “Find Skull and have him bring Red in here. I’ll need some rope.”
I almost spit out the water in my mouth. How stupid can I be? For a moment I thought there was something more between us than an unspoken answer to his question. My anger flashes back to atomic levels. Anger keeps me grounded, and no matter the ache in my pussy, I need to keep the fury at the forefront.
Burn: Outlaw Romance (Hotter Than Hell Book 3) Page 5
