Leaving both men to their devices, I get back to packing. Reaching across the bed, I drag the pile of clothes to me and lift the load into my arms. It’s so high it touches my chin, so I use that part of my body to help wrangle the heap. Taking a few steps, I drop the rainbow of colors into the luggage, which was knocked to the wayside during the brotherly brawl. Shirts fall half on the ground, half in the unfolded mess. Pants and other pieces do the same. Not giving a single fuck, I lift my barefoot and stomp that shit down until it seems to fit for the most part.
“Ya know, if you folded those you could get more in the suitcase,” Ryker remarks calmly, as though he’s not being a sarcastic prick while perching himself on the ledge of my dresser like he owns the damn thing. Nobody sits on that. Not even me. I wouldn’t be able to hoist my big butt up there anyhow without smacking my face on the mirror.
Slapping his leg out of the way, I tug another drawer out and set it on the bed. “Ya know, you could go sit in the kitchen. I don’t need your commentary to pack,” I sass.
He chuckles. “Sure I could. But I wouldn’t get to watch you pack those sexy panties.”
Glaring over my shoulder at the smug bastard, I lift a pair of black lace boy shorts and slingshot them toward the trash bin. His eyes widen in horror at my boldness. “What the fuck did ya do that for? Those are perfectly fine to take with you.”
“Uh huh. If I wanna feel sexy. I think these are much more suited for Texas.”
Hooking a pair of ugly cotton maternity underwear on my fingertip, I fling them into my empty suitcase, watching Ryker’s expression the entire time. It’s tight. His arms are crossed. The corner of his full bottom lip is swollen slightly from roughhousing. He’s not liking this so much after all. Ha. Serves him right. It’s not like he’ll see me in these underwear anyhow. I don’t plan to have a repeat of today. Once was enough. Twice, and I don’t think my poor heart could survive it.
“Wanna go sit in the kitchen now?” I tease, arching a challenging brow before batting my eyelashes and winking.
Kade snickers in the corner where he’s re-stationed himself. At least his knives are stowed for now. He’s busy typing away on his phone. Probably talking to his next hook up. Priming her pussy for when he gets home.
“I’m still not leavin’. You’re not gonna scare me away that easily,” Ryker taunts, returning my wink.
Challenge accepted.
One-by-one, each pair of luxurious panties are discarded with flourish as the well-worn, comfy cottons are balled up and shot into the suitcase like a basketball.
“Swish.” I shake my booty as another one joins its breathable sisters.
“Are ya done?” Ryker grumbles, displeased.
Flipping around to face him, my long locks whip through the air with attitude. In my hand, I hold a pair of red lace bikinis that I’ve worn twice. Who wants to constantly pick underwear outta the crack of their ass if they’re not getting laid anyhow? Surely not me. I reserved these puppies for the rare night on the town with my coworkers. We’d hit up a local bar. I’d rock my black pencil skirt, heels, my signature black-rimmed glasses, and a cleavage top that made me the object of every man’s hot librarian fantasy. Real life spank bank material. At least that’s what Rea said. I didn’t see it. And it’s not like I ever got fucked. There were a few offers, sure. Just none that I could stomach long enough to kiss, let alone play hide the sausage.
To torment Ryker a little further, I stretch the waistband of the bikinis using both my thumbs, and suspend them eye level to give him a chance to appreciate the fine Victoria Secret craftsmanship up close and personal. You can see straight through the lace from ass to front. “Such a shame. These were my try-to-get-laid underwear. Guess they didn’t work very well. What do you think? Are they nice enough to get me laid?” God. I’m bad. Very very bad. This isn’t fair. I know. But I can’t help myself.
Ryker scrubs a palm down his face. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself.
Kade chuckles again, clearly enjoying my liberating panty show.
I smile innocently to keep up the rouse. “Well?”
Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Ryker closes his eyes, takes in a deep lungful of air, and releases it with a sigh. “You don’t need lace panties to get laid, Kat.”
“What ever do you mean?”
I play the dumb blonde part well. This is a boatload of fun. It’s much better than arguing, being kidnapped, or dealing with Vanessa. I’d go as far as to say this is one of the highlights of my week thus far. Aside from reconnecting with my daughters for a few short minutes … and … the … well … you know. But let’s not bring that up again. Deal?
Ryker adjusts something banana shaped in his jeans. “Y-you can’t talk about sex,” his southern rough and tumble voice cracks.
Cocking my head to the side, I pout my bottom lip as much as I can without it hurting. “Why not?”
“You’re not this dumb, Katrina. Please stop acting like an airhead.”
“Airheads are people, too,” I defend.
“Yes. Well, you’re not one of them. So stop this…” He tosses his hand in the air. “Whatever this is you’re doin’.”
Oooo. He’s flustered. Big time.
Lowering the red lace, I ball it in my fist, take a step in his direction, and carefully set the undies on his knee before retreating. Ryker gapes at the gift, but doesn’t touch it. “I asked you a question, hotshot. That’s all I did. You wanted to watch me pack instead of sit in the kitchen. And since this is my house, it’s my duty to be a gracious host, so I’m trying to carry on a conversation.” Lie. Lie. Lie. I’m such a big, fat liar.
By the brief scrunched up, dirty expression Ryker shoots me, I can tell he’s not even close to believing my phony story. Oh well. I tried. It was fun while it lasted.
“Try again,” he says, quickly snatching the lace from his knee and tucking it into his pocket before I can steal it back.
I do a little jig on the inside. He’s gonna keep those. I just know it. It’s all good. I don’t mind. They were gonna be trashed anyhow.
“Try what again?” I ask, honestly not sure what he means.
“If you wanna give me your spiel, you gotta make it more believable than that. I’m givin’ ya a do-over, so get to it.” Ryker snaps his fingers twice like he’s resetting time. What an adorably sexy idiot, all flirty grin and sparkling irises lighting his face. He’s toying with me. Provoking.
Rolling my eyes, I hook both hands on my hips for flare. If he wants a spiel, I’ll give him a damn spiel. Time to be blunt. “You’re uncomfortable with me talking about sex because it makes you hard. ‘Cause that’s either a banana in your pocket, or you’re happy to see me.” A bomb goes off on Ryker’s cheeks, turning them insta-red. He shifts on the dresser, looks away, and covers said banana with both palms.
I’m not done. “Don’t think I forgot lace panties turn you on. Always have. They get your fat dick so hard you could pound nails.”
Ryker groans erotically, and so does Kade. Super. Arousal was not my goal. Undeterred, I keep going. “So when I asked if I needed lace panties to get laid, you said I don’t. And I asked why. Simple as that. I didn’t ask you to stay in here, mister. I didn’t ask for you to move me to Texas. I didn’t ask for any of this. All I want is to be left alone. But that’s not gonna happen, now is it? Nope. So I’m throwin’ my pretty underwear out in hopes it’ll prevent you from wanting what happened today to happen again. There’s no reason for me to feel sexy in Texas. None. Nada. That ship has sailed, along with my normal sized ankles, and flattish belly. And while I’m tossing the garments out, who says I can’t have a little fun in the meantime?” There. How’s that for truth?
Hands perched on hips, I wait and I wait and I wait some more for him to reply. Only he doesn’t. Ryker continually fidgets. The concealed bulge becomes less concealable. His chest pistons faster as his respirations increase. Still, he won’t look at me. And just when I feel he might,
there’s a knock at the front door.
Not waiting for Ryker to climb out of whatever stupor he’s in, I exit my bedroom to see who’s outside. Entering the living room from the hall, my floor suddenly begins to vibrate beneath my feet as the sound of motorcycle boots clomping their way out of my room echo through the small house like a cattle drive. What the ever-lovin' fuck? I pause momentarily next to my couch, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Then I take a tentative step toward the door when another knock resounds. An arm wraps around my chest from behind and whirls me in the opposite direction. Ryker covers my mouth with his big mitt and drags me back up the hallway, and into the bathroom as though I weigh nothing. Elbowing him in the solar plexus, I curse him unsuccessfully for manhandling me. Yet, he doesn’t let go.
Kade pokes his head in the restroom. “I’m gonna get the door.” He flashes us his big Bowie and smiles wickedly before securing it behind his back. Sheesh. That man and his knives.
Ryker carefully peels his hand off my mouth, his giant erection poking me in the spine. Wonderful.
“Shhh. Be quiet,” he whispers.
“What’s your problem?” I whisper back, nervous as hell.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to recognize Kade and Ryker are concerned about who’s on the porch. Granted, there are three Sacred Sinners stationed outside. That’s why I wasn’t worried about answering it. My gut says I’m safe. So I believe her. Could she be just as ignorant about this as me? Or, are my guys that overprotective?
Ryker palms my tit, pressing my back firmly against his front to ‘protect’ me. Slipping two fingers beneath his pinky, pretending to enjoy our closeness, I get a decent hold on the little digit and yank it backward. Ryker howls in pain and releases my boob. I wriggle out of his embrace to sit on the closed toilet lid. He glares down at me, massaging his poor pinky. At least I was nice enough not to dislocate or break it. Trust me, my dad taught me well. Consider him lucky.
“You don’t know who’s out there. You shouldn’t have tried to open the door by yourself,” he scolds.
“It’s not my fault you were too busy bein’ embarrassed, and Kade was playin’ on his phone. It’s not like there aren’t three of Big’s crew out there. He promised me he’d only send the best to protect me while I packed today. And I don’t take him as someone who lies.”
Before I left the compound, Big approached me. I can’t lie and say it wasn’t a bit intimidating. However, he was the perfect gentleman when he personally apologized for what happened to me, and promised, hand held over his heart and all, that he’d do his best to protect me and my kids no matter what. There are very few men in this world who I’d take that vow seriously from. He’s definitely one of them. You can tell by looking at the giant, that he’s not gonna feed you a line of bullshit and hang you out to dry. He means business. That’s why I agreed to ride in the SUV with Ryker and Kade. And felt safe doing it, because there were three large guys on motorcycles surrounding us the entire journey. One leading, and the other two taking the rear. If that’s not power, I dunno what is.
“Who the fuck are you?” Kade snaps.
There’s an exchange of hushed words that I can’t interpret, a bang, and a brief scuffle, followed by a very pissed Kade shouting. “Get the hell off me!”
Ryker and I exchange curious looks before he walks cautiously to the doorway, still nursing his finger. I step up behind him, eager to see what’s happening.
“Get off me, bitch!” Kade booms irately. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
A woman’s twinkly laughter flitters through the house.
It’s so cute it makes me smile even if I shouldn’t.
Eyes forward, Ryker curves his arm around his back and pats our unborn daughter with three fingers. “You can follow me out. But stay behind me.”
“Okay,” I agree, because I know if I don’t, we’re gonna have another fight.
Slowly, way too slowly if ya ask me, he steps out of the bathroom into the hallway. I’m right on his tail as we make our way toward the living room. A cold draft engulfs the space the closer we get.
“Let me up,” Kade commands.
“Not until you calm down, Kade Knox,” the woman’s airy voice replies, sounding level headed.
No warning bells ding in my brain at the sight spread before us. I’m pretty sure we’re safe if two of Big’s men are standing in the doorway, laughing their asses off. On the snow-dusted floor just inside the house is Kade, lying face down on his stomach as a petite lady wearing a leather jacket and beanie hat wrenches his arm behind him. Pressing a knee to his lower back, she holds a small knife to the side of his throat.
Straining to lift his head off the floor, Kade gazes our way, his face beet red, neck muscles bulging. A snowstorm of fury dances in those baby blues.
“Get. Her. Off. Me, Ryker. Or I’m gonna end up doin’ somethin’ bad,” Kade pleads gruffly through clenched teeth, nostrils flaring.
“No you’re not,” she singsongs, not at all intimidated by him or his warning.
When I try to move past Ryker to get closer to Kade so I can help calm him, Ryker puts his arm out, halting my progression. “We don’t know who she is. Stay back.”
Pointing to the two brothers snickering in the doorway, snapping pictures of Kade, I roll my eyes at Ryker and shove his arm away. “They obviously know who she is,” I explain. Ryker’s hand drops to the wayside as he grunts some form of caveman assent.
As I approach with Ryker basically glued to my damn hip, the hazel-eyed badass sizes me up. “You must be Katrina Remington, daughter of Michael Ghost Remington, VP of the Texas Sacred Sinners,” the chick rattles off like a circa 1980s computer, her expression unreadable.
“Uh, yes, that’s me.” To give myself something to do, I rub my daughter.
She lifts her chin toward Ryker, still holding Kade down as if she’s got all the time in the world, and he’s not cursing her under his breath, promising a violent death, and wriggling like a worm, attempting to get free. Pressing my lips together, I stave off a chuckle. It’s quite the picture the brothers have captured of a big guy like Kade held down by a sprite of a woman who couldn’t be any more than a buck twenty soaking wet. Her pants are black leather, and cling to her lithe legs like a second skin. A tuft of blonde bangs poke out of her beanie. Her jacket flap opens slightly as she readjusts on her prey, and I catch a glimpse of her weapon arsenal strapped to her ribs before she tucks the coat back against her side. She’s packing some major heat. Not guns, though. Only knives and throwing stars. Oddly enough, that’s all Kade carries, too.
“You’re Ryker Knox, son of Jake Bear Knox, the president of the Texas Sacred Sinners,” the woman states, and he nods uncomfortably, arms tucked across his chest in warning. Either she’s not afraid of him, or she’s just plain stupid. Nevertheless, the lady doesn’t miss a beat when she blathers on unaffected. “You’re married to Vanessa Knox.”
I cringe at those words. Knox. She even has his last freaking name. Of course, she does.
Ryker grumbles something I can’t make out and glares at the female.
“You’re also the father of Katrina’s two daughters, Roxie and Scarlett. And if I read your file right, you’ve knocked up both your wife and your ex. They’re even due around the same time.”
A month apart, I want to correct, then think better of it. What’s arguing with this strange chick gonna fix? Nothing. It is around the same time. I suppose.
“Spouting off our fuckin’ history like a robot isn’t tellin’ me why the hell you’re here. I’m gonna give you three seconds to come clean and let my brother up, or you’re gonna wish you didn’t fuck with the Sacred Sinners,” Ryker lays down the law.
There’s an eerie pause as nobody speaks. The promise of violence hangs in the chilly air surrounding us. A heartbeat later, the crazy woman throws her head back and howls in laughter. Giant, all-consuming wails of tinkly merriment that vibrates her entire body. Yet, the knife at Kade’s throat doesn’t
move a centimeter. This woman has gotta be off her rocker or something.
I arch a brow at Ryker in question. He shrugs. Kade huffs in frustration.
When the woman finishes, the hilarity wipes clean off her face, turning it stern as she stares Ryker in the eye. “First, I was hired by Big. I’m not your enemy. Secondly, your brother wouldn’t have been restrained if he’d kept his damn knife to himself. But he didn’t. He flashed it, and I acted. It’s an impulse. So now he’s in time out because I don’t like shiny blades threatening me. Even if I don’t think he poses a threat.”
“I’m gonna beat your ass, you crazy bitch,” Kade rages.
“I’d like to see you try, little man,” she taunts, grinding her knee deeper into his lower back.
Kade winces. “Fuck you, baby tits.”
The chick grins. It’s not a nice one. It’s devious and calculating as it curls at the corners like a tamer version of IT. Kade needs to shut the hell up if he wants to survive another five minutes. “No thanks, limp dick.” She presses the tip of the blade to his throat, breaking the skin. A small dot of blood bubbles to the surface.
That’s enough!
I take a step forward to defend Kade’s honor. Nobody, and I do mean nobody hurts my best friend except me. He’s mine to torment. I dunno who this woman is, but she’s not welcome here if she’s gonna hurt my family.
“You—” I start, only to be cut off when Kade moans. And I don’t mean a little. I mean full on moans like he’s in the middle of sex about to bust a nut.
“You like that, huh?” the blonde husks, her voice taking on an erotic lit.
Dear Lord. Please don’t tell me this is what I think it is.
“You’re a dirty cunt.” Kade shudders and shifts his hips.
He’s got a boner. I just know it.
What the ever-lovin' fuck? This is weird, even for me.
Entirely out of my element, I turn to Ryker, seeking something. He smirks those juicy lips and mouths foreplay.
Hopeful Whispers Page 12
