Artist

by Juli Valenti

  “Fuckin’ beautiful. Layin’ here, all contradictin.’ Your skin’s so soft, but you’re fuckin’ strong as iron, unflinchin.’ And the way you’re starin’ up at me, fire blazin’ behind those honey eyes … fuck.” Shakespeare’s words were punctuated by his touches as he inserted a finger inside her, circling and stretching her for him. His eyes were hooded as he stared at her, his gaze moving from his fingers to her breasts, and flicking to her eyes.

  Frustrated, she reached down and caught his hand, grinding against him and moaning as his thumb grazed her clit. “Fuck me, Shakespeare.”

  He withdrew his hand and moved up her body, positioning his cock at her entrance. This time, he didn’t tease her, instead thrusting inside her hard, stealing his name as it tumbled from her lips as he kissed her. Withdrawing slightly, he did it again, and again, swallowing every sound she made.

  Artist’s body was on fire, demanding more, harder and stronger. She was as close to him as she could possibly be, and it wasn’t enough. She arched against him, her fingers dragging down his back as he moved inside her, scoring his flesh. As she steeled herself, trying to stop from hurting him, he groaned, thrusting deeper than she thought possible. He was completely filling her, taking her as she wanted.

  “Christ. You were made for me, Artist. Your body, your mind … everything I never thought a criminal like me would get,” he murmured against her, his lips trailing kisses along her mouth, her cheek, her neck, anywhere he could get purchase as he pumped into her. “This is my paradise, my fuckin’ utopia.”

  “I love you, Shakespeare,” she told him, meaning it with a fierceness she didn’t know was possible. Even when she’d said it before, she’d meant it, but in that moment, with him buried deep inside her, feeling him move and his warmth against her body, it was … more.

  “I love you,” he told her as he pulled out. “Turn around. On all fours.”

  Scrambling, her body alight with anticipation, she did as he instructed, moaning as he entered her, his skin slapping against her ass. He was deeper than before; it was like he’d known what her body needed, what it was demanding, and he obliged. Shakespeare took her, completely engulfed her, and her hands fisted in the sheets as she felt the stirrings of her orgasm.

  “Come,” he grunted through gritted teeth, his grip on her hips tightening, his pace never faltering. He pumped into her and, as she was just about to fall over the edge, he slapped her ass, all but throwing her off the cliff.

  Artist spiraled out of control, words and incoherent sounds tumbling from her throat as she came. Vaguely she felt him coming as well, his fingers digging almost painfully into her, which only spurred her on. Her orgasm continued for what seemed like forever until her limbs were weak and she was shaking, soaked in sweat. And as he collapsed on top of her, her thoughts were finally calm, finally peaceful.

  Shakespeare rolled, taking her with him, and she settled herself in the crook of his arm, running her fingers across his skin. “We need to shower. I think I still have those fuckers’ blood on me.”

  “And your own,” he murmured, tracing the wound where the bullet he’d shot had grazed her skin. She glanced up at his face, seeing his forehead pinched in thought.

  “Stop. You saved my life, so none of that frowny thing.”

  “Frowny thing?” he asked incredulously, the corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile.

  “Yes, frowny thing. You do it when you’re worried or upset about something. Actually, you sort of do it a lot. But I’m fine. I’m just grateful we’d trained for situations like that … If I hadn’t known to duck he would’ve killed me at some point. And you and the others, too.”

  “You never cease to amaze me, Artist,” he told her, turning to face her. “In the span of days you’ve been forced to jump with both feet into this world –”

  “I’ve been in this world,” she interrupted him, but he shook his head.

  “Most of us were eased into it. We started out small, workin’ our way up to the shit you’ve had to face within days. And instead of completely breakin,’ you’re strong as ever.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure how strong I am … After all I damn near attacked you when we got home because I needed you.”

  “That’s all part and parcel of club life, darlin.’ All of us gotta be reminded there’s more – more than blood and guns and prayin’ we can stay on the other side. Don’t let that shit hang you up; it wasn’t like I had to be convinced or persuaded.”

  “I really do love you,” she told him honestly, twining her fingers with his and holding them to her chest.

  He beamed at her, his smile that melted her every single time she saw it. The one that made him look ten years younger and a century less haunted. “And I you. Come on, let’s shower and go raid the kitchen. Rumor has it there’s some Count Chocula in the pantry.”

  Artist followed her VP into the bathroom and into the shower, amazed by herself. While she’d brushed off his words, his opinions on her strength, she secretly held onto them, cherished them. It seemed like only yesterday she was the heartbroken girl who’d shot her best friend’s abusive boyfriend … yet, it could have been years for how much she’d changed.

  No longer was she the timid girl she’d been. Instead, she’d truly found herself, along with her place in the world. Artist was content with her life now. She’d gotten a career that made her happy, one that was as fulfilling as it was creative, letting her use her education and talent while challenging her at the same time. She’d also fallen completely, hopelessly in love with a man she’d wanted to punch for months, one who not only believed in her, but pushed her to believe in herself. He loved her for who she was, despite her flaws, and maybe even because of them, which was all the more amazing.

  And, though her own parents still weren’t speaking to her, she had her brother Titan close, and while she could she would appreciate him. There may come a time when their clubs were no longer allies and went back to be warring rivals, though she hoped it wouldn’t happen. But, when and if it came, she had gained dozens more brothers, a sister who was like a brother, and even a new best friend.

  There were no lengths she wouldn’t go to protect those around her, no distance too far or situation too extreme. Artist was all in, and she’d never been happier.

  Epilogue

  “Wake up, cocksuckers! It’s fucking Christmas! Get your asses out here!” Tonka’s voice boomed through the hallway, demanding all who were sleeping to wake and all already up to join the festivities. He was like a child excited for Santa and Artist couldn’t help but laugh as Shakespeare arched an eyebrow at their closed door.

  It’d been almost a week since the warehouse incident, and her face was almost back to normal; when she wore makeup there was no glimpse of the lingering yellow bruising on her face. Her jaw still hurt when she chewed, but at least the throbbing had disappeared, no thanks to Shakespeare.

  The man had forced her to remain in bed the entire day after the warehouse, calling Teagan in for first aid on her shoulder before waving the sweetie off. They had lounged in his room watching Netflix and binging on junk food, talking and laughing and exploring each other. He hadn’t swapped her drugs out for pain killers and she’d been grateful, instead trusting her to know her limits and speak up when she was hurting.

  “We should go before the Hulk breaks down the damn door,” Shakespeare grumbled grumpily.

  Artist had learned he wasn’t a fan of the holiday season, calling it a “Hallmark” holiday invented by retail stores to make money. When she’d asked him what he wanted for a gift he’d mumbled incoherently about nothing. Not that it had stopped her.

  She and Poet had finally gotten to go shopping like they’d originally wanted to. It was a fun day of girl talk, bike talk, and wandering the mall. They’d bought small presents for each of the brothers, taking longer to choose gifts for Shakespeare and Titan. The men were ridiculously hard to buy for, having most everything they wanted, and they groaned over every bad t
ie or awful gift suggestion given to them by an overly helpful salesperson. She’d gotten something for Teagan, too.

  “All right,” Artist said, trying to act calm despite that she was almost as excited about it being Christmas morning as their brother. She couldn’t wait for him to open the gift she’d gotten him, plus the turkey smell coming from the oven, having cooked overnight, had her stomach roaring in anticipation.

  All the brothers were assembled on couches and chairs in the main living room of the clubhouse, all circling and facing the tree, which looked like it had exploded with gifts overnight. Neatly, and not-to-neatly, colorfully wrapped gifts of all shapes and sizes took up the space underneath the decoration and filled the area outward as well. Stockings were also placed in rows along the floor, each with the name of a brother on it, though Artist wasn’t sure who they were from; she guessed from Poet.

  Also surprising, and not surprising, was that there were a few Bishops interspersed with the members of Hells Redemption. She spotted Titan easily, his arm around Poet and talking animatedly with Fallen. Train sat beside Teagan, the two talking quietly, though both smiling. The sight warmed her heart and she grinned at Shakespeare as he accepted the two cups of coffee Wyatt, one of their oldest members, handed him, passing one to her. They were the last to enter the room and happily took a seat on the floor in front of the couch.

  Tonka stood and moved toward the tree, grasping presents and handing them out, glancing at the names on each. “These are from me. Merry Christmas.”

  Artist chuckled as she accepted a box identical to the one Shakespeare got. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the VP shake his head and reluctantly opened the box, finding a key chain in the shape of an angel wing, which doubled as a bottle opener, his name engraved on the back. Opening hers, she found the same, her name also done in elegant script, the font the only distinguishing feature. It was silver, heavy, and gorgeous. Smiling, she jumped up and hugged the larger man, who blushed.

  “Thank you! I love it!” she told him and he muttered a quick, embarrassed acknowledgment before sitting. Everyone had gotten one, even the Bishops, though theirs were small motorcycles with ‘Bishop’ engraved on the bottom. It was heartwarming he’d thought of them, though how he’d known they would even be there was beyond her. Maybe the club had been told and she just hadn’t paid attention.

  It took forever to get through all the gifts, each member having shopped for them all. Things ranging from specialty ammo to keepsakes and gift cards, all were different and varying from member to member. No one was left out, not the prospects or the sweeties, though they would open their presents after they’d eaten. Morning was for club, Teagan and the Bishops the only exceptions.

  When the crowd had begun to disperse, Artist grasped one of the remaining gifts from the tree and extended it to Shakespeare, suddenly nervous. She wanted him to love it, to appreciate it, though she wasn’t sure how he would react, his dislike of the holiday giving her doubts. It’s too late now, she thought, blowing out a breath as he cradled the smaller box in his hands.

  Leaning forward, he pulled a tiny package from his pocket and handed it to her, grinning. “You didn’t think just ‘cause I hate this stupid holiday that I’d leave you out?”

  She had and she shrugged, smiling at the crudely wrapped gift. It was obvious he’d handled the paper, beating it down with mounds of tape until it was held together. Her curiosity demanded she open it, but she didn’t, holding it gently as she looked at him expectantly.

  “Yours first.”

  Shakespeare slipped a finger under the Santa-wrapped paper and tore the paper off, revealing a black jewelry box. Lifting the lid, he peered at its contents, his face unreadable. Setting the paper aside, he lifted the white gold out, peering at the bracelet.

  Artist had spent hours deciding what would suit him, what he would actually use or wear, or what he would appreciate. After an eternity of searching, she’d found the thick, chain bracelet. It was strong and masculine, while still beautiful. She’d also gotten it engraved. She waited, breath held, as he flipped it over and read it.

  Vice President, Hells Redemption. Love of my life.

  It had sounded more than appropriate when she’d requested the words, honoring who he was not only to the club, but also to her. Now, though, doubt coursed its way through her and she worried if he’d even like the thing. Part of her wished she’d listened to him and not gotten him anything … or maybe gotten him a new T-shirt like Fallen had suggested.

  But, when his eyes finally met hers, she knew she’d made the right decision. “It’s fuckin’ perfect, Artist. Like you. I love it. Thank you.” Leaning forward, he gripped her cheek in his hand and kissed her before pulling away and slipping it on his wrist. Amazingly, it fit without needing any adjustments, and looked like it belonged there.

  “Yours now, please.”

  Heart racing, she tore the wrapping paper away with some effort, the tape making it difficult. The box was white, the word Jared embossed in gold, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She stared at the ring box, dumbstruck, afraid to open it and desperate to do so. It was his hands that took it and flipped the top. Inside sat just what she’d expected: a ring with a diamond.

  “I’m not askin’ you to marry me, not yet. But this,” he said, pushing the box toward her, “is my promise that you’ll be my wife one day. Not tomorrow, maybe not a year from now. But one day. The man at the counter said it was a big bit for a promise ring, but I’d be damned if you were gonna have some rinky-dink fuckin’ rock on that finger. Is that okay? Will you promise to marry me one day?”

  Warmth filled her heart as a tear trickled from her eye. That he knew her so well, down to the emerald cut of the diamond itself, was amazing. More, that he knew she wasn’t ready to get married, had her heart full to bursting. A promise like that, with him staring at her so earnestly, was easy to give, and she nodded, hugging him.

  The sound of cheering exploded around the room and Shakespeare shook his head. “Ain’t proposing,’ you fucks! She just promised she’ll marry me one day.”

  But as Artist looked around, she saw what the men were excited about. There, on his knee, was Titan, a giant diamond ring in his hands, which he was extending to Poet. Their President had tears in her eyes, her hand over her mouth, as she stared at her brother, clearly surprised at his proposal.

  “So will you, Poet? Will you marry me?” her brother repeated and Artist couldn’t stop smiling. She’d known her brother was going to ask the woman to marry him – had even given him advice on the ring through pictures he was texting her while at the jeweler.

  “But, what about the clubs? Redemption comes first for me, Titan, you’ve known that from the damned beginning. I’ve never hidden that if I had to choose, I’d choose them.”

  “And I wouldn’t ask anything different from you. We’ll keep shit exactly as it, the only difference is the entire fucking world will know you’re off the market and mine,” Titan said, the ring still extended in his hands, his posture never changing. Resting on his knee on the hardwood floor had to be hurting by now, but he made no motion to move.

  Finally, Poet nodded, and the club exploded, everyone happily chattering as they made their way into the kitchen for food.

  As Artist watched her President and her president brother walk arm in arm after her brothers, she couldn’t help but realize how lucky she was. Train and Teagan were laughing, Sarah had appeared and was whispering something in Fallen’s ear. And her, complete with a promise of a future with Shakespeare heavy on her finger.

  Life just couldn’t get any better than it was.

  Who knew what tomorrow would hold for any of them; with no day guaranteed and the world around them dangerous, they appreciated the good times more than anyone knew. Love, family, brotherhood … those were what they all measured their worth, and today, they were wealthier than anyone else.

  “Fuckin’ bastard had to outdo me,” Shakespeare muttered as he stared at her finger befo
re pressing a kiss to her forehead.

  “Nope. He didn’t,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist. “I get you, and there’s nothing than can out do that.”

  The pair separated and he took her hand, leading her to the prospect of food and family. The Vice President and his prospect, whom he’d pushed to the brink of her limits, only to discover she was stronger than either of them had thought. The ones who’d found love and were lucky enough to breathe another day. The lucky ones, indeed.

  *****

  Want More? If you haven’t read Poet, Book One in the Redemption Reigns MC series, check it out! Otherwise, keep an eye out for Fallen, Book Three in the Redemption Reigns MC series.

  The End

  of Artist,

  Book Two in the Redemption Reigns MC Series

  Keep an eye out for Fallen, Book three in the Redemption Reigns MC Series,

  coming soon

  Acknowledgements

  Rene, as always, I don’t know where I would be if you weren’t in my life. This book is for you, for being my inspiration, and for always believing in me.

  I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without my wonderful husband, Marc, and my two sons who make me who I am, and make me want to be better. I love you guys with my whole heart, to the moon and stars and beyond.

  A big thank you goes out to my readers and friends, including (but not limited to) Megan Galt, Tonya Allen, Kitty Matz, Faith Blood, Elle Chardou, and so many more. Your encouragement and faith in me, along with your desire for this book, helped me set a new personal record!

  Thank you everyone, for reading my books, for supporting me, and for always being there. You all rock!

  About the Author

  Juli Valenti grew up in a small town in Arkansas, known for Wal-mart, which is no longer small but is still known for the grocery store. Lucky for her, she didn’t retain an accent, despite her overuse of ya’ll when talking. She currently resides in sunny Florida with her husband and two young boys. If her world wasn’t crazy enough, she also works a full time day job, as well as owns her own editing company (Juli’s Elite Editing).