Ruled

by Anne Marsh

  The smile that curls up the corner of Rocker’s mouth doesn’t reach his eyes as he braces a boot against the edge of the sidewalk. “Heard you met my sister the other night at the club.”

  “She’s real nice.” I shrug casually. We could be two guys exchanging small talk over a couple of beers. “Might be seeing her.”

  I’ll respect his colors up to a point, but not gonna lie—I enjoy needling him. Plus, taking one for the club and spending time with Evie is a win-win situation for me. She’s hot as hell. Gotta hand it to Rocker, though—he keeps his cool and nods as if he isn’t imagining ripping me apart with his bare hands. Probably running me over with his bike in that fantasy, too.

  “Evie’s not big on club life. She’s not part of this.”

  “She is now,” I tell him. Wish it wasn’t true, but I don’t believe in denial. “When you got in bed with the Colombians, she stopped being a bystander. If you can tell me straight up that no one’s gonna come gunning for her, I’ll consider backing the hell off.”

  “Shit’s complicated,” Rocker says slowly. “Not saying I don’t understand where you’re coming from, but it’s not as simple as just saying I’m out of the trade.”

  I need an angle I can work. “Call it what you want, but you’re running shit in our territory and the cartel’s got their nose in our business. Step one is for you to back the hell off and stay away from what the Hard Riders claim. Step two? Pick a new career, because drug dealing isn’t a long-term proposition. If I don’t shoot you first, there’s gonna be a long line behind me.”

  Rocker rolls his shoulders. Must have a knot there the size of a fucking tree, because he does it again.

  “Shit’s complicated,” he repeats. “But I don’t want anything happening to Evie. That point’s nonnegotiable.”

  “I’m making her my girl.” I usually take my time and think shit over, but claiming Evie feels right. “Not saying she’s my old lady just yet, but she’s with me. I’ll look out for her. You don’t come round her until you’ve got the cartel off your back. You don’t talk to her, don’t hang with her, don’t come near her.”

  “She’s my sister.” Rocker crosses his arms over his chest. Evie’s a small woman, but her brother’s built like a fucking mountain man. Not that I’m intimidated, but knocking him on his ass will take time and Evie’s bound to notice. Plus, I’m pretty sure the princess party people would frown on violence. Could probably start a line of parties for boys, though—maybe I should mention it to Evie. Do some MMA fighting demonstrations. Help her branch out and shit.

  “Evie’s a big girl—old enough to make her own dating choices.”

  Rocker studies me. Got no idea what he sees and I wouldn’t care except Evie seems to have some inconveniently fond feelings for the fuck, which means I can’t just kill him. Pretty sure she’s gonna get pissed if I even ding him.

  “True,” he says finally. “So she talks to who she wants to talk to—you don’t get to be the bouncer at the door and run me off. There’s no chance she’s gonna agree to be your old lady, and you need her okay for any other kind of relationship, you feel me?”

  The unspoken or I’ll shoot you hangs in the air between us. Guess we have something in common after all.

  “And you don’t get to sell your bullshit on my streets.” I’ll see his threat with one of my own.

  “I’d like to say I don’t give a shit about what my sister gets up to with you,” he says slowly. “But that wouldn’t be true. She’s a good woman and she deserves nothing but the best. If that’s what you are, I’d be happy to slap a bow on your ass.”

  I flip him the bird. “I look best in blue.”

  “You hurt her, and that blue will be a coffin lining, you feel me?”

  “Right back at you.”

  “In fact, keep your hands off her entirely. Keep a couple of feet between you and I won’t come back and kill you.”

  We’re still staring at each other, and I’m calculating the chances we go at each other, when the first kids and moms flood out of the house waving plastic bags full of sparkly shit and paper plates of cupcakes. Princess Number One rocks a purple number, while her princess companion sports yellow. The rainbow effect is blinding. The mom stops dead when she spots Rocker and me, sweeping her girls behind her. Bet she’s reaching for her phone.

  Rocker must come to the same conclusion that I do, because he flicks me a salute and saunters back down the street. Seconds later, he’s off on his hog and the princesses are staring after him open-mouthed. Bet Evie kicks his ass for bringing a bike anywhere near her party.

  “Does he work with you?” Momma Princess isn’t ready to let go of either her suspicions or her cell phone. Ten dollars says she’s got 9 and 1 pushed, with that last digit cranked up and ready to go.

  “Boy parties,” I tell her.

  “We could do that for my party,” the purple princess stage whispers, tugging on her momma. “Because girls can do whatever boys do.”

  Momma Princess blinks, but it’s not like she can deny logic like that. Kids see the bikes and think fun ride—the parents are the ones who jump straight to felonies and jailbait.

  “Let me find a card,” I say with a straight face.

  “I’ve got a cupcake,” the mini-me announces and holds her plate up for my inspection. “You can have it as a down payment.”

  Kid’s gonna be a master negotiator someday. I take the cupcake while it’s still on offer and before she starts laying down terms. Chocolate with chocolate frosting—fucking awesome.

  “Can you come to my party next week?” Mini-me proves she’s smart, going on the attack as soon as my mouth is full of her cupcake. Momma Princess shoots me a nervous look and beats a hasty retreat. Naturally, this is when Evie comes flouncing out of the party looking ready to bust my balls. Bet she heard the bike—which means I’m blaming Rocker. Fucker.

  Chapter Six

  Eve

  “WAS THAT ROCKER?” I clutch my phone so tight that the case bites into my fingers. I’m surprised it doesn’t fly out of my hand with the force of my grip—and frankly, I suspect I should be aiming it at the biker lounging against the Princess Mobile.

  Rev actually finishes his cupcake before he bothers responding. “He came by,” he growls, jerking his thumb up the street.

  “And then he just left?” Although Rocker is the silent partner in our party business and his job description is limited to behind-the-scenes stuff like moving heavy objects and paperwork, my baby brother is super protective of me. He’s never quite gotten the memo that it’s my job to look after him—so he likes to show up occasionally and poke his nose in my business. For him to light out without so much as talking to me is highly unusual and I know exactly who to blame. The mom and the baby princess hovering near Rev must register the tension between the two of us, because they skedaddle for a battered minivan parked curbside.

  “No shit.” I blame this entirely on Rev. It’s not difficult to imagine how his meet-up with my brother went—both of them act like dogs and I’m a hotly contested tree.

  “He came by to see me.”

  I’m trying to give Rev the benefit of the doubt. I’m not under any illusions that he’s a good guy, but maybe this isn’t as bad as it seems. Perhaps Rocker got a call and will be back in a few minutes. Perhaps he went to pick up something. Okay. I’m stretching and I can admit it.

  “You ready to roll?” Rev ignores my last comment.

  “That wasn’t a question,” I grit out. “That was my brother who stopped by to see me. Why did you run him off?”

  We’re starting to attract attention. I’m not kidding myself—the dress helps, as does the bright pink RV, but the star attraction here is Rev. More than one of the departing mothers glances sidewise at him as they shepherd their little darlings down the driveway. The man is undeniably hot. Maybe it’s the casual power in the way he
stands or the stubble that roughens his jaw. There’s nothing soft about Rev and absolutely everything about him screams dirty sex. I squeeze my thighs together, grateful for the dress that hides the betraying motion. God, I want this man. We don’t have much of a history together and he won’t remember my name in a year, but right now none of that matters and that’s a problem.

  “It’s not safe for you to hang around him,” he says. At least Rev has the decency to not lie to me about having run Rocker off. Or maybe he knows he’s busted and not getting out of this one.

  “The lack of detail is not helping your case,” I tell him, trying really hard not to stare at his thighs. Or his hands. There’s a whole lot of sexy real estate to choose from.

  “I’m going to find out what’s going on,” I continue. “You might as well tell me.”

  He makes a rough sound that absolutely, totally does not make my panties wet. Much. “Ask Rocker.”

  “You ran him off—that makes this your problem.”

  He nods slowly. “You know that your brother rides with the Black Dogs, right? He patched in with them a couple of years ago.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” I’ve done some asking around—wouldn’t you?—and so far I haven’t discovered any magic escape clause. It sure seems like membership in an MC is pretty much a lifetime commitment until death do you part.

  “Your brother’s been a busy boy. He cut a deal with a Colombian cartel to move their product, but then he tried to cut them out of the picture.”

  I try and fail to imagine my baby brother as a drug dealer. I mean, he doesn’t even smoke—how can he be committing felonies on that kind of level? You know he’s up to something. He was worried out at the lake, sure, but would he really do this?

  “My brother wouldn’t have anything to do with drugs.”

  Rev looks pained. “Loyalty’s good, princess, but you need to keep your eyes open, too. Ask him what’s up.”

  Rev doesn’t sound like he’s bluffing. In fact, he sounds way too confident. This is Rocker we’re talking about. I mean, he colors out of the lines a little, but this would be the equivalent of taking a black Sharpie to the whole goddamned coloring book. If I knew for certain he was selling drugs, I’d have to do something. Drugs hurt innocent people. Drugs mean money, violence and turf wars. I’ve lived in East Las Vegas long enough to know that.

  “Come for a ride with me.” Rev changes tactics. “I’ll drop you at your place afterward. It’ll be fun.”

  “Does the caveman approach usually work for you?”

  He shrugs. “It’s just a ride.”

  Uh-huh. “You have a bridge you want to sell me, too?”

  As much as I’d like to continue living in the land of denial—the weather’s awesome and orgasms for all—I’m a realist. This man wants something. I just don’t know if it has something to do with Rocker, my panties, or both. Maybe he wants to pick up where we left off the other night, or maybe there’s something else going on here.

  “Ride with me,” he says, sounding a little impatient. “I promise you’ll enjoy the fuck out of it, Evie.”

  So sexy.

  So wrong.

  This has to explain my answer. “Pick me up at six.”

  Chapter Seven

  Eve

  NO ONE WARNED me that straddling a Harley with a hot guy is like using a gigantic vibrator as your pony ride. As a kid, I used to shove a broomstick between my legs and gallop up and down the yard in pursuit of runaway cattle, ponies, and bad guys. Riding with Rev is the grown-up version of that game and different from any other bike ride I’ve ever taken. As soon as I slide my arms around his waist, locking my fingers just above his belt buckle, he takes off.

  Slow isn’t part of the man’s vocabulary. His speedometer never drops below sixty. He takes us out into the desert, the big bike eating up the asphalt with blinding speed. Even through the helmet, the wind whips at my face, tears my hair, chokes my voice in my throat. It’s terrifying. It’s the best feeling ever. My heart pounds in my ears and an answering pulse springs to life between my legs. My pussy clenches with each turn Rev takes, a hot, heavy beat anticipating the way his body leans into the road’s curves, the muscles in his body flexing as he guides us faster, harder, tighter.

  When finally we pull over I’m not sure if my throat is hoarse from screaming—or from holding back my moans. Damn, I’m horny.

  My partner in crime, however, is oblivious. He waves a big hand toward the open air in front of us. “Lookout.”

  Since that appears to be a noun and not a verb, I follow his fingers pointing off into space. I don’t want to admire canyons or vistas or (frankly) anything other than his dick. I don’t even need him to come for me—I just want those big, rough, banged-up fingers shoved inside me and I can do the rest. Apparently, all of me wants to live dangerously, not just the part that thought it was a great idea to get on a Harley with this man.

  “Thanks.” For nothing.

  I hop off his bike, not sure my legs will hold me. I should be glad he’s hands-off. That his definition of ride is textbook nice and not a dirty, filthy, orgasm-filled euphemism. Should be. Am not.

  I’m such a liar.

  I stroll over to the railing and look out. The view is pretty. I even whip out my phone and snap a picture. See? I’m absolutely enjoying my ride. This fun companionship is what I need.

  Not sex.

  And definitely not sex with Rev.

  “Like what you see?” His rough voice rolls out of the silence behind me. It sounds lower, deeper, darker than before. I’m not sure he’s actually talking about the canyons and the desert at all. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking combined with the heat.

  Because it’s hot out here. I lift a hand to fan myself, tilting my face into the weak draft of cooler air as I tug open the leather jacket Rev insisted I wear. Jeans and boots in Nevada in the summer? I’m definitely overheated.

  I don’t hear him move. One moment he’s still straddling that big, too-hot bike of his and the next he’s right up behind me, his thighs pressed against mine, his arms caging me against the railing.

  “I like what I see.” He growls the words, his mouth trailing over the damp skin of my throat. He does? Heat flashes through my body as I spontaneously combust.

  His mouth moves down. “I want you, princess.”

  My mouth opens and I’m sure there are a dozen witty, sexy, fabulous responses to his statement—but I draw a blank. Suck in air and stare down at his hands wrapped around the railing.

  Those hands could be wrapped around me.

  Say yes.

  “It’s a bad idea,” I say instead. See? I’m being responsible. Mature. Putting my job first. My pussy all but whimpers in protest.

  “No one has to know,” he counters. The man must be the devil. Or omniscient. A mind reader. It would make for awesome sex but is the risk worth the reward?

  “I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “I’ll be your dirty little secret. Don’t you want to come right now?”

  Hell yes I do.

  “Just once?” Because tonight I’m feeling greedy. If you’re going off the diet, diving face-first into the three-layer chocolate cake that’s been teasing you all day, you don’t want just one slice. You want the whole thing. You want to eat until you can’t swallow one more bite, until just the smell of all that sweet makes you sick, until you’re over it. Done. Kaput.

  Rev’s my cake.

  I’ve been so good and now, just this once, I’m breaking all my rules and I get to taste him. Lick him. Devour him whole. By tomorrow, I’ll be cured of this obsessive need to eat him up, to find out if his skin can possibly taste as good as it looks. Tomorrow, I’ll see him and be all ho-hum, been there, done that, couldn’t possibly have another bite. We’ll be over.

  Tonight... I want it all.

  All of him.
>
  Once can’t possibly be enough, not with Rev.

  His slow grin makes my panties wetter. As if I wasn’t soaked already from the ride. “How many orgasms you want?”

  Maybe I don’t need to give him a number. Maybe he isn’t cake, but is instead an all-you-can-eat buffet and I can go back for more, more, more whenever I want. That so works for me.

  I lean up and nip his bottom lip. “Surprise me.”

  His eyes darken. “You got any hard limits I should know about?”

  I lick where I bit because why play safe now? “Stay the hell away from my ass. Otherwise, I’ll give you a play-by-play update.”

  Some stuff I’m just not into—and something tells me this man has no limits whatsoever. Adventurous is good, but I still have to ride his bike back to my house. Of course, I could take him there, too. Have sex in an actual bed with sheets and pillows and something cushier than the ground but...he’s not a keeper man. This is a onetime thing and I don’t want him there in my space. I need an orgasm, not memories.

  “Gotcha.” He gives me a quick, hard kiss, his lips pressing against mine with erotic intensity before they release me. Nope. I don’t want him to let go. Not yet.

  I reach for his shoulders and he laughs, scooping me up in his arms. He stops to grab his saddlebag—maybe it’s the biker equivalent of a toy box because a girl can hope, right?—and then he’s effortlessly striding down a small ravine just out of sight of the highway. I probably should worry. Hello, this is bad movie material right here. I’ve just given him a free pass to have his wicked way with me and bikers aren’t particularly known for their upstanding moral values. And yet... I feel free. Free and somehow safe at the same time because whatever Rev does to me, I trust him not to hurt me.