Ruled

by Anne Marsh

  And a million other things I shouldn’t do.

  He grunts as I let go of his beautiful body and brush past him. My girls are waiting in my driveway.

  Rev follows me outside. “Still wish you’d rethink.”

  “You have information to share with me?” Rocker asked me to keep my eyes and ears peeled, so I’ll touch bases with him. Club business that worries Rev could touch Rocker, too. Maybe he’ll benefit from the heads-up.

  “Nope,” he says easily, gaze moving over the pink RV.

  “Bye,” I say at the same moment Rev hooks a finger in the back of my jeans and tugs. I take an involuntary step backward and debate the wisdom of launching my coffee cup at his head. Bet that would piss him off and he’d do something about it. This leads to dirty thoughts about how Rev might express that displeasure, starting with his big hand on my butt. No sexy fantasies on a workday. Shit. I need to schedule time with my vibrator. In real life, I have zero interest in being draped over my guy’s knee for a spanking, but I sure enjoy the hell out of the fantasy.

  “Your brother lost the guy we had watching his ass, so change of plans. Where you go, I go. Fucking biblical.”

  “Ummm. What?” My childhood didn’t exactly feature Bible camps, but I’m certain that Jesus Christ didn’t encourage swearing, seeing as how there’s a commandment specifically forbidding it.

  “I’m your bodyguard,” Rev announces like it makes perfect sense.

  “Not sure I understand,” I admit. “You’ve been following my brother?”

  He gives me a small, hard smile. “I’m gonna stick by your side today. Tomorrow. As many days as it takes. You know that story in the Bible about Ruth?”

  Uh, no. I sure don’t. I’ll never be one of those people name-dropping chapters and verses. Rev wraps me up in his big arms.

  “Ruth hooks up with this guy. Marries him and moves in with him, which is a big deal because he’s from a different country and worships different gods. He up and dies, and then it’s just Ruth and her mother-in-law, Naomi.”

  “Is this a mother-in-law horror story?” I try and fail to imagine Rev married. He’s not the kind of guy you’d spot standing at the altar in a black tux.

  He shakes his head. “Ruth and Naomi are tight. Naomi’s trying to convince Ruth to pack up and move back to her own country because shit’s not going well for Naomi and she doesn’t want to suck Ruth into her mess. They’re family, they’ve made commitments to each other, so Ruth isn’t having it.”

  He gives me a hard-eyed look at this. Am I supposed to be Naomi in this scenario?

  “Ruth tells Naomi straight-up that Naomi’s stuck with her. Where Naomi goes, Ruth goes. Where Naomi stays, Ruth stays. Ruth vows she’s making Naomi’s people and Naomi’s gods her own.”

  Color me confused. He must read that truth on my face, because he sighs, and keeps talking. “When someone patches into a club, he promises the club comes first, no matter what. And I’ve made those promises to Hard Riders. Won’t lie to you about that. But I’m making you a promise of my own—no matter how bad your situation gets, I’ve got your back. You count on me. I’m not free to ask you to be my old lady and wear my patch—too much shit between my club and your brother’s. But if I was looking for that kind of relationship, you’d be the woman I’d be looking for.”

  “So I’m...Naomi?” Pretty sure my voice sounds slightly hysterical.

  He nods. “And I’m sticking by you.”

  I think about it. Nope. I’m still confused as hell.

  “Not worried about the state of my soul,” he allows. “So never mind the Bible story. But I am worried about the state of your ass. It’s mine and you’re stuck with me. Made a promise to keep you safe, remember? Where you go, I’m going, so give me the address of today’s party.”

  I give up trying to understand him.

  “When did you read the Bible?”

  He reaches around me to take the birthday party invitation Samantha silently extends from the RV. “My daddy was a pastor. Some of it stuck.”

  “How about we try the explanations again, but without the metaphors?”

  He just looks at me. Story of my life.

  “Never mind,” I say. “I’m leaving. Stick or don’t stick. It’s your call.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rev

  I LIKE A GIRL who’s willing. Someone who takes orders in bed and prefers her sex dirty. Someone who understands the club comes first and that I’m out when my prez calls. Evie should fucking be grateful I’m bodyguarding her fine ass because the Colombians make me look like the choirboy I never was. So yeah, she should thank me.

  I know something about gratitude, too. Not a day’s gone by when I haven’t acknowledged to myself that my club saved my ass and set me on the road I’m riding on today. At seventeen, I’d been my old man’s rebel son. I’d liked sex, I’d liked sin and I’d never met a rule I didn’t want to break. Shit had hit the fan the night my old man had been hit by a drunk driver, and the club had been there for me.

  Gratitude is not part of Princess’s repertoire. After finishing her second party, she stalks past me and into the Princess Mobile as if I’m the invisible man. I’m debating how to respond when my phone rings and caller ID warns fun and games are over. Hawke’s on the line and the Hard Riders president doesn’t sound happy.

  “We’ve got a situation. Black Dogs grabbed Sachs. Word on the street is Sachs stuck his nose into a drug deal and BD leadership took offense. Guess the Colombians also want in on the action in case Sachs overshares with the cops. BD’s prez is still arguin’ with the cartel leadership over what to do with Sachs, but we’re not waitin’ around for them to hold a vote.”

  “We know where he’s being held?”

  “Yeah,” Hawke replies. “Fuckers have him in their clubhouse. Not tryin’ to hide it, either—they’re darin’ us to come in there with guns blazin’.”

  “Trap?”

  Hawke’s mean-as-fuck smile broadcasts through the phone just fine. “’Cause they think if they shut down the Hard Riders, they get free access to East Las Vegas? They can try.”

  I’m pro-violence myself, but I’m also calculating the odds. I don’t want to go in for Sachs and trade his life for that of another brother’s.

  Shit. Trade. I look at the pink RV. Fuck, I already hate myself, but it has to be done.

  “We trade. We go after someone they care about and make a swap.”

  “You got an idea?”

  “Evie Kent.” We can trade Rocker—give him Evie, take back Sachs. Win-win for everyone involved.

  “Not goin’ to be a problem, you snatchin’ Evie?” I love and respect my president, but the club comes first. Questioning my loyalty is for shit.

  “Tell me to bring her in, and it’s done.”

  “Do it,” Hawke says. “The longer Sachs stays at the Black Dogs’ clubhouse, the longer those Colombian fuckers have to mess with him.”

  Evie’ll be safer at our clubhouse anyhow. I can protect her better there. It was stupid as shit to try for any kind of relationship with a woman like Evie. I’m not a repeat guy and we’ve had our fun.

  Still, when Evie emerges from the RV, I discover the gratitude business is actually the other way around. Any thanking that gets done? It’s gonna be me on my knees before her, because I’d be happy to drop and do some worshipping. Must be her version of biker chic, but she’s wearing a pair of faded jeans that hug her ass. A blue-and-white T-shirt announces Happy Camper, which I certainly am because the thin cotton does nothing to disguise her red bra. Bright come-fuck-me red—my favorite color.

  “Got a call.” I need to tell her enough to get her to go with me willingly. “The Colombians are gunning for Rocker and there’s a good chance they come after you since you matter to him. I’m seeing you back to your place. Or mine. Lady’s choice.”

 
“I’m not the one running drugs, so why target me?” Her fingers twist the edge of her shirt, and the gesture would be cute if she wasn’t so naive. She’s not part of the club and she runs a legitimate business for kids, for Christ’s sake. Her life is as different from mine as a rabbit’s is from a shark’s. I’m the one swimming around all predatory and scaring the fuck out of people—she’s the soft and fluffy vegetarian. But I’ve seen what the cartels do to make their point and now we have that road rage incident from the other day as Exhibit A. I’m not letting that kind of bad shit happen to her.

  I pace her. Just keep walking, baby doll, and we don’t have a problem. She looks at me as if I’m her Prince Charming and white knight extraordinaire. Which honestly makes me feel more like the horse’s ass, because I’m not nice. More like I’m a founding member of Bastards Unlimited.

  “Rocker’s in deep.” I fight the inexplicable urge to smooth the little crinkle between her eyebrows. I don’t do comfort, either. All I have for Evie is a talented tongue, ten fingers and a dick I know what to do with. I shouldn’t have started this with her. She’s gonna hate me. Fuck. I hate me. “His club cut a deal and sounds like Rocker may have tried to up the ante.”

  She sucks in a breath. “What do you mean?”

  “Rocker double-crossed the cartel, so they’ll go after him any way they can—maybe put out a hit on you.”

  Her eyes widen and she makes a startled sound. Okay. So she really didn’t know what her asshole brother has been up to. Either Rocker kept her in the dark or she refused to believe someone she loved could be that dumb. Problem is, she can’t fix this for him and staying blind will only get her killed.

  “Today sucks,” she says softly.

  “Sorry,” I offer, meaning it. I’d like to fix her problems, although so far I’m coming up empty. Shooting Rocker only fixes my shit.

  “If he’s in trouble, I need to be there for him.”

  Appreciate her loyalty, but it’s misplaced. Her brother is an asshole. When he turns up dead or worse, she’ll hurt. Fuck that. Vik pulls up while I’m working through these unexpected thoughts. “You really want to get into this now? Because we both know I’m not part of your brother’s fan club. Let me take you home. We’ll figure something out.”

  She chews on her lower lip, thinking shit over. I’ve seen military campaigns conducted with less strategizing.

  “Okay.” She sighs and gestures toward the RV’s passenger-side door. “Hop in.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eve

  REV FIXES ME with a lethal stare. It’s kind of cute—the man’s more bark than bite.

  “You want me to ride in a cage?”

  Since he’s the one who volunteered...yeah. “I have to get the Princess Mobile back to my place, and since I’m pretty certain flying and boating are out, that leaves driving.”

  There’s a brief pause and then Rev holds out his hand. “Give me your keys.”

  “Do I look stupid?” I ignore him and head for the driver’s side. He can ride with me or not, but I’m done. When I slide inside the RV and shove the keys into the ignition, however, Rev’s right there beside me. He scoops his hands beneath my butt and lifts me off the seat.

  “No cavemen allowed.”

  He grunts and drops me onto the passenger-side seat. “Out of your hands now, princess.”

  A guy who must be one of his friends strolls up. He and Rev make arrangements for the other man to drive his bike back to his place and then we hit the road. Way too fast.

  Rev drives the Princess Mobile the way he rides his bike. He’s lightning quick, his gaze concentrated on the road as he takes each turn tight and hard. My poor vehicle hasn’t exceeded twenty-five miles an hour in years, and he’s pushing fifty. On city streets.

  “Slow down. I can’t afford a ticket.”

  “This thing doesn’t go fast enough for a ticket.” I silently point out the window at a speed limit sign and he grunts. “You think I can’t afford to pay a ticket?”

  “I don’t want a ticket.”

  “Because you’re such a good girl?”

  “Because I have a strong personal preference for not breaking the law,” I snap and roll my eyes. “I’m not unusual in that regard.”

  “Uh-huh.” He brakes for a red light and slides me a sidelong look. “You gonna pout about my driving all the way home?”

  I focus on the road. So I don’t like breaking rules. I follow the law religiously. I don’t even cheat the smallest bit on my taxes, which likely makes me the IRS’s favorite small business owner. I’ve never written off so much as a single personal item. These are not character flaws.

  Rev taps my knee. “Nothing to say?”

  “I’m not in the mood to talk to you.”

  He hits the gas when the light changes. “Don’t let me stop you, because I’m never gonna fucking live this down.”

  “You’re the one who insisted on sitting in the driver’s seat,” I point out smugly. “This isn’t my fault—and this isn’t the way to my house. Do you need GPS?”

  We’re in an unfamiliar industrial area. Rev’s sense of direction must suck.

  “You need to know something,” he says slowly.

  You know what? I don’t need to know whatever it is he’s about to share. It’s a safe bet it’s designed to piss me off, and I’ve already achieved that state, thank you very much. In fact, I have a point I need to make very clear to Rev. Immediately. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

  “Pull over.”

  I’m tired of being the good girl. Of doing what I should, when I should. I reach over and grab Rev’s dick through his jeans.

  He freezes. “The fuck?”

  I have to hand it to him—he doesn’t crash us. He jerks the RV over to the side of the road.

  I squeeze harder. “Now that I’ve got your attention, let’s talk.”

  I’m not sure what happens next exactly, but Rev twists, my hand loses its grip and I fly backward. My head bounces against the seat as my back plants on the vinyl and Rev comes down over me, pinning me with his weight. My hands are trapped beneath me, which is my first clue that this teach-Rev-a-lesson scenario just derailed.

  “I’m listening,” he says slowly. “In fact, I’m in the mood to be perfectly fair. Tit for tat. You want my attention, it’s all yours.”

  Crap.

  “Think you made it a rule,” he adds thoughtfully. “You do 30 percent of the chasing. I do the other 70. I owe you something now.”

  I should say stop.

  I should stay mad.

  Instead, just one word comes out of my mouth. “Please.”

  It’s a stupid word and one I’ll regret saying tomorrow, if not sooner. But I’m horny, I’m pissed off and I think there’s something special between Rev and I, even if neither one of us knows how to talk about it. We both need more practice at this relationship thing.

  His hand finds the waistband of my jeans. “You want this?”

  “Please,” I repeat, but this time it’s more order than request. Screw asking him for what I want—I’ll settle for telling.

  He eases the jeans down to my ankles and then I step out of them. This shouldn’t turn me on.

  But it does.

  Oh, God, does it turn me on.

  My left leg brushes the seat; my right leg smacks into the dashboard. The lack of room is absolutely the only reason I hook my traitorous leg around Rev’s ass. Truly, it is. I don’t like him all that much right now. He’s obnoxious, arrogant and way too demanding. No matter what we’ve done together, he’s not in the driver seat of my life. I am.

  Except I’m also spread wide on the front seat.

  “Rev—”

  “Shut up,” he says calmly. “It’s my turn.”

  I look down, as much as I can, and that’s a huge mistake b
ecause heat rushes south. His hand disappears from view and then I feel his fingers stroking over the crotch of my panties. I yelp.

  “You grabbed me.” He sounds like the voice of reason. Given the way he’s straddling me, I can feel his dick. Rev isn’t a small man anywhere, as the long, thick part of him pressing against me attests. I wriggle, trying to free my hands, and he gets bigger.

  I am such a lucky girl.

  “We can’t do this here.” I’d like to say I protest because I’m sensible of where we are (parked by the side of a road). And maybe that factors in—but the real reason is logistical. There’s not enough space to have sex here, no matter how badly I want it.

  The pinning-me-down part is a little iffy, too. I’ve never tried tying a guy up or being tied up, and I should tell him to get the fuck off me. He’d do it. Rev promised me the first time he touched me that the games ended the minute I told him stop, so while I’d love to tell him he doesn’t do it for me... I’d be lying. And with his fingers pressed against the crotch of my panties, he’s gonna figure the truth out for himself anyhow.

  “You’re wet,” he whispers roughly. “Even wetter than in the club.”

  He just had to bring that up. Yes. I’m that turned on. My panties are soaked, and if he moves his fingers, I’ll come for him. The guys I’ve dated in the past have been foreplay guys. They’ve kissed and touched and run through bedroom tricks like they’re working their way through a back issue of Cosmopolitan. And while I appreciated their efforts, none of them made me feel the way Rev does. It’s like riding the orgasm Tilt-A-Whirl, one endless round of pleasure, when before I’d been standing all alone in line for the teacup ride.

  He drags his fingers down my crotch and then tunnels beneath the lacy edge. Heat races through me as his fingers skim my slick folds, the pleasure so sharp and intense I swear I see stars. Or maybe that’s just sunlight on a passing car. I don’t know. I can’t think, can’t make my head figure out the logical thing to do. All I can do is feel.