by Brook Wilder
Lori wasn’t even aware she was smiling to herself as she stared out of the window and out over the picturesque scene, dreaming about her new life. It seemed like a dream. The sweet little town they had moved to had welcomed them with open arms. Having Tex in her life, and their baby.
It was hard at times, but nothing compared to what she had lived through with Gears. She knew now that nothing would be able to stop her. If she could survive that. She could survive anything at all.
How could she possibly ask for anything more? She was safe, happy, and loved. It was almost more than she ever thought she would ever find. But, somehow, she had. And she knew exactly who had caused it all.
Suddenly, Lori felt arms sweep around her from behind and she was pulled close into a big, strong body at her back.
Tex leaned down to nuzzle at the sensitive skin of her neck and surprised a laugh out of her.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, his breath warm and tickling as it blew across her shoulder.
“Hey back, cowboy.”
Lori tried to turn and to look back at him, but he held her tight against him and she just let her head fall back against his shoulder, letting him wrap her up in his warmth and his love.
“What are you doing?” Tex’s voice was deep and husky as he asked the question.
Lori responded with another laugh.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Lori snorted.
But there was a smile tangled on her lips and Tex just pulled her in even closer to his body, her back plastered against his front.
“Do you want to be doing something else?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Or someone else, perhaps?” Tex drawled in her ear. “The baby’s asleep.”
“Is she now?” Lori said on a husky laugh as she turned in his arms.
Tex was nodding.
“Uh huh. We have the whole afternoon to ourselves. I can think of a few good ways we could waste a few hours together.”
Lori tilted her head, smiling softly at him as she threw her arms around his neck. “With you, cowboy, it’s never a waste.”
Tex grinned and her and they kissed. It grew hotter and hotter as Tex grabbed her hand and pulled her into the living room. Every step they took, they shed another item of clothing.
By the time they had reached the couch, Lori was down to her bra and panties and Tex was shirtless, and they were both wrestling with the snap of his jeans.
Tex finally shoved his pants down around his ankles and tripped over them, sending them both tumbling onto the couch, laughing and giggling like teenagers. Lori stared up at him, this man who had so profoundly changed her. The man who had saved her.
“My knight in shining armor,” Lori said, sighing as he kissed his way down her body.
“My delicious princess,” Tex growled before continuing his pack, kissing and nipping at her skin.
Lori laughed again but it was transformed into a moan as his fingers teased at her slick folds.
He ripped off her panties and bra, kissing her lips again. It was hard and deep and soul-searing, and as always she couldn’t hold anything back from him. He thrust deep inside her, stretching and filling her to the brink, and all Lori could do was hold on and take everything he had to give. It was so much more than she ever could have imagined.
Over and over, he moved inside her, faster and faster, as they both lost their rhythm, their hips hitching wildly and finally she threw her head back and cried out as her climax hit her, knocking the breath from her lungs.
In the aftermath, Lori lay there, breathless and boneless and covered in sweat, as Tex collapsed on top of her with a husky laugh that sent another wave of thrills through her.
It took a long time for Lori to come back to herself, but it was the sound of a familiar name on the news that had her falling back to earth with a thud.
Lori’s eyes widened as she watched the news segment. There had been a murder in a town in Texas. A high-profile case involving a notorious gang. And the man in custody was none other than the Sergeant-at-Arms of the Devil’s Martyrs MC.
“Is that…”
“It’s Preston. Preston Osbourne.”
Lor shared a long, concerned look with Tex. But then warmth filled her. She was done with that life. It was all behind them. They had each other now and that was all she ever wanted or need.
“That’s in the past,” she whispered, kissing Tex lightly on the cheek. “You’re my future.”
END OF BOOK 2
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BOOK 3: Preston Osbourne will do anything to protect his daughter, even if it means going behind his club and getting in bed with a sassy lawyer hell-bent on making a name for herself, in Devil’s Bargain.
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PREVIEW: DEVIL’S BARGAIN
“Get up, inmate. Dinner time.”
Preston made sure to keep his head down and his expression blank as the correctional officer unlocked the cell he’d been tossed into the night before. Or technically early this morning, he thought, shaking his head. Time had seemed to pass in a blur since he’d been arrested, and it moved oddly slow after he’d been locked in the holding cell.
He didn’t make eye contact with the man in uniform, just turned so his wrists could be chained together with the handcuffs that the officer tightened more than he strictly had to. It didn’t matter.
Preston knew the rules. This certainly wasn’t his first rodeo. Keep your head down. Don’t get into trouble. Don’t make waves.
“Get moving,” the officer said, punctuating the order by shoving Preston’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.
He just grit his teeth, not letting the guy get to him.
It was hard. They all knew who he was. They all knew that he was not only a member of the Devil’s Martyrs gang. He was the sergeant-at-arms, and second-in-command, under Arthur ‘Capone’ Johnson himself.
They knew who they had in their custody, and they had taken every opportunity since he’d been arrested to rub his nose in the fact that he didn’t have any power there. Preston nearly smirked. That was a lesson he’d learned long ago. No one could take that from him. It was only something that could be given away, and he sure as hell wasn’t giving up his power any time soon.
So, he contented himself with keeping his eyes locked on the stained tiles in front of him and his mouth sealed shut. He knew every single word he said would be used against him, and he sure as fuck didn’t need any more evidence against him.
Preston’s mind worked feverishly as he walked, the officer still sneering at him. Whatever. Let him think that he’d won. For now. Preston had always survived on his wits, and he wasn’t about to stop now.
He’d been trying to figure a way out of this mess ever since he’d got taken the night before. He hadn’t slept a wink since the cops had showed up at his door. Claiming that he was being arrested for the murder of Miles Jones.
Preston hadn’t even recognized the name at first, until he overheard one of the cops talking about Wildcard. He had heard of a man called Wildcard Jones, or sometimes just Wildcard. He was a patch member of the Grim Riders, a rival gang that had gotten more and more bold since the shit had gone down over a year ago.
Preston was the sergeant-at-arms, sort of like a policeman in his own right, but of the gang members. His job was to make sure that everybody stayed in line and followed the rules. He was also the second-in-command of the Devil’s Martyrs. The gang’s territories butted up against each other, and sometimes that led to conflict. It had been even worse between them since the blow out the year before between the two gangs.
> They’d walked away from that with a tenuous peace, but it hadn’t lasted long, and more blood had been shed.
A lot had happened in the last year. He’d risen in the ranks, but some of the decisions that the Devil’s president had been making were more and more erratic.
Arthur Johnson was known as ‘Capone’ by his own gang for a reason. The man could go from hot to cold in the blink of an eye, his temper flaring over the smallest mistake. A single word or look out of place.
At first Preston had thought it all part of his act, a bluff to keep the rest of the members in line, ruling by fear. But over the past year, working closely with the man, he was coming to suspect that he was just as unstable as he seemed. And the gang had seen way too much crazy in the past year for Preston to feel comfortable with it coming from their own leader.
But he also didn’t have any proof. At least, not anything that he could use to oust the president without being gunned down himself as a traitor. It would have to be some damned good evidence.
Preston shook his head, not even sure why his thoughts had taken that turn. It wasn’t his place to question Capone. It was his place to carry out orders and make sure everyone else did what they were told. And he was good at his job.
“Here you go, Osbourne,” the officer said with another sneer as he nodded toward the cafeteria. “Go stand in line and get your food. Then sit down over there where I can see you. I don’t want any trouble, you understand? I’ll be watching you the whole time.”
Preston just nodded as the man finally undid the cuffs, and he barely held back the urge to rub his bruised wrists as he got in line to get a tray of the slop that passed for food in here.
He hardly looked down at the tray as he grabbed it and walked towards an empty table at the far end of the chow hall, careful to sit with his back facing the wall. It was an old habit, but it had saved his life more times than he could count. It was always better to see your enemies coming than give them the chance to sneak up and put a knife in your back.
Preston idly toyed with the square of mush on the tray in front of him and barely held back a sneer. He wouldn’t even feed this to his dogs, let alone a person. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t had anything to eat since the night before. But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to be there much longer. He was sure of that.
He just had to hold out a little longer. A few more hours at most. And, in the meantime, he just had to remember the rules. Keep your head down. Don’t make trouble. Don’t make waves.
He was repeating that to himself when an inmate suddenly broke off from the line and walked over towards where Preston was sitting alone.
Keep your head down. Don’t make trouble, damn it. Don’t make waves.
He needed the remind as the guy sat down across from him. Preston recognized him by the tattoo on his neck. It was a Devil on the back of a horse, a knife clenched in his fist. The man was a member of the crew. No one else would be stupid enough to get the gang’s insignia tattooed on them, especially where it could so easily be seen.
He must have been a low-level member, though because Preston didn’t know the guy’s name. He only knew that the other inmate, as well as two more, had gotten themselves arrested a year ago during the violence that had erupted between the Devil’s and the Grim Riders.
“I heard that you’ve said you’re innocent.”
The man sneered the word and suddenly it came to him. Lopez. That was the man’s name. Lopez.
“I am,” Preston said simply, still staring down at the muck in front of him.
He sure as hell wasn’t going to put that shit in his mouth, but at least it gave him something to concentrate on instead of punching the guy out for insubordination.
“No one is innocent. Especially no one in here,” Lopez was saying.
Preston just shook his head with a sigh, refusing to answer. The man obviously wanted a rise out of him, but why? Why would a low ranking member of the gang even approach him? Unless…
“I also heard you got yourself some fancy lawyer coming.”
That finally got Preston’s attention. He didn’t look up, but the hand holding the fork froze.
“I didn’t ask for a lawyer.”
“Well, that’s just what I heard,” Lopez paused, drawing out the silence, waiting to see if Preston would break. He would be waiting for a long time, “That’s not all that I heard, neither.”
“‘Either.’”
“What?”
“That’s not all that you heard, ‘either.’ Not ‘neither,” Preston said as nonchalantly as he could, but inside he was boiling. “It’s incorrect grammar.”
Lopez glared at Preston, obviously knowing he was making fun of him but not understanding how. Finally, the man just leaned forward, a fierce frown furrowing his thick eyebrows and anger burning in his eyes.
But it was really the vindictive smile that Lopez suddenly wore that made Preston most nervous. There was only one reason he could think of that would make the man confident enough to confront him. And that reason was…
“Just remember,” Lopez said under his breath. But the words were hard and they confirmed Preston’s worst fears, “Capone hates snitches more than anything else, Preston. You snitch. You die. Remember that.”
Preston watched Lopez turn and leave. His jaw was clenched so tight that he was surprised he didn’t break a tooth or two. He knew the warning was the simple truth. It wasn’t a threat. It was the facts.
Arthur ‘Capone’ Johnson had gotten his nickname because of the way he acted. The man was a loose cannon. He had a wild temper and that, combined with the man’s unpredictable behavior, was the recipe for a mad man. The gang put up with it because it scared their enemies more than it scared the crew members. And Preston knew that the warning might as well have come straight from Capone’s mouth.
Preston thought about the president of the Devil’s Martyrs. The man who had brought prosperity and wealth over the past decade. And how bat-shit crazy he’d been lately. And it was only getting worse.
The sudden jangle of keys behind him was all the warning he had before the correctional officer was there again, once more dragging him to his feet.
“Back to my cell?” Preston asked softly and he could see the officer spit to one side before grimacing.
“Not yet, Osbourne. Looks like your lawyers are here.”
The officer cuffed him once more, even though it wasn’t strictly protocol. Nor was it necessary. Preston was smart enough to know when to take chances and when to let it ride. Now was the time for the latter. The time to take risks would come soon enough.
He nearly laughed at the thought. The truth was that, as matters stood, he was safer locked up at that moment than he would be on the outside. But, locked up, he couldn’t do what he had to do. He couldn’t take care of his family. Outside would be far more dangerous, but it was the only way.
The officer walked him down a long hall before unlocking a door that led to an interrogation room. The walls were bare and the only thing in the entire room was a rectangular table with chairs lined up on either side.
“Sit down, inmate,” the officer growled as he shoved Preston into the chair.
He was obviously looking for a fight, but Preston wasn’t about to give him one. Frustrated, the officer turned and marched out of the room.
Preston only had to wait a minute or two before another door was opening. This time another man in a brown suit entered, but Preston barely saw him. His eyes were locked on to the gorgeous green-eyed, redhead that sauntered in behind him.
Desire instantly sparked alive inside him and Preston ruthlessly tamped it down. Of all the most ridiculous, inappropriate times for his thoughts to take a nosedive into the gutter, this was it. Sitting in a prison waiting to be tried for a murder he didn’t commit.
“Preston Osbourne? My name is John Fulbright, and this is my associate Olivia Prescott. She’ll be representing your case.”
“Olivia,” Preston
whispered, tasting her name as he looked deep into those dark green eyes of hers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He purred the words, loving the way her blush stained her cheeks a bright rosy pink. It was all too easy to picture her spread out beneath him as he feasted on her. She would be panting and crying out his name, her cheeks flushed for another reason entirely.
But she just cleared her throat as she sat down across from him and Preston was surprised at the fearless way she met his gaze. His respect for her, along with his desire, rose inside him.
