by Kati Wilde
Then again, that’s no surprise. Working the bar, she’s always drawn people in and had them spilling their guts. And it’s probably best I didn’t spill anything before. Because what I’d be spilling was how much I want her lips on mine, tasting her instead of talking. How much I want her sitting on the bar and my head between her thighs. How bad I need to be inside her.
Christ. I shift in my seat, but there’s no position that’s going to ease the ache in my cock.
Talking about my mother might do it, though. “Maybe she was the driving force behind my father the whole time and was just good at staying in his shadow. Or he was the flame who drew all the moths and she was the one who kept pouring in the kerosene. Because she’s still keeping that flame lit—even though, despite all of us looking like him, we’re not like him. Aside from our faces, we only got bits and pieces.”
“What do you mean?”
“That charisma he had, it’s a hell of a lot of things—all the traits that draw people in. So he was smart, funny, persuasive, charming as hell. And he was kind, generous—especially if it meant people would feel obligated to him afterward.”
“And let me guess—combined with his looks, that all made him as sexy as fuck?” Anna puts in, her gaze sweeping down my length.
That, too. I grew up seeing the way people looked at him. Seeing how obsessed some of them became. “He drew in both men and women with it. But that charisma’s also all those traits that hold people captive, make them fall in line. The way he could tear someone down, the way he’d threaten and carry a threat through. The way he’d get pissed and rage, and how he had this icy anger that was just fucking terrifying. So my brothers, some have a few of those traits. The others have a few different traits. Like Adam, he’s got the rage. He can be generous. But he’s sure as hell not smart. No one has the whole package.”
Anna looks at me in bemusement, her swollen lips pursed. “You have the whole package.”
Not quite. “I don’t need to be the center of everyone’s attention like he did. And I’m missing the sociopathic element and delusions of grandeur.” My mouth twists into a wry smile when I glance at her again. “Some of my brothers aren’t missing those.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’ve read up on this. This personality and cult stuff. Because you talk about it like you’ve pulled it apart and categorized it all. Like you’re looking at it from a distance.”
Not far enough. But she’s not wrong. “Your mom sent me a package of books after that first visit. They helped me wrap my head around it.”
Her brows shoot high. “Mom knew?”
“You’re really surprised?” Not much ever gets past Clara Wall. When Anna shakes her head, I tell her, “First time she got me alone, I ended up telling her half of all this without even realizing I was doing it. I guess she figured out the rest.”
Anna’s soft laughter fills the truck’s cab, rolls right over my skin. “I bet she did,” she says, then bites her lip.
Which tells me she wants to say more. “Just ask it,” I tell her.
“You eventually left—so what prompted you to go?”
Too many reasons to list, starting with David’s girl being killed. But all those reasons boiled down to one. “I figured out that wasn’t what life should be.”
“What do they think of you going? Did they turn their backs on you?”
If only. “No. They’ve been waiting for me to return. They’ve got plans for me, and they want me to stop dicking around and fall in line.”
Her brow furrows. “So, you’re going to…what? Tell them you’ll come back home if they help you find my brother?”
I nod and try not to feel the sickness rising in my chest. Because they won’t be satisfied with me saying I’ll come back.
Her gaze searches my face. “So where do I fit in? What do I need to be to you?”
“Just be Stone’s little sister. It’s important there’s nothing else between us.”
Shrugging, she pulls her gaze away to stare through the front windshield. “We established last night there isn’t.”
It’s true I said that but her shrug pisses me off. “Just fucking listen. You’re important to me. But if I show up with any girl who doesn’t—”
“I get it, okay?” she snaps at me, eyes sparking. “You show up with some girl who isn’t part of their plan and they might not be as willing to help with Stone—right?”
It’s right. It’s not my primary reason—protecting Anna—but it’s reason enough. “Yeah.”
“Because I’m just his sister,” she says flatly. “So when you kissed me in the shower—”
“I shouldn’t have.”
Her breath catches and she looks at me, her expression frozen. “It was a mistake?”
“Not a mistake.” Never a mistake. “I sure as hell don’t regret it. But I wasn’t thinking.”
Because I shouldn’t have done it yet. I should have waited. Not just because of this shit with my family but because I can’t jump the gun with her. Only a few hours before I kissed her, she kicked me out of her life. Said she didn’t just want a fuck. So I’ve got to work up to that. Let her know me first. Then kiss her.
Shit. And now I’ve dug a hole because she’s staring out the windshield again, her body tense. “It was a physical response to the stress,” I tell her. “After seeing that picture. Then the relief of knowing you were all right.”
She flicks me a disbelieving glance. “Stone said you were one of the coldest bastards he’s ever known in stress situations.”
I could never be cold, finding her like that.
“It doesn’t matter.” She slides down in her seat, burying her hands in the pouch of her hoodie. “Just call it a mistake. Because God knows you wouldn’t have kissed me under normal circumstances.”
Under normal circumstances—in a shower, with Anna naked against me? I’d have kissed her. But I sure as hell wouldn’t have stopped at a kiss.
But I don’t think that’s what she’s saying. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have even been alone with me. You always make an effort not to be—that’s pretty obvious. And this is the most you’ve talked to me in years. So under normal circumstances, you’d never have touched me.” Her eyes are glassy and hard when she flicks a glance at me. “Am I wrong?”
Completely fucking wrong. Because if anything about my family and these circumstances were normal, I’d have spent the last ten years touching her. Being alone with her.
Wrong—yet everything she said was true. But what the fuck can I tell her now?
I can’t be alone with you because I won’t keep my hands off you? Because every fucking second of every fucking day I’m thinking of you? Because the more I open my mouth around you, the more likely I’ll say all the filthy things I want to do to you?
Starting with pulling this truck onto the side of the road, tossing her ankles up over my shoulders, then fucking her so deep and hard she won’t be left with a single doubt about why I can’t be alone with her.
But there’s not a damn thing I can say. Not now. Jaw set, I watch the road. Until a soft gasp makes me glance over.
Anna’s looking at me with horror dawning on her face. “You thought it was them.” Her hand lifts to her bruised cheek. “You thought it was them. That’s why you were so surprised there was only one man—and that he didn’t have blue eyes. You thought they came after me and raped me. You thought your brothers raped me.”
I nod, my throat suddenly a constricted mess. Because the distance she was saying I had shrinks to no distance at all, just imagining what might have happened. By the horror on her face, that distance vanishes for her, too. It’s one thing to talk about my family. It’s another to realize they might have shown up on her doorstep—and what they’d be capable of if they did.
And now we’re heading for their doorstep.
Confusion replaces her horror. “But…why would they hurt me?”
&n
bsp; “Those rumors about you and me.” Gravel fills my voice. “My family got wind. So I thought…I thought they might have come. Because you aren’t part of their plan for me—and they’ll make sure no one fucks that up.”
“Oh.” Lips rounded in surprise and realization, she stares at me. “Ohhhhh.”
That’s not a good sound. “What?”
Gingerly she asks, “Is that why you never hook up with anyone—because they might come after her?”
No. Because I could have had as many hookups as I liked. My family doesn’t care if I screw around. In their eyes, the more women I fuck, the more of a man I am. They’d only go after a woman I was serious about. Keeping the Cooper line pure is what matters.
The only reason there’s been no one else is simply because there is no one else. Not for me.
There’s no one but Anna.
“So that’s why it’s important they know I’m just Stone’s little sister,” she says softly. “Or we’d have more to worry about than finding my brother. Right?”
“Yes,” I say roughly.
“Well, then.” Voice oddly hollow, she looks to the road ahead. “It’s a good thing I’m not anything more.”
18
Anna
After our late start, we don’t arrive in Santa Rosa until well after dark. But instead of heading to his family’s spread—a farm somewhere in the hills outside of the city—he pulls into the parking lot of a mid-range chain hotel.
As soon as Gunner finds out that the two rooms Widowmaker reserved for us don’t have a connecting door, he changes the reservation to a third floor deluxe suite—which turns out to be a regular double queen with a fireplace and a spa tub, separated from a living area by a half wall.
Gunner slings his bags on the bed nearest the door. Ten minutes later, after checking out all the locks and the security of the balcony’s sliding glass doors, he heads down to the hotel’s weight room.
Unpacking my bag takes up ten more minutes and then I’m out of things to do. Back in Pine Valley, I’m always busy. Either bartending at the Den or working on my house. Even while watching TV, I usually have another project with me—like sketching on my drawing pad or editing my pictures on my desktop computer.
God. I need a laptop. I’m afraid to poke at my phone too much. With my luck, I’d be playing Candy Crush when Stone’s call came in and accidentally hang up on him by pressing the wrong part of the screen at the wrong time.
Sprawled on my bed, I aimlessly flip through channels, debating whether to head down to the swimming pool. But I’m tired, and sore enough that I probably wouldn’t enjoy it.
Not to mention, I didn’t bring a swimming suit. Plus, my phone and the pool? Maybe not a good combination.
Anyway, I know what I’m really trying to do: distract myself so I don’t think about Gunner.
Big surprise, I think about him anyway. Story of my freaking life.
With a sigh, I haul my ass off the bed and examine the spa tub. It looks clean. So I’ll trust that the hotel maids bleach the hell out of it every morning and try to soak away some of this soreness.
God knows I’ve got time. My brother and Gunner often work out together, so I know he’s going to be down there at least an hour. Maybe more.
I turn on the tap as hot as I can stand before stripping, then pile my hair on top of my head. My cheek still looks as if an asshole rapist slapped the hell out of me—because, hey, an asshole rapist did—but the swelling on my lips has gone down. Not so bad. The bruise on the side of my thigh has darkened to an ugly purple splotch the size of my fist and hurts like crazy if I touch it.
So of course I bump it against the rim of the tub while climbing in. Teeth gritted, I lean back and close my eyes—and try to mentally sort through the chaotic jumble that has become my life. Which is,
A) My brother has essentially been taken prisoner and will be forced to fight in a cage match to the death.
I don’t even know what to make of that. Not really. Do they just fight with their fists? Maybe MMA-style? Or is he going to be like Mad Max, grabbing chainsaws off the sides of the cage?
I hope it’s just fighting. I’ve seen him up in the ring a couple of times. He’s fast and he’s strong and, from what I hear, he’s also very good. But these assholes are probably grabbing other men who are good, too.
And that scares the shit out of me. Because the guy who attacked me—Chef—made it sound like losing was an inevitability. Eventually.
But that eventually is what keeps me from descending into terror, because
B) Gunner’s going to find him. And Blowback’s looking for him, too. Between them, they’ll bring my brother home. Eventually will give them enough time.
I don’t know what route Blowback is taking to find my brother, but I’ll help Gunner in any way I can. Any way.
Right now, that way requires me to wait for Stone’s call. And to keep things between Gunner and me as simple as they’ve always been. Which brings me to
C) Gunner grew up in a cult,
and D) Holy shit.
Because I still can’t completely wrap my head around it. But it puts a lot of what I knew about him into context. His refusal to talk about his past—and the whole celibacy thing.
Not that he’s always been celibate. I know he hooked up with girls when he was in the Marines. But maybe it was different when he was in the service. Maybe his family was far enough away that he felt he could—or maybe it was just that his time in the Marines was a temporary thing. But when he moves into a town to settle down? Maybe he couldn’t fuck around anymore because his family would see a more permanent arrangement as a threat.
That eases some of the old hurt—knowing he probably turned me down because of this thing with his family. And it wasn’t just me. He turned down every girl who asked. Over the years, there must have been hundreds of hookups he passed on.
But, Jesus. Pussy’s a hell of a thing for a young, straight guy to give up. Especially because Pine Valley isn’t that special—it’s just like any other town in central Oregon. So what’s there that’s worth settling down and sacrificing sex for? Was joining a motorcycle club and hanging out with Stone really that great?
As much as I love my brother, I don’t understand that. But maybe I can’t understand that. Gunner said he found real brotherhood in the Marines and with the Riders. Maybe after the way he grew up, that brotherhood was worth giving up sex for. Since I wasn’t raised in a cult, I can’t begin to know how Gunner feels about it.
Anyway, going without sex for years and years isn’t that bad. I should know. My fingers and toys do a pretty bang up job of getting me off. Like every guy in the world, Gunner probably eases the tension by jacking off—
Oh god. I shouldn’t have let my mind wander in that direction. Because now I’m thinking of how he might look when he pleasures himself. Maybe stretched out on the hotel bed, all that male beauty on display. The ropes of muscles in his arms. His corrugated abs. The happy trail leading downward, his strong heavy thighs…his big hand wrapped around his cock.
Maybe going slow, his eyes closed as he imagines a leisurely fuck. Or stroking harder, his gaze hot and intense and locked on mine.
On the bed, stroking himself—watching me in the bath, where my thighs fall open to the advance of my hand. My fingers glide over my clit and I try not to think of him. I’m quitting all that. I try to picture someone else on that bed but although my mind flits from one sexy actor to another, my imagination comes right back to Gunner.
Maybe that’s not a surprise. After fantasizing about Gunner for so many years, my brain is conditioned to associate arousal with images of him.
So just this time. One last time.
And I’m not picturing him on the bed anymore but coming back from the gym, sweaty and gorgeous—and his beautiful face going hard when he finds me in the bath. And he’d stand there for a long second, watching me. And I’d see how aroused he was, his cock rigid and his sweats doing nothing to hide it.
/> But I’m over him. So I wouldn’t feel anything as I stand up out of the bath. Just haughty amusement when he sees me naked, his crystalline eyes going hotter, but it’s nothing to me.
Because I’m so over him. And I just saunter toward the dresser to get my pajamas.
But the next thing I know his big hands grab my waist and his rough voice growls in my ear, “Don’t walk away from me, Anna.” And he pulls me hard back against him and his fingers dive straight between my legs, delving into the cleft of my pussy, and I’m so wet, and he’s so strong, and I can’t stop him from rubbing my clit. And he groans against my ear and says, “You’re so damn sexy, sweetheart. I’ve wanted you for so long and I need you so bad. I need to fuck you.”
And I’m going to let him, but only because he’s so beautiful. It’s just a physical thing. I don’t want him or need him. Not anymore.
But before I can answer he shoves me forward onto the bed, and instead of letting me turn around to kiss him, he drags me up onto my knees and I feel him hot and hard behind me.
And he’s so desperate. So rough. Because he hasn’t had anyone in years, because his family’s too dangerous—
no, no, this is my fantasy, so instead I’ll dream it’s
—because for all these years he only wanted me, and that’s what he says as his big cock slams deep inside my tight pussy, so long and thick that I scream, because there’s been no one else for me, either, but he’s ruthless, just fucking me and fucking me, because he can’t control himself anymore and he needs me so much, and his relentless fingers are rubbing my clit, rubbing and rubbing even though I’m too close, too sensitive, and he’s leaning over me and with every devastating stroke of his cock he tells me—
I need you, I love you
—and I come hard. So hard, the water sloshing against the sides of the bath and lapping the tight, burning points of my nipples. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath.
