by Kati Wilde
Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so screwed. Because
E) I’m never going to get over him.
And for such a long time, I tried to protect myself by saying I didn’t love him. By reminding myself that I didn’t know him. But now I’m finding out more.
With some people, that would kill it dead right there. With some people, the better you know them, the more you realize the things you liked aren’t really what you thought. What seemed like a dry sense of humor is just bitterness. What seemed polite is rooted is sexism. What seemed considered and thoughtful is just a dull imagination.
But what I’m finding out about Gunner isn’t disappointing me. And I’m still eager to know more. I’m a glutton for pain, apparently.
Or I really just don’t know when to quit.
Because even if his family is the reason why he rejected me all those times, he flat out said I’m nothing more than Stone’s sister. I can’t be more than Stone’s sister, especially now.
And if I ever had been more, he could have taken the risk. I would have. Because, God—I spent the last ten years thinking I was going to die soon anyway. So if I thought he loved me, I’d have grabbed onto a chance to be with him and held it so tight. No matter the danger.
But it’s been ten years. And in all that time, nothing. So I’m not worth that risk to Gunner.
So I’ll just be his friend’s sister. And if my heart is fucked, it’s fucked.
All that matters now is getting my brother home safe.
I don’t hear Gunner come back because I’ve got the hair dryer on high, and I don’t see him right away because I’m bent over with my head upside down. Then between my legs I see his legs, and my heart jumps. I straighten and flip my hair up.
And, good god—it’s just like I imagined. I’m out of the tub and dressed in a nightshirt, but Gunner’s sweaty and his muscles are ripped and his chest is bare, because he’s using his wadded shirt to wipe down his skin. Except he’s not wiping anything now, just standing utterly still and staring at me, his face hard, his eyes hot.
But he doesn’t say, I need you, I love you. He doesn’t grab me and shove me toward the bed. Instead he stalks wordlessly into the bathroom, and a second later I hear the shower.
So. Looks like we’re back to silence.
Looks like we’re back to “don’t be alone with Anna.”
Looks like we’re back to hiding how much that hurts.
19
Gunner
I have to take the longest shower of my life, jacking off twice before my cock finally stays the hell down. Coming in and seeing Anna bent over like that, her nightshirt riding up to the curve of her ass, playing peek-a-boo with a tiny pair of boyshorts, it was all I could do not to get up behind her and drop to my knees. Or pull those cute little undershorts down to her ankles and bury myself deep.
Sharing this hotel room with her is going to fucking kill me. If not from whacking off until my dick falls off, then by the loss of blood to my brain. Seeing her bent over like that made me so damn stupid, I didn’t even take a change of clothes into the bathroom with me.
I knot a towel around my hips and head out. And, shit—maybe I’m vain as hell or just desperate to see appreciation in her eyes when she looks at me, because I’m disappointed when she doesn’t even glance my way. She’s on her bed, her eyes glued to the television screen. No matter that she’s a short little thing, her legs are goddamn long and sleek, and when I see the small bottle of moisturizer on the nightstand beside her, I realize she was out here smoothing that lotion over her skin while I was busting a nut in the shower. Just picturing her hands gliding over her thighs has my depleted cock stirring to attention again.
I’m so fucked. I pull on my jeans, find my shirt—and watch her not watching me.
She finally looks over when I start lacing my boots. Her brow pleats into a little frown. “You’re going out?”
“There’re a few joints where my brothers hang out.” I’ll tell them I’ve got trouble and need info. But I’m sure as hell not going to show up at the farm, begging for help. Better that they come to me, offering it. “You’ll be safe here.”
Right now, only Widowmaker knows where we’re staying and I know Anna won’t open the door to anyone but me.
Still, I’ll probably go crazy worrying.
“All right,” she says softly. “Just text and let me know where you end up. That way I can tell Blowback where to start looking if something goes wrong.”
Nothing’s going to go wrong. But, shit. She’s trying to have my back—and she looks so damn small over there. When I said I was heading out and leaving her alone, some of the spark in her eyes dimmed, and that just rips at me.
Anna’s not meant to be locked away. Not with that light in her, not with all that life. Hiding her away, keeping her in the dark isn’t protecting her. It’s hurting her.
I can’t leave her here. Her body would be safe in this room tonight, but all of her would be safer with me.
And my family will find out she’s with me soon enough. Might as well bring her out in the open, because keeping her like a secret in a hotel room will only make them think the opposite of what I need them to think.
“You up to going with me?” I ask her and my whole chest seems to fill up with the light from her smile.
“Yes.” She bounces forward, heading for the dresser.
“Boots and jeans,” I tell her. “We’re riding tonight.”
I’ve never had a woman ride behind me. I don’t know if it feels so damn good because of the way she’s pressed up against my back, her hands gripping me tight, her thighs cradling mine—or if it feels so damn good just because it’s Anna, and the way she holds on like she put all her trust in me, as if I’m her anchor as we ride out of the city, hurtling along the dark highway.
I just know I want to keep going. But all too soon we’re pulling into the lot of a roadside bar. There’s an equal mix of cages and choppers parked out front. I don’t know what my brothers are riding, but the farm’s only a few miles farther on. There’s a good chance at least a couple of the Notorious Few are here.
Anna pulls off her helmet and swings her leg over the seat when I kill the engine, then stumbles over her feet when she stands. Not used to riding and still finding her legs.
I catch her waist, pulling her back against me. The weather’s milder here, so she ditched the big puffy coat and I can feel every slender inch through her clothes. Her hair’s braided to keep it from getting tangled in the wind, and she’s wearing tall boots, tight jeans that cup her sweet little ass, and a close-fitting athletic jacket zipped all the way up to her throat.
She looks so damn gorgeous dressed up to ride, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright. I should have taken her around before.
“Thanks.” Her smile is brief and she bites her lip, her gaze flicking down to my chest and quickly away.
“Say it.”
Her solemn gaze meets mine. “You’re not wearing your colors.”
No, I’m not. I left my kutte behind in Oregon and I feel its absence like I’m missing part of my skin. Like there’s nothing covering my back, leaving me raw and exposed.
Having her pressed up against me while we were riding soothed that some. But walking into this bar? Knowing it’s the start of wearing another vest?
Flays me right open again.
She must see it. Her warm eyes search my face, worry pinching her brows. “Gunner?”
I shake my head. My throat’s thick but this is the choice I made. “I’m not Gunner for now. Just Zach.”
“All right,” she says but her hand presses flat against my chest, as if stopping me from going anywhere. As if I would go anywhere when she’s touching me. Her mouth curves and she arches her brows, whispering, “When we get back to the hotel, just ask nicely and I’ll draw the Riders’ patch on your back…Gunner.”
I fucking love this girl.
But although I want to haul her up and kiss the hell out of her, that can’
t happen now. So I just roughly say, “Stick close to me.”
I head toward the entrance, taking her hand. I should have had my fill of her touch when she had her arms around me on the bike. But instead of being filled, I just get hungrier.
She squeezes my fingers. “People who are just friends don’t hold hands.”
“You’re not my friend,” I say and her hand jerks in my grip as if she’s trying to pull away, but I don’t let her go. “My family would never believe a man and a woman could be friends. They don’t think like that.”
“You don’t hold hands with someone who’s just your friend’s sister, either.”
“Yes, I would, because you’re under my protection.” Deliberately, I lace my fingers through hers and hold our linked hands up between us. “This? I’m keeping you close so I can look out for you better.”
The anger firing heat into her cheeks softens. “I see.”
Does she? I tilt my head. “What do you think this looks like?”
“You know what it looks like,” she hedges and when I just wait, she rolls her eyes. “It’s possessive.”
Yeah, it is. “Because you’re Stone’s sister, and I’m taking care of you. If you were my woman, I’d also take care of you. So it looks the same.”
Which is a huge fucking lie. Because if she were mine, we wouldn’t be here. We’d be back in that hotel room, her sleek legs around my waist and my cock pumping deep inside her wet pussy.
But the rest of it’s true. If they see me with someone who’s under my protection, they’ll expect it to look like protection. It doesn’t matter that she’s my friend’s sister—she’s mine to take care of.
Mine.
It doesn’t get more possessive than that.
She nods, accepting my explanation. My hand’s tight on hers as I lead her into the bar. It’s not much to look at inside, dark and smoky, with southern rock crackling through old box speakers hanging from the ceiling. There’s a handful of pool tables near the back, a few dozen tables and booths, and at the bar, the line of men sitting on the stools display a canyon’s worth of combined asscrack.
Rough, but not the kind of place that’ll scare Anna. The Wolf Den’s nicer, but she still sees shit go down there. She’s seen the Riders fuck and she’s seen them fight. Nothing here will make her blink an eye.
I spot a Notorious Few kutte near the pool tables. Not one of my brothers. A wiry bastard, with red hair and so heavily freckled the spots have melded together into an orange tan. He nudges the man next to him. Another one of the Few. Bigger, arms sleeved in tattoos, his bald round head shining with sweat.
They both look me up and down as I come close. Neither one even glances at Anna, which tells me not much has changed around here. Seeing a Cooper brother with a woman? Doesn’t matter who she is because there will be a different girl the next time you see him.
“So you’re the missing brother.” Leaning on his pool cue, the redhead greets me with a grin. The patch on his kutte tells me he’s called Chipmunk.
“Not missing any more, considering he’s here,” his companion says—Chunk. “I think that means he’s the projidal.”
Prodigal. But although I’d give any Rider shit for that, and these patchholders seem in good humor, it might be taken as disrespect instead of a friendly ribbing. And nothing closes down any biker faster than disrespect.
“It’s Zachary,” I tell them. “Any of my brothers around?”
“Ayuh.” Chipmunk jerks his thumb toward the bathrooms. “Six-Point’s in the back, wetting his dick in some blonde. I’d go in and let him know, but he’ll be out soon enough. It never takes him long.”
So he gets off fast. Either selfish or not good at holding back. Knowing my brother, maybe both. “He got a regular table?”
Chipmunk points to a booth in the corner.
“I’ll be there.”
Chunk nods. “We’ll let him know.”
At the table, I have Anna slide into the seat first—a wall on one side of her, me on the other. From this position, I’ve got eyes on the main door and the bathrooms. It’ll do.
“Six-Point?” she asks softly.
“Isiah. The youngest, aside from me.” And David.
“So he’s the fourth brother? What’s he like?”
He’s the best one to run into tonight. “Easygoing. Maybe because he’s younger and knows he’s never going to sit at the top. So he just fucks around and gets along with everyone. And he’s impulsive, but not hot-headed.”
“Who are the hot heads?”
Keeping eyes on the crowd, I track two other members of the Few as they come in, see them look this way, then look again. Word’s going to spread quick. “Adam, the firstborn. And Muncher—he’s third. Strawman’s got a temper but it isn’t hot. He’s more controlled. Cold.”
“Like your temper is.”
Why would she think that? “I don’t have a temper.”
Her eyebrows shoot high. “You remember last summer when Reichmann got to Jenny? I saw your face. You would have killed him if you’d been the one to find him there.”
I would have. Instead the prez almost killed him. But I shake my head. “That’s not temper. I wasn’t angry.”
“What were you?”
“Ready to get shit done.”
“So what my brother said was right. You’re a cold bastard in those high-stress situations.”
“Maybe.” Except when I’m kissing her.
Her eyes suddenly narrow, as if she’s caught me in a lie. “I pissed you off in Jenny’s brewery—telling you not to come over. You were angry then.”
“That wasn’t temper.” Though it probably sounded like it. Just like it does now, my voice hard and sharp, remembering. “That was a knife in my fucking chest.”
She goes utterly still, staring at me with wide, shimmering eyes. And, Jesus. This is why I can’t be alone with her. Shit that I shouldn’t be saying just comes flying out of my mouth.
“Was it?” Her whisper is so strained I can barely hear it over the music. “But I’m just Stone’s sister. You said.”
And I could say it again now. But I’m not going to lie to her anymore. “You were kicking me out of your life. So I just said what you wanted to hear.”
“That’s not what I wanted to hear.” Her lips tremble as she draws a shuddering breath. “But I knew you were lying to me about Stone. That he wasn’t really okay, no matter what you said. And I was so pissed.”
Not what she wanted to hear. There’s something pulling loose inside me, tumbling around. I can’t grasp all of it so I grab for what I can. “How did you know he wasn’t okay?”
Her eyes squeeze shut and she shakes her head.
Fuck, I can’t let that go. “Did you hear it from one of the brothers? Was someone running his mouth? I need to know, Anna.”
“No. I just know Stone. And I knew he wouldn’t ask you to text me and pretend to be him. Because…of reasons.”
And she obviously doesn’t intend to share those reasons. But the rest? She’s probably right. She knows Stone well enough to guess something was wrong. “All right.”
Her gaze raises to mine again, searching my eyes. “So I pushed you away. But I didn’t think it would really matter to you.”
“It mattered,” I tell her gruffly. It mattered more than anything.
“So…what are we?” Her expression is shuttered, but her voice holds a note of wary hope. “Maybe I’m not just a friend’s sister? Maybe you and I are friends, too?”
Jesus. It kills me how tentative she is. Like she thinks maybe I’ll tell her to go get fucked, when the only thing I want to do is pull her close and never let her go. “You really have to ask?”
“Yes,” she says simply. “Because I apparently know even less about you than I thought I did.”
And doesn’t know me well enough to love me.
Yet.
This seems like a damn good step on that path to knowing me. To her feeling anywhere close to the way I feel about
her. “We’re friends.”
Her smile instantly lights up her face, her eyes. “Good.”
I bite back a groan. God, her face. All that joy, just because we’re friends. I just hope she’s as happy when I tell her I want more.
But I can’t ask for more now. Instead I have to ask for less. The bathroom door opens and a blonde comes out, hair mussed, straightening her dress. “We’re not friends here, remember.”
She nods, her gaze sliding past me, eyes widening. “That’s him?”
Yeah, that’s him. I stand up. Six-Point spots me before Chipmunk and Chunk get to him. He breaks into a grin and gives a whoop that has everyone in the bar looking over, tracking the speed at which he bounds over to the table.
“Zachary!” With another whoop, he grabs my extended hand and pulls me into a strong hug, thumping my shoulders. “Brother. Jesus, it’s good to see you.”
“You, too.” It’s not a lie. My chest is both heavy and light as I return the embrace, hands fisted against his back. Adam, Strawman—I could have died happy never seeing them again. But Six-Point is only three years older than me, and he was always closer to me, closer to David. He never agreed with my reasons for leaving but came closest to understanding them. And I’ve missed him.
I still wouldn’t trust him alone with Anna for two seconds.
He pulls back, gripping me by the shoulders at arms-length as he looks me up and down. “So that’s why it’s so fucking cold in here. You’re standing in front of me, so hell must have froze over.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I did say something like that.”
“Yeah, you did. Meant it, too. Which is why this is such a fucking surprise.” He looks past me, gaze landing on Anna before sliding over the table. “No drinks?” Turning, he shouts, “Janice! My brother’s been sitting here without a beer? You bring three over here or I’ll be tanning your wrinkly ass!”
A gray-haired waitress at the bar turns and gives him a sour look.
“Yeah, we’ll get those in about an hour.” Grinning, he slides into the booth across from Anna. His speculative gaze touches her briefly before he looks to me again. “Strawman said he saw you.”
