by Rayne, Sara
Her brows shot up.
“Probably what I’m gonna name the drink too.”
She hid a smile. “Shut up.”
“He’s out back havin’ a smoke with Shep. Should be in any minute.”
“Huh? Who?”
Pretty Boy grabbed a couple of beers from the cooler for the next customer. “The reason your shirt got two sizes smaller.”
“Hey, now!”
“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the view,” he called over his shoulder as he delivered the beers and updated the tabs in the bar computer.
She rolled her eyes. “What are they talking about?”
“My money’s on the ‘camping trip’ the new VP took with Coyote to the Rez.”
“Camping trip?” Voo hadn’t said anything about it, and they’d been texting all day. She set the glass down. “Club business, I assume?”
“Nope. From what I understand, it was strictly personal. Guess they went on a spiritual quest vigil thingy.” Pretty Boy frowned. “Thought you’d be in the know. You and Voo have been thick as thieves lately.”
“Must’ve been private.” She shrugged as if it didn’t sting. Lex understood if it was personal—Coyote had been through a lot lately and he and Voo were getting close, but why would he tell Pretty Boy and not her?
“Maybe Coyote asked him to keep it on the down low.” Pretty Boy must’ve read her face.
“You know about it.”
“Everyone talks to Shep.” He shrugged. “Thus I know everything.”
No reason it should bother her—but it did. He kept so much from her. She’d only gotten tiny glimpses of his past. Made her wonder how much of his present he kept from her, too.
“How is Coyote?” Lex shifted to see the door to the back alley.
His perpetual grin faded. “The same.”
Nobody had told her Coyote was missing until they’d found him. Her dad had said, “Seein’ as how y’all got to be such friends over those TV shows and all, I didn’t want to worry you.” She sighed. Somehow the idea of them hiding important, life-altering events from her did not worry her any less.
“Dani tell you what she and Axel are making for Yo?”
“Yeah, but they’re still working out the kinks.” Pretty Boy rubbed the back of his neck. “They don’t want to say anythin’ until they know for sure it’s good to go.”
“Gotcha.” She swirled the straw in her drink. “What’s taking them so long?”
“Who knows? They’re probably not even talking—just a lot of deep, soulful looks and mind-reading mojo.” He leaned his elbows on the bar, shifting his expression to half-lidded and knowing, a perfect mockery of his boyfriend, Shep.
She laughed. “I’m not even gonna attempt a Voo impression.”
Pretty Boy pouted his lips a bit more and rasped in a half-decent French accent, “Mais non, the magic is in the dreads, ma petite.”
Lex blushed. Pretty Boy caught her eye with a knowing smirk of his own.
Twisting her straw wrapper into a tiny ball, she flung it at his face. “Not bad.”
“Oh, yeah? Did it turn you on?” He grinned, ducking her paper missile. “Maybe I should try it out on Shep.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
The back alley door opened, and Voo swaggered into the bar. Her stomach contracted at the sight of him, every muscle tensing in anticipation.
The dreads danced around his face as he laughed at something Shep said, running a hand down the white cotton tank top he wore over a pair of battered black leather pants and half-laced motorcycle boots. Lex’s breath caught when his crystal eyes met hers across the room.
His full lips curved as he looked her over, and she forgot how to speak. She forgot how to do anything but stare, swallow, and pray the attraction didn’t show on her face.
Pretty Boy snapped his fingers, and she jolted back to reality. “Ground control to Lex, requestin’ ETA for your return to Earth.”
“And shut up again.” She blushed.
“No worries. You ain’t the first one in this place to fantasize about Voo. Won’t be the last, neither.”
“True story.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Pretty Boy gathered a tray of empty beer glasses, giving her a wink over his shoulder as he walked towards Shep. “He looks at you that way, too.”
Lex was done looking—it was time to lay her cards on the table.
Come hell or high water, she was going home with Voo tonight.
***
Shep eyed Voo over the glowing tip of his cigarette. “How’d things go at the rez with Coyote?”
“He got what he needed out of the experience.” Voo leaned back against the concrete wall of the alley behind Perdition.
“You really smoke peyote?”
“And you don’t wanna know the things I saw, mon ami.” Hallucinating was an experience Voo wouldn’t be repeating. He’d been honored to accompany Coyote on the spiritual quest for guidance, but the visions he’d experienced in the Apache sweat lodge haunted him.
Swirling water and burning gas, cold liquid filling his lungs instead of air—it had felt so real, he’d run from their enclosure. Dropping to his knees in the desert, he buried his hands in the dry sand. The terrifying hallucination reminded him why he’d run to the arid West.
“I’ll take your word for it. Pretty Boy’s weed is about as far as I’ll go.” Shep’s lips curved around his boyfriend’s name.
A van pulling into the parking lot interrupted their conversation. People piled out of it, and Voo recognized the jaunty banter of the Crossroad Crows. Jagger appeared at the mouth of the alley.
“Ay, boyos! How’s it going?” He strolled down the alley, his guitar slung over his shoulder.
“Don’t take for-fuckin’-ever yakkin’ over there!” Blue called as she and the band moved equipment through the back door. A narrow hallway behind the bar led to Perdition’s small, raised stage, serving as the band’s prep area.
“Good to see you. Feels like y’all have been on the road for months.” Voo clasped Jagger’s hand as the rest of his band filed inside behind him.
“I know. Gigs have been comin’ out of the woodwork. Just wish a few more of them were local.” Jagger rubbed the back of his neck. “If we ever go on tour, we’re takin’ a bus. Stuffing five of us and the equipment in one van is gonna be the death of me.”
“Still, more gigs is good, right?” Shep dropped his cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it.
“This here’s my lucky charm.” Jagger pulled a small chain from around his neck. He’d hooked it through a guitar pick. “Ever since I got this beauty, the Crows have been comin’ up aces all over.”
“That the one Lex gave you? From the voodoo priestess or whatever?” Shep leaned in closer to inspect it.
“Sure is.” Jagger bumped Voo’s shoulder. “Thank your girl for me.”
“Lex is not my girl. We’re friends.” How many people do I have to explain this to?
“So were Pretty Boy and me. Once.” Shep laughed and slapped him on the back.
“Jagger—you’re killin’ me!” Blue poked her head into the alley. “If your ass ain’t on stage in two minutes….”
“You’ll take me out back and beat me?” Jagger’s eyes warmed as they lit on her face. “Sounds excitin’.”
She glowered.
“Fine, I’m coming!” He turned back to them with a grin. “The stage calls, friends.”
They all headed back inside. Voo’s eyes immediately sought Lex through the crowd. She was posted up at the bar, talking to Pretty Boy. Her pretty face flushed when she saw him. He barely heard what Shep was saying.
He stepped up beside her, stroking a tendril of hair before he realized what he was doing. She smiled up at him, and his cock jumped up to say bonjour. Lex’s fine ass had never looked better.
“There you are, ma petite. Thought you’d never get here.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Her hand settled on his arm, her fingers strokin
g his skin as they talked. Warmth settled in his chest.
Voo surveyed her soft curves wrapped in tight clothing, and his mouth went dry. Tonight was going to be fun. In an excruciating sort of way.
The next few hours quickly became another blue-ball fest. Lex stayed close to him all night, brushing against his side, her warm scent—like sunflowers in the rain—teasing his senses. But the way she made him laugh was worth every damn minute of sexual suffering.
He snagged the drink out of her hand, taking a long sip. Not thinking about how her peach-hued lips had touched the glass where his mouth rested. Not wondering if she tasted as sweet as whatever fruity concoction Pretty Boy had made her.
Not imagining pitching the drink over his shoulder and taking her mouth instead.
“Hey, get your own.” Lex tried to wrest it back from him.
“I think you’ve had more than your fair share for the night, ma petite. How about I get you a nice tall bottle of water instead?” She’d been in a bad way of late, and after the stunt with her hiding guns in her schoolbag, he wasn’t taking any chances. If she wasn’t going to take care of herself, he would.
He’d noticed the protection gris-gris tied to the rearview mirror of her car in the lot out back. Something about a piece of him tied to her vehicle warmed his chest. He liked seeing proof of their special connection.
“Spoilsport.” She crossed her arms. “You know what sucks?”
“What, ma petite?”
“I’m a grown-ass woman. I can smoke cigarettes, buy alcohol, rent apartments, go into debt, buy vacuums—you know, adulting crap.” She hiccupped.
It was fucking adorable.
“But I can’t be bad.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at this place—it’s practically a den of iniquity.” Hiccup. “I’m surrounded by big, bad-ass alpha-male types who won’t touch me with a ten-foot cactus. The worst thing I can do is get too drunk to drive home.”
“Lex….” He bit his lower lip to hide his smile.
“Oooh, look at me being a rebel—I’m taking a cab.” Her eyes widened. “Watch out, I might even over-tip. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
Voo signaled for Pretty Boy to bring Lex a bottle of water. He’d never seen her this tanked before, and she wasn’t a veteran drinker like most of the brothers. After her week-long binge leading up to the Apocalypse Rally last October, she’d sworn off alcohol for eternity. Which for a twenty-something translated into two months.
This wasn’t happy drinking, though. Lex was in distress.
“They don’t, you know.” Her eyes darkened, and her jaw set as she scanned the room.
“Don’t what, Lex?”
“Know what I’m capable of.”
Voo didn’t like the edge to her tone. “What do you mean?”
“You’re in the Death family, right?” Lex touched the family patch, featuring a skull and crossbones, on his cut.
“Oui.” The Four Horsemen MC’s founding members—Death, War, Pestilence, and Famine—had each formed a family in the club. Voo had embraced the House of Death as a symbol of change and transformation. He kept a poster-sized print of the Death tarot card above his bed, to remind him every night not to wake up the man he used to be.
“But you don’t have a Pale Rider patch.” Warmth radiated from her silken skin as she scooted closer in the booth.
“Non, I do not.”
He had been responsible for the loss of too many lives already. The skeletons he kept in his proverbial closet were inked into his back, and the dark loa of the crossroads was inked into his forearm. But he wasn’t cold-blooded enough to kill on the club’s command. For him to break hard enough to commit murder, it had to be personal.
“Dad does.” She stroked the leather of Voo’s cut. “I know what it means.”
“What are you afraid of, ma petite? Because Grant died, you’re a killer like your father? Or the regret you feel over his death means you’re too weak to be in Captain’s world?”
“Damn.” She held up her hands to stave off the apology forming on his lips. “To be as honest as you just were? On my worst days, both.”
“The bastard met the fate he courted. It was not your fault.”
“Yeah?” she asked darkly. “Everyone says that. Maybe they even mean it. But there’s a voice inside me I can’t ignore saying people spout a lot of comforting crap when it all goes pear-shaped. Because the truth isn’t particularly useful to the moving-on process.”
“Lex….” He took her hand in both of his. “Sometimes terrible things happen to good people. It’s not a reflection on your character—it’s life.”
“C’mon, Voo,” she whispered. “Admit it, you don’t believe that. I know enough of your story to guess your life hasn’t been easy. You’ve never thought you deserved any of the horrible things that happened to you?”
Lex had a way of hitting a man where it hurt.
“Perhaps it’s time we called it a night.”
“Last call?” Lex fidgeted with the straw of her empty drink.
“Pretty Boy already closed the registers.”
“Oh.” She licked her lips. “Are you hungry? We could go grab some food at the Waffle Hut?”
“Sacrilege. I refuse to eat at any place called Waffle Hut.”
“Your food is way better, but I wasn’t hinting for you to fix me breakfast or anything.”
“It would be my pleasure to cook for you.” He could serve it to her in bed after he’d made love to her for hours.
Merde.
He shook himself.
Lex nibbled on the corner of her lip. She was nervous about something.
He cupped her delicate jaw and tilted her face to his. “What’s wrong, Lex?”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I can’t face going back to the house right now. Eddie’s wonderful and I know she’ll let me stay, but how do I sleep under her roof knowing my own father doesn’t want me there? What does that say about me?”
Fuck.
Voo sighed. Learning your parents were people with real fucking flaws was one of the hardest lessons on this Earth. He’d learned at an early age exactly who his parents were. Coming to grips with what it meant about him and who he really was? He was still figuring that shit out.
“Besides, he’s been so happy with Eddie—I don’t want to cause problems right before they get married. Watching Carol and Brad fight over me was enough. If Cap and Eddie start, I’m gonna start taking it personal.”
“Eddie and Cap make their own choices, including what to argue about. Couples who live together, fight together. Trust me. You need to worry more about yourself, girl.” He nudged her chin with his thumb. “You carry too much weight on your small shoulders.”
“I’ve got nowhere to put it down.” A tear rolled down her cheek.
“C’mon, bébé. You’re cryin’ on a barstool. It’s time to go.”
“Where? Where am I gonna go?” She hiccupped. “How will I get there?”
“You’re coming home with me. I’ll fix you some bomb-ass hash browns, and you can sleep it off at my place. Things will look brighter in the morning, I promise.”
She stilled, then wiped her eyes in the careful way women do to smudge their makeup the right direction. A sure sign of a true Southern lady. He hid a smile.
She looked up at him. “Okay. I’d like that.”
What the fuck did I just do?
He’d offered to cook for her and let her sleep in his bed. How much temptation could a man take? He seemed to be determined to push himself to the breaking point.
And how sweet breaking would be…. Stop it!
“Get yourself together. I’ll have Angel drop your wheels off at Hades.”
Her smile was watery. “I appreciate you being there for me, Voo. You never let me down.”
“I never will.” He should’ve thrown salt over his shoulder right then.
Voo scooped her up and carried her to his bike. He set Lex do
wn in the gravel, swallowing hard as he stared into her upturned face.
If she were any other woman, he’d have backed her against his bike’s saddle. He’d wrap his hands around the mercilessly sweet swell of her ass and lift her on board, pushing between her thighs. He’d trace her fluttering pulse with the tip of his tongue, whispering his heated demand for her panties in exchange for riding his bike. Then he’d stand back and watch her blush as she wriggled out of those tight jeans under the flickering light of the parking lot.
His cock hardened painfully, balls aching, and he sank his teeth into his lower lip to stifle a groan.
Lex nibbled her lip. He wondered if she was thinking about the same thing.
“So, uh, we’re riding on your bike, huh?”
She was.
The knowledge sent another surge of lust through his groin. Fisting his hands so he wouldn’t reach for her, he forced a slow smile. “Don’t worry. Cap would have my ass if I pinned your panties to the bar. Besides, there’s an exception in the rulebook for hellspawn.”
Her shoulders slumped. Looking down, she kicked at the loose gravel in the lot.
Sorry, ma petite. A man could only take so much temptation.
And the rest of the ride home with her thighs bracketing his and her supple breasts pressed into his back would send him for a cold shower before he could even dream of making breakfast.
He climbed on his bike and settled her behind him with efficient movements. Linking her arms around his waist, he tried not to drown in her honeysuckle scent.
Bon Dieu, be with me.
Chapter Eight
Tucked behind Hades, Voo’s two-bedroom bungalow wasn’t too fancy, but Lex had seemed impressed anyway. He’d apologized for the tiny bathroom when he gave her fresh towels for the shower, but she reassured him it was “charming”. She’d twirled in the center of his living room as if taking it all in.
“I’d give anything for a place like this,” she’d whispered sadly. He’d pretended not to hear, not to imagine what it’d be like to come home to her.
His kitchen, on the other hand, was a thing of beauty, and he’d beamed with pride as he showed it off. He had marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, and a long farmhouse table. Copper pans hung over his stovetop and drying herbs dangled from the exposed rafters. It was his favorite mix of industrial and home. Sitting across from Lex in his favorite room in the world filled Voo with contentment. It felt all too comfortable.
