by A. J. Downey
“It was as far away and as filled with water as I could get from that crusted, dried, piece of shit country,” he said and his expression grew steelier, not less. I nodded slowly. I didn’t have much love for Iraq or Afghanistan either, especially as a woman.
“What about you? Where do you call home?” he asked.
“Nowhere, I have some shit in storage, but that isn’t ‘home’,” I answered.
“Why, you runnin’?” he asked. I gave him a smile.
“Not running.”
“Not runnin’?” Now it really seemed as if I had piqued his curiosity but plates were set in front of us and music started up and started up loud. I quirked an eyebrow at him and took a bite of my pasta which was creamy and delicious and loaded with all manner of seafood.
We ate in silence, or at least we didn’t talk. There was no point in shouting over the music pounding through the bar. It was a Friday or Saturday night by the looks of it, and the party started here as soon as the sun went down. We finished our food and Cutter threw down some rumpled bills on the bar. The ‘tender whisked them away, nodded, and Cutter slipped off his stool. I followed suit and like earlier he held out his arm, the perfect gentleman.
I slipped my arm through his and he led me out front, out of the blaring noise and onto a lightly breezed sidewalk. He turned left, away from my B&B and towards the marina. We walked in silence for a time.
“Believe it’s your turn to ask,” he said after the bass thump from the bar was a distant pulsing beat behind us, echoing in time with my slightly elevated pulse.
“Why’d you start your gang?” I asked. Cutter choked on a laugh and patted my hand where it rested in the crook of his arm, then left his hand covering my own. His fingers were warm, calloused and rough against my skin, but I didn’t mind. I liked a man who worked for a living and the texture of Cutter’s hands had a lot to say about that.
“The Kraken MC isn’t a gang, Sweetheart. It’s a club. A motorcycle club, or MC for short,” he explained. My face felt hot and I had to bite my lips together to stop myself from apologizing. He’d sounded genuinely offended for a second there. Cutter chuckled.
“Apology accepted,” he said simply and I felt my face crush down into a frown. I did not like how he’d seemingly just plucked that from my mind.
“Anyways, I didn’t start it. I just took over. Original guy who started it was a dude named Mac. Ran it completely different, when he died of cancer, I sort of stepped up.”
“Sorry, that sucks he died.”
“Naw, Mac was a bastard if there ever was one. This club was an anemic, half-assed version of what a club should be when I took over. Took me a couple of years but I got everyone on board with my way of thinking. It’s pretty much the brotherhood it was always meant to be now.”
“I’m not gonna lie, I have no idea how it all works,” I told him and he nodded.
“I suppose I could tell you a few things,” he said and we turned into the marina’s parking lot. He paused, steps faltering.
“The thing about MC’s that you have to understand, is that one, we don’t play by civilian rules. We make our own rules – form a bond with our brothers more profound than blood. It goes beyond honor and loyalty. I’d do anything for my brothers and they’d do anything for me. It’s the way it works.” He started us walking again and we passed the harbormaster’s office.
“A lot like the bond you share with your unit,” I said nodding.
“Stronger than even that, Sweetheart. I may be willing to die for the next man in my unit, but I’m willing to do a lot worse for one of my brothers. You get me?” he asked. He took me down one of the docks and he stopped short in front of one of the sailboats.
“I don’t think I understand that one, I mean what could be worse than dying for the next man?” I searched his face which shut down some as he searched mine. The clouds of whatever he was thinking obscured his true intentions before he flashed that blinding panty melting smile of his. I knew that was all I was going to get for now, still, some insight was better than no insight at all and he’d certainly given me food for thought.
“Here we are, home sweet home,” he said with a grand gesture at what must have been his boat. No idea if it was his home too. I let him help me up even though I didn’t need it. It was kind of nice that he was a gentleman, not only given that he was a biker, but more because you just didn’t find many these days. Granted, I was a tough chick and as women’s lib and progressive as they came, but there was something… charming about being treated like a lady by a man who I was almost certain knew what I was capable of. Most guys did it out of habit, or to be condescending, but for Cutter, well, it felt like a natural extension of who he was and I liked that. I liked that probably way too much.
There were a couple of canvas chairs, a rich wood to match the decking of the sailboat. The backs and seats to the chairs were sun bleached like I would imagine the sails to be, though with the sails in their downed state, there was no really telling. A small table sat between the two chairs by the white painted chain railing and the set up looked both intimate and homey.
“Have a seat, Sweetheart. You like red or white?” he asked.
I took a seat and placed my white, rhinestone studded purse by my feet, careful not to make it clunk and give away the presence of the concealed handgun inside.
“White, please?”
“Girl after my own heart, back in a sec.”
Cutter disappeared down below deck and I closed my eyes. It was still warm out here, a slight breeze coming in off the water. I listened to it lap against the hull of the boat, the distant thrum and bump of bar music from the Boulevard and the metallic clinging sound and rustle and snap of the flags in the breeze was a soothing thing that I could probably get used to if I ever got to settle down.
I had to hand it to Cutter, this wasn’t a bad way to live. Peaceful in fact. I opened my eyes when I heard his tread on the deck, appreciative that he wasn’t trying to be quiet or sneak up on me. He set two wine glasses on the small table and poured a generous amount in each, setting the bottle between them. He sat in the deck chair opposite mine and handed me a glass, picking up his own. He clicked his against mine and we sipped the cool, sweet wine.
“What are we toasting to?” I asked after savoring the selection.
“New beginnings,” he suggested with a wink.
“How do you mean?”
He let out a gusty sigh of satisfaction after taking another sip of his wine and set the glass on the little table. He leaned forward in his seat, forearms on his knees and looked at me hard.
“You always gotta be so suspicious?” he asked.
“You always have to avoid the question?” I countered. He chuckled darkly and reached down, gently cupping the heel of one of my feet with his hand. He gave the barest of tugs and I thought about it for a second and relented. More to prove the point that I did know how to trust… well okay, more that I still had one leg and two arms to beat his ass with if he decided to do something I didn’t like. He placed the heel of my foot on top of his thigh and picked at the laces holding my gladiator heels on.
I watched him fascinated as he took off my shoe but fascination quickly turned to contentment when he pressed his thumb into the arch of my foot, his warm, rough fingers wrapping around the instep. He nodded carefully at my reaction and caught my eyes with his. We stared at one another across a chasm of silence for several heartbeats, each looking the other over, wordlessly sousing each other out.
“You need to relax, Sweetheart,” his voice was low and soothing and sent a little thrill of desire down my spine. I shivered and his smile grew into a shit eating grin. I raised my eyebrows and wordlessly took another sip of my wine. It was sweet and crisp and really damned good. Cutter had taste. I looked at the bottle, some kind of Riesling.
“Good stuff,” I complimented.
“Thanks,” he kneaded my foot just a little more insistently and I couldn’t help it, my eyes slipped shut
and a tiny sigh of contentment escaped me. I didn’t leave my eyes closed for long. Cutter was hot, he had the bad boy thing down perfect and I enjoyed looking. Not like he minded it. I watched as he took another mouthful of wine, savoring it before he swallowed.
“Gimme the other one, Baby.”
I scoffed a laugh, “I’m not your Baby,” but I did what he asked and gave him the other foot. The deck was smooth beneath my polished toes. He gave the other foot the same careful consideration and I had to admit, sitting here like this, with him, was nice. We’d stopped speaking and it was odd, we didn’t have to. The silence was a comfortable one of two grown ass adults taking a chill at the end of a long day. For a minute it was easy to pretend that we weren’t at odds. That he wasn’t hiding something from me and I wasn’t hiding anything from him.
“You know, I thought you were a looker before but when you’re relaxed and not scowling all the time, you’re a real knock out,” he took a drink and winked at me over his glass. I raised an eyebrow, amused and gave him the finger. He laughed.
We sat in companionable silence for a long time. When Cutter had finished kneading that foot he brought the other up so both of them rested on his knee and we just relaxed under the star spangled sky of the warm Florida night, sipping our wine and just being comfortable. God it would be nice if I could get more of this in my life.
Too soon I finished the last sip of my wine and sighed out, setting the glass on the little table. Cutter lifted the bottle and gave me a considering look.
“No thanks,” I murmured and gathered my purse. He wasn’t going to tell me anything else and as much as my pussy, and inner wanton sex goddess disagreed with me on this, I wasn’t going to fuck him, so I needed to head back to my room and get some sleep. Get a fresh start in the am.
I dropped my feet to the deck and Cutter stood with me. He caught me around my waist, hauling me forward and closing the foot or so gap between us. My hands went unbidden to the swell of his arms and I looked up at him questioningly.
“That, was a good first date,” he murmured.
“You aren’t getting any,” I stated flatly.
“Just want my good night kiss,” he breathed and his breath was warm against my lips. Oh Hell yes! My inner wanton sex fiend screamed while my brain tried valiantly to dissuade me with, not a good idea Hope! Not a good idea! But it was too late. Cutters lips touched mine, soft, so soft; so gentle. A query really, giving me ample time to shove him away, but I couldn’t.
When I didn’t shove him away he hauled me up tighter against his body and I deepened the kiss, flicking my tongue against his lower lip. I just had to know, had to have a taste to see if he tasted as phenomenal as I thought he would and god, yes he did! Salty and masculine, Cutter tasted of the ocean, like a fresh storm front moving in off the water. Crisp, like the wine we’d just drunk but also, just of him. I couldn’t help the needy groan that escaped me as I practically melted in his embrace. Damn it. So not fair.
His hand swept up my body and buried itself in the back of my hair, pressing me to him and I was okay with that. Somehow my hands had done some wandering of their own, cupping his bearded cheeks, thumbs stroking lightly across his cheekbones. He growled into my mouth, a deep, satisfied, and completely base sound that loosened things in my chest and made me, yes me, Hope Elizabeth Andrews, ever loving badass extraordinaire, swoon. I swooned. I motherfucking sighed out into his mouth and sagged slightly into his chest like some kind of goddamn Disney princess… and it felt so fucking good to do it.
I lost myself completely for a minute there and couldn’t even blame the wine. I mean I’d only had one glass and no one could accuse me of being a light weight, no sir. Cutter’s hand, the one that wasn’t buried in my hair, drifted to the swell of my hip and pulled me just that slightest bit closer. He was so warm, his energy still and controlled as his lips moved over mine and our tongues twisted and explored. His kiss was sweet and demanding at the same time and there was something that was a complete turn on about that. I pressed my thighs together and raised myself up onto my toes before dropping flat footed to the deck and rocking back, gasping for air.
Cutter’s hands were suddenly both in my hair, gently pushing it back from my face. He smiled like a teenage boy who’d just talked the head cheerleader into the backseat of his car. He smoothed his thumbs along my jaw, his fingertips slipping out of my hairline to rest on either side of my throat, my pulse jumping beneath them. He looked over my face as if committing this moment, my expression, to the deepest recesses of his memory, cementing it there for the rest of his life. He shuddered as if waking from a dream and his smile softened to something more serious.
“Not every man out here is out to dick you over, Sweetheart. I’m not out to dick you over… sometimes you just gotta have a little faith,” his smile slipped when I recoiled in horror.
Shit. He knew something! He knew something about Tonya Anon, the last person to see my sister Faith! And here I was, forgetting that he knew something and wouldn’t tell me! So what the fuck was I doing playing tonsil hockey with the son of a bitch on his boat?
I snarled in disgust, more at myself than at him and leapt for the dock. I landed lightly on my feet, as I’d been trained to do, and strode away, and I kept walking until I hit beach, and I kept walking after that. Striding across the sand and away from Anders Cutter Martin. A man who was too easily making me forget myself and what was at stake.
Faith. That was the big fucking problem and why I was here. I didn’t have Faith anymore. My sister was gone and I didn’t know where, or how, or what’d happened and I wasn’t giving up until I knew all of those things and then some and had taken it out on every last motherfucker who’d had a hand in her disappearance.
God damn it, I had been stupid back there. I picked up my pace, the sand soft beneath my feet… Fuck! I’d forgotten my favorite heels, just fucking perfect.
Chapter 6
Cutter
“What did I say?” I called to Hope’s retreating back but she was striding away like a fire had been lit under her shapely ass. I blinked and shook my head, marveling. That was not the reaction I typically got from women when I turned on the charm. I replayed what I’d said in my head over and over again.
“Not every man out here is out to dick you over, Sweetheart. I’m not out to dick you over… sometimes you just gotta have a little faith…”
I didn’t get it. Something about it had her reeling back like I’d backhanded her straight in the mouth.
I couldn’t help but smile, her mouth had been red, lips swollen from my kiss, from my teeth sinking gently into that lush bottom lip of hers. She’d tasted like candy and damn did I want more of that. I reached into my shorts and stroked my erection. What? It wasn’t like there was anyone out here to watch me and if they were, fuck, that made them the pervert not me. I wrapped my hand around the neck of the wine bottle and drank straight from it.
I really wanted to know what had set her off but there wasn’t any way to find out tonight. I went to head below decks and tripped. Hope’s fancy strappy sandal heels. I smiled. Well at least I had an excuse to see her again. I wondered vaguely if she was going to come back for them. I brought them down below with me, just in case it decided to rain, and dropped them in front of the couch.
With a heavy sigh I finished off the wine and tossed the empty bottle in the recycling under the galley’s small sink. With a stretch I trudged to the bow and dropped my shorts. I hung my cut on the hook inside the door and crawled up into bed. I lay on my back, hands under my head, haunted by calculating deep brown eyes and Hope’s lovely smile, when she gave it. The feel of her lips on mine, tongues touching; her fingertips on my face… Aw fuck.
I took my cock in hand and started jerking it. There wasn’t any way sleep was gonna happen until I did something about it. The girl was phenomenal, there was no denying that. She had looks but didn’t rely on them and I liked that about her. She had brains under that beauty and it’d been a long da
mned time since fireworks had gone off with a kiss but man, she could kiss.
I was a steel rod in my fist and I couldn’t help it. I closed my eyes and fantasized about her. About those long toned legs around my hips. I wanted to fuck little Miss Hope against the nearest wall. Drive into her until she came around my cock and spilled all of her secrets and told me her story. Just the thought of her head tipped back, the long line of her lovely throat bared to me as feral sounds poured from it… Jesus. I came in record time. Fuck I wanted to know what she had going on.
I lay panting, staring at the ceiling of my bunk, listening to the water lap against the hull, listening to my breathing slow, and the blood rush in my ears and didn’t feel a damned bit better for the orgasm I’d just had.
“Fuck,” I muttered into the dark. How did I let this bitch under my skin? Better question was, how was I going to play this? Keep my club safe and get the girl. I wasn’t looking to fall in love or nothing. Last time I’d pulled that shit had ended in disaster for me. I turned my head and looked at the photo of Li’l Bit. Her green eyes vacant and distant, deep lines of sorrow etched into her face as she stared off into space. Fucking tragic and beautiful at the same time. The kind of image that reaches into your chest and squeezes your heart. I felt a pang of wistful regret and with a sigh got up to clean myself up before my come had a chance to drip onto the sheets.
I’d waited, been there for her and during the height of her grief she’d come to me for comfort and like the selfish asshole I am, I took full advantage of the situation. I know for a fact Reave didn’t hold it against me. I mean fuck, he was gone six months or more. I knew that L’il Bit felt a whole lot of guilt for it though, and that part is what made me feel guilty. Not that I’d done it, but that she bore the burden of it. I switched on a cold shower and stepped under the spray, rinsing off, lathering up and rinsing off again.
I didn’t think I would ever let myself get over it. I still wasn’t over it, over her… but I had to admit, Hope was providing a nice distraction for the moment. Only thing she was missing was the damsel in distress routine. I loved being the big damn hero but at the same time, it was refreshing that Hope was solid and didn’t need saving. In fact she didn’t have a single damned vulnerability that I could see. I shut off the tap and dried off on the way back to bed.
