CONTROL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Blackened Souls MC)

by Naomi West

  “What can I say? I like my toys.”

  They worked for another few minutes in silence before Deion spoke again, from under the truck. “Ought to go for a ride soon. Maybe next weekend. Up into Three Sisters.”

  “What for?”

  “What d’you mean? Just to ride.” Deion sounded surprised.

  “Not a bad idea,” Pistol agreed. “Who do we take?”

  “Ford, if he wants to come. Anyone who wants to come, really.” He paused. “Or it could be just you and me.”

  Man, he and Deion hadn’t gone off on one of their rides together in a couple of years. The Blackened Souls had gotten busy with local mission, and they’d let the more innocent aspects of the club fall by the wayside.

  “Let’s do it,” Pistol said. “We can leave the others a note.”

  Deion rolled out from under the truck and grinned. “Ran off together into the sunset.”

  “So long, suckers.”

  “We’ll send you a postcard.”

  Deion got up just as a baby blue Ford Camaro — 2004 or 2005, by the look of it — pulled up. Peggy-Patty got in. Pistol strained to see the driver but couldn’t around Peggy-Patty’s big blond curls. But as Peggy-Patty shifted forward, Pistol caught the briefest glimpse of long, dark hair.

  Deion barked twice. Pistol whipped him in the arm with a greasy rag.

  The Camaro pulled away.

  Chapter Two

  “So this horn dog,” Deion said, jerking his thumb at Pistol. “He’s mackin’ on this chick who’s like forty, right?”

  Pistol choked with laughter as he swigged his beer. “She’s not forty.” He wiped his mouth.

  “And I mean, yeah, she looks great. Tits out to here.” Deion gestured. “But he’s so hard up, he’s goin’ cougar hunting now.”

  Ford, the Blackened Souls’ Vice President, laughed so hard that beer nearly shot out of his nose. He slapped the seat of the booth. “Man, you’re a wild son of a bitch, ain’t you?” Ford was short, lean, and hungry looking. He seemed to exist in a perpetual fighter’s crouch. Ugly mug — scarred to hell from a knife fight when he was twenty — but actually a pretty cool guy. Little, needy for Pistol’s taste. The Souls all joked that Ford could nag and cling like a woman. Pistol preferred riding with Deion, who, for all that he gave Pistol a hard time, was loyal as hell, and as even-tempered as a tattooed biker could be expected to be.

  Pistol shrugged, trying for his usual cocky grin. “She’s got a set on her.”

  Kong shifted, looking unimpressed. He was built like his namesake — a hulking, hunched-shouldered, broad-armed man who was gruff but docile most of the time, yet he wouldn’t hesitate to beat his chest and roar when threatened. The furrows in his leathery brow deepened, and his dark eyes flashed. “My wife is fifty-five. Stunner. And you’re saying a forty-year-old woman’s too old to be a decent fuck?”

  “Naw!” Fordbacktracked quickly. “Too old forPistol, I mean.”

  Kong didn’t answer. But when Pistol glanced down, he saw the old man was drumming his fingers rapidly against his thigh, the way he used to do sometimes when Pistol was younger and getting on his nerves.

  Deion apparently noticed it too. “What’s goin’ on, old man? You been acting weird since yesterday.”

  Kong shook his head.

  “Turf wars? Need us to move something? Bust a few heads? What?”

  Kong gave a half sigh, half grunt. “There might be some missions in the coming days. Nothing to concern yourselves with now.”

  Pistol’s heart beat faster. Just the thought of a mission could do that to him. Roaring down the open highways with his brothers, guns strapped to him, speeding toward his target. Nothing in his head but the roar of a dozen or more bikes. Dust in his teeth and coating hiss throat, gnats going kamikaze against his forehead. The stares they got as they blazed through town, the horizon opening up to them on those occasions where they left civilization and headed out into the desert.

  Kong looked away from them. If he didn’t want to talk, it was best not to press him.

  Kong’s personal history was still something of a mystery to the Blackened Souls. Pistol gathered that the man had been raised in San Antonio. That he’d spent at least part of his youth on the streets. That he’d been married, once upon a time. There’d been a stay in prison, which Pedro never gave details about. The guy had scars — long, thin, ropy bands running from his upper chest along his right arm. Hell, all of ’em had scars, somewhere or another. But Kong’s and Ford’s were the most obvious.

  Pistol glanced at the door. He was antsy tonight too, for some reason. Normally he loved hanging out here at Hammered and Nailed, shooting the shit with the guys. But tonight, he was distracted. Maybe it was having Peggy or Patty or whatever the hell her name was show up at the shop. Maybe it was news of the new girl in town — Pistol hadn’t even gotten her name. Maybe it was the fact that something was definitely weird about Kong.

  “Pistol!” Deion snapped his fingers. “Earth to Pistol. We’re talkin’ about the bike Ford’s getting. Once he’s rich.”

  “When pigs fly, in other words,” Kong said drily. Everyone knew that whatever cut of the profits Ford got from club business, he spent it all on weed and porn subscriptions. And bells and whistles for his current bike, a scuffed up Yamaha that sounded like a dying cat when it started.

  Ford laughed. “Hey, I’m well on my way, all right? One more shakedown…”

  “What’re you getting?” Pistol asked.

  “Low rider S. Dark red. Silver trim.”

  Deion grinned, taking a gulp of beer. “You’ll look like you’re riding a giant candy cane.”

  “Hell no. They come in blue now. I’m gonna—” He stopped dead, gaze on the front of the door. “Ho-lyfuck.”

  Pistol turned. A woman had just walked into the bar. A young brunette, with pale, smooth skin and carefully shaped black brows. She had full lips, wide, dark eyes, and a hint of a flush in her cheeks visible even in the dim bar light. Her rich brown hair was twisted up and pinned, but a couple of long, dark curls spilled down and brushed her slim neck. And damn, if she wasn’t just Pistol’s type — short, but not too short, with curves in all the right places. She was wearing a high-cut, sleeveless burgundy dress that hugged her breasts and ass, and black strappy heels. That ass — she turned around anddamn, Pistol would’ve gone to his knees for that ass.

  She wasn’t that fake kind of beautiful like a lot of Texas girls, with their poofy, dyed blond hair and silicone tits. She was a natural beauty, with a gentle air about her that made Pistol forget how to speak. Probably a first.

  Deion whistled softly. “Pistol, there’s your new girl in town, I’m guessing.”

  Kong had turned in his seat and was eyeing the young woman almost suspiciously. He turned back to the group. “That’s Katrin Smith. Her father bought up the general goods store on DeWitt.”

  “You’re like some little old porch lady, you know,” Deion said. “Keepin’ tabs on everyone in town.”

  Kong grunted. “Can’t get a read on him.”

  “Who cares about a read onhim?” Fordasked. “I wanna readher all night long.”

  Deion snorted. “That makes no sense, dude.”

  “She’s a ten, man. No, fuck that — she’s like a fifteen.”

  Pistol was staring at Katrin again. She was up at the bar, scanning the beer list on the chalkboard.

  Deionclapped him on the shoulder. “What the hell? Why aren’t you up there buying her a drinkyesterday?”

  Pistol’s heart thudded.Seriously, what the hell?He’d never been fuckingnervous around a girl before. But Katrin Smith really was a fifteen. She didn’t ooze sexual energy like most of the girls Pistol went for. In fact, she seemed reserved — the kind of girl who was just waiting for someone to unleash her inner freak.

  He wanted to be that someone.

  He stood, sliding his chair back. “Gentlemen. Watch and learn.”

  He grinned with a confidence he didn’t quite fee
l and strode up to the bar, heart still pounding. Katrin was sitting now, talking animatedly with Rex, the bartender. Pistol leaned into the space beside her, placing his forearms on the bar.

  She didn’t even glance at him. Just kept talking to Rex.

  Huh?

  He waited patiently, like a good boy. When Rex finally turned to him, shooting him a dirty look, he ordered a beer and threw Katrin a smile. She offered a brief smile back, but didn’t drop her gaze to his chest or his crotch. Didn’t eye his tattoos or admire his muscled arms. She just turned her attention to the TV behind the bar.

  Well, this was new.

  “You need another beer?” he asked.

  “No thanks,” she said, without looking at him. Even her voice was hot. Low, a little smoky. Like she ought to be speaking to him over a long, silver cigarette holder.

  He noticed her little … purse? Was it still a purse if it was that tiny? She was a Reds fan, apparently. “You from Cincinnati?”

  “I was born there.”

  He edged in a little closer. “Yeah? Is Ohio as bad as they say?”

  “Who’s they?”

  He accepted his beer from Rex. “You know.They. They say you should get eight hours of sleep a night. They say eat your veggies. They say alcohol’s bad for you.”

  She finally turned to him. “Dothey also say you shouldn’t bother someone who’s trying to watch the game?” It wasn’t a cold rebuke, though. She sounded amused.

  Touché.

  “Actually, I’m pretty sure they say live with no regrets.” He took a swig of beer. “And I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t come talk to you.”

  She rolled her eyes, but laughed. “What a charmer.” He couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or not.

  “So who’s winning?” Baseball was the most boring-ass sport of all time, but he could pretend to be interested.

  She checked the screen again. “Orioles.”

  “You don’t sound happy about that.”

  She faced him and his stomach did a dive at the sparkle in those hazel eyes. “I don’t care much for either team.”

  “So why are you watching?”

  “To avoid talking to you.”

  He gave a surprised bark of laughter. “Why do you want to avoid talking to me?” He was aware of Rex still giving him the side-eye.

  “Because you look like trouble.” That sparkle again. She might be a quiet one, but she had a sense of humor. Good.

  “Haven’t seen you around before.”

  “I just moved here yesterday.”

  “Seriously?” he feigned surprise.

  “Seriously.”

  “How’s Rialto treating you so far?”

  She shrugged. “Not too bad.”

  He slid onto the stool next to her. “What do you do?”

  “For work or for pleasure?”

  “Both. Either.”

  “I’m here for school.” She glanced slightly to the side when she said it, and a hint of sadness came over her expression. Or maybe Pistol imagined it. Shit, he wasn’t great at emotional stuff. “I graduated from a pre-med program last spring. Now I’m gonna start a nursing program.”

  “Up at the University?”

  “Yeah. Classes start in a month. Crazy, right? Haven’t even unpacked our boxes, and he’s already set up shop, and I’m enrolled in school.”

  “You must be tired.”Looking for a little stress relief? He bit his tongue before he actually said it. She wasn’t the kind of girl he could go full throttle with, not right away.

  “I’m all right.”

  You’re more than all right.

  He glanced round as the bar door opened — Kong was leaving. It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise. The prez rarely hung out drinking with the whippersnappers for long. Except that a quick glance back at his table conformed Kong had barely touched his beer. Ford and Deion were laughing at something on Ford’s phone. They didn’t seem concerned. Pistol let it go.

  Katrin asked, “Are your friends missing you?”

  His attention snapped back to her. He grinned and purposely shifted so that the arm closest to her flexed. “You tryin’ to get rid of me?”

  “Maybe.” She gentled the tease with another smile.

  Damn. A man might do just about anything for that smile. “Most people find me charming, you know.”

  She took a good look at him for the first time. “I’ll bet they do.”

  He could feel something between them, something electric and crackling. Could smell her shampoo, the slightest hint of perfume, and something else, something indefinable that made him lust in a way he never had before.

  She took a sip of her drink and leaned a little closer. God, he wanted to bury a hand in that thick, dark hair, kiss the crook of her pale shoulder until her head tipped back and she sighed. A predatory feeling rose within him. He had no interest in forcing her or wearing her down. But he wanted toseduce her. Wanted to see those hazel eyes lit with pure pleasure, wanted to see those full lips part to let out a helpless moan. Wanted to see that perfectly smooth skin shining with sweat, those flawlessly arched eyebrows knitting together as she whimpered his name and begged him to go deeper, harder, faster.

  Shit. He had it worse than bad for this girl.

  “That your bike out there?” she asked, with a nod toward the door. The front tire of Pistol’s Cruiser was just visible through the glass.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “It looks big, loud, and dirty.”

  “Like me?”

  “Like you,” she confirmed. Her gaze fell on the tattoo on his right bicep. A skeleton, trailing fire from its skull, riding a flaming motorcycle through a cavernous heart. A curling banner draped across the heart read: BROTHERHOOD. She looked suddenly less sure of herself. The smile was gone.

  He shifted. “I ain’t so bad when you get to know me.”

  “I never said big, loud, and dirty was bad.” She offered another smile, this one closed-lipped, demure. His chest clenched.

  “You like bikes?” he asked, feeling dumber than a cow patty.

  “I do, actually.”

  “You ride?”

  She shook her head, a little wistful. “My dad won’t let me.”

  “Won’tletyou? How oldare you?” One look at her expression and he knew he’d fucked up. “Sorry. Just…”

  “I’m twenty-three,” she said, tone suddenly cool, almost defensive. “But my dad and I are close. We’ve had to rely on each other ever since…” She trailed off, shaking her head. Clearly, she didn’t want to get into it. “I respect him,” she finished firmly.

  “Sure.” Pistolnodded. “Me and my old man were close too.”Before he went and drank himself stupid and put his truck through a guardrail and left me alone with the raving bitch from hell. No point in coming out with the whole sob story now. This was already way too deep for a barstool conversation with a chick he was hoping to bang.

  She seemed to warm again. “Does your family live around here?”

  “Been here for generations.”

  She looked at him with those penetrating hazel eyes, and he was reminded once more that she wasn’t just any girl. He got the feeling she was looking right into his soul, if he had one.

  “So if you could ride,” he said. “You would?”

  She gazed evenly at him, her chin tilted slightly. “You’re damn right I would.”

  That electricity between them grew unbearably hot and forceful. He could almost feel her soft lips brushing his, hear her moan as he teased her with his tongue, kissing her harder and deeper until they were both fucking lost in it. He tensed, his dick hardening.

  He was just about to go for it — just about to ask if she wanted to go riding, when suddenly Deion was at his side.

  “Pistol?”

  Jesus Fucking Christ. Cockblock much?

  Except Deion wouldn’t be here, speaking in that low, urgent tone, unless it was … urgent.

  “What is it?” Pistol tr
ied to keep the irritation from his tone.

  Deion dropped his voice so low Pistol could barely hear it. “Kong’s got a mission for us.”

  “What?”

  “Unsanctioned drug deal outside of town. Near the border. He wants us to stake it out. Run ’em off.”

  “Aw hell.”

  “He’s already back at the clubhouse. We gotta go now.”