by Violet Blaze
“Sure you do,” I say as I start to move around him and he puts a hand out to grab my shoulder. “Sully, I don't have time for games this morning.”
“Before you head out to see your new boyfriend”—Sully spits the word out like it's poison—“you might want to think about the fact that the FBI is downstairs.”
“Agent Shelley?” I ask and Sully shakes his head, leaning in to whisper in my ear.
“They flew in two different agents last night. This is big, Lyric. Huge. This … it could change everything.” I jerk my arm away and look up at him, not at all intimidated by his height. My brother's been throwing that around for years; I'm immune to it now.
“You may want to reconsider your accusatory tone, Sully. It's not like I asked to be kidnapped last night.”
His face softens a little and he glances away.
“I know that,” he says and then opens his mouth like he's got something else to say. He closes it before glancing at me. “Just be careful down there, okay? You might be a brat, and you might have terrible taste in men, but I don't want anything to happen to you, kid.”
I purse my lips a little, but nod. Sully's worried about me, I can see that—even if he is a dick.
“I'll be okay,” I tell him, but I can only imagine what happens now. I shot several people dead yesterday, one of whom was a woman in a grocery store parking lot. Yes, it was self-defense, but I need to tread very, very carefully here.
I hit the bottom of the stairs feeling underdressed and unprepared, my heart pounding in my chest as I move down the hallway and glance into the formal living room on my left.
My father's sitting across from two men in suits who stand as soon as they see me.
“Lyric,” Philip says, smiling softly. “Are you feeling okay, honey?” I wish his look was genuine, that he actually cared about me, was actually worried when he heard what I'd been through. Instead, all I see is that politician's mask fixed firmly in place. It's demoralizing as hell.
“I'm feeling … alright,” I start as the two men take me in with austere facial expressions. Did Agent Shelley suddenly remember something last night? About me? About Royal? I shut down the panic hard and step into the room with every ounce of confidence I can muster, lifting my hand up for the men to shake. I am Lyric Lenore Rentz and I can do this.
Some of last night's confidence seems to have faded away along with my adrenaline. But I'm trying here; I'm really trying. I should've stayed at the clubhouse. But then, how would that have looked when the FBI came looking for me?
“I take it Agent Shelley and Agent Garza are doing well?” The FBI agents exchange a look before the dark haired one on the left answers, dropping his hand back to his side after a nice, firm shake. They're here to test my mettle, these guys.
“They're both stable,” he says, as if even that small amount of information is confidential. “We've read both your and Agent Shelley's statements from last night, but we have a few other questions we'd like to go over with you if you're feeling up to it.”
As in, make time. Now.
In this sort of situation, it's best to be as accommodating as possible, give in on the little things in case there's a big one that needs to be fought for.
I nod my head and take the cup of coffee my mom brings me from the direction of the kitchen. It's a little cold when I take it and I find myself raising an eyebrow. She must've been eavesdropping behind the doors to the informal dining room. Yep. This house has two dining rooms. It's a little ridiculous.
I take a seat next to my feather and lift my chin.
“Tell me what you need to know.”
As soon as the officers leave, I call a cab and sneak out the back door while my parents argue in the kitchen. My father thinks he can spin last night for his own benefit, use my “bravery” to show that even the mayor's family is willing to fight tooth and nail to protect this city. My mother thinks we should try to sweep this all under the rug and pretend it never happened.
Apparently I get no say in the matter.
Let them argue all they want about it; I'm out of here.
Good thing I'm wearing the riding boots Royal gave me—I managed to clean most of the blood off last night—because I have to tromp through the woods behind my parents' place like I used to do as a kid. The media storm's managed to make its way over here, camping outside the mayor's house for any chance at a photo or comment.
Screw them.
I make my way through the trees of my neighbors' backyards, glad that there are no fences here, and end up on the street running perpendicular to my parents', about a mile down from the house.
I have the cabbie meet me at the bus stop and then give him Royal's address, praying that he's actually home. There was no time to call earlier, first with the FBI agents and then with my covert little operation to get out of the house unseen. Or maybe that's just an excuse and I'm still in shock and not thinking clearly?
“Where the fuck are you?”
I smile a little.
“In a cab. On my way to your place. Please tell me you're there.”
“Bloody hell, Pint-Size. I told you to call me when you got up, not when you were seated in a cab—alone and vulnerable. You're bloody lucky that I am here. I just got home.”
“You said bloody already. Might want to think of a different expletive.”
“Cheeky twat,” he says, but the words sound forced, like he's trying too hard to be cheerful. “How close are you?”
“About five minutes out,” I say and Royal pauses.
“I'm hanging up. I need to call the boys and take a quick shower. I'll leave the front door unlocked.”
I start to ask if that's really a good idea, but Royal's already hung up and I'm left with a faint smile dusting my lips, a warm flush in my cheeks. When I glance down, I startle a little to find the ring Royal gave me still sitting on my finger. At this point, that night feels like a dream.
He asked me to marry him; I said yes. Sort of.
I must be clinically insane.
I reach down with my right hand and run my thumb across the ruby in the center, rubbing the jewel as I try to convince myself that it isn't a completely terrible idea for me to be going over to Royal's again. As far as either of us know, the cops or the FBI could be watching. Then again, it's not like it's a secret that we're dating. Honestly, at this point, it's more likely the cartel that's the threat.
I sigh and lean my head back against the seat of the cab.
What. A. Mess.
But I'll sort it out; I know I will. I just haven't exactly figured out how …
When the car pulls up outside of Royal's place, my heart swells to mammoth proportions, pressing against my rib cage and knocking the breath from my lungs. Knowing that he's inside … it's almost too much. Last night, when I watched him walk out the door of the dorm room, I felt okay. Relieved, even, that we were both alive. Now, the adrenaline's gone and I just feel … tender and wanting.
I pay the driver and climb out, forcing myself to walk slowly across the lawn. Part of me wants to jog, but wouldn't that just be ridiculous? My breath comes in shallow pants as I pause in front of the door and shove some of my freshly shorn hair back; I'm still getting used to it brushing against my face like that.
Here goes nothing.
My fingers curl around the handle and I push my way inside to two happy dogs—sorry, wolves—their tails swaying low and gentle, heads ducked in respect and submission. They pad up to me and lick my hands, rub their big bodies against my legs like cats. I laugh and toss my purse aside so I can bend down and pet them, holding their massive heads in my hands and letting them lick my cheeks and chin.
“Where's Royal, huh?” I ask them as I dig my fingers into their thick coats and stand up, giving both Alloy and Lake a last pat on the top of the head.
“He's right here, Pint-Size,” Royal says, and my eyes snap up to find him waiting at the end of the hallway in a towel, his dark hair wet and dripping into his eyes, his tat
toos bright and wet with droplets of warm water. Steam rises from his skin as he pads toward me and then just drops the towel to the floor.
The dogs must sense something because they scatter, moving out of the way for their master as he walks up to me and pauses close. Too close.
I feel my breath and my sense knocked completely loose as I look up, up, up at Royal McBride's handsome face. The intensity in his brown eyes is staggering, and I find myself leaning against the door to brace myself.
“Hello, Lyric,” he says, and I bite my lower lip at the low, sultry warmth of his voice.
“I think I prefer Pint-Size,” I whisper back as Royal lifts a hand up and cups the side of my face. The heat of his fingers sliding along my jaw is too intense for words, taking that frantic thundering of my heart and slowing it down until I feel like I'm having a heart attack.
Royal smirks at me, his full lips curving through the dark stubble on his face.
“Do you now? When did that happen?”
“I must be crazy,” I say as he raises an eyebrow and gives me a dirty look.
“Must be. You lost the plot or something, Pint-Size? The hell were you thinking, sneaking out like that? I sent two of my boys over there with you last night for a reason.”
“I brought a gun,” I say, lifting a handgun from my purse. It's a Glock, my Glock actually, the one I lent Sully at the hospital. Either he switched it out for one of my father's guns and left it in the study, or he's a complete idiot and is walking around unarmed. Not sure which. Unfortunately, the illegal Ruger that Royal lent me got left in the Sea Salt parking lot. I wonder how I'll be explaining that one.
“Well, I'm sure a few nine mil rounds will put a stop to the cartel,” Royal says dryly, running his thumb across my lower lip. I bite down gently on it, drawing a deep growl from his throat. “You can't mess around with this, Pint-Size, not even for a second.”
“You think I'm that stupid?” I ask, but the words have no bite. “I just needed to see you again. I couldn't wait.” Royal exhales sharply as my eyes sneak down to find his cock, wet and thick and proud and ready for me. My turn to exhale as I shove the Glock back into my purse. “Besides, no way was there any cartel action going down over at my parents' house; the place is a media circus.”
Royal stiffens, muscles going taut. I'm not sure what he's thinking, but I don't know that I care right now. I reach a hand out and put my palm against the warmth of his chest.
“Royal,” I start, but then his lips obliterate the rest of my words, mouth hot and insistent against mine. Before I know it, he's unbuttoning my jeans and sliding his hand between my legs. I didn't exactly have any underwear at my parents' place, so he's able to slip a finger right in, drawing a long, embarrassing groan from my throat. “Shit, Royal,” I whisper, but my lips are firmly pressed against his.
Heat sears between us as he pushes his warm, wet body against mine, fucking me nice and slow with one hand while the other climbs up under my shirt and finds my breast, pushing the lacy cup out of his way so he can grab me with rough fingers.
My own hand drops between us to find his cock.
“Didn't you get enough of me last night?” I mumble against Royal's mouth as he grins at me and then moans when I squeeze my fingers tightly around him. “And here I was, thinking you were worried for my safety.”
“Listen up, Pint-Size,” he purrs as he flicks a thumb across my clit and I feel my legs start to give out. “I've never been so scared in all of my goddamn life. Now would you please try to stop getting kidnapped?”
“I'll strongly consider it,” I murmur against the slick press of his tongue, gasping and curling the fingers of my free hand around those strong, tattooed shoulders as he inserts a second finger. Royal curves his grip so that he hits just the right spot, drawing breathy rasps from my throat that I can't seem to hold back. My attempts to pleasure him at the same time fall short, and by the time he inserts a third finger, I release his cock, grabbing onto his other shoulder to keep myself standing upright.
“Marry me, Pint-Size,” he whispers against my neck, leaning over me, caging me in against the door and making me wonder why I'd want to be anywhere else but here. There's always that tiny, little speck of logic that manages to survive the physical torture of having Royal McBride's body pressed up against mine. That little speck … she's gasping for breath right now. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I echo, because he's teasing that spot just inside my vagina that's liable to make my eyes cross if I let them. My fingers dig even harder into his skin and he returns the favor by grazing my neck with his mouth.
“Come down to the courthouse with me and let's do it.” Royal pulls back just enough to look into my face. “Marry me.”
When he says it like that, looking into my eyes like that, while his fingers are doing that, I start to come undone. When I lean forward for a kiss, he pulls back, just enough that I can feel his breath feather across my mouth but can't touch him.
“Say yes,” he tells me, “and I'll give you whatever you want.” His right hand fucks me slowly while his left kneads the sensitive flesh of my breast, breaking down all those barriers again with just his tattooed hands. “Don't say no for now or maybe or might, Pint-Size. Even if it's a lie, just say yes. I need that today.”
There are a million reasons to say no, and only one to say yes—and he's standing right here in front of me.
The few seconds of indecision make him growl as he slicks his thumb across my clit and my hips thrust involuntarily into his hands.
“Okay,” I whisper, but it's not enough. Royal fucks me harder, dropping his left hand down to my waist to help me stay upright. “Yes.”
The word doesn't stop the assault of pleasure, only amplifies it as Royal fingers me to the edge of orgasm and pushes me panting and gasping over the edge.
When I start to collapse where I'm standing, he leans down and scoops me up with one hand around my waist, one behind my knees, carrying me bride style back to the bedroom.
We should probably stop and talk about this, about last night first … but, no. That's not exactly our style, is it? Royal and I just have to fuck first.
His hot hard body hovers above me for a minute after he lays me down on the mattress and gazes into my eyes. It's nice, to look at him eye to eye like this. I'm so much shorter than him that we don't get to do this as often as we should.
My hands come up and rest on either side of his stubbled face, the rough texture enticing further exploration as I slide my fingers into his wet hair. Behind the orange burn of lust in his brown eyes, I can see something else or rather—several somethings. Worry, fear, frustration. This situation that the club and the city are in, it's bad. I know that. I just don't know what to do about it.
“Make love to me?” I ask and I don't care how low and gentle my voice sounds. I've been through hell and back, and I handled it, but right now, I want someone else to take charge. Hold me. Care for me. Worry for me. I need that.
Royal grins at me again—it's what he does best after all—before sitting up and grabbing his cock, stroking himself with long even motions.
“How could I ever say no to that, love?” he asks before he starts to undress me with excruciating slowness, taking off my faded t-shirt and ill-fitting jeans like they're as enticing as my usual lingerie.
I feel much better when I'm naked, like the clothes were holding me back, but now, it's just me and Royal bare and open and together in his bed.
Our bed, maybe?
I am so going crazy. Note to self: get committed after this.
A tingling rush of nerves takes over me as Royal grabs my hand and rubs his thumb over the ring, bringing it to his lips for a kiss as he lays next to me like some sort of tattooed god. Droplets fall lazily down his muscles and sink into the navy dark fabric of his sheets. The whole room is warm with white steam from the shower, and it smells sharply of Royal's scent, that earth and leather smell.
“You should have your scent bottled an
d sold,” I tell him as he drops my hand and rests one of his large ones on my bare hip. “I think you'd make a fortune.” I'm whispering again, but I can't stop myself. The air just feels … heavy. Weighted. Fraught.
“You're bloody beautiful, Pint-Size,” he says as I look up into his face, watching as his grin falls away and then reaching up to rest my left hand against his chest, the ring catching the faint brush of gray light that seeps through the curtains. The smart decision, the logical one, would be to cut and run before anyone else finds out about this engagement and I lose my chances at a political career forever.
But the heart doesn't make choices based on logic.
No, the heart chooses a dangerous outlaw motorcycle club president based on something else. Call it love or lust, call it whatever you want, but it's too powerful to ignore, even for someone as levelheaded and rational as me.
“Do you ever feel like one? A real one, I mean?”
Royal cocks a brow at me.
“A real what?” I close my eyes and take a deep breath in through my nose before I open them again.
“Like a wolf. Because I sort of feel like one now, in here with you.” I gesture uselessly at the dark wood furnishings in the room. Distantly, I recognize the clicking sound of the dogs' nails on the wood floors, but none of that matters. In here like this, in the near dark of Royal's bedroom, it feels like we're in a den or something. Like we're mates about to … well, to mate. Is that weird? It's totally weird, isn't it? “I don't think I could leave if I tried,” I add as he leans over and puts his face in the crook of my neck and shoulder.
“Are you telling me you feel like an animal, Pint-Size? Because I could really get into that.”
I feel him smiling against my skin as I reach down and take a handful of his dark hair, pulling his face back up so I can look him in the eyes again. No matter how we do it, I won't get to look at him like this while we're making love.
“What I said before, about loving you. It's all true. And this,” I let go of his hair and wiggle my fingers, “it's a risk. A huge one. For both of us. But I want it, more than anything I've ever wanted before.”
