by Harper Riley
As I walk down the hall, I’m tempted to head out, to go to Cary’s place. I’d give anything to curl up with my daughter, to hear her breathing. But I can’t. Spree is too volatile, and the situation with Tanzie and the Blazing Pistons is likely to hit a crescendo soon.
I pull out my phone as I near the bedroom, calling Cary’s number. When she answers, I have to tell her I can’t come home tonight. Or any time soon, for that matter. It’s not safe. Drew will now know Tanzie is here. He’ll look for any way to get me and that includes taking my daughter, the way he thinks I’ve taken his.
Chapter 19 - Tanzie
He bangs through the door, throws his kutte and T-shirt to the floor and stomps into the bathroom, starting the shower and pulling the door so that it’s only slightly ajar. No acknowledgement of me whatsoever as I lie in one of his T-shirts on the bed, reading another nasty romance novel.
I tiptoe to the door, hoping to figure out where he went and what he did after leaving me in the dining room alone. It surprised me so much to be left without a guard. I almost walked straight out the front door.
It’s just that ... Kit wants me to marry him. He’s twice my age and not at all my type. It weirds me out. If I go back, he’ll discipline me for having allowed myself to become Grisham’ whore. I’ve seen it, when girls have left the club to go to another, only to come back begging for forgiveness or protection.
And the thought of him on top of me, his cock in me ... it turns my stomach.
I listen as Grisham apologizes to someone on the other end of the phone. From the soft tone of his voice, I gather it’s his daughter and it breaks my heart to know she expects him home, but he won’t come.
After he hangs up, I give it a minute and then poke my head in, only to find him sitting on the edge of the tub, head in his hands. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability he’s showing me. The fact that he told me about his daughter at all is huge, and now he’s allowing me to see him like this?
I fall to my knees in front of him, not caring that I’m naked under the soft, white T-shirt I stole from his drawer. I put my hands on his cheeks and he looks at me with suspicious, narrowed eyes. Fuck, this guy is beautiful.
“You think you come off as this bad ass, this horrible person,” I say. “You’re not a bad person.”
He pulls away from my touch, stands, takes control once more. “You don’t know fuck all about me, little girl.”
“I’m not a little girl,” I say.
He examines his knuckles, swollen and bloody again, and shakes out his hands. I take the opportunity to touch his chiseled chest, running my hands all over him. He puts his hands over mine and stops me.
“Knock it off,” he warns, his voice gruff.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because you don’t want this,” he says. “This place is a fucking shit show and someone is going to die before things settle down again. Might be your dad. Might be me.”
“He’s a reasonable man,” I say. “Let me tell him you’ve been kind to me.”
“Kind?” he scoffs.
“You could have raped me. You didn’t. You could have hurt me. You didn’t. That’s more than many others would do,” I say, feeling naïve for saying it.
He uses it against me. “You think because I didn’t beat you or stick my cock in you ... that counts as kindness? What the fuck’s wrong with your meter?”
“It’s just that ...”
He makes a disgruntled noise and says, “Get some sleep.”
He pulls off his boots and socks and follows with his pants. I nearly salivate over the sight of his naked body. Into the shower he goes, slamming the glass door and closing his eyes as he dips under the water.
“Fuck this,” I say under my breath, pulling open the door and stepping inside with him. He watches as the water soaks the shirt, becoming transparent, exposing the outline of my breasts all the way down to below my navel. I run my fingertips over my nipples and they pebble for me.
“This is my choice,” I say.
“Well, it’s not mine,” he says roughly. “Get out.”
I pull the shirt over my head and stand with my hands on my hips. “No.”
He spins me around so he’s got my back against his abdomen again. He seems to like to do this when he’s trying to project power. It’s like looking at my face humanizes me more and forces him to think of me as a woman and not an object.
I push away from him, out of his grasp, spinning back around. I grab his cock, huge and erect, and start massaging it. He growls, low and menacing.
He tries to ignore me as I play, but I can see the lust in his eyes. I step closer, still rubbing his dick, and allow my breasts to rub against his chest. He looks down at me and I take the opportunity to stand on tiptoes, my lips meeting his.
“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t kiss me.”
“Fuck you,” I say, putting my arms around his neck, forcing my lips to his again, biting at his bottom lip.
He’s over it then, picking me up, our slick bodies meeting, his huge cock between my legs as he shuts off the water and kicks the door open. Soaking wet, he carries me to the bed and tosses me down, his mouth meeting mine so roughly that our teeth knock together.
I wiggle and squirm against him, heat rising in my belly. Our chests press together— there’s no space between us as we kiss.
When he pulls away, it’s only to move down, his teeth finding my taut nipples. “These are perfect,” he says, alternating between biting and sucking, sending shockwaves down to my core. I arch toward him, trying desperately to connect my aching pussy with his thick cock. It’s like metal there between my legs and I want it.
I realize I’m begging, whimpering. “Please, please,” I cry out. “Please fuck me. Please.”
He places his thumb on my clit and I cry out, the sensation so good but not enough. He dips a finger between my swollen folds, finding my wet hole, pushing inside.
It’s so tight, just one finger. I could come like this. He pushes slowly at first, then faster, and I feel myself building, building, building.
When he tries to fit another finger, though, he hits a barrier and reality dawns on him. His eyes go wide and he withdraws, taking a step back, leaving me flushed and wanting and frustrated.
I meet his surprised eyes and we stare at each other for a few heartbeats.
“You’ve never?” he asks.
I shake my head, blushing with embarrassment. “No.”
He hisses and walks toward the closet, punching a hole in the wall. “Fuck,” he spits as he pulls clothing from his closet and dresses. He throws a flannel shirt at me. “Cover yourself.”
I sit up. “No.”
He’s back in front of my before I can blink, his hand on my throat as he forces me down to the bed again. “You don’t get to say no to me.”
“You can’t scare me,” I say, not even trying to fight back.
He sticks his finger back inside me without preamble, his other hand still ready to choke me to death. His thumb finds my clit again and he starts a punishing rhythm against my pussy. As he fucks me with his finger, he stares into my eyes, anger and frustration pushing his eyebrows together. His nostrils flare and he wears a deep scowl.
“You think I’m some nice guy?” he says. “I’m not. I’m the only thing between you and something worse, though.”
My hips thrust to meet his violence, an orgasm nearly ready to rip me in two. Sensing it, he picks up the pace, lowering his face to just inches from mine. But just as I hit the peak, he withdraws. Lets go of my throat. Backs away.
Grisham points a finger at me. “I say what happens here.”
And then he’s gone again.
Chapter 20 - Grisham
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Tanzie Williams is a fucking virgin. I want to take a sword to Spree’s neck and sever his head. I want to chain him to a post and let the vultures pick his skin from his bones.
I will fucking kill that fucking piece of shit. He was going to have me claim a v
irgin, rape a virgin.
Except, it wouldn’t be rape now, would it? No, because she wants me. She’s tried every trick in the book to get me to fuck her. And I want to. I want that sweet, bare little cunt on my dick more than I’ve ever wanted much of anything in my life.
If I take her, though ...
I don’t need this. I don’t need a woman to complicate my life. I need Spree gone. I need territory expanded. I need deals to go the fucking way they’re supposed to. I do not need a goddamned waif in my bed or worse, in my head.
I pound my fists into the punching bag in the club’s gym. My hands hurt from the two beatings I gave Spree’s face but I don’t care. The only thing that’s going to help right now is violence.
Dexter wanders in, eyebrows raised as he takes in the amount of energy I’m channeling into the punching bag.
“Everything okay, boss?” he asks.
“You tell me,” I say, not looking at him.
“The guys are sort of feeling antsy,” he says. “Spree’s been taking cuts of the merchandise. Saying a lot of stuff about how we need to get dirtier, play the game better. Some of the guys are starting to rally behind him.”
Just what I need. Great. Time to be the Big Boss.
“Last I checked, this was my club,” I growl, turning toward him. I must look like a real bastard because he puts his hands up to placate me. “Spread the word that no one makes a decision without my permission. I don’t care if you’re choosing between pancakes and breakfast cereal, you ask me first. You want to screw a girl? Ask me first. Need to piss? Better get permission. Got it?”
“Yeah, okay, boss,” he says.
“Meeting in two nights; all members need to be present. Spread the word.”
Dexter confirms and takes his cue to leave. I keep punching the bag until I literally can’t anymore. I think about sleeping in one of the guest rooms, but fuck, this is my club. My property. Fuck if that girl is going to keep me from my own bed. It’s bad enough I can’t go be with my daughter; I won’t be forced out of my space here, too.
Of course, the obvious question is, why I don’t find her a bedroom of her own while she’s here? Why do I want her in my bed, her blonde hair splayed across my pillow, her scent permeating my sheets?
I bust in and find her sound asleep, curled up on the chaise with one of Giselle’s dumb romance books in her lap. She’s in my flannel shirt and her long legs are smooth and perfect. Almost ... I almost reach out and run a hand up one shapely calf, up to her outer thigh. Almost, but I stop myself, instead covering her with a blanket and heading to get a shower.
Of course, the thought of that girl is all up in my head. My dick is hard and the more I try not to think about the feel of her pussy around my fingers, the tightening that indicated just how ready she was to burst, the more I want her.
It’s a rare day when I’m forced to rub one out, but I do. I stand there sweating, working my cock like nobody’s business, looking at this sleeping beauty like a fucking peeping Tom. She stretches in her sleep and it’s so sexy that I come, spraying my gunk into my hand.
Could I have gone and found any number of club girls to fuck tonight? Yes. They’d have been ready and willing. I could have had two or three if I’d been in the mood. But here I am, behaving like some frustrated teen, whacking off in the shadows, wishing only for the beautiful virgin sleeping in my bed.
It’s pathetic and it pisses me off, and I stew over it for hours, barely finding any sleep at all.
Chapter 21 - Tanzie
I wake up covered in a soft blanket. I must have fallen asleep reading, but I know I didn’t have a blanket when I sat down.
Grisham is asleep in the bed, sprawled across the mattress, big body taking up the whole thing. He’s got one arm splayed wide and one up, forearm over his eyes. I take in the muscles of his chest, the hair there. I ache to run my fingers through his thick, close-trimmed beard and his wavy, dark hair. His cheekbones could cut someone, and his lips are ... oh god, so good.
I let out a wanting little groan and he stirs. He doesn’t open his eyes, just says, “Hey, baby, come to bed,” in a voice thick with sleep. He turns to his side and pats the bed, then starts to snore softly.
It nearly undoes me, seeing him look like this. I’m not stupid enough to think he knows he’s talking to me. It’s obvious he’s thinking of someone else, but yet, I want so badly to be the woman he’s beckoning to bed. I want to crawl into the protective shell his body is making. I shouldn’t want it. He’s my captor, after all. But I do.
I dig through the bag of clothing and find a whole ensemble of running clothes. I dress and pull my hair into a high ponytail, brush my teeth, wash my face, and shave my legs and pits at the side of the tub. Wishful thinking, maybe, that I’d need to be smooth in case someone touches me.
By the time I finish, I find Grisham awake, thumbing through my book by the window. I race over and try to grab it out of his hands. He holds it high over his head and his eyes spark with mischief.
“I hope you’re not considering this training for the real thing?” he says.
I blush. “Shut up.”
“Good comeback.” Gesturing toward the adjacent wall, he says, “There’s coffee.”
I groan and do a weird little gallop thing over to the machine, which conveniently slides out of a cabinet in the wall. Fucking genius. As my coffee brews, I turn to Grisham, who has pulled on a long-sleeve T-shirt bearing the club’s name and logo, along with a pair of worn jeans that make his ass look delicious.
He catches me looking and purses his lips to one side. “Good view?”
“Mmm,” I grunt noncommittally with a one-shoulder shrug.
“So listen, Tanzie,” he says. “I’m going to give you the run of the property today. It’s not fair to keep you locked up here. There’s a gym on the east end. You saw the dining room, and the kitchen’s just across the hall. There’s a pool out back. The garage is further past that, down the path. Feel free to wander, but if you try to leave, the guys will just bring you right back.”
This is the most I’ve ever heard him speak. And he’s saying words that indicate some freedom and trust. I could jump for joy.
“That’s awesome,” I say. “Thank you so much.”
He pushes his lips together. It’s not a smile, but it’s not a frown either. It’s, like, an acknowledgement that he’s made me happy. I’ll take it, but I decide in that moment that it’s my new mission in life to see him smile.
I wonder how often that ever happens?
Chapter 22 - Grisham
I promised to take Shannon shopping for back-to-school, but I’ve had to cancel. She’s asked when she can see me again, and I can’t give an answer. This means are were tears, and then a tongue lashing from my sister, who tells me for the umpteenth time that I need to leave the club and get into something less dangerous. She tells me she didn’t sign up to raise my kid for me and while she loves Shannon, she feels that Shannon needs her dad right now.
After that fun little interaction, I spend the morning in my office, power-drinking coffee and sorting through various reports from my guys. Dexter pops in, asking if I’m feeling any better.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I grunt in response. “I wasn’t sick.”
“You just seemed ... heightened ... last night. Well, for a while now, really. But especially last night,” he says.
“I’m fine, but I’m not kidding when I say this bullshit side business has to stop,” I answer. “Jackson reported that three guys had a whole side deal with the Juarez family last month. They literally finished our pickup, then walked away to do another deal. What the fuck is that?”
“Spree’s got a few guys running extras. Pills, mostly, some coke. They get enough to sell in a month and split the profit,” Dexter says. “The guys think you’re okay with it.”
“Why the fuck would they think that?” I snap.
“Spree’s got ’em convinced this is the way things are in a club,” Dexter
says, shrugging his skinny shoulders. “I wouldn’t know, as I never been in one but this.”
I eyeball this guy. He doesn’t look like much and is shit in a fight, but he’s loyal. I need more of him, more guys willing to question things, willing to tell me when things aren’t right, or when he has a bad feeling about something.
I don’t need guys doing side deals, taking extra cuts, and treating club property like it’s their own. For one, it makes me look like a weak leader, like I don’t know what the fuck my guys are doing. It makes our partners think they can pull the wool over my eyes, cheat me on business. Second, once a faction of idiots decides to start a little side gig, others follow. And then I’ve got a bunch of assholes thinking they can challenge me for leadership, or territory, or whatever.
It hasn’t always been like this. There was a time when we operated like a well-oiled machine. We rode, we partied, we made deals, we expanded our reach. We made a shit-ton of money. All of us benefited.
Now, since Spree’s gone off the range, things have descended into chaos. And I need to get that shit back in order before I lose everything.
Chapter 23 - Tanzie
I decide to just walk the property first, just to get a lay of the land. I wander the living quarters, finding probably ten bedrooms, some locked and others wide open, beds made and tidy, like hotel rooms awaiting guests. I hear sexual escapades behind several doors and find myself shocked that this is going on so early in the morning.
Maybe I’m just naïve. I mean, I never spent much time wandering my dad’s club headquarters at all, mainly because he forbade it. I have more freedom here, as a prisoner, than I had there. Of course, I also wasn’t there that much. I would occasionally visit with him, usually for formal functions—honoring someone’s retirement, funeral send-offs, holidays. I always had to stay where he could see me, even after I turned eighteen.
