by Harper Riley
When I wake up, I’m curled up next to him. My head on his chest, his arm around my shoulder, my hand on his stomach. It’s such a comfortable place to be, so natural. It makes me feel butterflies in my stomach.
He wakes up soon after, seeming as surprised as I am that we found each other in the night, connected in this way. He stays like this for a long while, but finally gets up with a heavy sigh, heading to the bathroom. I follow him and we do normal morning things. Brush our teeth. Wash our faces.
As we wander out into the bedroom, the chemistry between us is totally charged. We never did find any clothing after our long talk. It’s odd to feel totally comfortable in front of someone like this.
“I’m going to have Dexter take you home today,” he says. “I can trust him not to open his mouth. He’ll slip you out of here and deliver you close to your father’s club headquarters. You can try and do damage control before this gets further out of control.”
“I don’t want to go back,” I say. “I told you. If I go, he’ll have me married to Kit by next Tuesday.”
“That’s not my problem,” I say. “My problem is whether I can trust you to do what I’m asking. You could easily blab about our problems here and make us look weak. It makes me nervous, but I think it’s the best shot we’ve got to ending this without more bloodshed.”
“Is this really about not trusting me?” I ask.
He turns away, rubs his beard, turns back to look at me. His stare is so penetrating that I feel it in every inch of my skin. I can’t believe it doesn’t make people explode or something.
“I feel ... possessive of you. I don’t want to give you back.”
I’m shocked speechless.
“I need you to know that I feel ... something. It’s so hard for me. When Giselle died ... I thought I’d never feel that again. The energy. And I do, which sucks, because it’s the last thing I want or need in my life right now. And because here is not the right place for you. I can’t live every day worried about you, worried for your safety. I have to let you go so you will be safe, even if it means putting you back under your father’s thumb. I’m sorry for it, but it’s for the best.”
I have two choices. Cry or kiss him. So I choose the latter, stepping forward, standing on my tiptoes, putting my hands on his bearded cheeks, and putting my mouth on his. He takes no time responding, parting his lips, welcoming my tongue.
He picks me up and walks me to the bed, where we kiss sweetly, our bodies connected from mouth to toes. At some point, I make room for him to touch me, to move his mouth down to my breasts. He works his magic, the feel of his tongue and teeth on my nipples enough to send a charge to my core, and when his fingers graze my already-wet pussy lips, I nearly come right then and there.
How is it that this man can make me feel like this? Like every part of my body is made to be with him? I can’t get enough of him touching me, kissing me. I want him deeper inside me, so I spread my legs wide, encouraging his fingers inside.
“This is what you do to me,” I whisper against his neck as his fingers work in and out. “This is real.”
The buildup is almost as good as the payoff. I can feel myself on the edge, the abyss looking so tantalizing. I just need to let myself fall, but I want him to fall along with me.
Grisham, gorgeous specimen of man, enters me, his cock filling me so fully, so perfectly. His movements are fluid and soft, as his mouth finds mine once again. If I ever had a dream of what lovemaking was, this would be it. It’s soft and quiet and meaningful and passionate.
“Let it go, baby,” he whispers. “Let me feel you come for me.”
“Come along with me,” I say, kissing him.
He picks up the pace and meets my gaze. We stay locked on each other as he moves, my hips rising to meet every thrust. As I begin to tighten around him, my vision goes fuzzy. When he comes, he says my name and it feels worshipful. His eyes are open, his face hungry and determined. I take a picture of this with my mind. This masculine, muscular body, the way his hair is sexy and messy. His full mouth and blue eyes. That wondrous dark tattoo on his arm.
God, I’d give anything to stay here, right here, forever.
Chapter 34 - Grisham
As Tanzie pulls on jeans and a T-shirt, I just sit and watch. It’s like my future flashes before my eyes and I can imagine her, sleepy in the morning, fumbling for coffee, pulling on whatever she can find. I can see her making lunch for my daughter, putting her on the school bus. All of these little, normal interactions seemed so far out of reach when I lost Giselle. And here, I can see them again, if only circumstances were different.
She’s already said what she needs to say. She doesn’t agree with this decision, but it’s not her call to make. She wasn’t supposed to be in my world. If not for stupid Spree, I wouldn’t have known she existed. She’s idealistic, of course, and tells me we’d have found each other anyway. Maybe she’s right, but it’s doesn’t matter. This is for the best.
We head to my office and I call for Dexter. I trust him more than anyone else in this club right now.
“I need you to take Tanzie back inside Blazing Pistons territory. Get as close to the house as you can without getting yourself shot,” I say.
“Are you sure?” he asks, looking at me, then to Tanzie, who is pointedly looking out the window, her face set in an unhappy mask.
“I’m sure. Just get her out of here unseen.”
Dexter looks surprised but doesn’t comment. He just offers Tanzie his arm and leads her out. She doesn’t look back at me.
I will never, ever admit how badly I wish she would.
Chapter 35 - Tanzie
I ride along on the back of Dexter’s bike, the leather of his kutte cool against my cheek as I tuck away from the wind. He lets me off about a block from Grave Robber’s headquarters, looking around nervously, worried we were noticed.
“This neighborhood would be shocked not to hear motorcycles,” I say. “I don’t think anyone would notice one in the neighborhood. If I had to guess, they’d be looking for more than one. You should be able to get well out of here before I walk through those gates.”
“Are you ... going to be okay?” he asks. “For the record, I think he’s making the wrong call on this one.”
I feel a lump form in my throat. “Thanks,” I say, swallowing it back, forcing myself not to cry. “I care about him, but I know why he sent me away.”
“Grisham has been through a lot and he’s got really careful instincts because of it,” he says. “That doesn’t mean he can’t make mistakes.
“I know.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you again. Anna looks forward to it, too,” he answers.
Dexter holds out his fist for a bump, which I give him, then starts up his bike and roars away. I give him a thirty-second head start before marching my way back to the house. At the gate, the two guards’ eyes go wide at the sight of me. Alone, looking no worse for the wear, marching up on foot.
I’m practically pushed in through the gates as the guys call to alert my father while also peering around the street to look for ambush. I take in the sight of this house, just as big as Grisham’, white sided with four big pillars and a large front porch. It’s stately, this home, though older and less modern than the Barking Angels’ headquarters. I’ve never given much thought to how different the properties are, how much thought might have gone into creating an environment for each club. It occurs to me that I really was naïve, really didn’t know a thing about club business, other than gossip. I feel like my eyes have been opened by this experience, in both good and bad ways.
I walk up to the house, unsurprised when both my father and Kit come barreling out, both of them shouting orders and questions and causing a more chaotic scene than is really necessary. I wave my hands, both in greeting and to tell them to calm down. I try to smile, but I’m sure it comes out as more of a grimace. I don’t feel relief to be here, not at all, and the sensation of loss is pulling me down.
My
dad pulls me into a fierce hug.
“Holy shit, Tanzie,” he says. “Did you escape? How the fuck are you here right now?”
“Grisham sent me,” I say. “He let me go.”
He pushes me away, his hands still on my shoulders. “He let you go?” He looks me up and down. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I say. “Not at all. He was a good host.”
“He,” my dad says. “David Grisham. The dead man who stole my baby.”
“He didn’t steal me,” I say. “Let’s go inside and talk, okay?”
He agrees and we make our way inside, all the way to the back of the house where his office is situated. It’s a dark room with wood-paneled walls and bookshelves all around. Again, the differences are stark. Grisham’s office is light and uncluttered, with modern furniture and a large window out to the pool area.
He tells me to sit, so I take a seat on the worn leather couch while he sits behind his huge mahogany desk, ever the boss. Kit stands at his side, dutiful like a dog. There’s a very big part of me that wants to make a snarky comment, but I keep it to myself.
They start talking about mounting a full-scale war on Grisham’ turf. Kit talks about getting extra weapons, making sure the guys are in Kevlar vests. My father wants two formations, one to start the assault, the second to sweep in and secure the territory. He wants to burn the house down to the ground. He wants Grisham’s blood. He wants his land and his men and his deals. He rages on and on, and Kit agrees with him, doesn’t bother trying to calm him down.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “Does anyone care what I think?” I ask tersely.
My father’s head pops up from where he looks at a territory map on his desk.
“I mean,” I say with a shrug, “I was the one who was there.”
“Yes,” Drew says, “You’re right. You know the house. Tell us what’s going on over there. Anything we can use to level those pieces of garbage.”
“No,” I say. “No, I told you. It wasn’t him. And they’re not garbage. Apart from the guy who took me. His second is a guy named Spree. He took me without Grisham’ consent. He was the only one—ever—who hurt me. The rest of the brotherhood there was perfect.”
“I don’t believe that,” Kit says. He turns to my dad. “Sir, I watched her be forced to ... perform ... on him. In front of at least a dozen men.”
“Maybe I liked it,” I say, jutting my chin out.
Kit scoffs at me. “No one likes being held by the hair and made to perform oral sex on a virtual stranger in front of a dozen other men. Unless they’re a whore, and we know you’re not a whore, right, Tanzie?”
His one makes my blood boil. I stand up and point a finger at him. “You better shut the fuck up, Kit. You don’t know a thing about what’s between us.”
Kit laughs out loud. “Oh, great. You’ve gotten fucked by the great David Grisham. Now your little heart thinks it’s in love. Jesus, Tanzie, could you get more middle school?
“Oh, so now I’m middle school? You fucking pig,” I sneer. “You can’t wait to get your hands on me, because you’re a big pervert. I’m telling you that Grisham had nothing to do with my kidnapping. He was good to me. He sent me back because he wants to find a nonviolent truce.”
“All right,” Drew says, exasperated. “Stop arguing. You’re making my head hurt. Tanzie, Kit is right, you’re not thinking straight. Just because a man pays attention to you doesn’t mean he’s a good man.”
My father is a handsome but rugged-looking man, with graying, light brown hair and a handlebar moustache. He’s tall, leanly muscled, and has a permanent darkness to his skin from riding in the sun for so long. I always thought the world of him, thought he was the most handsome man in the world, the way little girls often do. I see him now and realize that while I’ll always be a daddy’s girl, I also need to fight for another person I care about: Grisham.
“Daddy,” I say, “I am twenty-three years old. I did not go to Barking Angels of my own choice, but I did get involved with Grisham of my own free will. He left me alone and didn’t make me do a single thing I didn’t want to do. He is a good man, and I think you know it. He sent me home to talk to you, to try to figure things out without bloodshed. That means something.”
“David Grisham does not claim things and then just give them back. He works hard to secure what he wants and he doesn’t let it go once he has it,” my father says. “If he claimed you, then there was a reason for it.”
“He didn’t claim me,” I say, pleading. “Dad. His second took me without his knowledge. He did not order it. He did not have a plan for it. What happened between us was not a formal claiming.”
“Then why wouldn’t he just return you right away?” Kit asks. “Why make a big show when we came to the property?”
“Because you snuck onto his property like a common criminal,” I say. “You know better than anyone that perception is reality. He couldn’t just let you traipse in and case the joint. He needed to make a statement to you and to his men.”
“Oh, okay,” Kit laughs, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure you learned so much about how clubs run just by being someone’s whore for a week.”
“Knock it off,” Drew says with a cutting glare. “I think you’d better remember your place here before you use language like that against my only blood,” he says sharply.
Kit, to his credit, has the decency to look ashamed.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “He’s just jealous. Talk about a middle schooler. Calling me names because he can’t get my attention any other way.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t matter,” Drew says. “A rival club came onto my territory, to my ex-wife’s property, and took my daughter against her will. This is enough for full-blown war in and of itself. I had every right to storm the gates and shoot everyone in sight—that would have been an acceptable act of retaliation, one fellow clubs would have supported. Add to it that one of my men is dead now.”
“I understand, but ...”
“But nothin’,” he says, silencing me. “Tanzie, you are my only daughter. I’ve done all I could to keep you safe. This is your club, your home, and it’s well within my rights to hold responsible the club that took you. I don’t care if it was the VP or the lowest man on the totem pole who took you—the leader of a club is responsible for the actions of all of his men.”
I cross my arms over my chest, sulking. These two do not listen to women, and they clearly think I’m still a child, to boot. “This is bullshit,” I say.
“Stop pouting,” my father scolds. “We just want to keep you safe and keep our club territory intact.”
“I don’t need you to keep me safe,” I say.
“Clearly you do,” Kit answers for my father. “Which is why I’ve asked your father to expedite our marriage. If I marry you, you’ll be even further protected by the club. And I’ll be able to personally manage your security and welfare.”
I gasp and look up at my dad, who nods in agreement. “No,” I say, my stomach sick. “No way. I don’t consent to that.”
“Consent is irrelevant,” Kit says. “This is for your own good.”
Think. Think. Think.
“Well,” I say, pursing my lips, “You can’t marry someone who’s already married.”
You could hear a pin drop in this joint. The two men are totally shocked, which is great because I needed something to keep them from further planning ways to fuck up my life.
“What do you mean, you’re already married?” Drew asks.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Grisham and I ... we clicked. We love each other and we eloped the other day. So, you see, I can’t belong to you or Kit or the Blazing Pistons anymore. I already belong to someone, and that’s Grisham. I already have a club, and that’s the Barking Angels.”
Both my father and his second in command are silent. The tension in the room is thick enough to touch. Finally, Drew says, “Tanzie, please go to your room while Kit and I talk through th
is new information. I’ll come talk to you when we’ve decided what to do.”
I want to argue, to tell him I’m not a baby anymore, that I have the right to make my own choices and that I choose Grisham. I feel like walking right back out the door. But I don’t. Drew is still my father. Still a decent man. I owe him at least the respect of hearing him out, so I make the trek to my quarters, adjacent to his, and I wait.
Chapter 36 - Grisham
My office is quiet now. It was just ten minutes ago when I had six members turn in their colors while they told me what a clusterfuck this club has become. I can’t say I blame them. I can’t pinpoint exactly when I started to realize just how toxic my VP has become and just how absent I have been, but here we are now and I’m six members down.
Hank, the guy who questioned me outside when Spree came back shot, was the first in the door. He said, “This club ain’t never been for me. I thought seeing something new start from the ground would be exciting, but it’s like workin’ in a fuckin’ bank. Surrounded by spoils and unable to touch any of it.”
“You get paid handsomely on every deal,” I say. “But I don’t want you here if you think that acting like a professional is so fucking hard. Turn in your colors.”
He did, and then five other guys followed him. None of the others were quite as vocal, but they all expressed similar sentiments. They want action and excitement. This club is just business.
Thing is, I’ve been in clubs that had drama all the time. Fighting, fucking, shooting, stealing—my father died in one of those clubs and I didn’t want that. I wanted to run something that we could hold up and be proud of, something others might follow. But now I see that might not be possible.
Frankly, I’m half tempted to light a match, get on my bike, and let it all go. Get my kid and drive east, start something new. Something legit. However, I know I’ve got many more guys who feel as I do, I know it ... that’s why I need to stay and see this through.
