I lean over her so that she’s pinned against me. Her panicked breaths blow on my lips and I dig my fingers into her hair. “I’m not crazy.” A smile hitches up my face. “At least, not in the way you think I am. I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m sure as hell going to use you.”
“What do you mean?”
“The MC wants to please me, so that’ll be your job. Pleasing me.”
“I—don’t understand. This is about me giving you an alibi.”
Hatred rushes into my throat. “This is about becoming my wife. Maintaining the alibi is just one of your duties.”
“Maybe you should ask one of the others for this arrangement.”
“I won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m choosing you.”
Her nostrils flare. “You didn’t even talk to the others!”
“Do I look like I give a fuck about talking to some biker sluts?”
“They’re not sluts—”
“I don’t care. I hate them—I hate your whole fucking MC.”
The injustice of it all boils up again, burning my throat. I fucking hate them—hate Johnny. The Devils MC got the drop on Mike and beat him. He was barely speaking and then someone finished him off. The MC wasn’t involved. That nurse confirmed my suspicions.
“If you hate me then why go through with this?”
I feel the anger steaming off her skin. I lean in closer, even though she looks forbidding. Blood rushes to my head as I inhale the perfume of her skin, and I remember how it clung to me all the way home. Damn it, I’m getting hard just thinking about it. Fuck her. I tighten my fingers in her hair and crush my lips against hers, backing her against the desk. She opens her mouth in a gasp of surprise and I stick my tongue down the bitch’s throat. She clings to my jacket but suddenly releases her hands as though she’s been burned. I taste the mint in her mouth, but I want her to taste like me. I want to fucking defile this innocent biker girl.
You already did.
I pull back slightly. “I’ll hate you, but I’ll love fucking you.”
Beatrice makes a face and steps away from me. Her chest burns a bright red and her hair is frayed. How far can I push her?
“Does the president know I’ve already tasted the goods?”
I practically hear the slap coming, and I deserve it, so I let her hand rip across my face. Damn, she’s got an arm. She brings back her hand, and I’m distracted by how hot she looks when she’s pissed off. Her hair whirls around her head as she comes in for another one, but I catch her skinny wrist in my hand and yank her forward. The gasp she makes when her body bumps into my chest goes straight to my dick. I remember her gasping just like that, with her arms like a vise around my neck, her tits in my face.
Fuck.
She flinches when my mouth hovers over her skin.
“I expect to see some of that fire in the bedroom.”
“Go to hell!”
Then I let her go, laughing as she stumbles away from me to run back to her beloved clubhouse.
I am going to hell.
BEATRICE
What the hell is wrong with me?
I hit him. I slapped a made member of the Cravotta Crime Family—the family we’re desperately trying to woo, the one that could literally crush this entire MC if they wanted.
Yeah, I just totally insulted one of their members.
My boots make a hollow sound as I pace in my bedroom, catching glimpses of my panicked expression in the dirty mirror hanging above my vanity.
I knew who he was when I found him at that club, but the moment he scooped me in his arms and demanded a kiss from me, he stopped being the mobster I was supposed to marry. He was just a hot guy at the club, and I wanted to feel his lips all over me. Those dark eyes. God, I wanted him the moment he made eye contact with me. His hands were all over me, so possessive and confident. There was whiskey on his tongue and I shivered at his unnaturally low, gritty voice. It was almost as if I could feel his words inside me.
I completely lost my fucking head the moment he told me to kiss him. Who does that? Who grabs a stranger’s waist and demands that from them? He was irresistible. I just wanted to meet him before I agreed to sign away my life for a stranger.
In the coolness of my room, I wrap my arms around myself, trying not to imagine his hands stroking my body, his lips and tongue on my clit, his cock splitting me open and taking away what I saved for so long.
When they told me I might have to marry a made guy, I scouted him out. If I’m going to be married to some greaseball—probably for years—I should probably know what I’m getting myself into. Right?
I’m not the kind of girl who does one-night stands. Hell, I can count on my hand the number of times I’ve had sex. All my life I’ve been the good girl. Well, as close to good as I can get. Everything was for the MC. I waited and waited for Dad to find the right guy for me to marry. I waited for so long, and for what? So I could marry a man who hates me?
I’ll hate you, but I’ll love fucking you.
Unable to stand another second alone, I burst out of my room.
Someone has to know what I did—that I slapped the man and ruined the arrangement that was going to give us peace. Oh fuck. I am so goddamn stupid.
The door shuts, the sound echoing loudly. I step outside and walk down the hall, imagining eyes burning into the back of my head. Every creak I hear under my feet makes me cringe.
“Beatrice.”
Shit.
Jett’s voice rings out from a room that I almost walk past. It’s not empty—filled with a couple of his men, who look at me with something more than cold disgust. Hope.
“Come inside, I want to talk to you.”
The president’s cutting gaze is like a javelin thrown to my stomach.
He wants to talk to me. Oh God.
Holding in my breath, I give him a nod and walk into his office, trying not to flinch when the door closes behind me. Jett surveys me over his desk.
“It looks like the Italian chose you.”
The breath catches in my throat. “He—he did?”
“It hasn’t been confirmed yet. Johnny says he wants to think it over for a while.”
My fingernails bite into my palms as beads of sweat form on my skin. Jesus Christ, I can barely meet his gaze.
“This marriage is the best thing for the MC. I hope I don’t have to explain to you how important it is that everyone keeps their end of the bargain. We can’t afford another war with the Cravotta Family.”
“So long as everyone shuts their mouths, we’ll be fine,” says Frank, who gives me a long, searching look.
“How long will I have to be with him?”
Pity wrinkles his eyes. “Until the investigation is over.”
Well, fuck.
“If this marriage doesn’t work out, don’t bother coming back to the MC.”
My heart thuds against my chest. “What?”
“I have no place for someone who supports a traitor—”
“I am not Maya!”
Three stunned faces turn toward me as my voice explodes in the middle of the room.
Oh my God. I just yelled at the president.
My face slowly burns, and I can just imagine the red creeping up my neck.
“You let her get together with the boss of the family, which started all this mess.”
This again? How many times can I say that it wasn’t my fault?
“Jett, you have to believe me. I wanted nothing to do with it—I am loyal to the MC—I’ve spent my whole life here.” My eyes cloud over and burn. “Please don’t send me away. Everyone I care about is here.”
“Everyone? I’ve heard that you asked to visit Maya and her cock-sucking husband.”
“She’s my cousin! I just wanted—”
“No! You will not call her your cousin while you are under my roof. Good people died because your cousin wanted to fuck around with an Italian? That bitch is dead to me, and if you’re not careful
, you’ll join her.”
Tears slip down my cheeks, and I think again about how I utterly ruined my chances with Jack by slapping him. The president points at the door.
“Get the fuck out.”
His voice rings in my ears as I practically run out of his office, a sob catching in my throat as I wipe my eyes. I walk into the main room in the clubhouse, which has a few people. Dad’s not home, so I can’t talk to him about this.
The wires hanging from the walls look like the entrails of an insect. The speakers were ripped out the moment Jett became president. The constant music was a distraction. He wanted an MC that was more focused. Business, not pleasure. The stripper poles and floorboards were next to go. He replaced them with dark, polished wood that show the scuffs of everyone’s shoes.
I don’t recognize this place anymore.
Everywhere I go, unfriendly eyes follow me. The heaviness from their glares presses down on my shoulders, and I think about my cousin, Maya. A flurry of complicated memories and emotions pass through my head: Maya combing my hair, her scissors trimming the length, mixing a batch of bleach for highlights. That awful smell always reminds me of her, and that time when she burnt my hair when she left the foil in for too long. We laughed about it, years later.
Now she’s gone, and it’s so lonely without her.
I miss her. I miss the sound of her voice and the fun we used to have. None of us are allowed to see her. She’s a traitor—she fucked a man who was a barely tolerated enemy of the MC, the boss of the Cravotta Family. I heard through the grapevine that she had a baby boy. The seed of resentment that took root the moment she fled the MC grew into a bitter fruit. She left and I was stuck with the mess. I was dating Paul, and then he ditched me the moment the last president died. Everyone associated with Maya was shunned into nonexistence.
Fuck your dreams. Fuck what you want. Go see Jack now and beg for his forgiveness.
Or Jett just might have my throat cut.
* * *
I’ve never been outside by myself. Before yesterday I was completely naive to the world outside the MC. Just as fresh as a teenage kid, really.
I keep thinking that as I walk down the quiet suburban street, my footsteps sounding oddly loud as they echo down the strangely deserted sidewalk. I didn’t expect to find him here, among a row of identical brownstones. St. Leonard is notorious for its Mafia ties, so I guess it’s not that surprising. I just expected a little more glamor from a twenty-something party animal.
Whatever. Get in there and grovel.
Number 38.
I grab the metallic railing, which gives a rusty shriek as I climb the white steps to his apartment. For a moment my abdomen clenches and a vision of myself boarding a flight and flying far, far away grips me. My fist hammers the door.
The paralyzing seconds following my knock are the worst. Is he going to open the door and tell me to fuck off?
My insides feel like ice as I wait there as though held in suspension, but my thoughts keep racing. This is, bar none, the weirdest thing I’ve ever done. I’m here to beg a man who scares me and who I hardly know to marry me because I don’t feel safe in my own home. A man who doesn’t particularly make me feel safe.
I mean, Jesus.
Then a warped, dark shadow grows bigger in the glass, and the door creaks open to reveal a sliver of Jack. From what I can see of his face, he doesn’t look happy.
“Hi.” I don’t know what else to say. He just stares at me, the one eye I can see blinking. “Jack, I—I wanted to apologize. Can I come in?”
In seconds the door opens and his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist hard. He yanks me inside and slams the door shut, sending the bolts home. I’m crushed to his side as his hand gropes down my body, searching for weapons. His arm snakes around my neck, trapping me against his chest. Then he turns me around like I’m a doll and frisks me.
“Jesus!”
Finding nothing, he releases me roughly and steps back with a small smirk that makes my heart pound. “Please. Don’t pretend that your heart isn’t pounding because you’re excited that I touched you.”
He’s a fucking ass, even though he’s right. My heart is fit to burst, but that’s more about being surprised than having his hands all over me. I clutch my chest and feel my skin jumping in my palm. I can’t calm down, not with his heavy gaze all over me. A vivid memory of his hand squeezing my tits makes blood rush to my face. It’s only been a day since we fucked, and the soreness between my legs suddenly pounds with warmth. Heat instantly rises to my cheeks and he smirks at me, dimples creasing into his face. He changed out of his suit into sweatpants, where I can just see the not so subtle bump between his legs, and a white tank top that shows off how cut he is.
“You came to this neighborhood alone?”
I nod, my eyes adjusting themselves to the darkness of his home. There are cardboard boxes everywhere, but the house looks lived in already—as if it belonged to his parents. Old picture frames hang on walls, photos of two boys—one significantly older than the other. Jack follows my gaze and frowns, stepping in front of me as if to shield my view.
“Jack, I’m really sorry for—”
“Did you really come here to apologize?” He takes a giant step forward, jutting his hip into mine. Blood rushes to my head as his fingers sweep up my neck, and my back hits the door, temporarily knocking the air from my lungs.
“Or did you come here to have another round with this?”
He grabs himself, squeezing that mouthwatering bump.
My heart jumps in my chest when I notice the shape of him against his pants. My eyes linger there too long.
“See anything you like?”
I would like to slam my fist in your face.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
A shadow crosses his eyes, turning his grin into a predatory smirk. “Yes, you did. It’s okay. I like to think of it as foreplay.”
It’s hard to beg him when he acts like a complete jackass.
“I want this to work—I need this to work.”
His eyes flash. “Why?”
For a moment I’m stunned by the intensity in his gaze. “I have my reasons.”
“No,” he says with so much force that I flinch. “That’s not good enough.”
What am I supposed to say? If I tell him the truth about the MC’s threats, he won’t give a shit.
“Maybe I want to get out of the MC. Maybe I want this.”
“You want this?” he says with a bite of laughter. “You want to be my personal fuck-toy? Get down on your knees and suck my cock, then.”
My face burns again. I’m not going to get on my knees, asshole.
“I’ve been wanting to leave for years.”
Suddenly his demeanor changes tack with lightning speed from playful to terrifying. Harsh fingers dig in my hair and he suddenly yanks hard enough for tears to spring to my eyes.
“I call bullshit, sweetheart.”
Jesus.
“I’m not lying!”
He grits his teeth. “Say that again, and I’ll bend you over my knee.”
“What the hell did I ever do to you?”
Then his breath hisses over my throat like the edge of a knife. “You’re one of them.”
The outrage from his voice makes me want to cringe. I’ve never felt like such a coward. He’s an Italian, isn’t he? A fucking dago. That’s what they call them at the MC.
“I could say the same about you.”
“Except your MC ganged up on my brother and beat him until his legs stopped working.”
A cold feeling spreads inside my chest like ice.
“He was your brother?” I can barely hear my own voice.
“Yeah.”
I remember it now. My dad always tried to shelter me from what went on in the MC, but it was impossible after the mob crashed a truck into our gates with Julien’s body strapped to the hood. It was retaliation for what the MC did to a man in the mob—I never knew his name.
“He’s dead,” he says in a low voice, his energy dimmed.
I hate that I feel sorry for this bastard.
“What happened?”
Jack’s fingers release my hair and he steps back, eyeing me curiously. “You have no fucking idea why they want you to do this for me, do you?”
Blood careens in my veins. “It’s all about the alibi. You need one.”
“They’re doing it to placate me, sweetheart. Somebody killed my brother in a hospital. They want me to forget about it and move on.” Then he runs his thumb over my lip. “So they sent a piece of ass to play with for a while.”
A horrified gasp tightens my lungs and Jack gives me a sharp look. It pierces right through me. I don’t know why the hell I’m so afraid, and then it hits me through a series of confusing images.
I was there.
I was visiting Bane in the hospital. There were lots of members in the ICU then. Through the window I saw three guys with leather cuts slip inside the room across from mine. Something about the way they acted made the hair rise on my neck. They were in and out. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes. I assumed it was another member of the MC. Then later I heard screaming, “CODE BLUE!” The man was dead. He was a wise guy. I didn’t know what to think of it, but this must have been his brother.
They killed him. The MC I’m fighting to protect killed a man who couldn’t even fight back. This is beyond the pale—unforgivable.
It’s painful to meet Jack’s gaze, but he doesn’t seem to notice anything. His hands follow the slope of my shoulders and he plays with my spaghetti straps. He snaps them against my skin. Everything is confused—I’m numb with shock, but his hands won’t let me forget my attraction to him, or my anger.
“I am not a piece of ass.”
He makes an amused sound through his nose and then he pulls the straps down. A surge of rage suddenly hits my chest.
“You can’t talk to me like that!”
“Oh yeah?”
His smirk incenses me.
“What’re you going to do about it?”
Fucking smug asshole.
I’ll show you what I’ll do about it.
Property of the Bad Boy Page 4
