Frankie dug his fingers in between my knees and wrenched my legs open. His hips surged forward, forcing them to stay open, and he yanked on his belt. I started to panic.
“Please!” I cried. “Please don’t do this!”
“No, baby,” he growled. “I’m not gonna fuckin’ let you say no to me anymore. You get me? You’re not fuckin’ runnin’ from me anymore. Told you a long time ago you were mine, and it’s ’bout time you got that shit through your thick fuckin’ skull.”
This was all said while he was opening his belt and unzipping his jeans. Now he was yanking my underwear to one side, and I could feel him trying to enter me.
“Wait!” I cried, shoving at his chest. “Don’t!”
“Fuck,” he muttered. He spit in his palm, rubbed his hand over me, wetting me, and then he was back, pushing inside.
“Frankie!” I screamed, trying to wiggle backward to prevent him from fully seating himself.
“STOP!”
His hand slapped down over my mouth. I kept screaming, but the sound was muffled and hoarse, and no one heard but Frankie and me.
“Been waitin’ too fuckin’ long for this,” he groaned, pushing harder, his heavy chest crushing my attempts at moving him. “You’re not fuckin’ stoppin’ me anymore. You’re never fuckin’ stoppin’ me again.”
He thrust. Hard. And found purchase. I stilled, tears in my eyes, staring up at him. Frankie had just forced himself on me, inside of me. My Frankie. It was surreal, confusing, like a dream or a movie you remember from a long time ago.
“Lock your ankles around my back,” he rasped. Dazed, I did as he asked. He released my mouth to grip my backside and pump harder. Numb, I listened to his skin slapping against mine, his heavy breathing, and my head knocking against the wall.
“How the fuck could you leave me?” he rasped. “I can’t fuckin’ sleep without you, haven’t fuckin’ slept in days. You fuckin’ did that to me, bitch. You fuckin’ let that happen.”
I had. I’d known he was going to freak, and I’d left him anyway. I should have realized this was going to happen—that he would completely lose it and need to bind me to him in a way he thought was permanent.
God, this was all my fault.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered brokenly. “God, Frankie, I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“No shit,” he hissed. “You won’t fuckin’ like what happens if you do…Eva…fuck, baby…I’m gonna come…fuck…”
His hips slammed into me, banging my head harder into the wall. “I’m coming, baby, I’m fuckin’ coming…”
I stared up at the ceiling. I wasn’t on birth control. I would need to get the morning after pill. I blinked. Did all of our bedroom ceilings look like that? I wasn’t sure. I made a mental note to check.
“Fuckin’ love you, Eva,” Frankie breathed.
I wiped my tears away and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I love you, too, baby,” I whispered, holding him tight, rubbing his back and murmuring apologies.
It wasn’t a lie. I did love Frankie. With all my heart. But it was the wrong kind of love. I loved him like a best friend or a big brother—and not at all like a lover. But he forced his way into the lover category, and there was nothing I could do. He needed me. He wasn’t going to let me go, so I gave him what he needed and tried to make the best of it.
That was three years ago.
Three years of being on the back of Frankie’s bike and in Frankie’s bed—which was actually mine. My room at the clubhouse was bigger and better.
“Who do you love, babe?”
I finished brushing my hair and walked out of the bathroom. “You,” I said.
“Fuck yeah, you do.”
Frankie finished dressing and sat down on the bed to pull his boots on. He looked me over and frowned. “Lot of leg you’re showin’, babe.”
I snorted. “Hardly.”
Suddenly, Frankie was on his feet, unbuckling his belt and reaching for me.
“Jesus!” I screamed, scrambling away from him. “Focus, you horny bastard! You have a meeting! I have a breakfast date!”
He had my belly pressed up against the wall in two seconds flat. His tongue shot across my neck.
“Don’t care, babe. You can’t fuckin’ walk around half-naked and expect me to keep my hands off.”
“You don’t play fair,” I whispered.
“When it comes to you, Eva, I don’t fuckin’ play at all.”
It was nearly an hour before Frankie decided it was time to go to his meeting, and even then, he did so reluctantly.
• • •
Deuce frowned at Preacher. “Don’t know whatcha talkin’ ’bout, old man. I got no connections with Angelo Buonarroti. His old man, yeah. Couple of his cousins, too, but not him. If you lost your deal with them, it ain’t on me.”
“You’re full of it,” Preacher growled. “My boys seen yours on the fuckin’ docks.”
“Can’t help it if my boys in Queens got business on the side. They got families to take care of.”
Preacher’s dark eyes narrowed and cut to his right where Dog, One-Eyed Joe, and Tiny sat. Next to Joe were his boys: Mick, Cox, and Jase. He was seated at the end of the table directly across from Preacher. Next to him, on the other side of the table were Kickass Charlie, president of the Notorious MC, and two of his boys. Shit was tense. Not one brother in this room wanted to be here—he and Preacher for their own personal reasons involving sixteen-year-old Eva and a gun, and Charlie because Frankie had buried his old man a few years back. It was one of the crazy fuck’s few caps that had been on the grid. Charlie’s old man had been a tried-and-true dirty bastard.
Yeah, shit was real tense—even without Frankie in attendance.
The meeting room door burst open with a loud bang. Startled, several brothers shot out of their chairs, pulling their pieces.
Frankie sauntered in, grinning. He was zipping up his jeans, buckling his belt, and completely oblivious to the firearms pointed at his head.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said to no one in particular and slid into his chair at Preacher’s left.
Preacher glared at him. “Where the fuck you been?”
Frankie started to open his mouth when an empty coffee cup sailed across the table, hitting him in the chest.
One-Eyed Joe scowled at Preacher. “He’s walkin’ in here grinnin’ like a dirty dog, zippin’ up his pants, and you’re askin’ him where he was! You know where he was, you fuckin’ idiot, and you know what he was doin’ and who he was doin’ it with ’cause that’s all the two of them ever do! Spankin’ each other day and night, not carin’ that we all gotta hear it! And you’re gonna ask him stupid questions ’bout where he’s been, knowin’ he’s gonna start talkin’ ’bout fuckin’ my niece! I just can’t fuckin’ stomach that shit. He says one more word about hot pussy or titty-fuckin’ in relation to my girl, I’m puttin’ him back in the hospital!”
Frankie grinned.
His stomach dropped.
Preacher sighed. “You tryin’ to say I should keep my own baby from the club? Not sure I could handle not seein’ her all the time.”
Dog gasped. An honest-to-God gasp. Like a little fucking girl. “Nobody’s keepin’ Eva from the club!”
“No fuckin’ way!” Tiny bellowed. “She keeps my old lady off my back and does my laundry!”
“Damn straight!” Joe’s fist came down on the table. “That’s our girl! We didn’t have Eva here, who would keep the books straight? Who would cook us fuckin’ breakfast? If anyone’s gonna go, it’s gonna be Frankie!”
Frankie was still grinning. “Can’t kick me out. Your baby girl loves me. Case you haven’t noticed, that’s her room I’m sleepin’ in upstairs.”
Deuce blew out a breath. He hadn’t wanted to come to New York, he really hadn’t wanted to meet with Preacher or Charlie, he especially hadn’t wanted to meet them at the Demons MC, and he fervently hadn’t wanted to lay eyes on Frankie.
And
now that he knew Eva was giving it up to him…he wanted to blow holes into the skull of every asshole in the room.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. These men—her father, her uncles, even three-hundred-pound, sweat-drenched Tiny—all of them looked horrified at the thought of Eva being kept out of the club like their old ladies were. Not caring that she was well aware of the debauchery that went on, probably having seen most of it, helped hide it, and cleaned up after it.
She even had her own room. Her own room. At a fucking MC. What. The. Fuck.
His mistake slammed into him like a fucking freight train. He had thought she was being bratty and obstinate when she’d only been reacting to him wanting to push her away from what she’d always known. She hadn’t been running from him; she’d been running from the cage he’d wanted to lock her in.
“Ya think you can save the fuckin’ drama for later?” Charlie asked. “Maybe we can get back to fuckin’ business?”
Frankie turned his head and gave Charlie a crazy-eyed, vicious smile. “Sure thing, Chuck,” he said pleasantly. “I fuckin’ loved doin’ business with your old man, gonna love doin’ it with you, too.”
Charlie’s nostrils flared, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. The whole circuit knew Frankie was bad news, trigger-happy, and more than willing to throw down at the drop of a hat.
“All right,” Preacher growled. “If we’re not playin’ each other, then it’s the fuckin’ Buonarroti family that’s playin’ us. Someone needs to pay Sal a visit, ask him if he knows what his fuckin’ kid is up to. You get the sense that he does—”
The door burst open, and again guns were drawn as Eva tore through the room. Frankie slid down his chair and disappeared under the table.
“I see you!” she screamed. “Get out from under there and give me my purse and my Chucks! I was supposed to meet Kami a half an hour ago!”
Cox sat up straight in his chair. “Kami? Where’s Kami?”
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout, babe,” came the muffled, laughing reply from under the table.
“Oh, Christ,” Preacher muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“DADDY!”
“Busy, Eva, baby,” he sighed. “Can we do this later?”
“NO!”
Fucking hell. She was beautiful. Hair, dark and long, falling in soft waves over her shoulders and past her breasts. She was wearing makeup, more than he ever saw her wear; it looked good, made her appear polished, but he didn’t like it. He couldn’t see the freckles on her nose or the natural pink of her cheeks. Her dress was thin cotton, off the shoulder and shapeless, showing off a lot of leg, giving her a casual and sexy appearance. She looked hot as fuck, but he liked her better in baggy jeans, hanging low on her hips, and tiny T-shirts that showed her belly. His gaze traveled to her neck, to the gold chain still on it, and his old man’s tag that he knew was hanging in between her breasts underneath her dress.
She was so mad, so focused on Frankie, that she hadn’t even noticed him. He was staring at her, boring holes through her head, and still nothing.
“Frankie, tell Eva where her shit is ’fore I kick the fuckin’ shit outta you!”
Preacher’s body jerked and a shout came from under the table. Frankie crawled out, holding his side, and glaring at Preacher.
“Franklin Salvatore Deluva,” Eva snapped. “I am waiting.”
Jumping to his feet, Frankie pulled a cell phone out of his back pocket and tossed it to her. She caught it one-handed.
“Where’s the rest?” she demanded, not quite as angry as she’d been a moment ago.
“Chucks are in the freezer, babe,” Frankie said, grinning.
“You put her Chucks in the freezer? With our food?” Dog asked.
“Yup.”
“Huh.”
Eva started tapping her bare foot. “Purse, Frankie. Where’s my purse?”
“Purse?” Joe snorted. “Don’t cha mean that fuckin’ potato sack you could fit a family of midgets in?”
Preacher, Dog, Joe, Tiny, and Frankie all burst out laughing.
Pissed off, Eva spun around, ready to march out of the room. Her eyes found his, and she froze in midspin and lost her footing. He shot out of his seat, but Cox was closer and grabbed her waist, hoisting her up from midfall and what would have been a nasty spill.
“Hey, Foxy,” Cox whispered, grinning. She blinked up at him.
He helped her straighten up, and she quickly stepped away, glancing warily back at Frankie.
Frankie’s face was bright red, his hands were clenched into fists, and his veins were bulging out of his neck and arms. He looked like the madman everyone thought he was.
Preacher rolled his eyes. “Frankie, he was just helpin’ her. You bury your bullshit right fuckin’ now.”
He didn’t. His crazy eyes stayed focused on Cox. Cox, who had never backed down from a challenge in his life, held Frankie’s stare and didn’t back down.
“FRANKLIN!” Preacher roared.
Pouting like a five-year-old, Frankie sat down hard in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
Swallowing hard and avoiding any eye contact with him, Eva turned back to Frankie. “Purse, baby,” she said softly. “I need it.”
Some of the crazy faded from Frankie’s eyes, and he smiled at her. “Microwave, babe.”
Tiny guffawed loudly, and Preacher shook his head.
“Sorry I interrupted,” she said, turning to Preacher. “Love you, Daddy; love you, Uncle Joe; love you, Uncle Dog; and love you, too, Tiny, with extra sugar.”
Every single one of those men went liquid. She wasn’t just another biker brat; she was the biker brat. The glue that held these men together. Eva Fox was the princess of the Silver Demons MC.
Even Charlie looked affected. Girl was sweet and bright. She blinded every man in the room.
“Love you, baby,” she whispered to Frankie.
His heart seized.
“Fuck yeah, baby,” Frankie whispered back. “Always.”
Preacher looked back and forth between them and smiled proudly.
Since Deuce was pretty sure he was five seconds from pulling his piece, he excused himself.
• • •
“Is Mrs. Henderson expecting you?”
I glared at the snotty woman. “Yes.”
“You’re not on her list for the day, Ms. Fox, and I’m afraid I can’t let you go up. The Hendersons do not like being disturbed on the weekends.”
I slammed my fists down on the desk. “CALL HER!”
Scowling, the woman turned away and dialed Kami’s apartment. Or rather, her two-story sky-rise penthouse with a bird’s-eye view of Manhattan.
“Mrs. Henderson, I have a Ms. Fox here to—”
The woman’s jaw went slack, and I knew Kami was laying into her. I could hear her screaming through the phone from where I stood.
The woman hung up. “Go on up,” she said crisply, avoiding eye contact.
“Thanks,” I sneered.
I burst into Kami’s cathedral foyer complete with Romanesque pillars, shoved past a bewildered Chase—who was surprisingly wearing flannel pajamas—and ran through a series of white rooms, furnished with either white or gray furniture and colorless abstract art that didn’t resemble anything I’d ever seen before in my life—except maybe an ink stain after a pen explodes—and burst into Kami’s bedroom.
She was lying in her king-sized canopy princess bed in a pale pink teddy and a pale pink silk robe, her long blonde hair fanned out around her head, flipping through a fashion magazine.
“Kami!” I screamed, throwing myself at her. “Kill me!”
“Oh God, Evie, what’s the matter, baby? Is Frankie acting crazy again?”
“No,” I whispered, rolling off her and onto her bed. “Well, yes…when isn’t Frankie acting crazy?”
“I don’t like that guy,” Chase muttered, appearing in the doorway holding a decanter of whiskey and two glasses.
He held the de
canter up in offering.
“Yes, please,” I whispered.
I gulped it down quickly and held out my glass for a refill that I drank just as quickly. The burn of the whiskey subsided and soothing warmth spread in my stomach. I took a deep breath.
“I walked into Daddy’s office this morning, and I was yelling at Frankie, and then I saw Deuce, and I tripped, and Cox caught me, and—”
“COX!” Kami screamed, sitting up straight. “Cox is here?”
“Who’s Cox?” Chase asked.
“None of your business,” Kami snapped. “Oh my God, Evie, did he ask about me?”
“Um…” I glanced up at Chase. I knew he was aware of Kami’s affairs, just as she was of his, but they didn’t talk about them, at least not to each other. I wasn’t sure how Chase would feel having to hear about it.
He shrugged. “Go right ahead, Eva. I don’t give a shit who she fucks.”
“OK,” Kami breathed, looking wildly around the room at nothing in particular. “I’m going to get changed, and then we are going straight to the club.”
“Uh, Kami…”
“What?”
“Did you not hear what I just said to you?”
“You said Cox was here.”
I backhanded her bicep. “Bitch! I said Deuce and Cox were here!”
“Who’s Deuce?” Chase asked, taking a sip of whiskey.
“None of your business!” Kami snapped. “Oh my God, Evie, what did you do?”
“Nothing!” I cried, doing a face-plant into my palms. “What was I supposed to do? Frankie was right there! You know—my crazy, overprotective, homicidal boyfriend—Frankie? I had a silent freak-out and left! Now I’m having a loud freak-out because Frankie isn’t here!”
“I don’t like that guy,” Chase muttered.
“Go away,” Kami hissed.
Ignoring her, he sat down on the foot of her bed. Kami gaped at him.
“Seriously, Chase, don’t you have anything better to do?”
He took another sip of whiskey. “Nope. It’s Saturday morning. What the fuck should I be doing?”
“Your eighteen-year-old assistant?” I said helpfully.
Kami started laughing.
Chase, clearly not bothered by this, shook his head. “She got clingy. Fired her.”
A Ride or Die Kind of Love Page 136
