Ranger: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Cold Angels MC) (Bad Boy Bikers Club Book 4)

by Naomi West

  “And what’d he say?”

  “Said that her manager, some weasel scumbag, was supposed to hire protection. Well, surprise of the fucking century, he didn’t. So, Jackson asked me to keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t get into any trouble.”

  “And I’m sure you ran this by the girl, too,” said Dakota.

  I snorted.

  “I’d already talked to her. She wasn’t much in the mood for my kinda company, I suppose.”

  Dakota chuckled again.

  “Can’t imagine a girl like her not wanting to get hit on by a real sweetheart like you,” he said.

  I let out a “ha!”

  “No kidding,” I said. “I probably scared the living hell out of her.”

  As I spoke, Dakota got up and walked over to his bar and picked up a pair of glasses and another bottle of whiskey. He sat back down and poured us both some stiff drinks. As much as I could put away the booze, Dakota seemed to have a hollow fucking leg he dumped it all into. It was damn near heroic.

  He came back to his desk and handed me a glass. I took a sip and lit up another smoke.

  “Anyway,” I said. “The girl ended up getting into some shit with some of the Heretics. She was fine after, and I figured it was a case of mistaken identity or something. After she rejected my oh-so-magnetic charm, she headed to the back of the bar, probably to get her shit before heading out.”

  “Then what?” asked Dakota, lighting a cigarette of his own.

  “Then I followed her back there, sticking around from a distance. I figured a girl like her probably had no fucking idea what kind of place she was in. Sure enough, the second I had my back turned she walked right into the middle of a murder in progress.”

  Dakota shook his head, as if to say “of course she did.”

  “Who was the poor SOB?” he asked.

  “Her fucking manager,” I said.

  “Goddamn,” he said. “You got any idea why?”

  “I didn’t exactly stick around long enough to investigate,” I said. “I grabbed the girl, knocked the shit out of the Heretics, and got her the fuck out of there.”

  “You kill any of them?”

  “Don’t think so,” I said. “Just roughed ’em up really nice.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Angie took care of her, got her washed up and all that. She’s sleeping now.”

  Dakota leaned forward in his chair and shook his head, his glass of whiskey in his hand.

  “Fucking Heretics,” he said. “They’re not going to like this one bit.”

  He was right about that.

  We Cold Angels were a biker crew, sure, but we mostly stayed busy with small-time stuff. We ran a chop shops for stolen cars, did some protection rackets here and there, and dealt in molly and E now and then, but nothing too wild, nor anything that would bring the law down on us too hard. We had our nice chunk of territory, sure, and plenty of money and women to go around, but our crew was more about brotherhood and the open road. Our business was just a way to keep that going.

  The Heretics, on the other hand, were a straight-up criminal enterprise. They moved guns, coke, heroin—all that shit. If it was black market, they had a hand in it somewhere. And they ruthlessly enforced their territory. The Heretics were the kind of crew who wouldn’t have any issues taking out anyone who stood in their way.

  Or any girl, apparently.

  We’d had an uneasy peace with them for a while, them knowing that we didn’t give too much of a shit about moving in on their turf. Not to mention that we were a powerful enough gang that they wouldn’t be able to make any moves without taking some serious fucking damage in the process.

  But we’d been hearing in the last few weeks, through our sources, that they’d been thinking about moving in, starting a full-on war with us, and wiping us off the map. This little dust-up that I’d caused tonight might’ve been just the excuse they’d need to start the war they’d been after.

  I knew we’d be able to hold our own if it came to that, but that didn’t mean I was excited about the idea of losing some of my brothers in the process.

  “D,” I said. “Tell me what you want me to do. Whatever it is, I’ll fucking do it.”

  He didn’t say anything. Instead, he sipped his drink and waited for me to go on.

  “This shit’s all on me. As far as the Heretics know, I got drunk or some shit and acted out on my own, went onto their territory, and tried to start some shit.”

  I gritted my teeth for a long moment and then spoke again.

  “If you want me to resign, I will. I’ll do it in a fucking second. That way, you can tell the Heretics that I went off and did some stupid shit, and that I’m out of the Angels. They might be cool with that and not feel like they need to go to war over it to not look like they were too scared to defend themselves. I’ll be on my own with them on my back, but I’ll manage—I always do.”

  I stubbed out my cigarette and went on.

  “Just … leave the girl out of it,” I said. “She’s just some dumb kid who got in over her head. I can give her some cash and put her on the next plane out of town. She doesn’t need to end up in a grave because she made a stupid mistake.”

  I sat back in my chair, waiting for Dakota to speak. He regarded me with a hard, silent expression, the look he’d always get on his face when he was in the middle of some deep consideration.

  Then, finally, he opened his mouth.

  “Ranger, you need to cut out with that pussy shit.”

  “Huh?” I asked, taken by surprise.

  “Resign and give yourself up?” he asked. “Since when the fuck do us Angels turn our back on our own brothers?”

  He leaned forward.

  “Maybe you fucked up—who knows? I got no idea what I’d do in that situation if I saw some poor little thing about to get smoked right in front of me. But you’re the VP—you made your call, and you’re sticking with it. And we’re gonna have your back all the way through. If it comes to war, then so fucking be it. If it wasn’t this thing, it would’ve been something else. You know as well as I do that the Heretics have been itching for a fight.”

  I’d known, deep down, that Dakota would have my back. It wasn’t a surprise, but that didn’t make it any less of a relief. I’d meant what I’d offered, and I knew that me being a solo man like that would have meant I probably wouldn’t last the week. Hell, the weekend.

  “So you’re with us no matter what,” said Dakota. “But here’s what I want you to do—that girl saw some shit, and I want every last detail about it out of her. She walked in on a murder, and that means that the Heretics are up to some business that they’ve decided is worth killing over.”

  “You got it, boss,” I said.

  “And one more thing—that girl’s your responsibility now. You’re gonna be her fucking shadow until we decide it’s safe to cut her loose.”

  I wasn’t looking forward to having her hang on me, but it did mean I’d be able to keep her safe.

  “Now,” he said. “Get to it. We don’t have any time to waste.”

  9

  Cassie

  I woke up in a pitch-black room. Panic took hold of me instantly as I tried to figure out where the hell I was. Before I could think too long about the matter, however, the door opened and a figure stepped inside.

  “You still sleeping?” spoke a gruff voice.

  The panic grew, and I wanted to scream. I shot up, my heart racing so quickly that I worried it might explode in my chest. All I could think was that I was in total danger, and I had to get away now, even if that meant fumbling through the darkness past the man in the room with me.

  But before I could say or do anything else, the light flicked on. Low lamplight filled the room, and I saw that I was in a small office. My mind raced as I tried to piece together where I was.

  Then my eyes locked on the man in front of me.

  He was gorgeous as hell, that was for damn sure. Tall, built, and dressed in dark jeans, a leath
er vest covered in patches, and a tight gray T-shirt on underneath. His hair was dark, but his eyes were blue. He was about the best-looking man that I’d ever seen in person.

  And he seemed strangely familiar.

  That was when it hit me—he was the man who’d approached me at the bar last night.

  The events of the previous evening flooded back into my mind—the murder, the escape, the trip back to this strange biker bar.

  And he was the one who had done it.

  Ranger—that was his name. He’d saved me from certain death, and now here he was, standing over me like a statue, his chiseled face in a hard expression of focus.

  Something about him, something about the way he was looking at me, caused me to leap from my seat and run into his arms.

  “Whoa,” he said once my body was pressed against his. “Easy now.”

  I didn’t want to be easy or calm. But as soon as I was pressed against him, his hard, tough body next to me, I felt safer and calmer instantly.

  Ranger wrapped his arms around me, holding me close and tight. It was exactly what I wanted. After everything that I’d been through, all I wanted was to feel like I was safe. And that’s how Ranger made me feel.

  My body felt small against his in the best way possible. His rich, intoxicating scent of whiskey and cigarettes and sex flooded my senses. I wanted to give myself to him right then and there, as though I’d been possessed by some insane, lustful demon.

  I backed away from him enough to look up into his eyes. They were the most gorgeous shade of ice-blue that I’d ever seen. I felt transfixed by his stare, like I was a prey caught in the gaze of a predator. I ran my tongue over my lips, getting them wet. Then I chewed on my bottom lip slowly. Invitingly.

  My pussy clenched, and I felt it grow wet. I couldn’t believe how much I wanted him, but it was all I could think about.

  And Ranger was ready to give me what I craved. He leaned in and kissed me hard.

  God, he tasted so fucking good.

  Our lips stayed pressed together at first, and his hands came down onto my hips. I remembered that I wasn’t exactly wearing the sexiest clothes, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to peel me out of them and ravage me hard, right there on the couch.

  My pussy grew even wetter, the feeling of his hands on my body driving me wild. I opened my mouth enough to let his tongue enter me, his taste so wonderful that I could hardly think straight.

  I knew it was crazy that I wanted to kiss him and make love to him. But he was a known quantity in the midst of all the confusion and fear. There was death and uncertainty, but at least I knew that Ranger wanted to keep me safe.

  He kept one hand on my hip, and the other slowly moved down my body, over my stomach, and down between my legs. I felt hot and wet, and when he reached down and placed his hand over my cunt through my pants, the sensation was so intense that I worried my knees might buckle underneath me.

  A soft moan slipped passed my lips as Ranger and I continued to kiss. He tasted so good, so fucking good.

  Then, as though a light switch had been flipped, I realized what I was doing. I pulled my lips away from Ranger’s, a surprised expression flashing across his handsome face.

  “What the hell?” I asked.

  “What do you mean ‘what the hell’?” he asked. “You just kissed me!”

  “I wasn’t ‘what the hell-ing you,” I said, stepping backward. “I was saying it to myself. I have no idea what on earth came over me.”

  I knew that wasn’t entirely true. The reason I’d kissed him was because I was so attracted to the man that I could hardly stand it. I wanted him in me, on top of me, cumming inside me. But I did my best to come to my senses—I had to still be affected by the events of last night. I felt like I wasn’t thinking straight.

  I stepped back to the couch and fell into a sitting position. Ranger was still in front of me, and down below his waist I could see the outline of his erection, his prick straining against his jeans. His eyes were narrowed in animal hunger, and I could tell he wanted to pounce on me, to devour me.

  But he didn’t. He held back. Despite the passion clearly running through him, Ranger was still in control. Knowing that he was using every last bit of restraint to keep from giving me the ravaging of a lifetime was impossibly arousing.

  Two had to play at this game, however. I crossed my legs and pressed them together hard, trying to fight back the sexual energy that felt like it was about to take me apart at the seams. I took in deep breath after deep breath, fighting the desire back. But all I could think about was him fucking me until I was screaming my head off.

  “We … we should go downstairs,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Good call.”

  “Let me find you something else to wear,” he said.

  “Sure.”

  He left the room, relief washing over me as soon as he did. I wasn’t happy because he was gone, just relieved now that I didn’t have to deal with his almost overwhelming sexual presence.

  It wasn’t long before he returned, however. In his hand was a small pile of clothes and some faded white sneakers.

  “This is some stuff that Angie was about to give to Goodwill. She’s probably about your size.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the clothes.

  I placed them on my lap, giving Ranger a long look.

  “Can you …” I said.

  “Oh,” he said. “Sure.”

  He turned around, giving me my privacy. I stood up and stepped out of my sweatpants and oversized T-shirt and was soon in nothing but my bra and panties. I considered the idea of walking over to Ranger and placing my hand on his shoulder, getting him to turn around and take in the sight of me in nothing but my underwear.

  Maybe he’d been able to turn me down in sweatpants, but me in a thong and a skimpy bra might be a little harder for him to say no to.

  I wrote that off right away as a bad idea. I had more important things to worry about than Ranger’s cock, as thick and hard as it looked to be.

  I put on the shirt, which was a white T-shirt for some punk band I’d never heard of. The jeans were a skinny-fit black, and the sneakers were some basic white Converse. It wasn’t the look I’d normally go for, but it beat sweatpants.

  “You decent?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  He turned around and gave me a once-over.

  “Now you look more like an Angel old lady.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked. “I’m probably half your age, you know.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m thirty-three, and I doubt you’re younger than twenty-two.”

  He was right, but I didn’t want to press the point.

  “But what do you mean by ‘old lady’?” I asked, my hands on my hips.

  “It’s a term,” he said. “Means a girl who hangs out with bikers, probably dating one of them. Just saying you don’t stick out like a sore thumb at a place like this.”

  “Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad one,” I said.

  “Probably good, considering you and I are going to be spending a lot of time with each other.”

  The words made my heart skip a beat. But I tried to play it cool, like being around Ranger was no big deal.

  “Come on,” he said. “I let you sleep in long enough.”

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  The blinds in the room were closed. As far as I knew it was still nighttime. Ranger stepped over to them and opened them up, sunlight pouring into the small office. My hands shot in front of my eyes and I held them there until I got used to the light.

  “A little after nine. Now follow me—I need some fucking coffee.”

  Ranger opened the door and I followed him down the hallway. After a few moments we were downstairs, and Ranger opened one more door that lead onto the main bar floor.

  The place was desolate. I remembered it being packed last night, full of bikers and their women. But now there wasn’t a soul in sight. Ranger
’s and my footsteps echoed through the open space.

  “Go sit down at the bar,” he said, pointing to one of the barstools as he walked towards the bar.

  “Are you going to be bossing me around like this nonstop?” I asked.

  He stopped in his tracks and glanced back over his shoulder.

  “Maybe. And if I do, you’re going to have to get used to it.”

  I wanted to put my hands on my hips and stomp my foot. But before I did, I remembered that he had saved my life—giving him sass wouldn’t exactly be a good way to show my appreciation.

  I took a seat at the bar while Ranger put on some coffee.

  “Now,” he said, turning around from behind the bar to face me. “I want you to tell me everything.”

  10

  Cassie

  “Tell you everything about what?”

  “About the guy you saw get shot. You knew him, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “His name is —I mean, was—Maxwell. Maxwell Gold.”

  “And he was what, your producer or something?”

  “Manager,” I said. “Head of Gold Talent.”

  “Tell me about him,” said Ranger, the coffee maker bubbling to life behind him. “I want to know anything you know that might help me figure out why the hell the Heretics wanted to kill him.”

  “The Heretics?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said Ranger, leaning forward on the bar. “That’s the name of the motorcycle club who owns that bar where you played last night. Those guys who gave you shit when you were done onstage? The ones who killed Maxwell? Those were Heretics.”

  “Scary name,” said Cassie.

  “They’re scary guys,” said Ranger. “Fucking ruthless criminals, the kind who, well, wouldn’t think twice about offing some poor girl who happened to walk in on a murder.”

  “And … you guys?” I asked. “Do you have a name?”

  Ranger titled his body slightly to give me a look a patch on his leather vest. It was an angel surrounded by white frost.

  “The Cold Angels,” he said.