Red Thorns Crew: The Complete Series

by Rebel Hart

  I felt like I could take on the world after one simple kiss.

  I gripped her hair tighter and wrapped my free arm around her. I picked her up off her feet and held her close to me, feeling her fist my shirt. Her legs dangled. Her tongue slid against my lips. And when I opened myself for her, she moaned so sweetly. So gently. So effortlessly down the back of my throat.

  It took me no time to turn her around and pin her against her dorm door.

  I felt her gasping for air. I pressed my hands against the flimsy wooden structure and pinned my knee between her legs. She sat there, her pussy warming and her tongue flicking over the roof of my mouth. She was a terrible kisser. Too much tongue. Our teeth were constantly clattering together because she didn’t know which way to turn her head. And yet, it only added to her appeal. Her innocence. Her demeanor, that had somehow caught my eye.

  I felt my cock stiffening against my jeans.

  Benji.

  My eyes flew open and I immediately pulled away. Her swollen, puckered lips searched for mine before those gorgeous eyes of her fell open. The flush had worked its way down her neck. What I wouldn't give to kiss it all the way down her breasts. Give her the time of her fucking life. But, Benji. She was just like Benji. Innocent and intelligent.

  She had no business being wrapped up in the kind of life I led.

  I mean, for crying out loud, I’d just been shot at! This beautiful girl, with her eyes holding my gaze and her soft hands cupping my cheeks, had a bright and bountiful future ahead of her. One that would be productive to society. One that would be filled with light and love and laughter and good feelings.

  Getting tangled up in me would rob her of all that.

  “Max?” she asked breathlessly.

  I swallowed back a groan at the way she said my name. I watched her search my face, her beautiful eyes darting between my own. Searching for something I knew she wouldn't find. My hands slid from the door. I gripped her waist and removed my knee, easing her down to the ground. With all the pain in my body amounting to nothing but misery, I kept my grip on her. Tight. I moved her where I wanted her, over to the dorm bed in the corner, and hoisted her up. She squealed as I lifted her with my bare hands, settling her against the edge.

  Then, I backed myself toward the door, making sure she didn’t follow me.

  “I still need to check--”

  “Stay away from me, Danika. You know you need to.”

  And after watching confusion roll behind her twinkling eyes, I opened the door behind me and slipped out.

  17

  Dani

  Three Weeks Later

  I poked at the roasted chicken meal on my plate as I gazed around the dining room. I’d been looking forward to this long Labor Day Weekend for days now. I missed home whenever I came to college. Even though it was a nice escape. And being home for the long weekend felt, well, like home.

  Something felt off, though.

  I slid my eyes along the pastel walls topped with white crown molding and a median separator that glided along the wall. The white tiled floor of the dining room had a navy rug spread out underneath the kitchen table to unite the rest of the room. At least, that’s what Mom said it did. The silverware on the table glistened, even after its use was complete. The crystal glasses that shone with ice water made me cock my head.

  I never noticed before how much everything had its place in our house.

  “Princess?” Dad’s voice ripped me from my trance.

  “Yes?”

  “Something wrong with your food?”

  I looked down at my plate and noticed how messy it had become. The peas were mixed in with the mashed potatoes. The skin of the chicken had been stripped and ripped into pieces by my own doing. The chicken had grown lukewarm and dry with the air being exposed to it. And the fruit salad I had in a bowl just above the plate sat untouched, marinating in its own juices.

  “Yes, sorry. Just thinking about some things,” I said.

  Mom put her fork down. “Want to talk about it, sweetie? You’ve been very distracted since you got home Friday evening.”

  The torn meat of the chicken reminded me of the bullet wound. My gosh, Max had been grazed by a bullet. I looked up at the picture hanging on the wall. A beautiful picture of flowers in a meadow. But the red was all that jumped out at me. It reminded me of the red that had dotted Max’s split lip. The dried blood against his skin I'd cleaned away with the alcohol wipe. I couldn't stop thinking about him. Even at home, where I felt most at ease, he invaded my dreams.

  Leaving his motor oil scent in my nostrils to wake up to.

  “Danika.”

  My father’s voice grew stern and it made me jump.

  “Your mother’s speaking to you.”

  I nodded. “Yes, yes. I’m sorry. It’s just…”

  I placed my fork down and turned to my mother.

  “Forgive me for being so distracted. School is just… taking a toll this year.”

  Mom grinned. “I don’t know if its school that’s got you all twisted up.”

  Dad paused. “What?”

  I felt my heart stop. “What?”

  Mom smiled. “Could it be a boy, possibly?”

  Dad shook his head. “No, no boys. We had this conversation already. College is for studying. Dating is for after you get your feet set strongly on the ground with a career.”

  I felt myself turning bright pink as I shook my head.

  “No, Mom. No boys. I made you and Dad that promise.”

  She winked. “You made your father that promise to help him feel better about you going to school ten hours away.”

  Dad shot her a look. “You’re not helping.”

  Mom shrugged. “Fine. You’re distracted because of classes, my little A-plus student. I’ll accept that. For now.”

  Dad turned toward me. “So are you looking forward to Thanksgiving break?”

  I took a small bite of my peas. “Actually, yes. It’ll be nice to come home and spend some time actually resting instead of being locked in my room and studying.”

  Or daydreaming about Max while I neglect my studies.

  “Well, your mother and I have invited some friends over for the holiday. Your mother’s making a massive meal, so come a little hungrier than you have been tonight. And more talkative. They’re going to want to know all about your studies and how your second year of college is going so far.”

  Mom asked. “Don’t be so hard on her. College is hard. Remember when you were going through school? I had to force you to eat because all you did was sit at that desk and study.”

  “And I think my studies paid off, don’t you?”

  Mom giggled. “All I’m saying is I got out and made friends. Made memories. Did a bit of dating myself.”

  She winked at Dad and he grumbled.

  “And I still opened my own business. Built my own career. And had the family I always wanted.”

  Dad cracked a smile. “Well, aren’t you Superwoman.”

  Mom smiled. “Anytime, any day, anywhere.”

  I watched how quickly a disagreement between them dissolved into playful banter. My family wasn’t perfect, by far. But the way they looked at one another was something I wanted for my life. Eventually, of course. I watched them kiss. Things like that never weirded me out as a child. I knew my parents loved one another. Fully and completely. No matter what they disagreed on or what they fought about, they always came back together. Time after time.

  I wanted something like that in my future.

  Maybe with Max.

  “I’ll clean the dishes,” I said quickly.

  I felt my thighs warming and needed to get out of the room.

  After volunteering to wash the dishes and put everything away, I called it an early night. Instead of staying downstairs to watch a movie with my parents, I headed back up to my room. I needed time to myself. Time to think. Time to take a long, hot shower so I could scrub every last bit of Max off my skin.

  Even though it f
elt as if I’d never get rid of him.

  I flopped down onto my childhood bed and rolled onto my side. I gazed out the window, watching as my yellow sheer curtains fluttered softly as the air conditioning kicked on. Even my bed had been perfectly made. My pictures, straightened up on my bedside table. I rolled back over and looked at my dresser drawers. My mirror was perfectly straight on the wall. My knick-knacks were all in a pretty, unified row. My vision board for my life was hanging just beside the mirror, close to my bedroom door, and not a picture on the board was crooked. Or out of place.

  I slowly sat up and ran my eyes along the pictures, thinking back to the life I wanted.

  There was a picture of a headless man in a suit. A pristine suit. A clean-cut suit, with strong hands and broad shoulders. There was a picture of a Tudor-style home in the heart of Ann Arbor. Just a stone’s throw away from downtown and all of the scenic and beautiful things it had to offer. Like the boutique stores and the holiday parades. The food specials and the friendly get-togethers. I had cut out pictures of beautiful cars. Rich green Jeeps and pearl white Mazda Miatas. Even a cherry red sports car I might surprise my husband with one day as a Christmas gift. Complete with a big bow on top.

  One that still had side airbags, though. To keep our three children safe in case they wanted to take a ride with their daddy over to the lake.

  I stood to my feet, walked over to the vision board and ran my fingertips over all the pictures. I fingered the headless man in a suit and couldn't stop thinking about how his hands were big, like Max’s. I ran my fingertips over the cherry red sports car and couldn't stop thinking about how nice Max might look on a cherry red bike. I stared at the Tudor home, imagining living in it with its peaked rooftops, beautiful brown wooden exterior, cream-colored shutters and bright door to signal to everyone that they were welcome in our home.

  And just beyond the door, I imagined Max and myself standing there. Dancing in the foyer underneath a chandelier while a pot of coffee percolated just for us in the kitchen.

  How in the world could I possibly want a man that was so cruel to me?

  18

  Max

  I paced the floor of my father’s study waiting for him to finally show up while John nagged me about how it was never good to barge in on him like this. I didn’t give a shit, though. I’d been trying to contact my father for weeks about this job. About payment for services rendered. Ever since Mr. Dean finally left town, I hadn’t heard a damn peep out of my father. Not a meeting. Not a payment in our accounts. Nothing.

  Shit had finally hit the fan.

  My temper boiled over. This entire ordeal had been a shitshow from start to finish. The job had been completed for weeks. Why the hell had we not been paid? My men and I had spent an entire week shadowing that fucker, making sure he got from place to place as safely as possible. Getting shot at. Almost losing men to this idiocy. Not to mention the other complicated scenarios in which we had bailed out Mr. Dean.

  Though there hadn't been anything as bad as that first night.

  My brother sighed. “Keep a level head, man. You’ve been busted up enough already over this. Your shoulder just closed up nice. Don’t give him an excuse to rough you up even more.”

  I glared at my brother. “Three weeks. It’s been three fucking weeks since this asshat left town. Three weeks, and not a word from him. We don’t do a week’s worth of anything without getting paid. Especially with the kind of shit we stared down!”

  “Lower your voice. You know he hears you.”

  “Then let him hear!”

  My voice echoed off the corners of the wall as I balled up my fists.

  “Let them all hear. My father knew something about how dangerous this was. We weren’t nearly prepared for the onslaught of that night. We needed devices we didn’t have. Gear we didn’t have the money for. All of us could’ve died. And you think I’m supposed to let that lie?”

  “You nearly cost my client his life, you know.”

  Our father’s voice rang out in the study as the door closed with a thud. I whipped around, glaring at my father as he stared daggers back at me. His lips were downturned in regret and his eyes narrowed to slits. With his hands clasped behind his back, he walked toward his desk. Easing himself down into the buttery leather chair as if he had a right to chastise me for the bullshit he put us in the middle of.

  I felt myself bristle. “Yeah. And you nearly cost me and my club ours. Works both ways, Father.”

  I felt my brother stiffen as I challenged the man that single-handedly made our childhoods a living nightmare.

  “And how do you figure?” Dad asked.

  “How do I figure what?”

  “How do you figure I put your club’s lives at risk?”

  I licked my teeth. “By withholding from us exactly how dangerous this was supposed to be.”

  “Did I not tell you to put your eight best men on this job?”

  “I should’ve refused the job the second you didn’t do a risk assessment!”

  John butted in. “Wait, you didn’t do what?”

  Dad waved him away like a fly. “You can talk when I tell you to. For now, this is between myself and the incompetent president of your little club.”

  I pointed at him. “A club you founded. A club you started.”

  He slammed up from his desk. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

  I walked up to my father’s desk and placed my hands on the corner. Matching him movement for movement. He bent down, following my motions, trying to intimidate me like he did everyone else in his employ.

  “You were reckless, Max.”

  “You withheld information, Ashton.”

  John tapped me with his can. “Max, cut it out.”

  I shook my head. “Not a fucking chance.”

  Dad’s eye twitched. “You should have known something was off the second you got there. The second you saw where you were going.”

  “What? You’re telling me you didn’t know where your own client was going? Doesn’t sound like you, Father dear.”

  “You mock me one more time, and you won’t be alive to run that little haphazard crew of yours.”

  “The haphazard crew you started, Dad. Don’t forget that.”

  His eye twitched again. “You should’ve been prepared for things to go south like that. That’s your job.”

  I growled. “That’s why we always do the fucking risk assessment.”

  “Fuck the risk assessment!”

  Dad’s voice boomed over our heads as he shot up, causing me to move with him so he couldn't gain the upper hand if he lunged at me.

  “It’s not my fault you don’t have the gear you need! You get paid well over top dollar to do what you guys do. Buy your own fucking gear and stop assuming people will hand it all to you! That’s your job, to have what your guys need to do their own jobs effectively. Welcome to being president, son. You’re doing a shit job.”

  I pointed at him. “Own up to your part in this. You didn't do the risk assessment with me because you knew what we were walking into. You knew we’d have to fight for the life of your client, and you knew that if I knew that, I would’ve never taken this damn job!”

  “You’re the president of the Red Thorns,” Dad spit out. “Fucking act like it.”

  My head cocked. “And what does that mean, Ashton?”

  John tapped me with his cane again, trying to get me to calm down. If he tapped me with it one more time, I’d shove the damn thing up his ass.

  “What does it mean, Maxwell? Well, it means to stop walking around with your tail tucked between your damn legs. That’s what it means. This life demands blood, Max. This life means sacrifice. John knew that when he became president, and I thought you did, too. If you’re not willing to spill blood, then you’re in the wrong business.”

  I rounded the desk and stood toe to toe with my father.

  “Say that one more time, old man.”

  He grinned. “Maybe you’d be better suited to
running errands and making my coffee.”

  I growled at him as my fingertips itched for the butt of my gun while Dad chuckled right in my fucking face.

  “No matter. You’d find a way to fuck that up too. Like you fucked everything else up during your childhood. During the firefight that made your brother the cripple he is today.”

  I snarled. “You leave him out of this.”

  Dad kept going, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Luckily, Mr. Dean got away with his life. I’m not sure how, and I can’t say he’s happy with how things were handled that week. But he’s alive, and that’s what matters.”

  “He’s alive because of my boys. Mine. Do you hear me? So, why the fuck haven’t we been paid for our time well spent?”

  “You think that was time well spent? Well, your client didn’t think so. You’re in the pleasing business, son. And on that note, he’s refused to pay you.”

  John scoffed. “Excuse me, what?”

  Dad shrugged. “He’s refused to pay you. Which I agree with.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “We saw the job through. That money belongs to my men. They earned it, and they will see you.”

  Dad hissed so hard he spat on my face. “You earned nothing. Now, get the fuck out of my house before I have the mind to balance out your bruises.”

  As I stared my father down, every single scenario of how to kill him ran through my mind. How quickly I could draw my gun since he wasn’t packing anything but a knife in his pocket. How I could wrap my hands around his throat and close off his ability to breathe. Oh, the pleasure I’d get from watching the life drain from his eyes. Effort well spent, if I did say so myself. Then again, it would be poetic justice to turn my own father’s knife on him and slit his throat. Covering his untouched manuscripts on the bookshelves with his own blood. My father had a hard-on for old books. His collection around the house of art and books and sculptures was worth at least forty million dollars.