Fighter: The Devil's Highwaymen Nomads #4

by Claire C. Riley

Fighter

  What the fuck was she saying? Mumbling to herself like a crazy woman, talking about living and dying, about her mom and Scratch. And who, or what, the fuck was Scratch?

  I scowled at her unconscious form. Scratch better be her damned cat, or a dog, because anything more—anyone more—was going to ground. Slowly.

  Her cheeks were pale, her features slack. She already looked like a corpse, but she wasn’t. Not yet. She was still there, alive—just.

  Fuck, she was strong. But even the strongest fall. It was how you dealt with the aftermath of your fall that decided your fate.

  Fall and crumble, or fall and climb back up on dirty, bloody knees…

  I unscrewed the lid of a water bottle, placing my hand under her head to lift it up before gently pouring water into her parched mouth. She wasn’t dying on me today. If it had been anyone else, I would have left them to suffer for at least another twelve hours, but there was something about her that stopped me.

  Maybe it was her prayer, maybe it was her wolf eyes.

  Whatever it was had made me take pity on her.

  Water spilled out of her mouth, dripping down her cheeks and onto her chest. She choked and coughed in her sleep, her pretty throat bobbing, greedily swallowing as the water slid down it.

  When the water bottle was empty, I threw it to one side and laid her head back onto the pillow, staring down at her with a frown.

  “She okay, brother?” Gauge asked, and I looked up at him.

  He was standing in the doorway, his hand running over his beard as he stared at Penny.

  “She’s fine,” I grunted.

  I turned and headed back out of the room, nodding for Gauge to follow me before locking the door behind us both. He followed me back down the stairs and to the dilapidated kitchen. The only thing that wasn’t broken in there was the small refrigerator in the corner that I’d installed when I’d found the place. I grabbed us two beers and popped the lids before handing one to him.

  “You know we need you to keep her alive?” he asked warily. “We need to give her back at some point.” He laughed humorlessly.

  I took a long swig of my beer before placing it on the counter. “She’ll be fine.”

  “So what’s that all about then?” he asked, looking up at the ceiling, gesturing toward where Penny lay unconscious.

  I glared over at him. “She needed to learn when to back down.”

  He eyed me like he thought I was talking bullshit, but I wasn’t. She did need to learn to back the fuck down. She needed to learn who her master was. Who controlled her. Who fucking owned her. She had too much fight in her for a woman whose life was controlled so much.

  I’d never liked feisty women, but there was something about this one that had gotten under my skin. I wanted to break her. No, I needed to break her. Had a feeling that things would never be the same after I did though. For her or for me.

  “You fuck her yet?” Gauge asked.

  “No.”

  “You want to?”

  My glare turned to a scowl and he chuckled and held his hands up in defense.

  “All right, all right, I’m just saying…”

  “Well don’t. I don’t wanna hear it. She’s a job, that’s all. I’ll keep her alive, even if I have a little fun with her first. Just tell me when I need to drop her home.”

  I finished off my beer and walked into the living room and Gauge followed me.

  “You heard anything from Razuuk yet?” I asked.

  “No, but we didn’t expect to. He’s keeping this under the radar to save any embarrassment. Makes no difference though—we’ve got shit set up ready to blow apart his world,” he grunted, finishing off his beer and placing the empty bottle down on the floor. “I need to get back before anyone realizes I’m gone. Club’s a fucking mess right now, but hopefully this will sort some of that out.” He planted a heavy hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get Battle back soon enough, brother.”

  “Good. Because I’m not the only one getting tired of waiting for Hardy to do something about it. We’re the Highwaymen, and we do whatever it takes to protect our own.” I turned to stare at him. “Brothers for life, and our life for our brothers.”

  Gauge nodded at me. “I hear you.”

  I hoped he did, because I meant every word.

  I’d live and die for those men, for my family. I’d take down anyone who tried to harm them. Man, woman, traitor—they were all the same to me. I’d gut every last one of them and then hang their corpses up at the main gates as a warning not to fuck with us.

  It wasn’t a pretty picture, but it was the damned truth all the same.

  ~ 10 ~

  Penny

  I woke the next day with a throbbing in my brain that made me wish I’d died in my sleep. The pain was so bad and I knew it had to be a migraine from hell. The only relief from a migraine was pain meds and sleep in a dark room. I squinted against the brightness of the room, the sunlight burning in from the window on the opposite side of the room. A thin piece of material was tacked up against it, but it wasn’t enough to blot out the brightness and I whimpered and squeezed my eyes closed.

  The door opened, and I knew he was standing in the doorway watching me. I waited to see if he’d say something to me, but silence only consumed the air around us.

  I whimpered and squeezed my eyes tighter.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Migraine,” I breathed out.

  He grunted something and left the room, and I felt hot tears prickle my closed lids. Tears for the pain and tears for the indifference of him and everyone else in my life.

  I changed my mind in that instant: he wasn’t a dark angel, he was a monster.

  He was ugly and ruined and deserved nothing but to go to hell.

  I turned my head and pressed my face into my shoulder to cover my eyes, my hands twisting against the covers as the pounding continued to boom inside my head, making me feel sick and dizzy, despite lying down for however many days it had been.

  The sound of the door opening several minutes later piqued my interest but I didn’t dare open my eyes. However, the room suddenly darkened and I cracked an eye open, watching as he tacked a heavier sheet against the window.

  He wore a T-shirt now, but my vision was blurry as I tried to focus on the emblem on the back. He turned to face me, his mask back in place as he came toward me. He placed two tablets on my tongue and unscrewed the cap on a bottle of water before placing it almost gently against my lips and tipping it down my eager throat. I swallowed and swallowed, and every time he stopped I begged him for more until I’d drunk the entire bottle and my stomach swished with water.

  We sat there in silence for what felt like a minute but must have been much more because the pain in my head began to subside. He reached over and unlocked my handcuffs from the bedframe before pulling my arms in front of me and clipping them both together.

  My shoulders screamed in pain and I whimpered until he placed his rough hands on me and began to massage the pain away. I had no idea why he was suddenly being so nice to me, but I was too tired and in pain to care right then. I’d like to say, as he helped me to my feet, that I was thinking of an escape plan, but I wasn’t. All I cared about was the way my muscles ached from misuse and my hip bones clicked and creaked as he walked me across the room. My jeans felt stiff around me and the pee smell that I’d started to get used to grew stronger, mixing with my sweat and making me feel sick.

  The dark angel led me out of the room by the cuffs, our steps slow as I got used to walking again. I stumbled, wobbling on unsteady legs, but he caught me every time. There wasn’t much to see in the hallway—every door was closed and there were no windows—so I focused on him and me; his rough hands on me, his strength holding me.

  He led me into a bathroom, and I could have cried at the sight of a warm bubble bath.

  “Is that for me?” I asked, thinking I’d full-on have a breakdown if he said no.

  “Warm baths always help my head,” h
e replied bluntly, like I’d asked a stupid question.

  We stopped by the edge of the bath and he turned to face me, his gaze working up and down my body like he was assessing how he was going to do this. I did not want to get naked in front of him, but I really wanted to get out of those clothes. And he was right: a warm bath always helped my migraines too.

  “You fight me and I’ll drown you,” he bit out. “You try to escape and I’ll chain you to that bed and leave you here to starve to death. You scream and I’ll cut tongue out of that pretty mouth of yours and feed it to my dog just for the hell of it. Got it?” His cold eyes bored into mine and I nodded slowly, wincing against the pain in my head as I did.

  I did get it, but that didn’t stop my mind still working out any possible escape routes. He let go of my hands and stalked toward the bathroom door before locking it, and I inwardly cursed him as he placed the key on the chain around his neck.

  He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it up and over his head, and my throat bobbed as I swallowed.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, hating that fear laced my words.

  “Getting undressed,” he replied as he kicked off his boots and slid his jeans down his muscled thighs.

  “Why?” I pleaded, panic pebbling my skin.

  He stood there in just his mask and a pair of tight boxer shorts, his muscled body lean and hard, and every woman’s wet dream. But I’d seen the monster behind the angel and knew how cruel he could be.

  His thumbs hooked into his waistband and he shoved the shorts down his legs, and I quickly turned away from him, ignoring his chuckle.

  “Because,” he said, his voice coming closer until it was only an inch from me and making me jump. His words tickled the sensitive skin behind my ear, making my traitorous nipples harden, “I can’t trust you in the bath alone, Penny. Who knows what trouble you’d get into.”

  He couldn’t trust me in it alone?

  Jesus Christ, what did he think I was going to do? Drown myself? Make myself a shank from soap and water and use it to escape from him? His words pissed me off, yet I couldn’t stop my body from responding to his proximity. To his masculine scent and the heat that burned from him. What the hell was going on?

  His large hands moved around me, his breath on my neck, and I looked down, watching as he took the hem of my shirt in his large hands and began to slowly tear it up the middle. Slowly slowly, like his own personal torture.

  “Stop it,” I begged, my voice sounded strange, heady, filled with desire. “Please.”

  Did I mean that?

  Did I really want him to stop?

  Yes, of course I did…and yet my body continued to ignore my brain’s hatred and disgust for him. No man controlled me. No man owned me. My body and my mind were mine and mine alone. And yet, somehow, this stranger, this dark angel, was beginning to mold me into someone I hardly recognized.

  I was a Benite.

  I was a strong, capable woman and I bowed to no one. The fire was in my blood to fight and scratch and die defending myself and my family name. Yet there I stood, a simpering woman, pliable in that man’s capable hands.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you, Penny,” he replied, his voice husky in my ear. “Not unless you force my hand.”

  But I didn’t believe him.

  How could I?

  “All you’ve done is hurt and humiliate me.” I whimpered.

  His hands finished their work on my T-shirt and moved to my jeans. His nimble fingers began their tortuous work on the buttons before pushing them down my thighs to my feet. His hands moved down my legs, and I cringed because there was no way I smelled good, like a woman should—sexy, feminine, floral. Instead I smelled of piss and sweat, frustration and anger.

  It should have been the last thing I was thinking about—how I smelled to him—and yet the thought was there regardless, coming unbidden into my mind as his hands skimmed down my calves and he gently lifted my foot to pull my tight jeans off. He did the same with the other leg and then his hands trailed back up my legs.

  My core was vibrating with need and desire, heat spreading through my body. I hated that he had this control over me, that he made me feel this way. But him being gentle, was better than him being cruel. I wanted his touch to be soft not painful. The realization that I wanted his touch at all startled me enough to make my knees shake.

  “That’s enough,” I said, my voice a whisper.

  “You’re dirty,” he growled. And we both knew he wasn’t talking about the sweat on my skin anymore. There was so much more in that reply.

  His callused hands stroked the skin on my back, rubbing over the aches and pains until they unclipped my strapless bra and it fell to the floor at my feet, and my heart raced, panic, fear, and something else—something more primal—flaring to life inside me.

  My stomach clenched and my nipples hardened as the air hit them. Agony, desire, fear. They all crawled over me and into me until I was two seconds away from sighing. His thick fingers hooked around the edge of my panties and he slid them down my trembling thighs until they too landed at my feet.

  His breath was warm against the back of my neck and his rough hands were splayed so tightly across my stomach that I expected he could feel the butterflies beating their delicate wings against my insides. I could barely breathe as he tugged me closer still, his front so close to my back that I could feel his hard length pressing against my ass and the heat pouring from him. He was like the sun, a ball of fire that burned bright and strong and destroyed anything in its path, and I was naked and completely at his mercy, ready to be engulfed by his flames.

  “Bath time,” he said, guiding me toward the warm water. “Step,” he ordered, and I did, stepping one foot and then the other into the deliciously warm water.

  For once in my life it didn’t even cross my mind to say no to someone. To defy them. I complied immediately. Completely. Obediently. I was so grateful that he was finally being kind that I didn’t care that this was probably what he’d wanted all along.

  The water moved around my calves as he climbed in behind me, splashing against the sides of the claw-footed tub as he sat down and pulled me to him.

  I sat upright, my body rigid and my arms crossed over my breasts. My chin was high but my eyes were downcast. Shivers trembled across my pale skin as he reached out and wrapped his arms around my middle and pulled me back against his hard chest. His damp fingers lay across my belly and his cock twitched against my ass.

  I lay there, frozen against his body, wondering what the hell was happening. Where had my fight gone? Where had the side of me that clawed and spat and fought for my independence vanished to? I needed her then—that animalistic side that never let me down. I needed her, but she was gone. I felt weak, frightened of his touch. And yet the darker side of me desired it; his touch. It needed his rough hands on my skin, bruising me, holding me steady. I needed his calmness, his coldness; I needed it to steady myself against. He was like my anchor in my troubled and turbulent ocean.

  I took a breath, the warm water rising higher on my body and making me shiver in his arms. His cock twitched again and I swallowed. I focused on our feet at the end of the tub, his large ones surrounding my small ones. His muscular thighs fencing me in, trapping me against his body. His fingers were strong and steady on my belly, and I stared down at his bruised and bloody knuckles, wondering what he’d done to make them like that. Who he’d beaten, killed perhaps.

  “What are we doing here?” I asked quietly. Because this wasn’t necessary. This was a choice he was making. And for some reason I wasn’t fighting him. That was my choice.

  That was what this dark angel was doing to me—making me question myself, my sanity, my loyalty.

  I hated it.

  I hated him.

  “Cleaning you,” he grunted, his breath tickling my neck.

  I huffed in annoyance. “So where’s the soap?” I bit out, knowing immediately that that was the wrong thing to say.

  I felt
his chest rise and fall on a silent laugh. “Just go with it.”

  I waited a beat, willing my tongue to not lash out at him. He was being kind for the first time. I should have been happy with that, if nothing else, and yet we can’t fight who we are. I was fighting, not just him, but myself. This new side that he had awakened in me. The obedient girl who complied with this monsters demands. I wanted him to be gentle with me, yet a dark part of me desired his bruising touch.

  “Just go with it?” I scoffed incredulously. “Get out and let me wash myself.” I tried to sit up but his grip on me tightened, which only made me angrier. “I said—”

  “I heard you.”

  “Then get out and let me wash myself. I’m a big girl.”

  His chest rumbled with laughter, making me furious, and I tried to shrug out from his grip, growing more and more frustrated when he wouldn’t let me go.

  “Oh my god, I hate you!”

  “Good.”

  “Get off of me!” I yelled, still fighting against him. “I can wash myself if you just get off me.”

  “You wanna wash?”

  “Yes!”

  “Fine!”

  “Fine!” I snapped back.

  He pushed me so I was sitting upright and then reached out the side of the bathtub and grabbed a bar of soap. It looked older than I was, and he plunged it into the water and lathered it up before dragging it over my skin. The soap was gritty and hard and I winced against it.

  “Oh my god, what is that!”

  “Soap,” he grumbled.

  “That’s not soap, that’s like sandpaper.”

  “You wanted to be clean, so I’ll get you clean.”

  “I can do it myself!”

  “No.”

  He dragged the rough bar down my back and then over my arms before moving to my belly. He scraped the bar over my skin, making it red raw and sore. He wasn’t gentle; he didn’t even try to be. And with every scrape of the soap and every wince of my pain I felt his cock harden behind me.

  “I can do it myself! Jesus!” I finally snapped, attempting to take the soap from his hand. He grabbed my hand in his, the soap plunging between my thighs somewhere. His lips were at my ear, his breath hot.