Copper (RBMC: Tulsa, OK Book 2)

by K. Webster

  The next picture is a selfie of Copper and Krista. She has a sassy haircut that looks stylish for her age that’s close to Copper’s. A pang of jealousy spikes through me.

  “I didn’t know you two were fucking again,” I spit out before I can stop myself.

  Copper tenses up. “I’m not fucking my ex-wife.”

  His dark eyes are lit up with amusement and hers shine with love.

  “Could have fooled me,” I snap before dropping his phone in his lap and rolling away from him. Tears sting at my eyes and I feel like an idiot. What did I really think would happen? I’d somehow seduce Copper into loving me? That we’d go from being captor and captive to husband and wife? I’m such an idiot. Captivity is making me insane, apparently.

  “You’re really fucking jealous,” Copper marvels, curling his body around mine.

  I ignore him, slamming my eyes closed. I’m unable to ignore the way his large hand covers the expanse of my stomach, a couple of fingers stroking over my exposed midriff. His cock is hard pressed against my ass. As much as I craved to get him to fuck me, I’m suddenly not feeling in the mood any longer.

  “Hey,” he murmurs, his hot breath tickling my neck. “I didn’t fuck Krista and haven’t since before the divorce. She and I are better as friends. If she hadn’t gotten pregnant with Blake all those years ago, I would’ve probably realized that a lot sooner.”

  My body relaxes at his words, making me feel like a dumb, lovesick teenager. I shouldn’t care who he fucks. But, since he claimed me and took me to his house that fateful night when I blew my cover, I’ve felt like I do belong to him. Him fucking another woman feels like a betrayal, which is stupid since he owes me nothing.

  “For the record, I think your jealousy is cute.” His voice rumbles its way straight to my pussy. “It almost makes me think you care.”

  I don’t.

  Asshole.

  He drags a blanket up our legs before wrapping his arm back around me, his palm finding its way to my stomach again. “You’re not going to run away, are you?”

  “And get sucked up into a tornado with my two dogs like Dorothy? Pass.”

  A chuckle reverberates through him. “What makes you think my dogs would go on this adventure too?”

  “They’re my dogs now.”

  I can feel his smile against my neck. “Is that so?”

  “It so is.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You can rest, though, knowing your babies aren’t leaving you. No need to cuff the hot one up tonight.”

  I drift off, not at all hating the way I feel safe and cared for in his powerful grip.

  He’s a monster, remember?

  Kind of tough to remember when he’s so damn cuddly and sweet.

  Copper

  I wake to loud-ass barking. It takes a second to recognize where I’m at and with whom. A groan rumbles from me as I realize Stormy’s perfect tit is nestled in my palm beneath her shirt. Damn her for being so goddamn tempting. I’m not a monster like she claims, but I’m also no saint. I run my thumb over her hard nipple, wondering what it would taste like between my teeth. Hansel barks again, ruining my moment to appreciate the finer parts of this woman.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumble to my dogs. “You have to pee. Point taken.”

  Reluctantly, I pull away from my sleeping captive and stand up to open the closet door. The moment I get it open, the dogs fly out and head for the front door. As soon as I open it, they sprint out into the wet yard. It’s then I hear what they were getting all excited about.

  Engines.

  Not just one.

  Several motorcycles are headed my way.

  A sense of dread washes over me. Not that I’m worried about my brother, but the other Royal Bastards make me nervous.

  Why?

  Because of her.

  For months she’s slowly been getting under my skin. I’ve been trying my damnedest to stay away from her, not speak to her, and work as much as I fucking can. But at night, when she’s living in my space with me like a goddamn wife, it’s hard as hell not to be tempted by her.

  And the thought of Filter or Dragon giving her grief doesn’t sit well with me.

  No sooner than I think of him, Dragon’s newest bike, a chrome and black Harley Breakout, leads the fray with Katana close behind him. Next, Bizzy and Gibson roll in with Bermuda bringing in the rear. I check my phone for missed calls, but I have nothing. My brother could have fucking warned me he was sending his boys in to check up on me.

  Leaving my front door open, I walk back inside to start the Keurig.

  “Little storm, get your ass in your room,” I bark out, my tone sharp and commanding.

  Stormy peeks around the corner, her blond hair messy from sleep and her blue eyes wide. “Who’s here?”

  “The guys. Filter’s not here,” I assure her. “But it’d be best if you’d make yourself scarce.”

  Her brow deepens with a frown, but surprisingly, she obeys. Relief floods through me when I hear the bedroom door shut. Moments later, heavy thuds of boots on my hardwoods can be heard as the guys enter the house.

  “Dude,” Bizzy says, his loud-ass voice echoing off the walls. “Did you get any damage? A tornado blew through Sand Springs.”

  I finish fixing up my coffee and turn to face the men crowding my kitchen. They’re a motley crew. Bizzy is goofy as hell with a cheesy grin on his chubby, bearded face. His belly strains against the fabric of his black T-shirt under his leather cut. Gibson’s eyes are searching in a curious way as though he hopes to catch a peek of Stormy. Dragon in all his psycho-supermodel glory smirks, his green eyes flashing with hidden agendas. Katana is stoic and tense beside him while Bermuda looks as though he’s being punished by being forced to come here.

  “How’s the compound?” I ask, sipping my coffee.

  “A few trees got pulled up,” Gibson says, “but the clubhouse is still standing.”

  The guys recently started on construction for the clubhouse site next to the main house. With Koyn’s kid coming and him wanting to grow the club, he decided some changes needed to happen. For one, he couldn’t move more bikers into his house. It’s full enough as it is. Hopefully by the end of the year they’ll have the clubhouse built.

  “What’s up? I know you shitheads didn’t miss my pretty face,” I grunt out, locking eyes with Dragon, who’s clearly leading this outfit.

  “Something’s up with Prez,” Dragon says, cocking his head to the side as he studies me in that unnerving way of his. Dragon knows there’s someone hiding within their ranks, which means he’s taunting me by putting me on the spot in front of the guys who don’t know. “Being secretive and shit. You know anything about that?”

  Yeah, asshole, he’s looking into each and every one of you. You should be pissing your pants if you’re hiding something from him.

  I roll my eyes and feign innocence. “Since PG can’t have her period, I’m guessing Koyn’s having his.” I shrug. “If there was something wrong, he’d tell me. I’m his brother.”

  “Maybe think on it and let us know.” Dragon keeps his emerald eyes locked on me. “You gonna make us some breakfast or what?”

  Bermuda lifts his chin. “I’ll help.”

  Bizzy, Gibson, Katana, and Dragon head back outside to smoke and fuck around with the dogs while Bermuda and I set to pulling out shit to cook for these beasts. I’m on edge with Stormy hanging out in the other room. Surely she knows she better stay her ass out of the way, especially if she hears Dragon’s voice.

  “Koyn says you still have her,” Bermuda mutters as he preps the frying pan to make bacon. “Chained to the bed or some shit.”

  It’s been five months since my brother dropped in to physically check on the situation. Since, I’ve kept him updated that she’s still my little captive, doing my best not to show any sort of emotion that might have him wanting to take things in his own hands.

  I can handle my own shit.

  “I don’t always keep her chained up,”
I grumble, irritated at his accusatory tone. “It’s Stormy, for fuck’s sake. You think she’d settle for being locked up twenty-four-seven?”

  He chuckles. “Nah, I bet she’d have something to say about that.”

  “She knows her place,” I assure him, “but I don’t hurt her. She usually manages to do that all by herself.”

  His shoulders relax. It makes me realize he cares about Stormy probably more than any of the guys. For some reason, it doesn’t reassure me. If anything, it annoys me. They should all just forget about her. She’s none of their concern anymore.

  “Usually, he just tries to kill me with boredom,” a feminine voice utters.

  Bermuda and I both snap our heads in the direction of Stormy. Goddamn woman doesn’t listen for shit. Where I thought she was hiding, her prissy ass was getting dolled up. My fresh-faced girl is gone. In her stead is a woman with a full face of makeup, a messy bun, and tits hanging out of a tight black tank. Her shorts don’t even constitute as an article of clothing because they’re nothing but a shred of frayed, holey denim that doesn’t cover shit. The black cowgirl boots don’t do anything to take away from her sex appeal. If anything, it only gives me images of her naked with those damn things digging into my ass as I fuck her.

  “No,” I growl.

  Her blond brow pops up as does her lip in disbelief at my tone. “What do you mean no?”

  “That,” I snap, pointing at her outfit with a spatula. “No.”

  “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Copper!” she hisses back before she sashays right up to Bermuda. “Hey.”

  Fucking hey?

  Bermuda tenses, as if he’s holding back on going off on her or worse. It’s enough to have me flying into action. I stalk over to her and grip her by both of her bare arms, walking her away from him.

  “You’re not wearing this shit around them,” I grind out, my voice low. “It’d be best if you not leave your room at all.”

  Her blue eyes are icy as they cut into me like blades. “I haven’t had human interaction in forever—”

  “You have me!” I explode. “That’s enough.”

  Stormy is normally razor-sharp, but my words have her softening. “I just thought…”

  That we could go back to old times? That everyone would forget she betrayed them all? That she would waltz back into their lives and everything would be fucking peachy?

  She thought wrong.

  “I, for one, have missed you,” Dragon rumbles, his heavy footsteps thudding into the kitchen. “Come give Uncle Dragon a hug.”

  Stormy breaks out of my hold to face off with the dragon. Her hip pops out to the side, showing that she still has a fucking attitude problem, and she flips him off.

  He laughs at her boldness. Ignoring him, she saunters past him to pat Katana on the head and then pulls both Gibson and Bizzy into a group hug. Those two softies immediately start jabbering to her like they’re one of the girls.

  “Does Prez know you’re here playing house with the mole?” Dragon asks, hopping up on the counter and looking like an evil gargoyle perched on a ledge.

  “I’m not playing house,” I grumble, walking back over to the fridge to pull out the eggs. “Mind your own business.”

  Dragon snorts. “Protecting Prez is my business.”

  “What are you getting at?” I demand, glancing over my shoulder at him. “I know you’re not insinuating he needs protection from his own brother.”

  “If his brother is cool with a lying bitch who nearly brought the heat down on everyone, then yeah, I’m insinuating that exactly.”

  I walk over to Dragon, uncaring he’s now playing with a switchblade. If you give this fucker an inch, he’ll take a mile. He needs to know I’d die before I hurt my brother.

  “Stormy is my fucking problem,” I growl. “Drop it.”

  His nostrils flare and his grip tightens around the handle of his switchblade. Dragon may be a psycho sonofabitch, but I pack a lethal punch. I’d knock him on his ass before he ever had a chance to use that blade.

  Finally, after a long-ass stare down where neither of us retreats, he lets loose a laugh. He flips his knife closed and turns his attention to Katana, carrying on a one-sided conversation about a boat he wants to get.

  Only Dragon can go from throwing out threats to talks of partying in one goddamn breath.

  Whatever.

  As long as he stays off my ass and away from my girl, I don’t give a fuck what he does.

  My girl?

  Yeah, right.

  Stormy is not my girl. She’s my responsibility. One with a long commitment. Worse than a damn dog because she talks back. At least she’s fucking hot.

  It’s going to take everything in me to get through breakfast with these idiots, but at least I no longer feel like Dragon’s going to pull some crazy shit.

  I am jealous.

  Fuck.

  Bermuda has finally warmed up to Stormy much to my irritation. If she keeps flirting with them as they clean up the kitchen, I’m going to blow a gasket. I think she’s doing it on purpose too. Like last night. Prancing around in no fucking bra. It was nearly impossible not to bend Stormy over a weight bench and fuck her into next week. If it hadn’t been for the storms rolling in, I probably would have too. It’s a miracle I didn’t strip her down and drive into her last night in the closet.

  Instead, I fucking cuddled with her.

  I’m in some serious mental shit with this girl. I know she fucked us all over with her lies and personal agendas, but try telling my dick that. My dick wants to do just like Dragon said. Play house. I want Stormy in all the impossible ways.

  “Look,” Bizzy says from the floor where he’s sitting, Hansel’s head in his lap. “A thousand likes already.” He scrolls through his phone, his eyes lit up in surprise.

  “You don’t have a thousand likes on your dick pic,” Dragon throws back from where he’s sprawled out on the sofa like he’s king of my fucking castle.

  Katana’s lips curl into a small smile at his dig at Bizzy.

  “No, crazy asshole, my dick pic has ten million likes,” Bizzy jokes with a laugh that makes his stomach jiggle. “I’m talking about our boy.”

  Gibson’s cheeks flame red. For a badass biker who I’ve seen in action and know for a fact can hold his own in a fight, he blushes like a fucking teenager.

  Dragon sits up, amusement setting his evil green eyes on fire. “Wait. Gibson has a dick pic? Let’s see.”

  “I want to see,” Stormy calls out from the kitchen.

  “You’re grounded. Forever,” I bark back to her. “No dick pics. Ever.”

  She sticks her tongue out at me. I wink at her and then grin in a way that lets her know I’ll show her my dick one day if she’s a good girl. The smile she tries to hide makes said dick thicken in my sweats.

  “It’s not his dick, fuckers,” Bizzy grumbles. “It’s his music. The other night at the Q, I took a video of him playing some Hank Williams Jr.” He mashes a button and Gibson’s voice croons from the device. “Oh, look, the bitches all want to have his baby.”

  Gibson shakes his head, clearly embarrassed by it all. Bizzy is shameless as he reads off several comments.

  “Marry me, baby,” Bizzy reads aloud in a girly voice. “I’ll be your baby momma.” He snorts. “Wanna be my sugar baby, honey?”

  We all laugh when Gibson tries to steal Bizzy’s phone. Hansel gets feisty and nips Gibson on the ass. Bizzy’s face is red from laughing and he continues reading the comments.

  “Come to Tennessee, country boy, and we’ll make some music together,” Bizzy says, still in his woman voice. “My band’s called…” He cackles. “Barnyard Belles.”

  Dragon kicks out a long leg, nudging at Gibson, who’s now sitting on the couch pouting like a girl. “Barnyard Belles. Kinda catchy.”

  Gibson flips him off, his face still bright red.

  “I think it’s sweet,” Stormy sasses from the kitchen.

  “Don’t you dumbasses think
you’ve overstayed your welcome?” I grumble. “Get out of my house already.”

  They all ignore my ass.

  “Oh,” Bizzy says, “here’s another one. You’re incomparable, and I can make you a star.”

  Before Bizzy can read anymore, Dragon rises to his feet, no longer laughing. “Delete it.”

  “What?” Bizzy asks.

  “I said delete it,” Dragon growls, storming over to him. “Now.”

  “Yeah, delete it,” Gibson throws out. “No one gives a damn about my music. Just my dick. I’d prefer to keep my privates private, man.”

  “But, dude, you’re good,” Bizzy argues. “This is how most stars are found—hey!”

  Dragon snatches the phone from his grip and his fingers fly over the screen. It takes Bizzy’s big ass a second to climb off the floor. He must feel passionately about the video because he actually goes toe to toe with Dragon like he might win that battle.

  “Give me my phone, fucker,” Bizzy booms. “You can’t just delete—”

  “Too late.” Dragon shoves the phone against Bizzy’s chest and glowers at him. “Time to roll out. We have shit to do.”

  He stalks out of my house without a backward glance, leaving the door standing wide-open. Katana, his shadow, disappears with him. Gibson gives Bizzy a reassuring smile and then those two guys get ready to leave. They take turns hugging Stormy before telling me bye. Where their hugs to her were friendly, the one she shares with Bermuda is a familiar, lingering one that sets my teeth on edge.

  “Miss you,” Bermuda murmurs, kissing the top of her head. “Try to be good.”

  “You know I don’t know how to do that shit,” she sasses back, a fake smile on her face.

  I’m no longer interested in their exchange because I’m all too focused on her. Darting blue eyes. Slightly furrowed brows. Tense shoulders.

  “See you around, man,” Bermuda says, tipping his ball cap at me.

  I close the door behind him and cross my arms over my chest. “What?”