"Get the fuck over here, Anya," Reaper said.
She ran around Deke, didn't look at either of his two friends as they converged on him and, just as he'd ordered, got behind him.
"You're dead! You're a dead man!" Deke screamed.
"Call Czar. Tell him there's three dead bodies he needs to get rid of. He'll send someone to do cleanup. Deke's being a whiny little bitch. I could have put the blade right through his throat, but that was me being nice. For you, Anya. Remember, I was being nice." He was careful to keep his voice low. Conversational. Sneering with contempt in the appropriate places.
"No need to call Czar." Savage, his birth brother, slid out of the deeper shadows. "I'll handle this. You take Anya out of here. No need for her to see this."
"Go, Reaper." Ice stepped out from behind the building. His brother Storm was there as well. "Preacher's lying up on the roof with a sniper rifle. He said Anya would have trouble with these pricks."
Deke had stopped screaming and cursing. Now, he and his two buddies edged toward their bikes. When they turned away from Reaper, they practically bumped into two more club members, Master and Keys.
Master shook his head almost sadly. "Our bartender is under our protection. Did you think we'd let you put your filthy hands on her?"
"She was coming on to me all night," Deke defended.
"That true, Reaper?" Ice asked. "You sat in that bar and let your woman flirt with pretty boy Deke here?"
"If she had," Reaper said, not denying Anya belonged to him, although what he'd do with a woman was anyone's guess, "I would have fuckin' killed him right then." He kept his voice soft, but he heard her swift intake of breath. He had to remember she didn't know the rules of their world. She didn't understand the violence they'd grown up with or the jobs they'd had as assassins for their government.
"Get her out of here," Savage said again.
Anya shook her head when Reaper turned to her. He didn't like the others doing his dirty work, but then she couldn't be a witness. "Let's go." He was gruff. He didn't mean to be, but he had no idea how to talk to a woman, let alone a woman like Anya, so far out of his league he didn't know how to breach the gap.
She shook her head again. "What are they going to do to them? What's going to happen?"
"Let's go," he repeated, and this time he caught her upper arm in an unbreakable grip. "What happens next depends on them. We're not in it anymore."
"I don't want them dead because of me, Reaper," she whispered, even as she let him drag her to his bike. "Seriously. Not because of me."
"If that happened, it would be because of what their intentions were, not anything you did." He handed her his "dome," the small helmet he wore because it was the law, not because it mattered to him that his head might be saved if he crashed. "Put it on." It was the first time in his life he wished he owned a full helmet. He wanted her head intact if they crashed. He straddled the bike and looked at her expectantly.
"I can hitchhike."
That pissed him off. He let her see the anger building behind his eyes. "Get the fuck on." He waited again, staring her down.
She bit her lip. "My car broke down." She glanced over her shoulder. The murmur of voices was low, but his brothers had surrounded the three men.
Savage's voice drifted back to them. "Get my brother's knife, Ice."
Yeah. That was his brothers. Taking care of business. Watching out for him, even when he was the one who was supposed to watch out for them. Satisfaction gripped him for a moment. Affection. He sometimes knew what that feeling was, but most of the time he couldn't feel, or couldn't identify the emotion when he had it.
"Anya, look at me, not at them. That's over for you. You didn't see those three fuckers after they left. You understand me? No matter who asks, you didn't see them. They left the bar and they were gone. You chose to stay when you had your way out. That means you live by our rules. Get on the bike."
He backed it out and waited. Reluctantly she threw her leg over and straddled the bike right behind him. Close. God. He could feel her body heat. He reached around, caught her hands in his and yanked her even closer so she was welded to him. She locked her hands at his waist, and then they were flying down the road.
He'd never had a woman on the back of his bike. Not even Lana or Alena, the two female club members. He couldn't believe what it felt like, her body fused to his, the two of them connected to the bike so they all three moved as one. Man. Woman. Machine. Anya might be afraid of him, but on the bike, she trusted him implicitly, leaning with him, moving with him, her tits pressed against his back, her hands at his waist, so close to his cock he could feel it burn. The vibration of the powerful machine had never been so erotic as it was with her clinging to him.
THREE
"Egg Taking Station," Anya said against his ear, trying to shout loud enough that Reaper could hear her. The wind tore through her hair and whipped at her face. It felt cleansing. It was exhilarating. She felt more alive than she ever had as they hurtled down the road. She'd never been on a motorcycle, but she felt like she'd been born for one.
She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against Reaper's back. Against his colors. She never thought, in a million years, she would be flying down the road on the back of his Harley. From the first moment he'd come into the bar after Czar had hired her, he'd taken her breath away. The attraction to him had been so intense, she had hardly been able to work. He'd settled into a chair at the back of the room, and he'd stayed there all night. He'd drunk coffee, not liquor, and he'd watched her.
After a while she thought of herself as a mouse, cornered by a large cat. His gaze hadn't been friendly. There was nothing friendly about Reaper. Nothing at all. His eyes were dead. When he looked at her, she felt he could gut her and not even blink twice. His eyes were dark holes, surrounded by dark, thick lashes. Why had she noticed his lashes when he looked so remote, his face carved from stone, all angles and planes?
He had scars on his face, dissecting the dark stubble on his left side from the corner of his eye all the way to his jaw, as if someone had taken a knife and carved a curving line down his face. Another line followed his angular jaw. Strangely, on his right side was carved a tic-tac-toe board with three Xs in a diagonal in the squares. It wasn't a tattoo, the lines were scars.
She was tall, not quite the same height as he was, but close. His shoulders were very wide and his chest was extremely broad. His arms were defined with muscle, along with his narrowing rib cage and waist. His hips were narrow, his thighs strong. She'd looked a little too much because she was fairly certain she could map out his muscles on paper. Okay, truthfully, she had. She loved to draw, and she had a sketchbook filled with renditions of Reaper.
There were bikers in the bar every single night. She wasn't attracted to bikers. Not at all. Their world didn't appeal to her. She had promised herself she would move up in the world. She'd been doing that steadily. She'd done it all herself, carving a place for herself by her fingernails. For a shelter kid, she hadn't done half bad. No school, but she'd managed to get her GED. She'd worked hard and saved money to go to bartending school. She figured she'd be the best bartender in the world, and she was well on her way. She hadn't shown Czar, but she could do just about any trick done by the best. As she moved up to better and better bars, the tips had flowed.
She took a deep breath and looked around her as the ocean sped by so fast it was almost a blur. She was tired and had a long way to walk to get to her car. Truthfully, she was terrified of that walk. She knew wild animals were out at night, including mountain lions and bears. She thought maybe coyotes. She wasn't looking forward to it, but she'd done it a couple of times before.
They turned off at Highway 20 and as they roared down the road, he dropped one gloved hand and covered both of hers, pressing them closer to his waist. She'd never been so aware of another human being. She'd never been so aware of her own body, the bike vibrating between her thighs, her mound pushed against his butt, her breasts aching,
nipples on fire, pressed so tightly against him, rubbing with every lean of the bike.
She loved riding on the motorcycle with him. It was masochistic being attracted to him. Insane even. Most of the other club members were nice to her--distant but nice. She supposed all the other members could be considered handsome, but Reaper was sexy. He was raw power. Scary dangerous. Whatever he did for the club, and she didn't want to know, it was hazardous work.
When she first pushed at Reaper's chest, every member of the club in the back room had come to their feet and they'd looked worried--for her. She knew immediately she shouldn't have touched him. Then he wouldn't let her go, and she'd been terrified. Right before Czar told her she still had a job, she saw a strange look pass between the club members behind Reaper's back. They'd gone from anxious to knowing. Amused maybe. Something she couldn't quite interpret.
The bike slowed, and Reaper turned onto the dirt road leading to the campground. She gripped his jacket and lifted her face so her mouth was against his ear. "I can walk in from here." How did he know where her car was? She hadn't told anyone she lived out here. It was utterly humiliating.
He hadn't asked her how to get to her car. He hadn't asked a single question. She stiffened, suddenly aware she was alone with the scariest member of Torpedo Ink. She didn't know a thing about him, other than he drank coffee and didn't like her. Her heart stuttered and then accelerated. She'd been so stupid. She'd been so worried they were going to kill Deke and his friends that she really hadn't thought about her own safety. That was so stupid and so unlike her.
She was a planner. She'd planned out her entire life. When things had blown up in her face, she'd planned her getaway meticulously, even if it had been on the run. It was Reaper. There was no reason to be attracted to him, but she'd never had such physical desire for anyone in her life. She dreamt about him at night. Sometimes she fantasized about him during the day.
The biker life wasn't for her and she knew Reaper wasn't either, but just once, she wished she could have a night of blazing hot sex with him. The kind of sex women read and dreamt about but never really had. Reaper was that raw. That wild. That primitive. She knew he'd be raw, wild and primitive in bed. Just once, she wanted to experience that kind of hot, carnal, erotic sex. The urge wasn't strong enough to risk her life though. She had no idea what he'd do when he found her car. Best-case scenario, he'd give her a lecture and leave her there.
Reaper wasn't given to lectures. In the month she'd known him, he hadn't said a single word other than coffee. In one night, he'd shattered his record, and most of it wasn't good. He really, really didn't like her, but the fingers covering her hand drove her nuts. He kept stroking the back of her hand with a gloved finger. She didn't know what it meant, but it sent little tingles of awareness, little electrical charges slithering through her body until she was coiled tight.
She pointed to the right, and he veered from the main road to the campsite where her car sat looking dilapidated, rusted and sad under the trees where she'd been forced to leave it that morning. As soon as she knew it had given up, she'd set about hiking out to the main highway and then hitchhiking into town. Still, she'd been late for work. Really late. Preacher had raised an eyebrow at her--he'd been swamped when she came in--but he hadn't said a word. Not a single word.
She had to put her hand on Reaper's shoulder to get off the bike, and he couldn't have failed to notice that she was shaking. She hoped he put it down to the cold night. She stepped away, removing the helmet as he turned off the bike and silence settled in the forest. Still straddling the bike, he looked around slowly. She hoped that meant he was going to leave immediately.
"Thanks for the ride. My car gave me trouble this morning. It does that sometimes. I'll get to work on time though," she hastened to assure him.
"Why didn't you call? We would have sent a tow truck."
She bit her lip. She couldn't afford a tow truck. He wasn't going to like her answer so she remained silent.
"Anya. Let's get one thing straight between us." He swung one leg over his bike and remained sitting there, looking lazy. Looking scary. There was nothing lazy or casual about Reaper, so that casual pose scared the crap out of her.
She was still afraid to speak, so she nodded to indicate she was listening. She knew when someone said "get something straight," that usually meant she wasn't going to like what they had to say. There was a throbbing between her legs that shouldn't have been there. Reaper did that to her, even when he was being as scary as all get-out. She was very aware she was alone with him out in the middle of a forest, with no one around them.
"When I ask you a question, I want an answer. You got that?"
She felt the familiar rise of heat. Her temper. She had one. She shoved it down, even though she wanted to tell him to go to hell. She'd gotten ahead, following her plan, and she'd done that by keeping her temper in check. She nodded, because she didn't trust her voice.
"The tow truck."
He was looking into her eyes, noting her flushed face. He knew she was angry, knew she didn't like him dictating to her. He didn't like her anyway, so screw him if he looked down on her for not having a home or money. She lifted her chin. "I can't afford it. If I could, do you think I'd be living in my car out here? It's freezing at night." Why she added that bit of information, she had no idea. Probably because she was so angry at him sitting there all lazy and superior on his bike.
God. He was the hottest thing she'd ever seen. Why would she want the one man who had more issues than she did? And she did want him. Desperately. Just one night of sheer bliss. Those hands. He was so strong. He knew what he was doing. Every time his gaze brushed anywhere on her body, it felt like a physical touch. Hot as hell. Lingering. He was such a bastard. He had to know how he was affecting her.
"You're living in that rust bucket?"
She nodded. "I'm tired. Thank you for the ride and thank you for saving me from Deke, although I'm not certain that throwing a knife at him was warranted."
"That was me showing restraint, just for you. Now, get whatever you need out of your car and get on my bike. I'm not arguing, I'm taking your ass to the clubhouse."
A shower. Somewhere warm. That would be heaven. She'd been washing up in the bathroom at work. There was no shower at the campgrounds, and no real bathroom. For one second she was tempted, but she knew not to let herself rely on anyone else. She had to get herself out of every situation on her own.
Anya forced a smile. "Really, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I can't go with you. I swear, I won't be late for work tomorrow . . ."
He was up and off the bike. He was a big man. Huge. Coming at her, a solid wall of sheer muscle, and he was coming fast. She backpedaled, stumbled, barely caught herself, no air in her lungs and a frisson of fear creeping down her spine. She threw up one hand to fend him off, as if that would work.
"Fuck it," he muttered, going right past her hand. "I'll send Lana or Alena out to get your clothes." He caught her outstretched hand, yanked her to him and then she was upside down over his shoulder.
She let out a girly scream that she quickly shut down, and then she punched him. Hard. Right in his ribs. His breath hissed out and he flinched. His hand came down hard on her bottom. Very hard. Outraged, she hit him again. He repeated the swat in exactly the same place and fire rushed through her. Spread. She didn't know if it was painful or if her temper had kicked in, or if he was so sexy anything he did sent heat rushing through her veins and throbbing between her legs.
He set her down next to the bike, swearing under his breath. His color was off. Almost gray. She glanced at his ribs. She'd hit him, but this man was the enforcer of the club. She didn't know a lot, but she knew sergeant at arms meant protector of the club. He should be able to take a hit in the ribs without flinching.
"Get on the fucking bike."
"Stop swearing at me."
"It's a word. Doesn't mean a damn thing."
"Then it should be easy enough to stop using
it."
"Anya." He said her name between clenched teeth. "I'm out of patience. I'm forty-eight hours without sleep and I've had enough of being polite. It's not my thing. Now get on the bike."
"Open your jacket."
His eyes were beautiful. So intense. Hooded. Shockingly blue. Cold as ice. Right now, those eyes bored into her and she couldn't help the shiver running through her body. She wasn't backing down no matter how afraid she was. He was hurt. She knew he was. It wasn't a small thing either. He looked like he might kill her if she continued to defy him. That didn't matter either. She sighed.
"I'll go with you if you open your jacket and let me see."
"You'll go with me because I fucking tell you to," he snapped.
She ignored the macho bullshit. "Willingly."
He studied her face for what seemed like an eternity. His gaze drifted down, over her body, touching on her breasts, the junction between her legs, dwelt there for a moment so she had to hold herself very still so she wouldn't squirm with need. So she didn't give away the fact that she was damp and her clit throbbed for no reason other than he was the sexiest man alive. No, he was a beast. Still, every time he opened his mouth, he brought the hot factor down a notch, at least that was what she told herself, but then she could be prone to bullshit when it came to him.
His gaze came back to her face. One hand went to the zipper of his jacket, and triumph burst through her. She'd out-stubborned him. Well, okay, he'd conceded. She knew it wasn't in his nature and he certainly wasn't a man that allowed a woman to tell him what to do, so what did it mean?
She saw the blood and her breath left her lungs. There was old blood, nearly dry, and new blood slowly seeping into his shirt. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have hit you if I'd known." She'd hit him twice. In the same spot. Hard.
He zipped his jacket up, his features pure stone. "Get on the bike." He slung one leg over and backed it up. "Right fucking now."