Captivate Me (34 page)

I can only hope for the sake of everything I already fucked up between us that Gretchen doesn’t find out I’m around. I’m a selfish bastard, an asshole, a prick, and for some fucked up reason that woman can’t let me go. The history we share needs to be in the past. I’m no good for her and haven’t been since the day we met when we were seventeen.

Loyalty, I will give her that. It runs thick in her veins, but I need more than she can give me. It’s why I had to hit the road with Rowdy years ago. It’s why we met up with X, Judge, and Deacon, all riding the open highway together before Trapper landed on our doorstep, sliced up in front of us.

Loyalty, we have it to each other. It’s a lifestyle I won’t bring Gretchen into. I took enough away from her. It’s time I give her back her freedom since mine won’t come until my past is settled. I don’t need to drag her down with me.

That’s what the six of us have in common. We aren’t dragging each other down. Nope, we are all living our own personal hells together. You can’t drag anyone deeper than we already are. We do it together. If anyone wants out, at any time, they can go. Until then, we go from town to town, following one lead after another, trying to serve justice that previously wasn’t given.

Chapter Two

~Deacon~

The gravel crunches under my feet. I fucking hate Tennessee. That’s bullshit.

I hate everywhere.

It’s five a.m. on a hot, humid day. The atmospheric pressure of a storm rolling in has my lungs burning for clean air and my joints aching for me to slow down.

Press on, Frogman.
I push harder.

My days as a Navy SEAL are behind me. After being trained to be part of a team, an integral piece of something greater, there are pieces of my past I can never leave behind. Running clears my mind, though. The physical exertion of pushing harder and harder reminds me I’m alive, and in the end, it’s a daily habit I simply can’t break.

The gray sky opens up, and drops pelt down on my face in rapid succession. Pin prickles hit my skin like shards of metal cutting me.

I relish the pain.

My thighs burn, and my knees are in agony from every pound of my feet on the pavement beneath me. My sweat rolls down in thick beads, mixing with the water and leaving a salty blend on my skin and lips.

Thunder rolls in the air around me and lightning flashes overhead as the salt of my sweat continues to mix with the water causing the inside of my eyes to burn fiercely. My body reacts by blinking rapidly as I power on.

I want to wipe my eyes, but I resist, fighting to see clearly.

Isn’t that what we all do? Fight to see things clearly?

My dick gets hard. I get off on the pain. I get off on pushing myself harder and harder, higher and higher. No relief. No rest. Push on.

I hear the rhythm of someone running ahead of me. From the softer sounds of their shoes, it’s a female, or a male much lighter than me. At six-foot-eleven and a solid two hundred and sixty pounds, I am muscle, mass, and not fucking afraid of one damn thing.

The thunder booms, the lightning flashes, and I hear the scream of a woman.

Ahead of me, I see the flash of neon pink as I watch her steps stop. Coming up on her, I feel the tension of her anxiety radiating into the space around us.

“You should get inside,” I say to her, my breathing ragged from my run.

She is frozen in place as yet more thunder crashes loudly around us. She shakes her head back and forth wildly, and her braid whips around, smacking her in the face. The park we are running through has a small shelter with a single picnic table off to our right. Taking the fearful pixie by the hand, I guide her to the space to at least get out of the elements.

She trembles as her body gets out of the pelting rain. Instinctively, I rub my hands up and down her arms as I feel her break out in goose bumps.

“The app said this morning would be clear,” she blurts out and then strains her neck back to look up at me. “You’re tall.”

I say nothing. What is there to say? I am tall, and I’m pretty sure the app on my phone didn’t call for rain this morning, either. Regardless, I felt it in the air before I ever made it this far from the dive we have been crashing in.

Rain, wind, sleet, snow, or a fucking tornado, if I don’t get up and run first thing, it’s like I can’t function. My mind goes places it doesn’t need to.

“My name is Constance. You can, um … call me Connie. My friends do,” the tiny woman in my arms says, bringing me out from my dark thoughts.

“Deacon.” I give her nothing more.

“Deacon, huh? Were your parents big on church?” She laughs to herself. I don’t know why she finds my name funny.

“Road name, not my real name. As for church and God, we have an understanding. Not really your business.”

“Broody,” she whispers, taking a step back and looking around me at the storm raging on. “It’s kinda hot.” She twists her hands together nervously, starting to whisper to herself as if I’m not even standing a mere three feet away. “Hot man … all wet. My God, this is like out of one of the books I read. Go for it, Connie. Take a chance. Live a little. It’s not like you haven’t had a one-night stand before.” She smacks herself in the forehead. “You’re an idiot. Just do it.”

Turning my back on her, I make my way to the edge of the covering, ready to take off and finish my run. I don’t like nervous people. I don’t like nervous energy. I need to get the blood pumping hard in my veins again. I need the release of pushing my body to its limits. What I don’t need is batshit crazy, even if it would take the ache out of my balls.

Boom, crack, crash
. We hear the thunder clap and then the crack of an old pine tree before we both stand in awe as we watch it fall.

As it crashes onto the roof of the shelter, I feel two small hands reach out to grab me just as she screams in reaction to the pine needles flying everywhere and the branches settling around us, cocooning us in this space.

“Please don’t leave me. When the storm passes, I’ll be okay, but I’ve never liked storms.”

On a sigh, I move to the picnic table and sit on the tabletop, bending my knees to rest my feet on the bench. With my elbows on my knees, I try to let the time pass.

I’m an ass, but I’m not a bona-fide dickhead. She’s scared; I won’t leave her. I just won’t give her a ton of attention. This will pass, and then we will both be on our way. Only, then the dark-haired woman comes to stand in front of me.

“What do you do, Deacon?” she asks me as if she’s trying for small talk.

“I don’t do chatter,” I huff out.

I watch her lips tick as if she’s fighting back a smile. She fans herself as if she’s hot, but the rain has cooled the air around us. Then her breathing changes, and I watch the dramatic rise and fall of her pert breasts in her sports bra as she looks at me with a distinct desire.

She bites her lip in an erotic way. “What do you do?”

Oh, honey, do you even realize what you’re starting here?

“I fuck, I fight, and I ride my bike; not necessarily in that order,” I give her honestly.

She taps her finger on her lip as if she’s contemplating something. There is a new confidence to her that has my cock hardening in curiosity, wondering if she will be so full of herself when I’m balls fucking deep.

“Well, we have nothing but time, and I could use a way to burn a few more calories.” She gives me a wink.

***

The story continues on in Crossover (Devil’s Due MC and Vipers Creed MC Prequel) available for preorder through all major retailers. Meet all six nomads of the Devil’s Due MC and find out what happens when their paths cross right into Vipers Creed territory. Mayhem, madness, and steam will all collide in this collection of two stories together.

About the Author

USA Today
bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She’s a wife and mom, chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write about blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.

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