Grounds for Divorce (3 page)

“Fine,” said Kayla, just to get him to stop looking at her like that.

Zach’s posture eased at once. “I’ll drive you to the clubhouse.”

“What,
now
?”

He nodded. “This could all be over in an hour. If he even lasts that long…
Please
.” This time, when he took hold of Kayla’s upper arms, she let him embrace her.

She needed his arms around her, reminding her that she had a home, that she belonged.

“Let me get dressed.” She wasn’t about to make her first trip to the clubhouse in pajama bottoms and a tank top.

* * * *

As long as there had been a Hackby, there had been a Hell Hounds chapter in town. No one seemed to know when they’d first put down roots or where they’d come from. Over the years, law enforcement had grown to tolerate their presence. Local businesses thrived or failed in a shitty economy, thanks to their cash injections.

Kayla had grown up knowing about the club but steering well clear. By the time she might have fallen in with them, only a handful of members remained around the Colonel—the aging, mythical figure who had supposedly run drug dealers out of town once, when dealers had still cared what a bunch of leather daddies had to say.

The years had taken their toll on the Hounds. If not for last night’s run-in, Kayla would’ve said they were firmly on their way out. The two rows of bikes outside the clubhouse argued otherwise.

Zach parked well away from the shiny, cumbersome bikes, juggling the keys of the Mercedes from hand to hand. “Just let me do the talking, all right? I’ll fix it.”

Kayla nodded. She was too tired to fight. He was right. The sooner they were done with this, the sooner they’d have a little breathing room. She’d figure out some way to make up the rest of the money in cash.

A blast of stale liquor fumes hit as soon as she stepped foot through the clubhouse door. A cement square adjacent to a cement lot, the Hell Hounds HQ in Hackby looked like every other two-dollar watering hole Kayla had ever seen. Were it not for the Harley memorabilia on the walls, it might have been the bar where she’d had her first drink—long before turning twenty-one—or her first joint—long before it had been legal.

Heads turned at their approach. Eyes narrowed with ill-disguised hostility.

This was
not
a place where outsiders were welcome.

One of last night’s visitors materialized into Zach’s path. If not for the hand he thrust square in the center of his chest, Zach might have walked right into him. “You lost, little man?”

As per orders, Kayla clamped her mouth shut.

“We-we’re l-looking for Booker.”

“Let ’em through, Nolan.”

That voice
. Kayla suppressed a shiver of apprehension. Booker hadn’t done anything untoward last night. He’d had ample opportunity. He could’ve driven her off the road and passed her around to his boys if he pleased. Instead, he’d given her a ride home and driven off with no mention of the deal.

Just because he’s giving me a little slack don’t mean I’m off the leash.

He motioned to them from a table by the window, his feet propped on the sill. The hem of his hoodie rode up high enough that Kayla spied another tattoo on his belly, this one jagged and intricate. Probably prison ink.

He smirked when he caught Kayla staring.

“What can I do you for, boys and girls?”

“I wanted to apologize, Book,” Zach started. “There was a little misunderstanding, Kayla—”

“What happened to her lip?”

As much as it stung to have Zach talk about her as though she wasn’t present, Booker’s question twisted Kayla’s insides into an even tighter knot. Shame singed her cheeks.

The urge to stomp out of the clubhouse rose inside her like a whirlwind, abating swiftly when she noticed that they had attracted an audience.

A few of Booker’s friends had come in, fanning around the edges of the room in deliberately nonchalant sprawls. All except one were men. All looked like the type to throw themselves headfirst into a brawl, just for the sake of dealing out a few bruises.

Kayla fought to keep her breaths even, to disguise her fear. At least this time she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and not one of her skimpy stage costumes.

For his part, Zach only stared baldly at the locals.

“Do you hit her?” Booker wanted to know.

“Well…yeah. But it’s cool,” Zach added quickly. “She likes it, man.” He chanced a step closer, herky-jerky in his movements the way he got when his ex-wife happened by the Grounds. “She’s one of those…you know,” he added in a whisper. “She likes it rough, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

“Can I break his jaw?” Nolan wondered idly.

Zach spun around, eyes wide, and missed the smirk that pulled at Booker’s full lips. Kayla saw it. She knew where this was going—men posing and posturing at each other until someone threw that first punch. Then she’d end up saddled with Zach’s medical bills as well as his debts.

In a flash of desperation, she stomped all over his orders and took hold of his lapels. “Baby, why don’t you let me take care of this, huh? I can— I’m okay here. Booker and me, we’ll get along all right. You go home and get some sleep, okay?”

He frowned, but Kayla knew how to be persuasive.

“C’mon, babe…” From somewhere deep in her performer’s bag of tricks, she fashioned a galvanizing smile. “Let
me
take care of us for a change, hmm?”

Ginger-haired Nolan cracking his fist into his open palm helped make up Zach’s mind. “If you think that’s best.” Zach kissed her cheek. “Make sure he doesn’t go back on the deal.” The whisper trickled into her ear like poison, but at least it came with Zach beating back a retreat. “Book, hope I see you around…”

The biker tracked him with a haughty stare. He didn’t return the sentiment.

“Good idea,” Nolan told Kayla. “One more word out of that shithead and I would’ve…” He slammed his fist into his palm. Coming from a smaller man, the gesture might have struck her as a false threat.

“He ain’t worth it,” Booker scoffed. “’Course, if he keeps treading on our goodwill like this, maybe you’ll get your chance…”

Dread churning in her belly, Kayla cleared her throat. “Could we talk?” she asked Booker.

He met her eyes with a knowing smile. “Sure.”

Kayla rested her hands on the table. It was times like these she counted herself lucky to have a nice rack. Even in a reasonably cropped T-shirt, it drew the eye. “Somewhere private?”

Booker made no attempt to disguise the slow descent of his gaze down her body. He must’ve liked what he saw, because he swung his legs down from the windowsill and took her hand.

It’s just work. It’s just another job.
With all the mental acrobatics in the world, Kayla still had to force herself not to pull away. She wouldn’t get far. Booker had at least eighty pounds on her, most of it muscle.

He led her down a wall-paneled corridor, his hand a manacle around her wrist. His boots made shuffling noises along the bare cement floor. Kayla wished she’d worn stilettos, like last night. That would sell it better, make it easier to turn him on before the clothes came off.

“What did you say your name was?” Booker asked.

“Kayla.” She hadn’t introduced herself. That job had fallen on Zach.

“Right.”

The room Booker led her to belonged in a roadside motel. It was spartan but not impersonal. The bed had been made, covers tucked under the mattress military-style. Kayla swallowed, her mouth dry. She couldn’t resist scrubbing her palms together once Booker had turned her loose.

“You want something to drink?”

The click of the door behind them echoed in her ears like a gunshot.

“No.”

“You have breakfast already? There’s a place up the street, serves pretty good waffles…”

“You ask me in here so we could talk about waffles?” Kayla volleyed back.

Booker dropped to the edge of the mattress. “Sister, I didn’t ask you in here at all. You wanted to talk private.” He waved a hand as if to say
have at it.

It could have been worse. Booker could’ve wanted to have her out there, with all his buddies watching. He could’ve asked Zach to stick around and witness—that way he could humiliate her boyfriend even as he got off with Kayla.

Don’t be such a pussy.

Kayla reached for the hem of her T-shirt. It caught in her hair as it came off, but she combed back the tangled strands with a hand, stomach doing backflips. Her fingers were big and clumsy with the button on her jeans, but at least the zipper went down easy. She toed off her Converse with her pants already around her knees.

It wasn’t glamorous. It was nothing like being on stage and peeling off layer after carefully selected layer.

“There a reason you’re doin’ this?” Booker wondered.

“Zach’s debts. You said—”

“Zach offered to let me fuck you because Zach’s an asshole… What I don’t get is why you agreed.” He tipped back onto his elbows, sizing her up from a distance. “What’s he got over you?”

“Nothing.”

“He hits you.”

“Sometimes. Takes some coaxing, though. Zach’s not one to roughhouse in bed, if you know what I mean…” Kayla hooked a thumb around a bra strap and slowly tugged it down. “You and your big squishy heart want to make this easy on me? Then stop talking. Let’s settle his debt so I can move on.”

The bra came off with a snap of elastic. Kayla told herself she felt no shame as it fell away. She did this for a living.

“Wait.” Booker crooked a finger in silent invitation.

Kayla allowed herself no choice but obedience. She was wary to approach, heart thumping a dull tattoo somewhere in the region of her throat.

She settled between Booker’s splayed knees, stroking her hands up his thighs. The twitch of muscle beneath her fingers did more to rattle than calm her nerves. She expected Booker to stop her before she reached his belt buckle, but the leather was sliding through the metal clasp and still he didn’t move. Kayla lowered his zipper. For a moment, she thought she might get away with a simple blowjob. Then she slid a hand between Booker’s boxers and the flat of his belly.

Nothing simple about the length her fingers encountered, thick and hot even while soft.

“Fuck…”

Booker laughed, a sound that might have been mocking if he didn’t accompany it with the slow stroke of a hand up Kayla’s shoulder, fingers knotting in her hair. The kiss he tugged her into was far gentler than she’d anticipated from a guy like him.

Gentle
wasn’t Kayla’s preference, but she could make an exception.
Not like I’m here to please myself, am I?
She turned the mantra over and over in her head as Booker deepened the kiss, his tongue probing then parting her lips. He left her little wiggle room between surrender and cooperation. She was out of breath by the time he retreated and yet she couldn’t resist tilting forward on rubbery knees, eager for more.

Booker tightened his fingers in her hair, holding her still. “You can walk. If you want to, you can—”

Kayla curled a fist around his cock, shutting him up before he gave her the out she hadn’t asked for. One way or another, Zach’s debts had to be paid. The club didn’t deal in IOUs.

She was rewarded with a low, dangerous moan and Booker’s eyes fluttering shut in delight.

She didn’t anticipate him grasping hold of her wrist, much less removing her hand.

“You wanna be here?” Booker asked, voice like sandpaper.

Kayla nodded.

“Yes or no.”

Pride and dread aside, she didn’t need to think it through. “Yes.” She’d always been easy for a pretty face.

Booker hefted her off the floor with one clean twist, knocking the breath right out of her lungs. He tugged off his hoodie and kutte in one clean motion, revealing more than the vague smattering of ink Kayla had glimpsed before. The scars on his face were just the tip of the iceberg.

Kayla walked her fingertips over the shiny welts on his chest. One particularly jagged mark ran between a Virgin Mary tattoo and a man tied upside down to a cross, like the Hanged Man from her tarot deck at home. What could do something like that? A knife? A blowtorch?

An apology died on her lips the second Booker pinned her hands to the mattress.

Maybe she wasn’t supposed to touch. Maybe he didn’t feel like putting himself on display.

Before she could make up her mind, Booker kissed her quiet. The fervor of his desire left her breathless.

She knew she should’ve been scared. Any sane woman would be. Yet instead of fighting him off, Kayla found herself tipping her pelvis to press her cunt to the swell of his erection, craving friction. It had been too long since she’d had a man who made her feel wanted.

Booker retaliated with a sharp thrust through layers of cotton and lace, a primal growl rumbling from his throat.

At least she’d had the forethought to wear nice lingerie before she’d let Zach drive her over like a party favor.

Booker kissed a path down her neck, lower and lower until he could rake teeth over the shelf of her collarbone.

All thought of Zach, of doing this out of duty, evaporated.

Kayla’s nipples ached long before Booker cupped her breasts in his big, callused hands. His touch was rough and proprietary, and Kayla needed more.

Sight unseen, she anchored her thumbs into his boxers and tugged them down his hips, palming his tight ass in the process.

He groaned around her nipple when she managed to slide a hand around his dick. There was something about feeling him harden in her fist that knocked the air out of Kayla’s lungs. Urgency abated for precious moments. She forgot about the fire licking at her from within, forgot to worry about pleasing him.

When she opened her eyes, Booker was propped above her, watching her as he fucked her hand.

“Condom?” Kayla choked out, one last rational thought before instinct took over.

Booker pressed a palm to her sternum as he rummaged in his jeans. Did he think she’d try to squirm away? His charcoal-black gaze was impenetrable. His movements were easier to read when he tugged her panties to the side and hooked her right leg over his shoulder, splaying her wide. He didn’t waste time with foreplay, just sank into her in one slow, skillful thrust.