Risking It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 14) (8 page)

God, and he’s got a lot of stuff. Almost everything’s packed away, but I check out the vehicle beneath the tarp—a Humvee, armored like a tank, Jesus. A burst of color draws me to a dozen small canvases leaning against the wall like a stack of cards. Nothing fancy. Just unframed and rough—

Wait.

I know that painting. All orange and red, demons and fire. That’s on Jack’s back. Crouching in front of the canvases, I flip the painting forward to glance at the one behind it. Another tattoo.

This time I don’t hear Jack, but his shadow falls across the wall in front of me and I know he’s there. “Did you paint these yourself?”

“Yes.”

“I figured your tattoo artist did.”

“No.”

“I should have known. They’re really ugly.”

A deep laugh breaks from him and he goes down on his heels beside me. “They’re supposed to be.”

“That’s good, then. Anything I painted would be ugly, too, but it wouldn’t be on purpose. Is it so you never forget—or as a reminder?”

Because he can’t look in the mirror without seeing these. Although that doesn’t explain the ones on his back. He’d have to make an effort to see those—including the lily that spans the good and painful sides.

“There’s no chance of forgetting. But it’s not a reminder. It’s just me accepting that it’s there. A part of me.”

“Why? I mean—why start?”

“They were always sending us to see shrinks when I was in the service. This was one of the things they suggested doing to deal with shit. I tried it after I got out. Liked it enough to ink it on my skin.”

So therapy of some kind. I flip past another demon. “You don’t have enough good.”

“I have good. I just don’t know how to paint it. I don’t believe in this shit—demons or Hell—but the way it looks is the way it feels. But how am I supposed to paint the way you taste, Lily? How am I supposed to paint the way you shove your feet under my leg like you’re trying to warm your toes when we’re on your couch watching TV?”

My throat is tight as fuck. “I don’t know.”

“So the only thing I can add is a lily. And that lily doesn’t say anything on its own, not like fire and demons do. What’s good about it has to be said aloud.”

I can’t breathe. Abruptly I stand and back up, hitting the Humvee. “Jack—”

“And one of those good things is that you don’t back down.” He’s on his feet and not leaving any space to get around him. I couldn’t get away anyway, trapped by the harsh lines of his mouth, the pain in his eyes. “Except you are now. Just like you did in the kitchen. And I don’t know the fuck
why
.”

“Jack—”

“How did I hurt you so bad? Because, Lily, I can’t fucking...” Agony grinds his voice to nothing and each word is ragged when he tries again. “I can’t walk away from you. So tell me why you backed down and I’ll fix what it was I did.”

“I didn’t back down.” Revealing this is like digging a knife into my chest, but I can’t stand the raw anguish in his voice. I can’t let him go on thinking he did this to me. “And I’m not hurt.”

Not by him. Not for this. But he doesn’t believe it, shaking his head like he believes I’m saying this shit just to shut him up.

“You were crying—”

“God fucking dammit, Jack. I’m not backing down!” And neither is he, goddamn Jack fucking Hayden. “I’m running scared!”

He abruptly goes still, his eyebrows drawing down and his shadowed gaze searching my face.

Slowly he says, “I didn’t think you knew how to do that.”

Run scared? “I didn’t think so, either. It’s a first for me.”

And now that I’ve put words to it, something I’m not so proud of. Terrified because I love someone. Love should be the kind of thing I beat my chest over, not curl up into a ball.

But, Jesus—love is
really
fucking terrifying. And it’s another first for me.

Jack’s lips twitch a little, but the amusement doesn’t touch his eyes. “Scared of me?”

“No.” Christ, no. “Not like you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

“That I’m afraid because you kill so easy.”

His dark gaze still on mine, he moves closer—slow and careful, like he thinks I might bolt if he makes a sudden move.

He’s not wrong. I’m shaking all over and looking for any way out. Not because he’s big and strong and deadly, but because there’s no going back.

And there’s nowhere to run.

This is it, then. No backing down now, though I’m a trembling mess as he gently tips my chin up.

His thumb smooths over my parted lips. “What’s scaring you?”

Everything that’s happening to me now. The tightness in my chest, the lump in my throat. All this hurt that comes simply because of how I feel about him, and the fear of never being the one he wants.

But damn it all. This isn’t any way to live, trapped between hope and fear. The only way to live is all in, or all out.

And I’m all fucking in.

“I’m afraid I’ll belong to you—”

Jack pales and starts saying, “I’d never call you my property—” but I just keep on going.

“—but you won’t belong to me.”

A short silence falls as my meaning sinks in. Then his fingers dive into my hair and his forehead presses against mine, our breath mingling.

Emotion roughens his voice. “I’ll belong to you, Lily.”

God. My throat is even tighter now. That was supposed to make this easier. Hoarsely I say, “And I’m afraid because I have no control where you’re concerned. I could end it between us but you’d only have to kiss me and I’d fall right back in bed—”

Swiftly his lips capture mine, because Jack fucking Hayden is never one to let an opportunity go by. Welcoming the rough possession in his kiss, I grab his kutte and haul him closer.

I’d say he’s all in, too.

• • •

Jack

It doesn’t matter how many times I have her. It’ll never be enough.

I wet a cloth in her bathroom sink before returning to the bed. Skin glistening with sweat, Lily’s splayed out on her stomach, her body lean and strong. The mattress dips beneath my knees.

She raises sleepy lids, makes a small, exhausted sound when she sees the wash cloth. “I’ll get up in a second.”

If she wants to. But her soft and tired moan says she’s not in a rush to move as I gently slide the cloth between her legs. I fucked her hard when we got back to her house. Her pussy, her ass. Jesus, I love her ass—from her taut cheeks to the hot, tight heaven inside her. Usually I take her ass because it’s damn fun listening to her tell me she’s not going to like it, then making her scream as she comes.

But tonight I just needed to have her every way I could.

She draws in a long, deep breath as I finish wiping away the lubricant and toss the cloth onto the nightstand. Her eyes are closed, her voice heavy with sleep. “So we’re going to do this, huh? You and me. No bets.”

I press my lips to the dimple above her left ass cheek. Her waist is tight. Not an ounce of spare flesh and so strong. “No bets.”

She smiles without opening her eyes. “It’s going to be rough.”

“The brothers can—”

“I don’t mean the brothers. I mean you and me. It’s always going to be a fight.”

She’s probably right. I don’t care.

“I love a good fight,” I say, gripping her hips. She rolls bonelessly over when I turn her onto her back, her head propped by a pillow, her breasts like small scoops of cream topped by raspberries. Her flinty eyes open as I slide down, making room for my shoulders between her thighs. My breath stirs the pale curls guarding her pussy.

Soft when I rolled her over, now her nipples stand in tight rosy peaks. Her legs move restlessly as I spread them wide.

Her hand catches in my hair, fingers tangling. “I have to be at work early.”

As if that has ever made a difference to either of us. “I don’t. My shop burned down.”

She laughs, then groans as I dip my head to kiss her inner thigh, ignoring the pain in my scalp when her fingers tighten. I know she’s sensitive, the skin between her legs abraded by a hard fuck and the roughness of my jaw. Her pussy is soft and pink and swollen.

And already wet again. “Your cunt is so damn beautiful, Lily. I love tasting it after I’ve fucked you, after you’ve come. After I was here, inside you. Right where I wanted to be for so fucking long.”

“Jack,” she breathes and releases my hair. Her hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. “Do it.”

I’ll fucking die if I don’t. I spread her wider and the second my mouth closes over her pussy, her back arches and she gives a deep-throated moan. So damn good. She tastes like the ocean, smells like a ride down the beach on a hot day. Better every time I have her, and each time I’m so much hungrier for the next taste.

But she won’t fucking stay still. Without letting go of her hand, I plant my forearm across her hips, holding her down. She writhes when I suck on her juicy little clit, then I tip her up and eat out her pussy slow and gentle, taking my fill. It’s still not enough. She cries out when I bombard her swollen bud with quick rough licks, her free hand sliding up to pinch her beaded nipple. Her pussy’s dripping with need. Groaning, I slick my tongue up the length of her drenched slit before rising onto my knees.

My dick is a solid burning ache. She reaches for it as I go for the condoms. Jesus. If she touches me I’ll blow my goddamn load. I grab her wrist and shove it over her head. Skin flushed, she laughs up at me.

Then groans when I sheathe my cock and slide into the tight clasp of her pussy. Fucking paradise. I want to stop and let this ecstasy sink in. She’s so hot and wet and feels so damn good. But I can’t stop. Just lace my fingers through hers, holding as tight as I can, and start up a long, slow ride, with every inch of my body worshiping every inch of hers. Her endless legs wrap me up, and when I bend my head and take her lips, I drown in the sweetness of her mouth. When she comes it’s long and slow, her back bowed and her lean body rocking beneath mine. I follow her over.

I’ll follow her anywhere.

Rolling onto my back, I pull her with me and tuck her against my side. Pale strands of hair stick to her sweaty face.

Softly she says, “That’s my favorite kind of fight.”

Mine, too. “You think it’ll be that hard, you and me?”

“Not most of the time.” That’s all she says for a long second, her fingers idly trailing through the hair on my chest. “This past month was good. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” I can’t recall anything that was a fight outside of the bedroom.

“It was good. When you were here.” She blows out a short breath. “When I wasn’t fucking with my own head.”

“Thinking I’d lost interest?”

“Yeah.” Her face turns a little as she says it, like she’s trying to hide whatever she’s feeling.

Running scared. Just not going so far this time.

I can only imagine one thing that might scare her. “You think this will hurt your place in the club?”

“No.” All at once she looks up at me, her eyebrows arched, a faint smile curving her plush lips. “And I notice you’ve gone from ‘being Lily’s shield’ to ‘I’m just going to scare the fuck out of anyone who throws shit at her.’ Like you did with Burnout.”

“It’s all right?”

She nods. “It’s good.”

“Good.” Because I don’t want to hurt her again.

And because it was pretty fucking fun.

Sleepily she rubs her cheek against my chest, snuggling in. “But, you know. This is all new. And I can’t promise I won’t freak out again. I’ve never had a…a relationship. Only hookups. So I don’t know how to deal with all of this stuff yet.”

Shit. “I don’t either. But I figured that every time you push me out, I’ll just fight my way back in.”

“Good.” She smiles faintly and closes her eyes. “I love you, you know.”

I didn’t. And it’s a knockout blow, leaving me so fucking stunned I can’t say another word. So I just hold her tight as she drifts to sleep and I’m still holding her when the birds start singing outside and pink streaks the sky.

Now I know what scared her so bad. Now I know what knocked her down. Because me, I’m lying here, holding more in my arms than I ever dreamed I’d have.

And the thought of losing any of it is damn terrifying.

Lily

Monday night is the special club meeting, where the prez basically tells all of us to put on our dancing shoes Saturday night—and that any Rider who doesn’t have a damn good reason to show better hit the road now. I don’t think anyone will miss it. Burning Jack’s shop down essentially lit a fire under the whole club and we’re out for blood.

But the setup isn’t sitting right with Jack. All week, he pores over everything he knows about the Hangmen and makes calls to friendly clubs more familiar with the Hangmen’s larger chapters. On Thursday, he out-and-out tells me that he doesn’t expect it to go down like we all think it will, because Croc’s looking for patchholders to bolster his ranks. He’s already down by three men, and his numbers aren’t as strong as the Riders’ to begin with—so tearing into each other on this kind of scale doesn’t make any sense. The Hangmen will lose. But even on the slim chance the Riders get thumped, Croc only ends up with a strip joint. So Croc’s challenge is most likely a bait and switch.

The question is: What the hell is the switch going to be?

Jack and I ride out to the Barracks early. Some joker’s playing
Beat It
over the sound system. Probably Spiral, since he’s the getting up on the stage with the dancers and moonwalking. I settle in at the bar next to Gunner while Jack and Stone meet up with the prez.

Gunner’s got a beer bottle in his hand, but like the rest of us, he’s not drinking much. He lifts his chin toward the stage. “You think Spiral’s trying to say that we should all just bust a move with the Hangmen instead of busting their heads?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he wants a dance off. He’d be more likely to win that than a fight.”

Gunner nods. “He’s got good moves.”

“He used to be on Pine Valley’s high school cheerleading team,” I say and laugh when Gunner chokes on the sip he was taking. “Just fucking with you. He really was on the cheerleading team, but he was
on
them.” And because making him choke isn’t mean enough, I add, “Anna Wall was a cheerleader around that time, I think.”

His pretty face closes up tight but the poor guy can’t help himself. He’s been hung up on Stone’s sister for years, but the funniest part of that is he thinks no one notices. Now his gaze shoots to Spiral again like he’s wondering if Anna ever hooked up with him.

Anna hasn’t. But I’m not going to tell Gunner that. Let him stew in it.

I’m not all mean, though. Pulling out my phone, I send him one of Anna’s pictures.

He glances at his screen and frowns at the glittery mess. “What’s this?”

“Anna’s bathroom,” I tell him. “I thought you might like some spank material.”

Gunner looks at me like I’ve lost it, but I notice he doesn’t delete the photo.

Poor sap. I grin and sip my beer. This is already shaping up into an entertaining night and it only gets better when Jack heads my way again. God, he’s my own spank material. His dark eyes are flat and empty and he’s got his
Don’t fuck with me
face on tight. The long sleeved T-shirt under his kutte conceals all that glorious muscle but the fabric’s hugging his skin as closely as I’d like to, so the view is still damn good.

And this past week has been freaking amazing. I made the right call by going all in with him. Now his toothbrush is right next to mine, right where it belongs. And belonging to him—belonging
with
him—feels like everything in my life just locked right into place. Even if he hasn’t said he loves me.

Who needs the words? He just has to look at me.

“Scarecrow just spotted the Hangmen on the highway, heading this way,” he tells us and takes the drink I slide over to him. “Thirty men.”

Compared to the Riders’ fifty. I shake my head. Jack was right. This doesn’t make sense. The past few days we’d begun thinking Croc was going to bring in men from the chapters out-of-state. But Croc hasn’t come with anyone.

“I feel like we must be sitting on a bomb,” I say and Gunner nods. “Something we can’t see that’s going to blow up in our faces.”

But Jack shakes his head. “No explosives, nothing wired. I checked.”

Always so literal. But in this case, probably a good thing someone is. “Maybe it’s just a mental thing. We can’t figure out why he’d do this, we assume he’s got something, so we’ll be real fucking relieved when he makes the switch.”

Dark eyes narrowing, Jack seems to roll that over in his head. “Maybe.”

“What’s the prez think?” Gunner asks.

“That we let them come in and see how it plays.”

Saxon’s sitting as his table with the old-timers again, but this time he’s got a chair open. Not out of deference to Croc. He’s just making his first move before the other man even comes in. What Croc does with it will determine the next step.

The music goes quiet when the Hangmen roll in. They come in with Croc at their head, walking two by two. Jesus, most of them are so fucking young. All of them probably with something to prove, probably looking to impress Croc and the Hangmen with more miles under their belts. It’s so damn sad. All those little boy dreams are about to be shattered.

The prez is wearing his deadly cold smile when Croc takes the empty seat. “You seem to be down by a few men.”

Croc turns and looks over his guys, then slides his gaze over the rest of us. “I think we’ll do all right. What we lack in numbers, we’ll make up in strength and determination.”

“That right?” The prez leans back, settling in like he’s about to watch some funny shit go down. “I hear you’ve been going around making proposals to some of my men. I suppose that means you’ve got a proposal for me, too.”

“I do. Like I said, I want to keep this amiable. And I don’t see any reason for either of us to lose any men when we can make this real simple. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link—and a club is only as strong as its weakest member. So I’ll put my weakest up against yours and we’ll settle this easy.”

The prez’s eyes gleam with amusement. “My weakest against your weakest for this strip joint?”

“You have it. And to make sure there’s no cheating, I pick out your weakest. You pick out mine.”

“You’re shitting me.” Saxon’s laugh starts deep. “Just so we’re clear what you’re offering: You come in here with barely over half the number of men I have at my back. You know you’re going to get your asses handed to you, so you come up with this proposal that gives you at least a little chance, because otherwise your position is absolute shit. That about right?”

“We’ll hold our own,” Croc says. “What this will prevent is bloodshed.”

Wearing that dangerous smile again, Saxon leans forward. “You afraid of a little blood?”

“I just think it’s a goddamn waste.” Ice cold, Croc’s gaze doesn’t stray from the prez’s face. “So what do you say? You pick one of my men to go up against your girl.”

I freeze as every eye in the place turns my way. Beside me, Jack stiffens. Gunner makes a choking sound.

“Zoomie?” The prez sounds bemused. “You want your weakest man to go up against Zoomie?”

“That’s right,” Croc says. “And whoever taps out first loses.”

Saxon’s gaze shoots to Valentine. “He tell you how she took him down?”

In less than three seconds. But apparently Valentine spun the story his way. Croc’s all easy as he nods and says, “He told me he held back because it didn’t feel right beating on a girl. And I’ve put him up against a few of my men. He held his own. But if you want to pull him in as the weakest, be my guest.”

The prez sits back again. He’s quiet. Actually considering it, I realize.

Holy shit. I’m confident I’ll pull through, but that’s a hell of a thing on my shoulders. If we lose a little territory, it won’t be just this once. The Hangmen will just keep chipping away at all the rest. Saxon knows that. It’s a huge fucking risk to put on one person.

But I don’t think he’d be considering it at all if Croc had named any of the Riders who truly are the weakest fighters. He’s only considering it because he has that much respect for me, and I watch him, my chest and throat swelled up like a hot balloon.

I guess we’re doing this, though, because finally he says, “What the hell—we’re in. We pick who fights her?”

There’s a chorus of hoots from the Riders, most of them shouting “Val!”

Croc ignores them, looking satisfied all at once, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You pick. And being a Vegas man, I think we should make it a little more interesting.”

Oh, God
damn
. I was thinking that this one-on-one fight was the switch. But it was just the second piece of bait. Here’s the switch—and a trap. Because Saxon’s thrown himself behind me. He can’t back out.

But although he’s got to be pissed, he just says, “How interesting?”

“All the territory east of the highway.”

Half our territory—including the Wolf Den, which the prez owns. Jesus fucking Christ. The warm feeling in my chest deflates to a heavy leaden lump.

“Now you’re just fucking with me,” Saxon says. “But all right. And if she wins, then I don’t see a fucking kutte with your colors on it this side of the county line again.”

Croc’s eyes narrow. “No territory?”

“We like what we have. What we don’t like is your filth riding through it.”

“Fair enough.” The other man nods. “So who are you putting her against?”

My heart’s thundering as Saxon looks them over. I’m pretty sure I can hold my own and I’m ready to kick some ass, but I can’t get my pulse or my nerves to settle. At least none of the brothers look worried or are questioning whether Saxon’s lost his mind. Instead most of them are grinning.

“Seems to me,” the prez says after a long second, “that one of my men has already lost something in this amiable little altercation we’re having, and that he’s been waiting to get a little of his own back. So I’ll let Blowback choose.”

Not just because of the fire, I know. The prez is asking because choosing Valentine is too expected, too easy. And Jack’s been looking at the Hangmen as hard as he can. He’ll have a better idea of who’s going to be easiest to take down.

Holding his beer easy in his left hand, Jack doesn’t even hesitate. “I think it’s time to shut this shit down. Putting the weakest up against the weakest doesn’t mean anything. But if our weakest beats their strongest? So I want her up against their prez.”

Up against Croc. Oh my fucking God. A roaring fills my ears. All the hoots and grins stop—except from Croc, who bursts out in a laugh. Because he doesn’t know Jack.

And Jack doesn’t fuck around when the club’s on the line.

Croc seems to slowly realize it, the laugh turning into a shake of his head. “That’s a fucking joke, man.”

“No.”

That’s all Jack says. Just no. Croc looks to Saxon.

“You heard him,” the prez says.

“I heard him. But I don’t believe in hitting women.”

“But you planned to sit here and enjoy watching someone else beat her down?” Saxon shakes his head. “You’re either full of shit or you’re a coward.”

Jaw clenched, Croc comes up out of his chair. “You watch your fucking mouth, boy.”

Still seated, Saxon just stares him down. “This was
your
proposal. These are
your
terms. Take them or we’re going to have that bloodshed you were trying to avoid.”

“You’re going to have it anyway. Hers.”

The prez shrugs and stands. Saxon’s got inches and muscle on him, but to his credit, Croc doesn’t back up. But then, I’m realizing he has more balls than sense. Either that, or the Vegas man thinks he’s just too fucking clever for some Pine Valley yahoos.

And the prez is fucking pissed. He’s hard to read so I don’t know if Croc can tell, but Saxon
is
out for blood. He just intends to watch me shed it. His gaze meets mine before sliding over to Gunner.

“I think we’d best get this area cleared,” he says and in the next second Gunner’s up, pointing to the brothers who all snap to and start dragging tables and chairs.

Beside me, Jack says quietly, “You all right?”

“I am.” Just eyeing Croc and taking his measure. He’s a heavy motherfucker, solid with muscle. “What do you think?”

“He’s going to be all fists unless he gets you down.”

So straight up swinging. And if he connects any of those punches, it’s going to feel like I’ve been hit by a sledgehammer.

Jack winds his fist around my braid, tugging until my face is aligned with his. His eyes are dark and intense and don’t hold a single doubt. “You keep your feet moving.”

“I will.”

“Go for the incapacitating blows. Get him down.”

The kind of moves we practice in the gym but have to hold back on. No holding back here. I can’t trade punches with Croc and win. I’ve got to get in there and disable him. Nodding, I say, “I need your switchblade.”

A knife is holstered in my boot but it’s not as sharp as his. There won’t be any weapons allowed when we’re facing off, but this is just to make sure I don’t give Croc any advantage. If he gets his hands on me, if he gets me down, I’m going to have a bad fucking time until I make it up again.

I pop the blade and grab my braid. One sharp slice at my nape and it’s gone. I toss the rope of pale hair to the floor and go after the long strands still hanging around the front, hacking them away by the handful. If it was just Valentine or one of the other young Hangmen, I wouldn’t bother. But there’s too much on the line for me to get stomped because Croc swings me around by my hair.

While the tables were being moved, it had been noisy in the joint, wood screeching and the brothers all talking trash, but now everyone’s gone quiet—as if watching me shear myself bald drives home how fucking serious this is. Maybe they hadn’t realized the prez’s Den is in that territory. That’s the Riders’ usual hangout. A couple of other places, too, that the men wouldn’t be able to wear their kuttes riding into work. Even if they own the damn place.

I flip my head back up. Jack catches my chin and runs his fingers through my short, uneven hair.

His eyes burn hot. “Even more stunning than you were ten seconds ago.”

Yeah, I’m pretty fucking hot. With a grin, I give him back the knife before shrugging out of my kutte. I’d rather wear my colors when I fight, but if Croc catches hold of the leather I’ll be yanked around. If he takes hold of my shirt, the thin material will just rip.