Undeniable (7 page)

His eyes met mine, arctic blue and beautiful.

"Please," I begged.  "Deuce, please."

"I’m fuckin' married Eva.  Got two kids.  This is fucked.  It shouldn't have been me."

What? Here he was inside of me, because I wanted him inside of me, because he was the only man I have ever wanted inside of me and
he
had the nerve to tell me it shouldn’t have been him?  After making me beg him?

"Fuck you!" I snapped.  "I don’t give a shit about your wife and either do you or you wouldn’t have been finger fucking me in the club and you definitely wouldn't have carried me out here with every intention
of fucking me
!  You can't tell me it shouldn't have been you!  You don't get to make that decision, I do! And I did and it's done!  And I’m not giving it back!"

His eyes flashed with anger.  "I can't give you shit!" He hissed.  "All I've got to give you is my fuckin' cock and that's not good enough!  Not for you!  Not even fuckin' close!  You deserved better than this! Better than a fuckin' shit filled alleyway and definitely better than me!"

There is was.  The pain I glimpsed every time we crossed paths.  The sadness that never seemed to leave him.  

"You're better than you think," I whispered.  "I didn't realize it when I was little, didn't understand that look in your eyes, why you always looked so sad, but I get it now
.
  Someone got inside of you and messed you all up, made up down and left right so now you think you're shit when you're not even close.  So you need to listen to me when I tell you that you are better than you think.  You're even better than that.  To me, you're the best."  

His nostrils flared.  "Eva," He groaned.

"What?"

"Shut up."  His mouth met mine and we kissed slowly, deeply, deliciously lazy.

"Gonna fuck you now baby," He muttered into my mouth.

Oh.  Good.  So good.

"Okay," I breathed.

And he did.  Up against a dirty brick wall, in a garbage filled alleyway home to rats and feral cats, while warm summer rain poured down over us.  And it was perfect.  Better than I'd imagined.  Better than anything.  The best.

I spent the next four years in college, spent my days studying, shopping with Kami, trying to ditch Frankie, and enjoying my life.  And I spent my nights reliving my moments with Deuce.  All four of them.

The day after my graduation ceremony, I packed a backpack, grabbed Kami, wrote my father a note and got on an airplane headed for Miles, Montana.

Headed for Deuce.

If I had needed anymore proof that the Hell’s Horsemen were into some seriously illegal shit, other than their alliance with my father, all I had to do was take one look at their clubhouse.

Smack dab in the middle of the Montana hills, down a barely there dirt road, fenced in with an electric fence topped with razor wire, sat their whitewashed warehouse,
massive
at around 30,000 square feet, with their insignia painted huge on the front of the building.  A line of Harley's were parked outside, some pickup trucks and a shiny red sports car.

I pulled our rent-a-car up to the gate and peered into the camera.  The intercom underneath crackled.

“Help you with somethin’ darlin’?”

I cleared my throat.  I was so nervous. 

“I…um…wanted to…um...”

“Smooth Evie,” Kami whispered.  “Really smooth.”

I glared at her.

“You here to party?”  The intercom crackled.

“Uh,” I said and glanced at Kami.  She bugged out her eyes.  “Say yes you idiot!”

“Uh, yes.”

The gate clicked and slowly swung open and Kami started jumping around excitedly.

I had just parked when two guys came running outside.  Kami grinned. 

“H-O-T,” She spelled out.  “Me wanna lick.”

I gave a shaky laugh.  My stomach was in knots.  I hadn’t seen Deuce in four years.  Not since the night I’d given him my virginity.  I wasn’t sure how he was going to react to me just showing up.

A well-built, good-looking Latino guy with a shaved head, lots of body piercings a
nd tattoos as far as the eye could
see, grinned at us. 

“Name’s Cox,” He said, looking me up and down.  “This is Ripper.”  He jerked his thumb at the man standing next to him.  A drop dead gorgeous man.  He looked like a surfer straight out of Cali.  Long
wavy
blonde hair and dark blue eyes.  There was m
an candy to be had all around.

“Hey,” Ripper greeted, his eyes on Kami.  "You two been here before?”

I shook my head.  “I’m looking for Deuce.”

“I’m not,” Kami said, “I’m looking for you.”

I covered my mouth, stifling my laughter.

“Or you,” She said to Cox, shrugging.  “Doesn’t matter.”

Cox and Ripper looked at each other.

“Don’t wanna fight you brother,” Ripper said.  “But I fuckin’ will.”

“You’ll lose,” Cox growled.

“Boys?”  Kami swept her long blonde hair over her shoulder and cocked her hip.  “This is my last summer of freedom.  My dad is a rich asshole who is making me marry another rich asshole.  I have three months left before I become a proper little Jackie O and have to start fucking my staff just so I can get off.  That being said, if you guys don’t mind sharing, I’ve got a whole lot to give.”

“I don’t,” Cox said quickly.

“Nope, me either,” Ripper said.

“Awesome, now do you have any liquor in this big scary building of yours?”

Ripper grabbed her elbow, Cox slung his arm over her shoulder and they steered her towards the clubhouse. 

Sheesh.  It was like I was invisible.

Rolling m
y eyes, I followed them inside.

All around me were bikers ranging from age eighteen to eighty and the sluts who loved them.  I realized that the Hell's Horsemen were having what my boys in New York called a “pussy party” which was undoubtedly the only reason Kami and I had been allowed inside.  I scanned the room looking for Deuce

The inside of the warehouse looked nothing like the outside.  The entire place had been gutted, renovated and remodeled.  Running the length of the warehouse front was one giant man cave with fifteen, sixteen, foot ceilings and modern sunroofs that gave it
a cathedral like appearance.

A fully stocked bar lined the entire right side of the room surrounded by several bar topped tables and stools, and beyond, five large pool tables took up a good portion of the room.  The opposite side gave the impression of a high-class men’s club complete with dark leather furniture as far as the eye could see, flat screen televisions,
and a
state of the art stereo system. There were two hallway entrances on either side of the back wall and smack dab in the center were a set of doors surrounded by photographs of the members.  Above the door
s
was plank of wood nailed to the wall that read, “Prez’s Office”.  My heart started pounding and my hands went clammy.

I willed my feet to move and headed towards his office.  Taking a deep breath, I curled my hand into a fist and rapped on the door.

“WHAT?”

Oh god, that voice.  That hard, rough, beautiful voice.

I swallowed hard and turned the knob.

I saw a woman first.  Tall, blonde, very tan and curvy as hell.  Beautiful.  She was wearing a tight jeans skirt, frayed at the bottom and a hot pink tank top that showed off her copious amount of cleavage.  I had large breasts but I almost never put them on display unless I was going out.  I just didn't see the point.

I glanced down at my Led Zeppelin cropped tee, way too baggy jeans that hung low and my chucks.   The tee had once belonged to my mother and I'd altered it to make it more my style and to show off my belly ring and the circle of black and pink stars I'd had tattooed around my belly button.  The jeans I'd had forever, I wasn't even sure where I'd gotten them, Frankie, maybe?  That had been a running theme during my teenage years, stealing his clothing.  They were comfy and so deliciously worn in they felt like silk against my skin.  Most importantly, they dragged when I walked.  That was a thing for me.  I liked to be able to hide my feet inside my pants at all costs.  Weird, I know, but I was an only child, and a girl no less, who grew up with a single MC President, his crew and Crazy Frankie.  I could have turned out a whole lot weirder.

But I felt like a homeless person next to this woman.  This, super model sort of beautiful woman who was more than likely his wife. 

Deuce was turned away from me, sitting behind his desk, cursing into a cell phone.  Blue file folders were stacked on the corner of his desk beside a black laptop.  Miscellaneous papers were strewn all over his desk and the floor beside him. 

Whoever had decorated the office was either secretly gay or of the female variety.  Although the dark oak desk, hutch and meeting table were distinctly male, no man, correction – no biker, would have ever picked out these particular pieces to coordinate with each other.  They were too perfect, each piece different yet worked fashionably together. A woman, I surmised, probably this woman, had a h
and in decorating.  Knowing this
made me feel incredibly uncomfortable.

The blonde glanced over at me, gave me a once over and her pink painted lips curled into a sneer.  “Who the fuck are you?”

“I…um…was looking for Deuce.”

“Well you…um…fuckin’ found him.” 

Sheesh.  Attitude.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”  Deuce growled into his phone.  “You tell Street he gets his ass to the docks and picks up the shipment or I will fuckin’ bury your chapter!  You feel me?  I will scatter your boys and take you to ground!  You don’t fuckin’ mess with the Buonarroti family!  I made fuckin’ promises and I’m aim to keep them.  A man's fuckin' word is a man's fuckin' word.  You think this is a game?  No?  Good.  Now get your fuckin’ ass in gear!”

He swiveled around, his narrowed eyes swept over the blonde, across the room, and then finally to me.  And stared.

H
e had let his beard grow out,
there were signs of gray interspersed among the blonde and a few lines around his eyes.  I sucked in a breath.  He'd grown even more beautiful with age.

“Gotta go,” He said to his phone and tossed it on the desk.

I cleared my throat.  “I was in the neighborhood,” I said dumbly.  “Thought I’d stop by.”

“You were in the neighborhood,” He repeated.

I nodded.  Wow.  I was such an idiot.  If she’d heard this, Kami would have kick
ed
my ass.

“Cole,” The woman hissed.  “Who the fuck is this girl?”

I had never heard anyone call Deuce anything but Deuce.  I knew his real name, Cole West, but it didn’t fit.  Deuce, meaning “Devil”, fit him.

Deuce blinked and looked back at the blonde.  "Get the fuck outta here, Christine.  You got your fuckin' money, now go."

He glanced back at me and I watched his icy blues drink me in from head to toe and back up again, stopping on his father’s medallion.  His lips curved into a smile.

I felt my body go soft, warm and needy.  He did this to me just by looking at me.  His power over me was incredible, indescribable, as it had always been.  It didn't matter that I hadn't seen him in four years; I wanted him every bit as badly as the last time and the time before that.  Even more because I’d had him and had craved him ever since.

He saw the change in me, noticed it instantly.  His nostrils flared and his eyes darkened with hunger. I knew this look.  Deuce was hungry.  I was food. 

I loved that look.  It made me feel beautiful, powerful and utterly feminine.

I sucked in air through my nose willing myself to stay put when I wanted nothing more than to run to him, strip him naked and fuck him blind.

“You here alone?”  He asked roughly.

I shook my head.  “Brought Kami with me.”

His eyes narrowed and I stifled a laugh.  He obviously remembered her.

“Where is she?”

“Entertaining a few of your boys.”

He smirked.  “Cox?”

“And Ripper.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Nice.”

“Cole!  Who the fuck is this bitch and why the fuck is she wearin’ a Horsemen tag?”

His head swiveled back to Christine.  “What the fuck did I say to you?  Get the fuck outta here!”

Her face went arctic.  Glacial.  “No,” She hissed.  “Tell me why this little girl is standin’ in your office wearin' a Horsemen tag!  Old ladies don’t get
‘em
, kids don’t get
‘em
unless they get a cut and ain't no girl ever got a cut and whores sure as fuck don’t get em.  So why the fuck does this bitch have one!"

Deuce stood up.   His Harley belt buckle sagged low on low rise, baggy jeans, jeans that were as equally holey as his white tee shirt.  To quote Kami, “H-O-T”.

"Get out," He growled.