Victory Rising (5 page)

Chapter Three

“When a man takes a woman behind closed doors, he typically wants to do more than look at her, Victory,” Devon said, a breath away from locking his mouth over hers again.

About that time, a loud knock resounded. It was as if fifty pounds of steel crashed against the wood.

“It can wait!” Devon bellowed.

“Not this time,” a voice called out.

Another round of knocks left Devon cursing under his breath. He gently pushed Victory to the wayside. “I’ll be right back.”

Before he made a clean escape, Victory locked her hands around his wrist and yanked him back. Ready to play the game and knowing good and well what it would take to win, she nipped at his lips. “When a woman is invited to a man’s bedroom and agrees to go, she doesn’t always understand when there are interruptions.” Then, as if the devil made her do it, she dropped her hand to the bulge between his legs and stroked his cock.

“Ah baby,” he crooned. He threw his head back and moaned, rising to the occasion without wasting a valuable second.

She dug her nails into his zipper, trying to cop a real feel. “Like that?”

“Mmm, baby. Yes,” he rasped, rolling his hips forward. He straightened up quicker than she might have liked. “Let me get rid of them.”

She pressed her palm flat against his cock. “They’ll go away.”

Another knock then another left quite a different impression. The club apparently had a situation on their hands.

“No, they won’t. I really have to get this,” he said, brushing her hand away.

“I know,” she said, dropping to her knees and rubbing her cheek against his leather-covered cock. “And you should think about what you’ll be missing while your buddies are talking bikes and business.”

She bit at the material playfully, nipping at his size as if she planned to rip away his clothing.

“Sweet damn,” he growled. This time, his tone was carnal, far more sensual. He hoisted her to her feet and smothered her lips with a heated kiss, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth. He lifted her into his arms and bracketed her legs around his hips, carrying her to bed.

When their kiss broke, he lowered her to the mattress and pointed. “Don’t move.”

“If you hurry, I’ll be right here when you get back,” she promised.

He backed away, but returned once more, dropping a kiss upon her lips before stalking to the door. “Hang on a second!”

“Damn it, Devon!” Another round of knocks slammed against the door. “Open up. Now! It’s important!”

“I gathered as much!” he shouted, pausing long enough to situate things in his pants.

He glanced at her once, and that was enough. She spread her legs and patted her pussy, appreciating the heated look of lust marking a more permanent place in his eyes.

“This won’t take long.”

“I believe you,” she said, collapsing on her back and staring at the ceiling once he disappeared into the hallway. “Yes, Devon, I believe you’ll move hell and high earth to give me whatever I desire. And then, like every other man who’s gone before you, you’ll break what’s left of my heart and leave it shattered in a million pieces.”

All Devon could do was shift his gaze between Logan and the door he’d just closed. He was pissed. The woman of his dreams was in his bed, and she’d taken the long way home as far as he was concerned.

“You got what you wished for, and it didn’t take long,” Logan said.

“You’re telling me,” Devon agreed, realizing he must’ve sounded like he was already halfway in love. “I gotta tell you, man. She’s always been the one. Ever since Addison brought her to my bed, Victory has owned my heart.”

“Well, ain’t that sweet?” Logan drawled.

Devon ignored his sarcasm. “Man, I’m telling you, she’s something else. She’s my last thought at night and the first one each morning. Regardless of who I’ve had in my bed, it’s always been Victory.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Logan asked, obviously not following him.

The thought of two women in his bed at one time was probably overkill for a fine, upstanding guy like Logan Marcs. He had double standards.

A true exhibitionist, Logan couldn’t see where he possessed faults. He harbored a few, considering the fact his woman, Sassy Road, had a sordid past. Rumor had it, the only time Logan and Sassy had sex was when they had an audience, or at least, the potential for one.

“What’s wrong, Logan? Can’t find your woman and your left hand ain’t doin’ the trick? Let me make a suggestion. Change things up. If you need some strange, try the right hand. Who knows? You may have a better grip.”

Logan sneered. “I don’t have time to listen to your shit, Devon. Gaylord is out front. He brought a few friends. I figured you might want to know.”

“Where’s Tigger?” Devon asked, cracking his bedroom door and peering at the woman waiting for him.

“Running interference,” Logan replied. “And he isn’t happy about it.”

“I’m sure,” Devon said, poking his head back in his room. “Make yourself comfortable, Victory. I have to take care of something.”

“Everything all right?”

“Fine, sugar,” he replied, closing the door.

“What the hell is going on here, Devon?” Logan asked as they walked toward the heart of the clubhouse.

“Victory is scared.”

Logan narrowed his gaze. “Did she tell you that?”

“Not exactly.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I think she’s with Gaylord because she didn’t have anywhere else to go, but I’m pretty sure he’s holding something over her head. I think she’s threatened by him.”

“Did she tell you that or not?” Logan asked, stopping in his tracks. He looked at Devon dead-on. “Well?”

“No.” Come to think of it, he hadn’t pressed her for a lot of information. His club members couldn’t leave them alone long enough so he could ask the important questions.

“She’s been with the Angels for several years,” Logan pointed out. “You know what kind of dangers she represents to the club, Devon.”

“She was with Damsel for a while. That doesn’t mean she belongs to the club.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” Logan said. “Ever since I’ve been
over here
, she’s been
over there
with the Angels.”

“He’s right,” Cara said, joining them.

“Stay out of this, Mama,” Devon bit out.

Cara thinned her lips. Oh now, he was definitely certain of her place with Tigger. She practically froze in place when he called her by the name she’d once coveted.

Devon studied her, certain she was stirring the angst within the club. If she’d learn to accept Victory, the others would as well. “Hell, I used to think Tigger would soon have you stamped as property, but the truth is, we’re gonna hear wedding bells before long, too, huh?”

Cara narrowed her gaze. “We aren’t talking about me and Tigger or Logan and Sassy, for that matter.”

“Who brought us into this?” Logan asked, arching a brow.

“Everything around here is usually about the two of you in case you haven’t noticed,” she snapped. Touching Devon’s arm, she added, “She’s bad news. Trust me, Devon. Victory should go.”

“She’s not leaving, Cara,” Devon stated flatly.

“Then you answer this question because, by God, this club has a right to know! Is she in Gaylord’s bed or not?” Cara asked, always sticking her nose in the wrong place at the wrong time then leaving it there to sniff and snoop around. Sometimes, Devon wondered if she remained club property in order to be Tigger’s eyes and ears.

“Why is Victory your business?” Devon demanded. “Since when does the club’s sheep question the MC’s president?” He was in her face now. Fury spun through his veins. If she’d been a man, he might have decked her. Just who did this woman think she was?

Cara swung her arm behind her and pointed at a bank of computer monitors. “If Tigger ends up dead, this is on you, Devon.”

Everything happened at the speed of sound then.

Devon followed Cara’s extended arm with his gaze and quickly noted the unfolding act outside the club. Tigger was surrounded. Devon gauged the commotion. They were about to face off with a heap of trouble.

“God forbid, Cara!” Logan leapt over the bar, grabbed a shotgun, and bolted for the door. “You could’ve told us things had escalated outside!”

“What the hell?” Devon yelled, following him.

“Get back!” Logan said, stopping him from stomping outside. “They’re holding Tigger at gunpoint!”

“I can see that!” Devon yelled, waving Cara away when she blocked his view of the monitors behind the bar. “But why?”

“Do I have to remind you why Addison is in the cemetery and Damsel is in prison?” Logan asked, kicking open the front door and barreling outside.

Devon stuck his hand above the door and retrieved a pistol from one of their hiding spots. Then, he stuffed the gun behind his back, tucking the piece in his belt. A few seconds later, he exited the building. “This is fucking ridiculous!”

“Don’t go out there!” Cara screamed.

The warning came too late. His feet hit dirt and gravel. Then, he went face-first and bottom-up.

“Ah fuck, man!” A few jabs of intense pain ricocheted up and down his spine. Gaylord dug his foot into the small of Devon’s back. A double shot of agony zipped through his middle as his thighs tightened under Gaylord’s body weight.

“Is Victory here?” Gaylord asked, pointing a forty-five at Devon’s head.

“Move, Gaylord,” Logan said, pumping the shotgun.

A few of the Devil’s Angels came closer. Logan didn’t budge. Devon couldn’t do much more than turn his head left or right. Tigger was restrained by several of Gaylord’s men. His arms splayed out to either side. If the blood on his lip provided an accurate indication, someone had thrown a few punches.

“I thought we’d reached an understanding,” Logan said, positioning the shotgun on his shoulder and aiming at close range. If Gaylord stepped forward, his forehead would be pressed against the barrel.

“That’s what a homeboy gets for thinking,” Gaylord said, cocking his pistol.

“You’re dumber than you look if you pull that trigger, Gaylord,” Logan said. “You got a death wish today, boy?”

Gaylord hissed, apparently upset by the way Logan disrespected him in front of the Devil’s Angels.

Devon stretched his neck and looked up, keeping a close eye on Gaylord and Logan. If he’d ever met a man with bigger nuts than Logan Marcs, Devon couldn’t remember his name. His father had been a whole lot like Logan. Courage and ignorance formed a dangerous concoction. Devon’s dad had lived by the gun and died at the hands of those who’d carried a few.

“Is she here?” Gaylord asked again.

The parking lot became deathly quiet. No one made a sound.

“For crying out loud, answer him!” one of the Angels shouted in the distance.

Tigger tried to break free. “Devon! Fuck! I told you this would happen, man!”

“Shut up, Tigger!” Devon yelled.

“She isn’t here,” Logan lied, and Devon didn’t know why.

“So, that’s your story, too?” Gaylord asked, nudging him with his foot.

“Yep,” Devon replied.

“Damn it, man!” Tigger screamed, trying to break away from the beastly fellows holding him. He cursed like a sailor, blasting the woman responsible for the sudden change in tide. The truce between clubs had rapidly disintegrated.

Since Damsel had been put away, the Devil’s Angels and Heroes and Rogues had reached a compromise. The Devil’s Angels would stop making meth and selling the drug in their local area if the Heroes and Rogues stopped pimping out young women. Most of them entered the profession since they needed to support their habits, which typically circled back to the Angels anyway.

Shit. In the MC, this kind of thing was expected, par for the course. Women were the root of their business problems, and now, a woman would cause them to be at odds again.

“You better be telling me the truth, Kardashian.”

“I am.”

“Uh huh,” Gaylord muttered, applying pressure to Devon’s lower back.

“Get your damn foot off me!” The brute must’ve weighed three hundred pounds!

“I’ll shove my toes up your ass if I find out your shadow here is lying for you.”

Oh, that would sit well.

Logan shoved the barrel of the shotgun against Gaylord’s brow. Gaylord temporarily lost his balance, and Devon almost scrambled to his feet.
Almost
being the real humdinger.

Logan said, “You know, I’m actually surprised by this little house call, Gaylord. I thought you were Damsel’s oldest and dearest friend.”

“That’s why I’m here. I’m looking for his old lady,” Gaylord said, clipping each syllable.

“Like hell,” Devon muttered, grunting when he took another fifty pounds to his lower back.

“You got something eatin’ at ya, Devon?” Gaylord asked, wiggling his foot.