Victory Rising (7 page)

“The MC’s sheep always put on such a tough front. It must be difficult to keep up the act when you’re scared to death yourself.”

Cara wheeled around and faced her. “Do I look frightened to you?”

“You were when Tigger’s life was on the line.”

Cara didn’t deny the fact. She turned to face the sink full of dishes.

“What else are you afraid of, Cara?” Victory asked, trying to keep some level of compassion in her voice. She understood Cara better than the older woman probably realized. Victory had hoped, after everything she’d heard about Cara through the years, they could somehow find a way to be friends, assuming Devon would want Victory to stay, and she had a feeling he would.

They’d always had this undeniable chemistry. This wasn’t their first gig. Even if their relationship was only temporary, they had sparks between them, and they’d always find a way back to each other now with Damsel out of the picture. A woman just sort of knew when it was real. What she’d felt with Devon nearly two years before had been pretty close to true love.

“Tell me,” she encouraged when Cara’s only response was tossing the dishrag to the counter. “What do you fear, Cara? You and I aren’t that different. You can open up to me.”

“Why? So we can bond? Become best friends? Bake cookies and have yard sales?”

“Sure, if you want,” Victory said, a little sarcasm existing in her tone no matter how hard she tried to defy it.

As if a new possibility dawned on her, Cara faced her again. “Did Devon tell you to come and talk to me?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want?” she asked, enunciating each syllable.

“I told you. I want to know what you’re so afraid of.”

“It ain’t you, sugar.”

“I don’t buy that,” Victory said.

Cara arched her brow. “I was like you once.”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

“I was,” Cara said, clucking like it was a passing memory worth forgetting.

“And that’s why you don’t like me? Because I represent what you once were?” Cara had a few years on her, maybe ten or twenty, and the years had taken their toll. The more volatile clubs were hard on their old ladies. The sheep wore the brunt of hardships more than anyone. Time wasn’t kind to them, and it was like taking a shot in the dark when guessing a woman’s age.

“I don’t want Devon hurt.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“I love all the Heroes and Rogues,” Cara admitted. “These guys are my family.”

“I won’t hurt Devon,” Victory said. After a deafening silence, she added, “Did you know Devon and I have a history?”

Cara arched her brow, apparently wanting to know more but unwilling to ask. That was a conversation for another day.

“I don’t care about your past,” Cara finally said. “I just don’t want him moping around here after you break his heart.”

“What do you say you give me a chance to prove I won’t?”

Cara glared at her, acting as if she didn’t give chances. Those were beneath someone of Cara’s stature.

“Okay,” Victory said, sighing. “How about I tell you like it is?”

“Go for it,” Cara said flippantly.

Apparently, Cara was the kind of gal who appreciated blunt, straight-forward talk. Victory didn’t have a problem with no-holds barred conversation.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Victory said. “I’m here for as long as Devon wants me, and after it took us this long to finally find our way together, I have a feeling he’ll tell you I’m a keeper. Now, you can like me or hate me, swear and curse when you see me or ignore me altogether, but Devon makes me smile. He makes me feel safe, and, lady, after where I’ve come from, that’s something. I don’t know what exactly—at least not yet—but it is something. Far more than I’ve ever had.”

“Then I guess you’d better not keep Devon waiting,” Cara bit out. “Run on along and see what this special feeling you have is so you can enlighten the rest of us.”

Victory studied her a final time, truly observing the person standing in front of her. Finally, she turned. Then she changed her mind. Wheeling back around on her heel, she stuck her index finger up in the air, and said, “You know what, Cara? You’re not doing this, and I’m not either.

“The truth is I’ve been like you. I have been you, and I fear like hell I could one day repeat history. Maybe I’ll be standing right where you are in five or ten years. Perhaps I’ll stare down my nose at a new broad arriving at my club and feel like I’m losing my grip, relinquishing a little
imagined
control. Who knows, maybe I’ll wear the title of Mama or maybe I’ll be lucky enough to be someone’s old lady—Devon’s, if I’m
really
fortunate—but if things keep going like this, one thing is certain.

“I’ll become bitter. I’ll most likely treat others the way I’ve always been treated and the way you’ve probably been treated as well. The vicious circle will continue, and no one will grow. We damned sure won’t change. And when we look back on our lives, won’t we have hearts full of regrets?”

“Are you done here?”

Victory took a deep breath and half-snickered at her failed attempt with reasoning. She wondered why she’d even bothered. Pushing her hair behind her shoulder, she held her head high and said, “No, Cara, I’m not done here, not by a long shot.”

* * * *

Cara sat in the conference room, staring at the pictures from days gone by, wondering if any other old lady or common broad had ever had the guts to stand up to a club mama. She had to give Victory credit. The gal possessed a backbone, more brass than most men. As much as she hated to admit it, the woman had some sense about her.

She wondered if she’d been wrong about Victory. When she’d first arrived there, Cara had been apprehensive. Who wouldn’t have been? Those who’d been around for more than a minute remembered the days of MC confrontations, and the women who’d lost lovers and friends typically tried to do what they could to settle a battle before the first gun was drawn, the first of many triggers were pulled.

“There you are,” Tigger said, entering the room cautiously. “What are you doing in here?”

“Staring at faces, remembering names, trying to forget what I never should’ve seen with my own eyes. I’m trying not to think about events too horrifying to be remembered in the first place.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Tigger asked, standing behind her and massaging her shoulders. “You aren’t making much sense.”

Cara glanced up at him. “Tigger, do you think I’m a bitch?”

“Uh…well,” he said, stalling for time.

“Don’t answer that,” she bit out, rising to her feet and swiping away a couple of tears.

He caught her hand and stared at her, a look of concern washing over his face. “Have you been crying?”

“No,” she fibbed, forever committed to remaining strong when her man or men needed her. After the day they’d had, the last thing Tigger wanted was to put up with a whining woman, a woman questioning how she’d lived, wondering if anyone would miss her if she happened to die.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, cocking his head to the side.

“Would it matter to you if I had?”

Tigger looked as if he’d taken a slap across the face. “Yes, Cara, if you were unhappy or if someone had hurt you, it would break my heart.”

* * * *

Victory was easy prey. Maybe it was because they’d been here before or maybe it was because months of longing made up for foreplay. Either way, from the moment she returned to his room, she was Devon’s. And something told him, she already knew she belonged to him.

Devon unbuttoned his shirt as he strode across the room. Lust filled Victory’s eyes as she watched his hands, but she didn’t move. She never offered to remove her clothes. She didn’t mention the confrontation with Gaylord. He didn’t ask how things went with Cara.

He liked a woman who was still, quiet. She apparently appreciated the same qualities in a man.

“That was some kiss.”

Observant little thing.
“What kiss?”

“The one you gave Cara.”

“I was kissing her goodbye.”

“Where’s she going?” Victory asked, smiling.

“I guess she went down the hall, which is where I imagine you found her.”

“I see,” she said, sitting on the bed and splaying her fingers on either side of her hips. “Do you always kiss Cara farewell in the late afternoon?”

“There was more to it than meets the eye.”

“Care to explain?”

“How about I show you?” he suggested, unhooking his belt then his pants. Pushing down the tight leather, he stepped away from his clothing. He smirked when his cock sprang forward, pressing through the cotton boxers he wore.

Victory moistened her lips. “I think you have other ideas.” She lowered her eyes and, remaining on her bottom, scooted to the end of the mattress.

“You’re perceptive.”

“Lucky for you, I’m receptive, too,” she whispered, reaching inside his shorts and grabbing his cock.

He spread his legs when her hand wrapped around his dick. She gave him a few solid tugs, stroking him, pulling him, and driving him completely out of his mind.

He came alive under her fingertips. Every muscle in his body tightened. His balls burned. His cock throbbed. Good God, he’d always known it would be like this.

She gave him a hand-job worth remembering. Watching as she yanked him faster and faster, she whispered, “You like that, Devon?”

“Fuck yeah,” he said. He growled once and grabbed her by the hair, dragging her to her feet.

“Ow,” she whined, but her vocal disagreement hardly matched her wide smile. A show of satisfaction flickered in her eyes. She draped her arms over his shoulders and rubbed her body against his.

Holding her by those soft, beautiful, blonde strands, he lowered his mouth to hers. “You’ve always had an eye for trouble, Victory. This time, you may have taken a quick sip of more than you can swallow.”

Her hand fell to his prick again. She pulled and tugged like she thought he was the sort of guy who would come on contact, explode without further coercion.

“Ah, baby. There you go. Work after it, honey.”

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to drop to my knees and praise you for your large size and extraordinary width?”

He grunted. “No, doll. This is where I train you for submission. I’ll school you in a proper train of thought.”

“Good luck,” she whispered, licking the seam of his lips.

“I thought you might feel that way,” he said, letting her lead the kiss.

Victory thrust her tongue inside his mouth, lapping at him like she was born for his bed, bred for his lifestyle. He bunched her hair in his hands, returning her kiss with matched aggression and undeniable enthusiasm.

He awaited a sign, some sort of signal. Once the first low moan slipped from her lips, he knew he had her right where he wanted her.

Well, almost.

Chapter Five

“I didn’t agree to this!” Victory yelled, wiggling her hands. She stretched her neck and looked at Devon, ready to kill him for manipulating her. “This isn’t funny, Devon.”

“Domination and submission isn’t a laughing matter, doll,” he said, affixing a video camera to a tripod.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He winked. “You let me worry about the pictures. I’ll make sure to capture the right angle.”

“Get me off this wheel!” she yelled. “How did we go from kissing to this?”

Devon stroked his chin. “Good question. I typically don’t kiss on the first date.”

“This isn’t our first time together,” she bit out. “I know it’s been a couple of years, but I don’t buy the fact you suddenly have a memory lapse and don’t remember who joined you and Addison when you rented a room at the Knoxville Hilton. Since we reconnected, it’s all you’ve talked about.”

“It’s all I’ve thought about for nearly two damn years. You’ve been on my mind too damned often.”

Good. At least she wasn’t the only one to leave the Hilton with delicious memories of an event cut short. Anytime anyone in the MC had spoken Devon’s name, she’d bent an ear, dreading the day when she might overhear one of the Angels confirm her worst fears—he’d married, left the MC, no one knew where he was or worse, one of the Angels had killed him.

She remembered the Angels making fun of him after they’d worked out some sort of deal with the Heroes and Rogues. They’d called him a pussy because he’d stopped dabbling in prostitution, and they’d lied and said they wouldn’t manufacture meth in exchange for his agreement. She knew Devon. She knew what made him tick. He didn’t stop because the Angels told him to. He quit because he wasn’t that kind of man, and after Addison died, he’d changed. Victory had seen the transformation the day the cops had taken Damsel away in cuffs.

“I still remember how sweet you tasted,” he said, dragging his tongue over his mouth before following the swipe with the pad of his thumb.

His confession made her heart tick a little faster. His implication was provocative, naughty, and falling from his lips, ever so beautiful. “If that’s true, you wouldn’t have me on this wheel now, would you?”