Blade (The Alpha Elite #11)

Chapter Fifty-Two

Juniper

H e saw me.

He’d been in Del Cielo’s, he saw me, and I freaked out and ran.

I was still freaking out.

Look back at the parking lot, woman.

That’d been this morning, now it was night, he hadn’t texted again or called, and I was still a shaking, anxiety-on-steroids hot mess.

And I was turned on.

Really, really turned on.

Not because I’d looked back at the parking lot, or saw the face of the giant muscled guy in the back corner of Del Cielo’s with his cap pulled low and his huge hands holding his cell phone, but I knew.

That had been Blade.

And my split-second glance at him had been enough to know that he had that energy.

The perfect recipe of dominant, aggressive energy I needed to stay far away from.

The kind that made me truly lose myself.

Which, thankfully, hadn’t happened in two years. Not since a Navy SEAL had thoroughly ruined me and taken me to a whole new level of madness that I never knew existed. Ever since, he’d been all that I’d craved—his aggressive touch, his complete dominance, his scent, the way his giant cock had both filled me so completely and wrecked me with sweet pain. Nothing had ever been like that, but I didn’t go there.

I didn’t allow myself to ever think about the possibility of having that again.

I couldn’t.

Except now I wanted to.

Because there was something about Blade’s size, his tattoos, the way he’d been sitting, and how his overly muscled thigh had stretched the material of his pants. And those hands.

Oh my God.

I was already obsessing, which was why I didn’t do this, but now I was really wishing I’d looked. No, I was wishing I’d gone back, or called Hailey, or done something, anything, but I hadn’t. Instead, I’d frantically watched for someone following me as I’d driven all over the city, gotten on the highway, filled up my gas tank in Fort Lauderdale, then came back to Miami when I was sure no one was trailing me.

Then I’d driven to the biker bar, and now I was here.

Sitting on a stool next to…

I looked up.

Older, inked, and bearded, his stare was nothing close to piercing. In fact, his eyes were off, his breath stank like an ashtray, and this was the worst idea I’d ever had, but I had to do it.

No, I needed to.

It was the only way.

Fuck another guy, end my two-year obsession with a fantasy of a SEAL, “cheat” on Blade and ruin that possibility too.

A total reset.

Tell myself time was magic.

Every sunset was a sunrise waiting to happen.

End this day.

Fuck it away.

I could do this.

I told myself I didn’t care that it was sick and twisted and fucked up, or that I felt like an out-of-control addict. Therapy was too expensive, and I didn’t need more labels to know I was fucked—every which way from now until the wheels fell off—so screw it.

No. Screw him.

The nasty dude.

Not the stupidly giant, angry-voiced stalker who’d told me I was panicking when he asked me if I was in Miami. The same guy I’d told my deepest depravity to. I’d been right to panic. And what the hell did he know, anyway? Nothing—except that I was broken. That’s what he knew about me. That, and what I looked like. And now what car I drove.

Oh my God, just stop it, Juniper whoever-the-hell-I’m-supposed-to-be-right-now Lakes.

I’d run before. I could do it again.

I’d just—

“So, we getting out of here or what?” The nasty cigarette-breathed dude brushed a lock of my hair over my shoulder, then skimmed his rough palm down my arm as his fingers trailed the side of my boob.

Goose bumps of revulsion prickled across my humidity-slicked skin, and I gagged before I forced myself to toss back the last of the straight vodka the jerk had bought me. “Yeah, but three rules.” I accidentally or subconsciously held up two fingers just to fuck myself over even more because trauma was a cold-hearted bitch.

He raised an eyebrow and half grinned. “That’s only two fingers, sexy mama.”

That time, I couldn’t stop the gag. “Do not call me that. Ever.”

The fucking idiot laughed. “Which part?” He leaned in, aiming his nasty mouth near my neck.

I jerked back and stumbled off the stool, but he followed. “Rule number one.” I shoved at his chest. “No kissing.”

He froze, then looked up at me with his head still dipped. “How you gonna suck my cock without a little mouth action, mama?”

At the thought of his cock anywhere near my face, my arm flew to my mouth, and I cough-gagged into my elbow. Oh my God , I really was going to hurl. “No kissing, period .”

The biker dude smirked. “Just need a good dickin’, huh?” He yanked a chunk of my hair, then squeezed one of my boobs hard. “Don’t worry, mama. Got ya covered.” He grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”

Okay—okay. I could deal.

This was what I needed.

Dick, pussy, fucking. Forget about… today. Forget about a giant, muscled guy named after a part of a knife. Own my fears. Or control them. Whatever. Just fuck the guy and prove to myself… whatever the hell I needed to prove. “I got this.”

Pulling me through the crowded biker bar that stank like dirty mop water and that rotten yeast smell of stale beer and vomit, the biker looked over his shoulder. “You say something?”

I glanced down at my captive hand and smirked so I didn’t cry. “Would it matter if I did?” Committed , I silently chanted. I was committed to this.

The biker’s expression locked with both eyebrows raised. When I didn’t say or do anything, he threw his head back and roared with a laugh that almost—almost—made him slightly, sorta, kinda not disgusting. Maybe.

Okay, it didn’t.

I was telling myself I was buzzed and didn’t care when he yanked my hand so hard, I fell into his chest. Then he gripped the back of my neck and leaned down. “You sure about that kissing rule, mama? You got lips as fat as that ass.”

Shards of revulsion shot into my gut as the kind of self-hatred that fed this sickness made me silently berate myself for everything I’d ever eaten. “More than sure, and I told you not to call me that.”

He stared at me for a second. “You looking to get fucked by a one-percenter or just looking to get fucked?”

I didn’t lie. “I’m already fucked.”

“Dicked,” he amended.

“I don’t know.” I went all in. “How big is yours?” I wanted it to hurt.

No.

I needed it to hurt.

Still gripping my hand, he pulled until my fingers were on his jeans. Then he rubbed my hand up and down what I couldn’t deny was a substantial bulge. “That big enough?”

Shit. This was gonna hurt. In so many ways.

Inhaling, I pasted on a fake sexy expression complete with an even more fake smile. “It’ll do.” I remembered my second rule. “With a condom.”

His eyes half closed, but he kept his gaze focused on me as he slowly winked in what was hopefully acknowledgment of using a condom before he rubbed my hand against his hard-on again. “Oh yeah, sexy mama. I’m gonna have fun giving it to you.”

“So far, all you’re giving me is cheap talk and carpal tunnel.”

“That fucking mouth.” He shook his head, then abruptly glanced behind us and yelled at another guy in a cut. “We’re out. Make sure all the prospects get back. I want ’em on gate duty before sunup.”

“Got it, Prez.”

Prez, or whoever the hell he was, grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward the front exit. “Let’s go, mama.”

I cringed again, but then a slap of real fear hit, and I remembered my third rule. “Not out front.” I wasn’t going anywhere with him. “The side alley.” I’d seen it before. I knew the bikers went out there to fuck. It was the whole reason why I was here at this bar.

Prez, or whatever his name was, chuckled. “Can’t wait, huh?”

I smiled. I think.

“Bitch’s choice.” He winked and changed directions.

Seconds later, he kicked the side exit door open, walked through, and yanked me behind him. The steamy nighttime heat of Miami mixed with the nasty scent of dumpster, the door slammed shut behind us, and the pounding music from a jukebox muted to a low bass.

I glanced up and down the thankfully empty alley.

Then I opened my mouth before I could change my mind. “Make it rough.”

His chuckle died in the humidity as he flipped me around and slammed me against the building.

At the last second, my hands came up and I turned my head, but it didn’t save my cheek from scraping against the abrasive concrete wall.

“You want it rough, huh?” Hot, nasty cigarette breath hit my neck as a palm landed on the back of my head.

Tears welled. “Yeah.” No.

“Crazy fucking bitch.” A zipper sounded. “I’ll dick you rough, you fucking cum whore.”

Fucking cum whore.

For a split second, time stopped.

Then all of a sudden, I was back there, in the past, to a place I never, ever went, and I was screaming. My lungs were on fire, my body was beaten and bloody, my lips were split, everything hurt, and I kept fucking screaming, but no sound came out.

No one heard.

No one saved me.

No sound came out .

Scream.

Scream now!

“Wait,” I rasped.

No or red light .

Oh God.

Why was I doing this?

I squeezed my eyes shut and barely managed a forced whisper. “ Stop .”