Chapter Three #2
The vixen in front of me bats her beautiful dark eyelashes as she reaches out, trailing her long, dainty fingers down the chest of my leather cut, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.
It’s the sexiest fucking thing she could have done, and I’m wondering how the hell I can convince her to bend over her bike so I can spend some time between her warm thighs.
I need to taste her. I need to fill her.
I need to hear what she sounds like when she comes.
“Yeah, you definitely like the sound of that. You want it rough, baby? I can give you rough.” I close the remaining distance between us, our hips practically flush, but I don’t touch her.
Not yet. Bold, brown eyes sparkle up at me, holding so much depth, I lose myself.
The air in my lungs evaporates, the electricity and tension between us sparking.
The world around me fades, my heart beating at a rapid pace.
All that exists is this gorgeous, perfect woman in front of me, dressed in leather and boots and holding her own against a six-foot, two-hundred-pound biker, packing a gun like a fucking queen.
My queen.
The next thing I know, my arm is wrenched behind my back, ripping me from my fantasy as the jingle of cuffs breaks my haze.
“What the fuck?” I snap.
“Camden Young, your reign of fucking terror is over.”
Before she can connect the cuff to my wrist, I flip our positions, propping her ass up in the air as I bend her over the seat of her bike, wrenching both of her wrists behind her back and cranking upward, the cuffs falling to the ground.
She lets out a grunt of pain that makes my heart fucking break.
The last thing I want to do is hurt this strong-ass woman.
My woman. Even if she does know my legal name and is carrying a set of cuffs.
My breath is hot on her skin as I grind out my next words. “To think we could have had so much fun together. Who the fuck are you?”
“Your worst goddamn nightmare.” The heel of her boot stomps down hard against my foot, meeting steel. Her resulting groan is her own damn fault. I quickly kick her legs open as she curses better than some of my men at the clubhouse.
“You’re nothing compared to my nightmares, sweetheart. You don’t know the ghosts that haunt me. So, try again. Who the fuck are you?”
“Fuck you!”
“Fine, looks like we’re goin’ for a little ride, then.”
I yank her upright, her back flush against my chest, her warmth seeping into me as I pull out my phone and call Sin.
“You good?”
“We got a situation. I’m comin’ back in with a guest. Send a pick up for a black bike sitting at the edge of the tree line on River Road, right before the railroad crossing.”
“You got it. You need an escort?”
“Nah, I can handle this one myself. Be back soon,” I tell Sin as I jerk her closer to me, loving the feel of her in my arms. Pocketing my phone, I thread my hand through the back of her hair, silky strands sliding through my fingers, before wrenching her head backward roughly.
“You made mistakes today. Now we’re leaving and you’re going to behave,” I tell her.
I work quickly to grab her set of cuffs, attach them to both of her wrists behind her back, and drag her toward my bike.
She jerks hard against me, throwing her head back, narrowly missing my chin.
I fucking love her struggle and fight, my dick’s never been harder, and my heart is beating wildly for the first time in a long time.
“Fuck you. There’s no way I’m getting on the back of your bike.”
“Vixen, I didn’t say anything about the back. You’d find a way to stab me with your hands behind you. Your ass is sitting in the front.”
“Quit calling me that.”
“I’ll call you whatever I damn well please. I’ve got shit to do and have people waiting on me. Get. On. The. Bike. Woman.”
When she refuses to move, standing her ground in front of me like a goddamn goddess of war, I quickly pick her up, swinging my leg over the seat of my motorcycle and plopping her little ass right between my legs.
Her hands try to grab my crotch, but one quick yank puts them up higher.
I know she feels the pinch in her shoulder blades, even if she won’t admit it.
I hate to do it, but I’m not about to let her try to dismember my dick before I’ve gotten the chance to pleasure her with it.
Who the hell is this woman?
I start up my bike, the engine vibrating beneath us. With my palm flat over her leather jacket, I pull her closer to me, whispering in her ear. “Behave or you’ll kill us both. If I crash, you bet your sweet ass you’re coming with me, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
“Fuck you, Camden.”
“In due time, vixen.”
The ride back to the clubhouse is quiet, and I’m satisfied that, at least for now, she seems smart enough to know that throwing herself off the side of a bike doing sixty isn’t a solid choice if she wants to survive.
I’m lost in my thoughts as we ride, my thighs framing hers, her perky ass right up against my crotch.
She’s a temptation, alright. A dark one.
I’m supposed to be meeting the heads of local clubs to discuss the threat we’re all facing, but this fiery little demon just fucked everything up.
Now I need to get to the bottom of why she wanted to capture me.
Or arrest me.
The thought makes me laugh. While we’re far from one-percenters, we definitely skirt the line of lawlessness, especially when it comes to murdering pieces of shit.
Last year was a bloodbath. Hell’s Heathens decimated an entire club—for the second time—and made sure we left no survivors.
The police ultimately had to get involved, but after hearing what types of disgusting shit the Iron Wolves were into, not to mention the pages-long rap sheet they each already had racked and stacked against them, it made it easy for the police to look the other way.
We made their jobs that much easier and cleaned up our streets in the process. Win-win.
We pass a club member and two prospects following him in one of our trucks as we head back to the clubhouse, my head nodding in appreciation as we do.
I run Hell’s Heathens like I would a family.
Everyone is here out of their own free will, but taking a patch means you’re in it for life.
There’s no walking away, except for dire situations .
. . like with my road sergeant, Rogue. But even he isn’t out.
You can’t buy loyalty with money, force, or fear, and when shit hits the fan—which it inevitably does—I need to know the men at my back and by my side are there till the end, because the only way I’d abandon my family is if the Devil himself comes to drag me back through hell’s gates.
A tall, metal gate looms in front of us as we approach the Hell’s Heathens compound twenty minutes later, men standing outside on guard with guns at the ready.
The gates crank open as I get closer, heavy metal whining and creaking.
The woman in front of me stiffens, her spine straightening, her thighs tightening around the bike.
I can feel the tension rolling off her in waves.
There’s a huge part of me that wants to protect her, to comfort her and tell her she’s safe here, but the other part?
The part that wants to find out who the hell she is and how she knows me, revels in her discomfort.
Make no mistake, there’s not an ounce of fear dripping from her.
It’s as if this is a mere mild irritation to her thwarted plans, and she’ll be riding back out those gates in no time.
Any other woman would be cowering as the dust billows around us from the old dirt road, men in leather cuts outside waiting for our arrival with guns held in their hands.
She’s strong as shit, and I want to know what happened to get her to this point.
Strength like this isn’t born, it’s carved out with fire and pain.
I pull up directly in front of the clubhouse, the late-summer sun blaring down on us.
I cut the engine before stepping off, picking up the dangerous little thing in my lap so she doesn’t topple over once my weight is removed.
She curses and kicks, fighting me through all of it.
I can feel the heavy weight of my brothers’ eyes as they watch us, watch my struggle to keep her restrained.
Hauling her over my shoulder, I spank her ass twice and carry her up the steps of my clubhouse, my arm banded over her thighs to hold her in place.
Rolo and Noose stand outside smoking, watching me manhandle this spitfire.
I’m a big guy at over six feet, and in the best physical condition of my life, despite being in my mid-thirties, and this little vixen is giving me a run for my money.
I was right, she’s a goddamn viper. She doesn’t need to be the strongest or fastest; she’ll strike where it hurts the most with a fucking smile on her face.
“Put me the fuck down, Camden!” she screams, piercing my ears and rattling my brain.
I readjust her slightly, swatting her ass again.
I can feel her ass cheeks peeking out from the hem of her cutoff shorts, and my dick responds to the image.
I desperately want to spread open her cheeks, spit on her tight rim, and fuck her there with my fingers.
Maybe I could fuck her into submission. Yeah, fucking right.
I don’t want submission. I want whatever the hell this is.
“Cut the shit, you’re making it harder on yourself!” I snap at her as I reach the top of the steps. Noose and Rolo have moved closer, leaning on either side of the doorframe, casually amused at the sight.
“Friend of yours, Prez?” Noose asks as he laughs, taking another long pull of a cigarette, the smoke curling around his face as he exhales.
“Not a friend. Tried to arrest me.”
Noose whistles his surprise.
“She a cop?” Rolo asks, his eyebrows pinching in concern.