Irresistibly Wicked (The Wickeds: Dark Knights at Bayside #7)

Chapter One

ZANDER WICKED DRIFTED out of a dream, greeted by the scents of perfume and sex and the warmth of two soft womanly bodies draped over him.

Just the way he liked it. He opened his eyes, trying to get his brain to focus on the unfamiliar room and remember the names of last night’s playmates.

Katie and Miranda? Or was it Megan? He’d gone out after church, which was what the Dark Knights motorcycle club called their Wednesday-night meetings.

The evening came rushing back in a blur of tequila shots, dancing, and a hell of a good time with the buxom blonde and curvy redhead.

Blondie’s hand slid down his stomach, and she murmured, “Morning.”

“Let’s make it a good one. Don’t stop there,” he coaxed, earning an appreciative sound as she kissed her way down his body. The redhead snuggled closer, and he palmed her ass, turning to kiss her as his cell phone rang somewhere beside the bed. “Fuck.”

“I’m up for that,” Red said as he leaned over her in search of his phone, her lips finding his chest.

“Let it ring,” Blondie complained, trying to tug him back down to the mattress.

He snagged his phone from the nightstand, unsure how it got there, and saw his older brother Zeke’s name on the screen right below the time, 7:20.

“Shit.” He bolted off the bed. “I gotta go.” Zander was known for fucking around in his personal life, but he worked for his family’s business, Cape Renovations, and he took that work seriously.

“Wouldn’t it be more fun to come and then go?” Red taunted.

“Yes, it would,” he said as he tugged on his jeans. “But my alarm didn’t go off, and I’m late for work.”

Red rolled onto her back and stretched, thrusting her breasts out. “I turned it off.”

“Why the hell did you do that?” he barked.

“It kept buzzing, and I was tired. It’s New Year’s Eve.”

“Not yet, it’s not.” He uttered a curse, put on his socks, and shoved his feet into his boots, scanning the clothes strewn across the floor for his T-shirt, flannel, and cut—his leather vest with the club patches on the back.

“Let’s exchange numbers and hook up tonight,” Blondie suggested.

“Yeah. Call us when you’re off work,” Red chimed in as he pulled on his T-shirt. “We can ring in the New Year right.”

Zander raked a hand through his hair, flashing the cocky grin that had gotten him more than his fair share of favors.

“I could lie and say I’ll call, but as I mentioned last night, that’s not how I roll.

” He didn’t want to get tangled up in any strings and never went home with the same woman twice.

Three of his four siblings and all of his local cousins had gotten engaged or married over the last few years, and he was happy for them, but he wasn’t built for that kind of life.

He loved everything about women, from their supple bodies and creative brains to their femininity and sass, too much to settle for just one.

He was happy to be the good-time guy they fucked around with before they committed to a ball and chain.

“Maybe I’ll see ya around sometime. Happy New Year.” He tossed them a wink, grabbing his flannel and cut on his way out the door.

Assaulted by the cold New England air, he put on his flannel and tossed his cut onto the passenger seat of his Challenger with his guitar as he climbed behind the wheel.

He called Zeke as he pulled out of the driveway.

Zeke was a year older than him and was his only remaining single sibling.

Like their oldest brother, Blaine, they shared their father’s tall, broad stature, dark hair, and blue eyes.

Their brother Justin, who went by the road name Maverick, was adopted, but he must have been destined to be a Wicked, because he looked a lot like the rest of them.

Growing up in a biker family, they also shared their father’s love of the club.

Fierce loyalty and protectiveness were ingrained in their souls, but that’s where their likenesses ended.

Blaine could be a bossy asshole, Justin was artistic and good-natured, and while Zander was impetuous with a filter that left a lot to be desired by others, Zeke was level-headed and methodical, always thinking of ramifications to others before taking action.

He’d saved Zander’s ass more times than he could count, and he was the only reason Zander had graduated from high school—a fact Zander still carried guilt over.

“Dude, where the hell are you?” Zeke fumed before Zander could get a word out. “Tobias and I have been waiting on your ass for forty minutes to install the support beam.” Tobias Riggs, their sister Madigan’s fiancé, also worked for their family’s business.

“Sorry, man. I’m not far,” Zander said. “I met these chicks at Undercover last night, and I had no idea one of them turned off my alarm this morning.”

“Jesus, Zander. I thought you were making it an early night after church.”

“I did. We got back to their place before ten.”

“Maybe you should save threesomes for the weekends.”

Zander chuckled. “Sorry, bro, but when the ladies want to play, I’m not walking away. And don’t give me shit. You know I never miss work unless I’m too sick to move.” The few times that had happened, Zeke had been there to clean up his puke and make sure he didn’t get dehydrated.

“Just get your ass here, will ya?” Zeke gritted out.

“On my way. Is Preacher there yet?” Preacher was their father’s road name.

“What do you think?”

Shit. Their father was a tough, tattooed biker and renovations expert.

He and his brother Conroy had founded the Bayside chapter of the Dark Knights decades ago, and all their sons were proud members.

At six-plus feet tall, with slicked-back black-and-silver hair, pitch-black brows giving him an intimidating stare, and a trim beard, their father exuded an air of authority that few would defy.

But like all the Wickeds, beneath that rough exterior was a heart of gold, doling out stern life lessons with compassion and teaching through actions, not anger.

But no matter how much he loved his son, at thirty years old Zander had no business pulling shit like this, and he knew he’d have his ass handed to him for being late.

“We told Preach you were bringing doughnuts and coffee,” Zeke said.

Zander grinned. Like their grandfather, their father had a serious sweet tooth. A few Boston cream doughnuts, combined with Zander’s ability to charm his way out of any situation, would help take the edge off their father’s irritation. “Thanks for the save, man. See you soon.”

He ended the call as he drove through an intersection, and never saw the silver pickup barreling through the red light until it was too late.

“WHERE’S THE FUCKING money, Shauna?” Brian hollered through the phone. “I can’t show up empty-handed.”

Shauna Flores bristled against the attack from her childhood-best-friend-turned-boyfriend-turned-roommate, gripping the steering wheel tighter despite being stopped at a traffic light.

They had a long history of partying together to escape their volatile home lives, a pattern they’d carried forward for too many years, but they’d worked hard and had fought their way out of that mess.

She’d thought for good. They’d both been sober for three and a half years, but Brian had fallen off the wagon a few weeks ago when shit had gone down at work and he lost his job.

She knew what it took to fight addiction, and she was trying to be supportive rather than judgmental, but she was almost a year into her career as an EMT, and she was never going back to that destructive lifestyle.

“I told you I don’t think you should go to that party.

I don’t care what John says. You know he’s still using, and you shouldn’t be around him.

Especially no—” She gasped in horror as a silver pickup plowed into the side of a car in a horrifying collision of crushing metal and shattering glass in the middle of the intersection, sending the car careening on two wheels off the road and flipping as it rolled down the embankment.

As an EMT, instinct had her ending the call with Brian and calling 911 as she grabbed her seatbelt cutter from the glove pocket on the door and flew out of her car to get her first aid kit and crowbar from the trunk.

Tires screeched as the truck fled the scene, and she sprinted across the debris-covered road toward the gully.

Thick, dark smoke billowed from the engine of the upside-down car, which was leaning toward the crushed passenger side, one tire spinning. Her heart thundered as she ran down the hill, scanning the surrounding area for bodies, but there was only debris.

She ran to the driver’s side, needing to get the people out before the car caught fire. The window was shattered, the airbag blocking her view. She heard moaning coming from inside.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” she shouted, working fast to clear away the glass from the window with her winter gloves.

“Yes!” a panicked male voice answered as she tore off her gloves, catching sight of the lucky number four tattooed on her left hand between her thumb and index finger.

If ever she needed luck, it was now. She cut away the airbag using the seatbelt cutter, and the driver came into view, hanging upside down, trapped by the seatbelt, a piece of metal lodged in his side.

She did a quick visual assessment. Male, thirtyish, lacerations on his face, bleeding from his head and his left side.

She tore away the airbag and looked for passengers, but didn’t see anyone else in the vehicle.

“I’m Shauna. I’m an EMT, and I’m going to get you out of here. What’s your name?”

“There’s smoke!” Struggling against the seatbelt, his eyes wide with panic, he shouted, “Get me out!”

She was working on it. He was a big man, and it would be nearly impossible to get him out the window safely with that metal in his side. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out. Can you tell me your name?” She’d have to pry the door open.