Chapter 2 Ripper
Ripper
The moment she stepped inside, I knew she didn’t belong. All it took was the first few steps into the building to make my eyes flicker in her direction.
I don’t see pretty women like her too often. Not ones that are radiating with normalcy and innocence.
Something drew me to her instinctively, and now I have her exactly where I want. If she’s a threat, I can handle her without Judge wasting time on something beneath him.
I have a blade on one hip and a pistol on the other. I would hate for the clean-up to ruin such beauty just because an intruder tried to sneak around.
“Well?” My patience is a frayed wire. I’ve never been the type to wait. I believe in acting on impulse, getting things done right in the moment so it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.
Right now, the impulse is telling me to pat her down, to check her back pockets for a weapon or ID—anything to explain the tension coiling in my own gut. I need to know who she is before Jane Doe here manages to start distracting me now that we’re this close.
I feel the frantic thrum of her pulse against my fingertips where I hold her, a wild bird trapped in a cage of bone. My eyes flick down, inexplicably drawn to her mouth. There’s a slight wobble to her bottom lip, a soft, vulnerable tremor that leaves me swallowing hard.
I tilt my head, a strange, unbidden thought intruding. Do they feel as plump as they look?
Women have always been a weakness, but more for pleasure. When my fingers are usually wrapped around their throat, it’s moans of pleasure filling my ears, not shaky breaths of fear.
At the moment, I don’t think my cock can tell the difference. The confusion of it all has it hard as steel, digging into the metal teeth of the zipper of my jeans.
Maybe that’s what pulled me in—a different kind of danger.
All week, I’ve been waiting for any movement regarding the Crimson Road MC. I haven’t had sex, putting all of my attention on the club over my own body. Now I’ve got a pretty woman right here, and I’m struggling to draw a line.
Lifting my gaze, I’m ready to move on, to get my answers through less delicate means, when I see it.
Without warning, her brown eyes overflow. A single tear breaches the dam and tracks down her cheek. I flinch as it drips onto my wrist. The sensation is scalding. Then her face floods instantly, silent and devastating.
What the fuck?
“Stop crying.” The demand leaves my lips, harsh and flat. The tears don’t stop. If anything, I’ve made it worse; the silence of her weeping is somehow louder than any sob. “Crocodile tears don’t work around here, sweetheart.”
The words come out, but they lack their usual bite. Rather than mocking her, it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself.
“Don’t kill me.” She gasps the plea, wincing as if bracing for a final blow.
The reaction is so disproportionate that it startles me. I’ve hardly even made contact with her. My hold is firm and certain, but not aggressive. Not at this point. The pure fear in her voice is usually amusing to me; it often is. But now, it feels… out of sync.
“I’m just looking for someone, that’s all!” The words tumble out in a frantic, blurring rush. She tells me her name is Haven, that she’s looking for Ghost’s new girl, confirming my suspicions and making me that much more glad that I gave them my cabin to crash in for the time being.
Somehow, she’s with the Crimson Road MC. The same bastards I’ve held a grudge over for the last decade.
By the time she finishes spilling all her secrets, she’s breathing in ragged, shallow pulls, the precipice of a full-blown panic attack.
What a lousy spy—definitely the worst I’ve ever encountered. Usually, I’d suspect she’s just telling me what she thinks I want to hear, but in this case, I have no doubt that what she’s saying is actually the truth.
A stillness settles over me. Usually, my interactions with women are straightforward—a different kind of transaction, one of mutual understanding. It’s the men I reduce to this state, the ones who cross us, and their sobs are a symphony of victory. A job well done.
But this? Watching her composure collapse, seeing the genuine, undignified fear… I don’t feel the cold satisfaction I should. There’s no familiar thrum of power.
There’s just a strange, hollow ache in my chest, a disquieting sense that I’m holding a wounded bird. The urge to tighten my grip wars with a sudden, inexplicable impulse to loosen it.
Again, what the fuck?
Releasing her, much to my dismay, I’m wiping my wrist on my jeans as I try to put together who this woman really is. More questions are filling my mind, demanding answers. However, to get them is a challenge in itself.
If I touch her again, will she flood the room with her tears?
“I lasted twenty minutes.” She crouches and covers her face like she can hide away from the world. “Twenty minutes.”
Thirty, actually. However, I don’t think knowing that will help her.
Groaning and mumbling words I can’t understand, I give her time to express herself so I can understand and use the information. By her pleas’ end, I catch her worries of death.
“I’m not going to kill you.” Stating the obvious, my lips purse together when she wipes her nose with her wrist. “Torturing a pretty face isn’t my thing.”
That, and something feels off about seeing her face twist in pain as I try to get more answers. Honestly, with how easy it was to get the information I have now, I just need to ask, and the truth will spill out effortlessly.
Nothing’s really that easy, though. If someone catches us together like this, they’re going to take one look at her and think I’m the bad guy here. They’ll come to her rescue, and I’ll be left alone with this strange sensation clawing at my chest.
I need Haven to collect herself.
Knees aching, I’m forced to sit in front of her. As ridiculous as this all is, I wait until she sobers up enough for her shoulders to stop trembling.
As much as my patience is tested, I keep my mouth shut to avoid making anything worse. Hell, I almost ask her if she’s alright, but stop myself before I risk falling into any traps. While I wait, I’m forced to take her in.
She’s on the younger side. Probably nineteen or twenty. Too young to be dealing with all of this mess. Don’t know who her brother is, but he must be a piece of work if he’s making her go through all of this.
Paulie. Trouble’s a better fitting name, if I have any say.
She’s got a few brown strands of hair clinging to her wet cheeks, and my fingers are itching to push them out of her face. Damn. I’m more deprived than I initially thought.
Lowering her hands, she sniffles. Despite her flushed cheeks and glistening eyes, it’s clear she’s my type, as something stirs within me.
Then again, have I ever gone for the innocent-looking ones? Never. Prudes are time-consuming. Too clingy for a one or two-time thing. While I want fun, they want to settle down and put a damn ring on my finger. Marriage.
Just the thought has me wondering what this woman would look like in white lace. Not just a dress, but the sexy lingerie beneath it, clinging to her thighs and stomach. My cock likes the image as much as my brain, swelling even harder. Fuck me.
Haven doesn’t have a clue of the dilemma happening in my head, sniffing as she regains her bearings. “They told me if I got Eliza, they’d give me my brother back.”
“Who are they?” Leaning forward, she doesn’t flinch like she did at the bar. She uses those brown eyes against me, blinking widely. “Blaze Walker sound familiar?”
She nods, confirming my suspicion. “I think so.”
Good enough for me. I’ve been waiting for that bastard to make the first move. Will Judge give me his permission to visit Meadow Falls? Shouldn’t he want me to kill the man who left him bleeding out in an alley?
The faded memory claws at my chest, and I can already feel the anger seeping in.
“Ripper.” Whispering my name so sweetly, it’s a distraction to the brewing violent thoughts in my head.
“Hm?” Taking in the way she bites her cheeks, other thoughts start battling over the ones that should be taking priority.
How soft are her lips? Has she ever kissed someone before? What kind of sounds could I make her produce if I pressed her against the wall with a new purpose?
“Please.” Moving in a blur, she reaches out and grabs one of my hands. Soft skin meets my calloused fingers as she squeezes my fingers. “Maybe you could help me? He’s all I have. I don’t have the strength or power to save him myself.”
I don’t have to consider her request; the answer is ready. Yet, I feel like I want to help her for more than just my reasons.
Pursing my lips, Judge’s order rings in my mind. His word is law, and when he tells me not to go and start trouble, I’m supposed to listen. That’s why I’ve been tirelessly waiting for the other club to make the first move.
Nine out of ten times, I’m obedient. There’s always that one time that I cross the line because I can’t help myself.
“Why should I help you?” Lowering my eyes to her hands on mine, my mouth curls into a smile as I swallow my readied answer down. Can’t agree, not just like that. “What am I going to get out of it?”
I’ve already got a long list forming because of the consistent ache happening as metal teeth dig deeper into my flesh, but I want to hear what her innocent heart can think of.
She blinks, confused. Her lips part, and my eyes follow. “What do you want? If it means Paulie will be safe, I’ll do anything. If it’s money, I have a little bit saved up…”
There are a lot of things I want, but that doesn’t mean I can go around suggesting them. God, but do I want to. Anything is a strong word.
“Let me think about it, and I’ll get back to you about it.” Moving to stand up, she gasps as I drag her up with me. Hand on her arm, my fingers become a cuff.
“Wait, where are you taking me?” She tugs on my grip to no avail. “I’m not a threat!”
While that is definitely the truth, I can’t risk her slipping out to update those other assholes. Depending on how desperate she is to save her sibling, who knows which side she’d end up on? I can’t take the risk.
“You’re a spy, sweetheart. One way or another, we have to build some trust before I can let you move freely.
” Walking toward a hall full of doors, my eyes drift over Ghost’s door.
Sure, they might not be on the other side, but what if Eliza left something behind?
Left some proof that she stayed here for a short period.
“I can walk on my own!” Huffing as she stumbles behind me, I feel the sharp pinpricks of her nails digging into my fingers. Her nails are sharp, my favorite kind. However, I prefer them to leave lines of red down my back rather than stab my fingers. Her fight twists something delicious inside me.
Stopping without warning, her warmth washes over me as she stumbles into my body. Looking over her, I smile. “We can do it this way, or I can toss you over my shoulder. Which would you prefer?”
I don’t expect her eyes to fly open and her cheeks to flush, but it’s a shade of pink that makes my mouth water. “You can’t put me on your shoulder.”
God, I love challenges. More than that, I love proving people wrong, especially when it gives me permission to finally get my hands on this woman in a way that will ease the twist in my gut.
Haven makes this cute squeaking noise when I pull her toward me and dip low enough to sling her over my shoulder. I don’t realize I’m grinning until I feel her fists hit the club’s colors against my back. It’s not some sly smirk that I’ve masked over as I usually do, but a teeth-bearing grin.
A real smile. A strange, but pleasant feeling against my lips.
What an interesting woman. She’s the perfect weight, even if she doesn’t seem to think so.
“Put me down!” As her voice gains strength, I tamper it down with a single squeeze of her thigh. She’s soft everywhere. The muscle twitches in return, teasing me for more.
Instead of giving her what she wants, I head toward the room I’m crashing in to make sure this woman can’t cause any more trouble, all while wondering how I’m going to have the strength to keep my hands to myself.