Chapter 4
four
. . .
Vance
I've never been a patient man. Once I decide on something, it happens.
End of fucking story. And I decided on Wynter the moment I laid eyes on her.
Now I'm shoving her clothes into suitcases, not bothering to fold anything.
We need to get on the road. I need to get her back to my territory, away from this city full of men who can't keep their fucking eyes to themselves.
The sight of that waiter looking at her like she was a goddamn all-you-can-eat buffet still has my blood boiling.
If we'd been anywhere but a fancy hotel restaurant, I'd have broken his jaw for that shit.
"What are you doing?" Wynter's voice comes from the bathroom doorway. She's wrapped in a towel, hair still damp from our shower. Her skin is flushed pink, marked in places by my mouth and hands. The sight makes my cock twitch. Mine.
"Packing. We're leaving," I say, not pausing in my task.
"Leaving? To go where?"
"Home. My home. Our home.” I toss her a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "Get dressed."
She catches the clothes automatically, but doesn't move to put them on. "I'm not going anywhere with you. We talked about this—"
"No." I straighten to my full height, watching her eyes widen as I tower over her. "You talked. I listened. Decision's made."
She's awakened something primal in me, something I didn't even know was dormant.
I've always been possessive—comes with the territory of being an president for the Devil's Claim MC.
But this? This all-consuming need to claim, protect, own?
This is new. Ever since I saw her walk into that casino bar, something shifted in me.
Like recognizing the missing piece I never knew I was searching for.
"You can't just decide for me!" Her voice rises, a flush spreading across her cheeks. "I have a life, a job—"
"And now you have a husband." I cross to her in two strides, cup her face in my hands. They look massive against her delicate features. "This isn't negotiable, baby doll. You're coming home with me."
"To do what? Be your…what? Your sex toy? Your prisoner?"
I stroke my thumb across her lower lip, feeling it tremble. "My wife. My everything."
It should scare me, how much I mean those words after knowing her less than forty-eight hours. But I've never been a man who questions his instincts. My instincts say she's mine to protect, to possess, to fill with my seed until she's swollen with my child.
"I don't even know where your home is," she whispers, her resistance wavering.
"Compound outside of Death Valley. Devil's Claim territory."
Her eyes widen. "Devil's Claim? Like…a motorcycle club?"
"Not like. Is." I release her face, return to packing. "I'm their president."
"Oh my God." She sinks onto the edge of the bed, clutching the clothes to her chest. "You're actually in a biker gang? This is insane."
"Club, not gang," I correct, though the distinction means fuck-all to civilians. "And yes, I am. Have been for fifteen years."
I can see the wheels turning in her head, reassessing everything she thought she knew about me. Good. Better she understands now what she's gotten herself into.
"Get dressed," I repeat, more gently this time. "Long drive ahead of us."
To my surprise, she does as she's told, disappearing back into the bathroom. When she emerges in the jeans and t-shirt, hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looks younger. Vulnerable. Something fierce and protective surges in my chest.
I finish packing while she watches silently. The fight's drained out of her for now, but I'm not fooled. My little wife has fire in her. It's one of the things that drew me to her in the first place.
Check-out is quick—I've settled the bill in advance. The valet brings around my black F-350, lifted and customized with Devil's Claim insignia subtly worked into the detailing. Wynter's eyes widen at the massive truck.
"Compensating for something?" she mutters as I load the bags into the back.
I laugh, genuinely amused by her sass. "You tell me, baby doll. Seem to remember you taking all of me just fine this morning."
Her cheeks flame red, and she ducks into the passenger seat without another word. Score one for me.
The drive out of Vegas is quiet. Wynter stares out the window, watching the city fade into desert landscape. I keep one hand on the wheel, the other on her thigh, needing the physical connection. Every time she tenses, I squeeze gently, reminding her who she belongs to now.
We stop for gas about two hours in, at a dusty station off the highway. The place is the kind of dive that makes most people nervous—truckers with hard eyes, drifters loitering by the pumps, a general feeling that violence could erupt at any moment. For me, it's just another Tuesday.
"Stay in the truck," I tell her as I pull up to a pump.
"I need to use the bathroom," she says, already unbuckling her seatbelt.
I grind my teeth, but nod. "Fine. Straight there and back. Don't talk to anyone."
She rolls her eyes but agrees, climbing down from the truck. I watch her walk toward the gas station, those jeans hugging her ass in a way that makes my mouth water. I'm not the only one noticing.
A lanky fucker leaning against a beat-up motorcycle straightens as she passes, his eyes following her like a starving man eyeing a steak. He says something I can't hear, but Wynter quickens her pace, head down. The guy pushes off his bike, taking a step after her.
Red floods my vision.
I'm across the lot before I even register moving, my hand closing around the back of his neck like a vise.
I slam him face-first against his motorcycle, pinning him there with my forearm across his shoulders.
He's a skinny piece of shit, probably tweaking on something, no match for my size and strength.
"You eyeing my wife, motherfucker?" I growl in his ear, pressing harder until he wheezes.
"D-didn't know she was taken, man," he gasps, struggling uselessly against my grip.
I lean closer, making sure he can feel every ounce of the threat I represent. "Well now you do. And if your eyes so much as twitch in her direction again, I'll cut them out and feed them to you. We clear?"
He nods frantically, face turning purple. I release him with a shove, and he staggers away, gasping. The few witnesses suddenly find other places to look. Smart.
Wynter emerges from the station, eyes wide as she takes in the scene—me standing over the guy who's still bent over coughing, the sudden silence that's fallen over the lot. Fear and something else—something darker, more primal—flashes across her face.
I take her arm, guiding her back to the truck. My pulse is still pounding with feral rage, but there's satisfaction too. Let them all see. Let them know she's claimed.
Back on the road, the adrenaline still courses through my veins. My cock is hard in my jeans, a primal reaction to defending what's mine. Every few miles, I catch Wynter sneaking glances at me, her breathing a little faster than normal.
"He was looking at you," I say finally, breaking the silence.
"So you, what? Threatened to blind him?" Her voice wavers between outrage and something else.
"Would have done it too." I slide my hand higher on her thigh. "Nobody looks at what's mine."
She shakes her head, but doesn't push my hand away. "You can't just…hurt people because they look at me."
"Can. Will." I squeeze her thigh. "You're mine to protect now, baby doll. Better get used to it."
The sun is setting, painting the desert in gold and crimson. The highway stretches empty ahead of us, miles of nothing in all directions. Perfect.
I pull the truck onto a dirt turnout, cutting the engine.
"Why are we stopping?" Wynter asks, looking around at the desolate landscape.
Instead of answering, I unbuckle my seatbelt and then hers. In one smooth motion, I lift her across the center console and onto my lap, facing me, her legs straddling mine.
"What are you doing?" she gasps, hands bracing against my chest.
"What does it look like?" I grip her hips, grinding her down against my erection. "Need you. Now."
"Here? We're in the middle of nowhere!" Her protest is weakened by the way her body responds, pressing back against mine.
"Exactly. No one to hear you scream for Daddy." I capture her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her gasp.
My hands are everywhere—under her shirt, cupping her breasts, squeezing that perfect ass. I'm too worked up for finesse. The animal in me needs to claim, to mark.
"Stand up," I growl against her mouth. When she looks confused, I clarify, "On the seat. Need to get these jeans off."
It's awkward in the confines of the truck cab, but we manage. Soon she's naked from the waist down, and I've freed my cock from my jeans. I pull her back down onto my lap, guiding her onto my length in one smooth thrust.
"Fuck," I groan as she envelops me. So tight. So perfect. "That's it, little girl. Take Daddy's cock like you were made for it."
She moans, head falling back as I fill her completely. The position gives her no leverage—she's impaled on me, completely at my mercy.
"Look at you," I praise, watching her face as I begin to thrust upward. "Taking me so deep. Such a good girl for Daddy."
"Vance," she whimpers, trying to move, to set the pace.
I grip her hips harder, controlling her completely. "No. You take what I give you. How I give it."
The truck rocks with the force of my thrusts, her body bouncing on my lap. Through the windshield, stars are beginning to appear in the darkening sky, witnesses to our claiming.
"Gonna breed you right here under the stars," I growl, feeling my orgasm building. "Fill this sweet pussy with my seed."
Her inner walls clench around me at the words, telling me exactly how much they affect her.
"You like that?" I push harder, deeper. “Say what you want, Wynter, but you love my cock deep inside you. Love how I fuck you hard and dirty and spew filth in your ear while I do it. That’s cause I know what you need, baby girl. What you want.”
"I can't—" she gasps, trembling on the edge.
"You can. You will." I slide one hand between us, finding her clit. "Come for Daddy. Let me feel that tight little pussy milk my cock."
She shatters with a cry that echoes through the cab, her body convulsing around mine. I follow immediately, erupting inside her with a roar, holding her down firmly to make sure every drop stays deep where it belongs.
We stay joined as our breathing slows, her forehead resting against mine. I stroke her back, suddenly gentle now that the feral need has been momentarily sated.
"Why do you say those things?" she whispers. "About…breeding me?"
I cup her face, making her meet my gaze. "Because I mean them," I say simply. "You're mine now. In every way. And I want to see you round with my child. Want to mark you inside and out so everyone knows it."
A shiver runs through her, but it's not disgust. Not fear. It's something deeper, more primal. Recognition, maybe. Of what we are to each other.
"You're crazy," she murmurs, but there's less conviction than before.
"Crazy about you." I kiss her again, softer this time. "Now let's get you dressed. Still got miles to go before you see your new home."
As we pull back onto the highway, my hand returns to her thigh, possessive and protective. The animal in me is temporarily satisfied, but I know it's only the beginning. By the time we reach the compound, there won't be a single doubt in her mind—or anyone else's—about who she belongs to.