Chapter Six
King tightened his grip on the handlebars as he tore down the highway, Lena clinging to his back. The ride to the clubhouse was a blur of wind and heat. The world around him drowned by the roar of his bike and the pounding of his heart.
He couldn’t get the sight of those Serpent bastards cornering her out of his head. Couldn’t erase the way her face had gone pale, the fear she’d tried to cover with stubborn fire.
The Devil’s Crown cut heavy on his back wasn’t enough to smother the raw fury churning inside him. They’d dared to lay eyes on her, on Lena.
By the time they rolled into the clubhouse yard, King was hanging by a thread. He killed the engine and swung off, pulling Lena with him before she could argue. Her hair was wild from the ride, her eyes stormy, her lips parted like she had a thousand things to say and no breath to say them.
He didn’t give her the chance.
“Inside. Now.” His voice was rough, snapping more like a command than a request.
Lena bristled, her chin lifting. “I didn’t ask you to drag me here.”
King shoved open the clubhouse doors, ignoring the curious looks from his brothers and the women hanging around. He cut a straight path to his office, yanking the door closed behind them with a slam that rattled the frame.
Lena whirled on him. “You can’t just—”
The fury in her eyes sparked something in him, hotter than rage, sharper than reason. He crossed the room in two strides, crowding her back against the wall. He planted his hands beside her head, trapping her, caging her in.
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t shrink away. She never did. “You think you can keep doing this?” she hissed. “Showing up, taking over, deciding what I need?”
“Damn right,” he snarled, the words scraped raw from his chest. “Because if I hadn’t shown up tonight, you’d be in a hospital bed, or worse. You don’t get it, Lena. They’re not playing games. I won’t let them touch you.”
Her chest heaved, eyes flashing with anger, but beneath it he saw the flicker of something else. Heat.
“You’re infuriating,” she whispered.
“And you drive me out of my goddamn mind,” King said.
The space between them burned away. His mouth crashed down on hers, rough, desperate, explosive.
Lena gasped, then melted into him. She fisted her hands in the leather of his cut. The kiss wasn’t sweet, it was fire and fury, all teeth and tongue, the clash of two people who’d been circling each other too long.
King groaned against her mouth, the sound ripped from somewhere deep. He’d kissed women before, more than he could count, but never like this. Never like it mattered.
Lena pressed her body to his, soft curves against his hard edges, and his control snapped. King grabbed her hips, hauling her closer, grinding the evidence of his hunger against her thigh. She moaned, the sound wrecking him, fueling him.
“King...” Her voice was shaky, pleading, but not with fear.
He broke the kiss just long enough to growl against her lips, “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
Her eyes locked on his, wide and burning. “Don’t you dare stop.”
That was all he needed. King kissed her again, slower this time, more deliberate, pouring everything into it.
His rage, relief, hunger, reverence. He explored her, sliding one hand up her spine, the other tangling in her hair.
She tasted like coffee and defiance, like the only thing he’d ever crave again.
Clothes became obstacles. King tugged her shirt over her head. He tossed his cut onto the desk and his t-shirt followed. His scars and ink were bare, the map of every war he’d fought etched across his skin. He waited for her to flinch, to look away.
She didn’t. Her fingertips traced the ridges gently, reverently, like she saw the man beneath the monster.
“Beautiful,” she whispered.
The word nearly undid him.
“Lena,” King rasped, voice breaking.
Then he lifted her—Lena wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively—and carried her to the desk. Papers scattered, the glass of whiskey toppled, but he didn’t give a damn.
He laid her back, his hands trailing reverently down her body, memorizing every inch. King put his mouth to her, tasting her skin, drawing gasps and shivers until she arched beneath him.
King left a trail of kisses down her neck, her collarbones.
Reaching her breasts, he sucked on each nipple with reverence, liking how she cried out against him.
Lower he went, down her belly. King undid the buttons of her pants, pulling them off.
Finally the valley between her thighs was exposed to him.
He slid two fingers inside her, finding her wet and tight.
King paused, grabbed a condom from his wallet and put it on. “King,” she whispered and the look in her eyes told him she wanted this as much as he did.
He put the condom on and Lena spread her legs further for him. When he finally pushed inside her, a growl tore from his chest. She felt so good, so perfect. King entered her slow and steady, until he was balls deep inside her.
Lena clung to him, digging her nails into his shoulders, whispering his name like it was the only prayer she knew. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only Lena, the heat between them, the raw need that drove them, the tenderness that surprised them both.
“King,” she begged. “Move.”
King moved with reverence, as if she might break, and yet with the force of a man who’d finally found something worth bleeding for. Every thrust, every kiss, every brush of his hand across her cheek screamed the same truth. She wasn’t a passing distraction. She was it.
Her cries filled the office, her body tightening around him, and he followed her over the edge, buried so deep inside her he didn’t know where he ended and she began.
King reduced them both to panting messes.
His balls tightened against his body. Lena begged him to go faster and he complied, loving how they completed each other.
At his next thrust, Lena gasped and King knew he found her sweet spot.
He aimed for it over and over again until she crested, screaming out his name.
He wasn’t far behind. Several thrusts later, King climaxed. When it was over, the air was thick with heat and the scent of sweat and whiskey. King stayed braced over her, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged.
Lena’s hand slid over his cheek, soft, tender. “You’re not what they say you are,” she whispered.
Her words gutted him. Because she was right, because with her, he wasn’t. He kissed her again, gentler this time, the kind of kiss that lingered long after the fire cooled.
When King finally pulled back, both of them shaken and raw, he knew nothing would ever be the same.
****
King woke to the faint gray light of dawn spilling through the blinds. His office smelled of whiskey, leather, and Lena. The weight of her still lingered on his body, every scar and muscle marked by the memory of her hands.
For one damn fragile, dangerous moment King let himself breathe it in. Lena.
She was curled against him, tangled in the rumpled blanket he’d dragged off the couch, her hair a wild halo across his chest. Innocent, soft, too young. Yet she’d taken every piece of him, scars and all, without flinching.
King stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched so tight it ached. What the hell had he done?
It had been reckless and stupid. He was the president of the Devil’s Crown, a man with blood on his hands and enemies at his door. Lena deserved peace, safety, a clean life untouched by the shadows that dogged him. Instead, he’d dragged her into his fire.
Worse, he’d wanted to. The truth twisted in his chest like barbed wire. Last night hadn’t been about lust. Not only that. It had been about something deeper, something he’d sworn he wasn’t capable of anymore.
Something that made him weak. Weak men got their people killed.
Careful not to wake her, King slid out from beneath her, pulling on his jeans. Every muscle protested, every nerve screaming to climb back next to her and hold her until the sun burned away the rest of the world. However, that wasn’t an option, especially for him.
He poured himself a drink, not caring if it was too early, and stood at the window, staring out at the empty lot. His reflection in the glass looked like a stranger. The hard-set mouth, the scar running jagged from temple to jaw, the cold eyes.
That was who King was. That was all he could be.
Behind him, the blanket shifted. A soft murmur. Then Lena’s voice, rough with sleep but still clear enough to gut him. “King?”
He turned. She was sitting up, clutching the blanket around her chest, blinking the sleep from her eyes. Even rumpled and bare, she looked like light he had no business touching.
“You’re up early,” she said softly, studying him. “Couldn’t sleep?”
King swallowed the knot in his throat, setting the glass down hard. “Didn’t need to.”
Something in his tone must’ve hit her, because her expression tightened.
“What’s wrong?” Lena asked.
King dragged a hand over his face. He needed to put distance between them, fast, before the look in her eyes stripped him down to nothing.
“Last night was a mistake.” His voice was low, flat, a blade meant to cut.
Lena froze. For a second, she just stared at him, as if she hadn’t heard right. “A mistake?” Lena demanded.
He forced himself to meet her gaze. “You don’t belong in this world. You don’t belong with me. What happened can’t happen again.”
Her lips parted, shock flickering into something sharper. Anger.
“You son of a—” She threw the blanket aside, standing, uncaring of her nakedness as she stalked toward him. “You don’t get to say that. Not after last night.”
King clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. She was glorious, fire in every step, her fury lighting the room brighter than the dawn. But that only made it worse.
“I’m not good for you, Lena. I’ll ruin you if you let me,” King told her.
Her laugh was bitter, cutting. “You already think you ruined me? That fast? Newsflash, King. I walked in here with my eyes open. I knew what I was doing,” Lena said.
He shook his head, muscles coiled tight. “You don’t know what it costs to be with me. To be mine. You’d be a target the second word got out. Every bastard with a grudge against me would see you as the way to bleed me dry. You think I can live with that?”
“You think I can live with you pretending last night meant nothing?” Her voice cracked, but her chin stayed high. “You’re not some monster who used me. I saw you. I felt you. You don’t get to shove me away and pretend I imagined it.”
King’s chest burned. God, she was too much. Lena was too brave, too stubborn, and too right. He wanted to drag her back into his arms, bury himself inside her until the world disappeared. But he couldn’t.
He reached for the only weapon left. Distance. Coldness. “You’ll thank me later,” King told her.
Lena’s eyes narrowed, hurt bleeding into rage. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare act like you’re protecting me when really you’re just scared.”
The word hit like a fist to the gut. Scared.
She stepped closer, right into his space, tilting her head back to look him in the eye.
“You hide behind your scars, your patches, your damn whiskey, but I see you, King. And it scares the hell out of you,” she told him.
He sucked in a breath, every muscle straining.
“Say it,” she demanded, voice trembling with fury. “Say I didn’t matter. Say last night didn’t mean anything.”
The words stuck in his throat. King couldn’t. Not with her so close, not with her scent still clinging to his skin, not with the memory of her whispering his name etched into his bones.
Silence stretched, thick and dangerous.
Lena’s eyes shimmered, but she refused to look away. Finally, she stepped back, grabbing her clothes from the floor. She dressed quickly, her movements sharp, her jaw tight.
When she pulled her shirt over her head, she turned to him one last time.
“You don’t get to use me and throw me aside, King. You don’t get to decide what I can handle. You’re not the only one who’s been through hell,” Lena told him flatly.
Then she was gone, the office door slamming behind her.
King stood there, heart pounding, every instinct screaming at him to chase her. To drop to his knees if he had to, to beg her to stay, but he didn’t move.
Because he was King, and Kings didn’t beg. King poured another drink, but the whiskey tasted like ash on his tongue.