Chapter Fourteen
Rebel
Everything inside me has closed in on one thing and one thing only. Fucking her. Owning her body, tasting her mouth and feeling her wet heat around my cock, clenching and tightening and making every thrust a hard-won battle.
I saw how she stared at the knife as I threw it, but I know myself well enough to understand that can’t be anywhere near us when I’m like this. I would never hurt her, or take it too far, but the temptation would be too powerful.
As much as I enjoy seeing the blood form like small red pearls on her perfect skin, I won’t cut her anymore.
All we need now is to fuck away the need.
I’m supposed to be meeting Fury and intended on getting the two women off the damn street, furious that Kinsley was out here again and pissed that Katrina was trying to talk to me.
I know why I’ve ended up here. I would have left as soon as she was inside until I saw that drawing. And I knew what the brownish strokes were. It made my heart pump too fast, my blood run too hot through my veins, becoming dangerous.
She’s moaning and thrashing so I pin her arms to hold her still as I bite her neck. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough that she stills, only moving with each thrust of my cock inside her.
Being Kinsley, she doesn't allow me to pin her down for too long, she twists her arms out of my grip and grabs the back of my neck, tightening her fingers in my hair to the point it stings.
We’re making way too much noise, so I straighten, grab her under the thighs and step back, moving to the wall that backs onto the outside of the building, not the church.
Kinsley’s fingers claw at my back as I press her against the wall and pump up, using all the strength I have left in my thighs.
“Don’t stop,” she groans.
I have no intention of stopping. I slap the wall beside her head, making her flinch, but the shock doesn’t last long, she grabs my neck again, this time using force to pull my face to hers. We kiss, hard and without breaking rhythm.
“Oh fuck,” she murmurs against my lips. “I’m close, I’m… don’t stop.”
“Don't tell me what to do, little villain.”
The low timbre of my voice, maybe the words, or the final, hard thrust, tip her over the edge and she comes hard, clenching and fluttering around my cock.
That is all it takes for me to go over the edge, too.
My cum fills her, pumping out of me as I tip my head back and try not to roar as pleasure takes over all other thought.
I stagger back, and her legs unwrap, her feet drop to the ground, and my cock slips out of her. Kinsley slumps against the wall, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling. Her skin is damp with blood and sweat, and the longer she stands there, my cum seeps from her pussy onto her thighs.
That drives me fucking mad, enough that I want to take her all over again. Good sense takes over.
“Are you on the pill?” I ask bluntly.
In the heat of the moment, I wasn’t thinking, but there is no way I’m putting myself in the position Nero found himself in. I’ll get her some Plan B if I have to.
Her eyes spring open and her already dark pupils look blacker. I expect her to blow up. Instead she nods, watching for my reaction. Her surprise registers when I gently move some hair off her sweaty cheek and push it behind her ear.
Considering the violence of how we fucked and the coarseness of my question, that was a tender move.
She is naked, my jeans are hanging beneath my ass, and I tug them and my underwear up. Everything she was wearing is destroyed either by my tearing it or her cutting it with the knife.
“I need to go.”
“Okay.”
I’m not sure what else to say to her. We shouldn’t have done this again, but it was different this time. Yes, it was hard and fast, but something has changed. There was no hate in what we did. More like an understanding of how we’re different to other people. Yet…we’re the same.
It’s fucking dangerous, and Kinsley is smart enough to understand that too.
My gaze goes to the portrait of me on the canvas closest to us. I avoid looking at the one behind it, at the image she’s drawn of Stryker. It’s far too real for me to look at it right now.
Or examine how fucking irritated I am that she has drawn one of my brothers too.
“Getting involved with me isn’t safe.”
“I’m aware. I’ll be leaving when the mural is done.”
Something about the way she says that doesn’t ring true, I don't have time to press her on it.
I’ve got things to do tonight. There is one question I am not leaving without getting an answer to first.
“Who was the cop who called you?”
Kinsley tries not to react. Anyone else might have missed it, but not me.
“Why did that call make you look like you saw a ghost?”
“We don’t need to have deep and meaningful conversations because we fucked again.”
My lip twitches, there she is. Her eyes narrow when I study her face for a glimpse behind the wall she has erected.
“This isn’t over,” I say.
“The chat, or the fucking?”
“Either.”
Her eyes widen a fraction, but she says nothing as I grab my t-shirt and redress, pulling on my cut. The drawing is crumpled because I dropped her on it, but the lines and shadows are perfect. I want to ask if I can take it, but that will show her far too much of myself.
Instead, I run my gaze up and down her naked body. Damn, she’s fucking beautiful.
There is a churning in my lower stomach, something twisting up my insides that I’m not used to, and if I don’t get it out, it’s going to cause issues.
“Why did you draw him?”
Kinsley looks at the portrait behind me.
“I can’t explain it without it sounding… intrusive.”
“You talked to him?”
She shakes her head. “I watched him.”
I could quip about that being creepy, but hold my tongue. She’s standing naked in front of me, not in the least bit embarrassed or trying to cover up.
“Sometimes, a person catches my attention. Not because I’m interested in talking to them or learning about them. I see things that intrigue me.”
“What did you see in Stryker?” I take a step closer to her.
“You’re his friend.”
I ignore that comment. “Stryker is a closed book.”
I’ll never give away anything else about him, but it’s a struggle to hold back what might be some stupid form of jealousy. Over a fucking painting. When mine is right beside it.
“You can’t see it in the painting?” She cocks her head.
“I don’t want to fucking look at it again.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then lets out a small laugh. It pisses me off, but I don’t rise to it.
“He’s carrying a heavy weight he hides behind what people perceive him to be.”
Fuck, that’s the most succinct way I’ve heard anyone describe Stryker. Most people think he enjoys violence. He hides his pain so well, yet Kinsley saw it. And captured it in that painting.
“He can never see it,” I tell her.
“You weren’t supposed to see it, or that,” she points at my portrait with a frown. Then she shakes herself and changes the subject. “Shit, it’s cold.”
There is a blanket on the bed, which I tug off and wrap around her. It surprises her, and she studies me in silence.
This is getting too deep for me. I’ve made my point about Stryker’s painting, and I have shit I need to do.
In a moment of weakness, unexpected to her and myself, I kiss the top of her head, leaving her speechless, which is fine by me because I don’t think I’ll be able to answer any of the questions she might have about that.
“Lock up after me,” I say, taking a few paces backward.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she repeats my earlier words, amusement in her eyes rather than the usual bratty attitude.
A vibration in the back pocket of my jeans reminds me I have to go. It’s why I don’t argue with her, but walk out of the room and head outside.
I’m careful about checking my surroundings as I head back to the clubhouse. At least Katrina didn’t hang around when I told her the bar is closed and if she wants Raven she should call her, not show up here.
That didn’t go down well, but I’m not here to keep anyone happy.
Fury is standing outside and watches me as I walk toward him. He checks out where I came from and my disheveled state.
“Is that wise?” he asks.
“Mind your fucking business.”
He laughs, then sobers. “While you’ve been getting your dick wet, we had some movement.”
“What?” I ask, forgetting about Kinsley. Not totally, but she isn’t my focus now.
“Wallen text Kivisto, they’re meeting tomorrow night.”
I pull out my phone and see texts from the council group chat and Darius, one of my spies. It’s good to know the men I have looking out for us around the city are staying on their toes.
The club comes first. It’s not the time to have an existential crisis about fucking a woman over club business.
“We have some planning to do.” Fury brings my attention back. “The meet is at the Drake.”
“The Drake Hotel?”
“Yeah, the most expensive place in the city, go figure.”
“Is Wallen alone?”
“Seems to be. Ronin said none of the other Kivisto’s came with him. It doesn’t mean they won’t follow, we have got to have our eyes and ears everywhere.”
“Got it.”
“We could use Ellie right about now,” Fury sighs. “She knows people who can help us at the hotel.”
“Why can’t she help now?” I ask, then rub a hand over the stubble on my chin. “I’ll talk to Beast. I’ve got something else to talk to the fuckwit about, anyway.”
“Blonde, about five-six, and fiery as fuck?”
We’ve all tried at one time or another to talk to Beast about his daughter. This time he’s going to fucking listen.
“Ellie’s at the private hospital, right?”
“Yeah. You going now?” He glances at his watch.
“Time is irrelevant.”
“Unless you’re getting laid.”
“Fuck off.”
He laughs and goes back into the clubhouse as I head for my bike.
Beast is waiting for me outside the hospital when I arrive and watches me with hard eyes as I park up and walk toward him.
Fury called ahead, I see. We go inside, and a few people watch, but no one stops us. He leads me through a few corridors but stops me before we go into Ellie’s room.
“She still needs rest.”
“This concerns the club.”
“She’s had three surgeries, they’ve been keeping her on morphine because of how much pain she’s in.”
“I get it, I’ve seen people hurt like that before and not pull through, but she is alive and she is important.”
“Important to the club.”
“Of course to the club. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” he huffs. Shakes his head, folds his arms, then unfolds them. “She doesn’t need the stress.”
“Get your shit together,” I say it as his Vice President. “She can help us catch the fucker who did this, she will want to be a part of it. And you should want that too.”
He scrubs a hand over his hair, about to speak when a voice comes from beyond the door we’re standing nearest to.
“Stop talking about me and get in here.”
Beast curses and shakes his head.
“Whatever the fuck this is,” I lean in close. “Stop blocking me. We have a serious problem, and you’re focusing too hard in the wrong places. A rogue MC, a mafia prince, oh and a little thing called fucking Storm.”
He holds up a hand, not to ward me off, but to let me know he gets it.
“And let’s not forget your daughter.”
He stares at me like I kicked him in the nuts. Someone fucking needs to.
“This is fucking serious and it’s going down tomorrow. We need all the help we can get. Just be fucking grateful I have more urgent shit to deal with because if I didn’t, this attitude you have going on would be dealt with.”
We have a stare-off, and I wait for him to blow up, but the soft feminine voice from earlier is gone, now it’s more forceful.
“Get your asses in here. You’re embarrassing me.”
“Great, now she’s pissed.” Beast rubs his forehead in frustration.
“You seem to have that effect on women.” I start toward the door but pause and look back at him. “Your kid knows how to wield a frying pan, be careful when you go see her.”
Leaving him with that little nugget of information, I open the door and walk into the room, where a very pissed off looking Ellie is glaring at us.