Chapter 2 – Ruthless
The weight of Angel pressed against my back is both a comfort and a torture as I weave through the dark streets, taking the long way back to Iron & Blood territory.
Her arms are tight around my waist, and I can feel her heart hammering against my back. Every protective instinct in me wants to hunt down those Outlaws for daring to touch her, but right now, getting her to safety is all that matters.
I check the mirrors again. No headlights following us, but that doesn't mean shit. The Outlaws know these streets as well as we do. They could be taking parallel routes, trying to cut us off.
"Hold tight," I growl over my shoulder, taking a sharp turn down an alley I know will lead us through a maze of backstreets.
Angel's grip tightens immediately, her thighs pressing closer against mine. Christ, even in the middle of this mess, her touch sets my skin on fire. This is exactly why Hellfire warned me off – I can't think straight around his daughter.
The memory of that conversation makes my jaw clench.
"She's not for you, brother," he'd said, his voice carrying the weight of both MC president and concerned father. "I see how you look at her, how she looks at you. It stops now."
Another turn, and I feel Angel shift against me, probably checking behind us. Smart girl. She's always been smart – too smart for her own good sometimes. Like tonight. Fucking Crossroads bar. What the hell was she thinking?
The familiar streets of our territory finally come into view, but I don't head for the clubhouse. Can't face Hellfire yet, not with the taste of violence still fresh and his daughter's body pressed against mine. Instead, I turn toward my place, an old converted warehouse I've called home for the past decade.
As I pull into my private garage, Angel's arms loosen around me, but she doesn't immediately pull away. For a moment, we just sit there in the dim light, both breathing hard from the adrenaline and the escape.
"You're bleeding," she says softly, her fingers brushing against my cheek where the Outlaw's knife caught me.
I catch her wrist before she can touch the cut. "Angel..."
She yanks her hand away, suddenly all fire and fury.
"Don't 'Angel' me, Grant. Not after what just happened."
The garage door closes behind us with a mechanical whir, and the silence that follows is deafening. I swing off the bike, running a hand through my hair in frustration.
Twenty-two years age difference. She's my president's daughter. She's too young, too pure for someone like me. I've been repeating these facts like a mantra for months, but they feel weaker every time I look at her.
"What were you thinking?" I ask, my voice rougher than intended. "That bar is practically in Outlaw territory. You could have been—" I can't even finish the sentence.
The possibilities of what could have happened make me want to put my fist through a wall.
Angel slides off the bike, and even in the dim light, I can see the defiance blazing in her eyes. There's blood on her lower lip, and the sight of it stokes the rage I've been trying to contain.
"I was thinking I needed a damn drink without my father's watchdogs hovering over me," she snaps, stepping closer. "I can handle myself. Or did you miss the part where I put that guy down with brass knuckles?"
"Yeah, I saw. I also saw him get back up." I move to the workbench, needing distance between us. My hands are still shaking – from the fight or from her proximity, I'm not sure anymore. "You got lucky tonight, Angel. If I hadn't gotten there—"
"But you did get there," she interrupts, following me. "Because I called you. Not the club, not my father. You."
The way she says it – soft, meaningful – makes me grip the edge of the workbench until my knuckles turn white. "That's exactly the problem."
"What is?"
"That you called me. That I dropped everything and came running. That I—" I cut myself off, but she's too close now, her perfume mixing with the leather and adrenaline.
"That you what?" She's right behind me now, and I can hear the challenge in her voice. "Come on, Ruthless. Say it. For once in your life, just fucking say it."
I turn around, ready to tell her to back off, to remind her why this can't happen. But she's standing there, all curves and fire, looking up at me with those eyes that have haunted my dreams for months. There's a smear of blood on her lip, and without thinking, I reach out and brush my thumb across it.
"Your father will kill me," I mutter, but I don't move my hand from her face.
"My father," she says, leaning into my touch, "doesn't get to decide this. I'm not a child anymore. And you're not as ruthless as you pretend to be."
Christ, she has no idea how wrong she is. Because right now, with her looking at me like that, I feel every bit as ruthless as my name suggests. I want to claim her, mark her, make her mine in ways that would have Hellfire putting a bullet in my head.
"Angel," I warn, but it comes out more like a growl. "Don't."
She steps even closer, eliminating what little space was left between us.
"Don't what? Don't want this? Don't want you?" Her hands come up to rest on my chest, and I can feel the heat of them through my shirt. "Because that ship sailed a long time ago, Ruthless. And I think you know it."
The last thread of my control snaps. I grab her hips, spinning us so she's pressed against the workbench.
"This is a bad idea," I say, even as I lean down, my face inches from hers.
"I'm full of those today," she whispers, and then she closes the distance, pressing her lips to mine.
The taste of her – sweet whiskey mixed with copper from her split lip – drives every rational thought from my mind. I lift her easily, and she wraps her legs around my waist as I press her against the nearest wall. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling slightly, and I growl against her mouth.
I'm reaching for the hem of her shirt when three sharp knocks echo through the garage. We freeze, our heavy breathing the only sound in the sudden silence. Angel's eyes meet mine, wide with concern.
"Did they follow us?" she whispers.
"Stay here," I murmur, letting her slide down slowly.
The loss of contact is physical pain, but instinct takes over. I grab a heavy wrench from the workbench, holding it behind my back as I approach the door.
"Who is it?" I call out, positioning myself to strike if necessary.
"Open the goddamn door, man! It's freezing out here!" Crow's familiar voice makes me exhale sharply. I glance back at Angel, who's straightening her clothes, before opening the door.
Crow bursts in, rubbing his hands together. "Jesus Christ, finally. Wrath was supposed to come with me, but his beautiful best friend needed help with something, so here I am, alone, freezing my balls off."
I lower the wrench, watching him pace around like a caffeinated squirrel.
"What do you want, Crow?"
"My bike's making this weird noise, right? Like a..." he makes a series of incomprehensible sounds that are supposed to mimic an engine. "Thought maybe you could take a look? We could grab a beer, make it a thing—" He stops abruptly, finally noticing Angel standing by the workbench. "Well, holy shit."
The silence that follows is thick with implications. Crow's eyes dart between us, taking in Angel's slightly swollen lips, my disheveled hair, the tension in the air.
"I can come back," he says slowly, a knowing grin spreading across his face.
"No," Angel steps forward, her voice steady despite the flush in her cheeks. "I need to get home anyway."
"About that," Crow's expression turns serious. "There's word going around that Outlaws jumped someone at Crossroads. You two wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"They recognized me," Angel admits. "Ruthless showed up before things got too bad."
Crow whistles low. "Hellfire's gonna lose his shit."
"He doesn't need to know," I say sharply, but Crow just raises his eyebrows.
"Brother, two Outlaws got their asses handed to them in neutral territory. This isn't staying quiet."
"I should go," Angel says, grabbing her jacket. When I move to get my keys, she holds up her hand. "Alone. I need to talk to him first, calm him down."
"Angel—"
"No, Ruthless." She cuts me off, her voice soft but firm. "Let me handle this my way. If you show up with me, it'll only make things worse."
She's right, but every fiber of my being rebels against letting her leave alone. She must see it in my face because she steps closer, reaching up to touch my cheek where the cut has stopped bleeding.
"I'll be fine," she whispers. "But we need to be smart about this."
Before I can respond, she climbs on my bike and presses a quick kiss to my lips. Then she's gone, the garage door closing behind her with a finality that makes my chest ache.
"Brother," Crow says after a moment, "you are so fucked."
I run a hand through my hair, turning to face him. "Tell me something I don't know."
"Look, I know Hellfire's been different since he started dating Chloe. Hell, we all noticed how much calmer he is these days." Crow hops up on my workbench, shaking his head. "But he's still Hellfire. And you're still the guy he explicitly warned to stay away from his daughter."
"You heard about that?"
"Everyone heard about that. The walls have ears in the clubhouse, and Hellfire wasn't exactly quiet about it." He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, offering me one. "What are you gonna do?"
I take the cigarette, lighting it with hands that aren't quite steady. "I don't know."
But that's a lie. I know exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to fight for her, consequences be damned. Because the taste of her is still on my lips, and the feel of her body against mine is burned into my memory, and some things are worth risking everything for.
"You love her?" Crow asks quietly.
I take a long drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke fill my lungs before answering. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"Then you're not just fucked," he says, clapping me on the shoulder. "You're completely and utterly screwed."
I can't help but laugh at Crow's assessment, "You're not wrong, brother. But you're not exactly in a position to talk."
"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Crow narrows his eyes, taking a drag of his own cigarette.
"Come on," I turn to face him, leaning against the workbench. "We all see how you look at Emma when you think no one's watching."
Crow nearly chokes on the smoke. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Right. So, you weren't staring at her like a starving man at Christmas dinner two months ago? And two weeks ago at the bonfire, you didn't almost walk into a tree because she was dancing with the girls?" I smirk as his face reddens. "Even Hellfire noticed that one, brother. Asked if you were drunk already."
"Fuck off," he mutters, but there's a flush creeping up his neck. "That's... that's different."
"How? Because she's your brother's best friend?" I shake my head, pouring us each a shot from the whiskey bottle I keep in the garage. "At least Angel isn't practically family to me."
Crow downs the shot in one go, grimacing. "Christ, I thought I was being subtle."
"About as subtle as a kick to the teeth," I pour him another. "The way you volunteered to help her move into her new apartment? Spent the whole day carrying boxes and furniture when you hate that domestic shit?"
"She needed help," he defends weakly. "And Wrath was busy with club business."
"And a month ago? When you drove across town at midnight because her car broke down, even though your brother's garage was closer?"
"Emma's off limits," he says firmly, but I can hear the pain beneath the conviction. "Wrath would kill me. They've been best friends since we arrived in Cedar Falls. He's protective as hell. You've seen how he gets when guys hit on her at the clubhouse."
"And Hellfire won't kill me?" I counter, crushing my cigarette butt in the ashtray. "At least Emma isn't someone's daughter. At least your brother might eventually come around. Hellfire?" I shake my head. "He'll never think anyone's good enough for Angel, let alone someone twenty-two years older than her."
"Yeah, but Emma..." Crow trails off, staring into his empty glass. "She's different, man. The way she lights up a room just by walking in. How she can make anyone laugh, even on their worst day. The little crinkle she gets between her eyebrows when she's concentrating on something..." He catches himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fuck, I sound like a teenager."
"You sound like a man in love," I correct him, pouring us both another shot. "Welcome to the club of sorry bastards who fell for the wrong women."
"At least Angel wants you back," he mutters. "Emma just sees me as her best friend's annoying brother."
"You sure about that?" I raise an eyebrow. "Because the other day at the clubhouse, when you were arm wrestling with Butcher? She couldn't take her eyes off you."
Hope flashes across his face before he squashes it. "Doesn't matter. Wrath made it clear years ago that Emma was off limits to any club member. Said he didn't want club drama messing with their friendship."
"Things change," I say, thinking about the way Angel looked at me earlier, the taste of her still lingering on my lips. "Sometimes the risk is worth it."
Crow laughs without humor. "We're a couple of sorry bastards, aren't we?"
"That we are, brother. That we are."
The garage falls silent except for the distant sound of motorcycles somewhere in the night. Both of us lost in thoughts about women we shouldn't want but can't stop wanting anyway. Women who could either save us or destroy us, and somehow, that makes them even more irresistible.
"Think Angel will be okay?" Crow finally asks, lighting another cigarette.
I check my phone – no messages yet. "She can handle herself. She's tough."
"Yeah," he nods. "Like Emma."
We share a knowing look, both understanding the hell we're probably walking into, both knowing we wouldn't have it any other way.