Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink #1) Read online

  Anya’s heart clenched hard. Safe. Safety. She would never have equated that with a motorcycle club either. Maybe it wasn’t in all clubs, but certainly in this one, they cared about family and children.

  Blythe looked out the window, her gaze on Czar. “Thank you, Alena. Sometimes, because we’re so close to it, we hear them at night, or find them hiding in a closet, scared out of their minds, it feels like we’re swimming against a terrible current.” Her hand fluttered against her throat. “Czar is amazing. So strong. Always steady with them. I tend to be the baby and cry with them.”

  Alena put down the spoon she was stirring the spiral noodles with and went to Blythe, wrapping an arm around her. “You took care of me when I needed it, Blythe, that’s why I can tell you without reservation, you’re the heart of us. Of all of us. Of those kids.”

  Anya blinked back the tears shimmering in her eyes. She’d never, not in a million years, have thought Alena could be so caring. Hearing about the children broke her heart. She’d seen children come in to the shelters, traumatized. Here, there were people who cared. A lot of them, clearly.

  Czar, beer in hand, suddenly turned toward the house, looking at Blythe through the window. He saw Alena with her arm around her waist and immediately started jogging across the lawn. Anya watched him come toward them. He had eyes only for Blythe, although Anya had the feeling he saw everything. The minute he was on the move, the entire group went electric, on alert. Both Reaper and Savage flanked him, spreading out, as if watching his back.

  A little shiver of awareness went down her spine as she looked at their faces. Hard as steel, eyes cold as ice, deep lines carved through their already tough features. She was looking at the other side of them. An image of the knife penetrating Deke’s flesh, driving deep, all the way to the hilt, Reaper so casual. Savage saying he would take care of it. What was she thinking? She stepped back as Czar entered.

  He went straight to his wife and pulled her into his arms. She heard him murmur something, and Blythe laughed, although Anya could tell she was crying. Reaper came in behind him, Savage was nowhere in sight. Reaper’s gaze swept the room, a thorough inspection, and then he glanced at the couple before his gaze landed on Anya.

  She detested that her body felt that penetrating look all the way to her core. Heat coiled, moved through her veins, a slow burn that was like a hot fire spreading lazily through her entire body. She pressed her hand to her stomach where knots gathered. He was so disturbing with his rough edge, one minute shoving her away, the next bringing her close.

  He didn’t speak, only looked at her, and she had the feeling he knew she was trying to back away again, trying to talk herself into getting out while she could. She knew there would never be a relationship with Reaper. He wasn’t that kind of man and he never would be. Even if he let himself care, he would want to control every aspect of their liaison. He would insist on ruling her. She wasn’t that kind of woman, even if they could find a way to be together.

  Czar spent a few minutes kissing Blythe and teasing her openly until she was laughing and smiling. Anya couldn’t help noticing that his hands moved over Blythe’s body, under her tank, over her butt, and no one seemed to pay the least bit of attention. Anya squirmed because the entire time, Reaper watched her, not them, and her body grew hotter, so hot she was afraid she might spontaneously combust. She ached. Really, really ached. Everywhere.

  Czar finally lifted his head, grinning, appearing so much younger than Anya had ever seen him look. “Should I send Fatei in to help make the burgers?”

  “That’s your job,” Blythe said.

  “Babe.”

  Lana put her hand on her hip. “Tell Ink, he can make the burgers. He isn’t doing anything but standing around trying to look hot.”

  “Are you still carrying a grudge against that poor man?” Czar asked.

  “Poor man, my ass. If he ever tries to boss me again, I’m going to slit his throat,” Lana declared, and Anya believed her.

  She took a step back from the counter. This wasn’t the place for her. She wasn’t a violent person. She had a temper, but she didn’t ordinarily strike out at anyone physically, as she had with Reaper. She’d put her hands on him more than once, and that wasn’t acceptable behavior in her mind. These people thought nothing of slitting throats and throwing knives.

  “Anya’s going to help me put my house together,” Reaper announced unexpectedly. Shocking her.

  Her gaze jumped to his. His eyes were bluer than ever. A penetrating, piercing blue that took her breath and saw right into her. Every thought. She knew he’d done it on purpose, telling the others so she wouldn’t back out. He knew she’d been thinking of running again. Clearly, she didn’t have a poker face.

  The room had gone so silent she wanted to scream just to fill it. Her tongue touched her lower lip and then she turned her attention to slicing the last of the pickles. She still had the onions to go. Maybe she could drive everyone out of the room if she started them.

  “You going to be living there?” Czar asked Reaper.

  Her gaze jumped back to Reaper’s. He nodded his head slowly. “Anya needs a place to stay and I need the place fixed up. She agreed to help me.”

  Had she? She couldn’t think straight with him looking at her like that. She just wanted to fall right into all that blue. At the same time, she wanted to run away, as fast and as far as possible. She was willing to have sex with him. Sex without strings. She couldn’t live his lifestyle and no way was he changing it, not for any woman.

  She knew in motorcycle clubs, women were second to the club. She’d been second her entire life. That would never happen with the man she loved. She intended that he would always be first, but she wanted—even needed—to be first in his life. Reaper would put these all men and women before he would ever put a woman—if he even kept one.

  “Nice,” Alena said. “If you need any help, Anya, let me know, I’d be more than happy to help. If you’re into that kind of thing, I’m working on my restaurant right now, trying to come up with some interior designs. It’s not really my thing and I wouldn’t mind advice. Lana and I are hitting our heads on the wall half the time.”

  “You’re starting a restaurant?” Anya asked. She’d seen the large building that had finally been completed. It had banks of windows, but inside, when she’d stopped to look, there was nothing on the walls or floors.

  “I love to cook. I thought it would be fun to have a place to actually cook and have someone eat what I make besides my monster brothers who would eat anything and call it good.”

  Alena’s voice was carefully casual. Anya could see the restaurant meant a lot to her.

  “We’ve come to a standstill, because the interior is mine to figure out and I have no idea what I want. Ice and Storm told me to just hire someone, but then it’s really not mine. I thought just talking it out would give me ideas, but so far, nothing. The building just sits there, after costing the club so much money.”

  “Babe.” Czar’s voice was gentle. “Stop that. That money is all of ours. We’re golden right now, so no worries on how long it takes. You want it to be yours, do it your way.”

  “Thanks, Czar.” Alena sent him a small smile.

  “Won’t hurt if Anya takes a look,” Reaper said, volunteering her.

  She would have volunteered herself a minute earlier because she felt Alena’s genuine distress, but now that Reaper had done it she wanted to throw something at him. She was leaving. She’d made up her mind. She didn’t belong in this world no matter how much certain aspects of it appealed to her.

  “Would you mind, Anya?” Alena asked.

  Anya wasn’t certain whether Alena was trying to make up for the two-sizes-too-small tank, or really wanted her opinion, but she didn’t have much choice. “Of course I’d love to look at it. I’ve stopped a few times and peered through the window because the building is so cool.”

  The foundation was cut out of the hillside, high enough to give a view of the ocean, an
d behind it the hillside was terraced. Already the plants were beginning to grow up, taking the shape of a wild garden one could see through the banks of glass. It wasn’t huge, but gave a more intimate vibe, as if it was a secret place one might stumble on and enjoy with friends, someone special or family.

  The club bought and employed locally if they could. They had a good relationship with Inez at the grocery store in Sea Haven and were in talks with her to open a smaller version in Caspar for the locals. The small town already had the new garage and tattoo shop. Both were building a reputation for good service and excellent work. The bar was doing extremely well, and on Friday and Saturday nights, there was live music. Maestro, Keys, Player and Master played. They were looking for a vocalist, but wanted the right one. Now, if Alena had her way, they’d have a restaurant.

  Reaper and Czar left, and the women immediately began to prepare the food in earnest. While the potatoes and boiled eggs were cooling in the refrigerator, Blythe chopped up dill pickle and black olives to add into the salad. Lana and Alena quickly put the rest of the ingredients for the pasta salad together while the spiral noodles were cooling. Anya sliced the onions.

  “I can shape the burgers,” she offered. “I don’t mind.”

  “Let the men do it,” Blythe said. “Czar knows there’s only a few of us and we can’t cook for all of them without help all the time. It won’t hurt for them to learn to help out in the kitchen. Czar’s always helped me. Sooner or later, those men are going to find women that they want to spend their lives with. When that happens, I want them to be at least partially civilized. Otherwise, I’m going to have a few complaints on my doorstep.”

  Anya looked up, puzzled. “I keep missing parts of the conversation. Why would you get complaints if the men aren’t acting civilized?”

  Lana laughed. “She’s Wendy. You know, Wendy from Peter Pan. Alena read this article about how some men are Peter Pan and never want to grow up and every Peter Pan needs a Wendy willing to surround herself with lost boys. She’s our Wendy. Czar isn’t Peter Pan because he’s definitely grown up …”

  “I might argue if he was in the room,” Blythe objected with a smile.

  “But the rest of us are her lost boys. Alena and I included. She’s the one we all go to. She collects lost children too.”

  “Um. No. You bring them to me,” Blythe corrected.

  “But you take them in,” Alena pointed out. She blew Blythe a kiss. “I was a total bitch, Anya, when I had to move in with Blythe and Czar. I was hurt pretty bad. Didn’t think I’d live, didn’t know if I wanted to. Blythe worked her magic. I can recommend her highly.”

  Blythe blinked back tears. “I love you, idiot. Stop making me feel all mushy. Let’s get this food done or we’ll have a rebellion on our hands.”

  Anya had felt safe in the kitchen with the women, but now she hesitated. She didn’t want to go outside with all the club members. She knew most by sight, but they didn’t really talk to her. Reaper was being nice for the moment, but that didn’t mean he’d keep being that way. She wasn’t certain what she was going to do with him.

  Maybe he didn’t know what to do with her, but it was clear, the club took in strays. That was most likely how he saw her. That, and he wanted her. She could see that in the way his eyes moved over her body. The way his cock was thick and long, unashamedly bulging in his jeans. He never attempted to cover up or hide it from her. She wished she could be like that. Like Czar and Blythe, who made no attempt to hide the way they felt about each other.

  “Anya,” Alena held out a bag. “Try one of these tops. I think they’ll fit better. All three are for you. There are limited choices here, but this is our favorite brands.”

  Anya took the bag, murmuring her thanks. Blythe indicated a door off the kitchen. The bathroom was spacious and smelled fresh with a hint of lavender. Anya found she was reluctant to unbutton Reaper’s shirt. It enveloped her body in his warmth. It even smelled faintly of him. She had to give it back to him, because the longer she had it on, the more she felt she belonged to him. Pulling off the tiny tank, she examined the other three shirts. The two tanks were Harleys, and the other one was a brand she didn’t know.

  She chewed her lip as she pulled that one over her head. It was black, tight; although it fit perfectly, it was daring. Cut-out shoulder and sleeves with three more cutouts down the front. The largest right above her breasts, a smaller strip over the top curves, and a much smaller one showing a hint between the two mounds. She’d definitely fit in. There was a black bra that would go with it, support, but not show. It was sexy enough to get Reaper’s attention one way or the other, but not so slutty that she would feel like her breasts were spilling out in front of everyone.

  She pulled it on and examined herself in front of the mirror. Definitely sexy. What was she thinking? Entice Reaper? She was already out of her league here. She caught the hem to pull it over her head when the door opened and he walked right in. She whirled around, shocked, her mouth open. She didn’t know why she was shocked, but she was. He’d done it before. Lana and Alena had done it. The club members thought nothing of locks.

  “Um, Reaper. I was changing.”

  “Thought you might be hiding.” He stared at her, took another step into the room and shut the door behind him.

  Her heart went crazy. God. She couldn’t breathe. He took up the entire room, and she’d thought it was a fairly large bathroom. She took a step back and bumped up against the sink. “I’m not hiding.” Her voice came out a whisper.

  He stepped closer. Very close. His eyes dropped to the front of her top. “This one.” He said it softly, but it was an order. His finger slid over her bare skin, tracing the tops of her breasts.

  “It’s a little racy.”

  He didn’t say anything, but his gaze jumped to hers. As he stared into her eyes, the pad of his finger went to the second open strip, spreading heat. Flames danced over her skin. Air was trapped in her lungs. He was touching her with one finger. One. That was all, and he owned her. He terrified her with his intensity. At the same time, the temptation of dancing with the devil was so strong, there was no resisting.

  His finger left the second strip and slid to the third one. He never once took his gaze from hers, yet he was accurate, as if he had memorized exactly where he could touch bare skin. This time his finger stroked down her breast tracing the swell, first on one side and then on the other. Her heart beat out of control. She had no choice but to let out her breath and then her breathing turned ragged. Labored.

  Her sex throbbed. Clenched. Went more than damp. Went slick. Heat flared through her body. One finger. It was terrifying what he could do. She licked her lips, tried to think beyond the brutal pulsing in her body.

  “This one,” he repeated, making it a decree.

  God. God. No one was going to save her from damnation; that was for certain. She nodded, although she didn’t know if she could walk out there in front of all the club members dressed in such a sexy top. Lana and Alena wore them with ease, but she was no Lana or Alena.

  The moment she nodded, his palm curved around the nape of her neck and he bent his head. She felt his breath. Warm. She closed her eyes, and his mouth was on hers. Her heart stuttered. She tasted beer. She tasted man. Then she was addicted, just like that, because he was there. Reaper. All commanding mouth. Hot as hell. Scorching. No hesitation. Not rough, like she expected, gentle, but totally in control of her. Leading her where he wanted to go, and he wanted to own her. To brand her. To make sure no one else would ever satisfy her. He accomplished all of it with his mouth moving over hers, his tongue sliding along hers.

  One hand was at the nape of her neck, the other at her throat, his thumb sliding caresses over her soft skin while her heart pounded into his palm. His body wasn’t touching hers, but she felt it, felt his heat like that of a furnace. She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to because she was his prisoner, held there by his mouth, by his kiss. She had no idea anyone could kiss like that, or that
a woman could be lost in a man, give herself to him, just with a kiss.

  When he lifted his head, the terror was still there, maybe more so, her heart beating out of control. She knew she was lost, that he could take her over, that he would take her over. She had to remind herself that she didn’t belong in his world and men like Reaper didn’t stay. That her personality would never mesh with his. Sex was acceptable, but falling wasn’t.

  “Come on out of here.” His voice was gruff.

  It was difficult to find her voice. His hand was still on her nape, although the other reached to fiddle with her hair. The blue eyes remained on her face. “Um. Reaper. You just walked in again. This is a bathroom. I could have been on the toilet.” That embarrassed her, but really, it had to be said. Even after the hottest kiss in the world. That should take the hotness factor down a peg or two for both of them.

  He shrugged. “Everyone uses a toilet, Anya. No big deal.” He turned and yanked the door open.

  She caught up his shirt, the flannel, a security blanket just in case everyone stared at her and she couldn’t take it. He took the shirt out of her hand and tossed it on the counter as they passed through the kitchen.

  “I might need that. It turns cold fast here.”

  Reaper looked at her, took her hand and tugged until she followed him out the door. Heads turned. She should have known. She kept her chin up, but she didn’t look at any of them. She kept her eyes on Blythe. If Blythe could function in this crowd of bikers, she could.

  “Lana tells me you know how to do some fancy flair,” Preacher said, handing her a beer as they approached the group.

  She took the cold bottle from him, nodding. “It’s just a fun little craft I used to work my way up through the bars to the big money.” The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she’d disclosed too much. Far too much. What was wrong with her? They might be criminals. Okay, she was certain they were, but she couldn’t tell them what she was running from. She didn’t know them that well. Any of them. Not even Reaper. She’d come this far by keeping her own counsel.