Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink #1) Page 12

  The garage had a sign on it that said “Back in a few.” That was the other thing she’d learned about the club. They would show up when they wanted, no apologies. They lived their lives free of society’s rules, yet they seemed to have quite a few rules of their own. Her car was sitting inside, looking miserable. She reached under the tire well and pulled out the spare key she’d hidden there. Nope. Didn’t start. Sighing, she took enough money for food and water and hopefully a used sleeping bag. She knew where there was a couple of secondhand stores in Fort Bragg.

  It only took a few minutes to hike up to Highway 1 and then she stood, thumb out. She got lucky. Really lucky. The huge black truck rumbled to a stop and she recognized the driver. Leslee worked at one of the local inns as a spa director. They’d met at the Egg Taking Station when Leslee was walking her dogs. The woman had been there several times and was very friendly, although she’d warned Anya repeatedly that it wasn’t safe.

  Anya didn’t know her well, but Leslee was the only person she could halfway call a friend. She’d come over to talk to her while Anya sat alone on a picnic table drinking water. Leslee had immediately asked if she needed anything and offered to pick up things in town when she found Anya was staying there. She smiled at the woman, thankful her ride was someone she knew.

  “Hey, lovey, where’s your car?” Leslee greeted, steering the huge truck back on the highway. “I was surprised to see you.”

  “It’s old and gets cranky on me,” Anya admitted. “Had to have her towed to the garage for hopefully a very little amount of work.”

  Leslee studied her face. “Are you all right?”

  Anya opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again, giving the question some thought. Was she? She didn’t know. She had quite a bit of money saved, enough to get her to another small town. If she didn’t leave and continued to work at the bar, providing Reaper didn’t get her fired now that he’d gotten what he wanted—what they’d mutually wanted—she reminded herself, she would have enough for a room or a studio, if she could find a rental.

  “Yes,” she decided. She was all right. She landed on her feet because she took the time to plan. “My car is important so waiting to find out if it’s fixable is difficult. I need a few things, like a bra.” She tried not to blush. “And a sleeping bag. It’s going to be cold without one.”

  “You’re going to camp out without your car?” Leslee glanced sideways at her. “Anya, you’re a woman alone. I go out there with my husband and four dogs, two are big mastiffs. You’ve been lucky not to run into any drug deals going on, or someone really losing it.”

  Leslee wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. She tried to be as hidden as possible, discreetly using the outhouse and eating cold food so she didn’t call attention to herself.

  “I don’t quite have enough money saved to get into an apartment or room somewhere. I’m close.” She’d saved all her wages so she had “go” money. Renting an apartment was out because of the paperwork. A room in someone’s home, that might work, but she had to make certain she had enough to leave on a moment’s notice.

  “Seriously, I don’t like you going out there alone. I have a tiny house, but you could sleep on the couch, or we could make you a place on the porch that would be more private.”

  Anya’s heart clenched. Few people would have made the offer, especially since, when they were talking at the camp, Leslee had laughed about how small her house was. She shook her head. “Thanks, Leslee. Really, but I don’t mind sleeping at the camp. I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time. I just need some supplies.”

  “I’ve got a little bit of time,” Leslee said. “I’ll take you to the thrift stores and then out to the Station.”

  * * *

  Reaper backed away from the bed, yanking up his pants, his gaze glued to Anya’s body. What the fuck had just happened? Everything he was, everything he believed in was gone in one second. She’d done that to him. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He could only stare down at her, his mind so chaotic he didn’t even know who the hell he was. He slammed the leather through his belt buckle, desperate to touch her, his body refusing his command to step away, to obey him. That brought him crashing down to reality. He hadn’t been under control. At. All. Anything could have happened to her. Anything.What the fuck was wrong with him?

  He kept backing up, a strange roaring in his ears. He couldn’t catch his breath. His vision blurred. What had just happened? He never lost control. Never. A man like him couldn’t afford to. His body had reacted of its own accord. Completely of its own accord. He hadn’t told his cock what to do. He hadn’t planned out a seduction step-by-step based on the woman and what he knew of her. This had been all natural. All real. What the fuck?

  He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, his heart pounding out of control. The pressure in his chest was enormous, pressing down on him, squeezing his heart hard. He lifted his hand to his jaw and rubbed it as he entered the common room. Both prospects turned to face him. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Anya’s shirt on the floor. He bent and picked it up, sliding the material through his fingers in a little caress, wishing he was back in the room, holding her.

  “Watch her, but stay out of her way. Don’t let her see you. Anything happens to her, you’re both dead.” He folded the shirt, placed it on the bar and strode out.

  He meant it. They knew it. At least he’d protected her. The prospects knew he wasn’t a man to fuck with. They weren’t slouches, either of them, both had attended one of the schools in Russia. He considered those schools for pussies. He could have done that standing on his head. Still, they were both lethal, and that meant while he got his head together she would be safe.

  He hadn’t taken precautions. He hadn’t even thought about taking them. He hadn’t expected to burn until he couldn’t think, until his body belonged to her, not him. What if he had killed her? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He could have killed her. He hadn’t given her a gun or a knife. He hadn’t cautioned Czar or Savage. He’d just taken her like a crazed bull, his mind a red haze, so far gone he could only feel.

  He had no idea how many women he’d had, but never once had that happened to him. Never. He straddled his bike and hit the road. Fast. He needed the wind in his face and the devil at his back. He could have killed her because he’d been so damned selfish he hadn’t considered the consequences. It never occurred to him that he would be so out of control. That his body would have a mind of its own. She’d been so hot. Scorching, so tight, surrounding him with a silken sheath that had been so pleasurable it skated close to pain. He hadn’t wanted it to end. Everything about Anya appealed to him.

  Her laugh. Her smile. That face. Those eyes. Her tits, so perfect, and he hadn’t had time to explore what he could do with those. The way she kissed. Like fire. Like his. She hadn’t even protested when he’d been rougher than hell, taking her like an animal, a savage beast gone mad. It had felt fucking great. Perfection.

  She was so fuckin’ beautiful. He loved the way she looked on her knees, elbows to the bed, head pressed against the sheets, all that long, gorgeous hair everywhere. Her breasts were perfect and … He shut down that way of thinking. It could only lead to disaster.

  He lifted his face to the wind, letting it blow over him, trying to stop shaking, trying to see through the shimmering wetness. Anya . She’d given herself to him, done exactly as he’d instructed. That was the key. She needed to do exactly what he said and she’d be safe.

  “Fuck!” He shouted it, hating himself. Hating what he was. He could just ride over the cliff, be done with it. If he did, she’d be safe. She’d be safe and free to be with someone good. Someone decent.

  He looked ahead. The curve was a long one and on the other side was the long expanse of blue. It glittered in the sun like glass. It was time. He’d always known he’d have to do it. He’d stayed alive for Savage. For Czar. Czar had them in a good place now. He wasn’t needed so much by the club. By his brothers
. And Anya. She needed saving, because there would be no saving her if he were alive. He’d known that from the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

  Just as he entered that sweet, long curve, the one he intended to straighten out, two Harleys came up on either side of him. Ice. Storm. They moved in unison with him, in formation, just as they often did, leaning into the curve, riding the wind. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t look at him. They just kept his bike on the road. There would be no flying today. No soaring out over the ocean. No disappearing into all that blue.

  He led the way. He knew where he had to go. Marc Centerfield ran the underground fights. They were moved from place to place, but once Savage and Reaper had competed—and won—Centerfield wanted them to compete and texted locations. He went straight to the nearest one, just on the outskirts of San Francisco.

  The long drive should have cleared his head, but it didn’t. Nothing could. He’d fucked up so badly, he couldn’t even comprehend what had happened. He hadn’t even used a condom. Never once had that happened. He’d been so out of control he hadn’t even protected her that way.

  It wasn’t difficult to get a match immediately, and he was willing to fight one after another until he was defeated. Ice and Storm didn’t try to stop him. They held his colors and kept them safe as he stepped into the ring.

  The sweet pain of fists hitting flesh burst through him, clearing his mind, so there was only one thing for him. Survival. His brothers dragged him off each fallen fighter, time and again. He couldn’t hear the shouts, the roars. He couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t feel anymore, not the fists hitting him. Not the pain bursting through his body. He didn’t react. He controlled it. Like he controlled everything. Like he’d been taught.

  Ice dragged him off the fifth man and shoved him back toward Storm. “We’re out of here,” he informed Centerfield. “Give Storm the winnings.”

  “Not done,” Reaper protested.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Ice snapped. “You’re done.” He shoved Reaper away from the ring, toward the hall.

  Reaper went because Ice was his brother and Ice rarely got that tone. He didn’t answer Centerfield when the man demanded to know when he’d be back. He just let Ice clean him up. His body had taken far more punishment than these fighters could ever inflict on him. It had been easy mopping up the floor with them. The hard part was not killing them, pulling his punches, so he didn’t smash their brains, punish them for not smashing his brain the way he needed.

  “You look like hell. I’ve texted Czar. Told him we’d be meeting him in three hours at his house. To clear the kids out or have them in bed.”

  Ice was back to his bossy ways. Reaper just nodded, because what was there to say? Yeah, he wanted his opponents to pound him into the ground? To take away what he was, to kill it, to kill him to keep Anya safe? It all came back to her.

  Another three hours of hard riding did nothing to stop the chaos of his mind. One minute he was determined to never see her again, to send her away, keep her safe, and then the thought of never hearing her laughter, never seeing her face light up, never touching her, never having what he’d had for the first time in his life was too much to bear. That explosion. That pleasure he hadn’t known existed. The absolute reality of his body making a choice. Making Anya his choice.

  Czar stood in the yard, waiting. Smoking one of his rare cigarettes. That alone told Reaper he wasn’t happy that he’d gone to Centerfield and participated in the fights again. Reaper walked right up to him. Just stood there, not knowing what to say. Ice and Storm had backed off to give him privacy, but Savage was there, looking him over, assessing the damage, just as Czar was. He had a black eye. His jaw hurt like hell and had to be swollen. There weren’t many places on his body that hadn’t gone untouched. His knuckles had been iced down before they left, but they were a mess.

  “Need you to make certain Anya’s all right for me,” Reaper said to Savage. “I put two prospects on her. Need you to check she’s all right.”

  Savage nodded, hesitated, and then touched his shoulder before walking off, leaving him with Czar. It had been Czar since Reaper was that four-year-old, terrified toddler, beaten, starved, used by sick, perverted deviants and thrown into the dark. Czar had been the one to help him. To give him hope in all the madness. To make certain there was a shred of humanity left in him.

  “Tell me.”

  Reaper wished he could hit something again. Smash it. Smash his body onto the rocks the way the waves did. “I was so out of control. My brain just shut off. Completely. I didn’t think to protect her. Not in any way, Czar. I knew, watching her in that bar, I knew she could turn me inside out, but I didn’t think this would ever happen.”

  A vision of her rose up. Anya on her knees, elbows to the bed, head pressed against the sheets, all that long, gorgeous hair everywhere. Her breasts, two perfect mounds, twin soft temptations, jolting with every stroke of his body as he hammered into her. So fuckin’ beautiful.

  “What happened?”

  Reaper walked away from him. Paced. His mind went there again. “If she’s anywhere near me, Czar, I’m not going to be able to stop myself. I thought I had complete discipline. I had none. Zero. God. I could have hurt her. I could have killed her. She could be lying on that bed right now with her throat cut.”

  He counted his heartbeats waiting for Czar’s condemnation. Waiting for his brother to tell him he was a psychopath and now was the time to put a bullet in his head. When Czar said nothing, when there was no expected conviction, he swung around and glared at him.

  “For God’s sake, Czar. You know what I did. You know I killed Helena. Cut her fuckin’ throat when she had her mouth on me.” He looked around for something to pound. When there was nothing, he crouched low to the ground and drove his fist as deep as he could.

  “Helena was a sick, perverted woman who enjoyed torturing children.”

  “That’s not the fuckin’ point and you know it.” Reaper sank all the way onto the grass and dropped his aching head into his hands. “I don’t have sex. Never. I tell my body what to do and it does it. I control everything. It isn’t safe for anyone if I’m out of control. Even tonight, in those fights, I let Ice and Storm pull me off those pussies. I could have killed them, but I controlled how hard I hit them. I stay in control.”

  “Anya’s alive.”

  Reaper nodded. The moment Ice and Storm joined him on the road, they would have texted Czar his condition. He would know everything.

  “But that isn’t any thanks to me. I kissed her. I kissed her and something in me just …” He shook his head and pounded his leg with his fist, trying to marshal his thoughts. How did he explain to Czar what he didn’t understand himself?

  “I lost it. I lost my mind. I was feeling things I’d never felt before. She opened up something in me, and I was crazy for her. I had to have her. I would have taken her right there, against the wall at your house. I had to have her. There was no controlling my cock from the first time I ever heard that laugh of hers. Saw that smile. I watched her give a blanket to a homeless man, a blanket she needed. I couldn’t stop thinking about her after that. When I thought about her, my fuckin’ cock was hard as a rock. When I saw her, it was the same. At night, I’d lie on my bed and jerk off thinkin’ about her. Didn’t get any relief. In the shower, I’d do the same. No help. I walk around like that all the fuckin’ time.”

  Czar sat down in the grass facing him. “That sounds about right, Reaper. It happens when you find the right woman.”

  “Not to me. It isn’t safe. I’m built a certain way now. They shaped me into a killer. I fight it. I control it, but I still am that before anything else.”

  “We all are killers. That’s what they made us, but we’re moving away from that life.”

  “No, you’re moving away from that life. I’m still in that life and you know it. I’ll always be in that life. That’s what she’d get in her bed. A fuckin’ killer. And that’s if she survived the next time I touch her.
You have to protect her. Get her out of here and somewhere safe where I can’t find her, because I swear, I’d look for her. I’m addicted, and sooner or later, I’d have to go after her. Either that, or put a gun to my head.”

  There were so many things he wanted to tell Czar, things he just couldn’t face about himself, things he was ashamed of and didn’t want the one person in the world that he looked up to knowing. He was too ashamed. He would never be able to live with knowing Anya was somewhere in the world. He’d find her. She’d never be safe as long as he was alive.

  “Slow down, Reaper. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Anya is safe. She’s alive. The boys are watching over her while you get your head straight. You had sex with her.” Czar made it a statement. “And she’s still alive.”

  Sex? Reaper wasn’t certain he would call it that. He’d had sex with targets. With marks. He’d studied them, met them “accidentally,” seduced them and killed them. He’d been an agent for Sorbacov and his government. Sometimes the women had been killers they couldn’t take care of using normal means. Sometimes they’d been women targeting high profile scientists or government officials. Always there’d been a good reason they had a target on their backs, but certainly not warranting the way Sorbacov had insisted the hits be carried out. That had been for his own pleasure. That had been because he loved to watch. It got him off. He was a sick, sick man. Czar knew he’d been forced to go after any woman Sorbacov wanted dead, but he didn’t know how sick the kills had been.

  What Reaper had given to Anya had been himself. Nothing to do with training. Nothing to do with a depraved man like Sorbacov. That had been all Reaper and Anya. So sex wasn’t what he’d had with her. He just didn’t know what to call it.

  “It’s natural to want the woman you fall for, Reaper. Hell, I still can’t think about Blythe without wanting her. Four kids in the house and I’m pulling her around corners, into bathrooms and closets. We sneak outside onto the roof. I can’t stop and I don’t want to. That’s the way it should be. What they did to us, what they taught us, that isn’t natural. Wanting your woman, Reaper, that’s a good thing.”