Vengeance Road Read online

  Now that he knew Zane existed, he would move heaven and earth to get the boy back, and he’d learn to be a good father. He was eager to be a father. He couldn’t imagine what that would be like, but already, just knowing Zane was out there, he felt connected. Bonded to him without ever having laid eyes on him. Just as he had a point-by-point plan to win his lady back, he had an equally well-thought-out plan to get his son back. And he would. There was no question in his mind. No room for failure in either endeavor.

  Maestro and Keys carried the groceries up the walkway to the house. A fountain was on, and the sprays of water erupting into the air looked like diamonds as they landed in the circle surrounded by a wide swath of white flowers set among dark green leaves. Stonework and wide white stairs led up to a landscape of plants, trees and small expanses of lawn.

  Breezy let him take her hand and tug her up to the front door, which Maestro had left open for them. The floors were white oak and travertine. They gleamed as if they’d just been put in. Light fixtures and chandeliers were brand-new throughout the house. All the chandeliers were blown glass. Lissa, Casimir’s wife, was a very famous glassblower who had earned quite a reputation, first in Europe and then in the United States. Of course she had made a fellow Torpedo Ink member first priority. He particularly loved the chandeliers.

  “The way the house is set, we have the best view of the ocean from this side on all three levels. There are five complete bedroom suites. There’s a home office, which I need, but if you want one, we can allot one of the rooms for you. Each of the suites has views and balconies. There’s open social spaces.”

  “Social spaces?” Breezy echoed faintly, looking at him like he’d grown horns. “Steele . . .”

  “I know, at first glance, it looks like too much house. When we were choosing homes, Czar made it plain to choose something we’d be comfortable in. This has a temperature-controlled wine and cigar room.”

  She frowned up at him and then blinked, those long lashes fanning her cheeks. “Do you even drink wine? Do you smoke cigars?”

  He grinned down at her. “No. But that doesn’t matter. It’s just fuckin’ cool. There’s an indoor home spa, Bree, with heated floors, a steam room and a quick-fill tub. That doesn’t include the outdoor one. There’s a home gym you might like too. The best is the master suite. I can’t wait for you to see that.”

  He took her farther into the house. She was staring all around her, looking at the ceilings with recessed lighting and wide-open spaces. The floor-to-ceiling windows were really movable pocket electronic doors that brought the outside inside. When they were open, one had access to an extremely large patio with an infinity-edge pool and spa, a fireplace, a built-in barbecue, a covered dining area and the lawn.

  She stood at the glass staring out, looking as if she might faint. “Steele, this isn’t real. No one has a home like this. Maybe a movie star or someone like that, but you’re in a club.”

  “We’re in a club, Bree, and this is really ours.”

  “I work in a diner. I couldn’t afford the electricity on a place like this, let alone help with a mortgage payment. Does being a doctor really make you that kind of bank?”

  “Baby, we own it outright.”

  “The Swords didn’t have this kind of money.” She shook her head and stepped away from him, nearly pressing her nose to the glass, staring at the backyard with wonder.

  “They had the biggest human trafficking ring in the world, Breezy. They had money. Their president was a fucking billionaire. We took his money too.”

  She was silent. He watched her closely. She looked pale, but her shoulders were straight. She used to hunch a little. He had continually told her to stand up straight when they were together, especially around her father and brother. Now she did that all on her own. She was absorbing everything he said to her—with the exception of the “we” he kept throwing in. He did that on purpose, knowing the more she heard it, the more accepting she would eventually be.

  “That’s a good thing, then. I hope you broke their backs.”

  “We did. And Code keeps his eye on them. Anytime they try to reestablish those pipelines, or they kidnap fresh girls, we take that shit apart as well. We sub some of the work out if they’re in states too far for us to ride to.”

  She turned toward him. “Sub it to who? Steele, I really am not understanding any of this. Who exactly are all of you? Where did you come from?”

  At last. He’d been waiting for genuine interest. She wanted to know. That was step number two. Getting her was step one. That had been the trickiest because he knew she would be royally pissed at him and she’d equate him taking her prisoner with a club. He knew few clubs would have done such a thing, but it was ingrained in Torpedo Ink members to get what they needed at any cost to others. Blythe was trying to help them find a way to appear to assimilate into society, but all of them knew they would be forever living on the fringes.

  Phase one was complete. Phase two was in progress. He had to seduce her first, get her in his bed, make certain she was mellow and on board and then he’d talk to her about the difficult subjects, things he wished he didn’t have to explain but knew were necessary to address if they were going forward in a relationship—and they were. It was a good battle plan, but there were quite a few things that could go wrong.

  “You good?” Maestro asked. “The security system is up and running, groceries are put away and you’ve got the place mostly to yourselves. We’ve taken a couple of the suites. There’s a kitchenette and the home theater we’re using, so give us a shout if you need us.”

  Breezy’s face showed her panic at the idea of being alone with him. Steele immediately stepped between her and the other two men. “We’re good,” he assured.

  Maestro saluted him, and the two men sauntered off, leaving him alone with Bree at last. He took her hand and led her away from the panels of floor-to-ceiling glass so he could show her the rest of the house. He took her up the winding staircase. It was wide, the stairs curving around to the second floor.

  Unlike most of the other members of Torpedo Ink who had purchased homes in Caspar, Steele had furnished his. Why, he had no idea, because he didn’t actually stay there. He had bought this particular home because he loved the outside, the views and the master bedroom, but more importantly, he knew when he found Breezy, she would love it.

  The suite was enormous, and he needed the space. Lots of it. He had spent so much of his time in confinement that he couldn’t take closed-in places. He liked to be able to see what was coming at him long before it reached him. The house was mainly white, ivory or a light gray, making it aesthetically pleasing to him.

  The bedroom had a gas fireplace with a long row of flames. The television was recessed into the darker stone above the thick white stone surrounding the built-in fireplace. The throw rug was white with gray accents. He especially loved the view from the huge window and glass door leading to the balcony. The room also had a frameless, stand-alone shower and tub and his and her closets that someone could live in. The frameless shower was a large rectangle made of glass. The sprawling views were tremendous in almost every direction.

  He indicated the shower. “I fuckin’ love that.”

  For the first time, a ghost of a smile touched her mouth. He watched her eyes dance for just a moment.

  “You would. You have a thing about wearing clothes.”

  “That’s true.” He caught her hand and dragged her to the large window that took up nearly one wall. “Look at this view. Nothing like it, unless you’re outside in the backyard.”

  She pressed herself up against the glass, staring, just as he knew she would. The view was spectacular. “Oh my God,” she whispered in awe.

  Steele removed his colors and put them on the table beside the bed. While she was staring out, looking at the wide expanse of ocean, the waves crashing and rolling, he sank down onto the bed and r
emoved his motorcycle boots and socks.

  “I can’t believe you own this, Steele.”

  He came up behind her, sliding one hand under her jacket and shirt so that his palm covered bare skin. He was a master at seduction. Every Torpedo Ink member was. It was what they’d been raised from birth to do. Seduce. Kill. They had complete control of their bodies. They also controlled the body of their chosen victim—or partner.

  Breezy was his woman, and he knew everything that aroused her. He’d made it an art to seduce her. To please her. To bring her every bit of pleasure possible under their circumstances. Now he had her without the Swords surrounding them, which gave him endless possibilities. He hadn’t forgotten one detail. Not one. He’d introduced her to so many pleasures and intended to introduce her to many more.

  He kept his hand there, the pad of one finger stroking her bare skin. She was soft. He closed his eyes and savored the way her skin felt. She didn’t move. She didn’t make a sound. He had known she wouldn’t. Breezy might not want to be his, but she was. She belonged to him and she always would, just as he knew there would be no other for him.

  He knew as much as he was deliberately seducing her, she was doing the same for him, although innocently. She wasn’t in the least trying, and his body was already hers and always would be. He pushed the hair aside from the back of her neck and leaned in to inhale her scent and then blow warm air on her nape. He felt the little tremor that went through her body. It was subtle, but he was acutely tuned to every nuance.

  He pressed his lips against her nape. Just touched her there. “Isn’t the view incredible? I did worry about lighting. If, for instance, we wanted to sleep in, the morning light would wake us up early. On the other hand, I’d hate to cover the view, so I had electronic blackout drapes installed. What do you think?” He kissed her again, more for himself this time.

  “Steele.”

  There was apprehension in her voice. Caution. She wanted to escape, but both of them knew there was no way that was going to happen.

  “Breezy.” He let the genuine ache into his voice. The absolute need. He knew, above anything else, that would be seductive, even irresistible to her.

  She shook her head, but she didn’t move, not even when he reached around her and unbuttoned the jacket. His jacket. He had been careful to pack one that didn’t have his colors on it. The club was a problem, and that was way down the line of things to address. He slid the jacket down her arms, not moving back even an inch so he had to carefully work the denim from between them.

  She shivered. Shook her head a second time. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “It’s the only good idea I’ve had in a very long time.” He pressed another kiss to her neck this time, and then her shoulder. That was always one of her very erogenous spots, and nothing had changed. Her breath hitched.

  He felt her hesitate again and then she started to push away from the glass, away from him, and he knew she was thinking of those three women he’d partied with. Dick move. Stupid. And it hadn’t done a damn thing for him except nearly lose his woman all over again. He also knew she had known the moment they entered the house that he would have her. She knew what would happen, and she’d entered anyway. He knew that was her consent. Intellectually, she didn’t want him, and he couldn’t blame her, but her body needed his nearly as much as he needed her. Still, he didn’t want to give her the time to talk herself out of it, and she was thinking about doing just that.

  He knew Breezy. He knew what got her going fast, and it wasn’t a gentle seduction. That was foreplay, but it wasn’t what would tip the scales in his favor. He caught the hem of her shirt and ripped it over her head, tossing it aside. At the same time, he took control of the nape of her neck and pushed her against the glass aggressively.

  Her breath exploded out of her lungs in a gasp of pure need. He stripped away her bra and had his palms filled with her generous breasts. For a moment he heard the roar of his blood in his ears, felt the chaos in his head. That fever of need only Breezy could bring him. He woke up night after night needing her. A frenzy of desire. A fever. His head pounded as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. A million ugly images poured in, images only Breezy could drive out.

  He took a breath and let himself just feel the soft weight of her breasts while his mouth took her neck, trailing burning kisses, using the edge of his teeth and his seductive tongue from her neck to her ear and back to her shoulder. Then his fingers were at her nipples. He’d fallen in love with her nipples. He liked that she was sensitive in a way he could play, not so sensitive that she didn’t like the things he did.

  “Kick off your shoes.” He didn’t ask. He made it a command.

  Breezy responded to his demands, and the more he poured authority into his voice, the more she wanted him. It was the first thing he’d noticed about her and the one that turned him on the most. She was perfect for him. Made for him. He needed that from her, and she’d always given it to him. She did now. She toed her shoes off obediently.

  “Open your jeans.” His voice had turned gravelly. A growl more than human. His cock felt as if it might explode. The first time wasn’t going to be slow. It had been too long for him. Far too long.

  Steele knew her body, and the moment she complied, dropping her hands to the waistband and opening her jeans, he spun her around and yanked on the offending denim, almost desperate to get to her. He wasn’t a desperate man. He was a deliberate one. His seductions were always thoughtful, methodical, all about his intended prey. He didn’t know if he could keep this time all about Breezy. Fortunately, she responded to his aggression.

  He felt aggressive. He felt dominant. He wanted her a million times in a million ways. He never wanted her out of his sight again. She thought it was a great concession that he said she could go with them to get their son. He would never have left her behind. When he stripped her jeans from her, he took her panties as well, leaving her completely naked.

  She took his breath away. For a moment, all he could do was look at her. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Bree.” Before she could respond, he swept his arm around her, locking her close and bent his head to her breast. He wasn’t gentle. She didn’t like gentle. She liked—him. His method of seduction. She thought he fucked her. He had fucked hundreds, maybe more, in his earlier years. He knew this wasn’t that. With Breezy, it had never been that, no matter how rough with her he got—and he needed rough.

  His mouth was hot and wet, and her breasts were soft, made for him. He used his teeth and tongue, tugging and rolling her nipple. Suckling hard and then abruptly changing it up, so that she never knew which sensation she was going to get from his mouth or hands. He could spend hours working her body. Hours. He had before, keeping her on edge, right on that very brink, never letting her tip over until he allowed it. He loved that shit. Loved that she gave him that. He knew the sound of her voice. Those mewls. Those pleas. The little sobbing gasp of his name. He knew when she was ready and that she’d go big. So big. The orgasms would rush over her, taking them both, drowning them, rolling them in so much pleasure he couldn’t see straight.

  His woman. Breezy. There was no one else in the world like her. No one else for him. No one else could make him as hard as a fucking rock. They couldn’t make him fight for control. That was all her. He kissed his way down her stomach. So soft. She’d nestled his child there and he hadn’t been there for that. He hadn’t kissed her the way he was doing now, showing her he loved every inch of her, pregnant or not.

  He dropped to his knees, yanking her legs apart, and then he had the taste of her in his mouth and she was keening that soft little sound that drove him out of his mind. Breezy. She gave him solace. She gave him everything. Things he didn’t think possible. He gave her everything he was and more. When he was with her, he was a man, not a monster.

  He drove her up fast, using his teeth and tongue. His fingers. He was greedy for her, that a
phrodisiac only she could provide. For him, her taste had been addicting from the first moment he’d put his mouth on her.

  Her hands went to his shoulders, gripping hard, fingers digging into his flesh right through his shirt. She threw back her head as her body came apart, rippling around his fingers. She’d had a baby, yet she felt tight to him, and there was always that thrill of wondering if he was going to fit, to stretch her beyond her means to take him.

  He was up, spinning her around, pressing her to the glass while he undid his jeans with one hand and took his heavy cock in his hand, positioning, pressing home. She was home. She would always be home.

  “Use a condom.”

  “I’m clean.” He didn’t want anything between them. He never had.

  “You don’t know that, Steele. Use a condom or we don’t go there.” Even as she dictated to him, she was pressing back against him, her breath coming in ragged little explosive gasps.

  “Baby, I’m telling you I know for a fact that I’m clean. I had to be inside those bitches to get unclean, and that didn’t happen. Let me. I need you right now, Bree. I swear to you on my fucking colors that I’m clean.”

  He was lodged there, her heat and fire surrounding the crown of his cock. Squeezing him tightly. Pulling at him. Her body as greedy for his as his was for hers. He waited, and it nearly killed him. Thunder roared in his ears. He felt a jackhammer pounding relentlessly at his brain, the one that was sometimes there when she was close, and he needed her desperately.

  “Please be telling the truth,” she whispered and nodded.

  He slammed home, not taking chances she might change her mind, plowing through those tight folds that drove him out of his mind. Instantly he was gripped in a silken, fiery fist. Her sheath felt like paradise, so perfect there was no way his memories or his imagination could have prepared him for the feeling of ecstasy.