Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink #1) Read online

  “Alena hurried to get your clothes. She must have forgotten.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the door. He could look at her all day. He watched her unbutton his flannel, his gaze glued to her bare skin.

  She sighed and pulled the tank top over her head. The material settled lovingly over her curves. She looked down at the cleavage showing and then around the room as if there was something else she might be able to wear.

  “You look beautiful.”

  “You would say I look beautiful if I was wearing a burlap sack.”

  “I would think it too.”

  Her gaze flicked to him, the faintest ghost of a smile in her eyes. He liked that. He needed it. Something. Anything to show she might want to stay with him.

  Anya pulled on his flannel. “I think this shirt is going to grow on my skin soon. Where are my shoes?”

  “Not sure, baby. Is it important right this minute? Got things to discuss with you.”

  She tipped her head up, eyes going to his. “Let’s discuss.”

  “The others are waiting out in the common room. They have information …”

  She shook her head. “Absolutely not. I don’t need their information. You tell me what I need to know. Anything else, I don’t want to know.”

  He shrugged, although his gut knotted tight. She wasn’t going to stay. The vehemence in her voice convinced him of that. He’d need a plan to try to keep her close to him. He needed time with her, just like Ice had said. “One of the three men in the bar last night is a private investigator on retainer for the Ghost Club. He tracked you here. He found the man you bought the car from using your photograph. You’re beautiful, and people remembered seeing you.”

  She shook her head and reached back to braid her hair while he talked. He could sit and watch that shit for hours. The action lifted her breasts beneath the open flannel. He could see the movement of both breasts. Her hands were quick and sure, as if she’d performed the task countless times and was on automatic pilot.

  “Stop looking at me like that. It’s distracting.”

  He fucking loved that. It was the first real sign of encouragement. “Can’t help myself, baby, can’t help what you do to me.”

  “Stay on track. The jerk followed me here and brought those other two.”

  “Hit men. They’re working for the club. Code got into their exchange of emails. They were encrypted, but he’s a genius with that sort of thing, which is why we call him Code.”

  She swallowed hard and moved around the bed to grab a tie off the nightstand and secured her braid with it. She looked scared. So much so that he crossed the room, stepped in close and curled his hand around the nape of her neck. Possessive. Claiming. Because Anya fucking belonged to him whether she knew it or not, and he was going to find a way to make certain she knew just whose woman she was. He’d had enough of being anxious.

  Reaper had taken what he needed to survive his entire life. He looked down at her, his gaze drifting over her face. Her eyes. That mouth that belonged to him. He was through thinking she was getting away from him because she wasn’t. He leaned down and took her mouth.

  Fire exploded in his belly. Her lips were soft, her mouth sweet and addicting. The minute he demanded it, she opened for him and gave him what he needed. He wrapped his arm around her back and yanked her up against him, kissing her over and over until he couldn’t see straight. Until he knew she would give him anything he asked for and his world was right again.

  When he lifted his head, he stroked the pad of his thumb down her face, slid it over her lips and pressed it there on that bottom curve. “No need to worry about the two of them. We’re working on a plan. I need you to tell me if you have those blueprints you were lookin’ at memorized. The ones that got you into so much trouble.”

  “The blueprints?” she echoed. “I thought they came after me because I overheard them talking about having someone by the balls.”

  “It was most likely both. We think they’re holding that woman they kidnapped down there. We need to get her out of there, baby, or she’s going to die.”

  Immediately her shoulders straightened and she nodded. “Of course Reaper, I’ll tell you whatever I can. I have a good memory.”

  “I’d like the others there. We work together, and each of us needs to know different things.”

  She was silent, staring up at him. He could see he was losing her and that just pissed him off. He refused to feel fear. He had to take control of the situation the way he always did. He refused to allow her freedom when she tried to pull away, to put distance between them.

  “Woman, I know fucking well my taste is still in your mouth, yet you’re going to act like it isn’t. I gave you my word. My fucking word that you would be safe with them. I know you were listening. You lay right on that bed and you heard me promise I’d protect you from anyone, everyone, even the club. You kiss me like that and then act like I’m not your man?”

  Her lashes blinked rapidly and there appeared to be droplets on them. She took a breath and then tried again to push him away. She wasn’t nearly as strong as he was and he held her still. “This isn’t easy for me, Reaper. I don’t trust them. You’re one man against how many?”

  He let his eyes go flat and cold, calling up the dangerous demon inside of him, the one that kept Czar and the others alive and continued to do so. He gave her that because she needed it—needed to see that he would do the same for her. “They know better.”

  She shivered. Swallowed hard. Studied his face for a long time. He didn’t flinch or look away. He wanted her to know what she was getting into with him. He was watching her as closely as she was watching him, so he saw the moment when she accepted who he was. What he was. Hopefully, she believed he would be that killer for her if needed.

  “Fine. I’ll go, but if they try anything with their questions, I swear, I’m getting a gun and shooting you.”

  “Think there should only be one bloodthirsty person in our family, babe, and you’re not near mean enough.”

  “I wouldn’t test that theory if I were you,” she cautioned.

  She tried to give him the evil eye. He thought she looked cute, but decided it might not be wise to say so. His woman was getting back to herself without the bitch of a headache. He bent his head and took her mouth again. When she sassed him, he figured it was the best way to mellow her out. Just like before, she ignited without reservation, her body melting into his, all soft against his hard.

  His hand slipped down her back, tracing that curve to the sweet ass he thought way too much about when he should be thinking about business. He kissed his way down her chin, along her jaw to her ear. He caught the lobe between his teeth and tugged gently. “You still thinkin’ about runnin’ from me?” He whispered the question, his breath warm in her ear, his lips brushing against the little shell that sometimes drove him nuts.

  “Yes.” She answered without hesitation, breathless, her breasts rising and falling with her ragged breathing, nipples pushing hard against the tank she wore.

  He swatted her hard enough to make her yelp. “Well, stop. Solutions, babe, not runnin’. That’s what should be going on in that fucked-up head of yours.” He figured he’d handled her with kid gloves, at least to the best of his ability. He’d tried gentle, just like Blythe said, but he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. She’d fallen for Reaper. He was back to the Reaper he knew best, and that man wasn’t going to lose his woman. He’d find a way. If he couldn’t think of a solution, his club would help him.

  She glared at him. “My head isn’t fucked-up. Your club is fucked-up. And stop saying fuck to me. It’s annoying.”

  He shrugged. “Just a word, Anya.”

  “It isn’t a nice word.”

  “It’s just a word.” He took her hand and tugged until she was under his shoulder.

  “I’m barefoot.”

  “You’re stalling. The floor’s clean. Club girls keep it scrubbed.”

  “Club girls? She
esh, Reaper. You certainly want me to accept a lot of bullshit. I’m not sure what I’m going to get out of it.”

  That brought him up short because it was the truth. He stepped in front of her. Close. Caught her chin with his thumb and finger, lifting so she was forced to look in his eyes. “I swear to you, on my life, on the lives of my brothers, you’ll be happy. You’ll be safe.” He didn’t know what else to say. He’d spend a lifetime making her happy, but he knew he was a poor bet for a lifetime. He knew jack about a real relationship and no matter how hard he tried, he was going to fuck it up big-time. She’d need patience and tolerance and she’d need to want to stay.

  “I’m trying,” she said softly.

  He knew that was the best he was going to get. He pulled open the door and walked her out of the bedroom, into the hall. She tensed up immediately.

  “Don’t worry, Anya, they’ll be cool with you.”

  “Worry about them, not me,” she muttered under her breath.

  He glanced down at the top of her head. Her hair was always glossy. Shiny. Gorgeous. “Just play nice.” He knew that would get a rise out of her. She was back to herself.

  His woman had courage. She wouldn’t have been able to pull herself up out of the streets and carve a life for herself if she didn’t have discipline, determination and sheer guts. He had those things, all his brothers and sisters did. That was how they’d survived—that and working together. She’d done it on her own, and he respected her for what she’d accomplished.

  “Play nice,” she hissed, glaring up at him. “You play nice. They do one thing, say one thing I don’t like and all bets are off.”

  “Got to fuck you again hard, woman. Only thing that mellows you out.”

  Her breath hissed out of her lungs. “Well, maybe you should, but you lost that chance hanging with your nasty brothers and club girls, didn’t you?”

  He smiled. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t the greatest smile in the world because he didn’t have a lot of practice at it, and his mouth quirked more than smiled, but he felt it in his gut. Happiness bloomed, the way it had done almost from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Certainly, from the moment he’d seen her give away her blanket to a homeless man.

  Anya stopped dead just outside the open door to the common room. The club obviously heard them coming because all conversation ceased. She touched his lips with her fingertips, her eyes wide. “I’ve never seen you do that before.”

  She probably hadn’t. He hadn’t had much to smile about—until her. He’d actually sat in a bed naked, holding her, and hadn’t had one ugly thought. Maybe it had been the fear of losing her that had prevented the triggers from his past from rearing up.

  “Don’t do it very often, baby, but can’t help myself around you.” And that was the fucking truth. He pulled her finger into his mouth and bit down gently and then let her go. She looked up at him wide-eyed. Soft. That look in her eyes he was waiting for, the one that turned him inside out and set a fire roaring in his belly.

  He glanced over her head to the others, his family waiting for him, even more shocked than Anya that he had smiled, or given what passed for one. Lana was there, and she smiled back at him and gave him the thumbs-up. She and Alena had located the jacket for Anya as he’d requested, and added the necessary patches. He’d been planning for this moment long before he’d ever spoken to her at the bar. He’d warred with himself, trying to save her, but somewhere deep down, he knew he wasn’t going to let her go, even back then.

  He just had to get Anya to accept that final assurance. Today. Tonight. She had to commit before he took off to help rescue Hammer’s old lady. He had to go. He didn’t have a choice, and he needed that promise from her before he left with the others.

  Reaper took her hand again, tucked it in close to his chest and walked right into the common room. No one else was there but the fully patched members. Gavriil and Casimir were to the back, standing by the door. On the outside would be the prospects, making certain no one came close enough to overhear. Ordinarily, they would never conduct an important meeting outside the chapel—their private meeting room—but Anya would have been far too uncomfortable. The common room was open and would give her a sense of ease—they hoped.

  Anya went stiff the moment she faced them all. They’d spread out, taking seats at the smaller tables, some of them on the couches or in the more comfortable chairs in order to make her feel the meeting was informal and she was a part of it.

  Reaper slid his arm around her waist. “Before we get started, I want everyone in this room to know, I’m claiming Anya for my old lady. Lana has her jacket.”

  To an outsider, that wouldn’t mean anything; to the club, it meant everything. Anya, in their world, was his wife. The woman he chose to put on the back of his bike—in Reaper’s case, he hadn’t ever put a woman on his bike until Anya. He just said he would be responsible for her, and that every member of the club had the responsibility of protecting her just as they would any other club member.

  Anya glanced up at him, frowning. She wasn’t familiar with their world, and only Czar had an old lady. Blythe rarely was in the clubhouse. Mostly, they went to Czar’s home for their barbecues. She came to the parties at the clubhouse, but left early with Czar. Sometimes she rode on his bike, but it was usually when they wanted to run off together. Anya couldn’t know exactly what it meant, but she’d find out soon enough.

  Czar stood up slowly. He walked toward them, looking in complete command, the way he normally did. The closer he got, the stiffer Anya got. Her chin was up, green eyes glittering like gems. She was royally pissed at Czar. At the club. Reaper had no idea why she had softened toward him, but she had and he was taking advantage while he could.

  “Are you certain that’s what you want, Anya? Do you even know what that means when he tells his club members that you’re his old lady? It’s a huge commitment.”

  Anya stepped closer to Reaper as if for protection. He felt her slide one hand into his back pocket, her fingers curling into a tight fist. “It isn’t your business if Reaper makes me his old lady. You don’t have a say in my life.”

  The room went electric. Wired. Silent as hell. Reaper’s heart dropped. Czar was president of Torpedo Ink. He had a say in every club member’s life. He saw the same knowledge on Czar’s face that was on every member’s face.

  “Honey”—Czar’s voice was very gentle, very patient—“saying that just goes to show you don’t understand what you’re getting yourself into. By accepting Reaper, you’re accepting all of us. Including my leadership. You’re good for Reaper. For all of us, but we have to be fair here. You have to understand exactly what being part of us means.”

  “I don’t have to do anything with the people who took me to their interrogation room and put me through hell in order to be with Reaper.” Anya stated it firmly.

  “Reaper …” Czar shook his head, regret in his voice.

  Reaper’s stomach clenched. He felt, rather than saw, Anya look up at him. She knew something was wrong from the way everyone in the room sat or stood frozen, expressions of pure alarm on their faces. He was certain his countenance had the same look.

  Time tunneled. His brothers and sisters. His colors. His way of life. He was torn in half, wrenched apart. He didn’t know how to live without them. More than thirty years. All the pain. Suffering. The kills. The shared food they’d cut so carefully into equal portions. Images of screaming children, of ugly, vile men and women coming at him when there was no defense. Czar, comforting him. Whispering there was hope. They would find a way. It all came down to this.

  Czar had led them here to make them human again. To force them to be better people. Half animal, all killer, they had choices now. Reaper looked down at the woman holding so tightly to him. She’d brought him more than natural releases. She’d brought him something close to happiness.

  “You once said to me, Czar, that if you had to make a choice, if we couldn’t accept Blythe into our family, equally, with all t
he rest of us, that you would stay with her while we moved on. Not accepting Anya gives me no choice. I go with her.”

  Anya heard Reaper say the words, looked at his face and knew he meant it. Heart pounding, she felt triumph burst through her. Czar was an asshole, a complete bastard to subject her to his inquisition. Reaper had chosen her. His arm nearly crushed her. She looked up at his face a second time and everything in her stilled. He was choosing her, but he was being torn apart in doing so.

  “It isn’t the same, Reaper. We accept her. She refuses to see us. To get to know us. We’re your fuckin’ family and she’s shutting us out because of one mistake. Think about that, what could happen, because you’re going to make mistakes, brother. You’ll make a million of them. Anya”—there was a note close to a plea—“we’re his family. We want to be yours.”

  Czar’s eyes met Anya’s. She felt the impact right down to her toes. He wasn’t angry. He was ravaged. Destroyed. In pain. She looked from him to the others. Savage had risen to his feet and moved subtly, coming to stand near his brother. Ice and Storm had done the same. Lana clutched a jacket in her hands, all but crushing the material, her face showing the same pain. The others echoed that same broken sorrow as well.

  Anya looked up at Reaper. It was on his face. Her beautiful scarred, damaged man was in the same pain the others were in. They shared it. She felt it, as if that pain tore them apart, shredded them, leaving them raw, leaving them all with a huge gaping wound she knew would never be repaired.

  He would go with her. She had that power. But if he went, he would never be whole. He would never be Reaper. She’d had glimpses into his past, the past he shared with every single one of these men and women. It was ugly, and it was brutal. But something beautiful had come out of it. They had created a tapestry together. Or rather, Czar had woven them together so they would be whole. So they could live. She saw that so clearly in their faces. More, she felt it.