Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink #1) Read online

  Ink gave her all the necessary care instructions and covered the tattoos, telling her to keep them covered for two to four hours. She asked if she could keep them wrapped through her shift. He said he’d stop by and put the cream on it before covering it with a thin, light bandage. She went to work with both wrists wrapped. It looked almost like she had tried to off herself. She got lots of questions and even more tips and just told them she’d gotten tattoos. Everyone wanted to see but she just shook her head. She wanted Reaper to see first.

  She was halfway through her shift when Jonas Harrington, the local sheriff, and Jackson Deveau, his deputy, walked in. She had the hardest time with cops. Both men were nice, very polite, she couldn’t fault them on that, but she was always afraid she was going to say or do the wrong thing.

  “It’s Anya, isn’t it?” Jonas asked with one of his smiles. His eyes were on her wrists. Jackson had frozen, his face very still.

  “It isn’t what it looks like,” she assured, not waiting for the inevitable question. “I got tattoos a few hours ago. I could take off the bandage, but think it would be more sanitary to finish my shift first. What can I get you?”

  Maestro moved over next to her, smiling at the two cops. “What’s up, man? Haven’t seen you for a long time. More than a year.” He nodded toward Betina. “She’s got three needing drinks, Anya.” He turned back to Jonas. “I detest bartending. Don’t know the drinks. She not only knows the drinks, but she remembers what everyone is drinking. What can I do for you?”

  “It seems we have more disappearances. Still have nothing on the three we asked about yesterday. Now we’ve got three more. It hasn’t been a full twenty-four hours yet, but they didn’t return to their motel rooms last night and their families are worried. We were told all three of these men were in the bar the other night.”

  “You’re asking the wrong man,” Maestro said. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. I’m never here. Wish I wasn’t now.” He raised his voice. “Anya, they need you here. Are you finished with those drinks?” He added the last on a hopeful note.

  She laughed at him. “You make the worst bartender. Preacher needs someone else to come in on his days off.” She leaned against the bar, trying to look nonchalant instead of as if she might faint any moment. “What can I do for you?”

  “The three we asked about last evening, did they ever come back in?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Nope. And I’m glad. One of them in particular was a pain. This is a biker bar, I get that some of the customers are going to harass us, but I didn’t much like his names for me. They left, though, and were heading in the direction of their bikes. I wasn’t paying attention. I was with Reaper, and I tend not to pay attention to anything or anyone when I’m with him.” She blushed, because it was true.

  “Reaper?” Jonas’s eyebrow nearly went through his hairline. “You were with Reaper?”

  She nodded. “We’re living together.” She might as well have dropped a bomb. There was satisfaction in telling them the truth. She had been with Reaper and that meant if anything had happened to those three men, no one could blame him.

  “What about these men? Were they in here?” Jonas asked. He spread three photographs onto the bar.

  Anya glanced around the bar as if to make certain no one needed a drink. Maestro hovered, ready to protect her, she was certain. She tapped Thomas Randal’s picture. “They were in the other night when you came in. They sat together. Very quiet. Kept mostly to themselves. I think this one talked to Alena, but only briefly. I’m not sure, it was busy that night. They seemed nice enough. They definitely aren’t bikers, and they didn’t pretend to be like some people do when they come in. I pegged them for businessmen.”

  “That was the last time you saw them?”

  “The last time I saw this one. The other two came in the next night, had one drink and left. They didn’t talk to anyone.”

  Jonas turned his head to look at Jackson, who nodded slightly. She was certain Jackson was the lie detector, although Jonas might be as well. Both men were certainly shrewd, sure of themselves, very confident.

  “I’m sorry I’m not more help.”

  “It’s strange that six men have come to this bar and no one has seen them since.” Jonas made it a statement, his eyes unblinking on her face.

  She stared down at the pictures to avoid that penetrating gaze. “I don’t understand. Do you think something happened to them when they left here? Like what? The first three might have been drunk and they could have done something stupid. I wasn’t about to ask them for their keys because Preacher had already left. I cut them off just before closing when I realized how awful they were acting, but the other three barely drank. One, maybe two drinks at most.”

  She decided sticking as close to the truth as possible would be best. It would be unusual for three bikers to drive off a cliff, but it could happen if they were drunk enough, but that wouldn’t explain the other three men.

  Jonas gathered up the photos. “I don’t like having to contact wives and tell them there’s no trace of their husbands or their children’s fathers.”

  She shook her head. “How awful for you. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  Maestro bumped her hip. “Seriously, she has to get back to work. Preacher will be here tomorrow. Maybe he can give you something else. I need her now.”

  Customers were stacked up. Anya sent the two cops a small smile and turned back to making drinks, working fast to catch up. She just wanted the night to end. Mostly she worried about Reaper and what was happening.

  FIFTEEN

  It was four in the morning before Reaper pulled up on his Harley to the house on the cliff. He sat, straddling the bike, staring at the large two-story, nearly glass structure. Fortunately, the glass was mostly on the ocean side, so it would be difficult to come at him through those long banks of windows. Still, he’d have to do something to make the place more secure. He had to appreciate the architecture though. The house was designed to take advantage of the views.

  He turned his head as a motorcycle started up. He lifted a hand to Fatei. “Thanks, man,” he said. Meaning it. Fatei was on his way to being a fully patched member of their club. The man never shirked his duty, in fact went above the call. A second motorcycle started up and Maestro rode over to where he was parked.

  “Escorted your woman home,” Maestro reported. “Everything go okay tonight?”

  “They fucked up that woman. Hammer’s got a long road ahead of him,” Reaper said. “Lana, Alena, Keys and Mechanic made the club a butt-load of money. Seven dead.”

  “Cops came around tonight, questioned your woman again about that douchebag Deke and his friends. Brought up the Burrows brothers and Randal. She handled it like a pro. She’s going to be a good old lady.”

  Reaper was certain she would be. The moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d known she was the one. He’d prepared for it, sending away for the patches for her jacket. He wanted that shit all over her. Property of Reaper. He wanted everyone to know, when they went on runs with the Diamondbacks or any other club, she was off-limits. “Thanks for looking out for her.”

  “No problem, Reaper. Get some sleep.”

  Reaper waited until the bike was making its way along the curves in the road leading back to the clubhouse before he slid off his motorcycle and walked to the front door. Every muscle in his body hurt. Every joint. His knuckles ached. Mostly, he was bone-tired. None of that mattered. He knew she was in the house. Anya. His Anya. She had to be, or Maestro or Fatei would have told him. It didn’t matter that he knew, he still had to see her to believe it.

  He walked into the entryway, the large foyer with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and gleaming white marble on the floor. Two steps into the great room and he stopped dead. The blankets were downstairs, the fireplace on low. She lay on her stomach on top of the blankets, naked, her long legs sprawled out. Her arms lay casually at her sides, fingertips nearly touching her hips. Her hair was in
the inevitable braid she seemed to prefer to sleep in.

  She killed him. She looked like the sexiest angel he’d ever laid eyes on. She hadn’t gone to bed upstairs—a place he wasn’t certain he’d ever be able to sleep in. She’d made up the bed in front of the fireplace and gone to sleep there waiting for him. He pulled off his boots, looking at her the entire time, wondering how he’d manage to get through the night, now early morning, without making a mistake that would get her hurt.

  Upstairs, he took a long, hot, much-needed shower, tossing his dirty clothes in a corner. The water felt good, cleansing him of the images of Hammer’s wife, Maria, covered in little slices, her body bruised and swollen. If he’d been Hammer, he would have gone on a killing rampage.

  He pressed his forehead to the cool tiles, allowing the hot water to run down his back. He’d thought that once they were out of the prison, away from what he considered the worst of human beings, they would discover people like Maria, like Anya, but they kept running across vile, ugly excuses for men and women, those who preyed on the weak. He was tired. Tired of killing. Tired of seeing. Tired of being Reaper. He wanted to be normal so he would deserve Anya. With him, she was never going to get easy.

  He shut off the water abruptly. The alternative was to let her go. From the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d known he was going to keep her. He’d made small attempts to save her, but deep down, he knew, even if she’d left, he would have gone after her.

  He went down to her naked. Clothes still felt heavy on his body. He was afraid they always would. He lay on top of the blankets next to her, breathing her in. His Anya. Naked, just the way he preferred her. He ran his hand down her back, from her neck to the dip just above the rise of her ass. She had a beautiful ass. He stroked his hand over that curve, feeling possessive.

  He leaned into her and used his teeth, taking a bite. Her breath hitched. Her entire body shuddered. He moved over her, his legs trapping hers. He’d taken his time exploring the front of her, claiming every inch; he was going to do the same to the back of her. He kissed his way back up her spine to the nape of her neck.

  “You’re okay?” She whispered it.

  “Do I feel okay?” He used his hands to shape her body, memorizing her form, secretly worshiping her the only way he knew how.

  A faint smile was in her voice. “More than okay. I was dreaming about you.”

  He liked that a fuck of a lot. “Tell me about your dream.” He loved the drowsy note in her voice. Sex and sin. It was there, sliding over his skin.

  “I dreamt you walked up to the bar when I was working and you kissed me like you do.”

  “Like I do?” he echoed. “How do I kiss you?”

  “Like fire. Like lightning. A storm of fire and lightning.”

  He liked that a fuck of a lot too. His hands kept stroking, finding her curves, sliding over them. His mouth followed. Kissing her soft skin. Tasting it. He savored the slow burn building inside of him. Coming together with her was usually a firestorm, hot and wild. This was good too. Gentle. Relaxed. He was beginning to think he couldn’t survive without her.

  “That was your dream? Me kissing you?”

  Her mouth curved more. That lower lip made his cock jerk hard against the back of her thigh. He dropped his hand to his aching flesh and fisted it. He could just make out her face turned to one side, looking back at him over her shoulder. He did a slow, lazy pump of his shaft, watching her face, wanting to take her in so many ways, but loving the easy burn growing between them.

  “You kissed me over and over until I couldn’t think. Then you sat me on the bar and you ate me, pulling me right into your face. It was the most decadent thing ever. I don’t know how you got all my clothes off, but you did.”

  “Were we alone?”

  There was a small silence. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and he found himself holding his breath, waiting for her answer, his fist tighter now, sliding up and down his cock in earnest. His other hand went between her spread legs and found her slick and hot. He curled one finger into all that heat.

  “Anya? Were we alone?”

  “No. There were others in the bar, but I couldn’t see how many or who. Your mouth drove me wild. I threw back my head and screamed when you made me come.”

  “I like when you lose control.” He pushed a second finger into her tight channel. Her small muscles bit down. That made his cock pulse with need. “Then what happened?”

  “You laid me down on the bar. Right on top of it. Your face was shiny and wet and you knelt over me and told me to lick you clean. I did. I couldn’t help myself. You looked so sexy. Then you kissed me again, and I could taste myself.”

  “I love how you taste,” he said. He could spend a lifetime devouring her.

  He pulled her hips back until she was on her knees, her ass in the air. He put his mouth between her legs and licked at that sweet nectar. His. She gave him everything he asked for. His finger swept between her cheeks, and then his tongue followed. She didn’t pull away from him. She pushed back into him.

  “Tell me more, baby,” he whispered. He put his mouth over her and suckled. Strong. Pulling out the liquid with his tongue, running it up and down her body, claiming every inch of her, inside and out.

  “You pulled my legs around your waist and then took me harder than you’d ever taken me, face-to-face, your eyes staring into mine. The bar was hard, and when you pounded into me, you pressed my body right into that rigid slab so I felt every inch of you. It was so beautiful. So perfect. I loved it. I love everything you do to me.”

  He hoped so, because he had a lot of things he wanted to do to her. He wiped his face on those ass cheeks he was in love with and without waiting, entered her. It didn’t matter that he’d gone slow, taken his time, let that burn build. She was hotter than hell, surrounding him with a scorching hot silken fist, gripping him hard, squeezing down until that fire rushed up his spine and spread like a wildfire out of control.

  “I can’t tell you how many times I sat in the bar, thinking about doing just that, stripping you naked and throwing your ass on the bar. I think I took you a dozen ways. Your mouth. Your pussy. Your ass. All on that bar.”

  “Were there people in the bar?” Her breath came in ragged little bursts. Hitches. She moaned in between each word.

  “Hell if I know. Once my cock was in you, I couldn’t see beyond that. I was feelin’, baby, not thinking.”

  He couldn’t think anymore. He began to move in her harder, searching for the lightning. Feeling it streak through his body. Long strikes of electricity. Flames danced over him. A thousand tongues licked up his shaft with heat. He held out as long as he could, driving her up three times before he couldn’t hold back, his release explosive, his hot seed splashing those sweet walls, triggering dozens of aftershocks.

  She collapsed back onto the floor, breathing hard. He lay on top of her, crushing her into the blankets with his heavy weight, but she didn’t complain. She reached back and found his hand. “I don’t like going to bed without you.”

  “You don’t like going to bed without my cock,” he corrected.

  “That too,” she agreed. “I’ve got something to show you, but I’m too tired to move.”

  “Tell me then.” He didn’t want to move. He liked holding her down. Feeling her under him, knowing she wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I asked Ink to tattoo your prints on me and he did.”

  Her voice was so muffled by the blankets scrunched up around her, he didn’t believe what he heard at first. Her declaration penetrated slowly and something broke in his chest. Just fragmented and left him unable to move or speak.

  Anya squirmed under him. “Reaper? Are you upset with me?”

  He slid to the floor on his side, keeping one leg over her thighs so when she turned onto her back, he was still pinning her down. It hurt to breathe, his lungs burning for air. His throat felt raw. “You did what?” The words were a whisper because his voice couldn’t go above a thread
of sound.

  She held up both hands. His heart thudded in his chest. He caught her forearms and brought her hands in close so he could look at her wrists. Silvery, dark chains bound the top of her wrists. He could make out the dark whorls of his thumbprints beneath the chains. He turned her hands over. There were his prints. Marking her his. Declaring to the world she belonged to him. She’d done it. For him. No one had ever, in his entire life, given him a gift. Not once.

  This wasn’t just a gift. This was … enormous. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. She was killing him. Taking him to uncharted territory. He didn’t know what to do with the feelings pouring into him, or the intensity of those feelings. A man like him didn’t feel. She’d opened some floodgate, and now he knew she wasn’t ever going to be free. Not ever. No matter what happened, she was going to have bear the consequences of her actions. Of giving him her, because he was taking her and keeping her for eternity.

  He stared down at the prints. Cleared his throat of the large obstruction there. “Gettin’ your prints tatted onto me.” Was that even his voice? Shit. He was losing it.

  Anya touched his face, her fingers gentle. His heart slammed hard against his chest. “I’m glad you like it. I love the chain. I wanted something unbreakable.”

  He fucking loved that. Or her. Maybe he fucking loved her. He didn’t know what love was, but it might be whatever was killing him inside.

  “Next time he puts my prints on you, I want to be there.”

  She frowned, and he found that adorable. Sickening. He had it bad. He waited and wasn’t disappointed. “More of your prints?”

  He nodded. “Want them on your ass. Thought about putting a handprint there too, but my fingers will do.”

  “I’m not going to let Ink tattoo my ass.”

  He ran his hand down her belly to stop right over her mound. He laid his palm there. “Your body is mine, Anya. I want my prints on it, you’ll have my prints on it.”