Текст книги "Reaper's Fall "
Автор книги: Joanna Wylde
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
Em had already ditched us by then, glued to her old man, Hunter.
“She’s dick-whipped,” Kit had confided. “Pathetic. If I ever fall for some guy like that, please shoot me. My dad has lots of guns—you can borrow one if you need to.”
We’d spent the next two hours wandering around together. Kit had grown up playing at the Armory and she gave me the full scoop on everyone we saw. She seemed to agree with London about staying outside with the main crowd in the courtyard, rather than exploring the big, three-story building behind us. It looked sort of like a castle to me—apparently they’d bought it from the National Guard.
Surprisingly, the party really was family-friendly.
Mostly.
There was loud music and plenty of booze, but there were also kids running around laughing and screaming, stealing cookies and drinking endless lemonade.
It wasn’t all sunshine and light, though. There were lots of big, scary-looking guys surrounded by women wearing a lot less clothing than I was used to seeing. Something told me the whole family-friendly vibe would end once the sun went down. At least Jess made the right call on the boots—the few women I’d seen wearing slutty heels were having a really hard time getting around, given the mixture of cracked concrete, gravel, and grass that blanketed the area.
My boots made me feel strong and tall and capable.
That’s why—when Taz poured me a drink and smiled big at me—I didn’t even notice Painter watching us. I also didn’t notice him after the second drink, which was really more like my . . . well, I’d sort of lost track at the house, to be honest. (Let’s just say I was feeling festive.) That’s also why I completely forgot what London told me about staying in the courtyard. To be fair, I’d pretty much forgotten about everything by then—I’d been drunk before, but never quite like this.
It was fun. No wonder Jessica used to do it so much.
“You want to go for a walk?” Taz asked me after we’d been talking for what felt like forever and no time at all. I looked around, realizing that the sun had started to set. There were a lot fewer kids running around. Someone had lit a bonfire, and the music was louder.
“Sure,” I said, feeling adventurous. Maybe he’d kiss me. That would show Levi Fucking Painter Brooks a thing, now, wouldn’t it? Just because he wasn’t interested in me didn’t mean I wasn’t sexy and fun.
Taz caught my hand, leading me back along the big cement-block wall surrounding the courtyard toward a gate in the back. It was open, but a guy wearing a prospect’s cut stood guard, watching everyone who came and went. I didn’t recognize him, but when he saw me, his eyes widened. Then he whipped out his phone and started texting.
“This is really pretty,” I said, looking over the wide meadow we found on the other side of the wall. Beyond it the ground rose in a steep slope covered with trees, but back here it was just like a park. Gorgeous. There were quite a few tents and even another bonfire.
“We’re camped over there,” Taz said, nodding toward the far end of the meadow. “Let me show you.”
I frowned as his words penetrated my brain fog. My sense of self-preservation kicked in, pointing out quietly but insistently that going off with a strange guy in the dark at a biker party might not be the brightest of moves.
Shit. I really was turning into Jessica.
“Mel, get over here.”
I knew that voice. Turning slowly, I saw Painter standing behind us, arms crossed in front of him.
He didn’t look happy.
• • •
In retrospect, my mistake had been letting Kit into the house that afternoon. Truly, from that moment forward the whole day had been fucked, a runaway train careening down the track into a dark void of . . . well, mostly one very angry biker.
Why Painter was pissed, I had no clue.
Wasn’t like he’d spoken to me even once during the damned party. I’d been there for hours, yet the only times I’d seen him he’d been talking up slutty girls wearing painted-on jeans and stamp-sized bikini tops.
Not that I cared. Not at all. He could screw around with whoever he wanted, because . . . Double shit. His gaze met mine, burning through me, and I swear—the world started spinning. I forgot all about Taz as I fell into Painter’s eyes, mesmerized. Then I realized what I was doing and forced myself to look down, which wasn’t much better. I swear, the man was made entirely of muscles—delicious muscles that I could see all too clearly because he only wore a short-sleeved T-shirt under his leather Reapers cut. Faded blue jeans covered his legs, clinging to his thighs in a way that made my own clench. Worn black boots covered his feet. Together it was too much. Throughout the party, I’d tried to convince myself that he wasn’t as strong—or sexy—as the man I fantasized about every night. Nobody could be.
Except he totally was.
Painter’s gaze flicked between me and Taz, calculating and cool as he swaggered our direction, because apparently it wasn’t enough to look so sexy that my heart nearly exploded. Nope. He had to walk sexy, too. Breathe sexy.
I remembered every second I’d spent with him last year, every touch, every time I’d wrapped myself around his big, strong body while his Harley throbbed beneath us. He’d given me three rides. Less than thirty minutes total . . . And that one kiss—enough to mark me forever.
I wanted more in a big way.
“Painter,” Taz said, startling me. I’d forgotten he was there.
“Taz. Should probably let that one go. She’s protected.”
“She yours?” Taz asked, sounding surprised. “Guess she didn’t get the message. Not like I dragged her out here.”
“She’s a kid. Drop it.”
“Hey, I’m not a kid,” I protested, indignant. “I’ll be twenty-one in four months.”
Taz gave a low laugh. “You heard her. Fuck off, Brooks.”
Painter stepped toward me, his expression colder than I’d ever seen it. “Mel, get your ass back to the party.”
I stilled, unsure what I should do. I really did want to go back to the party . . . but I didn’t want Painter to win, either.
Shit.
Now I found myself trapped between him and Taz, and because I’m a freaking idiot I wanted to forget Taz and jump on Painter, right there in the middle of the yard. Just wrap my legs around his waist and grind on him like a whore. One very, very happy whore.
Where is your self-respect?
CHAPTER THREE
PAINTER
Mel was staring at me like a spooked rabbit.
She didn’t belong here and she knew it, the little sneak. She had to know—she’d been avoiding the Armory the whole time I was in jail. She’d written me all about it, among a thousand other things. You’d think a guy like me would get bored hearing about her life. There’d been a few club-whore types who’d written me, too—letters full of sex and promises and pictures that should’ve crowded Mel right out of my mind. Never stopped thinking about her, though. Not once. She’d become my anchor. Then she’d stopped writing after I told her to go find herself a boyfriend. Once I got home, I made a conscious decision to be a dick about the car, too. I had to be.
It was the right thing to do.
I’d made it a whole week back in Coeur d’Alene without hunting her down, holding out against temptation. Then Pic had mentioned the girls needed help moving last Saturday and it was all over. I’d kept my hands off her that day—didn’t do more than say hello—but it’d been torture. She was more beautiful than I remembered. Had filled out, going from pretty to gorgeous, all smooth, rich, tanned skin, dark hair, and long legs designed specifically by God to wrap around my waist.
When she leaned over in front of me to grab a cardboard box I’d nearly popped out of the front of my pants.
My fuckwad of a president had been laughing his ass off at me, while London went into full mother hen mode. I’d promised her once that I’d leave Mel alone—a promise that no longer stood in my opinion, given how she’d lied to the club and tricked us. One thing was for sure, though. No fucking way I’d gone through a full year of blue balls so Taz could swoop in and steal the prize.
“London’s looking for you, Melanie,” I lied blandly. “She told you not to come out here, remember? There’s a reason for that. It’s not safe.”
“Perfectly safe with me around, babe,” Taz said, eyes dancing. I didn’t think he was seriously interested in her, but he was definitely getting off on annoying me. Fucker. He was one of Hunter’s brothers, and they’d never liked me. Em might be Hunter’s old lady now, but at one point she’d been mine for the taking. He hated me for that.
I’d hated him, too—he’d stolen her away from me. Looking at Mel, though . . . Fuck, what had I ever seen in Em?
“I probably should get back to the party,” she said slowly. Yeah. No shit.
“Fantastic,” I said, catching her arm and pulling her toward me. Taz laughed behind us as I dragged her off, not toward the gate in the back of the wall but around the side of the courtyard wall, into the darkness. She stumbled along beside me for a few, then tugged on my arm as we rounded the back corner.
Nobody could see us here.
“Hey,” she said. I ignored her, my blood pressure too high already. I could smell her in the darkness. Actually smell her. She wasn’t wearing heavy perfume or anything, but she smelled like oranges and spice and nice . . . What the fuck was wrong with me?
“Hey,” she said again, jerking on my arm hard this time. I stopped, turning on her abruptly. She took a step back, hitting the wall. “This isn’t the way back to the party.”
“You’re not going back to the party.”
She cocked her head, and I saw the confusion in her alcohol-glazed eyes as she wrinkled her nose at me. All cute, like a rabbit.
“You look like a bunny.”
“You look like an ax murderer,” she said, frowning. “And I thought London was looking for me. Aren’t we going the wrong way?”
“I lied. I do that a lot,” I told her, staring at her lips. I reached out, catching her chin in my hand, running my thumb across her lips. Our eyes locked, and I don’t know if her pulse started to rise but mine sure as fuck did. What the hell had I been thinking, writing to this girl? She was so pretty and perfect and had this amazing, magical life just waiting for her and all I could think about was dragging her down into the dirt and shoving my cock into every hole she had.
She’d scream while I did it, too, the same sweet screams that played in my head every night while I jacked off.
I hated myself.
“Why did you lie?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“To get you away from Taz. It’s not safe with him.”
Mel’s forehead creased in confusion, her brain moving so slowly I could practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She might be smart as fuck most of the time, but she’d transitioned to drunker than fuck tonight. Kit. Kit and Em. They’d done this to her.
I leaned in closer, catching her scent. For an instant I swayed, so tempted . . .
“They told me all about you,” she whispered.
“Who?”
“The other girls. Kit, Em. Jessica. I know how you operate,” she continued. One of her hands rose, touching my chest. Fire burst through me, because if I’d wanted her before I was desperate for her now. She was so soft, so sweet . . . so perfect.
Then her words sank in.
“What did you just say?”
“They told me all about you,” she said, eyes dropping to stare at my lips. “They told me you have a Madonna-whore complex.”
I froze.
“A what?”
“A Madonna-whore complex,” she repeated, her voice earnest. “You like to screw dirty girls and you put clean girls on pedestals, where they can stay perfect and pure. That’s pretty messed up, Painter. There’s no such thing as Madonnas and whores. We’re all just people.”
The words stunned me. What the hell was she talking about? Just because I didn’t want her dragged down in the drama and bullshit of this life didn’t mean I had some sort of fucking complex. And who the hell were the Hayes sisters to have an opinion? I couldn’t tell what pissed me off more—the fact that they’d talked to Mel about me or that they hadn’t done a better job of scaring her off.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
“Kit and Em are crazy, and that friend of yours—Jessica? She’s like a car crash. You don’t belong here, Mel.”
“And where do I belong?”
“With some nice kid who’ll treat you like a queen and work his ass off to give you everything perfect for the rest of your life.” The words were practically a growl.
Her eyes widened.
“What if I don’t want perfect?”
“Too fucking bad, because that’s what you’re getting.”
“Excuse me?” she said, her voice hardening. I saw a flash of anger in her eyes—good. Maybe it would clear her head enough to pull it out of her ass.
“I’m taking you home and you aren’t coming back out here again. And you can stay the fuck away from Em and Kit. Hell, you should stay away from Jessica, too. Why are you two sharing a place, anyway?”
“What do you want from me?” she asked softly, her lips moving against my thumb, which had somehow started sliding back and forth without my permission. I took a deep breath, looking into her face. Christ, but she was beautiful. Dusky skin, thick, dark brown eyelashes and all that hair I wanted to wrap around my hands while I skull-fucked her.
If she’d cut it off while I was in prison, not sure I could’ve handled it . . .
“I want you to leave and never come back,” I said. She flinched, and for an instant I thought she might turn and run. Then her tongue flicked out and licked my thumb. Hot. It was hot and wet, and when she caught it with her teeth and then sucked it into her mouth my head started throbbing. Okay, more than my head. I could actually feel my pulse in my cock, which was rock hard and pushing against the front of my jeans.
Mel’s eyes held mine as she sucked me deep, swirling her tongue as her fingers dug into my chest. Those lips of hers . . . they were soft and puffy and looked fucking fantastic wrapped around my thumb, but they’d look a whole hell of a lot better wrapped around something else. Then she caught at my wrist with her other hand, pulling me slowly out of her mouth, even as her tongue flicked out for one last playful taunt.
“Painter, I want you to listen to me very carefully,” she said, holding my gaze as her face hardened. Damned if I didn’t love the way my name sounded on her lips. “I thought you were my friend, but you ditched me. You treated me like I was an annoying pest when I tried to thank you for loaning me your car. You acted like all those letters between us meant nothing. That hurt me, Painter. Hurt me a lot. Maybe I’ll regret telling you this once I’m sober, but right now it feels good to say the words, so listen up.”
My eyes widened—who the hell was this girl? Mel didn’t have a backbone, not like this. But apparently she did, because she wasn’t done talking yet.
“So far as I’m concerned, you have no right to tell me what to do,” she said, the words careful and deliberate as she reached out to poke me in the chest. “Ever. I was having a great time until you interrupted me, and I’m going to leave you now and go back to having a great time without you. If you don’t like that, you can shove it right up your ass.”
MELANIE
I’d lost my mind.
Only possible explanation for what’d just come out of my mouth. Wait—there was another one. I’d been possessed by a demon. I blinked slowly, thankful for the wall behind me because I’m not sure I could’ve stayed upright without it.
This is what drunk feels like, I realized. I thought I’d been drunk before, but I’d only been tipsy or something, because tonight was totally different. Take this whole situation with Painter. I knew he was a big, scary guy. I knew telling him off—alone, in the dark—was a bad idea.
I just didn’t care.
Talk about liberating . . . Painter’s face darkened, and I giggled. Couldn’t help myself, it was just too funny. Mr. Big Bad Biker Man didn’t know what the hell to say because I was right and he was wrong and—
“You have no idea what you’re fucking with,” he growled. He reached out, burying a hand in my hair and twisting it tight, tilting my head up toward him. Leaning into me, his eyes searched my face as his jaw clenched. “You think this is a game, Mel? Not even Em and Kit would be stupid enough to take off into the night with some guy they don’t know.”
“You mean like Jessica took off with you?” I asked, feeling bold. “You’re such a hypocrite.”
“All the more reason to stay away from me. You need to go home and stay there.”
“Do you even hear the words coming out of your mouth?” I demanded, frustrated because he was full of shit and I’d just been sucking on his thumb and . . . Em had been right—Painter did have a complex. I had no interest in getting stuck on top of some stupid pedestal, though. I wanted to lick him all over, not sit on an inspirational platform of womanly virtue. “Now let me go and we’ll call it good. I’ll go back to the party and have fun. You can go fuck some whore if you’re horny or say a few prayers to the Virgin Mary if you’re feeling guilty about something. Just leave me alone.”
His fingers tightened in my hair, his other arm reaching out to jerk me forcefully into his body. Then I was plastered against him, our faces inches apart. Yikes. Somehow he was bigger up close . . .
“You should listen to me,” he said, the words low and more intense than I’d ever heard from him. “You realize Taz could do anything to you out here? He’s not part of this club and you’re nobody’s property. There’s no protection for you if you don’t use some fucking common sense.”
“Taz seemed really nice,” I whispered, surrounded by his heat and strength and the realization that there was absolutely nobody who knew where I was right now. Okay. Painter might’ve been onto something—going out into the dark with Taz had been stupid, because I knew Taz even less than I knew Painter, and I had a feeling that hanging in the dark with my prison pen pal wasn’t going to end well. Suddenly his hand caught my ass, lifting me up and slamming me back against the wall. My arms clutched his shoulders and my legs wrapped around his waist.
Holy. Shit.
Bad idea or not, I don’t think I’d ever been more turned on in my life. How many times had I dreamed about something like this? Painter’s mouth dropped down to my ear, catching it in his teeth just tight enough to hurt. I felt the hardness between his legs grinding into me as need exploded through my body. He smelled so good . . . My hips twisted, desperate for more. Painter groaned.
“Fuck me,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You realize what I could do to you out here? Christ, Mel. There’s nobody to hear if you scream. I can strip you down and fuck your brains out whether you want me to or not.”
I couldn’t breathe for a minute—he could strip me down and fuck my brains out. Something clenched, deep inside. (My vagina. It was my vagina doing the clenching.)
“What if I don’t want to scream?”
He groaned again, pulling his head back to look at me. Then he licked his lips and I wanted to kiss him so bad I thought it might kill me.
So fucking do it already.
I didn’t give myself a chance to think it through—I just grabbed his head and smashed my mouth into his. He froze for an instant and then I felt his hand twist tight in my hair, tilting my head to the side as he took control of the kiss.
Now’s the part where I tell you that a choir of angels descended from the heavens, while unicorns frolicked and I spontaneously orgasmed against the wall of the Armory courtyard. That’s how it always reads in books, but what can I say? There weren’t any unicorns. Pretty damned sure I heard the angels singing, though, and I was definitely working my way toward an orgasm. Painter’s hips were grinding into mine and my nipples were hard as rocks, his chest crushing me as his tongue took over my world.
Then he shifted, his dick finding exactly the right spot. I wanted him inside me so bad, but this was amazing, too, because I felt every muscle in my body twisting tight. My fingers spasmed in his hair and my hips bucked and then his hand squeezed my ass hard and I fell over the edge.
Damn. DAMN.
Not sure, but I think I caught a glimpse of a unicorn. Could’ve just been the alcohol. Slowly I came back to myself. Painter was still kissing me, softer now although I knew he hadn’t come. Nope, that cock of his was still hard and ready for more. Then he pulled back and lowered me to the ground, breathing heavily. I swayed as I reached down between us, finding the denim-covered bulge between his legs and squeezing it.
“No,” he said, teeth gritted. “We need to get you home.”
His body didn’t agree, though, because his hips were pushing back against my hand, begging for more. I squeezed again, running my hand firmly up and down his considerable length, wondering what he’d taste like.
I decided to find out and dropped to my knees.
That seemed to set him off, because he grabbed my arms, jerking me up and shoving me away in one rough motion. I stumbled back and tripped over a tree root, weaving for an instant before falling on my ass into a clump of grass.
“You ever hear the phrase ‘No means no’?” he snarled, looking down at me with something as close to fear as I’d ever seen on his face. “Pretty sure I read that on a poster somewhere. I don’t want you like this, Mel.”
The fall hadn’t been enough to knock the wind out of me, but that one sentence sure as hell did. Shit. I’d attacked him and gotten off on it. He didn’t want me to do it and I’d done it anyway. There was a name for people who pull shit like that.
That wasn’t a protest you felt grinding against you, girl. That was a cock and it wanted inside in a bad way.
No. That didn’t matter, because whatever his body might say, his brain wasn’t on board. I’d been dropping down to give him a blow job and he didn’t even want it.
Fucking pathetic.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling like I might throw up. God, why did I drink so much? It turned me into an idiot. Painter reached down, offering me his hand.
“C’mon, let’s go,” he said, his voice still strained. “Didn’t mean to knock you down. Christ, what a cluster.”
“S’okay,” I mumbled, wondering if I could just slink off somewhere. Sit and wallow in my own pathetic juices for a while before calling London and begging for a ride home. “I’m really sorry I kissed you.”
“I gotta get you out of here. Jesus. You need to stay the fuck away from me, Mel. I can’t handle this shit. Next time just come at me with a gun—it’ll be fuckin’ easier for both of us.”
• • •
What followed was an exercise in humiliation, blended with ghastly, drunken spins and topped off with utter exhilaration. Why? Because he decided to give me a ride home on his motorcycle. I’d forgotten how big and intimidating his black and gold Harley was. I mean, I’d seen it parked on the street last weekend during the move and knew it wasn’t some little dirt bike . . . but it still seemed bigger up close—somehow more real. Scary.
Sexy.
Why did it have to be sexy?
Painter threw his leg over the bike and sat down, gesturing for me to join him. I climbed up, sliding down into his butt as I tried to tuck my skirt in somehow. He caught my hands, wrapping them tight around his waist. Holy hell.
I spread my hands out, feeling the hard flex of his stomach muscles under his shirt as I rested my head against his back. His Reapers colors were flush against my face, and I smelled the leather of his vest.
How was it possible to be so embarrassed and turned on at the same time?
Then Painter gunned the Harley to life between my legs, and let me just state this for the record—anyone who tries to tell you that a motorcycle isn’t a phallic machine has obviously never been on one. Before the kiss, I’d have given anything to ride with him on his bike. Unfortunately tonight had fallen to shit and back—all I wanted was to crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head.
If I got very, very lucky, maybe this whole thing would turn out to be a crazy nightmare.
The ride passed in a blur. One second we were pulling out of the Armory and the next we’d stopped in front of my house. I was off the bike and headed up the walk in an instant, praying that Jessica had left a Fudgsicle for me because I needed one. Purely medicinal.
“Mel,” he called from behind me.
“Thanks for the ride,” I answered, refusing to look at him or slow down.
“Mel!” he said, raising his voice in command. Reluctantly I stopped and turned to look back at him, almost falling on my ass again. I didn’t like being drunk, I decided. Nothing was working right and it’d stopped being fun.
“What?”
“You need to text London and Kit,” he said, his voice almost kind. “Let them know you’re okay. Tell them I brought you home.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling sheepish because it hadn’t even occurred to me. (Definitely no more getting super drunk—I just wasn’t very good at it.) I pulled out my phone and saw several missed texts. Crap. The first was from London, about forty-five minutes ago.
LONDON: Have fun but be careful, Mel. Taz is cute . . . he’s also a player.
Then fifteen minutes later.
LONDON: I didn’t see where you went—you okay?
And finally . . .
LONDON: I’m worried about you, Mel. Please text and let me know you’re all right.
Ugh. I had to be the worst not-quite-daughter ever. Right after that was a message from Kit.
KIT: Londons freaking out and someone said you went off with Taz be careful xx
Crap crap crap . . .
ME: Sorry I got tired and decided to come home. Caught a ride with painter and its all good. See you later and thanks for the invite
I looked back toward the street, where Painter was still sitting on his bike, watching me. I gave him a perky little finger wave—why did you do that? You look like a total dork for doing that! Ugh—then walked up to the door, pulling out my key. I stood there, considering, then turned and walked back across the lawn to him before I could chicken out because we still had unfinished business.
Painter cocked his head, questioning.
“Thank you very much for letting me borrow your car while you were in prison,” I said carefully, holding his gaze. “It was really nice of you and it helped me a lot.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, some strange emotion stealing across his face. Nodding, I turned and walked back up to the door, pulling out my key again. I heard the bike roar to life behind me as I stepped inside.
Jessica had been right about one thing. Going out to the Armory had been a big mistake.
