CHAPTER FIVE
REESE
I spent my weekend horny and pissed off.
London’s mouth, her smell, those amazing tits … I wanted those lips wrapped around my cock, I wanted those hands buried in my hair, and I wanted my dick in her cunt. Maybe her ass. Hell yes. Then I’d f*ck her boobs because I wouldn’t want them to feel left out, now would I?
Instead I jerked off and tried to remind myself of all the reasons getting involved with her would be a massive mistake.
Then I’d picture her touching Nate Evans. Nearly sent me over the f*ckin’ edge, because I’d actually smelled him on her Friday night. Like gangrene.
Gave serious thought to killing him for touching what was mine.
But London wasn’t mine. The thought drove me crazy, because I had zero desire to claim a woman, at least not for longer than a night. Still, my gut insisted she should belong to me? which scared me shitless. Wanting someone like that leads to needing them, and loving them leads to … hell.
Heather died slowly.
I remembered everything about that day—worst f*ckin’ hours of my life. Her frail body, nothing more than pale skin stretched tight over bones gone brittle. Our daughters drifting in and out of the room, crying and begging while the light in her eyes faded. Then the beautiful girl I’d fallen in crazy love with my senior year of high school left me.
Forever.
Never wanted more than one woman and then I had to put her in the ground, cold and alone. I’d sworn that day to never let myself care like that again.
Couldn’t risk it.
But London filled my head until I couldn’t hardly think straight. Apparently I wasn’t a joy to be around, either, because by Sunday afternoon the guys actually kicked me out of the Armory. Said I could come back when I stopped being an a*shole, and that situation wasn’t looking promising.
I’d stomped around the courtyard, yelling at the prospects until Bolt took pity on me, dragging me up into the National Forest lands behind the clubhouse to harvest some firewood. We’d make the prospects split and stack it for seasoning once we got back, but there’s something very primal and satisfying about felling a tree and cutting it up with a chainsaw. Gotta love power tools and destruction. Not quite as good as getting laid, but better than losing your mind imagining a very unavailable cunt squeezing some other man’s dick.
Never cared for the good deputy. Taking him out would be a public service, right? But ultimately not even I could justify taking out a lawman over a woman. Maybe I should just steal her out from under him, maybe rub it in his face. Yeah. That’d work. I liked that idea a lot, and the more I considered it, the more it grew on me.
Now Bolt and I were out in the middle of nowhere and things were coming clear. I felt sweaty, tired, and more sane than I had since leaving London’s place, thanks to my club brother’s timely intervention. Nobody ever really understood me like Bolt and I’d missed the hell out of him while he was doing time these past three years. He was more than a solid vice president—he was the man I trusted more than anyone else on earth.
He’d come back different, though. Harder, more cynical than I’d ever seen him before. I guess getting locked up for a crime you didn’t commit changes a man.
Didn’t help that his old lady, Maggs, had ditched his ass.
Sore subject, and not one he liked to talk about. She had her reasons and I guess from her perspective leaving him made sense. But a man inside does whatever it takes to get by. Bolt hadn’t had any allies to protect him during that final stretch, so he’d done what he had to do. She never quite understood that.
Shit happens, I guess.
“What’s the plan for tonight?” I asked him as he tossed the chainsaw into the back end of the truck. Between it and the trailer, we’d cut and loaded nearly two cords. Good haul for an afternoon’s work.
“No plans,” he said, opening the crew cab and digging into the cooler. He pulled out a beer and cracked it, offering one to me. I turned it down, grabbing a water instead. “Thought I might head over to The Line.”
“Been spendin’ a lot of time there,” I said casually.
“Nothin’ quite like p-ssy,” he replied, pulling up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. He’d acquired some new ink inside, of varying quality. “Went a long time without, gotta make up for that.”
I nodded, although it wasn’t entirely the truth. He might not’ve gotten the one he wanted, but he hadn’t gone without, either. Got me thinking.
“How’s the baby?”
Bolt snorted.
“What baby? Startin’ to doubt it was real.”
Damn.
“So Maggs left you over nothin’?”
“No, she left me because I cheated on her. Now that cunt Gwen says she lost the kid—assuming she was actually knocked up in the first place. I don’t know what to believe about that anymore.”
I stilled.
“You think she wasn’t really pregnant?”
“Does it matter?” he asked, taking another drink. “At least I’m rid of the bitch, so I guess that’s something. And tonight I’ll get laid, so life is good.”
I nodded slowly, knowing life was anything but good for my club brother. He missed the hell out of his old lady. We all did. She’d been solid the entire time he was gone, stood by him when he went down in the first place and then worked day and night to bring him home again. Women like that weren’t easy to find.
“You wanna come with me?” Bolt asked. “Get laid. Clear your brain.”
“Yeah.” Bolt was right—The Line was a great place to find no-strings snatch, which was exactly what I needed. If I spent one more night jerking off while imagining London, I’d have to shoot myself. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of those tits, the way she’d melted under my touch.
Did she have pink nipples or brown?
Maybe Evans was sucking on them right now. F*cker wasn’t working this weekend. Already checked, even tried to get Bud to call him in, but the bastard had taken personal leave and not even the sheriff could cancel that. Not without a state of emergency.
Probably spending that time with London. Comforting her.
Maybe even f*ckin’ her right at this minute.
I imagined slowly strangling the man, watching his face turn purple and his eyes bulge while his legs kicked and bucked in desperation. Nothin’ f*cked up about that, right?
Christ, but I wanted inside that woman.
Knew from the minute I’d seen her six months ago she’d be the end of me. Put her off bounds that same night, although I’d been hell-bent on staying away from her. Women like that were trouble—definitely not club whore material, which meant she’d probably get all pissy about a one-night stand, and not in the market to be an old lady, either. Nope, women like her wanted picket fences and nine-to-five husbands so p-ssy-whipped they forgot their own names.
Add in the fact that she was the first reliable cleaner we’d found in nearly three years? Recipe for disaster.
Now I’d hit uncharted territory, because I’d tasted her and the taste wasn’t going away—time to face reality. Sooner or later I’d take her, and that f*ckwad of a boyfriend wasn’t going to get in my way. Hell, if she knew all the games he was playing, she’d get down on her knees and beg me to step in.
The image of her down on her knees … now that was a thing of beauty.
Maybe I should blow off The Line, track her down. Evans was the biggest problem—so far as she knew, he was still Prince Charming. I’d planted the seed, but now I had to step back, wait for him to f*ck things up.
He would, of course.
Man like that could only pretend for so long. London needed to see his shit for herself, otherwise she’d always wonder, which would be damned inconvenient for me.
F*ck me … Why should I give a shit about her regrets?
Losing my damned mind.
“I’ll hit the strip club with you,” I told Bolt. “See if the brothers want to join us. Been a while since we all went out.”
Bolt grunted and we climbed into the truck, big diesel engine roaring to life. I felt the weight of the trailer tug at the rig as I started cautiously down the mountain. By the time we hit the halfway mark my phone came to life, pinging as the messages and texts I’d gotten while we were out of range downloaded.
“Shit, sounds like Grand Central,” Bolt said, raising a brow. “You think we got a problem?”
I slowed the truck to a stop in the center of the narrow logging road, grabbing the phone for a quick look. First up was a text from Horse saying we needed to talk—maybe news from the south? Seemed like we heard new stories about the cartel every day now. They were plowing through the Devil’s Jacks’ territory way too fast, which was very bad news for the Reapers. The Jacks were our buffer zone, the first line of defense against the southern gangs.
But Horse’s message wasn’t what really caught my attention.
Nope.
The fact that London Armstrong had called three times and left two voice mails stopped me dead in my tracks. I hit the button.
“Hello, Mr. Hayes,” she said, voice strained but still full of that strange formality she used to distance herself. F*ckin’ ridiculous—I’d sucked on her lips and dug my fingers into her ass. Time to start using first names. Instead of pissing me off, though, it kind of turned me on. ’Course everything she did turned me on.
“It’s London. I have a favor to ask—do you think you could ask around about Jessica? See if maybe she’s gotten in touch with anyone in your club? She was pretty angry Friday night after you left. In fact, she took off. I thought she’d come back by now, but she hasn’t.”
She hesitated, then spoke again, her voice shaking. “I’m starting to get worried.”
F*cking great. Not enough that the little brat got herself into constant trouble—now she had to go running off, too? I seriously doubted that she’d talked to anyone at the club. They all knew she was hands off, not than anyone gave a shit. Girls like her came and went, and nobody paid much attention. If one disappeared, there was always another to take her place.
London was in a different class and I didn’t like the idea of her worrying. Woman had enough shit to deal with already. I hit play on the second message, which she’d only left about half an hour ago. This time she dropped the pretense of formality.
“Reese, I’m really worried about Jess. Can you call or message me? I know things are … awkward … between us, but I’d like to rule out whether she’s with someone from the club. Nobody has seen her.”
“F*ck,” I muttered, then glanced over at Bolt. “Give me a sec?”
He nodded and I stepped out of the truck, hitting the callback button. She answered on the fourth ring.
“Reese?”
Her voice was tense, but I still liked the sound of my name on her tongue. Of course, it’d sound sweeter if she was screaming it into a pillow while I pounded her from behind. Funny how that worked.
“Got your messages, sweetheart,” I said. “I’ll check with the brothers, but if she’d shown up at the Armory, they would’ve told me. They know she’s not supposed to be out there.”
“You don’t think she could’ve gone to someone’s house?” she asked, her voice tentative. “Maybe one of those men we found her with the other night?”
“No way. Painter and Banks wouldn’t touch her, not after I put her off-limits. Hate to break it to you, but she’s nothing special. Not worth a fight at the club.”
“I see,” she said, although she probably didn’t. Outsiders never did.
“What does Deputy Dick have to say? He helpin’ you out?”
She made a strange, strangled noise, which she tried to cover with a cough.
“Nate told me kids her age take off all the time and not to worry about it. And no, he’s not around. I’ve only talked to him once—he didn’t return my calls yesterday, and he’s working this morning. I guess they’ve got a lot going on this weekend. Mandatory overtime.”
Lying a*shole. What kind of game was he playing with her? My inner caveman decided it didn’t matter. F*ck safety, and f*ck picket fences. London Armstrong obviously couldn’t take care of herself, which meant someone needed to step in and fix this shit. If that meant claiming her, so be it. As for Evans, I’d put that f*cker in the ground a hundred miles from the nearest town with a clear conscience the next time he decided to play games.
Proud of you, baby, Heather murmured.
I growled, because my dead wife didn’t get a vote. If she really cared about me, she wouldn’t have died. And London? I’d had enough of her shit, too. That bitch was gonna be mine and I didn’t share.
You do realize you’re crazy, right?
At least crazy worked for me. Always had.
“Reese? Are you okay?”
Shit. Poor woman was scared and alone, and now I was growling at her because I’d lost my f*cking mind, apparently. I rubbed my chin, thinking quickly. I needed to play things smart, nudge her in the right direction if I wanted to do this right. All Evans really needed was enough rope to hang himself. He’d do the rest for me …
“There’s some truth to what he said,” I said, trying to sound somewhat sane and sympathetic. “Although it’s not exactly a comfort. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’ve already talked to all her friends. I can’t imagine where she went.”
“She’s probably holed up with some boy somewhere. Jess is a pretty girl—wouldn’t be hard for her to find someone to take her in.”
“She would’ve told one of her friends, though. None of them have heard from her.”
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose, torn between laughter, frustration, and a hint of crazed exaltation. Christ, but London was naive. No idea how she’d pulled that off at her age, but there was no question the woman was clueless. I wondered if that cluelessness extended to her sexual experience, too. Might be fun to teach her new things. Of course, if she already had some tricks, that’d be nice, too.
“They won’t tell you, honey. They’ll cover for her because that’s what teenage girls do.”
“Maybe most of them, but not Melanie,” London said. “She’s the one Jessica relies on the most, and she’s completely freaked out. Said she got some weird text from her about heading south.”
“What’s down south?”
“Nothing that I can think of,” London said. “I mean, the last time I heard from her mother, she was living near San Diego, but I can’t imagine she’d lift a finger for Jess, let alone invite her to come and stay with her. Amber is a selfish bitch who doesn’t want the men in her life to know she’s old enough to have an adult daughter. Jess doesn’t have the money to get down there anyway.”
“You want me to come over?” I asked her, and in that moment my intentions were almost decent. Didn’t like her being scared, and not even I was such a dick that I’d use her little cousin running away to f*ck her. Probably. Maybe.
Who was I kidding? Of course I would.
“Why?”
“So you aren’t alone,” I said. “I have daughters, remember? They’re good kids but sometimes it’s hell—that’s when things are going right. I’ll grab some food and we can hang out for a while, help pass the time. Unless you have other plans?”
“I was planning to pace and look at my phone,” she murmured. “It’s a bad idea, I think.”
“You can pace and look at your phone while we eat. I’ll be over around seven, need to unload my truck and get a shower first. Sound good?”
“I don’t know … I don’t want anything happening between us, Reese. Seriously.”
“I’ll behave,” I told her. Unlikely. “And try calling your cousin, see if she’s heard anything. Never hurts to check.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding defeated.
I hung up and climbed back into the truck, considering the situation. No idea where the kid was, but Nate Evans was sure as hell making things easy for me.
F*ckin’ idiot to leave his woman open and ripe for the taking.
London needed sympathy, someone to take care of her. Dumbass should’ve picked up on that. Of course, Deputy Dick didn’t have a reputation for being the most sensitive of guys. He’d put the pressure on more than one of our dancers during late-night “traffic stops” before we’d come to an understanding about his behavior.
We’d come to an understanding about London, too. Soon.
“All good?” Bolt asked.
“Good enough,” I told him. “Gotta bail on tonight, though. Something came up.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Both. Stopping by to see London Armstrong.”
Bolt grinned. “I knew you were into her.”
“Not exactly a secret I’m lookin’ to f*ck her.”
“That what you’ll be doing tonight? F*ckin’ her?”
I laughed, because I honestly had no idea. Last time I’d felt this way, I’d been eighteen years old and crazy over Heather.
“Depends. She’s havin’ a shitty weekend. Not sure what the best strategy is just yet.”
“Usually your strategy involves getting them naked and then pushing them out the door.”
“The situation with London is a little more complicated than that,” I admitted.
“Is this the point where I sing the little song about Pic and London sittin’ in a tree?”
“Only if you want the tree shoved up your ass.”
“Might be worth it,” Bolt said, his voice sly. I flipped him off, suddenly in a very good mood.
No fool like an old one, I guess, but damned if I didn’t feel like I was eighteen all over again.
LONDON
“I’m her mother—she belongs with me,” Amber declared, her voice smug with triumph. I’d called her knowing Reese had to be wrong. Jessica would never go to Amber, even if she was furious with me. She knew better … But apparently she didn’t.
Nothing made sense anymore.
“I thought you didn’t want your boyfriend to know you’re old enough to have a grown daughter?”
“He knows I got pregnant young.”
“You got pregnant at twenty-two, not twelve.”
She sniffed.
“Did she at least take her health insurance card with her? You have to keep a close eye on her—things can go south so fast. I really think you should send her—”
“Shove it up your ass, Loni,” she said, just like we were in middle school again. I could almost see her rolling her eyes. “I’m sick of your lectures and bullshit. Go back to your boring life cleaning up other people’s shit. I have a maid now, you know. My boyfriend hired her for me. Guess you were wrong about how I’d turn out, hmmm?”
“Can I at least talk to her?”
Instead of replying, Amber hung up. I sighed, studying my phone with mixed emotions. Jess was safe. Somehow she’d gotten a flight down to San Diego, something I would’ve said was impossible. The last time we’d spoken, my cousin made it clear she had no interest in seeing her daughter. None.
It didn’t add up.
I decided to call Nate again, because the more I thought about it, the more suspicious I got. I knew he was working, so I figured I’d have to leave a voice mail. When he answered, it took me off guard.
“Hey Loni—what’s up?”
“I found Jessica,” I told him.
“Well, that’s good news,” he said “Where is she?”
“Down in San Diego with her mother. I didn’t actually talk to her myself. She still isn’t answering her phone.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
I sighed, rubbing my temple. Nate just didn’t seem to feel any urgency about the situation, and it frustrated me.
“Not much of a relief,” I told him. “It doesn’t make sense. Amber is living with some rich boyfriend and she doesn’t want him knowing she has a daughter Jessica’s age. I tried to take Jess to visit her last summer and she wouldn’t let us come. I think Amber is up to something.”
“Hon …” he said, and his voice was patient, loving, and condescending as hell. “You sound crazy.”
“I’m not crazy,” I snapped.
“I know you’re not,” he replied soothingly. “And that’s why this sounds so crazy, because it’s not like you. I know you’ve given everything for Jessica, but kids pull shit like this all the time. She’s with a family member. At least you know she’s safe, so maybe you should just enjoy the fact that she’s finally out of your hair.”
“She’s not a normal eighteen-year-old,” I insisted, walking toward the kitchen. I found the wine I’d picked up at the store earlier and grabbed my corkscrew. “Her brain doesn’t work right, you know that. And she has health issues. She doesn’t even have a doctor down there.”
“Nobody who’s eighteen years old has a brain that works right,” he said. “You know that—we all know that. Kids are wonderful but they do stupid shit. Sooner or later she’ll call you, ready to apologize. Until then fighting with her is pointless.”
I took a deep swig straight from the bottle, because a glass just seemed like extra work at this point.
“Is there anything you can do to check on her?” I asked, frustrated by his lack of sympathy.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, don’t cops have ways of finding people? Like, calling in favors from old friends or something? I don’t know.”
“I think you’ve been watching too much TV,” he said firmly, his voice going from condescending to annoyed. “We could call in a welfare check, but that’s a waste of time and resources because you already know she’s fine. You have to let this go and I have to get back to work. We’ve started something good here, babe, but I’m not interested in drama. Time to get over this shit.”
He was probably right, but he didn’t need to be a jerk about it.
“Okay,” I said, frowning. “I’m sorry I bothered you at work.”
He didn’t answer for a moment.
“It’s all right. But don’t do it again, okay? Not unless it’s a real emergency. It sucks that things aren’t going like you hoped, but this doesn’t qualify and I’ve got shit going on. I’m hanging up now.”
“Do you still want to try to get together sometime this week?” I asked hesitantly.
“I don’t know—are we going to pick up where we left off on Friday?”
The question startled me.
“Probably …”
He sighed.
“Loni, I like you a lot and I’ve been a good guy, but I’m tired of this. You’re so caught up in Jessica that you don’t have the energy for me. I’m exhausted, I’m grumpy, and I’m not in the mood. Let’s talk later, okay?”
“Wow, so sorry that my family obligations are getting in your way,” I snapped. “But I actually give a damn about Jessica. She’s my responsibility. That doesn’t just go away because she turned eighteen.”
“I can’t believe we’re still talking about Jess,” he muttered.
Then he hung up on me.
What the hell?
Nate hadn’t been himself the past two days, not even a little bit. He’d always been so concerned and supportive of me, even over the smallest things … and he’d never pressured me for sex. But now that I needed him, he’d checked out. I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
You sure you really know him?
Reese’s nasty little insinuations burrowed through my thoughts. I shouldn’t leap to judgments, though, not while I was this upset—my perspective was all messed up. I wasn’t thinking straight.
Still, I’d expected a little more sympathy from Nate. Isn’t that what boyfriends do?
I sucked down another mouthful of wine, contemplating my unpleasant conversation with Amber. Apparently Jessica had flown down there yesterday, although it hadn’t occurred to either of them that this was information I might like to have. I had no clue where the money for the plane ticket had come from, either.
Selfish, both of them. And Nate was selfish, too … although maybe he was right in his own way. For better or worse, Jessica was an adult and she’d made her decision. I should probably just accept it and let it go, because all this stress and worry wasn’t accomplishing jack shit anyway.
At least the wine was still on my side.
An hour later I’d finished the bottle and things were looking up. For example, with Jess gone, I wouldn’t be stuck at home every weekend. I could go places, do things … Sleep with Nate any time I wanted.
Assuming I still wanted to sleep with him.
But the more I thought about it, the less interested I was in following up on that. Sure, it wasn’t like we were engaged or anything, but what’s the point of having a boyfriend if he blows you off the first time you need him?
On the other hand, finally getting laid would be nice …
I’d completely forgotten about Reese until the doorbell rang just after seven that evening. By that point I was halfway through a second bottle of wine, which was half a bottle firmly over my limit. I opened the door to find him standing on my porch with a bag of Chinese in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. I ran my eyes up and down his strong form, deciding he looked fantastic.
I wanted to bite him.
Yeah, definitely over my limit on the vino—I’d had more to drink in this one weekend than the past two months combined. Too bad I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Biting Reese Hayes wouldn’t be a problem if you ditched the boyfriend, my brain whispered insidiously. I decided my brain was right. If Nate gave a shit about being in a relationship with me, he wouldn’t have been such a dick.
Oooh, and now I was cussing in my head. Fun!
“C’mon in,” I told Reese, suddenly starving. That bag of little white cartons smelled fantastic and I couldn’t wait to rip into them. His eyes widened.
“You seem to be in a good mood,” he murmured. I held up my wine bottle for him to see.
“I decided I needed a distraction,” I told him bluntly. “I called my cousin Amber. She’s a bitch and I hate her … Also Jessica is with her. She’s fine, perfectly safe. Flew down there yesterday and they didn’t bother to tell me. I’m washing my hands of both of them.”
I tried to rub my hands together like I was washing them and dropped my bottle in the process. Reese lunged, catching it midair. The motion set me off balance and I fell on my ass, laughing. He stared at me, a slow grin crawling across his face.
“You’re drunk,” he said.
“No shit,” I told him. “Feels great, too.”
“Do you have to work tomorrow?”
“I’m the boss,” I informed him proudly. “I make my own schedule.”
“I see,” he murmured, then reached down to catch my hand, pulling me to my feet. I lurched into him, rubbing my face against the hard muscles of his chest.
“You smell really good,” I told him. “Reeallly good.”
“You got a coffeepot?”
I blinked up at him, running my hands up and over his shoulders. They were nice and hard, like silk stretched over … something hard. I giggled because I couldn’t think of the right word.
“Coffeepot?” he asked again.
“Why?”
“Time to sober up, I think. What the hell is that smell?”
I beamed at him, feeling pleased with myself.
“The self-cleaning cycle on the oven. I like to clean when I get frustrated, and there’s nothing quite like a sparkly oven. You just turn it up to a million degrees, bake it, and then vacuum it out. Gas does all the hard work for you. Very cathartic.”
“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, running a finger down my cheek. “Let’s get some coffee in you and eat. No more wine.”
I pouted, because wine was my favorite. Then I forgot to pout because he smelled all yummy, and I wanted to see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
Now if I could just catch his lip and find out …
REESE
This was officially the most f*cked-up dinner date I’d ever had in my life.
London—
Everyone calls me Loni, Reese, but I hate it. I like how you use my real name … Can I touch your stomach?
—was drunk off her ass, and I had a very bad feeling that if I f*cked her, things wouldn’t end well. Not normally a factor for me, really. I liked it when things didn’t work out with women. Generally that was the goal.
Unfortunately, karma’s a bitch and she had a lot on me.
I stared at the TV, pretending to watch the world’s least interesting movie with London passed out all over me. Her tits smashed up against my chest, her legs straddled my thigh, and her hand lay on my stomach, precisely six inches from the top of my straining dick. I knew this because exactly once every sixty seconds I looked away from the screen to make sure it hadn’t ripped a hole through my pants. Then I’d start counting down again, because the counting was the only thing keeping me from rolling her over and shoving my cock so far up her cunt it hit the back of her throat. Yeah, that’d wake her up …
Why wasn’t I doing this? Good question.
It wasn’t because I’m a good guy or she was too drunk or any of that shit. I’ve never been a decent human being and didn’t see a whole lot of reason to change things up at this stage of the game.
Decency isn’t really my thing. This was about strategy.
London sighed in her sleep, pulling me a little closer as her hand slipped down. I groaned, and somehow my dick got harder, something I would’ve bet a hundred dollars wasn’t even possible. It actually hurt, and the smell of her hair drifting up toward my nose didn’t exactly help.
She smelled like vanilla cookies.
I asked myself again why I wasn’t currently f*cking her. I had her at my mercy—she was all over me. I should just take what she offered and enjoy it. Strategy was overrated.
She might actually make you happy, Heather told me sternly. Don’t blow it, a*shole.
Goddamn ghosts in my head.
Heather needed to back the f*ck off, because I wasn’t down with this shit. I hadn’t actually died with her, despite the fact that it occasionally felt that way. She’d left me to raise our girls all by myself and sometimes I hated her for it.
Fortunately, thinking of my girls made me smile.
Didn’t even have the words to describe how much they meant to me. Somewhere along the way I’d reengaged with life, for their sake if not my own. Biggest fight of my life, not crawling down into that grave with my wife. London was fighting the same kind of battle, in her own way. When shit hit the fan, she’d charged life head-on, taken in Jessica and fought for her, despite the fact that she had an easy out. Nobody could have blamed her for passing Jess along to social services. I respected the way she threw down for her kid, even though Jess wasn’t technically hers. She understood loyalty, and that family isn’t always about blood.
Much as I hated to admit it, that was the kind of strength and loyalty it took to make a good old lady … Then I shook my head, because I sure as shit wasn’t going there. Claim her? Okay. But nobody could ever take Heather’s place, let alone wear her patch.
Maybe I could find a happy medium, though, and that’s where London came in. Screwing her tonight would complicate things in a way that could end with her hating me. I’m nothing if not decisive, and I don’t f*ck around once I’ve made up my mind. I wanted London and I definitely planned to keep her for a while.
That meant I should start things off right.
First order of business—remove Deputy Dick from her life without scaring the hell out of her. If I had to suck it up for a while to make that happen, I had no doubt she’d make it up to me down the line. Thus I found myself lying on a couch watching some dumbass movie with a dick harder than a diamond and no happy ending in sight.
London stirred against me again, letting out a soft snore.
Christ, her mouth was right by my nipple. I felt the heat of her breath touch me through the thin fabric of my shirt, and something like panic welled up in the back of my throat. I had to get the hell out of here, because no f*ckin’ way I’d be able to keep my hands off her much longer. Respect only went so far.
The brothers would laugh their asses off if they saw me now.
“Okay, sweetheart,” I muttered, cradling her as I sat up awkwardly. “Let’s get you to bed.”
London snuggled deeper into me, making protesting noises. She really wasn’t very big, despite those fabulous tits of her. I lifted her easily enough and carried her back toward the bedrooms. Her door was open, revealing a neatly made queen-size bed. The room was decorated in what was probably thrift shop furniture, but it’d been polished up and laid out in a way that looked put together and purposeful.
Nothing like my bedroom.
“Still pissed at you,” she muttered as I tugged back the covers and tucked her in. Well, look at that. Sleeping Drunky was waking up, and I didn’t even have to kiss her first.
“Do I wanna know why?” I asked. She frowned, eyes still closed.
“You know why, Nate. But you can spend the night anyway …”
Nate? She thought I was Nate Evans?
That f*cking cockwad was not getting credit for this good deed.
My good intentions disappeared in an instant, brain turning off as instinct kicked in. Didn’t matter that I’d decided to keep my hands off—she didn’t get to dream about Deputy Dick while I held her. That was a straight-up deal breaker, something both I and my cock felt very strongly about.
“This isn’t Nate,” I growled, sliding my fingers into her hair, gripping her head tight. She woke with a jerk, eyes wide and confused.
“What?”
“I’m not Nate,” I growled. She blinked at me.
“Reese? What are you doing here?”
Holy shit. I’d brought her food, listened to her cry, and then held her half the night—and she didn’t even remember. Karma could suck my ass. I dropped down on the bed, shoving a knee between her legs, covering her with my body. My dick found her pubic bone, and I rotated my hips.
Finally.
F*cking hell that was sweet relief, even if it wasn’t a money shot.
“Oh my God …” she whispered, eyes wide. “Reese, what are you doing?”
I groaned, grinding against her so hard it hurt. She bucked back, whimpering, and I completely forgot about keeping things simple. I needed inside her. Now. The rest could wait. I caught her lips with mine, nipping them before thrusting my tongue deep in her mouth. Her hips bucked again, her hands digging into my chest.
Then she bit my tongue.
“What the f*ck?” I gasped, jerking away from her. Her eyes were wide and full of shock, which was right about the time I realized her hands weren’t digging into my chest to rip off my shirt.
Nope.
They were pushing against it.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Nate and I agreed not to see other people. I’m still with him.”
“If you’re with Nate, why the f*ck wasn’t he here when you needed him?”
London closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Unfortunately that forced her breasts up and into my chest. I thought my cock might actually explode, and not because I blew my wad. Nope, it might split from the sheer volume of blood trapped in there.
“He and I need to talk,” she said, and I growled. Talk? She looked almost as frustrated as I felt. I rotated my hips into hers one more time, both of us gasping in need.
“F*ck that. Your cunt wants me inside as bad as my cock wants in.”
“I don’t like that word.”
“I don’t like Deputy Dick,” I growled. “But you don’t see me putting a bullet in him, do you? Stop bitching and let me f*ck you.”
Her eyes narrowed and she shoved at my shoulders, hard. I rolled off her, chest heaving as I tried to make my brain work. Almost impossible, what with the complete lack of available blood. My cock throbbed. Literally. I felt each pulsing heartbeat hit it like a sledgehammer.
I wanted to kill her. F*ck her, then kill her. Then kill Nate Evans for putting me through this. Teach that cocksucker to move in on a Reaper’s woman.
“I’m really sorry that I got drunk and made an idiot of myself,” London said after a long pause. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“Damned straight.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Blow job would be nice.” Throw in a fifth of vodka and a pole dance and maybe I’d reconsider killing her … but I wouldn’t be happy until I’d split her cunt wide open. I slammed my fist down on the bed. F*ck!
She squeaked. Like a mouse. It was cute, which pissed me off even more.
“Anything else?”
“No, I think you’ve done enough,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to think of something—anything—to distract me from the pain between my legs.
“It was really nice of you to come over and bring me dinner.”
Nice.
F*cking bitch thought I was nice. If she thanked me for being her friend, it was over. I’d have to go on a killing spree.
I gotta get out of here.
Jackknifing off the bed, I stalked out into the living room, looking for my keys. They were on the kitchen counter, right next to the empty take-out containers. She could buy her own f*cking dinner and cry alone next time.
I heard her bare feet padding up behind me.
“So I guess this probably means our deal is off?”
Her voice sounded uncertain, almost scared. Still a little slurred, too. I turned to glare at her, taking in her tangled blonde hair, the curve of her generous hips in those tight jeans, and the way her shirt drooped low enough to show plenty of cleavage.
“Not if you want to keep the club accounts,” I growled, wondering why the hell I didn’t just fire her ass. My cock reminded me that we weren’t finished with her yet. “I’ll see you out at my place on Tuesday. Make enough food for leftovers and maybe we’ll have a talk about getting a crew into The Line.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Eat shit,” I said, and then slammed out the door.
Seems like a bit of an overreaction, Heather gloated as I climbed into my truck.
She could eat shit, too. F*cking women. Even dead, they stuck together.