WHAT IN THE hell was that look he gave me when he stormed out of here? It was a mix of contentment and disgust. I know I look bad with the bruises, but I was never expecting that kind of reaction.
Before we left, I thought he may have felt whatever it is that eats at me every time he’s around. Sure, it was brief, but I couldn’t stay by him another minute longer since I was so damn nervous. As a result, I made the excuse that my mom needed me. Then he left with Dagger for a day or so, and now this.
“What the fuck is his problem?” Princess asks Dagger.
I realize that my mother says he’s my father, but I just have issues with calling him daddy dearest right now. I don’t even know the man. I don’t know any of them, and they act so differently than I do.
I cornered Dagger, telling him what the cops told me, but he refused to tell me anything except what I told them was good. I didn’t think it would work for shit, though. Sure, I had no one at home who was pining for me, and with my vacation, no one would be expecting me. I’m pretty much a loner, and I like it that way. However, if the house blew up, I figured there would be some investigation or something.
I tried to ask more questions, but Dagger only shook his head.
I’ve never had a father before, but I don’t think you’re supposed to be scared of him, are you? Because I’m scared as shit of Dagger. Only one person scares me more, and that’s Rhys.
“Fuck if I know. Asshole got beer all over my fucking jeans,” Dagger bites out. “One minute, we’re talking, and the next minute, he’s crushing fucking bottles with his hand.”
I am probably not supposed to be totally, utterly impressed by this, but I am and also intrigued. I can’t believe he’s strong enough to do that. I’ve never met anyone who could, not that I have a lot to pick from. I have been to bars where fights break out, though. Bottles get slammed and broken on the table, but never by a fist.
“Who the hell knows with Rhys?” Princess says, shaking her head. “I swear that man is going to combust one day.”
“Why do you think that?” I question. I mean, there has to be a reason one would think that way.
“He’s not one to mess with, Tanner. He’s hard. Biker hard.”
I stare at her, stunned. “What in the hell is biker hard?”
Princess motions for me to come back over to the bar. I follow and jump up on the stool. “Biker hard …” She sits there in seriously deep contemplation.
“Is it that hard to describe?”
“For me, kinda. I’ve grown up in this life; it’s all I know. Someone from the outside more than likely won’t see things the way we do. It’s hard to explain.” Princess grabs her beer and takes a long pull from it.
I say nothing, because what can I say? I have no idea, and if she can’t explain it when she’s lived it, how in the hell am I going to figure it out?
“Let’s do an easy one.” Princess points to the corner of the room, my eyes following her finger. “What do you see?”
“Uh … Three women sitting on the couch with practically no clothes on.” Well, really, no clothes. What they have are small scraps of fabric that cover their nipples and other lady parts. Damn, I would never wear something like that out in public and around all these guys.
“Those are club mommas.”
I turn back to her. “Club mommas?”
“Yep. Free pussy.” I gasp at the thought. “They give it up to whomever, whenever, and however. Any brother, that is.”
“They do what?” I pause. “Like prostitutes?” I’ve never been around one. Sure, I’ve seen movies and seen it depicted on television, but never actually met one. I’m not a prude by any means, but really?
“No, not prostitutes. Those girls don’t get paid.”
“Then why do they do it?” At least get paid for it.
“To be part of the club. They aren’t really, but it’s the closest they are ever going to get. They put their pussy out there for all the guys, so they get a spot on that couch and protection, but if they bring any bad shit to the club, they’re out,” Princess explains.
“Is that what you are?”
Princess sucks in a deep breath and waves pulsate off her. I immediately feel like a heel. Me and my stupid big mouth.
Dagger chuckles. “Nope, Princess won’t give up that pretty pussy to anyone but Cruz. It’s a damn shame.” I still at his words, and Princess must see it.
“You’re freaking your kid out, Dagger,” she tells him, shaking her head, but a smile graces her face.
“I am who I am, Princess.” And I’m totally getting that vibe from him. It seems like every man here is who he is and makes no changes for anyone. Okay, Tanner, welcome to biker world.
“No, Tanner, I’m not a club momma. I’m an ol’ lady.” I really need to brush up on this shit, because if I ever called my mother an old lady, she would tan my hide.
“I need another beer,” Princess murmurs before going to get one and coming back. “An ol’ lady is one of the brothers’ women.” She turns around, showing me the back of her leather vest. It says ‘Property of Cruz.’
“Property?” I question.
“Yep. I’m his. In our relationship, it also means that he’s mine. We are committed to one another and no one else. He doesn’t screw around with other women, and I don’t screw around with other men. It’s like marriage, biker style.” She twirls the bottle as I take in the information, my mind racing at all the thoughts circling it, starting to put the pieces together. “I only wear this when I’m here at the club with the brothers or with my man. There are rules to wearing it.”
“So some ‘brothers’ ”—I kind of stumble on that word a bit—“have ol’ ladies and still have other women?”
“Yep. If both parties agree to the scenario, then that’s what it is.”
I again try to wrap my head around this information. I guess it wouldn’t be cheating if they both agree to it, but who would? Who would allow their significant other to be with someone else? I look over to the women still sitting on the couch. I could never allow my guy to do that shit to me. It’s not even on my radar.
“I’m sure I couldn’t do that. So how does that work? With you and them here in the same space?”
“It gets tricky at times, especially if one of the brothers is getting it on the side, and the ol’ lady doesn’t know. One thing you gotta know about the club is that the club and brothers come first. It doesn’t matter what situation it is; those two things are always first.”
It seems very stonage-ish, but I keep that to myself. Who the hell am I to say anything? I have no clue. I have no reason to judge. If this is my father’s life, then it is. It also doesn’t mean that my mother and I need to be part of it.
“It’s just a lot to take in.”
Princess laughs. “You have no idea, sister.”
Sister? Did she really just call me that? Warmth comes to my heart. I’ve never had a sister before, and just being called that is … well, awesome.
“Sister?” I question.
“Around here, us ol’ ladies or kids of brothers, we’re family. We call each other sisters. It’s an endearment between us.”
I smile at that. I have only ever had my mom. I had a couple of good friends, but they are long gone, living their lives. I haven’t talked to them in ages. Sure, I have my co-workers, but that’s exactly what they are—people I work with. I wouldn’t exactly call them friends.
I always wondered what it would be like to have an actual family, one you would spend holidays with or have big meals with. Don’t get me wrong, my mom did the best she could, and I do not begrudge her one bit for that. It is merely something that I have never experienced before, and I gotta admit I like it, maybe even more than I should. I’m also confounded because I don’t exactly know how to act with it.
“I’d better go check on my mom.” I hop off the stool and begin my way to Dagger’s room.
Mom’s been pretty out of it, and I know Dagger wants to talk to her, but that just hasn’t been an option yet. Hell, I would like some answers, too.
I’ve been sleeping with Mom, so I’m grateful to Blaze for getting those clean sheets. I even scrubbed Dagger’s bathroom yesterday, too scared to sit on it to pee.
“Fuck!” is yelled through one of the doors as I make my way down. I stop at the semi tortured sound. “Son of a motherfucker.” This time, it’s growled in pure pain. Rhys.
Should I knock? Should I keep on walking? Shit. He may have something up his ass, but I know the guy who talked to me yesterday is in there.
I knock softly and push open the door, poking my head in. “Rhys?”
His eyes snap to mine, fury pulsing off his body in waves so thick I’m surprised I’m still upright and not falling on my ass.
“Did I say you could come in?” he barks, and I jump at his unexpected words.
“I—”
“No. I didn’t fucking say you could come in here.”
I’m so stunned by his harsh tone that I don’t know what to do. My feet are stuck to the floor. Do I stay? Do I go? I’m not sure which. And why in the hell is he so pissed off?
“I heard you yelling and thought I could help. Sorry.” I start to shut the door, realizing I need to get the hell out of here. Thankfully, my feet are finally listening to my brain.
“Stop,” he barks, and once again, my body listens, halting in its tracks. “Shut the door and come here.”
Before I can think, I’m standing in front of him by his desk where he sits with his bloodied hand wrapped in a towel, the redness seeping through the fabric.
“Can you get the glass out?” he asks me.
Again, I don’t even think, only move on instinct, grabbing the small tweezers on the desk and pulling the lamp closer to his hand to see better.
“You gonna move the towel?” I ask, ready to examine his hand.
He grunts, setting it to the side.
The gash from the glass is deep, red, and a bit puffy. The blood has slowed to only a trickle since he held the towel for compression. However, small shards of glass reflect in the light.
Rhys says nothing, but grabs a bottle of amber liquid from the floor beneath him, taking a hard pull on it then setting it back down.
Carefully, I remove each small piece I see while Rhys doesn’t even flinch or move an inch. This has to hurt in some way. Even when I pull out a larger chunk of glass, no reaction comes from him. He sits there stoically, unmoving, unyielding. I can’t help being impressed by his strength.
“Does it hurt?” I ask carefully, trying to gauge how he’s feeling and not doing a great job of it.
“Doesn’t feel good,” he remarks, picking up the bottle and taking another swig.
I pull out the last shard and look up at him. “You should really get it cleaned out and stitched up.”
My mouth gapes open as Rhys takes the bottle of liquor and pours it directly on the cut. Again, he acts as if he poured water on it, and it doesn’t burn in the slightest. He doesn’t move, simply pulls the bottle back up to his lips and drinks.
“Clean,” he comments.
I close my mouth, gathering my thoughts because, at the moment, they are all over the place: confusion of his anger, admiration for his strength, lust for his body, and so many more that I can’t put my finger on.
“Stiches?” He sets his bottle down and throws me a small bottle of liquid stiches.
“All righty then,” I mummer, opening the bottle. I’ve used these before; there isn’t anything to them.
I reach over to a box of Kleenexes, pull some out, and dab his wounds, getting the liquid off. I then begin to place the clear liquid on the wound.
“Why did you do this to yourself?” I ask, pulling the skin together to seal the cut and then holding it taut.
Rhys takes another drink. If I had drunk as much as him, I would be drunk as hell right now. A cold shiver goes down my spine from remembering the last time that I was in the presence of a drunk, and my hands still.
“What?” he asks, startling me from my thoughts.
“Nothing,” I answer quickly, needing to get this over with then get the hell out of here and to my mother. Rhys still scares me, and having him drunk, my gut tells me, is not a good situation.
Rhys sets the bottle down as I hold his cut together, letting the stitches do their job. His other hand comes to my chin as he lifts my head, and my eyes fly to his.
“You don’t lie to me, Sprite. Ever.” The seriousness in his tone and eyes floors me. I feel compelled to listen to him, and I have no idea why.
I give a soft nod. I also can’t help the pang that rushes through me at the name sprite, another something confusing.
“What were you thinking about?” he asks.
When I pull my bottom lip into my mouth and try to think of how to put this, his thumb comes to my lip, pulling it away from my teeth. I open my lips, my tongue darting out to touch the top of his finger automatically. He tastes of man and salt.
Rhys growls low and deep as my pulse begins thumping rapidly in my veins. What is going on here? Who am I kidding? I know exactly what is going on. My body is responding to this scary as hell man who could be old enough to be my father.
“You’re drinking a lot,” I finally answer. “Last time I was with someone drunk, it didn’t end so well.”
“I’m nowhere near drunk,” he tells me, and I can’t stop the uncertainty, so I divert.
“How long have you known Dagger?”
He quirks his brow as I work. “Nice change.” He catches me. “I’ve known him about twenty years.”
“And that makes you how old?” I’m digging. I admit it. I want to know more about this man. He intrigues me like no other. I sort of get the biker hard from the outside, but is it on the inside, too? Just from our brief conversations, I’ve only learned he has no family, sort of like me. Somehow, I feel that connects us.
“Forty-four.”
I think for long moments, trying to decide how I feel about it. On one hand, society would have a field day with it, but I’m not society. I can’t worry about what others will think, but the one I am concerned about is my mother. Listen to me, already thinking ahead when I have no idea what’s even in front of me.
“What?” he asks.
“You’re twenty-one years older than me,” I tell him, something he already knows. “How old is Dagger?”
“Fifty-one.” My eyes widen as I do the math in my head. My mother is forty-one, so that makes my father ten years older than her. Wow. I let that sink in for a moment. When my mother said she was young when she hooked up with my father, I didn’t realize he was that much older.
I snap out of my thoughts, finish up his hand, and then sit back on my heels, looking up at him.
“You gonna talk or let me guess what’s going on in the pretty head of yours?”
He said pretty. I bite my lip. “Just doing the math on ages.”
“Does the age thing bother you?”
That is a very loaded question. I think I’m a little stunned more than bothered.
I shrug. “It’s my mother and Dagger’s life,” I finally say, because that fact is true. I can’t be the judge of any of that.
“I meant that I’m twenty-one years older than you.”
My eyes widen just as the air in the room starts crackling with a charge between us. Some invisible connection between the two of us flairs to life, and my breathing picks up as I feel it deep in my bones.
Rhys eyes me. “Fuck it,” he grinds out.
His hand on my chin leaves me and is placed behind my head. He pulls me to him, his lips touching mine. I take that back. His lips don’t touch mine; his lips devour mine. I’ve been kissed, but this isn’t kissing. What Rhys is doing to me is all-consuming, sucking every bit of breath out of me and leaving me so wanton I fall into it. His lips move with the precision of years of practice, knowing each movement with ease. They are soft yet demanding as he plunges his tongue in my mouth, taking everything I give and then taking more.
I wrap my arms around his hard body as he stands from the chair, pulling us together. Each plane of his defined body touches some part of mine. His hands move to my arms, pulling them away from him. I follow willingly, too involved with the kiss to give anything a second thought. All I can think of is him and the fire burning inside me.
He clutches my wrists in one of his big hands behind my back, subduing me. His other hand comes to my face, the warmth of it seeping into my blood.
He abruptly pulls away, and my wanting lips try to follow his to get them back, to get the glorious feeling that he gave me back.
“I’m going to tie you to my bed and fuck you all damn night.” The deep baritone of his voice, combined with the words he spoke, set off a fire so hot inside that it inflames me.
I have never been tied up, never thought I would want to be, but in this moment, I’m pretty sure I would do anything he said.
Rhys studies me intently. “Fuck. Your pupils are dilated and cheeks are pink. You fucking like it.” He doesn’t give me a second to answer as he collides his lips to mine again, taking me in a punishing, brutal, delectable kiss.
“Tanner!” Dagger’s voice booms through the closed door just as Rhys pulls back in a huff.
“Fuck,” Rhys growls. “In here!” he calls to the door as it swings open.
Dagger’s eyes scan me up and down, and I turn my head from his stare. I don’t feel bad about what I did, but he’s my father, and that has to be weird or something. Hell, I don’t know. My head and body are still so wrapped up in Rhys that I can’t think.
“Fucking hell, Rhys,” Dagger says in an annoyed tone.
“What do you fucking want?” Rhys growls, his hand still restraining mine.
I pull, trying to get away, but he only tightens his grip, so I look up at him.
“Stay,” is all he says to me, and I blink my eyes rapidly.
Did he just tell me to stay like some fucking dog? The fog he put me under starts to evaporate as anger replaces it.
“Let me go.” I give him my fuck-off voice and tug on my arms again.
“No,” he says then turns his attention back to Dagger. “What?”
“Brother, let her go.” The air in the room changes, becoming thick and dense. It’s coming off both Rhys and Dagger like a bulky smoke.
I suck in a deep breath, knowing I’ll only add fuel to this fire if I don’t tread carefully.
“Rhys,” I call, getting his attention back. “Please let me go. I have to go check on my mom.” I say it calmly, trying to defuse the bomb that I feel may go off at any moment.
“That’s why I came to find you. She’s awake and demanding she see you.” Dagger shakes his head from side to side. “She hasn’t changed a bit.”
There is so much I want to know to this story, but one situation at a time.
“See? I have to go,” I tell Rhys, whose eyes are pissed as hell and brows drawn together.
After what feels like the longest stare down in my life, he releases my hands, and I pull them in front of me then begin to rub my wrists, hoping he didn’t leave marks on my body. I already have enough of those.
I step back a few feet, giving us some distance. “Hope you feel better,” I tell him, still rubbing the sensitive skin as I turn to Dagger. “I’m going to her.”
I dart from the room so fast one would think my ass is on fire, but I don’t care. I need time to process all of this.