Chapter Four
It shouldn’t fucking matter, Vandal told himself even as his heart dropped. She was one woman, they’d had one night, and there were plenty of other women in Harleston. It shouldn’t matter.
So why did it matter so much?
“You are married to him?” he asked, hands balling into fists. “Fuck, Tara—”
“No,” she cut in, voice steely. “We’ve been divorced for four months. We were separated for a year before that. I’m not married to that man anymore.”
She made man into a bitter curse. Something burned in her eyes and Vandal was relieved to see it was hatred. The relief suffused him, icy and invigorating. He exhaled loudly, running his hands through his hair. “Thank fuck.”
She laughed, crossing her arms defensively. “Why? Why would it matter? How did you even know?”
“Club business,” he said automatically. Another Psycho City rule about women: they didn’t need to know shit.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re into some shady shit with the Madden Gang? Has Niall said something to you?”
He shook his head, crossing the room to her. Now he knew, he couldn’t stand to not touch her. And she came into his arms willingly, wrapping her arms around his neck despite the misgivings plain on her face. He kissed her hard, wanting to brand her.
“I want you,” he said, locking his arms around her waist and pulling her in as hard as he could. “And I want to know I can have you, any time, any place. And that means I want to know there are no other men, Tara. I want you to myself.”
Lust chased away some of the trepidation on her face. “There’s no one else,” she said, voice breathy. “Especially not a fucking Madden boy.”
He slid his hands down, cupping her ass and lifting her easily onto the counter. She wrapped her legs around him as if they’d been doing this for years. She squealed with laughter when he bit her neck, then shivered with pleasure when he ran his tongue over the tender skin.
“What did he do to you?” he whispered, licking the curve of her ear. He’d done something, that much was clear from the venom in her voice when she mentioned Niall.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about him. I want you inside me.”
Her words sent an electric current straight to his cock. He was only too happy to oblige. He pulled off her t-shirt as she tugged at his jeans. She wore a simple baby blue bra underneath, and there was something erotically innocent about the color that turned Vandal on even more. He cupped her breasts, skimming his lips over the inviting mounds, then dropping his mouth to tug lightly at her nipples through the cotton. She mumbled his name, still fumbling with his jeans.
It was the work of a few seconds to get them both out of their jeans, but Vandal hesitated, his fingers tracing her pert nipples through the bra. “I don’t have a condom.”
She grasped his stiff cock through his boxers, squeezing gently. “Then don’t finish in my cunt,” she whispered wickedly in his ear.
Vandal closed his eyes, lost. She was evil. She was perfect. He tugged down her panties, desperate to be inside her. The counter was the wrong height, so he picked her up and carried her over to the couch, settling her on his lap. Within seconds, he was inside her, his cock sliding home and drawing a long, low moan from her. She ground her hips and grabbed his hands, bringing them up to cup her breasts.
He was lost. She was made for him, her body made to play with, every curve made to explore, that sweet, filthy mouth made for…
He grabbed her hips, stopping her. She gave him a curious look.
“On your knees,” he said. “I want to see what your mouth looks like with my dick in it.”
She slid to the floor with an eagerness that made him groan. Grasping his thighs, she took his shaft into her mouth with deliberate slowness. She ran her tongue up and down, around his head, her eyes locked on his the whole time. Every lick sent hot shivers through Vandal, threatening to break him before he’d really, truly begun to enjoy the sight of her down there.
He knotted his fingers in her hair, controlling her tempo and relishing the muffled sounds of her pleasure as he kept her mouth where he wanted it. “Picture fucking perfect,” he breathed. “I wanna film you next time you do this.”
And there was going to be a next time. Right then, he wouldn’t have cared if she was married to Johnny Madden himself as long as she kept sucking him off, bringing him to the very edge of his self-control. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had made him feel like this—both vulnerable and dominant. It was addictive. She was addictive, and he wasn’t giving her up.
He didn’t care who he had to go through to keep her. Tara Murphy belonged to him now.
****
Two weeks later, Vandal drove into the Psycho City compound riding high and with the sweet scent of Tara’s perfume clinging to his cut. He’d spent more nights at hers than here or his own apartment in the past fortnight, learning how to tease and torment her, and new ways he could be tormented himself. Nights curled up on her sofa watching classic horror flicks and eating toffee popcorn—her favorite food. Nights sprawled in her bed with her leisurely giving him head while he toked a joint, the mellow smoke drifting out the open window and into the sultry darkness.
Nights where he’d shown her the scars he got saving a civilian’s life in a bomb blast in Afghanistan. Nights where she’d shown him the scars that drove her to leave Niall Madden, who was as quick with his fists as his mouth. He loved that she wasn’t ashamed, that she wore the scars like jewels, proud to have survived, to have gotten out. He hated that any other man had laid a hand on her, in passion or violence. He was going to be the last man she showed those scars to. The last man to see her naked. The only man she’d ever want or need.
He parked in his usual spot and took a minute to settle the possessive darkness clawing at him. As much as he could easily spend all day, every day obsessing over Tara, he didn’t have that luxury today. True’s man in the Harleston PD had confirmed earlier in the week that Brutus was being questioned over Beak’s murder. The Black Dogs had fallen into disarray with surprising swiftness, and Johnny Madden was ready to talk to Psycho City. As Sergeant at Arms, and therefore responsible for the MC’s security, Vandal’s presence at the meeting was key.
Johnny had given him a list of people he was bringing to the meeting, and Vandal would be checking every member of Johnny’s retinue for weapons. It was a condition of the meeting that everyone was unarmed, one he’d put forward himself. The Maddens liked to trash talk, and you could never guarantee tempers wouldn’t flare, no matter how mutually beneficial a business arrangement might be. Vandal never took chances with his brothers’ well-being. He hadn’t done it in the Marines and he didn’t do it here.
He found True and Spider already in the chapel, along with Cannibal and Shrike, the club’s Treasurer. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation. True clasped a giant mug of coffee, looking deceptively calm as he leafed through the morning papers, but Vandal saw the set of his shoulders and recognized the tension there. A deal with the Madden Gang would be extremely lucrative. If there was one thing True loved almost as much as his club it was cold, hard cash.
“You’re late,” Spider said as Vandal took his seat.
Vandal made a show of checking his watch. “I showed up right when I meant to.”
“Knock it off,” True said, without much heat. “Now that we are all here, I want to lay a few ground rules.”
Everyone switched their focus to him obediently. True never needed to do much to command attention. Built like a boxer and styled like a villainous Victorian gentleman, he was a compelling combination of rough and smooth. People wanted to stare at him. They wanted to listen. His brothers were no different, especially because they knew he was always worth listening to.
“Hopefully this goes without saying,” True said, sweeping his stern gaze over them all, “but no bullshit today. We know the Maddens like to push buttons—don’t rise to it. And no word about the Dogs. It’s much better for us if they look like they fucked up all by themselves.”
Cannibal snorted. “We’re not stupid, True,” he said. “We’ll follow your lead, same as always.”
True nodded. “Just want to make sure we’re all on the same page.” He glanced pointedly at Vandal.
Vandal frowned, rattled by his President’s veiled message. He hadn’t told any of his brothers he was still seeing Tara, not after Spider’s initial warning. But once he knew she was divorced from Niall, he hadn’t seen that it mattered. Tara and Niall were history, and Vandal sure as hell didn’t pry into his brothers’ sex lives.
Before he could answer, True’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and nodded to himself. “They’re here.”
Trying to push True’s words from his mind, Vandal stood sentry at the door. Adrenaline pumped through him when the knock came, and he blamed True entirely. Smoothing over his frown, he opened the door to greet Johnny Madden and his boys.
Johnny was a dapper-looking man in his fifties, still burly and powerfully built. His ginger hair was flecked with gray and his face bore the lines of both experience and age, but his eyes were what really marked him as dangerous. Shrewd and dark, they pierced Vandal, reminding him of a sand viper he’d found in his room once in Afghanistan. A kind of coldness that said the snake would bite you if it had to, but it didn’t give a shit either way. Johnny had that same detachment.
“Morning, boys,” he said, his voice bearing the faint traces of his native Irish accent. “Beautiful day to strike a deal.”
“I hope so,” True said. He waited until Vandal had patted Johnny down, then rose to greet him.
They clasped hands like old friends. Whether it was an act or not, it settled Vandal’s nerves. It helped that Johnny’s three henchmen were all weapons-free, as agreed, and gave him no trouble as he searched them.
The fourth man was a problem. The fourth man had not been on Johnny’s list. Vandal found himself staring into a pair of steely dark eyes that burned with a naked aggression. Vandal frowned. “Your list said you were bringing three guys, Johnny,” he said, keeping his gaze locked on the unexpected visitor’s.
“Change of plans,” Johnny said. “I figured you lads wouldn’t mind me bringing my boy along. Give him a feel for the business, you know? Niall, say hello to everyone.”
“Hello,” Tara’s ex-husband said.