I hope to arrive to my death,
late, in love, and a little drunk.
-Atticus
After job hunting, I decide to say screw it and stop by the compound. Nightmare obviously wanted me here for some reason. I don’t know why, but whatever, guess we’ll find out.
Heading into the clubhouse, I see him instantly. How can I not? Anytime he’s in the vicinity, I’m immediately drawn to him. He calls to me on a deeper level, as if his soul is an old friend of mine.
Honey has her hand wrapped around his bicep, and it’s all I can take. Princess was right about it sparking jealousy inside me. I’m not a jealous person either, but Nightmare is my hard limit. No one needs to touch him like she’s doing.
Stopping, I decide it’s best to just leave, rather than hit her again. I don’t know if he enjoys her attention and pretends otherwise, but fuck that. I don’t have time for bullshit, especially when I already have enough grief from him.
I’m a grown-ass woman, and while I like to tangle, I won’t put up with club crap. I’m not an ol’ lady; I don’t have dibs on him, even if it feels as if I should. In reality, he’s not mine. He never was, and he probably never will be.
I barely poked my head in, and, thankfully, no one noticed me. I make my way back to the parking lot full of bikes and my car. It stands out like a neon sign amongst the beautifully painted motorcycles. Especially Nightmare’s. I’ve always loved the glossy black finish. It’s humongous up close, definitely a bike fit for a big man. The best word to describe Night would be imposing, and his bike, no doubt, fits that description as well.
My fingertips trail over his seat, the same place I sat on when he took me with him to see him play at Shorty’s. God, I loved watching him beat on those drums. It was practically sinful, his hair going in every direction, his biceps flexing as sweat beaded on his forehead. Yum.
My anger ignites again as I glance at the carefully airbrushed sandman on the tank. It’s creepy as fuck and fits his name perfectly. He’s the shit that nightmares are made of if you piss him off in the wrong way.
I made a promise that he wouldn’t be the only one around here known as a Nightmare if he crossed me. My actual words were him calling me or insinuating that I was being a bitch, but I’d say this instance counts. It’s the perfect time to teach the man a lesson.
I giggle to myself. It’s probably more like a cackle, a crazy one, but who’s paying attention at this point. My mind’s made up. It’s time to play with my food, my meal being Nightmare.
Pulling my keys free from my purse, I open the small pocket knife I keep on my keyring and bend toward his back tire where no one can see me. Finding the softest spot on the back tire, I press the blade into the thick rubber. It’s no easy feat, but I get it with some pressure. It won’t go flat immediately with the clean slice, but it’ll do the trick with a little time.
Wearing an evil grin, I let out a deep breath. That felt freaking great! Not one to let my handy work go unnoticed, I head for the beautiful white airbrush design and scrape a large Bright in the middle of the sandman.
Fucking piss me off bastard biker, and I’ll show you what crazy is. I could never be his ol’ lady because of shit like this. I’d end up slitting a hoe’s throat for touching him; I’m not patient like Princess is. She gets club life; she belongs here. Me, well, he’d probably strangle me by the time Maverick turned ten years old.
I found a job. It’s nothing special, but it’ll do. Obviously, with my little tantrum here, I’ll need it, too. He’ll want me to pay to have his shit fixed no doubt, but it won’t happen. At least this way he should be pissed enough to make me move out, which is the end goal after all.
Sucks he’s so damn good-looking and enticing, makes it harder to be evil toward him. I would’ve loved it if we could work things out, but he hates me for keeping our son from him. I can’t blame him for feeling that way, but I refuse to be around him twenty-four hours a day, in his arms if he can’t forgive me.
I can hear the air slowly escaping the tire. The sound’s barely there, and if he leaves soon, he won’t notice it right away more than likely. I’d think he’d see the gash in his tank first off and then the tire would be the little kicker following up my handiwork.
Ugh, I hope he doesn’t try riding it like this though. While I want to piss him off and screw with him, I don’t want him to wreck and seriously injure himself. He’s been a decent dad to Mav so far…No, he’s been a great father to our son. I’m a bitch, but he already knows that. He mentioned it earlier. Perhaps I should carve bitch on the other side.
Nah, that may be pushing it. I want him furious, not feeling lethal.
One last glance at my special surprise, and I make the trek back to my car, grinning the entire way.
Welcome to crazy town motherfucker. Next time you’ll remember why I punched the slut in the first place.
For you.
We head out to the parking lot; half of the brothers are planning to hit up Scot’s ol’ ladies bar. I’m done, ready to go have dinner with my family, especially after brushing Honey off all damn afternoon. It seems as if she’s more persistent now that Bethany’s come around and let her presence be known.
It’s getting old fast. I haven’t given her any reason to believe I’d be interested. It’s fucking annoying. I don’t fuck club pussy—never have, never will. They all know this, but a new bitch shows up, and it’s like everyone forgets to leave me the hell alone in the process. Maybe my glare isn’t as menacing now that I’m getting older. Back in the day, one nasty look would send a chick running scared.
My rear tire looks a bit low. I may need to pull it over to the garage and top it off with the compressor before hitting the highway. A low tire and some gravel can screw up anyone, even seasoned riders. We need to be extra careful and prepared with the talk of the Iron Fists being in town as well. Last thing we want is to be caught unprepared by some dickwads with an axe to grind.
“Daaaaaamn.” Saint laughs and points at my tank, clearly amused by something.
“The fuck?” I grit, pulling a smoke free and lighting it. Fucker’s losing it, I know it. Sinner needs to reel his homeboy’s shit in.
“You pissed someone off, brother.” Sinner chuckles, shaking his head, and I finally come to stand beside them.
Sure as hell my tank is scratched up—deeply. This was no accidental brush up or dip from someone. This was intentional and caused some serious damage. Taking a deep breath, I run my hand over the deep indentions. My scarred palm sits on the warm metal, and it hits me.
It’s a motherfuckin’ B.
“Motherfuckin’ woman, Jesus Christ. I’m gonna strangle her ass for this.”
“You need help taking care of whoever did this?” Saint offers, and I shake my head. I’ll smack her ass cherry red for pulling something this ballsy.
“Nah. I know exactly who did this. I can handle her on my own.”
Sinner’s eyes widen. “Shit, no way, it was Bethany? You pissed her off pretty bad for that one, huh?” His charcoal irises glance to Saint, an amused grin painted amongst the dark scruff overtaking his jaw.
“I didn’t do shit to her. Bitch is fucking crazy in the head. She’s gonna put me on my death bed with her antics if she keeps it up.”
There’s nothing I can do besides order a new tire to be delivered because I’d bet my left nut that’s her doing as well. I’m sure there’s a hole somewhere if I look close enough; hell, maybe one in the front, too. Glad we came out pretty early; would’ve been bad if it was at night and I didn’t notice right away.
How she came up with this in the first place is beyond me. You’d think I made her life hell with the torture she put my bike through.
If it were anyone other than her, I’d be hunting them down for retribution. You don’t mess with a man’s bike. It’s like rule number one in this lifestyle. I need to call Spin at the other club, too, and see if he and Twist can repaint and then airbrush my tank this week. This blows and not in a good way.
Looks like I’m borrowing Scot’s truck again. I hope for B’s sake she’s not home, ‘cause this is going to take more than the drive home for me to calm my shit. She has some serious explaining to do, and she’s either sorting it out to be fixed, or she’s paying me in pussy. Whatever it is, she better get on board, because she crossed a fucking line. Again.
I end up stopping for gas for Scot’s truck and then driving around for an hour trying to think and cool off. Cooling down is not my usual behavior. Normally, I’d find the person and make them pay in however I saw fit, but, this time, it’s different.
I don’t want to do something that she won’t be able to forgive me for. Why I care, I don’t know. Do I have feelings for her? Of course, I do. I had a soft spot from the moment I pulled her onto my lap in that stupid bar.
She was lit up on alcohol and painkillers, but that’s not what I saw when I looked at her. I saw someone who was damaged like me, yet she was beautiful. Somehow, she’d survived and was put in my path. Then I lost her and thought maybe I was being an idiot.
Clearly, I wasn’t since she’s the mother of my child. I don’t care what anyone says, what anyone tries to make you believe, but when a woman has your child, she automatically carves out a piece of you. I could hate her with every breath I have, but, in the end, she carried and gave birth to my son. For that alone, I’ll owe her forever.
I should despise her for what she’s done, but after seeing how good she is to Maverick, I can’t. I ought to, I know it, but I don’t. Truth is, I want her, and as each day passes us, my anger from her deceit dissipates, and my hunger to have her grows.
I’ve never wanted a woman so badly in my life like I do her, and especially after pulling something crazy like she did today. It makes me want to fuck her until she begs for my forgiveness. I want her to plead with me to make her mine, so I don’t look like the weak one in this. When it boils down to it, I am. I’d probably do anything she asked, and that’s so goddamn scary, to let someone own you like that.
Pulling up to my house, it all looks the same. Well, the same since she and Mav have arrived. The front porch light shines brightly, as does the one over the garage. The blinds are closed, but I can see Bethany left the kitchen light on over the sink, and I’d bet there’s a plate full of whatever she cooked waiting for me in the microwave, too.
It’s something I never had growing up or throughout my life—consistency and care. My father’s wives never did it; that’s for sure. Hell, they never had a chance to. Life was probably terrifying living with a man whose moods were constantly swinging from one side to the other. It was rough for me being his son, can’t imagine having to be married to the bastard.
I don’t want to be that way with Bethany. I know I’m a bit moody and quiet, but that’s just who I am. I never want her to fear for her safety when it comes to me. Her sanity maybe, since she drives me just as crazy it seems.
I bypass the kitchen, going straight for the room she’s taken over since moving in. She belongs in my bedroom with me, but we haven’t hit that level yet. She wants her space, and I’m attempting to give it to her.
Maverick ought to be knocked out by now, so he shouldn’t hear shouting if there turns out to be any. While arguing may be a natural part of a relationship, I don’t want my kid witnessing his mom and me going at each other. Her actions today tell me she wants a fight.
Pushing the door open, Bethany’s gaze meets mine, and instantly her eyes widen. She knows she fucked up. I probably look like an angry bear storming in while she’s in her normal nighttime attire. The first time I saw her wearing only her cami shirt with no bra and a pair of panties, I thought my dick was going to pop out of my pants on its own accord.
She’s already beautiful—the kind of classic beauty that she thinks makes her look plain. She’s nowhere near ordinary, she’s perfect. Pair that with barely any clothes and it’s enough to tongue-tie me, making me think of other things I want to do with her. Not right now, though. I need to get my point across.
“You fucked up,” I growl, grabbing her by her biceps and slamming her onto her back against the bed.
Grabbing at my hands, she sputters, “Please, I’m sorry, I know, okay?”
Taking her wrists into one of my palms, I grip them above her head. Then wrap my other around her neck just tight enough to make her nervous, and I bring my nose to hers. “You don’t touch a man’s bike. That kind of crazy ain’t cute dollface,” I growl. It’s hard to be pissed when my body’s laying over hers on top of a bed. I can feel her curves in all the right places.
“Night, I can’t breathe.” She sucks in a breath through her lips.
“Bullshit.” I flex my fingers tighter, and she sputters again. “See, you got breathing room.” My lips nearly touch hers as I peer into her shocked irises. “You owe me, Bethany. How you gonna repay me for this little tantrum of yours?”
“I, uh…”
My mouth whispers over her lips, “You finally gonna give up that pussy, baby?”
“You want it?” she replies breathily, making my heart stutter.
“Fuck yes.”
“Good, keep wanting it. You won’t be touching it anytime soon.”
“Fucking bitch.” My nostrils flare, and she leans up, quick enough to bite my bottom lip savagely. “Shit!” I pull back as the coppery taste of blood overtakes my tongue. “I should bruise your ass for that one.”
“You won’t, not until I give in, and right now, it’s not happening. And don’t call me bitch, bastard.”
Grumbling, I push off the bed, releasing her as I stand and adjust myself. The woman’s going to be the goddamn death of me. “You have to give me something. You fucked my shit up.”
“Fine.” She stands, coming chest to chest with me. “You want something?”
I watch her. She could be baiting me. This is Bethany we’re talking about. She’s not like other women; she likes to keep me on my toes. I’m always guessing when it comes to her.
B licks her lips and drops to her knees. Seeing her below me like that has me awestruck. She’s breathtaking.
Quickly she unbuckles my belt and unsnaps my jeans, letting the zipper down. My cock is throbbing with need, wanting her to touch and feel me everywhere. It’s been too long since I’ve been with a woman. Having her here, like this has me damn near jittery with excitement.
“Still a boxer brief man, I see,” she states, pushing my pants and underwear down my thighs.
I mutter a reply, but it comes out more as jibber-jabber. She probably didn’t understand me; hell, I don’t even know what I said. All that matters right now is her hand gripping on to my cock like she’s about to downshift into second gear or some shit. It’s tight and feels magnificent.
“Fuck,” I gasp, with her tongue coming to lick my tip like a lollipop.
“Oh, Nightmare, you still taste good, too.” Bethany winks up at me, and my stomach tightens with lust. I want to taste her, too, feel her against me.
“Let me bury my cock in you.”
“Mmm, no.” The tip of my dick sinks between her plump lips before she pulls back and finishes. “I won’t be that easy for you, again,” she promises and then sucks my cock all the way to the back of her throat.
I’d probably offer her a ring at a moment like this if I knew it would sway her, but it won’t. Bethany’s never been the marrying type. She’ll be loyal for life, I can tell, but she doesn’t need a man’s last name to do so. She reminds me of myself in so many ways. Maybe that’s why I’ve wanted her so badly from the start.
Her head bobs and she swirls her tongue as she draws backward. I’m damn near to the point I should probably say a prayer thanking whatever being is responsible for creating her. That mouth of hers is torture in the best and worst of ways when it comes to me.
“You weren’t easy. I never gave you a choice; I was having you and we had fun.” Groaning, my hands tangle in her brunette locks. “Fuck, you’re good at that, baby.”
“Say my name.”
“Huh?”
Her eyes look up, stopping on my own. “I said, ‘say my name,’ Nightmare. Who am I? Who’s sucking your cock right now?”
“Bethany.” It leaves my mouth in a whoosh as her lips sink back over my length. I have to hand it to her; the bossy shit turns me on like no other. “Suck my cock, Bethany,” I demand, and her teeth graze over my sensitive skin, causing my nuts to tingle, building anticipation.
She pauses, licking the tip in short, quick strokes and prickly sensations overtake the arches of my feet as amazing sensations shoot in every direction throughout my body. One powerful twist around my cock from both of her hands at the same time while she draws me inside her warm, wet mouth and I’m gone. My feet flex inside my motorcycle boots, my leg achy from balancing. Next, my hands that’re already gripping her hair, close into fists, pulling and groaning as my mind fades into pure bliss and my cum shoots down her welcoming throat.
Pump after pump she swallows what I give her, and for the first time since she’s arrived, it’s like I can think clearly again. The fog she’s had me in finally begins to thin, and everything’s not angry or fuzzy. I’m here, in this moment, with her.
“Are you still mad?” she mutters, climbing to her feet. She wipes over her lips and I swallow thickly at the sight. I don’t think I could ever get enough when it comes to her.
Shaking my head, I fix my pants. “Nah, but what knife did you use to cut my tire?”
“It’s ummm…the one on my keyring.” She gestures to the dresser and then goes and gets her keys. Holding her palm out in front of me, I lift them up, finding the small pocket knife. It’s the definition of cute to a chick. To me, it looks like something I would’ve had when I was six.
“Dollface, let me get you a knife, yeah?” I remove her knife which would be considered a nail cleaner to me and hand her the keys. B nods, her stare curious.
She follows me to my room, where I go to my closet to retrieve an actual knife. It’s the type she should be carrying for safety or whatever it is she uses it for. Holding out the dark purple handle, she takes it from me.
“Wow, a switchblade?” She palms it in one hand, looking it over, then switches to the other hand, weighing it.
“Yeah, baby, you need something better than that scrap of metal you had on your key ring. You’re lucky it didn’t break in my tire and cut your damn hand. I’d have been more pissed havin’ to call up the doc because you needed stitched up,” I mutter, and she rewards me with a bright smile. “What?” She’s not going to fight me on it?
“Nothing, just…thank you for this.” She presses the lever with her finger—with a bright blue polished nail—and the blade shoots out. My breath falters a bit like some sort of candy-ass.
“Now, be careful with that shit.”
“I will.” She grins, sheathing the blade again. She twists around, heading for her room.
“Where are you going?”
“To bed! Dinner’s in the microwave,” the troublemaker calls behind her like I should already know.
I can’t believe she didn’t fight me on the knife. The downfall to that is if she gets pissed again, she can really screw up some shit with it. Hopefully, it’s not my bike that takes the heat again…or me, for that matter.