Breaking It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs) (14 page)

Especially now. Not with my family looking at her. Not when finding her brother depends on me joining the Notorious Few and falling in line.

“I know what you’re probably thinking,” Anna adds quietly. “You’re practically a member of my family. So where do I get off telling you not to come around?”

My gaze shoots back to hers. “Oh, is that what I’m thinking?”

Her shoulders hunch over more, as if she’s protecting herself from my anger. “I’m just saying. For holidays and stuff, of course you should still come to my mom’s place.”

“But otherwise stay the fuck away from you?”

Silently she nods.

Sick agony bursts like a blood blister through my chest. Stay away from her. I should. What she’s asking is exactly what I should be doing to protect her. I should agree and walk the hell away.

Instead I stalk closer, driven by fury, by pain. “Would it be so fucking terrible if people think we’re together?”

Her shoulders shoot back like steel was injected into her spine. Her chin lifts. “You tell me! Because it sure as hell wouldn’t be
simple
anymore.”

“Hell yeah, it would.” My blood drumming heavily through my veins, I lean in and brace my hands on the bar behind her, caging her between my arms. “It doesn’t get much simpler than a man and a woman fucking, sweetheart.”

Her eyes widen. Not hard and flat now, but glowing with gold and honey. “Wh–What did you say?”

My fingers clench on the edge of the bar. It’s the only control I’ve got left. If I touch her, if I feel her soft skin beneath my hands, Christ knows if I’ll be able to stop. She’s staring up at me, her lips parted. A hectic flush stains her pale cheeks. Deliberately I press closer, forcing her to sit back farther on the barstool and settling into the space between her thighs, watching her expression go utterly still. Her coat and skirt are wedged between us but there’s no mistaking how damn hard I am, and how easy it would be to push all the barriers aside and thrust my cock deep inside her sweet heat.

“I said a fuck is real simple.” Need roughens each word. A shiver races through her and I lower my head until I can feel her warm breath trembling across my lips. “As simple as you, me, and a bed. You won’t need to sort through the assholes if I’m already inside you. And I’ll make it so goddamn good for you, Anna.”

It’s already so fucking good. Being this close to her. Hearing the soft moan that escapes her throat before she bites her bottom lip. Feeling the sleek muscles of her thighs flex, pushing her hips against me as if seeking more pressure. I give it to her, rocking forward and grinding between her thighs. She sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth and the quiet evidence of her aroused response leaves my body shaking with tension, on the edge of coming.

For a taut moment we’re breathless, motionless. Then a shudder wracks her slender form.

“I can’t do this,” she whispers.

Jesus, she’s killing me. I close my eyes, my body in the grip of torturous need. But I can’t argue. It’s not the best time. Not when she’s grieving and not when Stone’s still out there.

I nod and lower my head, pressing my lips to the corner of her jaw, just below her ear. Arousal roughens my voice. “When I come back, then. You don’t have to send me away, Anna. I’ll give you what you need any time you want it.”

And one way or another, settle the shit with my family, so I’ll never have to stop.

“Goddammit, Gunner! I don’t want a fuck.” Her hands shove against my chest. “I want a future!”

Her push didn’t have a lot of power behind it but her words strike hard. I stagger back a step, looking down at her. Determination tightens her jaw but her eyes are huge and soft, swimming with tears.

Her gaze searches mine, and the longing in her voice tears me apart. “I want what my parents have. What Jenny has. Someone who’ll promise me forever. Are
you
going to give me that?”

I would. Oh Christ, I want to.

But I can’t promise a damn thing. Not now. If I come back and don’t bring her brother home…she sure as hell won’t want to spend that future with me.

Unbearable tension squeezes at my throat and I can’t say a goddamn word in response. But maybe she reads the answer in my face.

Her eyes close, spilling tears down her pale cheeks. “I want a future. But if everyone thinks we’re fucking each other, if they think we’re hung up on each other, I have no chance. Not in this town.” Her voice breaks and she whispers, “I mean, Jesus. Even Jenny thinks I’m in love with you.”

Her best friend. Who would know. Christ. My hands shake as I drag my fingers through my hair, trying to pull my emotions back under control. I shouldn’t even ask if Jenny’s right, because the question is a knife poised right over my heart.

But I can’t stop myself. Hoarsely I ask, “Are you?”

Anna’s shattered gaze lifts to mine. She says bleakly, “Truthfully? I don’t think I even know you.”

Her answer stabs straight through me. I can’t think. Can’t respond.

The silence between us stretches thin until she draws a shuddering breath. “Am I anything more than Stone’s sister to
you
?”

What the fuck does she think? Since the day I met her, there’s been no one else. I haven’t touched another woman. Haven’t even looked at another woman.

But if Anna has to ask…then she truly doesn’t know me. I could show her what she means to me. Right now. I could push forward, take her mouth, and with one kiss she’d know every damn thing that matters.

But her eyes, Jesus. They’re pleading with me, tears glittering in their shattered depths.

Pleading with me to say she’s more than Stone’s sister? But that’s not what she’s asking for. She’s looking for a future. A promise.

I can’t give her one.

Throat raw, I tell her, “You’re not anything more to me,” and shred my soul with the lie.

A lie she doesn’t see through. She stares at me, her expression utterly blank—like she’s not even seeing me. Like she’s seeing nothing at all.

Then she turns her face away. And shrugs.

“See,” she says. “Simple.”

“Simple,” I echo. My chest is completely hollow.

Her shoulders hunch again, her hands stuffed deep into her coat pockets. “So, yeah. And when you come back…I know it’ll be inconvenient for you not meeting up with Stone at my house or not sitting at the bar, but”—she shrugs again—“we’ll live with it.”

This is living? A harsh laugh breaks from me, dredged up from the emptiness inside my chest. But it’s not so empty any more. Agony is filling it up fast.

“Yup, we’ll live with it.” Each word comes out hard and bitter. “And you chose a damn good time to kick me out of your life. The renovation on your place is almost done. So no need for me to hang around, providing free labor.”

She flinches. And fuck me, that was low. So fucking low, lashing out like that.

I’ve got to get the hell away from her before I do it again. Because the pain is still growing, building.

I thought I knew what hell was? I thought hell was being near her and not having her? That wasn’t hell.

This is.

I can’t breathe. I turn toward the door, not seeing a damn thing but her flinch and her tears. Blindly, I put one foot in front of the next.

I’ll be putting one foot in front of the next for the rest of my pointless fucking life.

“The kegs are loaded up,” I say roughly. “I’ll drop you off at Jenny’s on my way out to the clubhouse.”

“Will you send Bottlecap here to pick me up, instead?”

Her voice is muffled and when I glance back, she looks so damn small. Tiny. Like she’s folded up in that big coat, the bottom half of her face buried in the puffy collar, her wounded gaze making her eyes seem huge.

“Yeah, I’ll send him,” I tell her. “We wouldn’t want anyone to see you’ve been alone with me. All the assholes in town will be too afraid to touch you. But hell. If a coward is what turns you on, I wish you the best.”

I hear her quick draw of breath but she just stares at me, and that wounded gaze just gets bigger, deeper.

And that wasn’t fair of me. Just not fucking fair. All she wants is a future. A life. Marriage. She deserves them. Deserves to be happy, to be loved.

But I can’t say I’m sorry. Not when seeing her with someone else will kill me.

Swallowing hard, I nod and turn away from her. “All right. We’ll make it real simple from now on. I said I’d do anything for you and I meant it. I’ll do any goddamn thing you want. So here’s me, heading right out of your life.”

I throw open the door and hell is an icy wind, blasting into my eyes, making them burn, blurring the path ahead. I want to keep going, just disappear into the middle of nowhere, and wait for the cold to take me. Wait until I’m numb. Wait until none of this matters anymore.

But I’ve got a brother to bring home. And maybe Anna did me a favor, tearing out my heart.

Where I’m going tomorrow, it’s best not to have one.

Anna

I wasn’t afraid someone would see Gunner and me together. I was afraid that I’d do exactly what I did—break down and ugly cry on the floor of Jenny’s brewery.

Fifteen minutes after Gunner walked through the door, Bottlecap pulls up in my Prius. I head out into the freezing rain to meet him. My eyes are dry, but every breath shudders with little hiccuping sobs that won’t stop. I sound bad enough that he keeps giving me worried glances on the drive back to Jenny’s. Poor kid. Stuck in a little car with an emotional woman. He’s probably terrified that I’m going to start bawling again.

I won’t. I’ve got nothing left. I’m absolutely numb as he stops the car. Dully I thank him and head around to the driver’s side. He glances toward Jenny’s house, like he’s surprised I’m not going back in, but I just can’t.

I’ve cried all day but it wasn’t like
this
. I was hurting during Red’s funeral and afterward. But I was grieving, not broken. And now…I’d scare the shit out of my mom if she saw me like this. I’d scare the shit out of Jenny.

And Gunner would see how he shattered everything inside me.

You’re not anything more to me.

I knew I wasn’t. So I shouldn’t have asked if I was. But even in the midst of trying to break the emotional chains wrapped around my heart, I just couldn’t quit.

I guess I paid for it.

The thirty-minute drive home passes in a blur of icy rain and black asphalt. I pull into my driveway and sit in the quiet and the dark, too exhausted to open the car door. I don’t remember ever being so worn out. Emotionally, physically.

I did the right thing, pushing Gunner away. I did. Now I can move forward—and find out what’s going on with Stone.

Though now I wonder if there
is
anything going on with Stone. I jumped to the conclusion that Gunner had lied about my brother being all right. And why? Because I didn’t think Stone would ever let Gunner pretend to be him.

But growing up with my mom means that I don’t ever get to escape myself. I never stop questioning my reasons for everything. I told myself that the reason I pushed Gunner away was because he lied to me about Stone, but really…it was all about me. Because what had I been doing all night? Trying to think of something wrong with Gunner. So I latched onto those doubts about Stone and used them as an excuse to tell Gunner not to come around.

Because I wasn’t brave enough to just move forward. I wasn’t smart enough to figure out how to get over him.

I haven’t been
enough
of anything.

Slowly I gather my purse, stopping for a half second to look at my phone. Any other night, I’d be messaging Stone.
Guess who set a world record today for bawling like a baby?

He’d reply with something to make me smile.

For the past week, Gunner made me smile, too. He made me laugh. But I can’t smile and laugh now. Instead the memory of him slamming out of the brewery lodges in my chest like a jagged razor.

And the memory of his touch? God. I haven’t even
begun
to work that through. All these years, nothing. He carefully stays on his side of simple. Then I piss him off and he’s all over me? Furious and ready to fuck?

I should have pissed him off before. Just enraged him, so he wouldn’t stop at pushing between my legs and promising to make it good—

No. Teeth clenched, I stop before my imagination takes it further. I can’t
do
this.

No more “should have”s.

Only moving forward. And if that movement is slow, as if every part of me is broken? So be it. I’ll go slow. At least it’ll be in the right direction.

Though Stone’s dog won’t appreciate this snail’s pace. As soon as I open the car door, the sound of Daisy’s frantic barking reaches me from the second floor.

God, the poor girl. She’s been locked in since I left for the funeral early this afternoon. And Daisy never barks; Stone taught her too well. She’ll chew up furniture and roll in shit, but she doesn’t bark. She must be desperate to be let out if she’s making that much racket.

“I’m coming, Daisy!”

The toll of today’s crying turns my voice into a hoarse croak. I’m so tired and numb, I just want to curl up in bed. But the dog demands to be let out—and curling up isn’t a step forward. Hiding away isn’t picking up the shattered pieces of my heart and getting on with life.

Letting the dog out is.

Wearily I trudge up the concrete path to the front door of my old farmhouse. There’s an unattached garage beside the house but that’s mostly Stone’s domain. Technically, the property is only mine—my brother doesn’t like leaving paper trails and lists the Riders’ old clubhouse as his official address—but Stone pitched in a huge chunk of the down payment, so it’s really ours.

Although,
really
, the house is mine. It’s where I plan to spend the next fifty years, all the remodeling I’ve done was based on my designs, and I live in the main part of the house. Stone lives in the apartment that takes up half of the second level. Years ago, the old widow who owned the place renovated the house to accommodate a renter, creating a separate living area complete with a single bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchenette. The old layout of the farmhouse included two stairways, so instead of building an exterior stair to the second floor, Stone has his own entrance on the side of the house that opens up into a shared mudroom. From there, he can turn left through a connecting door and step into my kitchen or head straight up the stairs to his place.

That connecting door’s closed now, mostly so I don’t have to heat the whole dang house. Okay, also—because sometimes Daisy gets bored, and if she’s going to chew up someone’s furniture, I’d rather she chewed up my brother’s.

And if there’s pee, I’d definitely rather sacrifice his stuff.

“I’m coming!” I call through the front door, then mutter, “Dammit, just hold on a second,” when I fumble the keys in my gloved fingers.

She’s still barking her head off. Usually if she has to go, she waits by the mudroom door—unless she had an accident, then she hides in shame under his bed. From the sound of it, she’s running from room to room upstairs.

Maybe a squirrel got through the roof or something. Jesus.

Luckily we live far enough out of town that no one will be bothered with the noise. My nearest neighbor lives across the road, but their house is set back almost a quarter mile down a long driveway.

“Hold on!” I call and swing open the door.

A shadow moves to my left. It’s big, far too big to be a dog, but still a stupid
How did Daisy get down here?
runs through my head just before pain explodes through my jaw and white bursts behind my eyes.

Daisy’s still barking. Why haven’t I let her out yet?

Dizzy and sick, I raise my head—oh my god, I’m on the floor and I don’t even remember going down. Hot metallic fluid fills my mouth. Trembling, I lift a hand to my lips. I’m drooling blood onto the wood flooring, the red splatters appearing almost black in the dark. My jaw aches and the side of my thigh is on fire. Beside me, my antique side table lies belly up. I must have tripped and whacked my leg on the table, knocking it over.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. That’s not right. Someone knocked
me
over.

Oh Jesus. Where’s my purse, my phone—

“You stay right there.”

The rough command freezes me in place. I don’t recognize the voice. Someone tall. Big. A balaclava conceals his face, the mask darker than the shadows in the foyer.

Terror sends my heart into overdrive.

With a heavy boot, he kicks the door closed. His gloved hand twists the deadbolt. Locking me in here with him. A panicked sob catches in my throat. My gaze darts farther into the house. In the dark, I have the advantage. I know the layout. If I’m fast enough, I can get to the kitchen. Then up to Stone’s place. He’s got guns, he’s showed me how to use them, and Daisy can slow this guy down.

“Uh uh.” It’s a warning. “Don’t you move.”

A flashlight shines in my face and I squint, raising my hand against the glare.

“Take off that big coat. I want to make sure you haven’t got anything stuffed in there that’ll make this difficult.”

Nothing in my coat. But there’s pepper spray in my purse. Averting my gaze away from the harsh light, I spot my bag farther down the hall, lying on its side with the contents spilled across the floor. My keys. My phone. The pepper spray is lodged against the foot of the storage bench sitting beneath the coat rack.

If I can just get to that…

Slowly I stand, gritting my teeth against the pain shooting through the muscle in my thigh. My shaking hands lift to the zip of my coat. The rasp of the zipper seems to drag down my spine like claws and I’m suddenly struck by a new terror.

I’m already vulnerable. And now he’s asking me to remove clothing?

Stomach roiling, I face the light again. It’s coming from a phone, the tiny flashlight bright enough to blind. “Please just tell me—”

“Take off the fucking coat.”

I do. Tossing it to the floor, I stand shivering.

The light travels down over me, slowly, as if he’s liking what he sees. Oh god. Stiffly I wait, teeth chattering, the ache in my heart joining the throbbing agony in my jaw, my leg.

“The way your brother looks, I didn’t expect his sister to be a fucking knockout. That’ll make this a hell of a lot more fun than the usual.”

More fun.
Sick fear shrivels my skin as if my entire body is drawing in, trying to hide. His intent is obvious—but I can’t make sense of the rest. “My brother?”

“Blond. Scarred. A real stubborn motherfucker. That sound right?”

I nod, my mind racing. I need to keep him talking. If he’s talking then he’s not hurting me.

And maybe it’ll give me time to think of a way out of this.

“Well, he’s
too
fucking stubborn.” Dark humor laces his voice. “So we have to persuade him.”

Persuade Stone using me? But why would they need to? Unless they’d already tried to persuade him…and couldn’t.

Horror grips me. Gunner said my brother was okay but maybe something went down after Gunner left. It must have, because if any of the Riders knew this was coming, I wouldn’t be here alone. “Have you hurt him?”

“Damaging the goods? Nah. We need him in prime condition. And this is more efficient. Lots of men can withstand pain. But hurt their women?”

The light switches off and spots dance in front of my eyes. Oh god. Oh god. I need to keep him talking so he won’t come over here and do what I think he’s going to do. “Persuade him to do what?”

“Fight.” The shadow moves closer. I back up but the wall’s behind me. His gloved hand roughly grips my chin and pain rips through my jaw. “I’m going to enjoy giving him a reason.”

Sour bile rolls onto the back of my tongue. Desperately I try to focus on anything but the fear and dread clawing through me.

They want Stone to fight? I know what this is about. This is what Gunner and my brother were looking for—some fucked up cage match where the men fight to the death.

That makes so much sense. And it must be why my brother isn’t here—that undercover thing Gunner said he was doing. He and Gunner must have found the connection they were looking for. Maybe that’s why a girl was involved or maybe she was how Stone got inside? And now they want him to fight but he won’t—because if Stone goes into the ring, he’ll have to kill his opponent. An opponent who hasn’t done anything to threaten the Riders or his family. Stone wouldn’t do that. My brother has killed before but he draws lines.

So they’re going to hurt me to make him step over that line.

“Hurting me won’t do it,” I rasp.

“Yes, it will.” He fists his fingers in my hair. Pain tears across my scalp as he forces my head back. “It always does. Because if he keeps refusing, we’ll tell him we’ll come back and finish you.”

“It won’t work,” I say and it takes everything I have to keep the terror out of my voice, to speak with firm confidence. “Not with Stone. He’ll assume you already killed me. He doesn’t know you’re wearing a mask and gloves and I can’t identify you at all.” Oh my god, please let that be why he’s wearing them—because he intends to leave me alive. “He’ll assume that after you hurt me, you killed me to make sure I stay quiet. And then he’ll have no reason at all to fight.”

“You’re just trying to save yourself.”

“Yes, I am.” Gaze unwavering, I stare up at him, at the dark eyes visible in the face of the mask. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. I know my brother. You want him to fight? Then promise him that he’ll be able to call me and hear my voice. Tell him that if he fights and wins, you’ll let him verify that I’m still alive, that I’m all right. He’ll fight for that.”

A long silence falls between us, as if he’s weighing my words against what he already knows about Stone.

He releases me and steps back. Relief lifts through my chest, then abruptly crashes when he says, “Take off that dress.”

“Please—”

“If he wins, I’ll let him call. But I’ve still got to let him know we’re not fucking around. So take off the dress.”

The light blinds me again. Blinking against the glare, I turn my head, desperately trying to think of anything that might save me. But I’ve got nothing.

“Now.” The easy humor is gone from his voice. “Or I go kill that fucking dog.”

Daisy, whose barking hasn’t stopped. Who tried to warn me that something was wrong. And I should have known. She doesn’t bark. But I was too numb and tired to really think about why she was.

And I’m numb again. My eyes burn but there are no tears. My fingers shake so hard I can barely undo the buttons at the front of my dress, but slowly I manage each one—trying not to hear how heavy his breathing is, trying not to feel the weight of his stare or notice the way the light follows the path of my hands as I ease the dress down my shoulders.

“What the fuck is wrong with your tit?”

The flashlight beam spotlights my left breast, tracing the scar from my surgery. Pale silver against my light brown skin, the puckered line extends about an inch from the edge of my areola.