misunderstoodebook (6 page)

“Kendall,” he repeated. “That’s a cool name.”

Unable to form too many coherent thoughts, she faked a smile, intrigued at how his long dreads framed his face. Noticing anything about him shamed and bewildered her. He was a man. Men had penises. And they used their penises and their hands to hurt women.

“You don’t talk too fucking much, huh, girl?”

She shook her head. Kendall didn’t have anything to talk about. Digger holding out the letter excused her from responding. She grabbed it and shoved it back in her bag, making a production of closing the fasteners and situating the leather on her lap.

The door opened but Kendall didn’t turn, although Mortician glanced in that direction, then winked at her with a glint of unholy mirth in his dark eyes.

“Yo’, John Boy,” Val called. He wasn’t as tall as the others, but when he smiled his dimples stopped her short.

“Valentine,” Johnnie remarked, stopping at the man’s other side, close to the end of the bar.

The sound of his voice hit Kendall’s eardrums first, then bounced around in her brain before arrowing to her belly. Right where his baby rested. She’d forgotten about the stupid weekly birth control patch the night she’d been with Johnnie. Not that that mattered. She swore he’d used condoms.

“Look who the wind blew in,” Val continued as Mortician handed Johnnie a cold beer. The Road Captain put his arm around her, simultaneously stepping out of the way and turning her toward the man who haunted her dreams and kept her sane.

The heat of Johnnie’s gaze burned into Kendall and she lifted her face, weighted down by all the secrets she carried. Even if she was inclined to tell him she was pregnant—which she wasn’t since she had to sacrifice her baby to continue with the illusion of everything that
hadn’t
happened to her—he’d never believe the baby was his.

His gaze flickered over her hair, her eyes, her nose. Her mouth. The silver in his beautiful eyes swallowed up the gray, leaving behind a burning intensity that melted Kendall’s insides. Looking at him, smelling his cologne, hardened her nipples and wet her panties. Because he was her illusion. The man she hadn’t expected to see again but whose memories she clung to.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he greeted with a heart-stopping smile. “What brings you back to my club?”

Johnnie studied the woman who sat on the barstool, clutching her oversized bag like a shield, her red hair blanketing her. She wore a gray suit with a white blouse, the skirt revealing long legs that drew his eye to her thighs, clenched closed.

She followed his line of vision and flushed. He winked at her.

He hadn’t gotten the night he’d spent with her out of his head and often wondered what had become of her, sure there was more to her than met the eye.

“Give John Boy your letter, Red,” Mortician ordered, turning a shit-eating grin to Johnnie. “She here for employment.”

Her jerky movements and sallow skin filled him with unease. Something wasn’t right with her. The least of which was her showing up at the club for a job. Her mannerisms. Her dazed expression. None of it matched the woman he’d had in his bed five weeks ago. He cocked his head to the side. “Are you all right?”

Instead of answering, she dropped her gaze to his dick and his cock swelled and jumped in memory. She’d sucked him off so well.

But the jury remained out on which part of her he’d enjoyed more—mouth or pussy. Maybe, he needed to sample both again to make the final call.

“She want to be the club’s lawyer,” Val said into the silence, his eyes twinkling.

The fuckhead found Johnnie’s attraction to the woman amusing. Sipping his beer, Johnnie flipped Val off. The man just laughed and Johnnie smiled, happy to hear that sound from his friend. He’d been shot a little over a week ago at the wedding of their MC president who was also Johnnie’s cousin, Christopher “Outlaw” Caldwell. Val had spent hours in surgery and had been released from the hospital a day ago. His normally shaved hair had grown out during his recovery time and he’d decided to go with that look. Of course, hopped up on pills, he wasn’t feeling much and was giving a fuck about even less.

Digger nudged him, grinning like an idiot. “You heard, John Boy?”

“Probably not,” Mortician commented, setting glasses on the bar and grabbing a bottle of rum. “He too busy thinking of refucking Red to answer.”

“Red” looked mortified, like she wanted to sink into the floor. Another clue she wasn’t a whore. He’d let her walk away that night. When he thought of her, he always regretted not asking for a way to contact her. She intrigued him. He suspected she’d been at the club for reasons other than whoring and he wanted to know what those reasons were, even though he’d searched for—and hadn’t found any—wire taps in his room. The club also hadn’t had any type of trouble stemming from that night.

But she hadn’t just happened upon the club. Not the night of Christopher’s bachelor party. And not tonight. He’d discover her business. Listen to her husky voice. Maybe, sink into her hot pussy and fuck her again.

One thing at a time. Right now, he’d listen to her. In a little while, he’d sink into her. And, then, he’d get to the heart of her visits.

“Ignore my imbecile brothers, beauty. They were fucking dropped on their heads as lads.”

She laughed, a quick sound that pulled a smile from him, but didn’t take away her sadness. He leaned closer to her and panic entered her eyes, competing with her bleakness.

“Go to my room, sweetheart,” he whispered, close to her ear, before stepping back and gazing at her from head-to-toe, pausing at her gorgeous legs. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Where he intended to strip her and kiss each inch of skin he bared. Put her at ease. He slid some of her hair behind her ear, wanting to devour her, worship her beautiful body from head-to-toe. Her shy, flickering gazes between his eyes and his mouth and her hitching breath encouraged him to continue. “Do you want another kiss from me? Your pussy is the most delicious I’ve ever tasted and I’ve wanted to eat you again since you got away from me.”

Instead of deepening her arousal, she paled again and withdrew, raising her oversized purse and pressing it to her chest. Not wanting her to fall, he snaked an arm around her. “It’s that t-time—“ She paused and lowered her lashes, her face crumpling. “I-I mean I can’t.”

He studied her nervous, twitchy movements. Her inability to meet his gaze. The pulse point thumping in her slender neck.

She resembled a hare caught in a snare, making him all the more determined to get her to his room, get inside of her, and, after they were sated, he’d get her to open up. “A little blood never hurt me, gorgeous. I have towels
and
condoms.”

“Would you stop?” she snapped on a loud whisper, puckering her lips. A blank expression stole the small liveliness she’d exhibited and her dark red eyebrows drew together. “I-I mean, I’m sorry.” She squirmed and dropped her bag to her lap. “Please? Don’t say anymore.”

He ran a finger along her cheek, then took her chin between his fingertips and raised her face toward him. She flinched and blinked. Dark circles ringed the delicate skin around her eyes. Breathing in her scent, he finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the bar. She leaned into his touch, like a lost, vulnerable little girl.

Mortician sat another beer on the counter and joined Johnnie in studying the flustered woman, whose name he didn’t know. She had yet to give him the letter and didn’t seemed inclined to do it. He wondered if she remembered her reason for being on premise.

Johnnie called bullshit on it, though he didn’t know what
it
was yet. Her raw helplessness might be an act, although he couldn’t imagine what end she expected. Death for her if she was trying to fuck with them.

Death for
him
if he thought to help her.

He drank from the bottle again, contemplating her bountiful breasts and what lay between them. A microphone, maybe?

Only one way to find out.

“I think you need your clothes removed,” he murmured. The pulse at the base of her neck kicked up and Johnnie breathed in her scent. “Nice and slow. I want to see your beautiful tits and lick them like I did before.”

His mind surfed through all kinds of scenarios but always returned to one. She was wired. Whether she was a mole for law enforcement or one of the club’s enemies, he didn’t know. “Would you suck my dick again?”

Fuck, a cop wouldn’t have sashayed into the club, gyrated all over Christopher and then fucked the hell out of him. That meant, then, she was there for one of their rivals. But, fuck,
who?
He didn’t need this bullshit when he managed to keep everything in order in Christopher’s absence. She wanted to fuck with the club? By the time he finished with her, she’d be fucking sorry.

“
You must suck plenty of dicks in your life to be so good at it. Tell me who sent you again on the night of Outlaw’s bachelor party? I want to know how long you’ve fucked for a living.”

She choked and pulled away, the haunted look returning and pulling her features down.
Fuck.
Was she in some kind of trouble? Somehow been forced into…whatever the fuck she was doing?

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she whispered, her skin pale, her eyes so very sad.

K-P stomped through the door that led to the kitchens and headed behind the bar, preventing Johnnie’s answer.

The club treasurer stopped and slapped the side of Mortician’s head. “I need a word with you,” K-P growled.

The gorgeous redhead blinked.

“Fuck off.” Mortician skipped the glass and guzzled from the bottle. “I know what the fuck this is about and I’m already regretting fucking calling that bitch.”
   

Another slap. “You want beef, brother?” K-P snarled, the movement of his jaw shaking his silver beard. Sweat gleamed off the man’s bald head and the strap from his eye patch tight enough to squeeze his brain. “Do you?”

“Over your daughter?” Mortician snorted. “No. Just had a moment of weakness.” He snatched a baggie out of his cut and slammed it onto the bar, glaring at K-P. “I fucking told Bailey not to open her fucking mouth.”

K-P narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t even supposed to have her number.”

“Look, motherfucker. I wanted to chill for a minute. No bitch around here would do, so I called Bailey.”

“Enough!” Johnnie cut in, turning away from the mysterious woman to get his brothers in hand. What fucking rabbit hole had he stepped in? “Hanging out with Bailey is the quickest way to get your dick in her.”

“Wasn’t like that,” Mortician insisted.

Johnnie glowered at the club enforcer and the man had the grace to look away, unable to deny Johnnie’s logic for a second time. Or, maybe, he knew, Johnnie would’ve knocked him on his ass.

“How the fuck you got her number, anyway?” Taller and leaner than his older brother, Digger had gradually cut his dreadlocks off. He wanted to step outside of his older brother’s shadow. Still, he didn’t want his brother squashed if he didn’t answer K-P’s question. “You mean I might be winning my 5Gs?”

That fucking bet had been made at the very same bachelor party Johnnie had met the gorgeous woman who had panic filling her big, brown eyes. Mortician had been so smug in the knowledge he’d never fall for a young piece of pussy like Outlaw had done with Megs. He’d upped a one thousand dollar bet to five thousand, and they’d all bet against Mort. Smugness like that usually backfired, but Johnnie hoped to fuck it hadn’t backfired
now
with only one week left before Outlaw returned. He didn’t need his cousin returning to his officers fractured over a gorgeous girl with green-brown eyes, black hair, and creamy skin.

“She have your number?” On a good day, K-P was fucking ornery. Johnnie knew he’d be impossible right now, when he believed Mortician was fucking with his daughter.

“Yes,” Mortician shouted. “And I didn’t give the bitch my digits. Her and Meggie was out somewhere one day and it was my day to guard Meggie. Little Man was playing with my phone and I went to talk to some bitch I’d fucked a few weeks ago who was in the store with us. She got my fucking number from my phone, so if you want to get up in somebody’s ass about a fucking phone number, talk to your fucking bitch.”

“Stop calling my girl a bitch, assfuck,” K-P ordered. He sniffed and brushed an arm over his nose, narrowing that one eye.

“I hate it when you do that shit, Kitchen Bitch,” Mortician complained, drinking more of the rum, then slamming the bottle down.

“What, pussy eater?” K-P growled back.

“I wear my pussy eating badge with honor.” Mortician turned his attention to preparing a blunt. “So fuck off, Kitchen Bitch. And the shit I’m referring to is narrowing that one fucking eye. Shit don’t seem right to me.”

“Fuck off, you little runt,” K-P snapped and Mortician snickered. “You’ve hung out with Bailey?”

“No. I’ve talked to her on the phone a couple times, K-P.” Mortician shrugged. “She not for me, man. I’m not going to touch her. I’d forgotten all about her until I saw her three months ago.”

“Liar,” Digger called around a cough.

Scowling, Mortician flipped his brother the bird. “I called her on my way from the shed to tell her I wanted to see her. Maybe, watch a movie.”