Off Limits: A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 2) (4 page)

I say nothing.

“Now you going to ignore me, Penny?”

I look up and glare at him, then toss a shirt into my bag. “I’m not ignoring you,
Eric
. I’m just upset.”

He looks baffled. “Why are you upset?”

“Because you’re stuck in this,” I tell him, shoving my favorite jeans into the bag next. “I’m shit luck, and I’ve rubbed off on you. You should have steered clear when you had the chance.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

I’m about ready to cry. I’m not kidding, actually. I like Solo, a lot. And bad things happen to those I like. I’m terrified of what’s going to go down this Friday night. What if the Eighty-Eight bring guns instead of boxing gloves and take him out? What if Solo murders him in the ring and there’s an undercover cop? The potential for Bad Shit is enormous, and I’m freaking out.

He moves to my side and grabs my chin. “Look at me, Penny.”

I do, and I’m surprised by the fierceness in his expression.

“You think I’m doing this because I’m stuck?”

“A little,” I admit.

“You think I don’t want to touch you? That I don’t want to spend the next week fucking your pretty little brain out?” His thumb caresses my lower lip. “You think I don’t want to toss you down on this bed right now and throw your ankles behind your ears and make you scream my name?”

I gasp. Liquid heat rushes through me at his words. Now he’s not the only one that wants that. I want it, too.

His hand leaves my chin and slides down to the front of my shirt. I’m surprised when he grabs a handful of it and tugs it over my head, but I help him remove it. If this is leading to more sex, I’m all for that.

“You think I haven’t been watching you every day for months?” Solo murmurs as he grabs my jeans and begins to unbuckle them. “You think I work out every day because I’m some sort of gym rat now that I’m back from the Middle East? You think I’m Solo because I miss Panther and not because I’ve had my eye on the prez’s sister all this time?”

My jaw drops. “You have?”

His mouth twists into a wry grimace. “Everyone knows that Lucky’s off limits. Gem doesn’t want anyone fucking with her. So I stay back and I wait for my chance.”

I’m stunned by this revelation, and by the fierce kiss he plants on me next. Then his hand is shoving into my panties, and he’s rubbing his fingers against my clit in a rough, bold claim.

“Thing is, Lucky,” he murmurs, rubbing this sexy, sinful sideburns against my face as he finger fucks me. My hand clasps his and my mouth is open in silent pleasure, because oh god, he feels good. “I’m tired of waiting,” Solo tells me. “And I’m claiming you as mine. So if you don’t want that, you’d better speak up now.” And one thick forefinger slides over my throbbing, sensitive clit.

My knees buckle.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs as he lays me down on my bed. “You want me to leave you alone? I will. I’ll keep you safe this week, but I won’t touch you.”

“I want you to make me yours,” I tell him, and my hands go to his face and I kiss him. I kiss him over and over again, and my tongue moves against his, and I feel the groan he makes as he crawls over me.

He unzips his pants and pulls a condom out of his wallet, tossing it down on the bed next to me. I eagerly shove my jeans and panties off my legs until I’m in nothing but my bra, and I watch him as he rolls the condom on.

He’s so stinking beautiful. “I want to wrap my legs around you,” I tell him. Wrap them, and never let go.

Solo’s eyes gleam as he looks at me, and he grabs my hips, dragging me to the edge of the bed. Then, he sinks in and I wrap my legs around him, just as I promised.

I hope I never have to let go.

The next week is possibly the best one of my life. I mean, sure, I’m on the run from the Eighty-Eight and forced to hide out. I’m disrupting Solo’s regular schedule, and I can’t go in to work so someone has to bring me the books. And, okay, Solo’s a shitty cook and also leaves the towels on the floor.

But I’m still having a blast.

I really like living with him. His cute little house needs plenty of stuff done to it, so I’m happy to help out if it means I’m less of a mooch. I take over the cooking duties once Solo burns my breakfast, and we start to fall into an easy pattern. Sex in the morning. Breakfast. Shower and clean up. Work on the house a bit. Sex. Lunch. Work on the books. Sex. Dinner. Sex. Watch a movie together. End up having sex on the couch. Migrate to the bedroom. Sex. Sleep. Repeat.

I know it won’t be like this constantly. Heck, I know it won’t be like this longer than Friday. I guess that’s why we’re determined to keep our hands, mouths, and other body parts on the other person constantly.

Solo is all confidence about the fight on Friday. I watch him as he works out, and he tells me about the fight clubs they had while stationed in Afghanistan, the guys he’s beaten, the street brawls he’s gotten into. I don’t think it’s bragging as much as he’s trying to convince me that everything will be fine. But when it’s late at night and we’re wrapped around each other, content, I worry.

God, do I worry. I worry that my bad luck’s going to catch up with me again.

Because I want more than just a few stolen days with Solo. I want to wake up with him, well, forever. Which might be silly and clingy and shit, but I don’t care. When we go to bed at night, he holds me so tight that I’m almost convinced that he’s thinking the same thing I am.

I guess we’ll find out Friday night.

• • •

As I fix my hair in the mirror in Solo’s tiny bathroom, he frowns at my reflection.

“What?” I snap. He’s been eyeing my ass—and scowling—for the past fifteen minutes. It’s starting to bug me. It’s definitely making me edgy and I’m antsy enough as it is.

“You think your shorts are tight enough?” He scowls down at my ass.

“Seriously, Eric? I thought the point was to drive the Eighty-Eight nuts tonight. You think I’m going to do that in flannel pajamas?”

His mouth twitches, and I can tell he’s trying to hide a grin. “You’d drive me nuts in flannel pajamas.”

And then I can’t help but smile. “And that’s why I like sleeping with you.”

“I just don’t like the idea of all those assholes getting a good look at your sweet ass when you know it belongs to me,” he says, and he comes up behind me and cups my butt like he owns it. “Half your ass cheek’s practically hanging out the back here,” he growls.

I ignore his manhandling and go back to curling the ends of my long brown hair. Truth is, my shorts are pretty damn skimpy. They lace up the front and have a low back and barely cover anything. I’m wearing them so I can seem like a slutty ho in front of any Eighty-Eight that show up, but making Solo all growly and possessive is a nice side-effect.

I’ve paired the top with a tight tank and a lacy red bra that peeks through in several spots, the straps visible at all times. And a pair of tall fuck-me boots, because they just make me feel sexy. I’m going all out with the hair and makeup, too. I’ve never looked so hot.

Kinda sad that I’m doing all this to bait some Eighty-Eights, but when I see the appreciative look in Solo’s eyes, I have to admit to myself that it’s not just for them.

“Guess we should go soon,” Solo says, leaning against the door. “You get any hotter, this place is going to combust.”

I grin at him, put down the curling iron, and give my lips one last touch of flavored gloss. “I’m ready.”

“Let’s do this,” he tells me, and slides his cut over his shoulders. “You know the plan?”

I straighten his cut and smooth a hand over his patches like I’m his old lady or something. “Basically we sit in public, suck face and make a spectacle of ourselves. You boast about how good you are in the ring, and we hope to flush one of them out so you can give them the beat down, right?”

“Right.”

I don’t ask what will happen if they don’t take the bait, or if something goes wrong. Solo prefers what he likes to call Occam’s Razor—the simplest way is usually the best. But me? I know my luck. I know if there’s an opportunity for shit to hit the fan, it will. So as a Plan B, I have a small can of mace tucked under one breast in my overly-padded bra. Just in case.

• • •

We cruise in on Solo’s bike. I’m on the bitch seat, and Toxic and Blade are riding just behind us in case we get into any trouble on the way in. But we don’t, and we make it to the Meat Locker just in time for Friday Night Fights.

A speciality of the Bedlam Butchers, Friday Night Fights start promptly at midnight and go until dawn. I guess that’d make them Saturday Morning Fights, but it doesn’t have the same ring to it. There’re all kinds of illegal fighting that goes down, and clubs from states away, like the Hellfire Riders or even the occasional Death Lord. Basically, if there’s a cross-club rivalry you want solved in the ring and feel like publicly beating the shit out of your enemy? You come to the Meat Locker. And while the Butchers make most of their books on plumbing gigs and shit like that, the real money’s in the Friday Night Fights.

You’d think Gem and Dom would get into some shit with the cops over having a fight club, but rumor is that the chief’s on the take. And since FNF goes on every week, it’s a pretty sweet take. I do the books, so I know just how much money comes through.

It’s not quite midnight, but there’s already a sea of bikes in front of the Meat Locker. Maybe a hundred, maybe two. They’re literally piled on top of each other, along the side of the road, and into the neighboring field (also owned by my brother). Gonna be a busy night tonight. I squelch the uneasiness in my stomach as I see a few bikes parked in the group with swastikas on them.

God, I hate the Eighty-Eight.

We head inside. It’s hot as fuck due to the press of bodies, and smoky from cigars and pot and God knows what else. It’s loud, too, and there’s a crush of people, mostly men. Truth is, most old ladies don’t head out for the FNF. I don’t come often—Gem doesn’t like it. Says I’m too young and innocent to see a guy get beat to death. Guess tonight’s an exception.

As soon as we move in, Solo drapes an arm over my shoulders and we head for the front, where metal folding chairs have been set up ringside. All of the workout equipment that normally fills the space has been delegated to a back room, and folding chairs set up. There’s a ‘refreshment’ table in the back that has beer, harder shit, and some really, really hard shit if you’re in the mood for illegal substances. I look around to see if there are any Henchmen here, but it’s too crowded to make out familiar faces.

“You want some refreshments, babe?” Solo asks me.

I shouldn’t drink, but my throat is dry and I’m anxious as hell. “Beer?”

“Got it.” He claims a chair in the front, kisses me long and hard in front of everyone, and then grins. “Be right back.”

I’m left alone for a minute, and a little alarmed, but I’m surrounded by Butchers. Solo wouldn’t have left me if it wasn’t safe, so I’m good. My brother’s nowhere to be seen, but Dom’s sitting in a nearby metal chair with a curvy redhead on his lap. She’s sucking on a lollipop and giving him lascivious looks.

At the sight of me, she bounds up from Dom’s lap. “Hey! You must be Lucky. I’m Kitty.” She grins at me. “And I suppose I should apologize for the way we met the other day, but your brother’s too serious and I was trying to get a reaction out of him.”

My mouth curves into a smile. It’s only been a week and Kitty totally has him pegged. I see why they’re keeping her. “Nice to meet you face to face.”

She grins at me and twirls the pop against her lips, trying to seem casual. She sees my gaze on the lollipop. “I’d offer you a taste but I just blew your brother before we got here, and you probably don’t want secondhand jizz from a relative.” She winks.

“Well, that’s a visual I could have gone without,” I tell her.

She shrugs, clearly the happy and shameless type. I still like her. She puts an arm around my waist and several guys catcall, obviously thinking we’re about to make out. But instead, she whispers, “I’m supposed to tell you that the guys are all packing heat tonight in case shit gets bad. You’re covered.”

I blink. “Wow, thanks.”

“No sweat,” Kitty tells me, swats my ass, and then prances back over to Dom, who’s only too happy to have her return to his lap.

Solo appears with two cold beers and I beam at the sight of him. I still can’t get over how good looking he is. I really am lucky that I get all his attention. He sits down and pats his lap, and since we’re on display tonight, I straddle him, reverse cowgirl. It allows me to press my butt right up against his dick. As if this is something we do all the time, he hands me a beer and wraps his other arm around my waist. “Take the top off of mine, too, will ya?” he asks.

I do, and hand it back to him.

“Perfect. Thanks, babe.”

I sip my beer as his hand adjusts at my waist. Then, I realize as he pushes past the laces and the leather holding the waist of my shorts together that he’s not interested in holding my waist. He’s pushing his hand into my tight leather shorts, past my bikini panties, and his fingers slide against my pussy.

I gasp as he immediately brushes his fingers over my clit. We’re in public. I’m two seats away from Domino, my brother’s partner in crime, and their new old lady.

“You look like you’re freaking the fuck out,” Solo murmurs against my ear. “And you keep watching the crowd. Someone’s going to think something’s up. So I’m putting your focus back on me, babe.”

And he strokes my clit. In front of everyone. It should be obvious to the world what he’s doing to me. I’m sprawled on his lap and my clothes are tight and hide nothing. And I can’t help that I’m getting wet as hell knowing that all these men are watching him manhandle me. And maybe that makes me a pervert, but God, it feels good to be a perv.

“You’re already wet,” he murmurs. “I think you dig this.”

I try to drink my beer, all casual like, but his fingers are working me over, and my nipples are tight and chafing with arousal. I lean back against him, biting back my moans as he manipulates my pussy and drinks his beer like no one’s around us. Solo’s totally casual. I can just imagine the conversation he’d have if someone decided to sit and chat.
What’s up man, not much, just giving my girl a little pet and rub. Nice riding weather tomorrow, eh?

And then Solo’s fingers have found my slickness, and he’s pushing deeper to wet them in my moisture, and brings his fingers back to my clit and continues to work it. And I close my eyes, doing my best not to start moaning and coming in front of everyone.

A bell rings.

In a daze, I watch as the lights go down and a spotlight flicks onto the center of the boxing ring. Like he’s on TV or something, my brother swaggers into the center of the ring, looking lethal and dangerous.

“Welcome to Friday Night Fights,” he drawls. His eyes scan the dark room. I know he can’t see me or Solo because of the spotlight on him, but I’m a little humiliated that my lover has his hands down my pants in front of my brother. But Gem continues. “You guys know the rules. Shit’s settled in the ring, and only in the ring. The fighters set the rules. You want to fight to the death? That’s on your ass, not mine. Like every week, we take volunteers. You got beef with someone? Bring it here and let your boys bet on if you can hold your own. Here’s how this works. We let the volunteers go first. Anyone that just wants to fight goes into a pool, and we draw names for match-ups. Once the fights are established, we take time to let everyone place bets. Then, we start. Any questions?”

Cheers meet my brother’s stare. The crowd’s hungry for a fight.

“Gonna take that as a no,” Gem says. “All right, then. We got any volunteers tonight who need to settle a score?”

I tense in Solo’s lap, half expecting him to jump up and offer himself. But he only continues to pet my clit, his hand moving in a big, circular motion that’s going to get me off if he keeps doing that. I whimper quietly and clutch my beer as if it’s a lifeline. As if Eric realizes how close I am, he pushes against my clit harder, determined to make me come by sheer force of will if nothing else.

It’s someone else that enters the ring. A man hops up on the opposite side of the ring from us and enters the spot-lit area where my brother’s standing and waiting. It’s at that moment that my legs tremble and I can’t take the petting any longer. I give a little muffled cry as I come, my legs jerking against Solo’s as he presses a hot kiss to my neck and continues to rub the cascading pleasure through my body to extend my orgasm as long as possible.

The man in the ring, I see through a haze of pleasure, is Grass. He’s wearing the Eighty-Eight’s familiar cut, and I see swastikas on his bare shoulders. He’s handsome, so I guess I can see why I fell for his good looks—but there’s a menacing glare on his face that makes me cold. He approaches Gemini and grabs the microphone from my brother.

“I got beef,” he says with a growl. “Where’s that fucker Solo? He’s diddling what belongs to me.”

I groan with embarrassment. Looks like everyone did see what we were up to. I know it’s part of the plan, but I’m still mortified. Mostly because I just came, hard, and I’m soaked between my legs and probably all over Solo’s hand from being ‘diddled’.

Solo pats my ass. “Up, babe. Time to teach that shit a lesson.”

I get up, trying to avoid eye contact with everyone since I know they’re all staring. I adjust my shorts and tie them tight again, since Solo’s hand has loosened my laces.

Grass is glaring in our direction in the ring, so there’s no hiding. Solo gives me a hard, possessive kiss, then climbs into the ring to face off against Grass. He stares him up and down as if he’s a piece of shit, and I can practically feel the waves of distaste rolling off of Eric. Then, he deliberately licks his hand. “She tastes pretty damn good, bro—”