Possession (13 page)

After the sixth attempt to reach Vincent by phone, Tina gave up. She'd gone straight home from the restaurant and locked herself inside her apartment. A hot bath and two cups of herbal tea had done little to take the edge off her confrontation with Kline. The bastard had touched her in a violent way, cornered her in the bathroom. She regretted not getting the names of the two women who helped her; they deserved fresh bouquets and a day trip to the spa.

But damn if her pride hadn't gotten in the way. The very thing she knew attorneys worked hard to ingrain in their clients if they were victims of violent crimes—
it's not your fault.
Somewhere in her stubborn mind, Tina lived by a separate set of rules. And she never overreacted—years of law school and dozens of cases defending repeat, violent offenders had desensitized her, prepared her to face this type of situation.

Wrong.

She could hardly keep her tea down, she felt so nauseous and weak. Kline had found a way to get under her skin, and all she wanted to do was hide.
Why?
He had everything to fear, not her. With his criminal record, known malicious history, and bitter infatuation with her, she had enough material to file a formal complaint at work. And if her bosses didn't manage the problem quickly, she possessed ample evidence to go to the police. That's the last thing she wanted, though—drawing public attention to herself.

Some things were better handled internally. If James and Bronte refused to represent Kline as a client again, and he agreed to a financial settlement that provided enough compensation to repay the Sons of Odin body shop for fixing her SUV, she'd agree to forget anything happened.

Bile rose in her throat.
Only in a perfect world.

She sat on the sofa and used the remote control to turn on the TV.
Mary Poppins
was playing on the Turner Classic Movies channel, the perfect distraction. She grabbed the quilt off the arm of the couch and spread it over her legs, ready to fall asleep in the relative warmth and safety of her apartment and her favorite pajamas. Eventually Vincent would show up. Something serious must have happened at the clubhouse; he never missed her calls or failed to return a text message.

She woke a couple of hours later from someone pounding on her front door.

Memories crept back into her hazy mind, and all she could think about was Kline standing outside. With trepidation, she stood up and wrapped the blanket around her midsection. Layers would act as armor against anything scary.

She crept up to the solid metal door and peered through the peephole. Dressed from head to toe in black leather, Vincent didn't look happy.

“Open the door, Tina,” he said firmly. “I can see your shadow underneath the door.”

She stepped back and undid the chain and bolt lock. Vincent took care of the rest, turning the knob and bursting inside her apartment.

“What the fuck did that bastard do to you?”

She'd left detailed messages for him, probably a bad idea. By the last phone call, she'd sobbed into the phone uncontrollably, so desperate to hear Vincent's voice. She regretted it now. His lethal expression could turn someone into stone.

“Good evening to you, too,” she said, trying to mask her emotions.

His gaze traveled up and down her body. “I'm sorry, baby—it's been a long day. Why are you wearing that quilt? Take it off.”

She let it drop on the floor. In his alpha brain he probably thought she was broken. “I'm fine.” She tried to sound convincing.

“Really?” He honed in on her bruised wrist. “What's that?” He flipped the hallway light on, then raised her hand for a better look.

“I already told you about my hand, remember? Or did you erase my messages after hearing the first one?”

His features softened. “Only took one.”

She more than appreciated his concerned tone and protective nature. That's what she needed now, not the
I'm-going-to-destroy-the-world
Vincent who acted before he thought things out. He swept her into his strong arms and carried her to the living room, then took a seat on the couch and cradled her close. Tina let her head fall against his chest, the thump of his heart close to her ear.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“Club business.”

What could she say? Could she spend the rest of her life satisfied with that answer? If she pressed him for more information, he'd repeat those famous words—
you accepted me the way I am; I don't discuss club business.
She bit her tongue, determined to respect his privacy.

He smoothed her hair with both hands, his gentle touch so healing. “Start at the beginning, Tina. Don't forget the smallest detail.”

Did she have to leave the comfort of his broad chest? She lifted her head, catching his intent eyes. “Once upon a time…”

He grunted. Nothing could break the grimace on his face; Vincent Ramos wasn't a happy man tonight. It took less than fifteen minutes to explain everything. Tina waited for his reaction. But he stayed quiet, rubbing his hands up her back, then down her arms instead.

“Do you need a doctor?” he asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to file a police report?”

Coming from him, that question surprised her. She lifted herself up. “No.”

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” she didn't hesitate to answer.

“Pack a suitcase; bring enough to stay at the clubhouse a few days.”

“Do you really think that's necessary?”

Vincent helped her stand up. “Kline Barnes is unpredictable. Let's get you into a controlled environment where he doesn't have a chance to get to you.”

If she agreed, Tina felt like she was giving in to Kline's sick and twisted game—surrendering—letting him win. But if she didn't go with Vincent, would Kline come after her again? “All right.” She hugged herself, tears threatening to spill.

“Hey.” Vincent pulled her into his arms for the longest, most compassionate hug she'd ever received. “I'm here, Tina.”

Oh, he didn't need to remind her. She'd been aware of his presence since the day they'd met. How could she resist the opportunity to finally trust someone with her heart? What she felt wasn't love yet, but definitely something that could grow into it. She stepped out of his arms and stared at the bruises on her wrist.

“For the first time in my life I'm actually afraid.”

Vincent lifted her chin. He smoothed his hand up the curve of her neck. “If I could change it I would. Feed off that fear, baby. Use it to energize you, to find the strength to fight back.”

“You want me to confront Kline?” She arched a brow in confusion. Until now, he'd expressed nothing but disapproval at her idea to face him.

“Not exactly,” he said. “I want you to harness that anger so it doesn't consume you. And trust
me
to take care of it.”

Exactly what did that entail? She admired his strong body then, all six feet plus. She imagined what damage his fists could do to Kline's face, how anger would fuel his desire to make things right. Accepting his offer to trust him in that one area would be a big mistake. She refused to risk his freedom. Kline Barnes was the kind of man with trigger-happy fingers. He'd dial 911 without hesitation and lie his ass off to get Vincent arrested for giving him as much as a dirty look.

And she couldn't forget that Kline knew who Vincent was.

Vincent might have the brute strength and power of his club behind him, but Kline had money—lots of it.

“Please don't take this the wrong way,” she said quietly. “I appreciate everything you do. How dedicated you are to protecting me. I'll go with you to the clubhouse and stay as long as you want. But I cannot agree to let you confront Kline. He poses as much danger to you as he does me.”

He huffed out a frustrated breath. “Not sure I understand your last statement. Or that I want to.”

“I asked you not to get offended,” she reminded him. “I believe Kline wants to see how far we're willing to go. If you pursue him, he'll probably involve the law. I don't want to have to bail you out of jail or talk to you through a Plexiglas barrier at county lockup.”

As much as he'd been seized with the need to protect her, not surprisingly, she felt the same. “Didn't you say where we go from here depends on how ready we are to protect
each other
?”

He rubbed his chin. “Yeah.”

“It's my job to keep you out of trouble too.” She rubbed his arms. Even feeling his hard muscles through his clothes triggered a warm sensation between her legs. She wanted to make love to forget all the bad shit for a while.

Vincent was right: giving in to the fear and intimidation tactics Kline used would only hurt her. She needed to live in the moment right now, give her brain and body a break.

“Aren't you going to say something about my responsibility to protect you?”

“Your only job right now is to kiss me.”

After what happened at Bob Hall Pier earlier, and now facing his very emotional girlfriend and not being able to do anything about the piece of shit that assaulted her, all his frustration and pent-up rage turned into something more desperate. Vincent knew how to control his temper. But love? Was that what flowed through his veins right now? It broke his heart and made his spirit soar at the same time. Not because he regretted opening himself up to her. He felt blessed for having a quality woman in his life. No, he regretted letting Tina fall for him.

His lifestyle required utter loyalty to the club first. And day to day, he didn't know if he'd make it home alive. Tina deserved better. If she knew that a Man-o-War had died tonight at the hands of one of his Brothers, how would she react? Support him? Ignore the obvious? Pretend it didn't affect her?

Women were made to love and cherish. Twice he'd failed at doing both, and never as a 1%er. Add his sons into the equation, the boys he rarely spent time with, and how could he build a stable, happy relationship with Tina?

Overwhelmed with feelings, he gripped her shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. “I'm not the kind of man you should love.”

She blinked up at him, her long, dark lashes so sexy. “Who said anything about love?”

He swallowed his pride. Why pretend anymore? Almost a year had gone by since they'd first met. Hours together planning Lang's wedding had confirmed his suspicion of a lasting bond. Yeah, a very chemical feeling that turned into a chronic condition there was no cure for, except this…

His mouth came down hard on hers, consuming, claiming the only thing he had a right to. Her. Valentina Bethel. His saving grace and hope for a better future. She sighed as he wrapped his arms around her, tugging her closer. She locked her fingers behind his neck, equally hungry for contact.

“Do you love me?” she whispered into his mouth.

He'd opened that door…His tongue parted her lips again, seeking the familiar warmth of her delectable mouth. A very fuckable one. Again she made a sexy noise, confirming her need and desire. So much had happened to both of them since they met again that night at Valhalla. Maybe fate threw them together for a reason. Or maybe the universe just got tired of waiting and made it happen. Whatever forces of nature could take credit for this moment, he didn't care.

Tina belonged to him now.

He led her down the hallway to her bedroom. She immediately shed her cotton pants and pink T-shirt. Nothing was underneath her pajamas. He drank in her slender body, toned in the right places, soft where she needed to be. Where his hands wandered and squeezed, where his dick found sanctuary.

Her hot, wet mouth met his and he cupped her breasts, fingers swirling over her erect nipples, hard little jewels he could suck on all night. She must have sensed his tension, because she worked his belt buckle, then unzipped his fly. When she dropped to her knees and wrapped her tiny hand around his cock, then followed with her mouth, he threw his head back in sweet agony.

She did more than talk a good game. Tina knew how to work her tongue. It spiraled lazily down his length, pausing at his tip. She made a sucking noise, swallowing his pre-come.

“I love how you taste,” she said.

“More,” he said on a guttural groan. “Don't ever stop doing that to me.” He braved a quick look at her. Seeing naked Tina on her knees with his cock in her mouth set his heart on fire. He'd never asked for a blow job from her, but he wouldn't deny or discourage her. “Fuck.” He closed his eyes.

His heart nearly burst.

She sucked harder, one of her hands stroking up and down his shaft at the same time, stealing any sense of control he had left. She crushed his left ass cheek in her other hand, holding him against her face. It gave him little wiggle room, but his hips moved instinctively, his dick sliding in and out of her mouth.

Just as he neared the edge of exploding, she stopped.

“Are you okay?” he asked, truly concerned. Maybe having sex wasn't the best idea after what happened at the restaurant.

“Just fine.” She smiled up at him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Promise to leave those pants on while you fuck me.”

Vincent moaned, and lifted her to her feet. “I fucking love you, Tina.” He didn't give her time to think about it or himself. He'd said it more freely than he intended to. But it was out there now, and he could never take it back, didn't want to. He nudged her onto the edge of her mattress, doggie style. “You want me to leave my leathers on?”

She gazed over her shoulder, that cat-who-ate-the-canary smile as enticing as her little ass bobbing in the air in front of him.

Animal lust took over, and he slammed inside her with brutal force. Her warmth locked around him, her inner muscles clenched so tight he almost came before he pumped his hips.
Fuck.
He should have better control, but Tina reduced him to a pile of mush. Not only his heart. His legs wobbled as he withdrew a few inches, then powered forward, filling her.

“Oh God,” she wheezed out. “Harder. Please.”

Begging for it turned him on. Through gritted teeth he struggled to stay focused. Her little pussy had a way of hijacking his thoughts. “Arch your back for me, baby.”

He watched with anticipation. Tina had a beautiful back and shoulders. Gathering her long hair in one hand, he swept it aside, then kissed the soft spot at the base of her skull, his tongue spiraling over her spine. So sweet. She bucked against him, but he gripped her hip firmly to keep her locked in place.

“Always in a hurry,” he teased, shifting back to his feet.

Vincent couldn't remember ever seeing a more perfect woman. And with the view of her ass he had at the moment, he couldn't think of another place he'd rather be.

“You're teasing me…”

He grinned, more than ready to shoot his seed. “Whatever the lady wants.” He observed closely as his dick disappeared inside her.

An hour later, showered and dressed to go, Tina stood near her front door with two bags. She'd packed carefully, bringing extra clothes just in case she needed to stay longer.

“I'll follow you on my bike,” Vincent said.

She took a last look around her apartment, obviously disappointed she had to leave.

“Did you think about letting one of the boys stay here?”

“The idea of a complete stranger sleeping in my bed is a bit creepy, but if it keeps Kline away, then I can hardly protest. Who did you have in mind?”

Getting J.T. out of the clubhouse for a few days might be a good idea. So far there were no rumors about a dead biker circulating or reports on the news. If there were, someone would have called Vincent by now. “J.T. fixed your vehicle at the shop.”

“Then he's welcome here.”

One of the talents the Sons of Odin looked for in new recruits was how to take advantage of every situation, even bad ones. Vincent wished he could tell Tina everything. But wishing and doing were two separate things. Keeping her safe meant not sharing confidential information. That way if the cops ever questioned her, she wouldn't get caught in a lie.

Just as he reached for the doorknob, her house phone rang. Vincent checked his watch. “After midnight? Who calls this late?”

“Not sure.” She headed for the breakfast bar where the cordless sat.

“Wait,” he said, reaching around her for the headset.
Private caller
flashed on the ID display. “Kline?”

She nodded.

Vincent answered. “What the fuck do you want?”

Silence and heavy breathing, but no one spoke on the other end. He waited a few seconds before he hung up. The phone rang again.

Vincent closed his eyes and tried to pull it together so he didn't snap. He already knew where Kline lived and hung out. The deep background check had revealed a lot of secrets about Tina's stalker client. Ones he never intended to share with her, because it would only deepen her fear. For now he'd lie low and respect her wishes to not retaliate Sons of Odin style. But that request would only be honored as long as Tina moved forward with her plan of action at work and if Kline stayed away from her.

Vincent opened the front door and locked it, then escorted her to her SUV. He stashed her bags in the backseat, kissed her forehead, and made sure she locked her doors before he climbed on his bike parked next to her vehicle.

Even now it surprised him how patient and tolerant he'd become over the last couple of weeks. Typically he'd jump into the fray and ask questions later. Intuitively, he disagreed with how to deal with Kline. Some men required snapped bones to learn a lesson. And if she were a typical old lady, she'd have no say in the matter. He took a last admiring look at her through the tinted glass on her driver's-side window, wishing sometimes she weren't as smart and independent as she was. But then she wouldn't be the woman he fell hard for.

She accepted him for who he was, patches and all. That meant something to Vincent, and she deserved the same from him.