Soul Ties (Club Ties #4) (5 page)

She’d been fantasizing about him for three weeks for nothing.

Unable to break his stare, she stood there with glass around her feet. Arms still folded, Connall raised a fist to press to his lips. In that pose, he could be puzzling over a difficult diagnosis. The big red rose on his outer biceps bulged. She had no idea what the white banner above the rose said. If only she could get closer…

Belle, a club girl, sauntered up to Ace and put her arms around him, leaning close. Lately the pair had been spending a lot of time together. Maybe Belle would get a happily ever after of her own with the man. Even his dog seemed to like her.

Ace said something to Connall. He dropped his arms and started toward Sarah.

Her heart leaped into her throat. With each step, his jeans pulled across his very long and lick-able thighs. He’d shaved his jaw, but the smooth skin only managed to make him look meaner.

And hotter.

She took a step back and her heel crunched glass.

Connall wrapped his fingers around her forearm. “Let someone else clean that.” He pulled her through the maze of tables past guys playing pool, and even past the woman with her legs around the Son’s ears.

When Connall drew Sarah into the shadows of the hallway, she quivered with excitement. He stared at her. She blinked up at him, her panties soaking wet just from his nearness. If he ever put his hands on her, God help her. She’d never resist his touch.

“Your nose looks better,” she said to break the heart-throbbing silence.

The corner of his mouth tipped up but his smile was never fully realized. It sat there, teasing the side of his face and making her ache for the real deal.

“Thanks. Healed nicely.”

“I still can’t believe you set it yourself.”

“Who knows the shape of my nose better than I do?” He leaned in, bringing the scent of fabric softener. She inched closer, trying to get more of that smell. It made her want to strip off her clothes and run naked through a field of wildflowers after a spring rain. She was pretty sure if she sniffed his pillow, she’d detect all the pheromones that made her body go mad.

She shrugged in answer to his question, as there was nothing to say.

“So this is what you do?” He waved a hand at the main room.

Embarrassment made her cheeks scorch. “Yeah, I don’t have a big degree like you do. I clean up after drunk guys and keep them fed.”

His eyes glowed dark green. “You do more than that, Sarah. These guys need someone to care for them, to offer comfort even if it’s a pot of coffee in the morning. And the way you soothed Bones that day in the Gearhead…I don’t know many nurses with such a sweet bedside manner.”

He reached out and ran his finger over her collarbone, out to her shoulder, and down her upper arm. She panted with desire. She didn’t go to bed with the Hell’s Sons very often, but she wanted to wind her whole body around Connall West.

“You guys handled the Falcons and Raiders thing?” she asked.

His eyes widened. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you heard about that, but yeah. All good now.”

A smashing noise drew them apart. Connall swung around and she was able to see O’Dovey standing there with a chair knocked over. Her chest constricted until air barely filtered into her lungs. It looked like an accident, but she knew better.

This was because she was talking to Connall.

“Oops,” he said, picking up the chair and scooting it under the table. Her muscles shivered with the need to bolt. “Excuse me,” O’Dovey said as he brushed past Connall. Then his arms were around her and she was being carried down the hall, away from the man who obviously posed a threat to O’Dovey.

“Come here, baby. I got something to settle you right down.” He ground his dick against her and poked his tongue into her ear. She flinched at the reminder of the bruises she’d sported from the last time he “settled her down.” He hadn’t gone all the way with her in a while, but he grabbed too tightly and hung on until she bruised.

Her only tension was because of him. She couldn’t breathe with him around. He watched her constantly, touched her way more than she liked. She wished O’Dovey would transfer to another charter. Or hell, transfer to the Raiders for all she cared.

She avoided Connall’s stare as he carried her down the hall to her room. “You made me mighty jealous, going off with the doc.”

She suppressed a shudder. The best way to deal with O’Dovey was kill him with sweetness. And get him ripping drunk so he passed out.

“Set me down, sugar,” she drawled. “I’ve got a brand new bottle of Jack for you.”

“Mmm. You know what I like.” He stole a kiss—or ate her face, rather. By the time he was finished thrusting his tongue around her mouth and gobbling her lips, she felt as if she needed a towel.

Turning from him, she rummaged through her top drawer. It held a lot of junk—old CDs, a couple magazines, and a hoodie she’d last worn to a club bonfire. She hadn’t washed it yet and the faint scents of wood smoke wafted out.

She discreetly wiped the spit off her face then pulled out the whiskey. With a fake smile, she spun and held out the bottle to O’Dovey. He reached for the alcohol. “Why don’t you pour us a couple shots?” she asked.

He eyed her from head to toe and back up, his gaze catching on her hips and tits. Gritting her teeth, she endured his perusal.

“I’d rather do body shots. Strip.”

Oh God. She couldn’t do anything with him when he was in this kind of mood. Connall must have really scared him because O’Dovey was more possessive than usual.

She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, trying to give the impression she wasn’t panicking inside. “You know how I like my whiskey. Why don’t you go out to the bar and grab a couple glasses and some Coke?”

And then I’ll lock the door and pretend I fell asleep.

His eyes hooded. He took a heavy step toward her.

Fucking hell.
She didn’t want this.

“I’m real thirsty,” she cooed to distract him, but he kept coming.

She backed up a step.

He grabbed her around the waist and started pawing at her breasts. When his mouth descended for another car-wash kiss, she bit off a scream. He ripped off her top and attacked her bra, squeezing her breast as if she were a prize in a claw machine.

Her cry escaped. Adrenaline hit her system. She shoved against his chest. His vise grip on her breast bruised. His lips bruised. He ground his erection into her pussy, and even through her jeans it hurt.

“No. O’Dovey, stop.”

Nobody called him by his first name. Her mind was so scattered, she couldn’t even remember it. If she could use it, he might snap out of this obsession to fuck her—with or without her permission.

And she definitely wasn’t giving consent.

He sucked her throat, raising the blood to the surface. In seconds she knew she had a purple bruise. A sob rose and she shoved him again. He moved to sucking her breast.

Hurting her. She clawed at him, but in his stupid mind, he mistook it for passion. She tried to knee him in the nuts and he only caught her thigh and wrapped it high around his hip.

Her mind tripped, and through the glare of pain and terror, she saw her path.

In her boot she carried a small blade. Ever had suggested it weeks ago after finding out she’d been in the Gearhead with the Falcons, and Sarah had gotten into the habit.

Breathing hard, she reached around him. He was bulky with muscle, so she had to stretch her arm and hook her leg higher.

“Fuck yeah, baby. I’m gonna fuck you all night.”

Like hell.
She reached into her boot and extracted the knife. The blade felt searing hot, but she gripped the handle like a lifeline.

Shoving at O’Dovey’s head, she tried to get him to look at her. She didn’t want to stab the man if she could reason with him first. But he bit her nipple, and wild fury struck.

She slammed the knife into his back. Hot blood poured over her fingers, and he relaxed. She fell from his hold as he collapsed to his knees then lolled to the side, his eyes rolled back in his head.

Time slowed. Staring at the ribbons of blood on her hands sickened her but looking at his face stopped her heart.

“Oh God. Fuck. O’Dovey. Shit. You idiot bastard, why did you make me do it?” She crawled over to him and touched his white face. Turning her attention to his mouth, she couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

Jesus, there was a lot of blood. How much did the human body hold? It had to all be on the floor. Her hands shook and her breath rasped. But O’Dovey’s lungs didn’t seem to be filling with air.

As she stared at his chest, she realized the terrifying truth—he was dead.

She’d killed him.

A half-cry, half-scream burbled from her, and she raked her clean hand through her hair, tearing at it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. What do I do?

She waited for her near-rapist to get up, but he remained still and lifeless on her bedroom floor. Frantically, her mind turned perverse.
People always told me I’d end up like my parents—dead or in jail.
Which end would be hers? Either the Sons killed her for taking the life of a valued member or she ended up convicted of murder.

She was breathing so fast that her head spun. Throat burning, she tried to picture herself without the only family she knew. This was the ultimate crime a member could commit.

Shaking violently, she scrabbled for the nearby wastebasket and vomited. The stench of blood and puke hung like a miasma in the air. She looked at her blood-covered fingers then at the door.

Connall. She needed Connall. Maybe O’Dovey could still be saved. She stumbled to her feet and grabbed the nearest article of clothing she could find. The top covered her nudity, but her hand was still a huge problem. If she went into the clubhouse with blood dripping down her fingers, everyone would freak out.

She grabbed some dirty laundry and wrapped her hand in it, carrying the bundle against her body.

When she ran into the main room, Connall looked up at once. She didn’t need to gesture or say a word—he came to her.

Relief dumped into her veins, a hot splash that reminded her of what she’d done.

“What the fuck’s happening, Sarah? You look as if you’re going to pass out.”

“I need help,” she whispered, then grabbed his hand and led him to her bedroom.

∙
•
∙

“Holy…Fuck. Sarah, what happened?”

She swayed on her feet and almost joined the dead man on the floor. Yeah, definitely dead. There was no reviving someone who’d bled out like that.

“Oh my God,” she whispered hotly.

Connall caught her in his arms and gently lowered her to the mattress. “Lean over and put your head between your knees. You’re about to faint.”

When she didn’t obey, he pressed her spine and forced her gently down. Her breathing was erratic, and she shook like a leaf in a hurricane. That was when he saw her hand.

The laundry had fallen from her grasp when they’d entered the room, and the blood streaking her fingers was evidence if he’d ever seen it.

With her drawing deep gulps of air, he turned to O’Dovey. Feeling for a pulse, he simultaneously examined the body. Knife to the kidney. Yeah, the bastard had no chance. Had Sarah known that when placing the death blow or had it happened in the heat of a struggle?

Connall glared at the face of the dead man.
What did you do to her, you son of a bitch?

He returned to her and kneeled before her. He reached for her hands, but she jerked.

Motherfucker.
She’d endured something so terrible—she couldn’t bear to be touched.

“Did he rape you, Sweetheart?”

“He…he…” She swallowed hard. For a moment, he didn’t think she was capable of putting the words into a coherent sentence. Her eyes were wild, her fingers twisting.

“Did he rape you? Or try?”

A jerky nod.

His inner doctor took over. “Okay. Are you hurt? I’m going to take care of you.”

His words brought her tears to the surface. They spurted from her eyes like blood from an artery. A wave of helplessness slammed him. It was Lorraine all over again.

Her sob gutted him.

“Oh God, Sweetheart. Let me hold you.”

Lorraine would have pushed me away. Will you?

She nodded and he carefully wrapped his arms around her. Another sob ripped free as he engulfed her against his chest. She was soft and small in his arms. As small as Lorraine had been.

He mentally shook himself. This wasn’t time for him to lose his shit thinking about a woman he hadn’t been able to save. Not when there was one he
could
save right here in his arms.

He moved into a position to pull Sarah onto his lap. She clung to him, heaving with sobs she refused to release.

“He raped you?” Connall pressed.

“He hurt me. He wouldn’t stop. Where…how…?”

“You stabbed him in the kidney.”

She twitched, eyes wide with shock. “I didn’t know. I wasn’t aiming. I just…just…” She glanced toward the body.

Connall framed her face in his hands and drew her head down on his shoulder. Her weight was sweet in his arms, and he feared if he didn’t set her aside soon he never would.

“Sweetheart, I need to know. Did he penetrate you? If so, I’ll need to take samples to give to the authorities.”

Her panic had a violence unlike anything he’d ever seen. She leaped off his lap and hurled herself across the room. Slipped in the blood and righted herself. She was like a wild thing, and he needed to soothe her. She’d been caged enough.

Slowly, he stood. “Sweetheart—”

“No cops. I can’t go to jail. Nobody can know about this. The club can’t know about this!” Her voice pitched sharply, and he caught her in his arms.

Okay, what now? He had a terrified woman and a body on his hands.

“We can’t tell anyone, Connall. Please!”

He searched her gaze. None of her fear had cooled. If a jury looked into her eyes, they’d definitely acquit her. If her expression didn’t convince a jury this was self-defense, the rising bruise on her neck and the livid fingerprints on her arms would.