The Cut by Carol Lynne: Kings of Bedlam MC Series, Book One (4 page)

Stake turned away from Santana and strode toward Gordon. He took the porch steps three at a time and grabbed the sheriff around the neck. Using every ounce of strength he possessed, he slammed Gordon against the side of the house. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he ground out between clenched jaws.

Without saying a word, Gordon held up his cell phone.

“Stake!” Cecil yelled through the speaker, the sound of his Harley making it hard for Stake to hear him over the deep rumble.

He knocked the phone out of Gordon’s hand before kicking it off the porch. “Give me a reason not to kill you, motherfucker.”

“So I slapped the bitch,” Gordon replied, spittle landing on Stake’s chin. “You gonna go against your club and the law for that gash?”

Stake tightened his hold, ready to squeeze the life out of the man who dared raise a hand to Santana, when the sound of Cecil’s bike speeding towards him caught his attention. “You fuckin’ pussy.” He gathered a wad of spit in his mouth before blowing it in Gordon’s terrified face.

“Stake,” Cecil growled from the foot of the steps. “We don’t need this shit,” he warned.

Stake continued to hold Gordon in place. He knew what would happen if he went against the club’s president, and as sick as he was of the whole fucking lifestyle, he knew it wasn’t Gordon’s day to die. “You so much as look at her again, and I’ll cut your fucking eyes out of your head. Got that?”

Gordon stared up at Stake but made no move to answer.

Stake pulled Gordon forward before slamming him into the house once more. “I said, you got that?”

“I’m the fucking sheriff. I don’t answer to you,” Gordon replied, obviously feeling safe with Cecil there.

Before he released Gordon, Stake drew back his right hand and drove his knuckles hard against the man’s jaw.

Gordon’s head flew to the side, nearly knocking him to the floor despite the grip Stake had on his neck.

“Goddammit, Stake!” Cecil bellowed. “You’re going to fucking pay for this one on your own dime.”

Stake released Gordon and took a step back. He tugged on the chain attached to his wallet while keeping a close eye on Gordon. “Remember what I said.” He dropped several hundred-dollar bills at Gordon’s feet. “If I have to come back here, nothing’s gonna save your ass.”

* * * *

Santana watched the exchange between Stake and Gordon through the ripped screen window in her tiny bedroom. She felt her nipples pucker and harden as Stake slammed Gordon against the house for a second time.

“Stake,” she whispered to herself. Damn it, why did he have to be the one to stand up for her. For years, she’d tried to put the sexy-as-sin tattooed biker out of her mind, but there he was, in full inked glory. His dark brown hair was a little longer then she remembered, but his big amber-colored eyes were just as dreamy as they’d always been.

She squeezed her legs together at the familiar twinge of need in her pussy. Since the age of thirteen, he’d had that effect on her body. Even after he’d turned his back on her after her father went to prison, no other man had invaded her fantasies.

When he released Gordon, she took a step back. The last thing she needed was for Stake to catch her spying. Watching him drop money at Gordon’s feet enraged her. How many times had she prayed that Stake cared enough to make sure she and her mom had enough food or money for the electric bill after her father was sent to prison? Smash and Stake had been best friends for years, yet he’d found it easy to forget that fact the minute Smash had been put behind bars.

Halfway down the porch steps, Stake stopped and stared directly at her.

She let the bed sheet fall into place. She didn’t have time to think about him. It wouldn’t do any good. Like all Kings, he was the enemy.

Chapter Two

Stake sat on his back porch and stared out over the landscape. There wasn’t much to look at other than brown grass and stubby trees as far as the eye could see, but that’s what he liked most about his place. There was a degree of solitude in the nothingness that he hadn’t found anywhere else, and with a blank slate in front of him, his mind had nowhere to go but to the shit he needed to figure out.

Some of his brothers went to the club to get away from their old ladies or children. In his younger days, he’d found a certain amount of peace just hanging with the others, but at some point, he’d changed. He was only thirty-eight, which was still relatively young, even in biker years, but the shit that went down at the club was getting old. How many rank pussies could a guy fuck before his dick fell off? There were a few bitches at the club who were nice enough to talk to, but other than the occasional blowjob when he was desperate, he preferred non-club pussy. The ongoing bullshit with Rachel was proof that if he wanted to find a good woman who wasn’t batshit crazy or suffering from stalker-like tendencies, he’d need to look outside the club.

He reached for his beer. Nope, the club wasn’t where he found his peace, it was right where he sat, looking at everything and nothing, and at the moment, all he could think about were those damn kaleidoscope eyes.
Fuck.
After the shit Ellie had pulled after Smash’s death, helping Santana in any way would be the same as going against the club. It was something Cecil had reminded him of before they’d left Gordon’s place, but he couldn’t get those damn eyes off his fucking mind.

Despite her bravado, she’d been damned scared of Gordon. Her fear was palpable, like an injured cat curled in the corner ready to strike at anything that came near her. He didn’t blame her. Gordon had let his badge and association with the club go to his head, and Stake wouldn’t put it past the sonofabitch to go after Santana again just to prove he could. The question was, what was Stake willing to do about it? How far would he go for a woman he wasn’t supposed to associate with?

“Christ!” He stood and took another drink of his beer. The sight of Santana clutching that damn broken bottle of grape soda nearly stole his breath. It was as if it had meant everything to her, and from the look of the other groceries, it probably had.

His heavy boot scraped against a nail head, sticking up from the porch floor. Beer in hand, he opened the back door, but stopped himself before walking into the house. He drained his beer in two gulps before stepping inside. Since moving out on his own, he’d adopted a very strict rule about not drinking in the house. Growing up, it wasn’t uncommon to see his mom and whatever man she was sharing a bed with passed out on the couch—sometimes dressed, sometimes naked. A beer or two after a long day was fine, but in south Texas, there was never a reason not to have that bottle on the back porch.

When he’d built the two bedroom cabin, he’d purposely left off the traditional front porch, instead choosing to concentrate on the view behind the house. Front porches were welcoming, and he didn’t give a shit about welcoming anyone. In fact, he preferred people left him the fuck alone when he was at home.

After tossing his empty beer bottle in the trashcan, he grabbed a hammer out of his toolbox. As he returned the nail in the porch’s floor to its rightful place, he couldn’t help but think of Santana’s roof and that damned blue tarp. Didn’t she have a boyfriend or someone who could help her keep up the house? The place had always been a shithole, but from the look of it, he was amazed it was standing at all.

Weighing the hammer in his hand, he considered stopping by and helping out. Although Smash’s betrayal had gutted him, Stake knew it wasn’t Santana’s fault, Ellie’s definitely, but no way was that sweet girl guilty of anything.

Tormented by the thought of Santana living in the crappy house next door to Gordon, he swung the hammer and put a quarter-sized dent in the porch floor. “Fuck!”

* * * *

“Come on, Mama, just two drinks, and I’ll leave you alone,” Santana pleaded. She held the glass to her mom’s lips and waited for her to take a sip. The fact that it wouldn’t be long before her mom was gone was really starting to sink in. Dr. Braverman had told her that once Ellie stopped eating, she’d only have a matter of weeks. Well, it was the third week of forcing the vitamin drink down her mother several times a day and it was getting harder each time.

Ellie pushed the drink away from her mouth and pressed her lips together.

Santana sat back in the kitchen chair she kept beside her mom’s bed. “Oh, mama.”

“Go,” Ellie croaked, her voice so dry and weak Santana barely understood her.

How many times had she wished she could do just that? Unfortunately, her heart was stubborn, and no matter how much she wished she didn’t love people who were incapable of loving her back, she did. “Can I come back before I go to bed and try again?”

Ellie shook her head in reply.

Trapped somewhere between hurt and pissed, Santana stood. She left the room without turning off the bedside lamp. Yes, it was a childish thing to do, but she allowed herself the satisfaction after the day she’d had. Seeing Stake after so many years had really fucked with her emotions. While her heart sang when he’d run to her aid earlier, the rest of her resented him for witnessing the truth of what her life had been reduced to. It was harder to accept kindness when you knew it could be snatched away at any moment. So, she’d resorted to using the defense she’d honed over the years. She’d never have the strength to physically challenge a man, but she’d sharpened her tongue after years of practicing on those in town who thought to keep her down.

She poured the expensive vitamin drink back into the bottle before moving into the living room. She slid a VHS tape into the old player and settled on the sofa. She’d discovered the tape in her dad’s trunk, but hadn’t had the guts to watch it. With thoughts of Stake still fresh in her mind, she decided it was time. According to the piece of tape stuck to the side, it was the Kings of Bedlam Fourth of July Picnic. She didn’t know what year, but at the moment it didn’t matter. All she really wanted was to be reminded of the life she used to have. It had never been perfect, far from it actually, but it had been hers, and she’d felt safe.

Her father had always been mean. In his own way, she assumed her father had loved her, but when she’d been young, it had been Stake who’d intervened when Smash had so often punished her. Stake who’d picked her up from wherever she’d run off to and took the time to care for the belt wounds on the backside of her body. Everyone in town knew how far Smash went with his punishments, but Stake had been the only one brave enough to go up against her father after one of his infamous whippings. She’d never understood how a man like Stake could befriend someone like her father.

She supposed she should be grateful he’d been there for her because he’d shown her there were good men in the world. Unfortunately, he’d been so kind she’d believed he was her knight in shining armor who would one day take her away from her parents and Broken Ridge. He’d even given her a special nickname that he’d used whenever she was hurt and he’d come to her rescue.
Lady bug.
She’d told him it was a stupid thing to call a girl, but he’d kissed her forehead and told her she would forever be his lady bug.

“Damn him,” she whispered when the camera panned to Stake. Tears filled her eyes as she watched him laugh. The movie had no sound, but she didn’t need it to remember the hardy laughter of him in a good mood. She spotted herself in the background. She had to have been around thirteen, maybe fourteen.

Her right hand flew to cover her mouth as she realized her feelings for him had been right there for anyone to see. Had he known? She scrambled onto the floor to sit in front of the television on the threadbare gold rug. Reaching out to the VCR, she paused the tape on a close-up of his face. “Oh,” she gasped as she touched the image on the screen. “Stake,” she whispered, outlining his chiseled features with the tip of her finger. She grinned when she got to his heavy, black, beard. God, she’d hated that thing. She’d actually told him so at one point, and the next time she’d seen him, he’d been clean shaven. Being a girl with a mad crush, she’d believed he’d rid himself of the facial hair because she’d asked.

Lying back, she stared at him as she unbuttoned her jean shorts and eased the zipper down. It had been a long time since she’d pleasured herself, and with his image in front of her, she slid her middle finger through the light cream of her slit. Moaning, she ran her free hand over her breasts as she turned her attention to her clit. She began to pant as she ground the heel of her hand against the bundle of nerves, needing to be filled with something other than her fingers.

A floorboard on the porch creaked loud enough to get her attention.
Shit.
She lunged for the power button on the television before fumbling with the zipper on her shorts. “Who’s out there?” she called, reaching for the knife in her purse.

A handsome face appeared on the other side of the screen door. “I know it’s late, but I brought you a few things,” Stake said. “I thought about just leaving ‘em on the porch, but I saw a posse of coons over by the trashcans.”

“A posse?” Despite the very real possibility that he’d seen her pleasuring herself, she couldn’t help but smile. She turned her back to him and zipped her shorts while making a production of setting the knife on the coffee table.

“Can I come in?” he asked. “These bags are getting heavy.”