Page 21

"This doesn't change anything, you know." London breathes in deep.

"The hell it don't."

London pulls back, looking up at me. She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out as I lay her on the bed. Her breathing hitches, and her body stills beneath me. I grip her hips as she lets me settle between her legs. "You're mine."

"I don't need saving." She lifts her hips off the mattress.

"Don't change the fact that you're mine." I slide into her with one hard thrust. "You don't get to push me away," I growl against her ear. "No more fighting."

London whimpers. "I can't afford to stop."

I slide in deeper, dragging a moan from her throat, the kind that makes me fuck her harder. "You can." My voice is rough with possession. "You will."

"I don't need you," she lies, gripping the sheets, her body betraying every stubborn word that leaves her lips.

"You need me," I counter, grinding into her, making her feel how much I need her. "Just as much as I need you." I move faster. "Say it!"

"No," she rasps.

"You belong to me." I grind against her, slow and deep, making her feel every inch of me. "Give me what I want, babe."

Her body tightens, and a strangled moan slips past her lips. And finally, she gives in to me. "I'm yours," she says, her back arching as her orgasm shatters through her body, taking me over the edge of release with her.

I still inside her, pressing my forehead to hers, breathing hard, my pulse pounding. She's boneless beneath me, her body trembling, the fight drained from her once again. I slide my hand down her side, over the curve of her hip, grounding myself in the feel of her. "You're fuckin' perfect."

London sighs, her breath still uneven. "I'm far from perfect. And don't go thinking just because you're a sexy mountain of muscle with a magic dick, it means you're always going to get your way."

I kiss her, chuckling. "That so?"

"Damn right."

I smirk, nipping at her skin, ready to go another round. "I wouldn't want it any other fuckin' way, babe."

We take our time coming down from the high, tangled in each other, until reality slowly creeps back in. Eventually, she slips out of bed and starts getting dressed.

When she turns to me, her eyes lock onto mine with a challenge. "You need to take me home."

I finish pulling my shirt over my head, stepping toward her. "Not happenin'."

Her hands land on her hips, her glare sharpening. "Excuse me?"

I grab my cut from the chair, pulling it on. "I've got shit to handle at the clubhouse, and you're comin' with me."

London folds her arms beneath her breasts. "No, I am not . I have a life of my own, Kallum."

I close the space between us in a single stride. "You were abducted last night. If it wasn't for Tony, there's no tellin' what would have happened to you." Dark, unwanted thoughts ripple through my head. "All because you were pokin' around places you shouldn't have been.

London's jaw tightens, and I know she's about to explode. "I was trying to find out what happened to Amara. She was clearly being abused by the asshole she's with, and now she's been missing for days."

My chest tightens with anger. I know London means well, but she put herself in the crosshairs of dangerous men. "You know better," I say, my voice low but controlled. "You've seen firsthand how shit like this plays out. Yet, you still put yourself in the middle of it."

Her eyes blaze. "So, what? I should ignore the fact that a woman is being beaten, and something much worse could have happened to her?"

"I get it, babe. You care. But you're not a goddamn savior. And now, because of your choices, you're stuck to my side until I make damn sure we know who we're dealin' with."

Her lips part, ready to argue more, but I don't give her a chance. "You are gettin' your sweet ass on my bike, and we're goin' to the clubhouse together. End of discussion."

She exhales sharply, her nostrils flaring as we both hold our ground, eyes locked on each other. She can fume all she wants, but she's not winning this one.

Minutes later, we're outside, with the thick humidity of New Orleans pressing in on us.

I throw my leg over the bike and glance at London as she stands, arms crossed, scowling. "Babe." My tone is a warning.

With a look meant to cut like a knife, she steps forward and swings her leg over, gripping my waist.

I smirk. "See? Not so hard."

London mutters something under her breath, but the rumble of my engine drowns it out.

The ride through the city is smooth, the humid air rushing past us as I weave through traffic.

London's body molds to mine, her warmth pressing into my back, arms snug around my waist, and her fingers gripping the edges of my cut.

And fuck if it doesn't do something to me.

It sends a deep, possessive satisfaction through me.

And it's not a feeling I'm willing to let go of any time soon.

As we approach the industrial side of the city, the air thickens with the scent of oil and the river.

The clubhouse comes into view. The gate opens as we roll up, my brothers' bikes already lined up out front.

I park beside Kiwi's ride and cut the engine.

London slides off first, adjusting her T-shirt, tossing me a look of pure irritation, and with a sassy sway to her hips, she heads for the door.

I shake my head and follow her inside the clubhouse, where Promise is sitting in the common room with Payton and Josie.

"The guys are in the back." Promise's eyes dart between me and her best friend. I smirk, grabbing London by the hand and yanking her into me.

"Kallum—"

I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing whatever smart-ass remark she was about to make. When I pull back, her lips are parted, and her breath is uneven. "Stay put." Before she can argue, I walk away, leaving her with the women watching with amused grins.

As I push through the door into the back room, the others are already waiting. Riggs sits at the head of the table, arms crossed, watching me intently as I find my seat. "How's London holding up?" he inquires.

"She's fired up," I reply.

Riggs laughs. "I bet. I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say it's about damn time you two got your heads out of your asses."

I look around the table, noticing everyone nodding in agreement and rubbing the back of my neck . Damn, were we that transparent?

Riggs clears his throat. "Tony caught up with me this morning. He did some digging last night and shared what he knows about the guy who snatched London. We've got a name and an address. His name is Eddie Rollins."

"Where's he hiding?" I ask.

Riggs tosses a slip of paper onto the table, and it circulates among the group. "Rundown neighborhood, gang-controlled. He's got a hold up there," Riggs says, his voice low and tense.

Wick leans in closer, eyes darting around the room. "We need to be vigilant. That area has seen a lot of deaths lately."

"We rollin' out tonight?" Fender asks.

"Our best shot is to move while the sun's high. No way we wanna be caught in the streets once the sun dips unless it’s necessary."

I clench my fists, my blood burning with the need to put hands on the bastard who laid a finger on London.

Riggs' gaze sweeps the table. "We don't take unnecessary risks. We don't get sloppy. We get in, get what we came for, and get the fuck out."

Wick nods. "Gangs have eyes everywhere in that neighborhood. The second we roll in, someone's gonna know. We move quickly. Move smart."

Kiwi exhales through his nose. "We got a set-up for the place?"

Riggs leans back in his chair. "Tony didn't have a full layout, just that it's a one-story shack at the end of the dead-end street. Bars on the windows. No cameras, at least not visible. Place is more of a nest than a home." Riggs then focuses his attention on me. "I want him breathin'. For now."

I grip the table's edge, and Riggs notices my building tension.

He looks at me. "I understand this is personal, but keep your head straight."

I hold his gaze. "I know the drill."

He watches me for another beat. "Good." He then turns to Catcher.

"Get the van and follow us." Riggs stands.

"Cain, Fender, sit this one out. I need eyes and ears here at the clubhouse.

" There's a beat of silence. Nova and Fender would rather be on the frontline with the rest of us, but neither would argue with Riggs' order.

"Let's move," he barks, and we file out of the room.

I slowly approach the door, briefly making eye contact with London before stepping out into the southern heat.

We don't waste time. Within minutes, Catcher is in the van while the rest of us roll out, heading deep into the city's underbelly.

The streets are narrow, lined with abandoned houses, their windows boarded up, and graffiti marking the walls everywhere.

We pass women in short skirts with lifeless eyes standing on the corners while drug deals happen in broad daylight.

We roll up to a dilapidated house, with the front porch sagging, at the end of a dead-end street.

Riggs signals, and we move in fast, weapons drawn as we rush the house, kicking the door in. Three men, sitting on a dirty sofa in front of a coffee table, bagging drugs, freeze.

Behind us, Wick and Kiwi cover the door while Catcher remains posted inside the van, prepared for trouble should it find us.

My eyes lock onto one of the motherfuckers, laid back, joint in hand, and a massive bruise on the side of his face.

I recognize him immediately from the bar and gym.

"Rollins," I mutter. His gaze flickers to mine when I speak his name, and the anger simmering inside grows.

Does this fucker know who London is to me and the club?

If he doesn't, he's sure as hell about to.

He doesn't flinch. "This ain't your side of town, motherfuckers."

"It is now." I step closer, my gun level with his smug expression.