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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

V elina…

I lay in the dark, waiting for what had woken me to sound again. I was just starting to relax, when it happened – whump, whump, whump, whump, whump! I sat up, heart pounding, and realized that there was someone at the motel’s door.

I threw back the blankets and tip-toed across the grimy linoleum floor to the curtains, peering out the window carefully and letting out an explosive breath when I spotted Saint’s hulking shadowy form at my door. He was leaning on his arm in that way that said drunk , and I rolled my eyes as he called out through the door, “Velina, come on! I ain’t got all night.”

I went to the door and, against my better judgment, turned back the safety latch with one hand and the deadbolt with the other. I opened the door, and he dropped his arm.

“About fuckin’ time,” he grated as he brushed past me, narrowly missing my toes with his big, booted feet.

I shut the door behind him and tipped around to the bedside, clicking on the lamp.

He winced and put up his hand, and I startled back from a pair of roaches running from the light.

“Oh, hell no. They got roaches in here?” he complained.

“Yeah, one of the other rooms, I think. They’re filthy, and the bugs are migrating through the walls. It’s gross, but it’s what I can afford.”

“Not anymore,” he said. “You’re moving.”

“Saint, it’s the middle of the fucking night. Why are you here?” I asked.

He came up to me, and he was most assuredly drunk. He put an arm around my waist and hauled me up against him, thrusting one of his powerful thighs between my legs. I sucked in a sharp breath and pressed both hands to his chest over the soft, broken-in tee he wore.

“What the hell?” I demanded.

“Shut up,” he ordered, and automatically, my teeth clacked as I closed my mouth on what I had been going to say next.

“I like that,” he muttered, and he dipped his head, running his nose up the side of my neck and nuzzling just behind my ear. His breath was hot and fetid with the tequila he’d been drinking as it rushed over my skin, and he made this deep growl next to my ear.

My body loosened, and I practically melted at the sound.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, and he captured my mouth with his.

I stiffened but didn’t try to push him away. Instead, I parted my lips and darted my tongue out to meet his.

We stood there in the golden lamplight, exploring each other’s mouths, both of us standing stiff but not in an awkward sort of way. More like his body silently challenging mine, and mine answering the challenge, stiff against his, the heat building between us, a game of defiance between a predator and prey that wasn’t known for backing down.

A larger apex predator stalking a smaller, yet equally dangerous apex predator, but in the end, like most things, size, speed, and presence mattered, and Saint had more of each of them in spades.

Fuck, it was hot. He was hot, clad in his faded denim and leather, his hands big, strong, and so very warm through the thin cotton and Lycra blend of my cami and matching panty set, which I tended to like to sleep in.

“What the hell?” I demanded breathily against his bearded mouth as he drew back from me.

“My big dumb ass just needed to see if it was my imagination or not,” he said.

“If what was your imagination?” I asked.

He thrust his leg up tighter to my sex between my own, and a slight moan escaped my lips, and I caught myself rubbing against him.

“That,” he growled, and his mouth captured mine once more.

Shit-fire, motherfucker! I thought to myself.

It’d been so long for me, at least a couple of years. Part of that was because the California boys didn’t know the difference between being dominant in the bedroom and just plain being a douchebag.

Oh, trust, I thought Saint could be a real asshole sometimes, but legitimately – you could feel the difference. I was, most certainly, feeling something about Saint that had nothing to do with anger, ire, or irritation. More like passion, desire, and a very real want to crawl out of my skin and into his. But holy shit , that would be so wrong! Wouldn’t it?

Talk about complicating things!

I pushed against him, tore my mouth from his, and gasped out, “Hold on a minute!”

To his credit, as strong as he’d come on to me, he was equally strong in a different sort of way in letting me go.

He lowered his upthrust knee, his hands, which had migrated from my waist to my ass to haul me up against him, lowering me gently so my feet could rest flat to the floor.

“You’re all good,” he said between heaving breaths, and I shook my head.

“Far fucking from it, but I’m okay,” I gasped back.

He chuckled then.

“Seriously, Saint. What the fuck is this all about?” I demanded.

“I’m drunk as fuck and thinking with my dick,” he answered honestly and dropped onto the edge of the rumpled bed with a big sigh.

“I appreciate your honesty,” I said and dropped onto the bed beside him, a considerable wanting ache developing between my legs that was almost too persistent to ignore.

“Hell of a way to let a girl know you’re interested,” I said, and he chuckled and flopped onto his back across the bed sideways. I turned over onto my stomach and stretched out beside him.

He opened one eye and said, “Probably best not to complicate things any further than they already are.”

I snorted and said, “Took the thought right out of my head, but hey – in for a penny in for a pound.”

“What does that even mean?” he asked.

“Fucked if I know, it’s some sort of British turn of phrase I heard on some show or whatever.”

“Fair,” he said, turning on his side to prop his head on his hand and look at me.

He slid his free hand up under my cami, along my back, smoothing it over my skin.

I closed my eyes and relished the roughness of his palm against my smooth flesh and tried not to shudder.

“You react nice to my touch,” he whispered, and I sucked in a sharp breath at the small praise.

“Tormenting me isn’t the only reason you came by in the middle of the night like this, is it?” I asked. He chuckled and smacked my ass, the sharp report echoing back at me from the walls and ceiling of the small room.

“Ow! Hey!” I cried, frowning.

“I haven’t even begun to torment or torture you yet,” he said. “But I bet you suffer beautifully.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck! That was hot.

“You having second thoughts about backing my play?” I asked him.

“No,” he said. “But full honesty – I don’t like it, and I voted against it.”

“Why tell me that?” I demanded.

“Because you need to understand, the guys who said yes? They see whatever happens as a net gain for the club. You need to understand that until you prove yourself, going into this – about the only friend you’ve got is me. ”

“Hell of a pep talk you’re giving me, Saint,” I said with all sarcasm intended.

“It’s not meant to be a pep talk, baby,” he said. “This is my half-drunk and half-assed last-ditch effort at getting you to understand what a bad fuckin’ idea this is. How fuckin’ dangerous this is?—”

“I’m good,” I said. “I understand.”

“I don’t think you do,” he said.

“I’m not some insipid California Malibu Barbie cunt,” I snapped. “Louie was my brother, my blood, and Goddammit – I’m going to do this. I’m going to show up for him!” The way no one has ever shown up for me, I thought, but didn’t want to admit out loud.

“You got a death wish,” he said.

“So, give me what I need to know to stay alive,” I said evenly.

“There are fates worse than death,” he tried, and I scoffed.

“I know,” I said. “I’ve lived some of them. Louie’s mom wasn’t sunshine and roses, but neither was his dad. Our dad.”

“You get diddled like we did?” he asked, and I paused.

“No, the whole rape thing came later in high school for me, and it wasn’t family that sold me up the river. It was a date rape turned gang rape sort of a thing, but that is neither here nor there,” I said. “I know you’re drunk, but did you mean to say ‘we’ in that sentence?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s how I got my road name. I was an altar boy growing up, and I still go to church every Sunday, Wednesday mass, too, if I can manage.”

“You’re a biker who goes to church?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said simply.

“And I assume you being an altar boy is somehow centric to your abuse?” I asked softly, trying to get a clear picture as gently and diplomatically as possible.

“Yep to that, too,” he said.

“Yet you still go to church?” I asked.

“I don’t always get it either, but the priest is one of my good buddies who I grew up with. Not the fuckin’ pedo we both had to up with while growing up ourselves.”

“That’s a strange and sordid CliffsNotes version of your childhood,” I said.

“We all come from fucked-up places,” he muttered, and it sounded as though sleep was starting to suck at his edges, blurring his words along with his consciousness.

I scooted closer as he rolled back onto his back and stretched, and tucked myself into his side, laying my head on his chest.

“We all come from fucked-up places,” I murmured in agreement. His arms sort of went around me, and he sighed out.

He fell asleep first.

I was still awake when the light started to press at the edges of the blackout curtains.

I had a lot of thoughts, most of them with an eye on the prize – the prize being standing on business when it came to my little brother.

Someone had to.

Someone needed to.

I had a feeling if he could have, he would have for me. He couldn’t stand up for himself, dammit, so I would stand up for us both. Because fuck the world, that’s why.