Page 1 of Wild Night (Vicious Reapers MC #2)

POSEY

I’m being watched.

I know I am.

I can’t describe how I know, but there are eyes on me that I don’t want on me. Eyes that belong to someone I want nothing to do with. A man who is not really a man . He’s weak and fake, an asshole of epic proportions.

He pretends to be a big man, acts as if he’s good and perfect. Lavished me with gifts, pursued me, consumed me. He’s a monster. And he’s watching me. I didn’t think I would feel them on me again. It’s been a while. I was hoping he would vanish completely and never return.

My ex-husband… well, estranged husband.

I wish he were my ex.

What a mistake that was—marrying him. Allowing him to be part of my life. I let him financially seduce me, which is more my fault than his. I’ve worked hard my entire life, and it felt nice when someone wanted to take care of me and that he seemed to have the means to do so thoroughly.

I made the mistake because it glittered with gold.

It seems the women in our family tend to do that. They make serious mistakes when it comes to men. Big ones. Life-altering ones.

My mother and father seemed somewhat in love with one another, but my father was cruel. They were obsessed with each other, really. My mother was often unhappy, trying everything she could to keep my father satisfied.

But that unhappiness, either with him or herself—I’m not sure which—she took out on me and my sister. So, maybe it wasn’t love they shared. Maybe it was something different, something twisted. But whatever it was, she stayed for longer than any woman should.

They had us later in life, both being well into their thirties when they married and started a family.

My sister came first, then me many years later.

I don’t know if it has anything to do with them being from a different generation than my friends’ parents, or maybe it’s just because we were so spaced out.

Maybe it was because of whatever twisted shit they had between them, but my household never felt happy. It never felt like a peaceful place to be. It wasn’t safety or comfort. It was living on the edge, walking on eggshells, and falling… a lot.

Nobody ever smiled.

And raised fists or backhands slamming against our faces or bodies were more common than not, along with anything that was in arm’s reach flying through the air. That’s why my sister ran away when she was a teenager, and that’s why I did the same the moment I turned eighteen.

I lasted a few years longer than my sister, but only because I was scared to go out on my own—she wasn’t scared of shit.

Never was.

I will always admire her for that, even though I don’t think she went about life the right way.

That she made the right decisions. And as I’ve discovered more about her in recent years, I’m one-hundred-percent certain that she still chose wrong.

But maybe that’s just the Bennet women’s curse or something.

When I ran, it was, of course, with the wrong man—continuing the great tradition of picking wrong. I had a few more bad men before I married the absolutely completely incorrect man.

Now that I’m thirty-six, maybe, just maybe, I have learned my lesson… but I doubt it. I’ve been celibate for two years straight, choosing not to pick a man at all, and that’s not healthy, either.

I’m not sure that means I’ve learned anything. And I don’t think I know what healthy even is. I haven’t chosen a man, haven’t looked at one, and sure as hell don’t want anything to do with one.

At least not yet.

Not until this divorce is finalized, because if he is watching me, the last thing I want to give that man is ammunition of any kind or drag someone else into my mess of a life.

I scrounged together enough money to hire an attorney and file for divorce about a year ago.

But nobody can find him. I’m hoping for a default divorce to be granted at this point, and until today, I didn’t think he would ever be back, so I wasn’t sure it mattered what I requested because he didn’t care. Not after two years… right?

I don’t think I’m asking for much. I just want the things I have with me, nothing else. I want to keep the car, a red two-door Mercedes convertible, which was technically a gift from my husband . And jewelry pieces that were also gifts so I can sell them because fuck him.

Also, I am asking for fifty thousand dollars to help me start over.

Considering this man moved me into his house, then made sure to keep everything separate, never commingling a damn thing, and left me here without a dime of help. I didn’t know the house was a rental. I thought he owned it.

Only after he walked out of the house did I discover that it’s a rental, and I’ve been making the strokes so the lease isn’t broken because I really can’t afford to pay the fees for the broken lease.

My savings are drained— completely .

It's been two years since I’ve set eyes on Lucian Whitmore, and I’m glad for it.

I don’t even know if that’s his real name at this point.

Maybe he’s not a real person. For all I know, he’s a damn ghost—a figment of my imagination.

What if it turns out I imagined everything and that I’m the one with a mental health issue?

My attorney can’t find him—nobody can.

He’s been dust in the wind, but I think he might be back now, and I’m terrified about what that means.

I’m afraid of what he’s going to do to me, what he’s going to expect from me.

There’s a possibility at this point that we weren’t even legally married, although I think that would be too good to be true.

My phone buzzes in my hand as I smile down at the incoming text message. A few months ago, my niece found me. A niece I didn’t even know existed. She’s living in the mountains of North Carolina, and all the pictures she sends me make it look like a dream.

The text that comes in isn’t her typical picture of her newborn son.

Instead, it’s an invitation to her wedding.

Standing at the front of my car, I smile at the sight of the invite.

I can’t believe she’s getting married. I love that she was able to not only overcome her past but find someone who loves her for her.

Her fiancé, Bishop, sounds like a dream come true.

Then, my entire body freezes when I hear my name being called. When I lift my head, a chill slides down my spine. It’s Lucian. Just as I suspected. Being lost inside my own head causes me to be caught off guard, though.

Inwardly, I’m angry with myself for that.

Lucian stands across the street, his glasses pointed straight at me, and he even jerks his chin in my direction.

“Daddy’s home,” he calls out, his lips curving up into what I can only describe as an evil grin.

Oh.

Hell .

No.

And.

Ew... daddy ?

IVY

Almost forty-four.

What a fucking joke.

Bullet’s already had a kid and is getting married. Here I am, a practicing attorney, and I’ve never even thought about settling down. Never thought about a wife and a couple of kids. I didn’t think I’d never have them, but I also didn’t try to find anyone to have them with, either.

As I think about my childhood, my father, my mother, I wonder why I haven’t, why I didn’t ever dream of a wife and kids. I had a good life. I was given anything I wanted. I had the club. I had this law practice.

All I’ve ever had to do was work, make the grades, and prospect for the club. It worked, and here I am. Anything and everything I could want was handed to me on a silver platter. I’ve never had to work very hard for a damn thing other than do a bit of studying.

Everything has always been at my fingertips, ready for me to pluck it up without question. Women, jobs, money. Whatever it is, I’ve always had full access, and yet, I feel empty. I also feel like a pussy for admitting it, even if it’s to myself.

If I said any of this shit out loud, I know without a doubt I would be told to grow some balls.

I’ve had a lot better life than most of my brothers. I’ve got a mom and a dad, good ones. I had a wonderful childhood, and I remain close to my parents and other family members. My first cousin, Cidney, even works for me.

But something is missing.

I haven’t felt it until recently. Maybe it’s because I’m approaching forty-five, which is just one step closer to fifty. But I feel like I don’t have a hell of a lot to show for my life aside from some accolades, which, in the end, don’t mean a whole hell of a lot.

Standing from my seat, I sway slightly. I shouldn’t have come down here to party tonight. I should have stayed home. I have court in the morning, but I’m no good in the courtroom feeling like this and full of cum at the same time.

Hazzard is standing a few feet away from me, leaning against the wall, her eyes finding mine as soon as I sway. Her lips curl up into a grin. I watch as she pushes off the wall, but she doesn’t approach me.

She’s waiting for me, knowing I’m going to go to her, knowing I’m going to ask her to spread for me and take me. She pretends to be coy for me. I like that shit. I close the distance between us and stop just a few feet away.

Lifting my hand, I extend two fingers and touch them to the middle of her chest. Her breathing picks up, and she sounds as if she’s panting. Her eyes slowly lift to meet mine before she speaks.

“What do you want, Ivy?” she asks, keeping her voice husky and sexy, her gaze never leaving mine.

I’m the only fucking man in the room right now. The only swinging dick around, even if I know I’m not. And honestly, I don’t want to keep her. I just want a few thrusts and a cum dump, but it’s nice to pretend, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

I don’t fuck all the whores here, but Hazzard is different. She knows what I like. She knows her place.

Our world has rules, and Hazzard knows them all—inside and out.

Makes this easier, no guilt—only pleasure.

And the way she looks at me, I could pretend she loves me, but I know it’s all fake.

And I’m okay with that. She’s not who I would choose for anything other than this.

Even though she looks at me like she could crawl inside of my skin and live there happily, I push that shit aside and focus on fucking.

“Hard and fast,” I say.

She hums, then turns around, and I watch as she walks toward the bedrooms. Passing by the bar, I grab a couple of beers before I make my way to my bedroom. I could use a fucking drink.

When I open the bedroom door, I’m not surprised to find Hazzard exactly the way I want her. Ready, as always. Head down, ass up, hands gripping her cheeks and spread wide for me.

Lifting my beer to my lips, I suck down half the contents before I take my belt off, shove my jeans down, and kick off my boots. Stepping out of my pants, I move toward her. Her pussy glistens, so I know that she’s already primed herself for me.

Taking the condom from my cut pocket, I tear the foil package and gently glide it down my cock before I position myself at her entrance. Her fingers slip between her legs, and I tilt my head to the side as I watch her play with herself.

Aligning myself with her cunt, I close my eyes and gently guide myself inside of her warmth, then close my eyes and let out a sigh once I’m completely buried.

I still feel empty.