Page 7 of Wild Side (Vicious Reapers MC #3)

CHAPTER SIX

ZADIE

Pulling up to the gate, I watch as a man walks out of a small shack. It’s nothing more than a flat roof and four walls, likely thrown together by one of the guys. It doesn’t even look like it would hold up in a rainstorm, and yet, here it is.

The man approaches my window, and I roll it down, tilting my head back to look up at him. He looks like every guy I’ve grown up with. Faded jeans, tight T-shirt, leather cut, hair a little too long, and a face that hasn’t been shaved in at least three days, if not a week.

“Help you?” he asks when I don’t immediately speak.

“I’m here to see Maverick,” I state.

His brows lift, and the expression he wears I can only describe as surprise. “Maverick?” he asks.

“Maverick,” I confirm.

He tilts his head to the side, his eyes searching mine before he clears his throat. “He know you comin’?”

“No,” I say.

I’m beginning to get a bit nervous. Maybe there is a reason he doesn’t want me to come through these gates.

Just because my dad’s club is pretty chill, that doesn’t mean every club is the same.

There are countless Vicious Reapers all over the country, hell, all over the world, and I am under no illusion that they are all good men with morals and values.

His lips twitch into a smirk while his eyes keep searching mine. “Go ahead, girl. Straight ahead to the concrete building. He should be back soon.”

“Back?” I ask.

He slams his palm down on the hood of the Jeep, then turns and slips back into the shack.

The gate creaks, taking my attention straight ahead, and I watch as it slides open.

I look at the shack again but don’t bother trying to get his attention.

His head is tipped, and he’s got his phone in his hand, a smile on his face.

He’s playing a game or something. I’m no longer a thought in his mind.

Moving forward, I take my sweet-ass time driving down the narrow lane. I can hear the crunch of the rocks against my tires. I wish I could go even slower. I can’t, though. I’m moving at a snail’s pace, and if I go any slower, I’ll stop dead in my tracks, and I don’t want that.

So, five miles an hour forward it is.

Until there is nothing left of the driveway. Until the concrete building greets me. And then I have no choice but to stop. Shifting the Jeep into Park, I stare straight ahead for a long moment, then I decide to tear my eyes from the building and look around the parking lot.

There isn’t much going on. There are a bunch of bikes, but not an extreme amount, and there are two pickup trucks—no other cars. If the music were loud, I would probably hear it from my car, but I don’t hear anything at all.

It’s quiet, almost too quiet, and still.

That is, until the door to the building flies open. I’m taken aback by the man standing in the doorway. It’s him, but also… It’s not. When his eyes find mine, I can tell, even through the windshield, that he is not Maverick.

The man moves toward me, stopping at the driver’s side of the door. He reaches for the handle and pulls it open, his eyes searching mine in silence. I wait for him to speak first, mainly because I don’t know what to say.

“Prospect at the gate called me. Maverick is on the way back from a run. I don’t know you.”

It’s odd, the way he says he doesn’t know me, like he’s supposed to know me just because I know Maverick. It’s been a few months since I’ve seen him, and even when I did, it was dark. But I can’t help but think that he looks a lot like Maverick. Not just a little bit, but a whole hell of a lot.

“Are you supposed to?” I ask.

His lips twitch into a smirk. “I know everyone Mav knows.”

Interesting. Then it hits me. This must have been the other guy. The one who ran off with Sable. I wish she were here. She’s got a lot quicker wit than I do. I can never think about what to say or when to say it. I’m always a day late and a thought behind.

“I can wait for him here,” I whisper.

He tilts his head to the side, his gaze staying one me. “Where are you from?” he demands.

I think about telling him to mind his business, but I’m on his turf.

I don’t have a choice. I don’t say that.

I need to play nice. This man is a stranger.

They all are. Just because they wear the Vicious Reapers cut doesn’t mean they’re my friends.

And it definitely doesn’t mean they love me like family or that I’m safe with them.

“California,” I state.

His eyes widen for a moment. He looks at me, his gaze searching, then he leans down slightly as he narrows his gaze on mine.

“California?” he asks.

“California,” I confirm.

He straightens and takes a step backward. “Well, then,” he says. “By all means, come on inside, take a load off.”

His demeanor has attempted to shift, but I can still hear the bite to his tone, and the sarcasm is right there on the end of his tongue. I don’t really care, though. He can be as sarcastic as he wants. I’m not here to see him. I don’t even know who the hell he is.

“I think I’ll stay right here,” I state.

He shrugs a shoulder, as if it doesn’t mean a damn thing to him, and takes a step backward. “Suit yourself,” he grumbles.

It does suit me. Maverick isn’t here. I don’t know these men, and this guy is acting kind of like a dick. So, I’ll stay right the hell here. In my rented Jeep, in a gravelly parking lot, with my morning muffin and my after-the-drama cupcake right next to me in the front seat.

MAVERICK

My knuckles ache as I ride toward home. The sun sets, and by the time I arrive at the clubhouse, it’s dark. It doesn’t matter. Although I was hoping to be done early enough today that I would have a beer in hand before dark.

But Kyle Alexander and his smart mouth had other things in mind. Things that caused my aching knuckles—things that caused his face to bleed. He’s not dead, even though I wish he were.

I can’t stand people like him, men who talk down to others. Men who think they’re above anyone else. He doesn’t know dick, not about me and not about my position in the club. He also doesn’t realize how powerful we are.

If he did, he wouldn’t have talked shit. I didn’t bother telling him, because a man like him wouldn’t have even listened anyway. I just showed him, and if he thinks about trying me or the club again, no holds barred, I will finish what he started.

As I ride up to the gate, I’m surprised when it doesn’t just open for me the way it usually does. As the Secretary of the club, I can’t even remember the last time I had to check in with whoever was on guard duty. Maybe when I was prospecting… maybe.

Turning my head, I watch as the prospect walks over to me. He seems a bit off. Maybe it’s his smile that’s just a touch too big. I don’t know what it is, but he’s clearly enjoying this shit, and now I need to know what the actual fuck is going on.

“All good?” I ask.

He clears his throat, rocking back on his heels, his lips twitching into a smirk. I’m about to knock it off his face if he doesn’t give me some goddamn answers soon. Luckily for him, he starts talking.

“Woman is here for you.”

My brows snap together in confusion. “A woman?”

All thoughts of slamming my already tender fist into his face disappear as I begin to focus on his words—a woman.

A woman is here for me? Who the fuck could it be?

If I had a different kind of life, maybe I could guess my mother, but she ran off a long-ass time ago. Never to be heard from or seen again.

He grins. “Pretty,” he says. “Rocked up in a 4-door Jeep Wrangler. Young. Dark hair…” His words trail off, and my mind begins to work. I have no fucking clue who it could be.

“Thanks,” I mutter, my mind now completely occupied with this mystery woman waiting for me ahead.

He dips his chin, then spins around and hurries over to the shack, and I watch as the gate opens. Without another thought, I move toward the clubhouse. I probably ride a little faster than I should, but I’m far too curious to take it slowly.

And there, parked right in front of the clubhouse, is the Jeep Wrangler.

I pull up to the passenger side and kill the engine, then disembark from my bike.

Walking around the back of the Jeep, I take in the vehicle, trying to find anything that could tell me who is waiting for me.

I don’t recognize it, and when I glance at the sticker on the back half-door, I notice that it’s a rental.

What in the…

Walking around to the driver’s side, I dip my chin and look at the person in the front seat. Dark hair, bright eyes. I recognize her instantly. Mainly because I’ve been thinking about her non-fucking-stop for three months straight.

Taking a step backward, I watch as she pushes the door open and then slides out, her feet touching the gravel, and then she’s standing in front of me. Dipping my chin, I look down into her pretty face. My cock twitches at the sight of her. All thoughts of my aching knuckles completely vanish.

“Zadie,” I say. I try as hard as I can to hide the surprise in my voice, but I doubt it works.

She gives me a small smile. “Maverick,” she whispers.

Without thinking, without asking her what the fuck she’s doing all the way across the country, I cup her cheeks. Shifting slightly, I touch my mouth to hers. I need to know if her taste is as good as remembered, as I’ve been imagining.

As my tongue slips inside her, I swirl it around her mouth, tasting her, and I know it’s not as good as I remembered—it’s better.

So much fucking better.

She whimpers, and I swallow the sound, my hands gripping her waist before I pick her up slightly, pressing her back against the Jeep. Her fingers grip my shoulders as she stabilizes herself. She breaks the kiss, shifting her head backward slightly.

“We need to talk,” she breathes.

My lips twitch into a smirk. “I’m sure we do,” I murmur, shifting my face closer to hers. My lips touch hers, but I don’t deepen the kiss, at least not yet. “Later,” I exhale against her mouth.

Slowly, I lower her so her feet touch the ground before I shift my hips forward, pressing them against her belly. She exhales against my mouth, no doubt feeling my hard cock against.

Fuck, so goddamn sweet.

So. Fucking. Sweet.

Reaching for the button of her shorts, I pop it before I guide her zipper, and then I shove my hand down her panties, between her legs. My fingers meet her warm, wet center. Sliding them through her folds, I groan at her wetness.

I swirl my fingers around her clit, then repeat the motion, over and over, until her nails dig into my shoulders. If she doesn’t score my cut with her nails, I’ll be surprised. And also, I wouldn’t be mad if she forever scarred the leather.

A memory I would proudly wear.

“Oh god,” she moans.

Slipping my fingers inside her, I curl them as I press my palm against her clit. I can’t stop kissing her. I need to taste her, need all of her. To feel her pussy grip my fingers before it grips my cock when I’m buried deep inside her. It’s not just some throwaway desire—I need it.

Continuing to kiss her, I don’t stop. I can’t. My fingers move, making a come-hither motion inside her, my palm pressing against her clit. She rides my hand until she cries out, her voice echoing around the empty parking lot.

Slamming my mouth against hers, I close my eyes as she rides her release against my hand. When her body relaxes, her back slumping back against the side of the Jeep as she attempts to catch her breath, that’s when I know she’s ready for more.

Shoving her shorts and panties down, I pick her up. She moans as she wraps her legs around my waist. Shifting my hips, I align the head of my cock with her center. She grips my shoulders even tighter.

I slam inside her and watch as her head bounces off the side of the Jeep. Grasping her hips, I fuck her. It’s hard and fast, my hip rolling with each stroke. I can’t slow down. My control is fucking gone.

She’s right here in front of me, and she feels fucking phenomenal. Better than she did just months ago, or at least better than I remembered, if that shit is even possible, because I thought she was the best I’d had then.

I can’t slow down. I can’t stop. My hips move almost involuntarily. Of their own volition. Right now, there is only Zadie and me, and there is only me inside her. Nothing else exists.

Goddamn.

My balls tighten, and I know I’m close. When my back tingles, it’s time. I’m falling over the goddamn edge. There is no way I’m going to be able to make her come again like this. I let my body find its release, bury myself deep inside her, and I come.

My moan fills the night air right before I bury my face in her neck.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I don’t know why or how she’s here, but I’m glad she fucking came.