Heart Ties (Club Ties Book 2) (6 page)

A fucking miner lived in Drake’s head. After getting drunk nearly every day for years, he should be used to the bashing headache. It didn’t help that he’d awakened with a boner the size of a nightstick and dreams of Delta still swirling in his head.

As he sat up in bed, he held his skull to keep it from splitting open. Then he made it to his feet. His cock jutted out, and he gave it a cursory stroke. His needs were something he pushed to the back of his mind most of the time. It wasn’t that easy to gain release while surrounded by guys and guns in the service. Only when really desperate did he even take one of the MC sweet butts. And that doe-eyed blonde with the stick-thin legs had been trying for quite a while.

Visions of a totally different kind of woman infiltrated his mind. Delta in a pair of size sassy jeans, her thighs perfectly outlined by dark denim, right up to the space between.

He stumbled into the shower and blasted cold water on his face. It trickled down his hot chest and right over his erection, but the fucking thing didn’t go down. Not thinking about the patch of heaven between Delta’s legs.

In his dream he’d wrapped her dark hair around his fist, jerked her head back, and kissed her while driving into her sweet body.

There was no help for it.

He gripped his cock and bit off a roar as he rolled the flesh through his fingers, right to the swollen head. Pleasure curled up from the base of his spine. He lashed his balls to his body with his free hand while pumping his shaft with the other.

The stinging cold spray of water was distracting him. He switched off the water and leaned against the wall, fucking his fist. Hard and fast.

No, he wanted Delta slow and thorough, especially the first time. Cradling her face, kissing her for an hour before he even plucked at her hard nipples. Dammit, thinking of her breasts increased his need tenfold.

He rocked into his hand, needing her body. And that voice—Christ, a man might want to be sober for a voice like that.

His cock extended another fraction as he played the throaty, feminine tones through his mind. She’d said his name only once, but it shattered part of him. He hadn’t admitted it to himself at the moment, but since then, he’d conjured the memory countless times.

A voice like hers could make a crowd roar.

Or a man.

He bit off the sound as pleasure steamrollered him. Hot come pumped over his fingers. He dragged his teeth over his lip, thinking of Delta clenching around him, of how her beautiful face would look.

Breathing hard, he stroked out the last of his orgasm. Tingles of heat danced over his skin, and he switched the water back on. Shit, he’d never lost his head over a woman like that before. Not even that tantalizing little hooker in Kabul. After months of killings and bombings, he’d hailed a cab and sneaked into a brothel, where a woman he didn’t know had satisfied him twice.

Some Marines believed themselves in love after smacking some Kabul clam, but not Drake. He’d climbed off the woman, paid her a hefty tip, and then went back to blowing shit up.

He leaned his head against the cold tile wall. What was different about Delta? It might be the fuck-you air about her, or the tattooed sleeve of flowers. It was impossible not to wonder what tattoos he couldn’t see.

Fuck, he was getting hard again. In seconds he was fully erect, his fingers wrapped around his thickness, dreaming about peeling those goddamn tight clothes off Delta and exploring.

He had to stay sober today so he could kidnap her again.

•●•

The sun was shining on Delta today. Not only did she get Fisty off without touching him, but he’d slumped over, passed out in the seat after his orgasm. Delta had driven to the store, shopped, loaded the car, and gotten them back to the club without incident.

Micky had met her at the door and ushered her inside so she wasn’t seen, while the sweet butts unloaded the bags and put away the items.

Girl had been sent to the main room, where Houlihan made her kneel at his feet and the guys discussed how Marx had gotten thrown into a Dumpster without memory of who had done it.

They also talked about how Doc had fixed up Trayson. He wasn’t dead—unless infection from an underground surgery got him.

Now the club was still and quiet. The guys were either passed out or had retired to their rooms with pussy. Delta crept through the darkened room and headed toward the back door.

Long ago she’d discovered that she could sneak out. As long as she didn’t try to leave the gates, she was okay. There was a place infinitely more intriguing than the outside world, and she headed for the ladder leading to the roof.

Her knees were stiff from hours on them, and she sported a few new bruises from Houlihan’s ring against her cheek. Nothing new, and nothing she couldn’t withstand.

Hand over hand she climbed up into the darkness. The roof was a refuge. Here she could gain a few minutes of solitude and stare at the stars. The twinkling gems in the sky were balm to her spirit, giving her the strength to live another day.

She crawled onto the roof, still warm from the scorching-hot day. She tucked her knees to her chest and tilted her head all the way back so the only thing she could see was the black, velvety sky.

For long minutes she forgot about Fisty’s groan as he came and Houlihan’s displeasure when she shifted on her knees because they ached. Trayson’s stab wound that was most likely septic slipped from her mind.

The years’ worth of scars—internal and external—she’d received from her parents ceased to matter, and her fear that her father would try to sell her to some Russian men again vanished.

She found herself thinking of Drake.

His musky, leathery smell had infused her with want. He was a gorgeous man, muscles chiseled under his T-shirt and Hell’s Sons cut. His tattoos and low jeans were…
mmm
.

It had shocked her to hear he had a prosthetic foot, because he didn’t limp. His steps were measured, though, and when he’d kidnapped her and rushed her to his bike, she’d likened it to a soldier’s march.

She ran her fingers through her hair, still able to feel the weight of his helmet. And worse, the feel of his body.

Her nipples pinched into hard jewels. If she’d stayed with the Sons another day, she might have been bold enough to climb into Drake’s bed and take what she wanted for once.

From his burning looks, she knew he desired her. That he hadn’t touched her confused the hell out of her, especially when he was just as demanding as one of the Raiders. He hadn’t asked her to go shopping with him—he’d commanded her.

Yet when Ever had shut him down, Drake hadn’t pressed the issue. His respect for women was much different from the men she knew.

But when the Raiders stormed into the Sons’ MC to retrieve her, that scalding look in Drake’s eyes was extinguished. At that moment, she’d realized how futile it was to dream of the man. Seeing her people made him remember his hatred, and that extended to a Raider’s woman.

Or Girl.

She carefully lay back on the roof. Constellations blinked, airplanes zigzagged the sky, and the moon wore a bright ring tonight.

Delta’s breathing grew more even, and some of the panic that was as much a part of her as her dark hair fled. Somewhere below, one of the guard dogs growled, but other than that the night was silent for once.

She thought of Ever, safely tucked in bed beside her man. Things had worked out for her, but they never would for Delta. She didn’t have a Jamison. If she was lucky, she’d live to stare at the sky another night.

She was tired, but she didn’t close her eyes. The universe was too beautiful.

•●•

“Look what just stumbled in,” O’Dovey taunted as Drake closed the door of the MC.

He gave his brother a chin-nod and went straight for the bar. Ace wasn’t even awake yet, and Copilot was probably curled up on his master’s bed. Drake reached over the counter and hooked his finger around the bottle of Scotch.

“Where ya been, brother?” O’Dovey’s white-blond hair was matted from sleep, and his beard was crushed on one side. He stroked it as he examined Drake.

“Surveillance.”

“For The Gearhead?”

He opened the bottle and put it to his lips. The smooth alcohol filled his nose then hit his tongue. It continued down his throat, creating a comforting warmth in his gut. He swigged again before answering O’Dovey.

“No. I spent my night watching a woman lay on a roof.”

Confusion furrowed O’Dovey’s face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Delta.”

O’Dovey’s face cleared with understanding. Jamison must have told the brothers Drake was going to watch over her and the Raiders.

Rocket drifted in, clothes rumpled as if he’d slept in them and bleary-eyed after a long night. “Anyone make coffee?”

“Got mine.” Drake raised his bottle and drank.

His stump ached from the position he’d spent most of the night in. When Delta slipped out the back door and climbed the ladder to the roof, the tension in Drake had blown up like a fucking can of C-4. He’d gotten over the short concrete block wall with no trouble, but there was no way through the gate unless he wanted to go over barbed wire.

Then he’d drop onto a group of Dobermans.

Not to mention the intermittent Raiders patrolling with AK-47s.

Delta sat on the roof for a long time. When she disappeared from view, Drake’s heart rate had kicked into high, and it had taken him precious seconds to control it. He didn’t often get nervous, but she’d done it to him.

More than once, dammit.

He’d poised for hours, prepared to scale the barbed wire, fend off the Dobermans, and take down the guys with the AK-47s.

His mind conjured a trap door in the roof and a Raider stealing up there to be with her. Dark fury had boiled in his system, and he ground off the points of his molars waiting—wondering if he should say fuck the risks and put a stop to the liaison.

Then she’d appeared—alone. His heart did that odd jogging thing, but he didn’t have time to make it behave because she tucked her hair over her shoulder and began to climb down the ladder.

Jesus fucking hell, her round ass made his balls clench. As he watched it sway downward, he ached to take his hard cock in hand again.