Love Ties (12 page)

He texted a lengthy reply and then replaced his phone. Without a word, he polished off his treat and licked his big fingers clean.

She suppressed a shiver of want and tried to concentrate on her food.

When she put a bite in her mouth, he said, “Ever Palen doesn’t have much of a history.”

“Well,” she swallowed hard, forcing down the dough, “I haven’t done much yet.”

He glared at her, leaning across the table, his forearms taking up so much space and his tattoos standing out in the harsh lighting. “I took you to our backroom, showed you what was there.”

“Yes.” A quiver started in her belly.

“You could use that information against us at any moment. Yet I knew you wouldn’t. I don’t have a fucking clue why, but I trust you.” His eyes were hard—all those sweet gold flecks vanished.

“Thank you for that.”

He shoved the tray out of the way, his face mottling red. “I don’t want your goddamn thanks, Ever. I want some answers!”

“You don’t need to know more than you do. I’m not planning to stick around.”

“Like hell!” He covered her shaking hands with one large one. A muscle in the corner of his jaw fluttered. “Do you know why I need to know your story, Ever? Our prez is demanding it. In our club, it’s total disclosure. So if you want to be in my bed, you’d better goddamn tell me. Everything.”

He thudded a fist off the cheap laminate table, and several people jumped nearby. A woman sent her a sidelong look that suggested Ever was someone to be pitied.

Fuck that.

She drew up straight and pulled her hands from Jamison’s grasp. “Take me back. I’ll get my stuff and leave before your prez arrives.”

Jamison rammed his fingers through his hair, sending it into spikes. God, he was a beautiful man—one she didn’t want to pry herself from, if she were honest. But it was better for all parties, and especially for her heart.

He held his arm under her nose. Blood orange wildflowers waved on his skin. “See that? This is me giving. Know why?”

She didn’t reply, so he barreled on.

“Because I want you.” His eyes were wide and earnest.

That quiver in her belly turned into a full-on quake. What did she do with the emotion he evoked in her? There was more than lust between them, no matter how much she wanted to call it that. Some thread tied them together—a silken rope that connected their souls.

Yet she’d thought that about Stone too.

She started shaking her head, and he barked, “Don’t say no. Look hard at us, Ever.”

She had nothing to say.

After several silent minutes, he grunted. He grabbed the tray off the table and stormed across the room. He tossed everything in the trash—even the tray. Then he walked out of the bakery, leaving her alone in the booth.

With shaky hands, she pushed her hair off her face. What to do? She was miles from home, but she could hitchhike if she had to.

Jamison’s bike engine vibrated the glass beside the booth as he pulled up outside. He didn’t look her direction, just waited.

Her helmet hung from his handlebar, a beacon.

She got the message.

Standing, she avoided the concerned stares of the patrons. What did they know, anyway? She wasn’t some classy woman. She ran with rough people. She was a biker bitch.

She went outside and put on her helmet. All the time, Jamison didn’t look at her, and damn, she wanted him to.

When she climbed onto the bike behind him, he was wooden. Heart sinking, she held on as they took off down the interstate, toward home.

•●•

Damn her. She’d come into his life and fucked him all up. His mind had been consumed with Ever, Ever, Ever. And now he had to reprogram his brain.

When Amanda had offed herself with a syringe of speedball, his heart hadn’t felt as bruised as it did at this moment.

What had Ace said? The man who didn’t believe in love had fucking fallen. Jesus.

Out of habit he searched the night. Every dark alley and side street in his town was patrolled by the Hell’s Sons. No more drugs in Heller’s Gap. Period.

Two figures stood in a ring of light, one shifting from foot to foot. The other held a bag.

“Goddammit.” Jamison swung the bike so abruptly that Ever tipped dangerously to the side. He grabbed her upper thigh, and she wiggled closer behind him.

“What is it?” she asked.

“If I tell you to run, you run, do you hear me?” He screeched to a stop in front of the pair on the corner. Terror washed over their faces as he jumped off the bike and swiped the bag from the man’s grasp.

He unzipped it to reveal an army of tiny bags, pouches filled with rock.

Fury took over, and he pulled his knife. “Get the fuck up against that wall and put your hands on it.”

“You police, man? You don’t look like a cop,” one said.

He kicked him in the knee, sending him sprawling toward the wall. “In this town, I’m a cop to you. Now get the fuck up against the wall!”

He swiped his knife at both of the druggies, and they stumbled forward. He tossed the bag at Ever, who fielded it as if she’d done this many times before. Hell, she probably had. Rage bubbled, mixing with the fury at finding these dealers on his streets.

“Don’t hurt us, man. Just take the shit,” the kid said.

“Oh, I’m taking it, all right. But I’m not going to leave you with the impression that you can do this again. Put your fingers flat on the wall.”

The kid clenched his fists, trembling from head to toe. “What are you going to do?”

Jamison dragged the point of his knife over the concrete block wall, inches from the guy’s fingers. “I’m going to give you a daily reminder not to dabble in dark shit like this.”

The kid screamed, a long, burbling cry, and he hadn’t even been cut yet.

Jamison’s neck prickled.

Then he realized Ever’s fingers were on his scalp, the warmth extending through every digit into his system.

He looked into her eyes. She clutched the bag to her body as if protecting it from those who were dealing the shit inside.

She’d run her fingers through Jamison’s hair and saved him from more violence.

“Come on,” she said, extending a hand for him to take.

“You’re looking for Jamison?”

Ever whirled at the feminine voice.

The tender-eyed brunette stepped back. “Sorry if I scared you.”

“No, it’s okay.” Ever was as twitchy as a crack whore needing a fix. A Jamison fix. He’d retrieved her jacket and purse from his room and then taken her straight home last night. But of course, she’d lain awake all night, wanting him. It wasn’t even full daylight, and she was at the club, looking for him.

“I’m Sarah. They call me Sweetheart Sarah.” She was rounded in all the right places and had the sweetest expression on her face Ever had seen in a long time.

“I’m Ever.”

“I know. We all know.” She smiled, looking like an angel.

“Well, where is he?”

“He isn’t here. He and the guys went out. Can I get you some coffee while you wait?”

She shot a look at the bar, expecting to see Ace and Copilot, but they were gone too. “No thanks. Coffee will only make my nerves worse.”

Sarah touched Ever’s elbow. “Let’s sit down.”

She followed the young woman through the main room into a lounge area. Several sofas lined the walls, and a big coffee table was littered with empty beer cans. She gestured for Ever to sit while she went and collected a trash can. Then she started to clear the coffee table.

Ever helped. It felt good to be doing something. Part of her screamed that she should leave. She’d felt Jamison breaking away from her last night, and that was good—what she wanted.

Wasn’t it?

Now here she was, waiting to see him.

“Thanks for your help,” Sarah said. She set the trash can in the other room and came back to sit on the sofa. She wore a skimpy skirt and halter top—typical sweet butt attire. But she didn’t look trashy at all. She looked…sexy.

Sarah was staring at Ever. Awareness flooded her. She licked her lips, and Sarah tracked the movement.

For days she’d had rough, intense sex with Jamison. And she’d loved every minute of it. But maybe she wanted something softer. Something comforting.

Sarah tilted her head in the direction of the bedrooms. “You wanna…?”

Ever’s voice was breathy. “Yes.”

•●•

“Ever’s here?” Joy pounded Jamison like a wave in a hurricane. Wild, primitive happiness took over. He started forward, his mind fixed on one person.

“Wait, boss, she’s—” Burns trailed off.

Realization stopped Jamison in his tracks. His fingers numbed. Every cell in his body went dead still.

He grabbed a bottle of tequila. If he was going to brain his brother with a bottle, he wasn’t wasting the good whiskey.

He started down the hall.

“Boss.”

“Jamison.”

“Stop, man!”

He kept walking. The dirty, stained carpet in the corridor was a runway to destruction. After he killed his brother for fucking his girl, the club would tear off his patches and burn his cut.

He didn’t give a fuck. Ever was his.

He kicked open the door. It hit the wall with a crack as loud as his heartbeat. Ringing started in his ears as he prepared to see Ever sprawled under a cut, some man’s dick buried in what belonged to Jamison.

He barely registered what he was seeing.

Ever raised her head from a kiss—with Sarah.

The woman had a face like a model and the heart of an angel. She’d offered solace to almost every man in this club. And now Ever.

Sarah’s lips were swollen—from kissing other things?

Ever’s face paled, and a shaky gasp hung in the air.

Jamison’s heart started again.

He stomped across the room and gripped Sarah’s upper arm, hauling her roughly off the bed. He shot Ever a look, and she shifted her gaze from his.

“Sometimes I crave something softer—” she started.

He stared at Sarah’s lips, still wet with Ever’s kisses. And probably more. Female limbs glistened in the candle Ever had lit on his dresser.

He crushed his mouth to Sarah’s. The taste of his woman filled his mouth—musky-sweet. His.

He drank in her essence, licking Sarah’s lips, and taking everything that belonged to him.

Ever released a harsh noise.

She didn’t understand.

He gently pushed Sarah toward the door. “Get out.”

“Jamison—” Ever said, sending Sarah a sorry look.

Sarah grabbed her clothes and hurried out into the hall, where she was spotted and greeted by whoops.

Jamison swung the bottle toward Ever. “Drink.”

Tears flooded her eyes. “I—”

“Drink.” He twisted off the cap.

She tipped the bottle and winced at the flavor.

He gazed at her, more aroused by her taste on his tongue. “Again.”

She did, shuddering.

When she lowered the bottle, he took it from her. Setting it aside, he cupped her pussy. “This is mine. I don’t mind you sharing with Sarah, but those flavors of you belong to me.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s why you kissed her,” she whispered.

“Yeah, baby. I have no desire to touch her, but your flavors are mine. I take what belongs to me.”

Understanding brightened her gaze. He’d masked Sarah’s taste on Ever’s lips with the tequila. She reached for the bottle and swigged again.

Unable to wait a minute longer, he gathered her in his arms and laid her on the bed. “I hope you got your fill of softness, because I’m not going to hold back. I’m so fucking turned on right now. I can’t.”

The need to fill her with the same desperate need was a candle in his soul. He had to convince her that she belonged with him.

He threaded his fingers through her thick hair and twisted, pinning her with his eyes and body. But after he was done with her, she’d never leave his bed again.

“I don’t give a damn what your name is, as long as you’re mine.”

Her chest dipped as she released the breath she’d been holding. “It really is Ever.”

He stared into her eyes and saw the truth. “Good. We’re going to be playing a little game of truth or dare.”

She squeaked, and he held her more firmly so she couldn’t move her head and look away.