lfum

Table of Contents Until Mayhem Copyright Other Books by Layla Frost From the Pervy Mind of the Author…

Dedicated to…

Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Epilogue About the Author

Connect with Layla Frost

Until Mayhem Copyright © 2019 by Layla Frost ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Published by Boom Factory Publishing, LLC. Layla Frost CONTRIBUTOR to the Original Works was granted permission by Aurora Rose Reynolds, ORIGINAL AUTHOR, to use the copyrighted characters and/ or worlds created by Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Work; all copyright protection to the characters and/ or worlds of Aurora Rose Reynolds in the Original Works are and shall continue to be retained by Aurora Rose Reynolds. You can find all of Aurora Rose Reynolds Original Works on most major retailers. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.

Cover Design by Dark Water Covers Formatting by CP Smith

OTHER BOOKS BY LAYLA FROST The Hyde Series Hyde and Seek Best Kase Scenario Until Nox: Happily Ever Alpha World The Amato Series With Us The Four Styx Stoned Standalones Give In

FROM THE PERVY MIND OF THE AUTHOR… First of all, I’d like to thank Aurora Rose Reynolds for again letting me borrow a couple Maysons. I’ve been reading her Until series since its inception, and never once did I think I’d be in a place where I was combining that world with one of my own. It’s an honor, and I’m still pinching myself at this dream come true.

I’d also like to thank everyone at Boom Factory Publishing for keeping things organized and running smoothly!

My betas, ARC readers, bloggers, and authors… You make this rockin’ world go round! Your support and dedication and love is invaluable. I’m so grateful and honored to be a part of something so wonderful. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Alexandria H., Jenny R.E., Jamie W., Kimberly B., Sandy D., Kimberly D., and Elizabeth T., thank you so much for helping me name my bikers. It really helped shape their personalities and stories. I appreciate you so much!

Artistic thanks to Tracie Douglas at Dark Water Covers. You’re a cover goddess, and I’m amazed at the magic you weave with my limited and unhelpful input.

And my Naughty Cupcakes… How did I get so lucky? This group amazes me, and I’m so grateful to have formed bonds to people I’ve never met in real life but consider my closest friends—my family. I’m so honored and touched every time you share a post that makes you think of me. I’m not sure what it says about me that 99% of those posts are booze, hot guy, taco, or penis related… Actually, I take that back, I do know what it says. It says you think I’m awesome! In all seriousness, I’m so grateful you choose to spend your time hanging around in my group with me. You’re my inspiration and my driving force to write when I’d rather be napping.

Which, let’s be honest, is always. I love you all and hope you love all the OTT goodness I packed into Judge and Ophelia’s story for you.

DEDICATED TO . . .

The germs and other medical nonsense that tried to slow me down.

Go fuck yourself.

OKAY, FINE, THIS BOOK IS ACTUALLY DEDICATED TO: Brynne Asher and Sarah Curtis. Without your help and encouragement, those damn setbacks—both physical and mental—may have won. Thank you for being my sounding boards, my therapists, my best friends.

ARR for sharing her beautiful world, both real and fictional. Thanks for letting me borrow the boom.

In the words of someone way more eloquent than myself, “Behind every successful woman is a tribe of other successful women who have her back.”

And also to M… Thank you for always treating me like a princess, even when the long hours at the computer mean I resemble a swamp demon. You’re my muse.

I love you whole bunches.

CHAPTER ONE ___________________________ PSYCHO OPHELIA

MILK. Sugar-free hard candy.

Scratchers.

Cat food.

Repeating my list—though I’d likely still forget something—I added a mental groan to the mix as I pulled into the full parking lot.

I knew I should’ve stopped last night.

Saturday mornings were always packed, but the gorgeous spring weather meant even more people were out. I didn’t have time to duck and dodge the crowds of slow walkers and aisle blockers.

Circling around, I finally found a parking spot at the side of the building.

I grabbed my purse and was climbing from my car when roaring engines stole my attention.

I may have been running short on time, but I still stopped to watch as three motorcycles pulled into spots in the next row. I knew nothing about bikes or bikers beyond what I’d seen on TV, but I did know I liked the way they looked—the bikes and the bikers. My attention turned rapt as one of the men climbed off his with badass gracefulness and removed his helmet.

Holy.

Biker.

Hotness.

He turned his head to talk with the driver of a large white van, giving me his profile. Dark hair covered his angular jaw—longer than stubble but not quite a beard. The hair on his head was the same dark brown and also appealingly overgrown.

He moved his arms, and my eyes dropped to check out the art that covered his visible forearms, though I couldn’t make out any details.

A door slammed and I jumped, nearly falling the rest of the way out of my car. Shaking my head at myself, I closed my door and walked toward the grocery store entrance.

Fortunately for my eyes—but unfortunate for my schedule—the three bikers and the van driver moved that way, too.

Nothing wrong with enjoying the scenery while I walk.

We were almost to the door when the youngest of the men—the one who’d been driving the van—suddenly turned.

I was tempted to throw myself behind a decorative display so I wasn’t caught staring at his friend. My pride and I breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes aimed over my head as he walked backward, lifting his key fob.

Learning my lesson, I looked away and feigned intense interest in the displays of seasonal flowers.

Well, I learned it for half a minute. Because once he turned back around, my focus returned to the other man with him—the heavily tattooed one. I wished I had the skill to stealthily take a picture because the girls at work would have a field day seeing them.

Actually, if I were making wishes, it would be that I was ballsy enough to go right up and ask for a ride on his bike.

Or a ride on something else.

Stepping into the store, I grabbed a basket and continued following them.

Not creepily—or so I told myself—but because we happened to be going the same direction. When they turned down an aisle I didn’t need—and following them would’ve been straight up stalking—I grudgingly parted ways with the eye candy.

Speed walking to make up for lost time, I grabbed milk and cat food. I turned down the candy aisle only to see the bikers loading their arms with junk food. My steps slowed to a snail’s crawl so I could peek at them as I passed.

Well, mostly to peek at him—Tattooed Hottie.

To be fair, the other three were nothing to scoff at. One was older and looked like the epitome of an old school biker. On the opposite end, the young guy who’d been driving the van looked around my age and was boyishly cute. There was a handsome man who was somehow even more handsome under the usually unflattering fluorescent lights.

And then there was Tattooed Hottie. From across the parking lot, he’d been… well, hot.

Up close, he was a broodingly gorgeous man who kinda scared me but mostly thrilled me.

Seeing his profile next to the handsome one, I was fairly certain they were related.

And good genes definitely ran in the family.

After adding too many bags of hard candy to my basket, I took one last appreciative look before going to pay. When I was done, I stopped at the lotto machines.

I was trying to decide which ones to get when the hairs at the back of my neck stood. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the bikers waiting in line, but none of them were looking my way.

Holy shit, maybe I have biker senses that tingle.

Not as useful as turning into Spiderman, but still fun.

I chose some random scratchers, put them in my bag, and started for my car. Rounding the corner, I dipped my head to look in my purse for my keys when I bumped into someone.

Hard.

My back slammed against rough brick, and I braced for my head to knock against the unforgiving building, but it landed on something soft.

An apology for not paying attention formed, as did outrage at them for not paying attention, either. What came out was a yelped, “Hey, sorry!”

It took me a moment to realize I hadn’t bounced off someone to hit the wall.

I’d been pushed.

And I knew that because the pusher was still standing close.

Way too close.

Close enough that I could see the skin near his light brown eyes crinkle. “‘Hey, sorry’? You gotta work on your shit-talk, princess.”

Tattooed Hottie.

He was even better looking up close, but when he had me against a wall, I wasn’t about to get lost in his interesting cream soda colored eyes. Or get distracted by the beautiful lines of his angular cheekbones and jaw.

I was too busy trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Then I needed to figure out how the hell to end it because his arms were caging me in, and I had no interest in finding out how easily those arms with their cut muscles could break me.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you,” I said with a forced smile, hoping if I acted like it’d been an accident, he’d roll with it and let me go. I tried to shift, but his body followed.

“You didn’t. I pushed you.”

“That was rude,” I shot back automatically.

“Your shit-talk game, princess,” he shook his head, “it’s shit.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll work on it. Why did you push me?” I peeked to the side, hoping to catch the eye of a random shopper, but it was nearly impossible to see around the broad biker. The limited view I had was of one of his friends.

This isn’t TV or the movies.

Not all bikers are criminals.

This one just has… boundary issues.

He dipped his head into my line of vision. “Why were you following us?”

Oh, ground, swallow me whole.

“Wh-what?” I stuttered.

“You heard me. Why were you tailing us?”

“I wasn’t—” “You were, and you’re shit at it. Clocked you staring when we got here.

Since you seemed interested earlier, I got a permit to carry—nice and legal.

You called the cops, I’m good to show them.”

My brows lowered. “Why would I call the cops?”

He smirked, but it wasn’t with amusement. There was a bitter edge to it.

“You’d be surprised how many people call the cops on us for simply living.”

My chest tightened with apprehension that bordered on fear as the rest of what he’d said sank in. “I didn’t see any gun.”

He studied my face, but rather than looking assured, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “Why were you following us?”

“I wasn’t,” I said again, which was a half-truth but whatever.

“Someone send you?”

“Me? Who? Why?” “You, because you’re fuck-all hot and could easily wrap a man around your little finger with just the fantasy of you wrapping those fuckable lips around their dick. Who, I dunno, that’s why I’m askin’. And the why depends on that who.”

I stored the first part away to think about at a much later time, from the safety of my own home and far, far away from Tattooed Hottie. Right then, I focused on the only parts that mattered.

“I wasn’t sent by anyone for any reason,” I insisted. “I need to go.”

“Someone expecting you?”

“Yes.” I’d thought my answer was a smart way to make it known someone would notice me running late if he kept me there longer, but quickly realized I was wrong when his already brooding glare intensified.

“Who?” he bit out.

“None of your business,” I snapped back.

“It is if you’re following us for them.”

I nearly laughed at the absurd mental image. “Trust me, I’m not. Now move before I scream.”

A twisted smile curled his lips. “Oh, princess, I hope you do.”

My trickle of fear turned into a raging river. I had my pride, but I also had a strong sense of self-preservation. My ego wasn’t worth them thinking I was some shady spy.

“I thought you were hot,” I admitted quickly. “That’s why I was watching you.”

His head jerked back a little and his sinister smile shifted into a cocky smirk. “You think I’m hot?”

My self-preservation vanished with a poof just as fast as it’d shown itself because I shrugged and muttered, “I thought you all were hot. Past tense.”

Jaw clenched, he gritted out, “Nah, princess, your eyes were on me— only me.”

Before I could stick my foot further into my mouth, one of the other men spoke. “N…” he started before pausing. “He texted. We gotta hit the road.”

The man continued staring at me, his eyes slowly scanning my face.

“Didja hear me?” whoever asked.

Scary Tattooed Hottie just lifted his chin in acknowledgement.

Some of my fear eased, but I wouldn’t let my guard down until I was in my car and the bikers were gone from my rearview mirror.

After a long tense moment, someone cleared their throat. “What about the girl?”

Another silent moment stretched before Tattooed Hottie stood upright and took a step away.

I locked my knees to stop from slumping in relief, but my reprieve was short-lived.

“Could be tellin’ the truth. Or could be playin’ us with lies from that fuckin’ mouth. Until we know…” Tattooed Hottie paused and looked me dead in the eye. “She’s mine.”

Before I had time to respond, his shoulder went to my belly and lifted, literally and figuratively flipping my world upside down. My groceries and —really unfortunately—my purse clattered to the ground.

It took a moment to catch the breath his hard shoulder had knocked from me, but as soon as I had it, I used it. “Let me down! Help! Let me down, you crazy bastard!”

In the few strides he took, I kicked and screamed and hit. I even tried to bite, but none of it did any good.

My equilibrium was jarred further when he tossed me, but as soon as I got my bearings enough to know which way was up, I scrambled toward the rear doors of the van just as they slammed shut. That didn’t stop me from clawing and kicking at them. “You’re out of your mind! There’re cameras everywhere in the damn parking lot. Let me go!”

My eyes darted around, but I couldn’t see anything. There were no windows and the cab was completely walled off, not offering even a hint of sunlight. I felt around for a handle, a weapon, bobby pin… anything. Empty handed, I stood and felt around the roof, hoping for an escape hatch or sunroof or something.

But once again, nothing.

This is a prank.

A prank gone way, way too far.

That flicker of hope was snuffed out when the engine roared to life, followed by the near-deafening roar of motorcycles.

And then we were moving—the acceleration and my shaking legs working together to drop me on my already sore ass.

In the darkness, the image of the man’s burning gaze replayed in my mind, his words echoing over and over.

‘She’s mine.’

He’s not Scary Tattooed Hottie.

He’s fuckin’ Psycho Tattooed Asshole.

I tried to crawl toward the front where the seats were, feeling again for anything, but the back of the van was totally empty.

Except for me.

My knees skidded painfully against the floor, and I kept slamming to the side, unable to find any ground.

With no other option, I steadied myself against the wall and tried to slow my breathing.

And then I screamed my fucking head off, kicking and slamming around for good measure.

CHAPTER TWO ___________________________ TEMPORARILY RESTRAINED JUDGE

“WHAT THE FUCK you doin’, man?”

I wish I fuckin’ knew.

My head had been screwed on crooked since the moment I’d pulled into that damn parking spot opposite of her. I’d clocked her before I’d even ripped my helmet off.

Never in my damn life had my body reacted faster to anyone. Her blond hair had been pulled into a messy knot with pieces falling around her face.

Her leggings had clung to her, showing off the fan-fuckin’-tastic body her oversized tee had failed to hide. She was a tiny thing but had thrown attitude around like she was double my size.

It made me hard as hell.

It also pissed me off because, for all I knew, it was an act.

Nash—a local club owner, greedy fucker, and sack of shit—used his stable of strung-out, expendable women, selling their bodies and souls like currency to get everything he wanted.

Money.

Power.

Cars.

A big house Nox called his ‘Fortress of Fuckery’.

Politicians in his back pocket.

A big chunk of territory to run drugs and guns.

But none of that was enough. He needed more and was trying to take out the competition to get it. With some of the smaller clubs already out of the way, he’d set his sights on Wicked—a strip joint owned by Nox’s friend and former cellmate.

Nash had tried poaching the girls and starting shit, but that hadn’t done anything.

Then he’d gotten Lars’ cousin involved, and that’d ended messy.

We were almost positive he’d sent someone into Mayhem for intel, and that’d ended ugly.

After one of his idiot soldiers went after the wrong woman, he’d been trying to play it friendly. He’d sent peace offerings to Wicked—dancers and expensive booze. He’d bought Nox Cuban cigars and top-shelf scotch, but Nox was so off the radar, he hadn’t been able to find an address so had sent it to Wicked instead.

Then he’d gifted an SUV packed with women, coke, and highly fuckin’ illegal firearms to the Mayhem clubhouse. None of us used, wanted to dip our dick in toxic snatch, or trusted a weapon from him, so we’d returned to sender real fuckin’ fast.

So I wouldn’t put it past the fucker to send one of his best girls to try to hook me, lure me in, and then drown me while she took notes.

And any man with eyes would follow her into crashing waves until his lungs burned and he sank into the big, blue nothingness.

After Haze and Swedes—and the unplanned cargo in the back of the van —hit the road, Jury and I had gathered her shit. Her purse was nothing but the usual receipts, random makeup, and mints, but I’d pocketed her ID and phone to search through when I had more time, leaving the rest in her car.

Then we’d headed in the opposite direction of where we’d needed to be.

Standing on the sidewalk, I double-checked the license.

Ophelia Jade Kline.

Seven thirty-three East Clay, apartment 5C, Danvers, Massachusetts.

Gray eyes.

Blond hair.

And twenty-two years old.

Fuckin’ hell.

“We can’t just walk in there,” Jury said.

I smirked and rattled her keys. “That’s exactly what we’re doin’.”

Ignoring his loud protests and the muttered complaints that followed, I headed into the building, glancing at the labeled mailboxes as I passed.

Kline, 5C. No one said shit to me as I stalked through the lobby to the elevator.

Partly because people usually didn’t say jack-shit to me, but also because I walked with confidence. Like I belonged there.

For a nice place, the security’s shit.

It wasn’t until the elevator doors were sliding open that Jury had my back.

“You’re out of your damn mind,” he grumbled, following me in.

“Yup.” I leaned against the wall, careful to keep my head angled away from the camera.

Jury did the same, asking, “What exactly is your plan?”

“Get in, search her place.”

“And if she checks out? You’ll let her go?”

Never.

Scowling, I shrugged. “Cross that bridge when we get there.”

“More like burn it.”

When the elevator doors slid open, we got off and found her apartment.

Pushing aside the obvious car key, I tried another one, but it only went in halfway before getting stuck.

“Shit.” I gripped the doorknob to yank the key free, but the knob turned, the door swinging open. “What the hell?”

Jury gave a low whistle and walked in. “Either this chick is Hoarders messy, or she’s got shit luck, and we’re not the first B&E she’s had today.”

I crouched to inspect the door and frame. There were gashes and missing chunks in the wood. The damage was minimal, but based on her shitty lock, it wouldn’t have taken much to jimmy the thing open.

Moving before someone saw us and got the wrong—or half-wrong— idea, I pulled my gun from my ankle and followed Jury, closing the door behind me.

Shit, it’s even worse On a regular day, the apartment had probably been nice.

But it sure as shit hadn’t been a regular day. Every cabinet in the kitchen was open and emptied, the floor and counters covered in food, dishes, and broken glass.

The living room was worse. Like a damn tornado had gone through, every last book, cushion, pillow, and picture had been thrown around.

Kicking the mess, I flipped a few of the shattered frames to check out the pictures. Some were of other chicks around her age. There was one of an older couple in front of the Grand Canyon. And there was one of Ophelia with two women at a club or bar. I picked it up for a closer look. Their hair

was messy, their cheeks flushed and makeup smudged. She was in the middle, her arms thrown around them as they grinned at the camera.

I went to toss it aside but looked over my shoulder. With Jury’s focus on the closet, I pulled the picture from the frame and pocketed it.

Nothing else stood out in the room, so I turned down a short hallway. The bathroom was more of the same aimless destruction. There was only one bedroom, and I was surprised to see it hadn’t been hit as bad. Two of her drawers were pulled open, but the rest looked fine.

Maybe they got interrupted before they could finish.

A few steps in, and I changed my tune real fuckin’ fast.

Her bedroom was the worst of all.

Because the motherfucker—or motherfuckers—had focused on her underwear.

Arranged on her bed, bras and panties in an assortment of neon patterns, pretty lace, and sexy straps spelled out one word.

Boo! Only the line of exclamation point wasn’t made of fabric. It was made of something even more intimate.

And plastic.

“I gotta admit,” Jury said as he approached, “this doesn’t clear anything up. If she’s working with that asshole, she’d have enemi—whoa.” His eyes must’ve been on the bed because he knocked into me before stopping.

“That seems pretty damn personal.”

It did.

Shit.

Bringing my finger to my lips, I went to her closet and positioned myself at the side. I aimed my gun before throwing the door open.

“I’m sure her clothes are pissin’ themselves,” Jury muttered with a chuckle as I reholstered.

“Being cautious, dickhead. Shoulda just let you get ganked.”

“Yeah, that fuckin’ tutu looks murderous.”

I glanced at the light pink skirt with layers of thin, poofy fabric. It was ridiculous, but just imagining her in it had my dick jerking. Scanning the hangers, I saw more of the same.

It was the wardrobe of a woman who liked to look pretty.

“Still not narrowing anything down,” Jury pointed out.

No, it wasn’t.

He walked over and picked a bra up by its strap, letting it dangle. The cream fabric was covered in pretty pink roses and a contrasting swirl of black lace.

Sweet and sexy.

Much like its owner.

Jury dropped the bra to lift a pair of underwear that was more strap than fabric. “Makes me wonder what she was wearing under—” “Don’t,” I snarled, snatching the panties out of his hand and tossing them back onto the bed.

He didn’t speak, but his raised brow said plenty.

“I just meant don’t touch them. If she’s a hooker, who knows what kinda crotch rot is clinging to them. They could’ve been full granny panties before toxic pussy disintegrated them.”

It was all a load of bullshit, and my dick knew it.

“I dunno, they look damn good to me. I can just picture her in this strappy set, puttin’ her exclamation point to good use.” My brother had always been able to read me too damn well, and there was a challenge in his eyes as he reached down. “Wonder if it still smells like—” Before he could touch the vibrator, I shoved him to the side. “Don’t wonder. Don’t fuckin’ picture. Get it out of your damn head and go wait in the other room.”

Laughing, he didn’t leave, but he did back up. “Right, you’re just a germaphobe all of a sudden.”

I flipped him off as a soft melody chimed from somewhere close. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from my pocket.

I pulled out the phone I’d grabbed from Ophelia’s purse to see two texts.

“No password. Who the hell doesn’t have a code on their phone?”

“Someone with nothing to hide?” He thought for a moment before adding, “Or someone with a controlling pimp, who only uses it to schedule Johns.”

Scowling, I opened the messages.

Megan: Hey, you’re on the schedule 4 2day.

Megan: U OK? Shit.

I scrolled through to get an idea of how Ophelia usually texted. There weren’t many messages, just a few about switching shifts. I stopped when I saw one from a month before.

Megan: Sorry, I know it’s your night off, but Mr. Henderson is asking 4 U. He’s refusing to C NE other girl.

Ophelia: He saw Gigi last time.

Megan: Apparently she did something he didn’t like. Said it has 2 B U. Sorry.

Ophelia: No problem, I’ll get changed and leave here in fifteen.

Unfamiliar jealousy and anger burned in me like road rash.

Maybe Jury was right about the Johns.

Scrolling back down, I typed up a message using her unabbreviated style.

Ophelia: I’m sorry, I’m sick. I think food poisoning. Was trying to call, but I kept having to put the phone down. I haven’t been able to leave the bathroom.

Megan: Poor thing. I’ll take U off 4 2day and 2morrow. Let me know if U need longer.

Thank Christ it was that easy.

Ophelia: Thanks. I’ll be in touch.

I scrolled through the other messages quickly, but there was nothing that stood out one way or the other. Talk about schedules, nights out, TV show recommendations, the usual gossip shit.

Pulling a bag off the top shelf, I tossed it on the bed.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Maybe she was trailing us. Maybe she wasn’t, and this shit is nothin’ but coincidence. Either way, she’s staying with me until we figure it out.

I’m not letting her run back to Nash or whatever shit,” I gestured around us, “is happening here.”

Crossing his arms, he asked, “And that’s it? You’re just a good Samaritan tryin’ to keep her safe?” At my curt nod, he smiled. “Good, then I’ll have her stay with me. My place is private.”

“Fuckin’ try it,” I snarled.

He shook his head. “Seriously, man, what the hell is happening here? I’m not askin’ as your Mayhem brother, I’m askin’ as your actual brother. I get being cautious with all the shit swirling around, but kidnapping is pushing the line, even for you. I’ve got your back, but I need to know what the hell is goin’ on in you head. Because this isn’t just about watching our back or hers.”

Scrubbing my palm down my face, I admitted, “I don’t fuckin’ know.

Saw her as soon as we pulled in, and it was like… boom. Something just

fuckin’ hit me. Then she was trailing us, and with everything going on, I don’t know who to trust.”

When Jury remained quiet, I turned to pack some clothes—starting with that damn poofy skirt.

He broke his silence—and showed he had my back—by jerking his head toward the bed and asking, “Want me to pack any of this?”

“Nah, I’ll stop for new stuff after seeing Nox.” “You voluntarily going shopping?”

“She’s not gonna wanna wear that after she finds out what happened.”

He raised a brow. “But you think she’ll wear underwear from the asshole who kidnapped her?”

“Temporarily restrained.”

“Yeah, see how well that calms her shit-fit.”

“And if she wants to go without wearing any, that’s fuckin’ fine by me.

But I’m bettin’ she’ll take the new stuff over the shit some fucker touched.”

“Or did more to,” Jury threw in with a grimace.

“Bag it all up and fuckin’ burn it.” Fisting so hard my knuckles went white, I fought the urge to do more damage to the place.

Jury’s eyes dropped to my fists, but he wisely didn’t say shit as he left the room.

I moved to the dresser, tossing some more into the duffel.

When Jury returned, I grabbed the garbage bag, deciding I didn’t want him touching her stuff, even if she wouldn’t be wearing any of it again.

Shoving it all in, I said, “I’m not gonna torch it—yet. Nox has some connections with the PD. I’ll see what he says after I fill him in.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jury freeze, his head snapping to look at me. “You’re tellin’ Nox about this?”

“Yeah.”

He’ll find out anyway—he always does.

“All of this?”

“Yeah,” I repeated.

“That crazy bastard is gonna lose his shit.”

He had a point.

Or he would’ve a year before.

I shrugged. “You forget he’s got a pregnant wife he’s gone stupid for… and all the strings he pulled to get her in his bed and keep her there.”

Due to some shitty—but damn opportune—circumstances, Nox had moved his pretty wife into his apartment within ten minutes of meeting her.

And when things had turned seriously fuckin’ shitty for her, he pulled his head out of his ass and went to make sure she returned where she belonged —with him.

A week later, they’d been engaged, and a few months after that, she’d been knocked up.

“But that didn’t include kidnapping,” Jury shot back.

“Temporarily restrained. And he would’ve done it, had it come to that.”

He paused for a second before nodding. “True.”

“I’ll lay it out for him, see what he says. Not saying it’ll sway me, but I’ll listen.” Zipping up the duffle, I hefted it onto my shoulder. “Did you find the cat?”

He shook his head. “No cat.”

“Fuck, hopefully they just let it out and not some sick shit.”

“No, there’s no sign of a cat. No food, bowl, litter box. Nothin’.”

“Why’d she buy cat food?”

“Dunno. Boyfriend has one?”

The road rash burn of jealousy ate at me.

My face must’ve shown it because Jury started chuckling. “Man, whatever has your balls in a vice, I hope it keeps up. This is the most entertainment I’ve had in months.”

Walking from the room, I flipped him off over my shoulder.

But, if my balls in a vice meant Ophelia was still with me, I hoped it kept up, too.

_______________ “Are you fookin’ thick?” Nox asked, lighting a cigar.

“You’re quitting,” one of his men, Beck, reminded him, snatching it from his mouth and dropping it into a glass of water.

Nox shrugged, pulling another one from his pocket and lighting it. “That was before this fookin’ bastard strolled in here and casually announced he’d kidnapped a poor lass ‘cause he’s off his fookin’ nut.”

Jury and I had been working with Nox in some capacity since we were all in high school. One of our buddies had run with him, boosting

prescription meds for people who hadn’t been able to afford them. When they’d had big shipments that needed more hands, Jury and I had helped.

A lot of years and bullshit later, he still called us when needed and we did the same.

After our meeting with everyone to go over the next couple of team jobs, Nox, Beck, Jury, and I had gone to his office where I’d told him about Ophelia.

He hadn’t shot me or thrown something at me, so it’d gone better than expected.

“Temporarily restrained,” I corrected. “And she might not be so innocent.

It’s pretty fuckin’ coincidental that she was tailing us the same day her place got hit. But it makes sense if she’s working for Nash.”

Arms crossed, Beck muttered, “Still doesn’t mean you throw her in the back of the damn van.”

“That’s impressive. You’ve got the man who gets wood from fire fookin’ judging your dating technique.” Nox took a long drag of his cigar before scowling and dumping it into the glass with the other one. He pulled a few loose ones from his pocket and grabbed a wooden box, tossing them to Beck.

“Gus put her foot down?” Jury asked, referring to Nox’s wife.

Nox shook his head, grinning. “She misses the smell, but my baby’s in her, breathing in what she does. Not to mention, I’ll be fookin’ damned if I do shit that’s gonna kill me and take me away from her even a day earlier.

It’s time to quit.”

Some men might say that kind of thinking made Nox pussy whipped.

Those men would have to have a death wish to say it to his face.

He wouldn’t deny he was whipped, but he was still a crazy bastard and insulting him would take massive balls.

“About the lass,” he continued, getting us back on track, “what’s she look like?”

Thinking of Ophelia, I spoke automatically, saying too much but not giving a damn. “Shit-ton of blond hair, big gray eyes. Tiny thing, but a big fuckin’ attitude. Like a princess who’d use her tiara to saw your dick off if you looked at her wrong.” I shrugged. “Doesn’t rule anything out since Nash has girls of every size, shape, and flavor.”

“I don’t give a flying fook about Nash. His motives are always the same —money. But now yours are making more sense. A bonny lass will make a

lad do some fookin’ fool shit.”

Pulling out my phone, I bit out, “I’ll tell Haze to drop her back off if it’ll get everyone off my sack.”

“Nah, you won’t,” Nox called my bluff before moving on. “Dair is flying in,” he checked his watch, “in about two hours. Give me the address, and I’ll put him on it, see if he can find what they were searching for.”

Tossing him her keys, I gave him her address, the store name, and where she’d parked. “Have him search and move her car before it raises a red flag.”

“Got it. I’ll start looking into her tonight.”

If Nox is looking, he’ll find out everything down to her first-grade teacher’s name.

“Still got a connection at the PD?” At his nod, I told him, “There’s a garbage bag of her underwear on the bed. Don’t know if there’s any DNA —” “Dair will drop it off.” Checking his watch again, he stood. “Shit. We got plans to visit Gus’ nan, and if we’re late, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“How’s Gus feeling?” I asked.

I’d only met her a few times in passing since Nox—and her—insisted his work stay far, far from her. But just from the brief time, I knew I liked her.

And I liked the changes she brought without even knowing it.

“She’s good. Missing her wine, sore, and, most nights, her and her dog are asleep on the couch by eight, but she’s good.” He looked proud as hell, likely because he had his baby growing in her and because he bent over backward to make sure she was happy.

“Glad she’s handling the pregnancy well,” I said.

“Like a fookin’ champ.” His grin fell as his expression returned to his usual guardedly blank. “I’ll be in touch. Keep the lass with you until we know she’s not in danger—or bringing danger.”

I lifted my chin, coming out of my skin with impatience for answers… and to get back to her.

I started for the door before Nox called out, “Judge.” When I turned, he didn’t hesitate to lay it out like he always did. “This shit you pulled today…

I’m not gonna say I don’t get it, because I sure as fook do. I’ll have your back, but if she’s just an innocent lass and it blows up in your face—” “I don’t know you, never seen you, you’ve got nothin’ to do with it.”

“Hope for everyone’s sake she’s who she says she is. You’re already half off your nut for her. You’ll be a real fookin’ header if she’s Nash’s.”

She’s no one’s.

No one but mine.

CHAPTER THREE ___________________________ TAKE ME TO CHURCH OPHELIA

I WAS SORE. I was hungry.

I had to pee like I’d never had to pee before.

More than any of that, I was terrified.

And furious.

We’d driven for God knew how long before finally stopping. I’d hoped it was a gas station, but my increased screeching hadn’t led to a rescue.

Wherever we’d stopped, we were still there. When it became obvious no one could hear me—or they just didn’t care—I’d quieted and crouched to the side, playing possum. No one had come to check on me, but I’d used the time to rest and prepare for whatever came next.

The girls at work have probably already called the cops. I’ve never missed a day and a no-call, no-show sets off all sorts of warning flags and alarms. I just have to wait.

The cops will find my car, check the camera, and then come get me.

I’m good.

It’s okay.

I’ll be safe.

Eventually.

Close to hyperventilating, I blinked back tears and took some deep breaths. Once I had control of myself—but was dangerously close to losing control of my bladder—I stood and started banging on the door.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” When no one answered, I increased my pounding. “If I pee in here, it’ll be you cleaning it up. I’m well-hydrated, it’ll be a lot! Let me out, you stupid assholes.” My forehead landed on the door with a loud thud. “Someone will notice I’m gone. They’ll send help. I know people and they’ll kick your ass, you jerks! They’ll—”

The door opened suddenly, and I lost my balance and fell out.

Fortunately, someone caught me before I faceplanted onto the concrete.

Unfortunately, it was Psycho Tattooed Asshole.

His hair was even more mussed than earlier. And while he was still wearing the same tee, he’d added a leather vest thingy to it.

There were various patches on the worn leather, but the one that caught my eye was on his chest.

President.

“We’ve gotta work on your shit-talk, princess,” he said, but without the smirk or amusement he’d had that morning.

Had it really only been that morning?

Time slowed when I was locked in the back of a windowless van.

“No,” I snapped. “I have to go to the bathroom and then I’m leaving.”

“Is this before or after your rescue comes to kick my ass?”

I tried to maneuver out of his grasp, but he held my hips firmly. “Before.”

“Right. Who should I expect?”

“People. Lots of them.”

His expression tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “Good luck to you findin’ your way home and them findin’ their way here.”

I was about to ask why when he shifted, giving me a view of something other than his large frame.

But it was a view of basically nothing.

Fields stretched as far as I could see. Slowly turning in his hold, I saw an old building that looked like it’d once been a church, but other than that, more of the same nothingness.

“I’m persistent,” I muttered.

“Pick correctly, nearest town is more than fifteen miles away. Pick wrong, and…” He trailed off, lifting a shoulder.

He’s lying. I’ll just take off in a straight line and hope to reach something.

According to my not-so-expert source—TV crime dramas—twenty-four hours was when the likelihood of rescue dropped off significantly. Add to that, the whole don’t-go-to-a-second-location rule, and things were not looking good for me.

He’s wearing shitkickers.

I’m in comfortable slip-ons with good traction.

He’s in crazy-good shape—emphasis on the crazy—but that doesn’t mean he’s fast.

I have one year of JV track under my belt.

Maybe I can outrun him…

His grip tightened on my hips, his fingertips digging in. “Go ahead and run. I’ll have fun chasin’ and sure as fuck have fun catchin’.”

Helplessness.

The feeling sank heavy in my belly as my brain frantically tried to come up with an idea that wouldn’t get me lost, murdered, or worse.

“Didn’t you say you needed the bathroom?” he prodded. At my hesitation, he shrugged. “Piss in the field and climb back in the van if you want. Or there’s a clean bathroom, a shit-ton of food, and a soft bed. Choice is yours.” I opened my mouth, but he cut me off and added, “The choice between the van and inside—nothing else.”

I was tempted to go with the field-van combo. I’d been camping before— including an unfortunate case of poison ivy on my butt after a poorly chosen emergency bathroom location—so it wouldn’t be the first time I’d peed outdoors.

But I couldn’t deal with the enclosed space of the van. Just the thought of it tightened my chest and even the vast expanse of nothing felt suffocating.

If I tried to go back in, I’d likely pass out from claustrophobia.

Damned if I do, damned if I pass out and am left vulnerable.

Not trusting myself to speak without screaming ineffective and counterintuitive insults, I reluctantly nodded.

Psycho eyed me for a minute, his lips pulled down in an unexpected scowl, leaving me feeling as though I’d picked the wrong option.

It’s not too late to make a run for it.

His expression smoothed out and he used his hold to lift me.

“I already said I’d go inside. Let me down!” I shouted, wiggling around.

“Just so you don’t get any ideas about runnin’.” His long strides ate up the distance until we were up the stairs and inside the old building. The sound of the heavy door closing echoed ominously around us.

When he set me on my feet, he again kept hold of my hips. That time, though, he released me as soon as I was steady and turned away.

My eyes went to the giant patch on his back.

A skull in a motorcycle helmet stared back. Gavels formed crossbones behind it, which made sense when I read the words that surrounded it.

Court of Mayhem.

Committing that to memory, I looked around the small foyer, but there wasn’t much to see. A wide set of double doors were opposite the entrance and a hallway was at the side.

Hitting numbers in the sophisticated alarm panel, he said, “Bathroom’s down the hall to the right.” The thing gave a beep before he punched in more numbers I couldn’t see, making it triple beep. “Lift the window even a crack, it’ll set off an alarm so loud, the neighbors forty miles over will hear.”

“Got it,” I mumbled, speed walking away.

After using a surprisingly spotless—though barren—bathroom, I washed my hands and eyed the window.

Doesn’t hurt to try.

I unlatched the lock and didn’t even get it open far enough to smell freedom or feel a breeze when the alarm blared, making me yelp and drop it to slam closed while I covered my ears.

I jumped and yelped again when large hands spanned my waist and I was up, tossed over a shoulder like a sack of flour.

He carried me back to the door and disarmed the alarm before dropping me. I’d expected to see fury on his face, but his lips were quirked, making the skin near his eyes crinkle.

“Told you,” he said.

“It didn’t hurt to try in case you were lying.”

“I don’t lie.”

“Ever?” I asked, fighting an eye roll at his B.S. “You ask me if your ass looks fat in a dress, I’ll tell you no even if it looks like you’ve got the Goodyear Blimp back there.” He leaned to the side, his eyes dropping to check out my butt. “But, princess, I’m speakin’ the whole truth when I say I see nothin’ but perfection.” I shifted my butt out of view, but he didn’t look fazed as he smiled and continued. “Shit like that—white lies—that’s one thing. But big ones? What’s the fuckin’ point?

They’re messy and help no one.”

Putting my hands on my hips, I called his bluff. “Why am I here?” “‘Cause you’re in danger or you are the danger.”

I wasn’t sure if I called the bluff or not because I didn’t know what the hell that meant. Which was why I asked, “What the hell does that mean?”

“We’ll talk later.”

“A vague answer is a half-truth.”

He smirked. “Still not a lie.”

I found myself fighting a smile and wanted to kick my own ass. Psycho wasn’t a charming guy I’d had a meet-cute with in front of the cupcake mixes.

He was a kidnapper, at best.

And at worst?

The thought hit me like a bucket of ice water, reminding me how dire my situation could be.

Fear skittered down my spine, making my voice shake when I asked, “Are you going to… touch me?”

His head jerked back, and his lip curled in disgust. “Never had to force a woman, not gonna start now. When I touch you,” he bit out, “it’ll be ‘cause you beg me to.” Turning suddenly, he walked away, clearly assuming I’d follow. My growling stomach and I were tempted when he said, “Let’s get some food into you.”

But not tempted enough.

Moving fast, I threw open the door, ignoring the deafening blare of the alarm. I booked it, jumping over the stairs and landing in a full run. Like my life depended on it—because for all I knew, it did—I ran.

My chest burned, my legs ached, and my heart pounded from my chest up to my head. But I pushed. I cleared the van and was into the field when arms wrapped around my waist. My legs kept moving, first flying outward and then kicking around, hoping to connect with a tender part of Psycho.

The force took us both down to the cold ground, with him landing on me hard enough to knock the wind out of me.

“Fuckin’ hell, princess,” he cursed, rolling us until I was on my back and he was on me, though he didn’t give me his weight.

“Let me go!” I screamed.

“Listen—” “Get off.” I tried pushing and, when that got me nowhere, hitting. His hands encircled my wrists, pinning them down, and I leaned up to screech in his face.

“Listen to me. I’m tryin’ to protect you!”

“By kidnapping and holding me hostage?” Tears of anger, frustration, and fear burned in my eyes before sliding down my temples. “I won’t tell

anyone what happened, I promise. I’ll even get back into the van. Just take me home.” My voice broke as I whispered, “Please, I just wanna go home.”

He studied me for a moment, and I thought he might give in, but he shook his head. “Your place has been hit, Ophelia. It’s not safe.”

“What does that mean—” I started, my words cutting off when I realized he’d called me Ophelia. “How do you know my name?”

“Your license.”

My purse.

Dejection formed a black pit in my chest, and I closed my eyes against the onslaught of worthless tears.

His rough hands skimmed softly—almost tenderly—down my forearms.

When they reached a painful spot, my eyes snapped open, and I hissed in pain.

He muttered a harsh curse, his expression tight with anger that, crazily, didn’t seem directed at me—not if his soft touch and regret-filled eyes were any indication.

Neither of us spoke as he stood and lifted me.

I didn’t bother to argue as he carried me back to the old church.

I didn’t look around.

I didn’t even think.

My mind shut down at the bleakness of my reality.

Psycho set me on a counter and reached up to open a cupboard over my head. He pulled down a large plastic case and opened it to reveal a surprisingly well-stocked first-aid kit.

He got to work on my scraped elbows, first with antibacterial towelettes and then large bandages. Once they were covered, he lowered me back to the floor and turned me around. I snapped out of my daze when he began lifting my shirt, but he just cleaned a small raw spot on my side with the antibacterial wipe, increasing the burn.

Remaining silent, he grabbed my hand and pulled me. I started to yank it back, but since the alternative was likely him picking me up, I went with the lesser of the two evils.

With detached indifference, I scanned the room as we moved, taking in everything as though I were viewing the set of a TV show.

The counter I’d been on was located in a massive, industrial-sized kitchen of intricate heavy wood and contradictorily modern appliances. A

familiar smell filled the air, though I couldn’t place it. He shoved us through a swinging door with all his badass grace, leading us into a big room.

My view was blocked by his broad back, but that didn’t stop me from searching for an exit. A weakness.

A weapon.

My original guess of the building being an old church had been correct.

The high stained-glass windows were dull and coated from age, only letting in dim sunlight, but it gave the room a mystical quality. The interior wasn’t dilapidated like the exterior. From what I could see to the side, there was still the beautiful architecture of a church, but the layout and décor had been updated to casual and masculine.

Looking to the other side, I belatedly noticed a huge rectangular table.

And the men sitting at it.

And the spread of fried chicken and sides that had my mouth watering and my stomach growling.

Psycho stopped, and with my attention elsewhere, I nearly ran into him. I put my hands out on instinct, and, unfortunately, they landed on his jeancovered—and noticeably muscular—ass.

I snatched them away just as fast, but he looked over his shoulder and smirked. “You gotta buy me dinner before I let you get to first base.”

Stupidly, I asked, “Touching your butt is first? What’s a homerun?”

His smirk turned wicked. “You’ll see.” Then, lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, “Right after you beg, remember?”

“You wish,” I muttered under my breath, just not quietly enough.

He turned to face me, and though he gave a low chuckle, his eyes were intense and hooded. “Wish and will fuckin’ fantasize about.” His gaze dropped to my scowl, but before I had the chance to tell him where he could shove any fantasy, he grinned. “‘You wish’? We’ll work on the shit-talk and maybe get you up to an ‘I know you are, but what am I?’ before you know it.”

I scowled deeper, even though part of me—the stupid part—wanted to smile.

Unfazed, Psycho moved and pulled out a chair. I didn’t take the hint, so he put his hand on my shoulder and gently urged me to sit. When I did, he gestured to the man across from me—the handsome one from the store— and continued around the table. “This is Jury, Scythe, Lash, Swedish, Glitch, Hollywood, and Haze.”

Overwhelmed, I joked, “Ahh, nice traditional, biblical names. Hebrew?”

Most of the men chuckled or laughed, except the one across from me.

The handsome one—Jury.

His gaze dropped from the man who was still positioned at my back to study me, his lips tipped down.

Psycho’s hand grazed my shoulder as he moved to sit at the head of the table with me to his right and Jury to the left. He didn’t bother to introduce me, which made sense because, going by the curious side eyes and looks of apprehension, the men had already been brought up to speed.

And, based on the matching leather vests they wore, it was unlikely I could count on any of them to rescue me from their president.

It wouldn’t stop me from trying, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

As soon as Psycho picked up the tongs from the platter of fried chicken, everyone dove in.

“Breast or thigh?” he asked. My eyes shot to him and he chuckled, shaking his head. “Got a dirty mind, princess.” He tapped the tongs on the tray. “Which do you want?”

“Not hungry,” I lied.

“We’re all eatin’ it so you know it’s not poisoned. And it’s fuckin’ delicious, better than any wannabe secret herbs or Louisiana spiced.” He dropped a drumstick and thigh on his plate. “But you wanna be a martyr and starve…”

“Fine. Breast.”

“Happy you’re willing to make the sacrifice.”

Food was passed around the table and, other than my chicken preference, Psycho didn’t ask before dumping heaping servings of mashed potatoes, Cajun corn, mac and cheese, braised greens, and cornbread onto my plate.

Even with my stomach empty, it was more than I could eat.

Like when he’d tended to my scrapes and cuts, there was something intimately tender about the way he made sure I was fed. In a different life and a much different situation, I may have enjoyed having a badass man take care of me.

But we weren’t a couple on a date.

So, rather than a swooning stomach filled with romantic butterflies, I had a clenching one filled with bile and lead, stealing my appetite.

I forced myself to eat, though. Hunger strikes may work in some cases, but not when I was looking at an escape followed by a fifteen-mile walk—I

needed to carb-up.

Everyone talked as they dug in. Not that I was expecting them to start discussing privileged info and future plans, but I still listened as I discreetly checked everyone out, hoping for some sort of clue or tell.

Jury, Swedish, and Haze had been there when Psycho had tossed me in the van, so it was doubtful they’d have a change of heart.

Lash or Scythe—I couldn’t remember which was which—looked pissed and scary, scowling down at his food. He was so thin, he was barely more than olive skin and jutting bones. A jagged scar started at his forehead, going through his left eyebrow, skipping past his eye to continue down his cheek, ending only after it split his top lip.

He caught my gaze, and I braced for him to snarl at me—or worse.

Instead, his scarred and twisted face softened, and he gave me a small smile that could only be described as sweet.

I tried to return it, especially since I knew he must’ve seen the fear and judgment in my eyes, but he looked away before I could.

Other than Swedish, the only other older man had deep brown skin, and while I’d never guess pastel or white ink tattoos could look anything but pretty, his were badass. Bold.

Next was a man more tattooed than Psycho, his ink extending all the way up to cover part of his shaved bald head.

My gaze moved to the blond man next to him, only to find his was already on me. He gave me a dimpled smirk and winked.

“Hollywood,” Psycho bit out.

The man shrugged and went back to scarfing down his food.

Since my efforts to covertly study the men hadn’t been covert nor useful, I turned my attention to the building.

On the far side of the room, a few remaining pews were arranged strategically. There was a massive TV and an even more massive bar. I couldn’t make out the exact labels of the multitude of bottles that lined the wall behind it, but it was safe to say they had every common liquor and then some.

Through the propped open doorway in the front wall, I could see the entrance, a little of the hallway, and the damn alarm.

The back wall was different than the rest—less aged and not as classically designed. My experiences in a church were limited, but the ones

I’d been to usually had a stage or dais of some sort. There was nothing like that—just an entryway that led somewhere I couldn’t see.

My curiosity was piqued.

I need to find a way in there.

Something clinked, and my eyes shot to Psycho.

“Eat.” He tapped his fork on the edge of my plate again. “You’re gonna hurt Swedes’ feelings.”

“I don’t think residents of Sweden care if I eat.”

“Swedish.” He used his multipurpose tool fork to point at the grizzly man from the store. “Swedes for short. He cooked.”

I blamed my ingrained manners and the absolute bizarreness of the situation because, rather than snapping out something rude, I offered him a weak smile and the truth. “It’s really delicious.”

He grinned, his chest puffing out proudly. “It’s my secret recipe, better than that mass-produced shit. Takes three days, but it’s worth it.”

“It’s the best fried chicken I’ve ever had.”

“Then definitely worth it.”

I gave a start when Psycho’s hand landed on my knee under the table. He gave it a squeeze, as if signaling his approval, before returning to his meal.

Damn my manners. I really should’ve been a miserable—and justified— bitch so they’ll demand I leave.

Huh. That idea has a lot of merit.

“What’re you plotting, princess?” Psycho asked.

I glared at him. “Nothing.”

“Good to know your bad at shit-talk and lying. Makes my job easier.”

My glare intensified, but I didn’t say anything because it’d be a lie.

And the laugh he gave told me he knew it.

After a few minutes, Psycho stood, and everyone but me followed.

“We’ve got a meeting. Finish your food and hang with Haze.”

The young van driver gave me a flick of the wrist wave.

“I don’t want to keep him from the meeting,” I tried. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“And should I leave the alarm code and keys out here with you?”

“I mean, if you could, that’d be great,” I deadpanned back.

“It’ll be a short one.” He ran his calloused thumb along my jaw. “Try not to miss me too much.”

“I think we’re safe with that.”

He didn’t look insulted. In fact, much like every time I sassed him, he seemed amused, the skin near his eyes crinkling.

Another time, another life, I’d have thought it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

That time, that life? It just pissed me off.

“That’ll change,” he whispered, turning around.

I lost sight of him when they went through the entryway in the back wall, cementing my decision to investigate that space.

My gaze moved to my babysitter, Haze.

Running his hand over his swooped back, brown hair, he smiled, a deep dimple forming on his left cheek.

He looks nice. Maybe I can appeal to him?

“Don’t miss out on my account,” I tried.

And failed again when he tapped the patch on his vest and shared, “Prospects never go to Saturday meetings.”

Damn.

“You probably still have better things to do than babysit me.”

“I do what Prez says.”

“Including kidnapping?” I asked sharply, frustration bitter on my tongue.

And instantly regretted it when his head jerked back as though he’d been slapped.

Okay, so I need to work on my shit-talk and my inner bitch.

The kindness that’d softened his expression disappeared and he no longer looked like a kid who should be worrying about Chem 101 and dating a cheerleader. He looked like an irritated biker who could snap me like a twig. “If Prez tells me to do something, there’s a reason. So, yeah, that includes kidnapping.”

There goes appealing to him.

A few silent minutes stretched before he tilted his head toward the bar.

“Want a drink?”

More than ever.

As tempting as a stiff drink was, I wasn’t that stupid. “No, thanks.”

He shrugged, a beer bottle hanging loosely from his fingers as he slouched and rested his arm on the top of the chair. “Suit yourself.”

Leaning on the table with my chin in my hand, I scanned the place again with a more thorough eye, picking up small details I’d missed. There were

rough-edged words carved into the wood detailing. A fist sized hole was in the wall near the double doors. And, either the men had a flair for unusual vases, or a few large bongs were on the coffee table.

My eyes drifted back to the entryway the men had gone through.

“What’s the meeting about?” I asked, though I didn’t anticipate an answer.

“Club business,” he said, giving me about what I expected before surprising me by adding, “you.”

“Am I club business?”

Haze hiked a brow. “Oh yeah.”

I didn’t know much, but I did know one thing for sure…

That was not good.

CHAPTER FOUR ___________________________ ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND KNICKER TORPEDOES JUDGE

“SHE’S CLUB BUSINESS.” I slammed my hand on the table. “She’s my business.”

“Brother, you brought her to the club and sat her at a table with us during a dinner no woman has ever been to—including old ladies. And, not for nothin’, you gave her our names.” Hollywood dipped his head toward the door. “She’s club business.”

My hand fisted as I slouched back because, fuck me, he was right.

Taking my silence for what it was—my concession to his point—he moved on. “I’m not sayin’ you were wrong. None of us are arguing that.

With shit as crazy as it is, we’ve gotta be careful. We just also need to be on the same page.”

“If shit blows up, it falls on me and me alone. No one else is getting dragged into it. Dair should’ve landed by now, and he’s heading right to Ophelia’s place. Nox is on it, too. The two of ‘em will find out shit even she doesn’t know about herself.”

“And if she’s Nash’s?” Lash asked.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Jury said, using the answer I’d given him earlier.

My brother—the one by blood and not just by choice—might’ve thought I’d lost my mind, but when push came to glock-in-the-face, he had my back.

Always had.

Always would.

“How bad was her place hit?” Swedes asked, genuinely concerned about her and not just our asses.

Man’s a sucker for a compliment about his chicken.

“Bad,” I forced through gritted teeth.

“Most of her shit’s ruined,” Jury expanded. “Left a message and used her underwear to spell it out.”

Before I put a fist through the damn table, I changed the subject. “Got a run next week to Tennessee to plan. Is everything in place? What’s left to do?”

Glitch turned his tablet around and began going over the route, schedule, and other shit no one but him would think of ahead of time. Every once in a while, one of the men glanced my way—likely trying to gauge how out of my damn mind I was—but they kept their mouths shut.

Thank Christ, because there was no denying my head wasn’t where it should’ve been.

It was in the other room with a pissed off princess.

_______________ “Is everyone leaving?”

I turned to see Ophelia standing on her toes to look over my shoulder, her hands fidgeting with her tee.

“Yup,” I confirmed over the roar of bikes. “Meeting wrapped.”

And it took long enough.

I’d hoped to have shit done in under an hour, but between the changes, bickering, and eventual return to talking about Ophelia, it’d stretched to nearly two.

I closed the door, and she took a couple steps back.

Big ones.

I clenched my jaw but didn’t move to close the distance, even though I wanted to. “Told you I’m not gonna touch you ‘til you beg, princess. And I’d never hurt you.”

Her gaze shot to mine, and she opened her mouth before closing it. After a long moment, she asked, “Is this your, uh, gang’s clubhouse?”

Gang?

Fuck, she’s cute.

I nodded. “It is.”

“Aren’t there supposed to be other bikers and parties and… everything?”

“Everything?”

“You know. Fighting and drinking and…” She flung her hands out.

“Everything.”

Her words irritated me as much as they amused me. “Should I get some club whores, blow, and guns, too?”

She crossed her arms and glared. “Are there club… women?”

Fuckin’ bingo.

That flare of jealousy in her gray eyes—unguarded and honest, it was reassurance she felt what I did.

‘Cause I was an asshole, I couldn’t resist pushing. “Yeah, there’ve been women at the club.”

“I mean club…” she paused before quickly muttering, “whores.”

“Club what?”

“Whores!” Her face burned bright, and she glared harder. “And that’s a derogatory term. Good on them for enjoying their sexuality, and shame on you for judging.”

“I’m not the one judgin’. You’re accusing me of shit based on what you’ve seen on TV.” Ophelia’s full lips curved down in a sexy as fuck pout. After a silent moment, she pushed her shoulders back, a challenge replacing the jealousy in her eyes. “Considering we met by you kidnapping me, I think my judgement is justified.”

“Fair point.” I closed the distance between us, stopping when we were almost touching. “Parties happen and can get rowdy, but they rarely turn violent because we’re brothers, and that means having each other’s back, not stabbing each other in it. There’re old ladies, girlfriends, dates, onenight stands, and, yeah, biker bunnies, but we’re not passing around nameless women like a bad case of the clap.”

Her expression softened. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

She eyed me expectantly before prodding, “This is the part where you apologize for kidnapping me.”

“It is?”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, and then you tell me I can go home.”

“Didja think that’d work?”

“It was worth a shot.” Seeming to catch that she’d let herself relax, she tensed and took a step away. “How long until you let me go?”

Until… never.

I shrugged. “Depends on what we find.”

She growled her frustration. “What is it you think I did? And why?

Because we happened to be at the same place at the same time? Because I thought you were hot?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a motherfucker sent a hot chick to try to get on the inside.”

Eyes wide, she gave a slow, stunned shake of the head. “I don’t even know what to say to that. What motherfucker?”

“Be kinda stupid of me to tell you what I know if that’s the info you’re fishin’ for.”

“Fine. Don’t tell me,” she snapped.

In the face of her anger, I couldn’t stop myself from stepping closer to wrap my hands around her waist. My fingers nearly touched, reminding me again that even though her attitude was big, she was not.

I’d be a fuckin’ idiot to underestimate her for even a moment.

I was surprised as shit when she didn’t flinch at my contact. She didn’t pause or soften or, the more likely option, tear my dick off.

She didn’t even seem to notice my hands on her.

My wounded fuckin’ heart.

Biting back a smirk, I decided to take it as a positive. If she was already comfortable with my touch, it meant I could do it a fuckuva lot more often.

“If I don’t know what I’m being accused of, how can I defend myself?”

Ophelia tipped her head back to stubbornly meet my eyes as she held her arms out. “And if I’m a secret spy for whoever, the longer I’m here, the more chances I have to do spy-y things.”

“Spy-y things?”

“Wires and bugs and… I dunno. Steal things?”

Fuck, she was killing me.

If I didn’t think I’d end up with her knee smashing into my balls, I’d pull her close and kiss her. Taste her. Feel her.

But I didn’t want to lose what little progress I’d made.

And I sure as fuck didn’t want to haul ass through the damn field when she bolted.

“Nothing to steal, princess. And not a lot of places to hide a bug.” I slid my hands along her sides. “Be happy to check if you’re wearin’ a wire, though.”

Her gaze dropped to my arms before snapping back up as she gripped my forearms. I expected her to push me away, but she only held them as she smiled.

Sexy as it was, it was not a happy smile.

My princess has some wicked witch in her.

“And I’ll be happy to perform a full and thorough cavity search,” she started, digging her nails in like claws, “if you ever touch me again.”

Releasing her talon grip and shoving me away with one forceful move, she crossed her arms.

And her hands covered the spot where mine had been.

“If you’re not going to let me go, is there somewhere I can sleep? Being a hostage wears a girl out.”

“C’mon.” I led her out to the front, blocking the door in case she decided to try a repeat performance. She didn’t even glance at it or me as she walked by with her nose in the air and her figurative crown on straight.

I followed, stopping outside my bedroom.

But it was only when she neared the end of the hallway that her steps slowed, her shoulders fell, and she quietly murmured, “Damn it.”

I punched the code into the keyless entry and opened my door, stepping aside.

Ophelia turned and stomped back, stopping in front of me to stick her finger in my face. “Shut up.”

Raising my hands with my palms outward, I couldn’t hide my smirk. “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were thinking it. Cut it out.”

She continued into the room, and I followed but almost knocked into her when she stopped suddenly.

My dick protested that I caught myself. It liked the idea of her under me again like in the field—but with her screaming in a much different way.

“That’s my bag.” She whipped around, pointing behind her at the duffel on the bed. “Why do you have my bag?”

“Grabbed some shit from your place. You got a cat?” I asked, worried I’d have to tell her she didn’t anymore.

“No, there’re strays I feed near work.”

Why doesn’t that surprise me?

Her head tilted. “You really went to my apartment?”

“Told you, I don’t lie.”

“No, but you do kidnap and break into other people’s apartments, so excuse me if I’m hesitant to believe you.” Taking a few steps, Ophelia looked at the bags from the lingerie store on the floor. “Okay, I’m just gonna assume those are presents for your wife and/or girlfriend because otherwise I’m gonna risk it in the van for the night.”

“Van’s gone.”

“The woods then.”

“They’re for you. I’ll explain later, but, trust me, you’ll want this shit.”

She glanced over her shoulder, and that one moment was enough to gut me. Because either she was a damn good actress, or she was innocently caught in the bullshit swirling around.

I opened my mouth, willing to tell her anything. Every damn thing.

Whatever it took to get rid of the fear swimming in her big grey eyes.

Before I could, my cell chimed.

“I’m not wearing any of this,” she said as I pulled out my phone.

“Fine by me if you wanna walk around wearing nothin’ under your clothes—or without your clothes.” I paused and added, “But only when it’s just you and me.”

My focus on unlocking my phone, I almost missed her hauling back and kicking one of the bags.

But I saw and was able to step aside to dodge it without looking up.

“You got me my clothes, you can go back and get me my own damn underwear! This whole thing is so fucked, but this brings it into creepy-ashell territory.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” “‘Cause,” I muttered distractedly as I read the text.

“That’s not an answer.”

I held up a finger.

And she told me where I could stick it.

Dair: Aye, you weren’t fookin’ kidding about her place.

Dair: Also, the lotto tickets in her car only won a buck. I’m keeping it.

Me: You still at her apartment?

Dair: Aye, why?

Me: I’m gonna video call you. Watch what you say ‘cause she’s with me.

Dair: The Gus-Protocol. Got it.

Gus-Protocol was Nox’s rule that, no matter how urgent shit was, nothing was to be said until they were away from his wife.

I wonder if there will be an Ophelia-Clause in Mayhem.

I hit the button to start the video call.

“That’s not an answer,” she hissed. That time, I didn’t notice her kick the bag. Not until it hit my head—just as the call connected.

“Ya under knicker-torpedo attack there?” Dair asked, chuckling. His laughter increased, and he touched his shoulder. “Got a little something.”

I reached up and grabbed a pair of lace panties, dropping them to where the others had spilled into a heap.

“Who is that?” Ophelia rushed over before stopping short. “Probably pointless to shout for help if you called him with me right here, huh?”

“Sorry, princess.”

“No, you’re not. That was a lie.”

“White lie.”

She huffed. “Maybe to you.”

Holding my cell out, I shifted so she was next to me and could see the screen. “Dair, this is Ophelia. O, this is Dair.”

“Don’t call me O.” In the small square that showed us, I could see her start to smile before catching herself and dramatically frowning.

Work the sympathy. Smart.

Maybe she’s more of an actress than I thought.

Adding a few sniffles, she told Dair, “He kidnapped me.”

Dair smiled and shrugged. “Sorry about that, lass. All’s fair in love and war, aye?” His eyes went to me. “I need to follow ya and Nox around, ya lucky bastards. The talent in the States…” He gave a low whistle. “Thinkin’ I might need to move.”

Instinctively, my arm went around Ophelia, and I gripped her hip, curling her body closer to mine. “Dair,” I bit out a warning.

“Slap a fookin’ beard on ya, shove a cigar in yer mouth, and yer fookin’ Nox: US edition.”

I was waiting for her to claw my arm or threaten my balls, but she didn’t fight the hold. Her lack of reaction made sense since her attention wasn’t on me.

It was on the background of the screen.

Her voice was shocked when she breathed, “You’re in my apartment.”

“Lovely place ya had,” Dair said.

“Had?” He looked to me for the go-ahead.

I gave it, saying, “Show her.”

The view shook and whirled until we were looking at her destroyed living room.

It must’ve taken a moment for it to sink in, but after Ophelia’s delayed gasp, she launched into a breathless rush of questions and accusations.

“What happened? You did this. Why? I’m already here. You could’ve just lied and said it was destroyed. I can’t… some of that stuff is irreplaceable. I can never get it back. Why would you do this?”

“He didn’t, lass,” Dair tried, turning the camera back to him, but she wasn’t listening.

“I don’t understand why you’d do this. My home. What did I ever do to you?”

I gave her hip a squeeze so she’d look up at me. “Jury and I got there after it’d been hit.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I don’t have anything worth stealing.”

Getting back to why I called, I told Dair, “Show ‘er the bag on the bed.”

He hesitated.

“She’s over here tryin’ to kick my ass with the shit I bought her ‘cause she thinks I’m a pervert. She’s gonna find out about her old stuff, I’d rather it be before she takes my eye out with lace or strangles me with a thong.”

“Only ya’d complain about a lass throwing her underthings at ya.” The camera shook as he walked down the hall. He didn’t speak as he turned its focus to the bag on her bed.

“I’m confused,” Ophelia whispered, tilting her head to look at me. “If you packed my underwear, why didn’t you just bring it instead of whatever all this is?”

Wanting to give her my undivided attention when I answered, I ignored her for a moment to ask him, “Any word from Nox?” “Not yet. Figure he had his hands full with the visit, then his hands full a different way.”

It was a good guess.

“Call me as soon as you learn anything.”

He started to turn the phone around but ended up dropping it to the bed.

When he picked it up, the damn camera was aimed at the piss-poor plastic substitution they’d left on her bed.

Ophelia leaned closer. “Is that my…” Her words trailed off and she looked at me, her gray eyes filled with fury and devastation.

Daggers and vulnerability.

If this is an act…

I might not fuckin’ care.

Ending the call, I told her, “Your underwear was on the bed when we got there, spelling out Boo—with a plastic exclamation point.”

Ophelia put a shaking hand on my abs and whispered, “It wasn’t you?”

Holding her tighter as she trembled, I shook my head and whispered back, “Never lie to you.”

“So you’re saying someone else tore through my apartment and riffled through my underwear and… other things on the same day you grabbed me from a grocery store parking lot?”

I nodded.

She dropped her eyes and stared at the bed for long, silent moments.

“Well,” she finally said, her voice cracking, “this is not my day.”

And then she burst into tears.

CHAPTER FIVE ___________________________ BEAUTY GURU AND THE PSYCHO OPHELIA

IT’D BEEN A DAY. Actually, it’d been six years shoved into one day.

Actually actually, it’d been lifetimes shoved into years that were squished into one single day. Because being kidnapped wasn’t something that happened to everyone. And having their home destroyed wasn’t, either.

That meant, on the bad-luck scale, I was going for some kind of record.

Two rare, improbable occurrences on the same damn day.

Shit.

I hated crying.

I mean, I was sure no one liked crying, but I hated it extra.

It didn’t happen often.

No matter how beautiful the love story.

How tragic the death.

How touching the lyrics that were woven together with music that swelled and slowed—each chord orchestrated to pluck at the strings of my heart.

Even the biggie, the sad and inevitable death of a movie’s loyal pet, might make me choke up, but few tears were shed.

The one exception was, of course, the beginning of UP. Oh, and the furnace scene in Toy Story 3.

Someone would have to have ice water in their veins to walk away from those unaffected.

Since I wasn’t in the habit of watching either movie, my tears tended to stockpile. And once the dam broke, it was ugly.

Ug-ly.

My tears weren’t because I was scared—though I was…

Kinda.

I’d have to be stupid to not be apprehensive of Psycho, but I didn’t feel fear down to my bones. In fact, it was the opposite. I almost felt safe with him. But I was willing to bet Ted Bundy’s victims felt the same way up until the whole murder thing, so even if my gut and intuition weren’t on red alert, a lifetime of movies and serial killer specials kept me smart.

My tears were for my apartment. For everything lost. For the beauty that used to be my home. For the sentimental things that could never be replaced.

That was what broke my heart and the dam of emotions.

Psycho’s voice was sympathetic as he whispered, “O?” He’s lucky I don’t blow my nose in his shirt for putting me through hell.

Deep breathing, I tried to slow the onslaught of tears because I didn’t want the massive headache that followed pent-up crying jags.

I’m tough, I’ll get through this. I need to calm down.

Focus on the now. The rest is just stuff.

That was enough to do the trick. Quick as they started, my tears slowed before stopping.

I’d get away.

I’d clean my apartment, replacing what I could and mourning what was lost.

And I’d move on.

Wiping my face, I had a lot of fight in me but my body was exhausted.

However many lifetimes I’d lived in that day caught up to me at once, and I needed to rest. I’d be no good if an escape opportunity presented itself and I was too tired to move.

“I’d like to go to bed,” I said.

Psycho’s hand at my hip tightened, making me realize he had an arm wrapped low around my waist. It also made me realize that my own hand was gripping his tee at his abs.

“You okay?” He shook his head. “That’s a fuckin’ stupid question, I know, but you were crying then you hit the off switch.”

“You… you know what you did. And my gorgeous apartment that I had set up perfectly is destroyed. Even if I could fix it exactly how it was, which I can’t, I’ll still have to move. You got in. Whoever else got in. I’ll never feel safe, and it’ll never feel like my home again. My privacy and security were both destroyed. No, they were taken out, beaten, dismembered,

torched, then the ashes gathered to be torched again before being spread to the far corners of the earth.”

“Damn, princess, remind me to come to you when I need torture ideas.”

Pushing the fact he’d said when and not if to the back of my mind, I tilted my head to answer his question. “So, no, I’m not okay. But it’s just stuff, and I’ll figure it out. Crying will only give me a headache, and I’m too tired to deal with that. So, like I said, I want to go to bed.”

He held my eyes before giving me a slow nod and releasing his hold on me. I did the same with my death grip on his shirt and stepped away.

“The lock is deactivated. Remember where the bathroom is?”

I nodded and headed for the doorway.

“O.” I glared at him over my shoulder. “Don’t call me that.”

“I didn’t grab any of your soap or shit ‘cause most of it was dumped. And what wasn’t,” he glowered, “don’t think you’ll wanna keep.” He picked up a massive bag and thrust it at me. “Dunno if any of this shit is what you use, but the chick in the store had a fuckin’ field day draggin’ me around.”

Turning around fully, I didn’t grab the fancy-schmancy paper bag with its intricately embossed logo, satiny black ribbons, and glittery pink tissue paper—like the dream present of any beauty guru.

He shook it, and my gaze went from the bag to him.

I was a woman who liked beauty products. I didn’t shop high-end exclusively and usually scoured Instagram stories and YouTube for dupes of all my favorite pricey items. But every once in a while, after a long week or one loaded with overtime, I treated myself.

Face masks.

Hair masks.

Serums.

Cleansers.

Bath bombs, bubbles, oils.

The newest palettes, primers, mascaras, or whatever else was hot and fun and in demand.

But even as a woman who liked all things self-care, I’d never ventured into the store that had the fancy-schmancy bags with its intricately embossed logo, satiny black ribbons, and glittery pink tissue paper.

Because one look at their website had confirmed that it’d take a whole lot of overtime to shop there—and even then, I’d likely only be able to afford

one thing at a time. With my luck, it’d be the best thing I’d ever tried, and there was nothing worse than finding a product I loved and knowing I couldn’t afford it on the regular.

So I really wanted that bag. I wanted to dive into it like a kid at Christmas, uncovering treasure after exquisite treasure.

But I didn’t. Couldn’t.

Accepting anything from Psycho was insane. He was a stranger. My captor.

He was danger wrapped in a sexy and charming package.

And that was the worst kind there was. It was why high school girls who didn’t know better fell for the bad boy.

And why women who did know better fell anyway.

My life wasn’t Beauty and the Beast. I wasn’t going to be Stockholm Syndromed into thinking he was a good man because of a few thoughtful actions during my captivity.

“I’m good,” I forced out before speed walking to the bathroom to clean up as best as I could with hand soap.

At least it’s the foaming pump kind. Everyone knows that’s the best and it’s fairly mild.

My mind was already slowing from exhaustion as I returned to the room.

When I reached the doorway, however, it kickstarted and launched into overdrive as I watched a pair of skin-tight boxers sliding up over a rounded ass.

“Shit. Sorry.” I turned fast, letting out a suppressed yelp as I nearly smacked into the doorframe.

“We’re good,” he said, amusement filling his tone.

Despite his reassurances, I covered my eyes before turning back. “Why are you in your underwear?”

“Usually sleep naked. Didn’t think you’d be cool with that.” He took a quick pause before adding a teasing, “Yet.” “What was wrong with the ones you were wearing?”

“Don’t wear any.”

My brain fritzed out until his previous answer sank in, and even though I already knew what he was going to say, I uncovered my eyes and asked, “Why would I care how you sleep?”

“Not leaving you alone.”

“Well, I hope you’re comfortable sleeping in the hall outside of the locked door because you’re not sleeping with me.”

His lips curled up on one side in a wicked, cocky smirk. “Glad you’re already thinking about me in bed with you, but I figured I’d take the floor.”

I opened my mouth to object, but hesitated. Considering I didn’t know how to activate the lock and he had the passcode, he could just let himself in while I slept.

More importantly, though, I didn’t want to be alone. Every strange creak and shadow were likely to send me into a coronary wondering if whoever had trashed my apartment had found me.

At least with Psycho there, there was a chance he’d protect me.

Or they’d go after him first, giving me time to run.

Either way.

Closing my mouth, I reluctantly nodded. “Fine. But if you so much as touch the bed, I’ll beat you with one of the bags.”

“Already picked up on your violent streak, so you’ve got my word.”

I rolled my eyes, but did it feeling a little like a badass.

Psycho took a pillow and blanket from the closet. I wasn’t sure why, but it surprised me it held extra bedding and not the skulls of his enemies or empty booze bottles.

My expression must’ve shown it because he arched a brow and asked, “Did ya think I slept on dirty, crusty sheets and used cinder blocks as pillows?”

“No,” I tried, but…

Yeah. Kinda.

“I’m a man, so none of my shit matches, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have backups. Swedes’ old lady runs an expensive and upscale housekeeping company. She and some bunnies who work for her come through once a week. Plus, I’m capable of doing laundry in a pinch. Can’t iron for shit, but not really needed.”

For someone who wouldn’t even tell me what I was suspected of, he was surprisingly forthcoming with other details.

Including ones that made my stomach tighten no matter how ridiculous it was. “Bunnies? Shouldn’t you call them gavels?”

“Gavels?”

No matter how hard I worked to keep my tone neutral, I could hear the unmistakable sharpness. “Because you use them to bang?”

Psycho’s eyes narrowed, and like earlier in the parking lot, his smile twisted into something sinister. “You’re fuckin’ lucky your jealousy makes me hard, princess. Not many people get away with insulting me, and that seems to be all you do.”

I waited for the skitter of fear to slide down my spine, but, proving I had the instincts of a jellyfish, it never came.

Holy shit, I need to be smarter—and that starts by watching my mouth.

It may have literally taken biting my bottom lip, but I kept my smartass response to myself.

And, so crazy there was no way I was reading him correctly, Psycho looked disappointed.

When I couldn’t take our silent staring contest any longer, I dipped my head to the bags. “Pajamas?”

He bent and rummaged through a bag before pulling out a bundle and handing it to me. “Yell when you’re done.”

As soon as the door closed, I rushed to check the window—locked, plus a security sensor that wasn’t even trying to be subtle. I searched through the drawers for a weapon, but there was nothing. Not even a rubber band, pen, and paperclip I could MacGyver into a projectile.

Knowing I was running short on time, I quickly threw off my clothes and redressed in the gray bralette, soft pink tee, and gray floral joggers he’d given me.

It pissed me off how much I loved the outfit. It was perfectly sized and incredibly comfortable, yet still pretty.

“I’m dressed,” I called out, stepping away so I didn’t get knocked with the door.

But it didn’t open.

Maybe he changed his mind.

Moving to the bed, I picked up the beauty store bag Psycho had left on the edge. I had intended to toss it to the side with the rest of the stuff that tempted me, but as soon as my hands made contact, my self-control took a backseat to my curiosity.

Actually, they weren’t even in the same vehicle any more.

I carefully pushed the paper aside to see he hadn’t been kidding about the sales woman going to town. There was shampoo, conditioner, eyeshadow, and more skincare products than my already high-maintenance routine contained.

And that was just what I could see at first glance.

I pulled out a bottle of K-Beauty cleanser, and immediately set it down, not wanting to get emotionally attached.

Grabbing the shampoo—a brand I didn’t recognize—I turned it over to see it claimed to do all sorts of magical things.

I can’t even imagine the price tag. Never, ever trying. Not even once.

Okay, maybe once.

I was about to set it down when I saw the foundation and concealer it’d been blocking. Both were within a shade of my usual, which was impressive considering how many options there were. Rifling through, the blushes and lipsticks were also the right color family. When I opened a hefty rectangular palette, it was filled with the choose-your-own eyeshadow pots that were held in with magnets.

And from my lengthy tutorial research, I knew all the colors were complementary to gray eyes.

The sales lady may have picked out the specifics, but he had to have given her some direction.

How did he notice all these details in our short interaction?

The last guy I’d dated—for seven months—hadn’t even been able tell me my eye color. It’d come out during the game night from hell when he’d bombed playing an easy version of The Newlywed Game. While I’d nailed matching all his answers, he hadn’t gotten a single answer right.

Embarrassed and more than a little tipsy, I’d confronted him, rapid-firing the most basic of questions, only to find he knew nothing about me.

Not my birthday.

Not my favorite food.

Not my favorite movie, music, or hobby.

When I’d closed my eyes and asked what color they were, he’d tried to bluster angrily before finally claiming they were dark brown.

I’d have accepted blue since my eyes could appear lighter if I was wearing a shade of it. Out of a desperate need to prove I hadn’t wasted seven months of my life, I would’ve even accepted hazel.

But brown? No, not just brown, but dark brown?

That’d been the end of the relationship.

My friends had comforted me with more booze and claims that men never remembered details like that. But as I looked at the bag, I wondered if they’d just been lying to make me feel better.

The door behind me opened so suddenly, I jumped and turned, almost dropping the fragile palette I held.

Psycho stood in the doorway, still clad in just his boxers—and his tattoos were not the only thing they showed off. My eyes shot up, but it didn’t help much since his cocky smile did unbelievable things to his hotness— something else I tried to ignore. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

“I said I was dressed a few minutes ago,” I blurted, sounding defensive and guilty.

“I heard. Had to finish up a call.”

“Oh.” He tilted his head toward the bag. “You change your mind about washing up?”

Yes. “No.” I put the palette down and pointed out, “These are all the right shades.”

“And?” “You said the lady picked everything out.”

“Had to give her some direction since there’s a shit-ton of options.”

“Guys don’t remember that kind of stuff.”

“Then you’ve been datin’ assholes,” he shot back through clenched teeth.

Taking a few long strides, he stopped close. “Don’t know what most of this shit is. But I sure as fuck know what you look like. I told her, and she sold me half the store.”

My heart hammered in my chest and my stomach turned to warm, melty, twisting giddiness.

Fine, he’s a thoughtful psycho. Still a psycho.

Don’t get caught up in his charming danger.

I looked up to tell him where he could shove the entire purchase, but when I opened my mouth, those weren’t the words that came out. “When’s my birthday?”

Psycho’s brows lowered. “ID says June seventh.”

Okay, he’s better than Alex. That’s not a high bar to hurdle over.

Plus, Alex never kidnapped me, so maybe they’re tied.

Angry at Alex for lowering my standards, Psycho for being, well, psycho, and at myself for being the kind of idiot who was going to have her very own multi-episode Dateline special, I didn’t say anything more as I turned away and cleared the bag off the bed. I climbed in, rolled to my side,

and pulled the covers over my head, doing my best to block out the fact there was a man in his boxers preparing to sleep on the floor.

Once the light was off and the heat under the blanket became unbearable, I uncovered my head. Long, sleepless minutes passed, and I rolled to my back.

My body had settled into the mattress like it was perfectly made for me, but my mind wasn’t shutting down the same way.

“What’s your name?” I asked suddenly, realizing he’d never told me.

“Judge Hawkins.”

“Not much better than Psycho,” I muttered.

“What?”

“I said, I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“Wasn’t sleepin’ yet.”

Since I wasn’t sure if that was the truth or a white lie, I didn’t respond for a few minutes. But, again, my curiosity got the better of me, and I quietly called, “Judge?”

A soft groan came from the floor, but I wasn’t sure if it was him snoring or a noise of frustration because I kept talking while he was trying to sleep.

Deciding in either case I should just shut up, I pressed my lips together.

“What d’ya need?” he prompted, his voice rough but not sharp or irritated.

“Is Judge your biker gang—” “Not a gang,” he interrupted.

“So you never break the law?” I shot back.

“Never said that.”

“Then why…” I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “I’m not getting into classification semantics with you. Is Judge your… motorcycle enthusiast nickname?”

Choked back laughter rumbled through his voice as he asked, “My road name?”

“Sure that, too.”

“No, it’s my real name.”

I rolled to face the side he was on. “Like, it’s who you are, so now it’s your real name?”

“No, it’s the name on my birth certificate and license, so it’s my real name.”

“Your parents named you Judge?” Realizing how rude that sounded, I amended, “It’s not a bad name, just unusual. And, I mean, my parents named me Ophelia, so I’ve got no room to talk.”

“Know Jury’s my brother, right?”

“I figured that.”

“My folks met because Ma was my dad’s lawyer back in the day. It became a… thing for them, so they named us Judge and Jury.”

Once again, I was surprised by how much he shared. I wanted to grill him for more, but my brain was finally starting to get that heavy, foggy feeling of sleepiness, and chances were I’d miss any answer he gave.

“They’re good names,” I muttered, curling up.

“And Ophelia’s the prettiest fuckin’ name I’ve ever heard,” he whispered back.

Closing my eyes, I fell asleep trying to ignore the warmth that spread through me at his words.

Trying, but failing.

CHAPTER SIX ___________________________ IPSO FACTO, YOU DAMN MUPPET OPHELIA

I’D FALLEN. Not physically, though I was teetering awfully close to the edge of a bed —and not my own.

I’d jolted awake, the jarring sensation of falling a great height to my death enough to make my heart race. And though I’d been sprawled on a soft bed, and not the jagged rocks of a ravine, my heart rate hadn’t slowed.

It’d sped up, beating the wild tempo of a rocking drum solo in my chest.

Rapidly blinking, I tried to sort through the haze that bogged down my brain, beckoning me to close my eyes and go back to sleep.

I almost obeyed, my heavy lids closing and refusing to open again, when I heard it.

Breathing.

And, again, not my own.

My eyes shot open and I rolled, nearly falling off the edge that was even closer than I’d thought. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to make out his silhouette.

Psycho.

Judge.

Lying on his back, his steady, even breathing filled the air.

He’s asleep. Vulnerable.

My eyes darted to the large shadow that was his muscular body.

Kinda vulnerable.

Maybe.

I stayed where I was, trying to decide what to do. I could get up and make a run for it again, but between my lack of shoes and the insanely loud alarm, I wouldn’t get far.

A well-aimed foot to the crotch could buy me a few minutes head start, but the aforementioned shoe-alarm issue would still create a problem.

There were probably a wealth of other possibilities, but escape protocol wasn’t exactly something I’d brushed up on, so I was drawing a blank.

But I had to do something.

I can pretend I’ve got to go to the bathroom, grab my shoes as I go, then jump out the window. Even with the alarm, I could probably make it just far enough to find a spot to hide until morning.

Adrenaline and anxiety made me tense and jittery, like I would come out of my skin if I didn’t move.

I was about to roll toward the other side of the bed to execute my escape when something on the floor next to Psycho caught my eye.

His gun.

I was pretty sure, at least. What else could it could be?

If I grab it, I don’t have to run and hide until God knows when. I can walk out of here.

Trepidation mixed with a sense of foreboding filled me, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was about to make a huge mistake.

Do I really want to leave?

That one stupid thought was enough to confirm I needed to hightail it out of there. Charming danger was still danger, and I needed to remember that.

Holding my breath, I moved slowly, but each inch seemed to cause a deafening creak. I paused, and when Judge didn’t wake, I stood in one fast, fluid movement. I wasn’t sure how loud it’d been since my pounding heartbeat filled my ears, blocking out everything else.

My body was so tense, my muscles felt like they were about to turn my bones to dust. Lack of air burned my lungs and made my head swim, and I had to force myself to breathe before I passed out and fell on him.

I was not made out for a life of spy-y things.

Darting my gaze between Judge’s face and my target, I slowly bent over him. I was positive the thundering in my chest would wake him, but his eyes stayed closed.

Mine didn’t because I couldn’t blink.

Couldn’t breathe.

My fingertips barely grazed the cold metal when something grabbed my wrist. Tight.

I yelped and tried to pull away, my wide eyes shooting to Judge’s open ones.

Casual and cool as could be, he put his hand under his head. “What exactly was your plan here?”

There were a million things I could’ve said. Or, better yet, I could’ve remained silent. But instead I blurted, “You were asleep.”

“Nope.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Think I’d know if I was sleepin’,” he pointed out.

Again, stupidly, I declared, “You were supposed to be.”

“So you could grab my gun and what? Were you gonna use it, princess?

Grip the cold steel, press it to my head, and blow me away?”

I wasn’t sure how much more my poor heart could take, but his words, the barely restrained rage that roughened his tone, and the way he held my wrist tight enough to almost hurt made me feel like I was about to have a heart attack.

It also made me wet.

So unbelievably, undeniably, embarrassingly wet.

Not that murder was my plan or my kink. But the erotic way he spoke.

The power in his words, in my actions.

It was wreaking mayhem on my sensibilities.

“I wasn’t,” I started, and even to my own ears, I could hear the breathiness. Hoping he’d chalk it up to the fear that should’ve been shaking me to my core, I cleared my throat and tried for firm and unaffected. “I wasn’t going to use it.” Realizing I’d called my own bluff, I added, “Unless you made me.”

He chuckled, but it was gruff. “Nice try, badass.”

“Why were you pretending to be asleep?”

“Wasn’t.”

“Your eyes were closed.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I was tryin’ to fall asleep… kinda easier to do that with my eyes closed.”

I’m so not a Bond Girl-level super spy.

“Why can’t you sleep?” I asked without thinking.

“Got a fuck-all hot woman in my bed—a bed I’m not in with her—and a shitstorm is swirlin’. I don’t know how she fits in, but no matter what, that shit isn’t good.” Still gripping my wrist, he brought my hand over his torso.

He moved it down, my fingertips skimming his abs. “I’d finally gotten my body to settle, but then I felt eyes on me, and…” He stopped our hands right above the waistband of his boxers, and his voice was rough with something other than rage when he finished, “It was hard to relax again.”

If I’d thought I was wet before, it was nothing compared to the fresh wave of arousal that pooled between my legs, coating my inner thighs.

It was stupid and reckless and absolutely fuckin’ insane of me, but in that moment, I was having trouble remembering why I shouldn’t reach my fingers out to feel whether he was speaking literally or figuratively.

Before I could make that epic mistake—or, worse, fulfill his earlier claim by begging—ringing filled the air.

Judge took advantage of the distraction, pushing his gun far out of reach and tugging me down at the same time.

I landed sprawled across his torso, making us both grunt. His changed to a wheezed ooph as I scrambled off to sit next to him. He released my wrist but quickly clasped it again using the hand closest to me.

You try to steal a guy’s gun once, and there goes all the trust.

I scrunched my eyes when the phone’s blinding light illuminated the room.

Judge pressed it to his ear. “Yeah?”

Whoever was on the other end spoke, but I couldn’t make out a thing they said. As they talked, Psycho’s hand flexed around my wrist, and he pushed my palm flat against his stomach.

He pulled the phone away from his ear a little, and the light and shadows played together to do wonderful, sinister things to his already gorgeous face.

“You’re not a stripper?” he asked.

Assuming he was talking to them, I continued admiring his bone structure while simultaneously ignoring the irrational jealousy that knotted my stomach.

So what if he’s talking to a possible stripper?

He’s a dangerous psycho.

Let her and her probably killer body and awesomely sexy moves deal with him.

“O?” “Don’t call me that,” I snapped.

His lip twitched. “You didn’t answer me. You’re not a stripper?”

Maybe this whole thing is a crazy, Lifetime Movie-esque case of mistaken identity.

Trying not to get my hopes up, I shook my head. “Why?” Ignoring my question, he asked, “You a call girl?”

My eyes widened and jaw dropped. “You think I’m a hooker?”

I didn’t judge people in that line of work because it wasn’t my place and I didn’t know the circumstances that’d driven them to it. That said, I’d never been confused for a prostitute, and I was surprised he thought I was one.

“Relax,” Judge said, something that would’ve made me do the exact opposite had I not been distracted by our conversation. “I said call girl. TenG-plus a night.”

“Ten thousand? People pay ten thousand dollars for sex?”

I’m in the wrong line of work.

An inferno of heat filled his hooded gaze. “I’d pay everything I have and my fuckin’ soul for one night with you, princess.”

Thankfully, the caller said something, and I was saved from having to respond. Because, seriously, what could I even say to that?

“Fuck off,” Judge said into the phone, though his light tone didn’t match his words. “What the fuck is a boom?” He paused to listen before continuing. “Yeah, do it.”

As soon as he ended the call, I asked, “What was—” But my question was cut off when a different jingling ringtone sounded.

“Lights on,” Judge said.

I shifted to stand so I could flip the switch—though I’d also call him a few choice names while reminding him manners went a long way—but before I could, the room’s lights flickered on.

“Was that like the modern Clapper?” I asked.

“Glitch has the whole place souped-up with the latest technology.

Probably gonna turn on us like HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey, but it’s cool as shit.” He touched his phone and the screen changed, blurring before coming into focus.

A massive man filled the display, an unlit cigar held between lips that were mostly hidden by a beard. The low light and sounds of traffic made me guess he was sitting outdoors somewhere.

He wasn’t traditionally attractive, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hot.

Not Judge-levels of hot, but still. Hot.

“Feel like I’m taking a damn selfie,” the man said, taking the unlit cigar from his mouth. His accent wasn’t exactly the same as the man who’d called earlier, but it was similar.

Judge chuckled. “Let’s see your duck lips.”

The man aimed the camera at his middle finger before everything went catawampus. He must’ve propped the phone on something because more of the man was visible, along with the prettiest dog I’d ever seen. Based on the chair style and brick behind him, I was betting they were on a deck or balcony.

I waited for Judge to sit up or adjust his phone because it was aimed at his face and chest with only a bit of my side showing. When he didn’t, I leaned down as best as I could in our awkward position so I was in the frame, too.

Had my focus been on the man and not on Judge and me in the small square in the corner, I would’ve missed his triumphant smile.

He wasn’t being clueless, he just wanted me closer.

I rolled my eyes, and he grinned.

“Nico says it’s bullshit, but that fookin’ boom will get ya every time,” the man said.

I know he’s saying words, but I have no clue what they mean.

Judge echoed my thoughts out loud, saying, “Yeah, still got no clue what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

The man lifted his glass toward the phone before taking a healthy swig.

“You will.”

“Ophelia, this is Nox. I do jobs with him.”

I didn’t know what that meant, and if I wanted to be allowed to walk free, I bet I didn’t want to know.

“Your dog is gorgeous,” I said, wishing I could reach through the screen and pet his pretty fur.

“Aye, he’s a good lad.”

The dog gave a snarfle of agreement.

“I got some questions for you, lass,” Nox continued.

I tensed, and Judge’s thumb started rubbing the sensitive skin of my inner wrist.

“Okay,” I forced out.

“You know a man named Nash?”

“No, should I?”

“Nah, he’s definitely not someone you wanna know.” Still holding his glass tumbler, he leaned closer to the phone and put his elbows to his knees.

“You have any connection to the Irish?”

“I think my dad said we were, like, one-sixteenth Irish, but my mom said that was just an excuse so she’d make corned beef on Saint Patrick’s Day.” The man smiled. “I’m talking about the Irish mafia, lass.”

If my eyes shot open any wider, they’d likely pop out of my head. “The mob? No, definitely no connection to them.”

“How about a man named Lars? Or his club, Wicked?”

With as many clubs and bars as Boston had—and how quickly they turned over—my girls and I could go to a different one every night and still never get to every place. Since our nights out were rare, we tended to stick to a few tried-and-trues. Wicked wasn’t one of our usuals, but I couldn’t remember the name of the smarmy club we’d gone to a few months back.

Cringing at the memory of the cliché train wreck, I asked, “Is that the cheesy place with all the chrome, fake art, and ridiculous patches of fur everywhere?”

Judge barked out a noise that sounded like a mix of a laugh and a choke.

“Yes,” Nox wheezed, choking on his own laughter. “But I doubt it’s the same one you’re thinking of.” Getting control of himself, he continued his questioning. “What about Elder Oaks?”

I hesitated, not because I had something to hide, but because my instinct was to protect. But lying could backfire and get me in more trouble.

Plus, if he was asking, it was likely because he already knew the answer.

“Yeah, that’s where I work,” I said, and Judge’s hand squeezed my wrist.

“As a nurse.”

Even though it wasn’t a question, I answered anyway. “Yes.” I gave Judge a quick glare. “Not the naughty kind, either.”

“A man can fantasize,” he muttered back.

Nox cleared his throat. “Ever met a resident named Carol Anne Allan?”

“Ms. Carol Anne? Of course, she makes sure everyone knows her and she knows everyone. Why?” My heart sank in my tight chest. “Is she okay?”

“Aye. She’ll outlive us all, don’t worry.”

“You know her.”

That time, it was him who answered my non-question. “Aye. Her granddaughter is my wife.”

“You’re Gus’ husband?” Stunned, I mustered up a feeble, “Ms. Carol Anne’s been showing off the ultrasound pictures. Congrats.”

He looked as proud as a father-to-be could. “Thanks, lass.”

Elder Oaks was a premier senior living facility. The place was exclusive, cost a fortune, and featured all sorts of activities and amenities for when the seniors wanted to get out of their posh apartments. It wasn’t a nursing home, but since the residents were all over a certain age and income bracket, it was staffed with round-the-clock nurses and a rotation of the best doctors Massachusetts had to offer.

Landing the once in a lifetime job had been a miracle, and likely only happened because one of the surlier residents had struck up a conversation with me while I’d waited to drop off my resume. After that, he’d refused to see any other nurse and had offered to pay my salary himself.

Even though I was qualified—though inexperienced—I got the feeling my supervisor had only appeased him because she’d figured I’d quit within a few weeks anyway. But I was still there, loving my job and the residents, even if some days wore me down to the bone.

Or when a favorite passed away, to the soul.

Of all of my favorites, though, Ms. Carol Anne was top of the list. She was a feisty southern lady who went hardcore with euchre, knew all the good gossip, and was obsessed with the Kardashians. Her sharp wit could draw laughter or blood depending on whether she liked the recipient.

I’d met her granddaughter, Gus, a handful of times, and although I’d heard all about Gus’ ‘handsome beau’, I’d never met him. Carol Anne was a do-er and preferred to get out and about for their visits.

“We had dinner with Carol Anne today. She asked me to do my,” Nox lifted his hand for finger quotes, “‘scary man thing’ because her favorite nurse called off for work.”

Like Judge said, we were in the middle of a shitstorm, but that didn’t stop me from feeling flattered and honored I was her favorite.

“Owe her an apology,” Nox continued, slowly shaking his head, “and some of Piper’s cupcakes because I dismissed her concern over a nurse missing one shift. Told her everyone gets sick, but she said you wouldn’t call off over text. Shoulda known she knows every-damn-thing.”

Judge’s body tensed. “Did you and Dair still dig?”

“Aye. Thoroughly. That’s what took so long. Wasn’t gonna call ‘til the morning but decided to do it now since I wasn’t sure what you were up

against there.” He grinned. “Looks like I was right… you’ve got your hands full.”

Judge didn’t try to explain, join the joke, or even comment. His muscles stayed taut, his jaw clenched as he prodded, “And?” “Ophelia Kline.”

Hearing my name in a gruff, accented voice quickly drew my attention away from Judge’s reaction back to Nox. “Is as clean as fresh fookin’ snow,” he finished.

“What?” I asked at the same time Judge asked, “You sure?”

Nox scowled, and though he was still attractive, he was also scary as hell.

“Would I be out here freezing my balls off to call you if I wasn’t fookin’ sure? I could be in my warm bed wrapped around my warm wife.”

“Don’t get your frozen balls in a twist.” Judge paused before adding, “Clearly more’s at stake than originally thought.”

Although I had no clue what he was talking about, the way he’d said it made the innocuous words heavy with unknown significance.

“We dug deep, especially after finding the link to Carol Anne. If anyone else had been working this, I’d have sent their ass back out ‘cause everyone has a skeleton or two. But Ophelia’s clean, and spending a hundred years searching wouldn’t find jack-shit since there’s jack-shit to find.”

Judge lifted his chin in response, but I could feel him relax next to me.

Disconcerted and freaked out, not to mention exhausted beyond a filter, I said, “It’s bad enough people are digging around in my life, but you both talking about me as if I’m not here is making it much worse.”

“Sorry, lass,” Nox apologized, seeming genuine and not just placating.

Judge didn’t say anything, but he gave my wrist a squeeze before his thumb resumed stroking softly.

“What did you think I—” I started when another thought hit me. “Wait, does this mean I can go home?”

All the tension that’d melted from Judge seemed to come back tenfold, the veins in his forearm becoming more pronounced and the definition of his muscles more cut. Rolling his head to meet my eyes, his voice was soft when he said, “This proves you’re not workin’ for them, but you’re still involved. Your place being hit isn’t a coincidence.”

I didn’t need the reminder. Every time I thought about the destruction to my home—the total and complete invasion of privacy on such a personal level—my heart shattered and tears burned my eyes.

“So what you’re saying is it’s not safe for me there,” I surmised on a whisper.

“Sorry, princess,” he whispered back, his light brown eyes hypnotic up close.

So close.

The lead that’d filled my belly split by the thousands, erupting into butterflies with fluttering wings and hyperactive tempos.

“We’ve already moved your car to one of my warehouses,” Nox said, breaking the moment. “You’re welcome to come stay, lass.”

Judge sat up fast, taking me with him so I ended up on his lap. “Fuck off.”

Nox gave him the finger. “Got a guy working an hour away. He can swing by and pick ya up.”

“Fuckin’ try it,” Judge snarled, wrapping his free arm around my waist— tight.

“Not sayin’ I’m gonna hide her away in a fookin’ tower, you damn muppet. But when a thick bastard says ‘Nice to meet ya’ by throwing her in the back of a van, it’s understandable the lass might wanna get some distance.”

The logic was lost on Judge who merely bit out a fully-loaded challenge.

“Fuckin’. Try. It.” “I’m good here,” I blurted before I could change my mind.

“Ya sure, lass?” Nox asked.

“You fuckin’ heard—” Judge’s words were cut off when I put my arm over his at my waist and reached my other back so I could cover his mouth—though the awkward angle meant my palm was mostly on his cheek and not his lips.

It was still effective, and he shut up before he said something that would cost him whatever business he had with Nox. “Relax, Psycho,” I said, going extra-heavy with the condescendence by patting his arm.

“Message received,” he muttered, though I wasn’t sure if he was referring to him acting psycho or how insulting it was to tell someone to relax.

Hopefully both.

“I’m sure,” I told Nox. “But if I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”

After draining his glass, a grin split Nox’s face, and he leaned forward to grab his phone. “Ya gotta play this smart. Your folks still on that cruise?”

My jaw dropped and a trickle of fear snaked down my spine. It wasn’t that I thought Nox would do anything, but it’d be stupid not to be at least a little afraid of someone who could find out those kinds of details in less than a day.

“Yes, for another two weeks,” I said slowly.

“They coming to visit when they’re done?”

Ha! Like most teens, I’d spent my high school years counting down until graduation because I’d been so excited to be an adult. My parents had counted down right along with me because that’d meant retirement for them. The day I’d left Rhode Island for school in Massachusetts, they’d left for sun and golf in Florida.

They’d gotten the better end of the deal. Adulting sucked.

They were great parents, but I’d been an accidental pregnancy when they were forty-one. Once I’d moved out, they’d restarted their lives doing all the things they’d been planning to do before I came along.

“We’re not close like that,” I said, keeping it simple. “They’ll call when they get home.”

“Just keep it business as usual. Same with your friends. You say something that worries them, they’ll start sniffing around, getting on radars they don’t wanna be on.”

Thankfully, most of my friends were also nurses, which meant our schedules rarely lined up. Me being unavailable for a while wouldn’t be anything new.

“And you’re out of work ‘til this is settled. Keep it vague—family emergency. They give ya shit, call me. There’s strings to pull and points to pressure, aye?”

I’ve been saying I need a vacation, but a biker clubhouse wasn’t the destination I had in mind…

Nox took the cigar and used it to point at Judge. “Share whatever ya think ya need to ‘cause I know your deal with lying, but Gus-Protocol is in full-fookin’-effect with this shit. Be in touch.”

With that, he ended the call, leaving me and Judge and the elephant in the room to our thoughts.

I wasn’t going full-Stockholm by agreeing to stay. There was a method to my madness, and it wasn’t that hot guy was so hot, I got the dumb.

Somehow, I’d gotten dragged into a mess. I had no clue what it was about, so I had no clue how to make it better. My place wasn’t safe, but Judge’s—I knew from frustrating experience—was secure and secluded.

Nox may have been able to offer me the same safe haven, but if the shitstorm turned into a Category Five shit-ricane, his attention and protection would be on his wife and family—as it should be.

The way I saw it, my safety was in my own incapable hands. I had a better chance of avoiding the path of the storm if I was out in the middle of nowhere. And if it reached me, I had to hope my instincts were correct, and Judge would help keep me safe.

I had a strong feeling he would.

Plus, I wasn’t acting on my gut alone. I liked Gus and loved Ms. Carol Anne, so if they both trusted Nox, there was a reason for it. And since he clearly trusted Judge, ipso facto…

That didn’t mean I was naïve enough to think he was one of the good guys.

But I also wasn’t naïve enough to think there wasn’t a badder guy out there.

In the face of whatever chaos awaited, I wanted to be on the same side as the bad guy who held me tenderly in his lap—not the one who’d destroyed my personal possessions and made enemies with a psycho, his biker brothers, and an accented beast.

Well, I’d be on his side as long as he filled me in on what was happening and promised no more kidnapping. Because otherwise the deal was off and I’d run barefoot to Nox and Gus. “We need to talk.”

Judge’s lips brushed against the top of my head when he said, “Okay.”

“After I get some sleep,” I amended. When he didn’t move his arm, I pressed against his hold. It took a few long moments, but he eventually relented and released me, though he skimmed across my skin as I went.

“Lights off,” he said, his eyes glued to me the last thing I saw before the room went dark.

I climbed back into bed and stayed on the side closest to Judge.

Because beyond instinct, logic, common sense, and everything else, that was where I felt safest as I fell into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN ___________________________ MRS. BUTTERWORTH, SYRUP SLUT JUDGE

“TALKED TO NOX.” Shit.

The night before had gone better than I’d anticipated.

Of course, I’d figured Ophelia would smother me in my sleep, so the bar had been set pretty damn low.

But even if I’d had it set high, I’d never have expected her to agree to stay with me.

Her choosing me over Nox meant she trusted me to keep her safe…

Or it meant she didn’t trust either of us and was sticking with me because she thought she had a better shot at shivving me with a whittled down toothbrush.

Whichever it was, I’d take it.

I’d find out why she had a target on her back.

I’d find who put it there and thank them for twisting fate to bring her into my life.

And then I’d fuckin’ kill them.

Painfully.

Slowly.

Then I’d go home, touch Ophelia with hands that had so much figurative blood on them, they were as permanently stained as my soul, and hope she was okay with my filth marring her blinding perfection.

Despite having jacked off the night before while she’d changed and that morning in the shower, my dick hardened down my thigh.

“Ya hear me?” Jury asked through the phone pressed to my ear.

“Yeah, yeah. Talked to Nox. So did I.” “Oh, I know. Fuckin’ everyone knows. The bastard had a field day lettin’ everyone and their mothers know he wasn’t the only one whipped now.”

Only difference is he’s had the pussy he’s whipped by.

Maybe O’s feelin’ extra trusting this morning…

Moving quickly before she came into the kitchen and thought I was jerking it to the Mrs. Butterworth bottle, I shoved my hand down the waistband of my jeans and adjusted myself. “Did he tell you O’s not working for Nash or was he too busy sippin’ tea and runnin’ his damn mouth?”

“Nah, he told us. His gut is saying the shit with her apartment is linked to Nash and the Irish, but he’s got no clue how. And since Ophelia is linked to Ms. Carol Anne and Gus, he’s on edge. He still wants us to make the Tennessee run, but after that, it’s all hands on deck with this shit.”

Shit, the Tennessee run.

Taking Ophelia on the road opened up chances for her to bolt—especially if she talked to a Mayson. Leaving her home wasn’t much better. She’d be safe in Nox’s heavily secured warehouse, but she’d be a helluva lot safer with me, where I could keep an eye on her.

And other body parts if she’d let me.

After washing my hands, I opened the freezer, pulled out the homemade waffles Swedes had texted me about, and popped some in the toaster. “Tell Glitch to get me my own room.”

“Already done. Said he figured you’d be bringing her and wouldn’t be open to a slumber party. Hollywood offered to pack the face masks and bath bombs that chick sent him when she dumped him, but still guessed you’d pass.”

“Considering I just spent a whack on all that shit and O refuses to even open it, think she’s fully stocked.”

He laughed. “So the night went well.”

“She went for my piece when she thought I was asleep, and I’m not talkin’ about the one between my legs.”

Most people would be worried about that, but my brother only laughed harder. “That bad?”

“That good.”

“You’re fucked in the head.”

I didn’t argue ‘cause he was right.

Popping another round of waffles into the toaster, I grabbed plates and forks. “Anything else I need to know about?”

“Business as usual.”

“Good. Be in touch if things go to hell, otherwise fuck off.”

“Got it.”

Hanging up, I started coffee before plating the food, snagging the syrup and butter, and heading into the family room, my mind on how I wanted to wake O. I didn’t get to use any of my ideas—yet—because when I pushed open the door, she was already at the table, sitting in the same spot she’d been in at dinner.

“You’re up.”

“Got hungry,” she said, her eyes on the plates in my hand.

“Want coffee?”

“Want me to function?”

“Take that as a yes.” I set everything down and returned to the kitchen to pour a mug of coffee for me and the biggest cup we had for her. I tried like hell not to burn myself as I carried them, the milk, and some sugar back out.

“I don’t have any flavored creamer ‘cause Swedes says it’s an insult to coffee.”

Ophelia poured a shit-ton of milk in before adding sugar. “I’d drink instant coffee black right now, so I’m good with whatever.”

My dick, that’d gone down, instantly hardened as Ophelia’s full lips blew on the steaming drink. It became painfully hard when she took a sip and closed her eyes, pleasure filling her expression.

One day, it’ll be me who gets her to make that face.

“This is the best coffee I’ve ever had, and I’m not just saying that because I’m desperate. What blend is it?”

I shrugged. “Swedes stocks it. He’s all about trying organic, fair trade, whatever. You’ll have to ask him.”

She glanced down the table. “Will everyone be here later?”

“We don’t have anything planned. The family room is open to everyone twenty-four-seven, but they’re probably steering clear.”

“Because of me.”

“No one wants to get in the path of a pissed-off woman.”

I expected her to shoot back something about her anger being warranted, but she just smirked and said, “Smart of them.”

Fuckin’ hell.

Going to town spreading butter on her waffle, she glanced at me. “What’s the family room?”

I gestured around us with my fork.

“Why do you call it that?”

“That’s what it is. Rooms down the hall are locked, minus the can. Back room is for patched brothers only. Even though I live here, kitchen is Swedes’ and he gets territorial. But out here is for everyone to feel at home.

No matter what bullshit is going on, what pissin’ matches, personal problems, or beefs, you step through that door and it all gets left outside.”

“You live here?”

“Used to have an apartment next town over but spent most of my time here. Seemed a waste to pay a shit-ton of rent for a place that sat empty.”

“What about when… I mean… Don’t you miss the, uh, privacy?” Her light tone was forced, and her eye were narrowed, sparking with jealousy.

Dropping my fork, I pushed away from the table before gripping her arm and carefully tugging her onto my lap.

Surprisingly, she let me without jamming her own fork into my jugular.

“First, like I said, rooms down the hall are locked. I want privacy, I go there. It’s rare ‘cause I like being around people. Second, if you’re asking about women, I’m thirty-three. I got a past. Bettin’ you do, too, but I sure as fuck don’t wanna hear that shit beyond whether you’re clean and what protection you choose. Though I’m puttin’ it out there now, I’ve always been safe, have proof, and, in our case, prefer that protection to not be a layer between us.”

“We’re not—” “We are. And ‘cause we’re up against enough bullshit without your jealousy flaring up hot enough to make you go for my piece again, none of the chicks that’ll be around here have had me. No one has had me like you do, period, but I don’t want you side-eyeing every bunny, wonderin’ if she’s been in your spot. And if one wants to start shit and claim she has, lemme know ‘cause that bitch will be out permanently.”

Her eyes widened as she gasped, whispering, “Permanently, as in… dead?”

My head jerked back. “Permanently, like never allowed back here.” I looked at the tiny woman on my lap and wondered—not for the first time— if she was hiding some crazy femme fatale past. “Fuck, you’ve got a ruthless streak.”

“No, I don’t. And I’m not jealous. And we’re not going to… we’re not anything.” Crossing her arms, she glared up at me, daring me to disagree.

Challenging me.

But what she didn’t do, not even once, was try to move away.

“Whatever you say.” Starting at the top of her ear, I skimmed my finger along the curve, loving the way she trembled, her full lips parting. When I reached the bottom, I gave her small hoop earring a little tug. “Just don’t expect me to bail you out when you kick off your shoes, pull out your earrings, and beat a chick down in a jealous rage.”

“There’s only one problem with that,” she whispered, putting her palms flat to my chest and slowly rubbing.

Like a hypnotist, a temptress, a fuckin’ siren, her gray eyes lured me in.

“What’s that?” I murmured. My eyes fell to her mouth, my mind on taking it.

With my mouth.

With my dick.

I thought about dragging her up my legs so her rounded ass was pressed against my aching cock.

And that was a mistake when it came to Ophelia. Dropping my guard.

Forgetting that, unlike men twice her size, she didn’t hesitate to go toe-totoe with me.

Because while my mind was on getting her under me, she took her opening.

Gripping one of my nipples in each hand, she pinched.

Hard.

“It’s not the chick that’d get the beatdown,” Ophelia said with a sweet as sin smile before twisting.

My hands shot to my chest but I didn’t have to pry her off. She released her death grip, likely knowing the pain would radiate worse. Happy as could be, she hopped off my lap and returned to her seat.

“Shit. Who purple nurples still?”

She cut into her waffle. “It was effective, wasn’t it?”

“Fair fuckin’ point.” I rubbed the abused skin. “No wonder you suck at shit-talk. You just go straight to violence.”

She rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded a lot like, “Big baby.”

Grabbing the syrup, I poured some on my lukewarm waffle before holding it out to her. When she shook her head, I asked, “Not a syrup fan?”

“I just don’t want to make you jealous.”

My brows lowered. “What?”

Ophelia worked—and failed—to hide a smile as her gaze darted between me and the syrup bottle. “I went looking for you when I woke up and walked in on you two having a, uh, moment together.”

Fuckin’ hell.

CHAPTER EIGHT ___________________________ DUN-DUN OPHELIA

JUDGE’S

MOUTH OPENED then snapped shut before opening again.

“You know I wasn’t—” “Hey,” I interrupted, holding my hands up, “what you and your condiments do in the privacy of your kitchen is your own business.”

He grinned—transforming his face into a sexy masterpiece—and I couldn’t hold back my own. His eyes dropped to my mouth, and his smile fell as his eyes grew hooded. “Fuckin’ boom.”

“What?”

“Nothin’.” Leaning back, he shoved a bite of waffle into his mouth. “Eat, then we gotta talk.”

Even though his words killed my appetite, I still did as he said. I was glad I did because the waffles were the best I’d ever had and wasting them would be a crime against food.

As I ate, I tried to reprimand myself for letting my guard down—again. I tried to tell myself that he was dangerous. I tried to remember all the whys and hows of the fucked up-ness of the situation.

I desperately needed to build my walls back up or I’d fall right into the black hole of too-stupid-to-live.

Once our plates were cleared and Judge had refilled my coffee, he slouched back in his chair. “If I pull you back onto my lap—” “I’ve always wondered if nipples could be twisted,” I made a pop noise, “right off.”

“Figured.” Crossing his legs so one of his shitkickers rested on his knee, he rubbed his jaw. “I’m tellin’ you all I can ‘cause some of this isn’t my story to tell. And I’m trusting you won’t go to the cops, but also that you won’t Nancy Drew it and get yourself pulled in any deeper. These aren’t

men who’re gonna admire your give ‘em hell attitude. You don’t wanna be on their radar.”

Apprehension filled my stomach, but curiosity had me clutching my coffee cup and leaning forward like I was about to listen to an epic audiobook.

Something told me that wasn’t far off.

“This shit is confusing, so tell me if I lose you. Remember when Nox asked if you knew a man named Nash?” At my nod, he said, “He’s a nasty motherfucker who owns clubs—strip and otherwise—and uses them to run guns, drugs, and women. He used to be just a pain in the ass, but then he got greedy. Then, thanks to high-ups with a taste for his drugs, women, or both, he got cocky and thought he was invincible.”

Wow. This is like The Wire or Law and Order.

“He made moves a while back that blew up in his face and had…” He hesitated. “It got him some attention. We thought he’d smartened up, but then there were whispers about him teaming up with the Irish mob.”

And The Sopranos.

“I know Providence has a strong,” I automatically lowered my voice to whisper, “mob presence, but I didn’t know there was a big one here.”

Judge chuckled, his cream soda eyes filled with amusement at my expense. “It’s okay, they’re not gonna hear you.”

I would’ve flipped him off, but I didn’t want to delay the true crimes story he was weaving.

“Italians fly under the radar and run protection, though they’ll fuck shit up if pressed. Irish are always crazy, out in the open, and up for anything.

They were happy to team up with Nash and were planning to go after a rival strip club. But the Irish also have big mouths, so word got out before it could go down.”

Thinking about the conversation the night before, I asked, “Does Nox own the other club?”

“No.” “Is he involved in this?”

“Yes.” I scowled in frustration. “Is this part of the story that’s not yours to tell?”

Rather than touching his own nose to tell me I was correct, Judge reached over and tapped mine.

Had it been anyone else, the move would’ve been as condescending as telling me to relax—and I wouldn’t have hesitated to let them know. But his smile made it playful rather than insulting. And in the midst of talking about illegal activities, the mob, and corruption, the levity was needed.

“Based on your paranoia with me… observing you in the store, I’m guessing Nash hasn’t backed away?”

“No. He’s been playing it friendly for a few months, sending,” he lifted his hands to make finger quotes, “gifts and incentives—” “What kind…” I started before remembering what Judge said Nash ran.

“Never mind.”

“We turned them away—and not nicely. Instead of moving on, we think he put one of his girls in Mayhem.”

“How?” “She was hangin’ at a bar, and a brother tried to pick her up, but she played the long con. It worked. He pursued her hard and fell harder. Swore she was made just for him. And he was fuckin’ right. Every word, every look, every childhood story, and future goal had been crafted to hook him and get close, likely to collect info to report back to Nash.”

I wasn’t sure what info they’d have that a man like Nash would want, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. That didn’t stop me from asking, “Did she get anything?”

“His heart. Someone else’s dick in her mouth.” I gasped, and he quickly amended, “Her choice, not fuckin’ forced. Jesus.”

“I didn’t think that.”

At least I hoped it wasn’t that.

Judge shot me a disbelieving look as he drained the rest of his mug. “He was careful with what he shared ‘cause he may have been stupid for her, but she wasn’t his old lady. And thank fuckin’ Christ she got caught before it got that far.”

“Caught with someone else’s…”

“Yeah. Friend of the club saw her out and recognized her from the pictures the brother had been showing off. Watched her chat up a dude, take a wad of cash, then take a different—” I put my hand up. “I do not need the details.”

“Chance location. Chance timing.” Something I couldn’t read crossed his face. “Just fate.”

“Badass bikers believe in fate?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

It didn’t work and my heart kicked into overdrive when he said, “They do when they’ve experienced it.”

Breaking the intense moment, I chugged my coffee like I was dying of thirst, and it was the most important thing in the world.

Which, well, it kinda was, but that was beside the point.

Judge smiled like he thought my evasion was cute before turning serious.

“Nox is gonna send over some pictures for you to look at, see if you recognize anyone.”

A lifetime of binge-watching Law and Order had me primed and excited to do a photo array. At the same time, though, it made the surreal situation more real, the gravity of it sitting heavily on my chest.

Someone actually destroyed my apartment on purpose. This isn’t a slapstick case of mistaken identity and over the top coincidences.

Whoever is behind this was after me. Not some doppelganger. Not someone in the apartment one floor below me.

Why am I on the radar of someone who runs guns, drugs, and women?

“I’ve never even touched a gun,” I said out loud, staring at my cup. “I smoked a little weed in high school, but that’s it. And I think women are beautiful treasures, but I’ve never slept with one and certainly never paid to do it.”

I jumped when Judge’s hands spanned my waist. On his knees, he turned me so I was facing him. “O—” “If you hadn’t taken me, I would’ve gone home to that disaster scene. I live alone. What if…” My words caught in my throat, coming out in a choked whisper. “What if they came back while I was there? While I was sleeping?” I gave a small, disbelieving scoff. “Never thought I’d say this, but it’s a really good thing I was kidnapped.”

Judge squeezed my waist. “Fate.”

CHAPTER NINE ___________________________ NEATLY STACKED AND STORED HOOKERS OPHELIA

“WE’RE GOING OUT with some brothers.”

Looking up from my book, I saw Judge leaning on the doorjamb of his bedroom, his hands shoved into the front pockets of his black jeans—ones with jagged rips at the knee that I was willing to bet hadn’t been there when he’d bought them. His white tee was bright and clean, contrasting with the well-worn black leather of his vest—no, his cut.

In the almost week since I’d been brought there, I hadn’t left. And short of one time for a few hours, neither had he. I’d asked what he did for a living that allowed him to stay home for so long, and he’d said security. He hadn’t expanded, which I’d taken to mean I likely didn’t want to know.

He may not have left, but a constant rotation of brothers came to see him.

They’d had two meetings in their back room.

Swedes had shown up every day to cook lunch and get dinner started or prepped. I’d tried telling him he didn’t have to, but him being territorial about the kitchen had not been an exaggeration.

A couple of nights, brothers, and even some bunnies, had come by to chill and drink.

The first time they’d shown, Judge had been in the back room with Jury, so I’d retreated to the bedroom—partially because I was an outsider in their territory and partially because I’d been intimidated. The next night when they’d come to watch a Bruins game, I’d tried to sneak off again, but a tipsy Judge had pulled me into his lap.

I should’ve gone for his nipples.

I should’ve just stood since his hold was possessive but not tight.

I should’ve done anything but sit there, sharing sips of his vodka tonics and laughing at the hilarious stories of drunken nights—and some afternoons.

But I didn’t. I sat. I drank. I laughed. I enjoyed the loyalty and bond they shared. And I let myself pretend I was a part of it.

Not all the brothers were happy I was there, but thanks to that loyalty— and the glares from Judge—they were civil in their mistrust.

Surprisingly—or maybe not—that included Jury. He’d barely said a word to me, though he seemed to study me almost as much as his brother did.

Even though Nox had researched me thoroughly, I got the feeling Jury still didn’t trust me. It made me wonder if he was the one who’d had his heart broken. Or maybe he was just protective of his brother.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter because Judge and I weren’t anything. Minus the one night sitting on his lap, he hadn’t touched me. His focus had been elsewhere, and though he’d stopped to patiently answer my fifty billion and three questions, he was obviously preoccupied.

“Out?” I asked, working hard to keep my voice even despite the thrill shooting through me.

I’d never been a homebody. Nursing school and then actually being a nurse had sucked up a lot of my time, but when I had the chance and our schedules lined up, I enjoyed my nights out with friends.

And even when it was just me, I had no shame in my solo game. I ate out alone. I went to movies alone. I shopped and explored and shopped some more. All alone.

The time in the clubhouse had been a nice break—especially once Judge made someone pick up the books I’d been wanting to read but hadn’t gotten around to. But I was ready to get out, I didn’t even care where.

“Yeah. Drinks at a bar one of my buddies owns.”

I looked down at my capri leggings and loose tee that I’d spilled coffee on that morning.

And maybe butter from Swedes’ homemade pancakes that were even better than his waffles.

And definitely hot sauce from my wrap.

I’m a garbage person.

“Uh, when’re we leaving?” I asked, fighting the urge to touch the messy bun—emphasis on the messy—that flopped around on the top of my head.

“Five minutes.”

“What?” I practically shrieked, jumping up.

“Fuckin’ with you. Not for three hours.”

I flopped back down on the bed and gave him the finger. “You’re a jerk.”

“Not a psycho?”

Rolling my head to look at him, my eyes caught on the smirk that pulled at his lips.

God, he’s charming.

How bad could danger really be?

“No, you’re that, too,” I said, standing and turning away before I did something stupid.

Like admitting I missed him touching me.

Like asking him to kiss me.

Like allowing myself to sink into the mayhem he brought to my life.

Judge’s heat hit my back as he stopped close. “Casual bar. Lots of bikers, rockers. Low-key.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, surprised he’d thought to tell me since I hadn’t even thought to ask. But that kind of info was vital to me deciding what to wear.

My eyes landed on the bags of personal care items and even personal-er underwear. My dry skin was screaming for some moisturizer, but I’d yet to dip into the pretties. And, other than the most basic and comfortable underthings, I hadn’t dipped into the fun or sexy underwear, either.

And it was fun and sexy. He’d clearly noted my preference when he’d been in my apartment. I’d always loved the feminine feel that came from wearing something cute or sexy under my clothes. That had grown when I’d gotten hired at Elder Oaks because nurses had to wear the same gray-blue scrubs.

But underneath? I was bright and wild or soft and pretty.

On principle, I’d left the bags mostly untouched, but I was going to a rocker bar. For my own comfort, I couldn’t roll in looking like I’d rolled out… of bed. I didn’t want to be self-conscious and miserable the whole time.

It had nothing to do with wanting to look good for Judge. Or that we were going to a place his friend owned.

At least, that’s what I told myself because, clearly, I didn’t have Judge’s hang-up about lying.

Grabbing the massive bag of toiletries and makeup, I pretended not to see Judge or his victorious smirk as I walked to the bathroom with my head held high.

_______________ Lifting onto my tiptoes, I checked myself out in the mirror above the sink.

After taking entirely too long in the shower, I’d rushed back into the bedroom, relieved that it and the hallway had both been empty since I’d only been wrapped in a towel. Since most of what he’d packed had been skirts, simple skinny jeans—with strategically designed rips, not worn ones —and a black, scoop neck tee had been the most casual outfit. I only had my slip-on canvas shoes, so that choice had been easy.

Already in for a penny by using the luxury toiletries, I’d gone all in for a pound with the undies—zeroing in on the strappy hot pink set I’d forced myself to ignore when I’d been sticking to the basics.

The lacey covered cups were delicate and pretty, but the straps that crossed over the swells of my breasts made it edgy and sexy—especially since they were still visible with my shirt on.

Doing my makeup had taken the longest, mostly because I’d wanted to use everything all at once, and that just wasn’t possible… Well, not unless I wanted to look like a clown.

I’d narrowed it down to only a fifth of the products, and I was happy with the results. I looked good. More importantly, I felt like myself.

Excitement bubbling through my veins like champagne, I made my way into the family room to look for Judge. Finding it empty, I was walking toward the kitchen when my eyes landed on the back hallway. At the top of the small set of stairs, I saw the meeting room.

And I was able to see said meeting room thanks to the partially open door.

Scanning for anyone, I slowly side-stepped in that direction. And then I stepped a little faster.

And then I speed-walked.

I climbed the stairs but paused outside the door, caught between my curiosity and my respect for the club’s personal space.

One little peek won’t hurt…

Going for a compromise, I kept my feet planted firmly and pushed the door open. When no one yelled at me, I leaned in to get a better look.

A large stained-glass window bathed the room in hazy light, making the twirling beams and carved detailing creepy, as though the ghost of some old

priest was going to float out of the wall.

The space itself was empty other than a long table with chairs. The wood was beautiful and dark, and the legs looked like intricate gavels.

I wonder if one of the brothers made it.

Leaning in farther, I scanned the rest, but there was nothing.

It was… a room.

Well, that’s underwhelming.

“What’re we looking for?”

The whisper was so close to my ear, I could feel their breath. I yelped and jolted, pressing my ass against them in the process. I jumped again, landing in the room as I spun around to see Judge still leaning forward.

“I was just looking for you,” I half-lied, hurriedly stepping back out.

“In the empty room? Didja think I was playing hide and seek in there?”

“I dunno what you do with your free time.”

His eyes darkened and he took a step toward me. “How ‘bout I show you what I wanna do?”

Tilting my head back because taking my eyes off him for even a millisecond would be a mistake, my voice was breathy when I asked, “Don’t we have to leave?”

“In a minute.” Weaving his fingers through my still damp hair, he glanced down and muttered, “Was hopin’ for the skirt.”

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he said, meeting my eyes. “You look good.”

“The, uhh, stuff you got was perfect. Thank you.”

“It’s not that shit that makes you look good.”

Nervously, I licked my desert of a bottom lip.

Judge’s gaze dropped again, locking onto my mouth as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

I could relate because watching him watch it was the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen.

He took a small step closer until his body was nearly touching mine.

Is he gonna kiss me?

Am I gonna kiss him?

“See anything good?” he asked.

Is he referring to himself? Was I staring longer than I thought?

My lust-muddled brain tried to get back on track. “What?”

He tilted his head toward the room. “Didja see anything good?”

“Nope. Boring.”

“Were you expecting a room filled with drugs, a traveling craps game, and neatly stacked and stored hookers?”

“Some illegal fireworks. A few bootleg DVDs. Maybe mattresses with the tags cut off would’ve been nice, too.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

I raised a shoulder. “It’s fine… I guess.”

He grinned, but did it letting me go.

I’d asked Judge what he did for a living but had never questioned what his club did—even though it was a good bet they didn’t just go on Sunday afternoon rides together after brunch. At first, it’d been out of selfpreservation because the less I knew, the better.

Then, it’d been because I hadn’t wanted to know. Judge, Court of Mayhem, and Nox were definitely the lesser of two evils compared to Nash.

I’d wrapped that security around myself and settled into the safety they’d offered—even if it was kinda by force initially.

But everything seemed… different. The lines had blurred so badly, it was impossible to tell what I was feeling.

And the only way for me to decide was to know the truth.

Gripping the sides of Judge’s cut, I blurted, “Out of curiosity, does that mean there’s nothing illegal happening here?”

He studied me for long, silent moments before saying, “Wouldn’t say that.”

It was my turn to be quiet for a moment as I debated whether I really wanted the answers.

Whether they really mattered.

Because if I was only there until Nash was out of the picture, I didn’t need to know anything. It didn’t matter.

Not unless I was interested in more than temporary sanctuary.

Watching him carefully, I asked, “Is Nash after you because you’re the competition?”

“No, he’s out for money, power, connections, and insider info.”

My shoulders slumped a little. “So you don’t, uh, work in his three areas?”

“Wouldn’t say that, either.”

Lead filled my stomach, pushing bile up to burn my throat as disgust coated my mouth in bitterness.

I dropped my hands and moved to step away, but he curled an arm around me so his palm was pressed to my lower back, his other hand spearing into my hair.

“What we do is really fuckin’ different than what that piece of shit does,” Judge practically growled.

“How?” “Back in the day, we used to help run prescription drugs, gettin’ them to people who needed them. Still do, but it’s rare after some shit went down.”

“That doesn’t count,” I said, relief making my head swim.

Judge’s brows raised. “What?”

“Do you jack the prices up like that punchable face Pharma-bro?”

“No, it’s bought at cost, and we don’t take a cut.”

“Then that definitely doesn’t count. The system is flawed and fucked.

I’ve always been lucky enough to have insurance thanks to my parents and now my job. But my roommate in college didn’t have any coverage, so if she got sick, I’d go to the doctor and pretend they were my symptoms.” I tried to rein in my emotions until I confirmed. “Is that it?”

That time when he closed the distance between us, he didn’t stop until my body was tight to his and I could feel him.

All of him.

The many hard inches of him, curving along his pelvis, caught between us.

My lips parted as I inhaled sharply, and his cock jerked, taking that breath away just as fast.

Suddenly, he looked to the side. I did the same, just in time to see Jury approach.

And he didn’t look happy with what he saw.

I tried to step away, but Judge kept his hold firm as he bit out, “What?”

“Everyone’s waiting,” Jury said.

“Let ‘em. Or fuckin’ leave without us.”

“Fine.” Jury scowled hard as he turned and stormed out.

“We’ll be right there!” I called to his retreating back, my cabin fever demanding a night out. Knowing it was unlikely he’d wait while we wrapped a lengthy discussion, I looked back at Judge and focused on the important part. “Everything else about you and Nash is different?”

“Night and fuckin’ day.”

“Will you tell me more later?”

He shook his head, and my stomach fell until he clarified. “You’ll be fuckin’ hammered later. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

Rather than release me, Judge dipped his head so his face was all I could see. “But make sure you only ask what you really wanna know, princess.

‘Cause there’s no going back. Not from any of this.”

With that ominous warning, Judge let me go only to grab my hand as we walked silently outside to see everyone had left without us.

“Can you hold your liquor?” he asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Don’t want you falling off the back of the bike later. You want, we can take my car.”

Turning, I saw a beautiful car parked next to the clubhouse. It looked like a classic style but was so shiny, it seemed brand new. “That wasn’t there when I got here.”

“Move it depending on which way the wind blows so it’s blocked by the club and doesn’t get dirty.”

“You could build a garage.”

“Should, yeah.” He cocked his head. “Bike or car?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Bike.”

After helping me with my helmet, he put his own on and climbed onto his bike with the same badass gracefulness as the first time I’d seen him.

Even with his help, my movements were far less graceful, but I didn’t care.

I hung on tight as he started the roaring engine and took off. There were a million things I should’ve used the long ride to think about, but all my brain seemed to focus on was how good it felt to be pressed against Judge’s back.

And how badly I wanted a bike.

CHAPTER TEN ___________________________ AFTER OPHELIA

THIS PLACE IS AWESOME. Walking into Rye, I realized how badly my friends and I had messed up by judging a book by its cover. Or, in that case, a club by its exterior. We must’ve passed it a thousand times and, despite the lines that often stretched down the block, we’d never checked it out. I’d assumed it was a dive, but I’d been way wrong.

Nothing was worn down or faded. Definitely not dirty. Dive was its aesthetic, the vibe raw and gritty, but the place itself was clean and cool as hell.

Framed pictures lined the walls, most of them signed. Even the walls themselves were marked with autographs. There was a small stage, but I was disappointed to see no instruments were set up.

I need to come back here to see a band.

Judge and I moved through the crowd to where Jury, Hollywood, Glitch, and Scythe already sat at a table near the bar. From what I’d gathered, he was friends with all his Mayhem brothers, but he was tightest with these four.

There was another man sitting with them who looked like a brother— with his overgrown brown hair, beard, and motorcycle boots—but I’d never seen him at the clubhouse.

When we reached them, the man I didn’t know stood and shook Judge’s hand, clapping his shoulder. “Good to see you.”

“Been too long.” Judge pulled me closer so I could hear. “This is Rhys.

Rhys, this is Ophelia.”

I extended my hand to meet the man’s outstretched one, but nearly missed it when he smiled and I got distracted by his deep dimples and stormy ocean blue eyes. “Nice to meet ya, darlin’.”

Huuhhhnnngghhh.

Shaking the stupid from my brain, I returned his smile. “You, too.”

Judge curled my body so my front was pressed to his side, dislodging my hand from Rhys’.

The movement didn’t go unnoticed, and Rhys chuckled. “You’re just as bad as Jake. And Kase. And now Lars.”

“Lars, too?” Glitch said, rubbing his tattooed head. “How the mighty have fuckin’ fallen.”

“Somethin’ in the beer here?” Hollywood joined in, eyeing his bottle with mistrust before shrugging and gulping it down.

Like most conversations, I was lost but still amused.

Rhys gestured to the stool he’d been sitting on, telling me, “Have a seat.”

“Thanks, I’m okay,” I said, content to stay in Judge’s hold.

He jerked his head toward the bar. “I gotta get back to work anyway, darlin’.”

Judge gave me a nudge toward the stool. “Rhys owns the place and if he takes more than five minutes off to catch up with friends, the whole fuckin’ building will explode around him.”

“Says the man who lives in his club,” Rhys shot back. “And, talk shit all you want, it’s true. Turnover is crazy, so I’m short-staffed. A-fucking-gain.

Which means I’m your server. Tip me well.”

“Only if you put out,” Hollywood said.

Giving him the finger, Rhys smiled at me. “You like flavored vodka? My bartender keeps ordering cases of the shit, concocting all sorts of weird combinations. Tried telling her she was wasting my money, that no one here would drink ‘em, but I’m selling almost as many of those as I am beer, so what the fuck do I know?”

Since I loved flavored vodka—not to mention I was so thirsty, I’d have chugged a stale beer—I nodded.

I glanced at the bartender before doing a double take. The pretty redhead looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint where I’d seen her.

I don’t think she’s a bunny.

Maybe she has family at Elder Oaks?

Rhys left for the bar, returning a few minutes later with beers, a Jack and Coke for Glitch, and a pineapple upside down cocktail for me.

I took a tentative sip.

And then I downed the whole thing before Rhys had even left the table.

“Another?” he asked with the no-judgment expression of a man who’d been behind the bar for a long time.

“Please.”

“Me, too,” Scythe said. “I want extra cherries and an umbrella in mine.”

I’d thought he was joking, but when I met his eyes, a large smile curled his scarred lip. “What? You chugged, it must be good.”

Rhys walked away, getting stopped a few times in the short distance.

Leaning close to Judge, I asked, “He’s not Mayhem?”

“Not officially. He’s… nomad. Welcome when he wants, but free to roam. He doesn’t like other people’s rules.”

Jury snorted and muttered, “You can say that again.”

Which, for whatever reason, made Hollywood choke on his beer.

After Rhys dropped off two cocktails each for Scythe and me, everyone settled in, drinking and talking. Okay, I mostly drank and listened, the men —including Jury, surprisingly—stopping to explain whatever bike term or background info I needed to know to understand.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but I felt warm inside at their inclusion.

And I felt hot in other places because Judge spent the whole night standing next to my stool.

Resting his hand on my leg.

Or on the back of my chair, his fingers absentmindedly playing with my hair.

Or on my leg again, but gripping my upper thigh tightly, his fingertips digging in and making my mind go crazy with thoughts of him using that hold to spread my legs so he could push between them.

He could’ve easily pulled up another stool to sit next to me, but he didn’t.

His stance was possessive and protective, blocking people out while keeping me close.

And I couldn’t say I hated it.

After I knocked back the last of drink three, Judge kissed my forehead, his lips trailing down to my ear. “There go my plans for the night.”

I turned to look at him. “What plans?”

But I knew. Even tipsy on my way to drunk, there was no mistaking the lust in his gaze. Still, he made it extra crystal clear by doing what I’d been hoping for. He twisted me in my stool and used his hold to spread my legs before positioning himself between them.

His hard length pressed against me, and a surge of wetness rushed to the spot.

I wanted him. Badly. Beyond all reason and common sense.

“We haven’t even kissed,” I whispered, partially to him but mostly to myself.

Speaking quietly, he said, “Once I get a taste of you, I’m not stopping ‘til I’ve tasted everything. Your flavor is gonna be permanently on my tongue and the feel of you permanently on my dick. When I’m done, neither of us will be able to remember what it felt like before.” He pushed himself closer, grinding his cock against my fabric-covered pussy. “‘Cause nothin’ else fuckin’ mattered before.”

I gasped at the contact but didn’t move away.

No, I clutched his tee at his sides and tugged him closer. “The night’s not over.”

“The fact you’re not diggin’ those claws into my skin or trying to yank my nipples off through my shirt shows you’re too drunk, princess. Told ya you’d be hammered.”

“I’ll switch to water.”

“And then you’ll fall asleep on the way home. Drink.” He smirked.

“Relax.”

I scowled and he laughed.

The view of it up close was enough to send a jolt to my clit.

And something else to my stupid, drunken heart.

Judge moved away and turned toward the table, taking stock of who else was ready for a refill before walking to the bar. Once the view of his biteable ass was gone, I tried to turn my attention to the table, but there were two problems.

First, there was a limit to how much bike talk I could take for one night, and I’d exceeded that amount. By a long, boring mile. I loved riding on one, but the parts and specs were a lot less interesting.

Second, and the more pressing issue, was I had to pee.

Badly.

Not wanting to interrupt the heated debate about which something or another was better than the other doohickey, I stood and power walked to the back hallway that held the bathroom.

After taking the best pee of my life, washing my hands, and becoming best friends with the small group of women who were reapplying their

makeup, I opened the door and started for the table.

Well, I tried to.

Because before I made it out of the hallway, a man stepped in my way.

He wasn’t a biker or a rocker—though not everyone at the bar was—and his suit and loosened tie were far from low-key.

My instincts went on high alert.

Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I muttered, “Excuse me.”

“Wow, so polite,” the man said, his voice filled with condescension.

Ignoring him, I moved to the side, but he did, too.

“Aw, where’s that pretty smile you had earlier?” he slurred.

Fear stabbed through the layer of vodka-infused happiness that surrounded my brain, sending a chill down my spine as my pulse raced.

I tried a fake-out maneuver that’d make an NFL player proud, hoping I’d be able to dart past. His movements may have been slower, but his size made up for it, and he easily blocked my efforts.

Only that time, I was close enough for him to grip my upper arm and rotate us so I was pressed against the wall.

He put his hands on either side of my head and leaned closer, his beer breath making my stomach churn. “Been watching you all night. You’re smart.”

“Wipe my own ass, too,” I mouthed off without thinking.

Ignoring me—or, more likely, not hearing me because his focus was on my breasts—he continued. “Too smart to be a club whore. And too hot to be passed around from animal to animal.”

Judge had mentioned the intolerance and preconceived notions the brothers faced, thanks to their tattoos and bikes. As brothers of color, Lash and Scythe ‘joked’ they were on a first name basis with every cop in their neighborhoods because people made assumptions and phone calls rather than conversation.

Knowing about it and hearing it for myself were two different things. I couldn’t imagine, even for a second, how they felt living it.

Looking from side to side, I hoped to see my drunken BFFs from the bathroom, but they were nowhere in sight, so I demanded, “You need to move back.”

“Why?” “Because I fuckin’ said so.”

“In a rush to get back to those scumbags?” He pressed in closer. “You want me to treat you like shit and let my friends have a run at you after I’m done, say the word. They can even watch if that gets you off.”

“Look, I dunno if that’s a baby corn in your pocket or if you’re just happy to see me, but this is your last warning. Move away.”

His bloated face went red, and the trickle of fear I’d felt grew into a waterfall. “You fucking cunt. I’ll show you—” I braced, expecting him to punch me—or worse—but from one racing beat of my heart to the next he was gone.

A thud echoed in the hall as he slammed into the opposite wall, and the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh followed.

It took a moment for my drunken brain to catch up with what my eyes were seeing—just in time to watch Judge land a second blow to the man’s already bleeding face.

“Judge!” I yelled, pushing away from the wall to try to go to him, but an arm hooked me around the waist. I turned, ready to attack, but stopped when I saw it was only Jury.

Jury took advantage of that hesitation and shifted me behind him. I tried to move back, but his arm blocked me, forcing me to lean around his frame desperately.

“You think I didn’t see you eye-fuckin’ my woman all night, you piece of shit?” Judge growled in the man’s face, his hand tight around his neck.

“Let me go,” the man wheezed, his red face paling as he clawed at Judge’s hand.

“Get him off before he kills him!” I shouted at Jury, tugging at his shirt.

But he was just as bad, his body tense as he sneered at the man. “She told you to back off. Told you to move away. You didn’t listen, so why the fuck should we?”

“Broken finger or ten might teach you to keep your fuckin’ hands off what doesn’t belong to you.”

Knowing I needed to defuse the situation before we all ended up in jail, I quickly dodged to the side, barely avoiding Jury’s grab. He caught me around the waist a moment later, but I’d already latched onto Judge’s upper arm.

“Let him go,” I begged.

“Not fuckin’ happenin’,” Judge grunted, the veins in his forearm becoming more pronounced as he squeezed. “Get her out of here.”

“No!” Shoving between him and the man, I put my hands on Judge’s chest. “Move, baby.”

The endearment slipped out, but it worked because his gaze snapped to mine. “What?”

“Move.” When he hesitated, I slid my palms to his shoulders and pushed.

“Trust me.”

He didn’t remove his hand, but he took a small step to the side.

It was enough.

I had no clue what’d come over me. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe some primal energy in the air, the smell of blood and sweat and liquor warping my brain.

Or maybe, like a lot of women, I was sick of men thinking they could degrade and manhandle their way into a date.

Whatever the reason, I took that anger—including some residual pent-up ire toward Judge—turned around and pulled back before kicking the bastard right between his legs.

Hard.

Hard enough to feel like my bones were vibrating.

Hard enough to make the men in the area let out an automatic groan.

Hard enough to make the bastard wilt, barely standing even with Judge’s support.

Support Judge quickly removed, letting him crumble to the ground.

Unfortunately for him, he landed with his knees bent and spread, giving me a perfect target to kick him again. I wasn’t sure if I caught his bits or his taint, but whichever it was, it hurt him enough to make him puke a little.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Jury said, pulling me back. “Grocery store parking lot coulda gone a whole different direction.”

Judge got close to the man, and I worried he’d kick him, too. My canvas slip-ons had done enough damage, I didn’t even want to think what shitkickers would do. “‘Ey,” Hollywood called. “Save some of that, you’re gonna need it.”

“What the fuck now?” Judge asked.

“Glitch just got something. N is doing pickup.”

Judge must’ve known what that meant because a smile spread across his face, menacing and twisted. Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, he started walking before stopping.

Releasing me suddenly, he spun back and kicked the man in his side twice. “When you piss and see blood, remind yourself what happens when you fuckin’ touch,” he leaned down to roar, “what’s mine!”

Then, like nothing had happened, he curled his arm around my shoulders, holding me so close I had to take shuffling steps. He lifted his chin to a security guard and Rhys—who, I belatedly noticed, had been blocking the entrance to the hallway.

Well, there goes my shot of ever coming back to see a concert.

No sooner had the thought crossed my mind did Rhys give me a big, dimpled grin. “Come see me if you want a bouncer job, darlin’.”

Relieved I wasn’t banned for life, I shot him a dingusy smile and wave over my shoulder as I rushed to keep up with Judge’s purposeful strides.

Once we got outside and away from the building, he stopped and spun me so I was facing him. Gripping my forearms, he leaned down so his face was level with mine.

Before he could say—or yell—anything, I spoke in one long, breathless rush. “I’m sorry, that was stupid of me to walk away given all the shit that’s happening, and I’m really sorry that you had to punch someone because I read that it hurts the puncher almost as much as the punchee, and how did you know I was there?” I finished on a wheeze before inhaling so deep, I nearly choked.

“Buncha drunk chicks ran up to me at the bar.”

Bathroom BFFs to the rescue. They’re the best.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated because he still looked scary angry.

And scary hot.

Psycho hot.

“Don’t be. You’re not used to needin’ a chaperone to take a piss. Just play it cautious from now on.”

I got the feeling he was being a lot more understanding than he felt, but I was also being a lot calmer than I felt.

I was zipped up on adrenaline along with still being boozed up on, well, booze.

He scanned my face and down. “You good? He hurt you?”

I nodded then shook my head. “I’m fine. He was just a douche.”

Jury approached, waving a bottle of pineapple vodka. “Rhys said you’ll probably need this.”

I took it, clutching it to my chest. “Thanks.”

“You earned it,” he said, walking to catch up with the others.

I tried not to feel proud, but I did. That it was a woman who’d hurt him would likely bother the douchebag long after the pain had disappeared.

Hopefully he’d think twice before treating someone like that again. It was doubtful, but I could still hope.

Judge looked to the side, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that was criminally hot. “You comfortable with Scythe?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I answered with zero hesitation.

Based on the way he plastered my front to his side and dropped a kiss to my head, my answer had been the correct one.

He’s protective of his brothers, and me being cool with them is important to him.

“I’ve gotta handle something. Scythe is gonna drive you home and hang with you ‘til I get back.”

My automatic instinct was to argue that I didn’t need a babysitter, but considering what’d just happened, that wasn’t quite true. “I’ll grab my helmet.”

“Had him bring his car, just in case.”

“Why?” “Knew you’d be hammered, no way I’d risk you being on a bike. And in case I got called away early like this…” His large hand palmed my ass cheek. “You’re not on the back of anyone’s bike but mine.”

Ohhhhhkay then.

After giving me another forehead kiss, he was about to let me go when I impulsively grabbed his shirt. “If I’m asleep when you get home, can you wake me up to let me know you got back safe?”

His arm contracted, and he murmured, “Fuckin’ killin’ me.”

“What?”

“Nothing, princess.” He let me go, and we headed for the bikes. “It’ll be late.”

“That’s okay.”

When we reached them, Jury squeezed my shoulder. “You okay, O?” “Yeah, thanks.”

Judge crossed his arms and jerked his head toward his brother. “He can call you O, but I can’t?”

I held up the bottle. “He gave me vodka.”

“Rhys did.”

“Fine. Then he can call me O, too.”

“Heartless.” His smile fell, and Psycho Hottie was back. He looked to Scythe. “Take her home and hang ‘til I get there.”

Scythe didn’t argue or look resentful of his nanny duty. Unlocking a badass car that was even cooler looking than Judge’s, he opened the passenger door, his expression guarded.

He thinks I’m the one who’ll argue about being with him.

Just like my verbal answer to Judge, my nonverbal one to Scythe was instantaneous. I walked right to him, stopping only when we were separated by the door and one of my feet was in the car. “Bob’s Burgers or BrooklynNine-Nine?”

He stared at me for a beat. Then another. Finally, he smiled. “Nine-nine.

Rosa gives me w—” I held up my hand to cut him off. “TMI.” “I was just gonna say she gives me strong, Latina woman goals.”

“Right,” I drawled.

He headed for the driver’s side, and I got in, closing the door.

Motorcycle engines roared to life, but not before I heard Judge say, “A motherfucker’s gonna die tonight.”

My stomach sank, churning and clenching with worry.

But not for whoever had the target on their back.

I didn’t know what it said about me that my concern was for Judge and the rest of Mayhem. It definitely wasn’t good.

It also wasn’t good that it was after we’d gotten to the clubhouse…

After I’d had more drinks…

After we’d binged some Brooklyn Nine-Nine…

After I’d washed up, after I’d changed into one of Judge’s tees, and after I’d climbed into his bed…

It was hours after when it hit me that Judge had told Scythe to bring me home.

And never, not even for a second, had I pictured my apartment.

CHAPTER ELEVEN ___________________________ A GOOD NIGHT JUDGE

PULLING UP OUTSIDE A warehouse that was even more secluded than the clubhouse, I killed my engine and swung off my bike. My adrenaline, already high from the shit at Rye, kicked up a notch. I was coming outta my skin.

If Ophelia hadn’t been around, I’d have put that fucker through the wall for touching her.

I would put this one in the ground.

Stretching my neck as I moved, I walked to the door with Jury at my side and my other brothers at my back.

It’s gonna be a good night.

The door opened as we approached, Beck standing in the doorway, a twisted smile on his face.

He only smiled like that when he knew he’d be torching a place.

Which meant he knew whoever was in there would be ending the night— and his life—with a bullet in the brain.

And that meant I smiled, too.

We were sick fuckers, but I didn’t care.

Glitch took Beck’s position keeping watch out the front door.

“Last room to the left.” Beck stepped outside. “I’m gonna get to work planning.”

“That crazy bastard is gonna get caught humping a fireplace,” Hollywood muttered as we walked through the building, our steps echoing.

“Nah, too contained,” Jury pointed out. “It’ll be a torched building on Main Street.”

They debated the possibilities as they stationed themselves outside the door.

I pushed it open. “Knew it was gonna be a good night. Felt it in my fuckin’ dick.”

Victor Jones sat tied to a chair, his eyes wide and his mouth gagged. Of Nash’s extensive crew, Vic was in the top ten—though that wasn’t saying much since Nash liked to be alone way up at the top.

It was his biggest downfall—besides his love of drugged-up whores. He was greedy. He paid his team shit. He cut corners, hired quantity over quality, and pocketed the savings.

But people who worked for cheap were stupid. And they did stupid things.

Like return to the scene of their crime.

Knowing this, Glitch had wired Ophelia’s apartment with security cameras and silent alarms. It’d taken longer than we’d expected, but they’d been triggered earlier. Nox had been closer to do the pickup, taking him to a warehouse to wait for us.

No, wait for me.

‘Cause if this was about Gus, Nox would be furious if someone took away his chance to make a motherfucker pay.

But first, I wanted any answers the piece of shit was willing to spill in an attempt to save his worthless life.

Nox leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet at the ankle.

Casual.

Like we were there to shoot the shit.

The bastard was tied to the chair, knowing his life was on the line, and we were unfazed.

Either it’d rile him into talking or insult him into it, his ego hit that he wasn’t under our skin. That his life meant that little to us.

He looked the second type, so I gave him my back as I talked to Nox. “Been thinkin’ about getting season tickets to the Bs for next year.”

“Cost a dime.”

“See Chara slammin’ bastards into the glass two feet in front of me?

Worth the price.”

“Aye, that’s true. Dair’s been on my ass to get season tickets to the Sox even though that asshole doesn’t even live in the States, but Bs might be better.”

“Can’t go wrong either way. Or Celtics for that matter. Pats are good, but you’ll freeze a nut sittin’ out there all winter.”

There was muffled talking behind me, the metal chair creaking and scraping across the concrete floor.

Nox and I ignored him and continued our conversation until there was so much movement, I worried he’d knock his chair over, smash his head on the floor, and takeaway my fun.

“Didn’t your ma ever teach ya it’s rude to interrupt?” I moved to him, pulling the dirty gag away and then immediately dodging the loogy he tried to spit my way.

Predictable.

So much for a challenge.

“Fuck off,” he bit out, stretching his jaw side to side.

“Man,” I started, circling the chair, “isn’t it Criminal 101 to not return to the scene of the crime?”

“Aye,” Nox agreed. “But ya know they always do what Nash orders.”

“That’s bullshit. I’m no one’s fuckin’ dog.”

Ignoring him, Nox rubbed his beard. “What do ya think Nash was looking for?”

Vic’s cocky smirk fell when I said, “Nothing.”

Predictable.

A-fuckin’-gain.

I looked from Vic to Nox. “My money says Nash refused to pay this dumbass for the first job since he failed.”

“Fuck off,” Vic said, but it lacked the anger it should’ve held.

This isn’t about the money.

“Interesting,” Nox muttered, picking up on the same thing. Stepping away from the wall, he studied Vic and his flop sweat. “He went back ‘cause he wants back in Daddy Nash’s good favor. Shit shaking up over there?”

“Fuck off,” he repeated, that time looking pissed—and not just at us.

“Oh, damn.” I smirked, slowly shaking my head. “You’re already out.

Cut off. We make a call from your phone, he’s not answering.”

“He would,” he tried.

A thought hit me, and disappointment sank heavy in my gut. “If he’s cut you off, that means he’s not worried about you talking ‘cause he’s been

phasing you out longer than you know. You’ve got jack-fuckin’-shit to tell us.”

And I dragged myself from drunk, happy O for nothin’.

The rest of the color drained from Vic’s face. “That’s not true.”

Nox cursed. “That’s his M.O. Otherwise, Nash would’ve had Vic’s replacement put a bullet in him.”

“No, no, no,” Vic chanted.

“What were ya looking for in the apartment?”

Gulping, he choked out, “None of your business.”

“He doesn’t even know.” Pissed I wasted my time, I asked, “Did you just tag along with who he actually sent?”

“No, I know what he’s after. We can work together. I can report back to you, tell you everything I hear.”

Using my anger at him, at Nash, at the fucker from Rye, I pulled back and punched him hard enough to tear his cheek. “I fuckin’ hate liars.”

Vic shook his head, but he wasn’t disagreeing.

He was clearing the cartoon birds flying around his head.

“It’s true. I only went back ‘cause the chick who lives there is hot,” he tried, lying again.

Or half-lying.

My voice was calm. Cold. “What?”

He went alert but wasn’t smart enough to keep his mouth shut. “I—I think she works for Nash. He’s got some high-price whores who work a different market than his clubs. I figured she’s one of them. I left a surprise on her panties last time and—” “Well, that was fookin’ stupid,” Nox said, his tone indifferent.

“Seriously.” Taking out my gun, I pulled the trigger, barely glancing at Vic as his worthless life drained out of him.

Once the ringing in our ears faded enough to talk, Nox said, “Beck’s here.”

“Saw him.”

“Looking like a lad at Christmas?”

“Yeah.”

Shaking his head, he asked, “How’s the lass?”

“Got drunk at Rye tonight, kicked a dude in his balls ‘til he puked, and is probably passed out now.”

“So, good then.”

I grinned thinking about how my violent, ruthless princess kept me on my toes. “Fuckin’ perfect. How’s Gus doing?”

As if on cue, his cell rang and the smile on his face said exactly who it was before he answered on speaker. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Gus said with a laugh. “You still doing Batman things?”

“Just finished. What do ya need?”

“Uh, the baby is demanding tacos. And Twinkies, but not the kind in the box—the packaged ones from the bodega. If that’s okay?”

“The baby wants it, she gets it, mo chuisle.”

“We don’t know it’s a she.”

“Aye, I do.”

She gave a sigh. “Miss you.”

I gave him a flick of the wrist wave and left before I heard whatever obsessive shit he said to his wife.

And so I could hurry home to my own obsession.

_______________ Putting my fists on my bed, I leaned down to see Ophelia in the dim light of my phone on the bedside table.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

Her face was soft and relaxed in sleep, her hair spread around her like a damn sunrise. My already hardening dick thickened fully when I noticed she was sleeping in my tee. It jerked when I saw her hard nipples pressed against the thin fabric, no sign of a bra.

I didn’t give a damn that it made me a scumbag, I knew I’d be using the image to jerk off.

Before I could do that, I needed to do what she’d asked.

“O,” I whispered, brushing her hair from her face.

“Don’t call me that,” she whispered back groggily. Stretching, she blinked a few times before smiling—small and sleepy but real.

Fuckin’ killin’ me.

“You’re home.” She tried to sit up a little but must’ve decided it was too much work because she flopped back. “Everything go okay?”

“Fine. Waste of time, but fine.”

“Good,” she said softly, closing her eyes.

“Get back to sleep.”

I shifted to straighten, but before I could, she reached out and gripped my shirt without looking. “Come to bed.”

“Just gonna change.”

“No, sleep with me.”

“Princess—” “I’m not drunk,” she said before cracking one eye. “Okay, I am. But even if I wasn’t. Just…” Her words trailed off but she tugged at my shirt as she scooted over.

Weak when it came to her, I climbed into the bed. I hadn’t even settled when she rolled back and threw her arm and bare leg over me.

“Good night,” she whispered.

I was in my jeans and tee.

I was hard, my dick curved at a painful angle.

And I had O’s body half on mine, torturing me.

It wasn’t a good night.

It was the fuckin’ best.

CHAPTER TWELVE ___________________________ OKAY JUDGE

“DID YOU GO shopping for Sunday yet?”

“I’m going this afternoon,” Swedes told me. “Need to add to the list?”

“I’ll see what O wants.”

He didn’t look surprised. “She know she’s coming with?”

“Not yet.”

Raising his brows, he stood and muttered, “Now’s your chance.”

Looking over my shoulder, I saw Ophelia standing in the family room doorway. Her hair was messy, her shoulders were slouched, and she looked exhausted and hungover.

But still so fuckin’ beautiful.

Trudging over, I thought she’d take her seat next to me—or shove breakfast off the table and climb up to sleep there. But when she reached me, she nudged at my shoulder until I pushed my chair back.

Then, proving I could spend every damn day of my life with her and still not know what to expect, she climbed onto my lap.

Resting her head on my chest, she reached her arm toward the table. I didn’t catch on fast enough, so she wiggled her fingers.

I took a stab in the dark and put my coffee cup in her waiting hand.

It was the right choice.

Only moving enough to take a sip, she gave a soft moan and sigh.

Tonight.

Tonight it’ll be me making her make those noises.

Unless she freaks about the travel plans, and I spend the night protecting my balls and guarding the exit.

“Gotta talk—” I started before she reached up and covered my mouth.

“Too loud. And can you tell your heartbeat to quiet down, too?”

My lips moved against her fingers, muffling my words. “Not when you’re around.”

“No being sweet when a marching band and mariachi band are having a battle in my head.”

“Hungover?”

She barely moved her head to nod.

“Hungry?” I asked.

Her nod was a little bigger for that.

Before I could ask what she wanted, Swedes came back, the smell of greasy bacon filling the room. He set a plate of bacon, eggs, and hash in front of us before handing her pain meds and the big cup that’d become hers.

“You’re an angel,” Ophelia told him, a look of adoration on her face.

And she’ll look at me like that, too.

Not even trying to move off my lap, she scooted closer to the table and dug in.

“You made me toast,” I pointed out the unfairness, tapping my plate that had one piece left on it.

Swedes shrugged. “Scythe said she knocked ‘em back like she had a hollow leg. That calls for grease.”

“Doing the Lord’s work,” she said between bites of bacon.

If there was one way to get on Swedish’s good side, it was enjoying his food. He’d worked in some of the best kitchens in the city before retiring early. He still cooked, but only for friends and family who appreciated food for being food, not fancy statement pieces of deconstructed bullshit.

Food was his gift, and someone eating it without restraint, showing how much they enjoyed it, was the ultimate thanks in his book.

He grinned at her.

“Toast,” I repeated.

“You know where the kitchen is,” he shot back. “I’m taking off. Let me know what needs to be added to the list.”

“Got it.”

“Thanks for the breakfast,” Ophelia said, blocking her mouth with her hand so we couldn’t see what was in it.

Which, based on the crust in her other hand, was my toast.

After Swedes had left, Ophelia’s plate had been cleaned, and she’d finished off her coffee and mine, I asked, “Feeling human again?”

“Mostly.”

“Good. Then we gotta talk.”

She tried to look unfazed, but her poker face was as shit as her shit-talk.

“Nothing good comes after that.”

“You ever been to Tennessee?”

Her brows lowered as she drawled, “No… why?”

“We’re going Sunday.”

“As in, two days from now?”

“Yeah.”

“To Tennessee?

“Yeah,” I repeated.

“You know, when people runaway on impromptu trips, it’s to, like, Vegas. Or the Bahamas.”

“Name the place and time, and I’ll take you wherever you wanna go. But this is a work thing.”

“The big weekend thing you’ve all been talking about,” she muttered.

“How long will you be away?”

“We’ll be gone six days. Maybe seven.”

“I can’t go out of town.”

“Why?” “Because…” Ophelia started before giving a half-assed, “I can’t.”

“P.O. won’t let you cross state lines?”

“No!” She rolled her eyes before casually adding, “He’s cool, but the state of Tennessee isn’t. Neither are the other fourteen states I’ve been kicked out of.”

Laughing, I couldn’t stop myself from pulling her closer and burying my face in her neck.

Dropped a stack on all that girly shit, but it’s worth double for how fuckin’ good she smells.

I forced myself to sit back, otherwise I was gonna put her on the table, drop to my knees, and eat the best meal of my life. “It’s that violent streak.”

She shrugged, but as our eyes locked, I knew we saw the same thing.

Want.

No. Need.

Ophelia broke the contact first, picking up her empty cup before setting it back. “I can’t stay at Nox’s place?”

“Want you with me.”

“Have things gotten worse?” she asked, going alert. “Was that what last night was about?”

“No, it’s the same as before,” I answered honestly since Vic had been a waste of space and time.

“Then why—” “Want you with me where I know you’re safe, but I also just want you with me.”

“Is this trip about the medicine?” She looked almost gleeful at the idea of participating in a drug delivery.

Fuck, she’s perfect.

“Sorry, badass, not this time.”

Her face fell. “Oh.” I’d have told her that I’d set one up just to get her smile back, but it would’ve been a lie. No way was I bringing her on a delivery. They were so smooth, they were boring, and I didn’t wanna think about what femme fatale shit she’d pull just to spice it up.

“Then what is this trip for?” she asked.

Shit. Hoped like hell she’d opt for her own Ophelia-Clause.

“I can’t tell you.”

OPHELIA That’s not good.

Judge had always been forthcoming. Honest to the point of blunt— especially when it came to me. After all he’d shared, him drawing the line must’ve meant it was bad with a capital holy shit.

My mind went wild, jumping and leaping to conclusions like it was a superhero.

He gripped my chin again, tilting my face up. “This is one of those things that aren’t about me.”

“Will you eventually tell me?”

His eyes went hooded and his lips curved into a smile that was as charming as it was wicked.

I had no clue what’d caused it, but the view of it did things to my heart— and regions farther south.

Seeing the crack in my resolve, he broke it open by promising, “Soon as I can, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Okay,” I relented.

“Okay,” he echoed, his eyes dropping to my mouth.

And, stupidly, impulsively, needily, I tipped my head farther.

Biting out a quiet but harsh curse, he moved his thumb from my chin, stroking it across my bottom lip.

And even more stupidly, impulsively, and needily, I parted my lips and darted my tongue out to taste his skin.

A groan rumbled from his chest and his control was gone. Snapped.

Fervently, he rearranged me so I was straddling his thighs before hauling me against him. His thumb slid from my lip to under my chin, his long fingers curling around the side of my neck.

And then he kissed me.

Like he’d been starved and dehydrated, and my mouth offered all he needed.

Like I was the breath in his lungs.

Like I was his to kiss and feel and take.

And maybe I was.

Because when his tongue pushed in, I opened wider and gave.

His arm around my waist loosened as he rubbed down my spine to my ass, gripping it. Using his hold, he ground me against his hard cock, lifting his pelvis off the chair in an attempt to get closer.

The only way that could happen was without our damn clothes in the way, so he yanked my shirt up, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it off. Once it was gone, he deftly undid the clasp on my bra before that joined my shirt on the floor.

I thought he’d go right for my breasts. Hoped he would. I was ready to beg for those deft fingers on my sensitive nipples.

But he took it slow. His mouth roughly worked mine—bruising kisses and a branding tongue—but his hand was gentle. It tenderly skimmed my side, his fingertips grazing the side of my breast before sliding down again.

It was driving me out of my mind, but in the best possible way.

“Hey, ya rea— Guess not.”

Startled, I jolted away without thinking. Thankfully, Judge’s reflexes were sharp, catching me with one hand and quickly blocking my breasts with his forearm before whoever it was got a show.

Or maybe more of one.

“Get the fuck out,” Judge ordered so angrily, I was a little scared, but also a lot wet.

“Already leaving. Good to,” whoever started laughing, “see you, O.” “I’ll cut your fuckin’ balls off and let O feed ‘em to you.”

My eyes snapped to Judge’s, and though he winked, I got the distinct feeling he was not joking.

Once the door closed, I jumped off his lap and grabbed my bra, putting it on quickly. “Was that Jury?”

I bent to pick up my shirt when Judge came up behind me. Fingers splayed, he palmed my ass cheeks before sliding his hands to my hips. Even with his legs spread, he had to lift my feet practically off the ground in order to press his hard cock against my ass. I stood upright, and he kept hold with one hand, moving the other to my front. He slid it from my pelvis to my stomach, over my breasts, stopping only once it was curved under my jaw.

He dipped his head into my neck, biting before licking to soothe the spark of pain. “Lose my fuckin’ head with you. Knew Jury was coming, knew anyone could walk in, but couldn’t think of anything but tasting you.”

His hand on my hip moved to cup me between the legs. “Feeling you.”

I tilted my head to the side to give him better access, but he didn’t take it.

“Gotta go out, but I’ll only be a few hours. When I get home…” He didn’t finish his thought with words, but his tightened grip on my pussy and throat said everything.

And so did my one-word answer.

“Okay.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ___________________________ GIVE AND TAKE OPHELIA

OH SHIT. The rumbling engine of a motorcycle cut off outside.

Oh damn, hell, shit.

After Judge and Jury had taken off, I’d been left alone to sort through my feelings and thoughts.

Feeling one: I felt like I wanted Judge.

Thought one: I thought about how I’d be having sex with Judge.

End of list.

I may have been nervous, but I didn’t doubt it was the right decision. I’d spent long enough fighting against whatever was happening between us— the boom or whatever Nox had said.

I didn’t know anything about Judge’s boom, but I was eager to experience his bang.

I was halfway down the hall when Judge walked through the door and took a few steps toward the family room. He stopped suddenly, his eyes shooting to where I stood.

We stayed in the standoff for seconds that stretched like hours.

Judge released his helmet to fall with a loud clatter.

Then everything happened at once.

He stormed toward me, shrugging off his cut before reaching behind his neck to pull his tee over his head.

I walked backwards, unzipping my hoodie to reveal I only wore a pretty bra under. Dropping it to the floor, I was tempted to also remove my joggers, but my movements weren’t coordinated enough and I didn’t have time.

Judge was there, lifting me so I could wrap my legs around him. His mouth crashed down on mine, and there was nothing soft. Nothing subtle.

He took it, claimed it, marked it as his.

And I gave it.

Gave it to him and the mayhem he’d brought to my life.

“Door?” I asked.

“Locked.”

Our mouths crash together again.

“Condom?” he growled between kisses, his lips dragging mine, as though he couldn’t bear to pull away even for a moment.

I shook my head. “Pill.”

He froze with his forehead pressed to mine, understanding not just the permission I’d given but also the trust. When he moved again, it was to order, “Drop your legs.”

I did as he said, and he set me on my feet before dropping onto his knees in front of me. Hooking his fingers in my waistband, he pulled my pants and panties down my legs. He lifted my calf, yanking the bundled fabric free. But rather than drop it to repeat the process with my other leg, he threw it over his shoulder and buried his head between my thighs.

His mouth covered my pussy, his tongue thrusting in to taste and tease.

I fell against the wall, and when he tried to pull away—likely to check if I was okay—I speared my fingers into his hair and held him to me.

His groan vibrated, and I tugged again, wanting the sensation back.

Using the wall for leverage, he lifted me onto my toes, spreading my legs so he could get more.

His teeth.

His lips.

And his blessed tongue.

They all worked together with his possessive grip and his enthusiasm to build the rush of bliss higher. When his teeth caught my clit, his tongue flicking and swirling over it, I came undone, fucking his face with a wild abandonment I’d never experienced.

My orgasm hadn’t even faded when I ordered, “More.”

Smiling his wicked smile, he looked up at me and wiped the shine from his mouth. “Whatever my princess wants,” he started before licking his palm, “she fuckin’ gets.”

His body slid against mine as he stood, lifting me as he went. Pinning me to the wall, he shoved his pants down just far enough to free himself. He

held his cock in one hand and lowered me onto it slowly, his muscles jerking and flexing with his restraint.

I’d known he was big. A man wasn’t as cocky and confident as he was unless he packed something impressive or knew how to work what he had.

But feeling it through his jeans hadn’t prepared me.

Because he didn’t just fill me.

He stretched me.

He branded me from the inside out, creating the best kind of ache that grew with each inch he gave. Once I had all of him, he tried to pause so I could adjust, but I didn’t give him the chance. I rocked my hips, wanting more. Wanting it all.

I took.

Greedily.

And Judge—the beautiful, charming, psycho—gave.

Relentlessly.

Savagely.

Brutally.

One hand under my ass, his other at my throat with his thumb pushing my chin up, he took my mouth and gave me his cock.

Even if I wanted to let it build, there was no holding my orgasm back. It ripped through me, fire in my veins and power in my nerve endings. My neck arched, and I tried to end the kiss but Judge bit my chin before taking it back, swallowing my moans.

His movements changed. Unhinged and raw, he slammed into me, my back sliding with each uneven, frantic thrust. Smacking the wall next to my head to steady himself, his harsh groan echoed around us as he came, filling me.

Breathless and slicked with sweat, my tight muscles loosened, and I had no choice but to give my weight to Judge.

He took it easily, supporting me with one hand while the other stayed propped against the wall. His head hung, the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders slowing.

“You can—” I started, trying to tell him he could set me down, but he turned his head and kissed me, taking away the breath I’d just caught.

It was a soul-searing, panty-melting, butterfly-moshing kiss that was as hot as it was beautiful.

We were both breathless by the time he tore his mouth away. He carried me to the bathroom and set me on the sink, cleaning me with the same tenderness he’d used when treating my scrapes the first day.

When he was done, he brought me to the bedroom and lowered me to stand.

And then he turned and walked out.

Um, okay then.

What the hell was that?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN ___________________________ CUPCAKES ARE THE BEST OPHELIA

I HAVE ACHES in muscles I didn’t even know existed.

Stretching under the hot spray of water, I tried to loosen my shoulders.

Unfortunately, the tension in them wasn’t just from sex and an unfamiliar sleeping position.

After our hallway fun the day before, I’d been worried about how quiet Judge had gotten, but he’d been back to normal before long. We’d spent the rest of the night watching TV in the family room before his teasing hands and tormenting mouth had ganged up on me, and he’d fucked me bent over the couch.

I’d felt guilty since they had a strict ‘no sex on the communal furniture’ rule, but as he’d pointed out, only my hands had been touching the couch, so it’d been a logistics win.

When we were done, he’d again gently cleaned me before carrying me to bed. Although he’d held me—and woke me with his tongue a few hours later—something had felt… off.

He’d already been showered and dressed when he’d woken me that morning by trailing his fingertips along my collarbone. I’d hoped for more, but after setting my coffee on the bedside table, he’d told me we had errands to run before walking out.

I didn’t know what the errands were, but trip preparations usually entailed shopping, and I was always down for that.

After finishing my shower, I dried off and dressed in leggings and a tee.

As I got ready, my thoughts bounced between wondering about Judge and wondering where we’d be going.

Once I was done, I went to the bedroom to grab my shoes but paused when I saw my pink tulle skirt and a cropped white tee had been set out. I smiled at the visual of big, badass Judge holding the fluffy pink skirt. It was

my very favorite—and that was saying something because I had a lot of favorites.

Other than wearing jeans to Rye, I’d stuck to pajamas and leggings since sitting around called for comfort not cute.

But running errands? That totally called for cute.

Throwing off my clothes, I pulled on the skirt and top before taking a deep breath. Some of the tension between my shoulder blades loosened. If Judge was making wardrobe suggestions, things were obviously okay.

Beyond that, though, I felt more like myself than I had in… years. I was relaxed.

Happier.

The time away—unscheduled and unconventional as it was—had been much needed.

I could do without the threat to my safety, though.

Slipping on my shoes, I opened the door to leave but stopped in my tracks when my eyes landed on the hallway wall.

More specifically, the hole in the wall I’d been too tired and distracted to see in the dim lighting the night before.

The one that was around the same height as my head.

Positioned right where we’d had sex.

And right where Judge had slammed his hand as he’d come.

I made him come so hard, he put a hole in the wall.

And I thought wearing my favorite outfit would be my big confidence boost for the day.

Ignoring my body’s response to the memory, I headed to the front door and found Judge, Jury, and Glitch waiting. And, though they all glanced over at my approach, only Judge’s eyes stayed locked on me.

No, okay, the way he looks at me is my confidence boost for life.

“We’ll meet you outside,” Glitch said.

“No.” Jury shook his head. “We leave and they won’t. We’ve got an appointment.”

“Fuck the appointment,” Judge muttered, taking a step toward me.

Risking his arm’s wellbeing, Jury reached out and grabbed his brother.

“You know I’m right.”

Judge glared at Jury, dropping his glare to where he held him, and then back up. Jury was smart enough to release his hold, but it’d served its purpose and Judge stayed where he was.

“Ready?” he asked me.

“Yup,” I said, going for chipper enthusiasm as though I wasn’t two seconds away from launching myself at him.

His sexy, knowing smirk didn’t help.

Once we were outside, I asked, “Where’re we going?”

“Gotta take the bikes in for a tune-up before tomorrow.”

I glanced down at my outfit.

Not what I’d have worn had I known I’d be sitting in a garage waiting room, but at least I’ll be the best dressed there.

Or I’ll look as out of place as Waldo in the Starry Night painting.

Either way.

I was cool to stand out, awkward or not, but when my eyes went from my skirt to the bike, a bigger issue hit me.

“I’ve gotta change into pants,” I said to Judge’s back.

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “No.” “It’ll only take me two minutes, otherwise everyone’s gonna get a show when my skirt blows up around my waist.”

“Not happenin’.”

“Why not?”

He turned and held out a faded and cool as hell leather jacket. Giving him my back, he slipped it on me, but I didn’t have the chance to step away before he reached around and cupped one of my breasts. His lips grazed my ear as he admitted, “Been thinkin’ about you in that skirt since I saw it.

Jerked-off picturing lifting the pretty fabric so I could see and taste your prettier pussy. Gotta go to the garage then get you the best cupcakes you’ll ever eat. But after, I’ll get something even sweeter on my tongue before I finally fuck you in this skirt.” His free hand splayed across my pelvis.

“And, after last night, I know it’ll be a fuck-ton better than any fantasy.”

A rush of arousal crashed over me so strongly, I got lightheaded and wasn’t entirely sure I didn’t have a mini-orgasm.

I didn’t think I could get any wetter, but he proved me wrong by using his hold to press me against him, the thick, unmistakable evidence of his own arousal at my back. “And I’d never let anyone see what’s mine.”

He released his hold on me, and I whipped around, ready to climb him.

Or maybe tackle him to the ground and reverse-cowgirl it. Before I could do either, the roar of bikes started, reminding me we weren’t alone. My cheeks flushed red hot.

At least we were facing away so they didn’t see me getting felt up.

And Judge is so big, they probably couldn’t see anything but his body.

His big, powerful body, curved around mine, all sexily and…

Giving myself a mental shake, I looked down at the jacket I was swimming in. The length of it covered everything needing coverage and the weight held the skirt in place.

It was perfect.

Plus, I looked badass.

He’s so not getting this back.

______________ “God, it smells good.” Rounding the corner, my steps faltered when I saw the massive line out the door. “Oh no.”

My taste buds’ hopes were raised and now they’re dashed.

When we’d pulled into the side lot, Judge and the guys had parked at the service entrance bay doors. As soon as the weirdly appealing smell of bike fumes dissipated, the overwhelming scent of cake had hit me, making my stomach growl and my mouth water. I’d practically pulled Judge around to the front and had been surprised to see the large building only housed two businesses—not the strip mall I’d expected.

The angular sign over one entrance said Hyde Garage.

The swirly, loopy sign—complete with a cupcake—over the other said Sweets Your Rock Bakery.

A garage and a bakery.

What a bizarrely opposite combo.

Taking my hand, Judge walked into the garage entrance.

Homana haawaaa…

It’s ridiculously good-looking guy heaven in here.

Behind the counter, a muscular man ruffled through papers, his blond hair pulled back in a knot. The guy next to him looked like the boy next door, but with almost as many tattoos as Glitch. And glaring at the computer with intense, dark eyes was another hottie.

The blond looked up as we approached. “Hawkins,” he greeted before going through a swinging door behind him.

Judge was still the sexiest man I’d ever seen, but I had two working eyes.

“Don’t make me drag your ass back to the bike and remind you who you belong to,” Judge whispered teasingly… or maybe not.

A tremble ran through me, going straight to my clit even as I whispered back, “I don’t belong to anyone.”

He used his hold on my hand to pull me so my back was at his side before wrapping an arm around my chest. “Look forward to proving you wrong later, princess.”

The man came into the waiting room through another door, and Judge released me just long enough to shake the man’s hand, doing the dude-hug thing. When he was done, he put his arm back around my chest. “Ophelia, this is Jake Hyde.” He jerked his head toward the counter. “That’s Eli, and the one about to throw the computer across the room is Xavier.”

“It’s pissing me off,” Xavier said, stabbing at the keyboard as he typed.

Glitch looked horrified and personally insulted. “Easy, Jeeeeeesus.” He hopped the counter and shoved Xavier out of the way before gently tapping the keys.

“Nice to meet you,” Jake said, the other two offering waves I returned.

“You, too.”

“Hasn’t even been a month since you were in,” he pointed out to Judge.

“Happens fast, yeah?”

I thought they were talking about wear and tear on the motorcycles until Judge said, “Only if you’re lucky.”

I guess if you’re able to ride enough to need work done so soon, that’s lucky even if it’s probably expensive.

“Your bikes at the bay?” Eli asked.

Glitch barely looked up as he slid his keys along the counter. Jury grabbed Judge’s from him and brought them over.

“She’s going with, yeah?” Jake asked Judge, but he didn’t give him time to answer. “Stupid question. I’ll make sure it’s set.” He started for the door he’d come through, saying, “Go through the back way, I left my door propped. She’s got tons of shit set aside, but I can’t guarantee how long it’ll last with these vultures around.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Judge told his retreating back.

Glitch didn’t look up from the computer. “Your greedy ass better bring me something.”

“No,” Judge said simply, earning a middle finger from Glitch.

We made our way through the building with enough ease to show he’d taken that way before. He opened a door, kicking the wooden wedge out of the way so it would close behind us.

“Where’re we going?” I asked as we walked through an office.

“The bakery.” He pushed another door open.

Holy shit, it’s like the Labyrinth in here. If two of the doors start talking about how one always tells the truth and the other always lies, I’m outta here before I get accosted by Bowie’s bulge.

We stepped into a kitchen, and I saw the ‘back way’ wasn’t a rear entrance.

It was a side one that connected the garage to the bakery.

What the hell did this place used to be?

Going through yet another swinging door, we ended up behind the counter of the bakery.

Other than a wall with a mural of the bakery name and logo, the storefront was slate gray. There were a few brightly colored tables, chairs, and decor.

And people.

A shit-ton of them, including three women behind the counter.

Well, there go my concerns about standing out.

And my theory about being the best dressed.

A super pretty woman with black hair, gorgeous tattoos, and a cute apron over her even cuter outfit turned and smiled at Judge. “Tell your asshole brother I’ve gooooot…” Her word stretched before trailing off when her eyes landed on me. Not moving her eyes away, she reached out and whacked the redhead who was taking orders next to her.

“Here we fuckin’ go,” Judge muttered. “Way they gossip, I’m surprised no one texted before we got over here.”

“They might’ve, I haven’t checked my phone.” She smacked the other woman again.

Not looking up from the box she was closing, the redhead said, “Hitting employees violates labor laws.”

“You don’t work here,” the brunette working the register pointed out.

“Then me working right now definitely violates labor laws.” After handing the box off to the customer, the redhead turned around to glare, but her eyes went wide when they landed on me.

Rye’s bartender.

Big city, small world.

Trying to break the staring contest and test the waters, I gave them a little wave. “Hi.” That did the trick, and the redhead grinned. “It’s the badass commando.”

I started to look questioningly at Judge, but she laughed. “I’m talking about you. Rhys said you kicked that dude in his,” her eyes shot to the line that included kids, “cookies. Good for you. Security is good, but sometimes jerks get away with too much.”

At the mention of the asshole, Judge’s arm tightened around me, his body going rigid. I curled into him, resting my hand on his abs soothingly.

And, fine, maybe a little possessively.

I was positive he wouldn’t knowingly bring me around someone he’d slept with—or their friends—but it could happen unintentionally. And since I couldn’t get a vibe on the room, I was feeling uncharacteristically territorial.

Both women’s eyes dropped to take it all in, but neither appeared upset— for themselves or on behalf of the girl-code.

“You told me that part,” the black-haired woman said, “but not that she was with Judge.”

“Yes, I did,” the redhead insisted.

“You said she was with him. But she just came into my bakery on his arm, wearing what I’m guessing is his jacket over her kickass outfit. That’s not with, it’s with.”

“Have you known them long?” I whispered to Judge.

“Six months.” I thought he was joking until he added, “They’re gossipy.”

Black-haired woman hooked her thumb toward the wall. “Don’t act like they’re not worse.”

“You’re all bad,” he said, but it was easy to see he wasn’t actually annoyed.

Shrugging, she wiped her hands on her apron before extending one to me. “Sorry, that was rude. I was just… nosy. I was nosy. I’m Piper.”

I shook it. “Ophelia.”

“Gah, that name is so awesome.” She gestured to the redhead. “This is Harlow.” Then to the brunette. “And Joss.”

The brunette gave me a friendly, but reserved smile.

“Hi!” Harlow called without turning around.

“Have we met before?” I asked her, trying to solve the mystery that’d been driving me crazy.

“She’s a news intern,” Piper filled in, sounding proud. “She’s been on TV.” Harlow rolled her eyes. “Barely.”

“Still something.”

I nodded, happy to finally have an answer. “That’s where I’ve seen you.”

The seniors at Elder Oaks loved the news. Even though she hadn’t been on often, I’d likely seen each appearance.

Repeatedly, if they recycled the footage.

Something chimed through the speakers.

“Cookie time.” Piper jerked her head toward the door we’d come through.

We followed and watched as she pulled a huge tray out of the oven. They could’ve looked like there’d been a disaster in the Keebler tree for all I cared since the smell promised they’d be delicious even if they were misshapen messes. That said, my already high expectations skyrocketed at the sight of cookies that belonged in a magazine.

And then they plummeted to a fiery death when I saw the chocolate chips weren’t actually chocolate chips.

This is why I have trust issues.

Still holding out hope, I leaned closer. “Are those raisins?”

“They’re for Jury. Well, not all of them—half are going into the case.”

Maybe I can swipe one and eat around the shriveled imposters.

“He’s lucky he’s getting any.” Piper took a tray from a chiller and put it into the oven. “Everyone keeps hiding my raisins because they don’t share his love.”

“I don’t blame them,” I whispered to Judge.

Piper laughed and pointed to three cute boxes. “Don’t worry, those are for you guys. Chocolate chip, cornflake white chocolate chip, sugar cookies that’re loaded with rainbow sprinkles, and some cupcakes.”

“That’s a lot of dessert.”

And somehow not enough.

“She’s been through this with Mayhem,” Judge said, his arm around my shoulder shifting as he played with my hair. “Swedes doesn’t like anyone else’s cooking, but he almost came to blows with Hollywood when he found out he ate all the cookies Piper made.”

“I make a good cookie,” she said matter-of-factly as she set a timer. “But my cupcakes are the best.” Her eyes darted to the boxes and then back to me. “I thought I packed enough, but maybe you should grab one from the front case and eat it now, just to be safe.”

Even though my tongue and stomach would hate me, I shook my head. “I don’t want to take one and have your line riot.”

“The boys are always helping themselves, so most of my customers are used to it.” She grabbed a cooling rack and started transferring the cookies.

“Since I know Judge doesn’t wanna chill over here, and I’m betting you probably don’t wanna listen to them talk about parts and bikes and customizations ‘til it sounds like they’re making up words, why don’t you stay here and eat a cupcake—or four—while he goes back over there?”

Since these were Judge’s people, I started to look back to see his thoughts. Before I could, he turned me to face him. Cupping my cheek, his long fingers speared into my hair, the tips digging in as he tilted my face up.

“You good with that?”

I glanced at where Piper was starting a pot of coffee in a ridiculously fancy looking brewer, her head bopping to the song playing softly. The coffee and promise of cupcakes were reason enough to stay over here, but I was also pretty sure I liked Piper and hanging out there sounded fun.

Plus, coffee and cupcakes.

“I’m good,” I told him honestly. “I’d rather smell vanilla than grease.”

He dipped down, pressing his lips to mine so they brushed when he whispered, “Rather be smellin’ you.”

“Just think of how much better that’ll be after I’ve eaten a cupcake,” I whispered back.

“Not your mouth I’m talking about.”

I swayed closer but stopped myself before I did something that’d violate health laws and regular ones.

Flashing me a smirk, Judge let me go and took a few steps backward. “I won’t be long.”

“Good.” I paused for a moment to give him a smile I hoped was even half as wicked as his. “Because we’ve got plans.”

He gave me a scorching yet playful look that I tried my hardest to commit to memory. “Fuckin’ killin’ me.”

Turning, he was almost to the door when Piper called, “Tell my husband there’s coffee.”

Husband? I wonder which one is…

Jake.

Duh. I could’ve smacked my head for not putting two and two together. The business combo totally made sense, as did the beautiful couple.

When she handed me a mug while holding her own in her other hand, I got a view of the huge rock on her finger. I hadn’t noticed it before because she’d been wearing oven mitts.

“Thanks.” Taking the coffee, I followed Piper out to the storefront that’d died down a little.

She pointed past the counter. “Grab a stool and bring it back here.”

“I can help with something,” I offered.

“I only abuse the kindness of my longtime friends,” she said with a laugh. “Come see me next month, and I’ll put you to work.”

She was joking, but I found myself genuinely hoping there was some truth to it.

There was no way I’d be able to carry a stool without hitting someone, so I leaned on the rear counter, staying out of the way while still chatting. A few minutes passed when the door—that I’d thankfully been smart enough to not stand in front of—swung open. I looked over to see if it was Judge or a brother.

Instead, a tall, tattooed man in a white beater tank and low-slung jeans came in. I’d never thought much about dreads, but his pulled back locks were Momoa-nly cool.

Is there something in the water here?

With an expression of single-minded intensity, he prowled past, not stopping until he’d reached Harlow. Gripping her hips, he turned her before cupping her pale cheeks in his inked hands and kissing her in a way that, although not obscene, definitely pushed the health code.

Since Joss was stuck at the register and Piper was with a different customer, I jumped in to take over the one Harlow had been helping.

“Uhh, sorry,” I apologized to the customer.

The lady waved it away before moving her hand closer to fan her face.

“Don’t be.” She tilted her head toward the other women in her group.

“That’s half the reason we come here.”

“You should see when the growly blond gets his hands on the owner,” one of them whispered. “I swear, it’s better than any movie.”

I grinned, even though a pang hit my chest as I thought of my girls at work.

Most of all, Ms. Carol Anne.

That southern belle and her gang of gossips may have acted like they were proper ladies, but I’d heard them say things that’d make a sailor blush.

At the store, I wanted to take a pic of Judge’s ass to show her, but now, maybe, I’ll be able to show her in the flesh.

Well, not literally.

Pulling my mind out of Judge’s pants, I helped the women and tried not to stare at the couple in a clinch next to me.

The man ended the kiss. “Missed you, ipo.”

“We drove over here together,” Harlow said softly with a laugh.

“Still missed you.”

“I missed you, too. What’re you doing over here? Other than making a scene.”

“Came to get coffee, wanted a kiss. Need a refill?”

“Do you even have to ask?” she shot back.

A girl after my own heart.

Piper caught his arm before he went into the kitchen. “While you’re here, can you grab a stool for Ophelia so she doesn’t have to stand all day?”

“This is my fiancé, Kase,” Harlow told me. “He works for Piper’s husband in the garage.”

Crystal blue eyes landed on me for the first time and he looked startled, as though he hadn’t even noticed me or anyone else in the store for that matter.

I didn’t know Harlow from Eve, but I loved that she had a guy who saw no one but her.

When everything had gone down with my ex, my friends—filled with good intentions that could’ve paved my way to hell—had also said I’d been lucky he wasn’t a cheater. They’d said attractive men didn’t settle down— and those who did cheated. A lot.

But Kase definitely wasn’t playing it cool with Harlow so he could keep his options open.

And Jake and Piper had their businesses in the same building, something that would not work if they were miserable. Plus, I seriously doubted it was a coincidence his office had a door to her kitchen.

These guys were almost Judge-levels of attractiveness but seemed thrilled to be in committed relationships with women they were clearly crazy about.

None of these men are clueless, selfish Alexs.

They’re Judges.

Effortlessly romantic and automatically considerate.

“You Judge’s woman?” Kase asked.

Judge and I had never talked about it, but we hadn’t needed to. He’d made his feelings known with both actions and words, and I’d made mine known by…

Well, by happily fucking him against a wall.

“Yeah,” I said, liking the label the more it bounced around my head.

He smiled, and his pretty eyes were even prettier. “Cool.”

After refilling Harlow’s cup, he easily maneuvered around to grab a stool and carry it to me. Then he kissed her again, lowering his voice to say, “Been thinking about lani all fuckin’ day.”

I had had no clue what that meant but, based on the way her face flushed as she watched him leave, I was betting it was dirty.

Taking my seat, I sipped my coffee and ate the best cupcake—strawberry with whipped cream cheese frosting—while I chatted with hilarious women.

And I did it thinking about how I totally wanted to be their friend.

And how much I was looking forward to Judge getting his hands on— and up—my skirt.

But also, unexpectedly, how badly I wanted a tattoo.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN ___________________________ THAT DAMN SKIRT JUDGE

SLOWING DOWN WHEN all I wanted to do was pin it, I took a left onto a winding road.

Ophelia’s arms around my waist tightened, but like she’d been born on the back of a bike—or made for the back of mine—her body moved naturally with the motions.

It was a little thing, but it made me hard.

Everything about her did.

Keeping an eye around us, I continued until we were away from the rest of the world. I pulled over, cut the engine, and kicked down the side stand.

“Where are we?” Ophelia asked in my ear, her breathy voice filled with exhilaration from the ride.

Her next ride would be even better.

I pulled off my helmet and shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Is something wrong?” She pulled hers off, too, and I saw the concern on her face. “Did they mess something up at the garage?”

I chuckled. “If Jake heard you accuse him of that, he might tell Piper not to give you cupcakes.”

Her expression morphed to horrified. “Do not tell him.”

“Don’t worry, if he tried it, Piper would probably send you extra to remind him she does what she wants.” I reached back and gave her my hand.

She took it, swinging a leg over as she said, “Let’s not risk it.”

Feet to the ground, I lifted my weight from the bike, checking it was stable before sitting again. I tossed my helmet to the grass before taking hers and doing the same. With our hands free—for then, ‘cause I had a lot of damn plans for mine—I palmed the back of her head and tugged her to me.

“What’re we doing?” she asked, though she didn’t fight the pull.

“Told ya, I’m fuckin’ you in this damn skirt.”

“Here? I thought you meant at home.”

Home.

Not my home.

Just home.

My cock jerked.

“Can’t wait that long,” I growled, moving my hand to push my jacket down her arms.

“I’m gonna want that back,” she muttered distractedly, shaking it off to fall to the ground.

I lifted the damn skirt, but before I could do anything more, my naughty fuckin’ princess hooked her fingers into her panties and shoved them down, kicking them to the side.

“You want it, it’s yours.” Gripping her waist, I lifted her to straddle me and the bike. “My jacket. My dick.” I cupped the back of her head. “My head, my thoughts, my fuckin’ sanity.”

I didn’t kiss her, I devoured her. My tongue pushed in, battling with hers, desperate to take all she gave and more.

Because it’d never be enough. I’d never fuckin’ get enough of her.

My free hand went up her short shirt to cup her tit, my thumb trailing along her bra cup before pushing it down so I could play with her nipple.

Fuck. The taste of coffee.

Of strawberries.

Of Ophelia.

Driving me out of my damn mind.

Hoping like fuck she was as ready as I was, I dropped my hands to her thighs and ran them up, groaning when my thumbs reached her pussy.

Soaked.

She worked between us to undo my pants. I helped her free my dick, and when her hand wrapped around it, I lost it.

Keeping my feet planted, I hauled her body closer until her torso was pressed tightly against mine and her legs were wrapped around me. I lifted her, reaching around to position my dick. Gritting my teeth, I eased her down, my fingers feeling our connection.

I moved my hand away as Ophelia gripped my shoulders, but she didn’t use the leverage to lower herself slowly.

She slammed down, her head falling back as she gave me the sexiest damn moan I’d heard in my life.

Fuck me, I’m gonna blow my load before I can even get the full visual.

“Ride me.” I worked her clit and tits. “Fuck yourself with me.”

She did as I ordered, finding her rhythm fast. Getting more confident, she lengthened her movements, going all the way to the tip before her greedy pussy sucked me back in.

Giving me heaven then threatening me with the hell of losing her.

Needing to be coated in her come before I filled her with mine, I held her hips and took over, going faster. Harder. My hips rose automatically, not wanting to be away from her perfection.

I was being rough, pounding into her as I thrust up, but she took it.

All of it.

And she did it demanding, “Don’t stop. I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you stop.”

“Violent,” I grunted back.

“Uh—” she started before it hit her.

Squeezing so tight my eyes lost focus, she exploded around me.

Thank Christ.

“Lean back,” I grunted.

She arched to do as I said, her tits in the air as she held on behind her.

Holding her skirt out of the way, I lifted her up and down my length, watching her pussy take my dick like it was made for me—‘cause my dick was damn sure made for her. I didn’t let up as I pumped into her, coming hard enough to see stars.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re tryin’ to kill me,” I panted when I could think again.

Slumped forward, my femme fatale princess leisurely raised her head and pushed her wild hair from her face. She looked sexy, hell yeah, but also prettier than anything I’d ever seen. “Everyone’s gotta go sometime. Might as well go out with a bang.”

And then she smiled wickedly and clenched her pussy.

Fuckin’ perfection.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN ___________________________ YAY OPHELIA

I WAS EXHAUSTED. I’d been tired before. Even what I thought was exhaustion.

But, minus a few rough weeks during nursing school, I’d never experienced true exhaustion.

Not until that moment.

Practically swaying on my shitkicker-clad feet, I stood in a motel parking lot next to the bike as Judge got everything locked down for the night.

“You doin’ okay?” he asked.

“I’m good.”

He stood and wrapped an arm around me, kissing my forehead. “Yeah, you’re good. My fuckin’ soldier.”

After our outdoor adventure the day before, we’d gone shopping to get me some biker gear. I’d gotten a pair of boots, a few extra pairs of jeans, and my own leather jacket—though Judge had promised I could wear his whenever I wanted.

Once we’d gotten everything I’d need, we’d gone back to the clubhouse to find Haze, Glitch, Hollywood, Scythe, and Jury there. They’d crashed on the couch or extra beds so no one overslept—which had been smart because we’d gotten on the road before five.

In the morning.

But as I stood, dead on my feet at a small motel in Virginia, I was glad we’d left early. Between stops for gas, the bathroom, and food—not to mention, traffic and construction—it was nearly eight.

And, according to Judge, the next day would be just as long.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Judge said, his own steps slow as we walked over to where Jury was coming out of the office.

He handed us a keycard. “I’m going across the street for a beer.

Coming?”

“Nah, gonna crash. Don’t stay out too late, tomorrow’s gonna be rough.”

“Not my first rodeo, asshole.”

Judge flipped him off, but also added a verbal, “Fuck off.”

Hollywood and Jury headed across the way while Scythe and Haze seemed to be opting for sleep.

I scanned the parking lot while Judge unlocked the door, but I didn’t see the white van. Thinking on it, I hadn’t seen it for most of the day. Worry hit my stomach. “Where’s Glitch?”

Judge opened the door, turning on the light and looking around before moving so I could enter. “Van doesn’t ride like a bike and guzzles gas like a motherfucker. He’ll be here in an hour.”

“Oh good.” Not bothering to take off my boots, I belly flopped onto the bed. “Motel sex?”

“Fuck yeah. But in the morning. Don’t want you falling asleep and choking while you’re going down on me.”

“Told you yesterday, everyone goes some time. I’ll go out doing what I love.” I paused and blinked, but my eyes refused to open. “At least I’m guessing I’ll love going down on you.”

“You can find out for sure in the morning when you suck my dick while you ride my face.”

“Yay,” I said.

Or maybe I just thought it.

I wasn’t sure because about ten seconds after, I crashed.

JUDGE Yay. I told her she could suck my dick while she rides my face, and she said yay.

Ophelia may not have been a biker bunny, but the whole day riding without a single complaint from her fuckable lips showed she was born to ride a bike.

And her yaying at my filthy mouth showed she was born to ride a biker, too.

Waiting a few minutes to make sure she was fully asleep, I pulled off her boots. I couldn’t get to the button on her jeans, so those would have to wait.

I tugged the blanket out from under her carefully, but she was so dead to the world, I could’ve yanked it, and I doubted she’d wake.

Covering her, I sat at the foot of the bed and switched on the TV, flipping through the muted channels until I reached ESPN. I watched the highlights but kept an eye on my phone.

When it rang, it wasn’t the number I’d been anticipating.

My gut turned to stone, and I answered, saying, “What’s wrong?”

“My pregnant wife is gonna lose her mind, and I don’t think tacos and bodega Twinkies will fix it.”

Hell.

“What happened?” I asked Nox. There was a quiet click followed by a deep inhale.

“You’re quitting,” I heard Beck say in the background.

“The way this shit is going, it’ll be a fookin’ miracle if Gus doesn’t take up smoking when the baby is born,” Nox bit out.

Moving to the bathroom, I closed the door almost all the way. “I’ve been gone less than a day, what the hell is going on?”

“Picked up another Nash castoff, but this one had info and was talkative… when he still could.”

“Okay, and?”

“One of Nash’s high-class girls has a sugar-Grandpa.”

Not much got to me, but the visual of that churned my stomach.

“Guess where he lives,” Nox continued.

“Elder Oaks.”

“Aye.” The dots were coming together, but one to form a picture I wanted to brain bleach away. Knowing that couldn’t be it, I prodded, “And?” “And Elder Oaks is apparently the place for rest, relaxation, and a drug ring to rival any cartel. Guess who our own Pablo fookin’ Escobar is.”

My mind went to Ophelia and her easy acceptance of the drugs I’d helped Nox distribute. It made sense that she hadn’t been fazed if she’d been doing the same.

Except at some point, she’d have told me so I could protect her.

And her involvement wouldn’t upset Gus, and therefore Nox. “Holy shit,” I drawled.

“Holy shit is right. Gus told her nan what I went away for, and the euchre-hustler decided she wanted to upgrade to a drug Robin Hood. Her

and her blue hairs have been conning the doctors with all their rich people pains, stockpiling the drugs to slip to me. Like I’d want, or be able to, smuggle thousands of damn dollars of medication out.”

I couldn’t help it.

I laughed.

“That’s what Dair did. You’re all off your fookin’ nut.”

“You know as well as I do, crime doesn’t discriminate.”

“Aye, but Gus’ nan? I went straight there after the bastard gave up the info. Figured I’d sniff around and see if any of the staff stuck out. Wanna know what Ms. Carol Anne did when she saw I was there without Gus? Proud as hell, opened a locked storage closet filled with pills. I don’t even know half the shit they stockpiled. Told her to shut down her elderly cartel, hopefully she listens.”

The puzzle was coming together, but there were still pieces missing.

“How’d O get dragged in?”

“The old man must’ve told Nash’s girl about their operation. You’ll have to ask your lass why they’d think she was involved.”

I looked out through the crack to see she hadn’t moved. “It’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow.”

“Aye. I’m tryin’ to find Nash, but he’s in the wind and hasn’t been to his Fortress of Fuckery in weeks. In the meantime, I’ll put the word in the right ears your lass is not involved.”

I didn’t hesitate, not for a second, before saying, “And let them know coming after her means coming after Mayhem.”

Backing her with Mayhem was big, but Nox didn’t question it. “Fun to see the boom from the outside.”

“Don’t you have to go tell your wife her grandma is El Chapo?”

“Fookin’ hell. Be in touch.”

We clicked off, and I returned to my spot at the edge of the bed.

It took longer than I’d expected, but my phone vibrated with the text I’d been waiting for.

Glitch: Pulling in.

My gut clenched and adrenaline raced through my veins like I’d shot up with Red Bull.

Quietly, I slipped from the room, easing the door closed behind me.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN ___________________________ RAZOR BLADES AND SALT OPHELIA

WAKING SUDDENLY, I had a panicked moment of disorientation as I tried to figure out where I was. When my eyes focused and my brain fog lifted, I remembered we were in a motel.

Well, I was.

Because no one was in bed with me. And even though I couldn’t see through walls, I somehow knew no one was in the bathroom.

I gingerly climbed out of bed, my muscles protesting each movement.

I’ve been asleep for two hours. Why does it feel like I reverse slept and am more tired now than before?

After checking the bathroom to confirm Judge wasn’t in there, I looked for a note, wondering if maybe he’d changed his mind about going out with Jury and Hollywood.

There was nothing.

Maybe he went for ice.

Or a candy bar.

It’s a scientifically proven fact that vending machine candy tastes seventy-percent better than store bought.

Opening the door and going out into the night seemed like the kind of thing a stupid chick in an action movie would do right before she was kidnapped by bad guys. And, while that happening in real life was probably rare, so were apartments getting ransacked by bad guys.

So, the door stayed closed.

But I did shove the warped and faded armchair out of the way to look out the window.

And see Judge.

But not alone.

There was a woman standing with him. And, even in the dim, flickering parking lot lights, it was easy to see she was beautiful.

Maybe she’s just asking for directions?

She launched herself forward and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

Directions to his penis.

My stomach twisted and clenched, my chest becoming so tight, I couldn’t breathe.

I stormed toward the door, ready to throw it open and go off. Grasping my last, tenuous strand of control, I forced myself to stop with my hand on the knob.

There’s probably a good reason.

There has to be.

I fought to breathe deep and think rationally, but the elephant on my chest made the former hard and the jealousy controlling my emotions made the latter impossible.

My mind raced, trying to come up with a valid excuse, but I couldn’t because I didn’t know why we were there in the first place.

Without that info, I couldn’t know what kind of excuse was valid.

Exhausted, emotional, and not thinking clearly, my brain kept circling around to how little I knew about the business side of Court of Mayhem.

I knew Judge wasn’t riding his bike on the straight and narrow. His version of right and wrong didn’t always line up with the law, and he didn’t hesitate to do what he felt needed to be done.

Like, toss someone into the back of a van.

Or kick someone in the kidney after they’d been kicked in the junk.

That tiny hint of doubt made a thin crack, and everything else rushed to work at it, splitting my insecurities and doubts wide open.

The way we met.

The way he’d pulled away after sex, becoming quiet and withdrawn.

The way he was upfront about so much but wouldn’t tell me why we were travelling across multiple states.

The way she’d hugged him.

Pissed off, I pulled on my boots—ones he must’ve thoughtfully removed, the bastard. I didn’t know if I wanted to do the stupidly irrational thing and flee into the night or do the stupidly crazy thing and run outside to confront him in the middle of a parking lot.

Before I could decide, the door behind me opened. I swung around to see Judge filling the doorway.

His eyes dropped to my feet and narrowed before shooting back up.

Since he was Judge, and that meant he didn’t miss much, his body tightened at whatever he saw in my expression. “The fuck?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.”

He closed the door. “Why’re your boots on, O?” “Why’re you hugging a random woman in a motel parking lot?”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “What do you think was happening?”

I had to give him credit, he didn’t go on the defensive and question why I was spying on him. I’d have likely beat him with the remote—at least in my head.

Or maybe in reality.

I wasn’t quite sure what I was capable of anymore.

“I think you were hugging a pretty woman,” I shot back.

Approaching slowly, like a graceful predator lulling its prey into a false sense of security, his voice was even.

Eerily calm.

“And the logical conclusion was I brought you across multiple states so I could hug a chick in the parking lot? Which, you woulda looked for longer than two seconds, you’d have seen she hugged me, and I transferred that hold to Scythe.” He paused for a moment and tilted his head, the angle and shadows making his strong, defined jaw look like it was chiseled from granite. “Or you thinking she’s here ‘cause I’m trafficking whores like that motherfucker?”

I opened my mouth to deny it, even though the thought had crossed my overwrought mind.

Before I could speak, he put his finger up. “Don’t. Don’t fuckin’ speak whatever lie is about to come outta that damn mouth.”

“Judge—” “Fuck, O. Your attitude makes me hard and your jealous streak makes me harder, but this?” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking to the side as he shook his head. “This is fucked.”

There was a lot I could’ve said to diffuse the situation, but I was still riding the high of my emotions and the guilt of my accusations. “We met when you—”

“I know!” he shouted before inhaling deeply, fighting for control. “I fuckin’ know what I did. Don’t regret it—got you safe and in my life—but I put you through hell for a day. Said I was sorry. Showed it. Explained, sharing shit that could get me in serious trouble. And not just me, my brothers, too. But I trusted you and thought you understood. Thought we were past it.”

“We are,” I said honestly, regret clawing up my throat, as though it could clutch my stupid words and drag them back in.

“But you wanna keep throwin’ it in my face.” Pulling his gun from his waistband, he held the barrel and offered me the grip. “You’re that pissed, take it. Press it to my fuckin’ skull. Use it to jack the van and go home.”

Keeping my eyes on him, I reached out and slowly wrapped my fingers around the gun.

There was no flash of surprise or fear. No regret or sudden move to snatch it back.

He didn’t even blink.

I set it on the dresser. “You’re a psycho.”

“Yeah, but I’m your psycho. Trust you with my life, O. But,” he threw an arm out toward the door, “this shit isn’t about me. I couldn’t risk you running again and telling someone ‘cause you’re pissed at me.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

I crossed my arms. “So I’m supposed to trust you, but you don’t trust me?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m in this. But at the first sign of trouble, you got your boots on, ready to run. How am I supposed to trust you when you think, even for a second, I’m like that motherfucker?” His voice was thick as he gritted out, “You think I pimp out whores? Get ‘em hooked on smack and crank and whatever else they can pop, snort, or shoot and then turn ‘em out ‘til there’s nothing left. You think I’m that kinda man, O?” He stepped closer, not stopping until my back hit the wall and he was cupping me between my thighs. “That the kinda man you let own this pussy?”

“No, I know you don’t,” I said honestly, feeling like an idiot and an asshole.

“But you do think I’m the kinda scumbag that’d fuck another bitch a couple rooms over then climb back into bed with you. Good to know.”

Hands to the wall at either side of my head, he dipped down so his face was

all I could see. “Real fuckin’ good to know where I stand with you, princess.”

His words were like razor blades and the hurt lacing them was the salt.

“You get quiet,” I blurted.

His head went back a little. “What?”

“After we have sex, you get quiet. We went from zero to sixty, I got scared you were having second thoughts.”

“I kept my damn mouth shut ‘cause if I opened it, I’d tell you I’m so outta my fuckin’ head in love with you, it’s pathetic. Didn’t want you to get freaked and bolt.”

The logical part of my brain wanted to point out that it’d only been a week. Argue that he couldn’t love me after such a short time.

But I took a page from his book and kept my mouth shut.

Judge filled the silence. “I’d tell you that, first chance I get, I’m putting my ring on your finger and my baby in you. That it gets me hard as fuck to think about.” Emphasizing his point, he took my hand and pressed it where his hard-on strained against his jeans before yanking it away. “I’d tell you I’m so hooked on you, I’m not letting go. And that if Nash or any other motherfucker wants to take you from me, they’ll have to put a bullet through my thick skull first.” He stepped back and held his arms out. “So you wanna leave, princess, you can do the same and go.”

I didn’t move for his gun or the door.

Because I didn’t want to go.

“That’s what I thought,” he growled, closing the distance between us. His fingers wrapped around my ribs, pinning me to the wall. He held my jaw, forcing my mouth open so he could attack.

Dominate.

Deepen, taste, feel.

And I clutched his shirt and his hair, giving back as good as I got.

Our tongues battled for supremacy.

We owned each other.

We submitted to each other.

We belonged to each other.

The kiss was violent—savage and brutal. Nails scratched. Holds tightened until fingertips dug in. He bit my chin. I bit his jaw. I sucked his tongue, and he pulled my bottom lip into his mouth, scraping his teeth across the tender flesh as he released it.

He lifted me, and I automatically wrapped my legs around him. Lowering me so his hardness was pressed between my legs, he rounded his back to keep his lips sealed to mine.

After long, intense moments, he tore himself away from the kiss like it physically hurt and looked to the side.

“What?” I asked, but then heard what I’d been too distracted to the first time.

Knocking.

“Go away,” Judge called.

“It’s me.”

I wasn’t sure which of the men that was, but Judge set me down, pressing his body against mine and groaning before stepping away.

When he opened the door, Haze was standing there. “Gotta problem and need you.”

Judge nodded. “Be right—” “No, we need O.” “Me? Why?” But he was already gone.

“Why do they need me?”

Judge turned toward me and lifted his shirt before adjusting his cock so it was stretched up his belly and tucked into his waistband, the last few inches exposed. Then, like he hadn’t just teased me to the point of mini-orgasm and permanent fantasy fuel, he pulled his shirt down and tossed me his jacket. “Let’s go see.”

I pocketed a keycard and Judge grabbed his gun before we headed out our door and into one two rooms over.

The pretty woman from the parking lot was waiting in the open doorway with Haze. As soon as she saw me, her shoulders slumped.

But it wasn’t because she was disappointed to see her wannabe lover had a woman already.

It was with relief.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed. Then, moving aside, I saw what had her so concerned.

A frail but beautiful little girl was watching us. Her eyes—which looked too big for her delicate face—were wet with unshed tears.

And haunted.

Too sharp, too knowing, too sad.

“Hey kid,” Judge said softly.

Despite his gentle, warm tone, the girl tensed and inched closer to the far edge of the bed.

Where Scythe sat on the floor.

Judge was careful to keep his reaction locked down, but his hands were fisted hard enough to turn his knuckles white. His voice was even gentler when he said, “This is my girlfriend, Ophelia. She’s a nurse. Can she check you out?”

The porcelain doll of a child took me in for a moment. I must’ve passed inspection because she gave a small nod.

I went over and sat in front of the bed, keeping my distance. “I like your stuffy.”

“It’s a sloth,” she whispered.

“He’s cute. Does he have a name?”

“It’s not real.”

Someone hurt her enough to steal her whimsy. Not her child-like whimsy, but her actual whimsy since she is a damn child.

I hope they’re dead, and I hope it happened painfully.

“O,” Judge whispered.

I wasn’t as adept as him at hiding my emotions and had been scowling at the sloth like it owed me money and had insulted my mother.

Getting my shit together, I smoothed my features. “It’s okay to name stuffies. Or not is cool, too. I used to like coming up with the weirdest names I could think of.”

The girl tilted her head and hesitated before leaning forward. “Like what?”

“You know American Girl dolls?” At her rapid nod, I leaned a little closer, too, as if I was sharing a secret when I was actually trying to get a better look at the scrapes on her arms. “Well, when I was eight, I wanted one so bad. I begged and pleaded and did chores and said it could be the only present I got for the whole year because I wanted it that bad.”

“And you got it?”

“Yup. She had all this beautiful brown hair and big brown eyes. Hmm, she kinda looked like you. What’s your name?”

“Madison.”

“Oh, that’s a much nicer name. My doll’s name was Princess Poop.”

The little girl erupted into a fit of giggles, flopping back onto the bed and moving the arm that she’d been holding tight to her body.

Thank God for that.

“I’m glad you find it funny,” I told her, “because my mom did not. I brought that doll everywhere and would loudly tell people her name.”

She sat up and grinned, her missing front teeth letting me know she was likely a little older than I’d first thought—around six rather than four. “Did you name other dolls funny names?”

“Oh, yeah. Chair, who was a bear. I had a giraffe named Ant because I thought the idea of something so tall being named something so tiny was hilarious. I had a real pet turtle, Flash. Oh, and I had this other doll who lit up and part of her hair would grow. She was so cool, so I named her Toilet.”

Another round of giggles. “Princess Poop and Toilet?”

“They were best friends and worked in the horse hospital taking care of the toy horse I had… Joshua.”

The little girl looked at her stuffed animal. “Sloths are slow. I think maybe I’ll name him… Lightning. Like Lightning McQueen.”

“That sounds like the perfect name. Can I see him?” When she handed him over, I turned him all around. “Yup. Totally the perfect name. But did he get hurt?”

Her smile faltered, and I hated that I had to be the one to take it away.

“Yes, he, uh, fell and got a little cut.”

I held out the sloth’s arm and looked at it before looking to hers. “Did you try to help him and get scratched, too?”

Tears welled in her eyes again, and she nodded fast, taking the lie and running with it. “He fell and then was caught in some bushes that were pokey.”

“Then you’re a hero for rescuing him. I’m going to fix you both up and make sure no icky germs are left, is that okay?”

Her eyes went to her mom, who had a worse poker face than I did. Barely holding in her tears, the woman nodded. “It’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Madison repeated solemnly, pulling into herself again.

Looking over at Judge, I asked, “Hey, baby, can you get the kit from the bag?”

He lifted his chin and left, returning a minute later with the basic first-aid kit I’d been smart enough to pack in case I needed to patch bar fight injuries

or, more likely, wounds I got from my less than graceful motorcycle dismounts.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

His expression was unreadable as he lifted his chin before he and Haze left again.

A heretofore silent and unmoving Scythe stood to go, too, but Madison reached out and cried, “Don’t leave!”

“Not going anywhere, kid,” he said, smiling down at her. “Just gonna go sit near your mama, okay?”

She didn’t balk at his scarred smile and seemed reluctant to have him that far away. At her eventual nod, he went and sat on the floor near the door, leaning against the wall with his head tipped back and his face aimed at the ceiling.

Starting with Lightning, I stretched his limbs, wiggling them out. I pretended to spray his fur with antiseptic before putting a few Band-Aids and a small gauze wrap on him.

I held him out to Madison. “Do you think I got them all?”

She didn’t even look before shaking her head. Lowering her voice, she whispered so quietly, I had to strain to hear, “He has some scrapes near his butt.”

I pointed to his hip. “Here?” At her nod, I did the spray and Band-Aid again. “How about now?”

“He probably feels better.”

Repeating the pattern I’d done on Lightning, I checked Madison’s range of motion—relieved to confirm her earlier hesitancy to move her arm had been nervousness about it hurting as opposed to genuine pain. I cleaned her arm and bandaged it.

“Do you want your mom to do your side?” I asked.

She shook her head and climbed down to stand, lowering the side of her baggy pajama pants a little.

I pulled two splinters and a thorn free before cleaning the scraped to hell area. The spray burned like a mother, but she hardly winced.

Hiding my anger and heartbreak, I made quick work of it.

“Your mama doesn’t let you draw on your skin, either?”

I looked up from her injuries. “What?”

She gingerly ran her soft fingers down my arms before pointing to Scythe. “Their mama’s let them draw on themselves. My mama said I can’t

and took away my markers for a whole day.”

I choked back laughter because I didn’t want to startle the skittish Madison—not to mention, I didn’t want to squash her misconception that the men’s tattoos were doodled on daily. “Yup, my mama said markers and scissors are only for paper.”

“That’s boring,” she sighed.

“Them’s the rules.”

Once I was done, her eyes shot to Scythe but he was already standing. He returned to his spot next to her bed.

“You and Lightning are good to go. If it hurts, have your mama or Scythe come get me, okay?”

“It won’t…” she started before rubbing the bandage. There was a calculating look in her eyes that was the most kid-like thing I’d seen from her. “I mean, it hurts a little. Maybe a piece of candy will help.”

Without a word, Scythe was up and out the door.

If he comes back with less than half the vending machine, I’ll be surprised.

“I like the way you think,” I told her as I stood.

She grinned wide and hugged her sloth closer.

Heading for the door, I stopped in front of her mom. “Keep an eye out for redness or irritation. I cleaned it as best as I could, but there’s always the risk of infection.”

Her eyes went from her daughter to me. “It’s not broken?”

“No, I think she was just worried about potential pain.”

She relaxed a little, though stress and worry were still clear on her face.

“Thank you.”

I turned toward Madison. “Enjoy your candy, hero.”

“I will!”

Giving her mom’s arm a squeeze, I opened the door to find Judge and Haze still outside.

“All good?” Judge asked. At my nod, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I’ll stay until Scythe gets back then crash, too,” Haze said.

“Thanks, brother.”

Once we were in our room, I started launching questions at him before the door even closed behind us. “Who is she? And what happened tonight?

And who did that to her? Because I’m going to break their arms and then stick thorns in some very painful places.”

Judge stripped off his shirt and started working at his jeans. “Fuckin’ hell, don’t get me hard right now.”

“Thorns are your kink?”

“No, your violent streak is my kink.”

I rolled my eyes, but did it smiling.

After undressing, he sat with his back against the headboard and pulled the sheet up to his waist. “Strip.” When I opened my mouth to argue because, even though his nudity did all sorts of things to my body and head, the moment was way gone, he added, “For bed. Still got a dirty mind, princess.”

“I think it’s worse now.” Not wanting to dig around in our bag, I stripped to my panties and stole the shirt he’d discarded, pulling it on. I moved toward my side, but my steps faltered when I saw the searing, possessive heat in Judge’s hooded gaze.

And the large bulge raising the sheet.

“No,” I said, both to myself and him. “We’re talking and then sleeping.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“But your eyes and cock did.”

“Got a new kink,” he muttered.

“What?”

“You sayin’ cock. Swear to Christ, O, I could come from just hearing that word come out of your sweet mouth.”

“We’ll test that. I’ll say all sorts of filthy things… tomorrow.” I sat at the foot of the mattress, keeping my distance so neither of us got off-track and handsy. “What’s going on?”

“Nox has something called Gus-Protocol. She knows the important stuff in his life but doesn’t want the details. Her choice.” He rubbed his jaw.

“You want an Ophelia-Clause?”

“I want you to be able to share all your life with me, not just parts of it.”

I shrugged. “Plus, it might work well for others, but I’m too nosy to bury my head in the sand.”

“Wanna bury my head between your thighs,” he growled.

“Tomorrow. Now, answer my questions so we can sleep.”

“Bossy.” He pulled me to him, settling in. “We gotta deal with the present before we go to the past. Nox called.”

“And?” He filled me in on the conversation, including shedding some badass light on my girls at work who were trying to do a little good in a highly illegal way.

And some disturbing light on the crotchety Mr. Henderson who was trying to do a little dirty in a highly illegal way.

“The only visitor he has is his—” My words cut off abruptly as I gagged and nearly lost my dinner. “That’s not his granddaughter who comes to visit every other week.”

“I sure fuckin’ hope not.”

“Oh, God,” I cried, fighting back another retch. “Shut up.”

Judge laughed, but even he looked a little nauseous.

“I don’t know why she’d think I was involved,” I said, wracking my brain until it hit me. “Three weeks ago.”

“What?”

“Remember I told you about the strays I feed?” At his nod, I continued.

“Some of the residents gave me a big box filled with cans of food for them.

Mr. Henderson’s… friend was leaving at the same time as me. She saw me carrying the box and must’ve thought it was drugs. Wouldn’t they check me out first or something?”

“No, Nash is impulsive. He’d act on word alone.”

“How is he so powerful when he’s so dumb?”

“Fear is a powerful motivator. He’s got a high body count and a large collection of blackmail.”

“Do you need to call Nox?” He glanced at the clock on the table. “It can wait.”

“Then tell me about Madison.”

“I gotta backtrack for any of this to make sense.” He rubbed his jaw.

“Nox has a gift for findin’ things. People. Info. Skeletons.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant that literally or figuratively, but I had the strong suspicion it was both.

“Like a private investigator?” I asked.

“Without all the regulations, certifications, and laws gettin’ in the way.”

“Ohhhkay,” I drawled. “So, not quite the same.”

“Mayhem does our own thing, but we work with him a lot.”

I said I wanted to know, so here goes nothing…

“What’s Mayhem do?” I asked.

His brows lowered. “I told you, security.”

I blinked a few times. “What?”

When he’d told me, I’d assumed he was lying. At the very least, stretching the truth.

“Mostly big shots. Some celebrities.”

“That’s so… legal,” I murmured.

“Also means we get to do some B&E to recoup stolen property, beat the shit outta thieves, blackmailers, stalkers—” “Little less legal, but okay.” I took a minute to wrap my head around it.

“Do you have an office building and business cards and a tie? Oh! Do you have a briefcase?”

“You’re a fuckin’ weirdo,” he said, laughing. “Are business cards and briefcases your kink?”

“No, I’m all about motorcycles and leather.” I ran my fingertips along his arm down to his hand. “And tattoos. Big fan of those.”

He pulled me to straddle him, but I scooted away so I was sitting on his thighs near his knees. Otherwise we wouldn’t be talking, and I needed to hear the rest.

Judge didn’t look happy about the distance but kept talking. “We work out of the clubhouse ‘cause it’s all we need. Other than an email address and a private line that goes to a secure voicemail, we’re off the grid.

Everything is word of mouth, everyone is vetted by Glitch, and we only take the jobs we want. We charge a shit-ton that people happily pay ‘cause they want discretion, safety, and someone who’s willing to bend the law instead of calling the cops.”

It was a shock but also… not. Things clicked together, making sense.

“We also do relocation.”

My brows lowered. “Like, a moving company? Or realtor?”

He tilted his head toward the door. “Like the kid.” Tension filled his body, his muscles tightening. “Her ma, Casey, was dating a piece of shit who controlled and manipulated her. By the time he started beating the hell outta her, he’d already cut her off from her friends, family, and money. She felt trapped but was working on a slow and careful escape. She didn’t know he’d been verbally abusing Madison, threatening her ‘til she was literally sick with fear. Not until she came home to find Madison left alone, her arm broken and her face…” He clenched his jaw so hard, it had to hurt.

Swiping at the tears streaming down my cheeks, I leaned forward, hoping he’d get the request I was too choked up to verbalize.

He did, wrapping his arms around me. “The cops searched for him, including the sheriff’s son, Nico.”

“Boom Nico?”

“He’s a good bounty hunter but even he couldn’t find the bastard. Casey reconnected with her family and moved her and Madison to Baltimore to live with them. But it soured the sheriff and Nico’s gut that he got away.

Nico reached out to Nox—” I sat up so fast, I nearly knocked my head against his jaw. “He found him, right? Did he kill him? If not, can I do the thorn thing?”

“Yeah, he found him down in Florida, already shacked up with another chick who had a daughter even younger than Madison. He brought him back to Tennessee.”

As happy as I was he got caught, I was furious he’d gotten off easy compared to what he deserved.

My feelings must’ve shown because a hint of a smirk curved Judge’s lips.

“Funny thing… One second the guy’s drinking at a bar in Florida, the next he’s waking up on the steps of a police station with a broken wrist and five broken fingers.” He wiggled his own fingers. “Two different, unusable hands.”

“Doubt he’ll be able to make a fist,” I said.

“Makes it hard to defend himself in a place where people got no love for fuckers who abuse defenseless kids.”

A little vengeful peace settled in my shattered heart.

“So are you helping them move back?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Madison has to testify in a couple days. We’re transporting them, making sure they’re safe and, more importantly, that they feel it. We’ll be at court so she knows that motherfucker can’t get to her. But she’s still freaked and tried to escape out the bathroom window.”

I didn’t blame her because I wasn’t sure I could do what she was about to.

She really is a brave hero.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve done this,” I stated.

Still, he answered, “No.” “How did you start?”

“Scythe.”

“His scar?” I asked, my already broken heart sinking to shatter to dust when he gave a single nod.

He didn’t elaborate, which meant it wasn’t his story to tell.

I hate people.

“On one run, we had an irate bastard come home ‘cause some nosy-ass neighbor called him to tell him we were packing up his wife and twins.

Middle of the damn street, and he was screaming at her, threatening to kill her.”

“Did you get her away?”

Sadness and anger filled his eyes. “She refused. Knew he’d kick her ass worse than before, but thanks to that damn neighbor running his mouth, she lost the element of surprise. She said it was pointless because, now that he was expecting it, he’d track us, find her, and kill her. There was nothing we could do to change her mind. We put the fear of God in the bastard, but a man like that doesn’t change. Got another chick away from an abusive boyfriend. She settled into a new life and was happy but missed her friends so she reached out. One of them told the asshole where the chick was living because she thought her friend was being dramatic and that the dude was just in love. He put her in the hospital. We did the same to him.”

“Good.”

“Couldn’t tell you why we were taking the trip ‘cause this shit can go bad with one word to the wrong person. You tell a friend who tells a friend who posts about it online or some shit. Next thing you know, everyone knows Madison’s story and where to find her. That bastard could drop a stack, have someone take her out, and he’d walk free. Only that time, he’d feel invincible, like he could keep doing it.”

“I won’t say a thing. Ever. To anyone about anything.”

Judge’s expression was stern, his words weighty. “Trusting you with my life and other people’s.”

“I know. And you can, I promise. Our business is our business.”

“Our business, huh?” He pulled me up his legs. “You and me against the world?”

“Ride or die,” I joked back.

Well, kind of joked, but it was also kind of true.

“Yeah?”

“I’m your soldier, remember? Your woman. Your old lady. Your own, personal biker bunny.” My heart raced, but I forced the words out, throwing

myself fully into the mayhem that was my life. “I’m yours because I love you, too.”

There, I said— I gave a little yelp when he shifted me off him suddenly. “What’re you doing?”

He didn’t answer as he moved away from the headboard until he was flat on his back. Gripping my hips, he lifted me back onto him, but with me facing away.

“What’re you doing?” I repeated.

“It’s tomorrow.”

My eyes went to the clock. “No, it’s not.”

“Close enough,” he growled.

It took me a moment to get what he was saying. “Ohh. Oh! Lemme take off my panties.”

“Fuck no. Every time I see your panties, I think about moving ‘em to the side and tasting your pretty pussy.” He put a hand to my back, pushing me down so my ass was in the air. Because of our height difference, he had to shift me closer to his cock and lean up to reach me. It couldn’t have been comfortable for him, but I wasn’t about to argue. “For a good girl, you’ve got bad girl panties.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m secretly bad,” I said, my words catching when he pulled my panties to the side.

“Fuck yeah, you are. Violent. Ruthless. Perfect.” His tongue teased, flicking and playing.

I moved the sheet out of the way and did the same, swirling my tongue around his head and moaning at the taste that was all Judge.

I was right, I love it.

Then I moaned because his groan vibrated against me.

His mouth covered my pussy and he ate me the same way he kissed me.

Like he’d been starved and dehydrated, and my pussy offered all he needed.

Like I was the breath in his lungs.

Like I was his to kiss and feel and take.

And I was.

Just like he was mine.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ___________________________ BADASSES OPHELIA

“YOU GOOD, KID?” Standing in front of the courthouse, about to do something a lot of adults couldn’t face, Madison looked up at Judge and gave him a small smile.

“Mama said I could keep Lightning with me the whole time.”

“That’s good.”

“I asked for Scythe, but she said no.”

“Compromise.” His eyes went to me. “Life’s all about give and take.”

“It’s time to go in,” Casey said, reaching for Madison’s hand.

She didn’t get it, though.

Instead, Madison ran to her scarred and scary biker buddy. Like it was nothing, she slipped her hand into his.

“What’s wrong?” Scythe glared as he scanned the area.

“Mama said we have to go in now.”

“Then we better listen.”

I watched them go, Scythe somehow getting a scared little girl to belly laugh loud enough for the sound to echo around us.

The other guys moved, too, an army of badasses behind her.

“Change your mind?” Judge asked, a hopeful thread in his tone.

After we’d gotten into town the night before, he’d told me he wanted me to chill in the courthouse cafeteria. The area was crawling with cops and guards, so he knew I’d be safe. And I wouldn’t have to hear Madison’s testimony.

Or get thrown in the slammer for jumping the barrier to kick the bastard’s ass.

“I’m good,” I said. “I’ve got you to hold me back so I don’t end up in the clink.”

His gorgeous eyes lit with amusement. “The clink?”

“Stony lonesome?”

“Let’s get you inside, Outlaw O.” We were almost to the door when someone called, “Hawkins.”

Judge moved me behind him as he turned. When he saw whoever it was, his body relaxed and he shifted me next to him again, throwing an arm around my waist with his hand resting low on my hip.

The possessive hold made sense when I saw the guy heading our way.

“Might as well pee on me next time,” I muttered.

“Not my kink. But I gave it some thought, and I’ll do the briefcase thing.”

I elbowed him just as the guy reached us.

The man smirked, his gaze moving from Judge’s side to his hand on my hip then up to meet his eyes. “Heard Nox brought the boom back to Boston.”

Nico.

Heavily tattooed with a blond faux hawk and gauge earrings, he looked like a Mayhem brother—not the son of a sheriff.

“You find yours yet?” Judge asked.

“I still think it’s bullshit,” he said, though he didn’t seem too confident.

“Right.”

An older man approached from the side and I didn’t even need the introduction to know he was Nico’s dad. He was nearly as tall, and his blond hair was almost the same shade—just with the addition of some gray.

After introductions were made—with a fair amount of smirking from Sheriff Mayson and eye rolls from Nico—the sheriff tilted his head toward the building. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s a soldier,” Judge said fiercely, “holdin’ it together better than anyone should expect from a kid.”

Everyone fell silent for a moment, their eyes on the building and their thoughts on their rage.

“We better get in,” Sheriff Mayson said, the voice of reason.

Nico raised his chin and started for the door, looking like he’d be the one jumping the barrier.

When I took a step, Judge tightened his grip. “Give us a minute.”

I didn’t know Sheriff Mayson. I didn’t even think Judge knew him outside of helping with Madison.

That said, I liked him. I’d already guessed he was a good man, but it was confirmed when his concerned eyes went to me. And, like Judge’s, they said I shouldn’t hear what I was about to in that courtroom.

Along with being nice and good, he was also smart because, after taking a look at me, his lips quirked and he followed his son, muttering a, “Good luck,” to Judge as he passed.

Tilting my head back, Judge tried again. “Sure you don’t wanna wait in the cafeteria? We’re not even sure we’ll be allowed in when she testifies.”

I doubted my presence would matter a single bit to Madison since I wasn’t her mom, her sloth, or her biker buddy.

But when I’d sat with her the night before, giving her and Lightning checkups and reassuring her neither of them were dying, she’d made me promise to come. She’d said I was like her school’s Nurse Doris—who was apparently a hundred years old and mean as Maleficent. She likely wouldn’t need me, but it made her feel better to know I was there if she did get sick.

At least, that’s what I hoped the comparison meant.

So whether she needed me or not, I’d be there, surrounded by the big, bad bikers who had her back.

“I promised,” I told Judge, and that said enough.

“Figured. You’re good with her.” Curling my body so my front was pressed to his side, he moved his hand up my hip to the side of my stomach.

“Meant what I said about putting my baby in you soon.”

I was surprised he couldn’t feel the rave of butterflies erupt in there. “It’s only been a week.”

“And?” “And it’s been a week. Normal people are only on their second date at this point.”

“We’re not normal.”

“One of us sure isn’t,” I huffed.

“If you think I’m going back to you not being in my bed, you’re out of your mind.”

“If you think I’m moving in with you after a week, you’re out of your mind.”

“You already have,” he pointed out, a cocky smirk on his stupid, sexy face.

“That’s…” I started, my words trailing off. Because it wasn’t different— well, not that different. I wasn’t in a guest room. My clothes weren’t in my

bags. My toiletries weren’t in a little kit I brought to and from the bathroom.

I called it home—in word, thought, and action.

Shit, no wonder he unpacked my stuff.

He basically moved me in.

His smirk grew to a grin.

I glared.

Pressing his hand against my stomach again, he said, “There’s one important thing.”

“What’s that?”

“After hearing about your toys, I get to name all our kids.”

I laughed a little. “We’re not naming our kid Court Stenographer or Defendant.”

“You’ll be a good mom, so I’ve got higher expectations for our kid— Plaintive.”

“Grand Jury, so they’re better than regular Uncle Jury?”

“No, but you bet your tight fuckin’ ass I’m telling Jury that’s what we’re doing,” he said with a chuckle. His smile faded and he hugged me tight, a needed moment of togetherness before we went inside to be scary badasses.

Him more than me, but whatever.

EPILOGUE ___________________________ OPHELIA

Three weeks later…

“HARDER.” “No,” Judge gritted out.

Slouching on the couch with his head resting against the back, he looked up at me while I fought to ride him. His hands gripped my hips through the thin fabric of my skirt, slowly moving me up and down.

“Faster,” I tried.

“No.” “You’re only torturing yourself.”

“This isn’t torture for you? I’ll slow down.”

“No, no, no.”

I tried again to move, but he held me still and smiled up at me. “Love you.”

Every day. Multiple times a day.

We’d spent two days on the road to Tennessee. Two days in town—long enough to be there for Madison and see the bastard found guilty in what had to be a record-breakingly fast deliberation. Then three days headed home, taking an easier pace so everyone could enjoy the open road and the indescribable calm it brought.

We’d been back for over two weeks and, in all that time, Judge told me every day, multiple times a day he loved me. And without fail, no matter the position or speed or vibe, he told me while he was inside me.

Rough sex.

Quickie sex.

Wall sex.

Shower sex.

Bike sex.

Blow jobs.

Whatever.

He’d give me that dangerously charming smile and say he loved me.

Usually, I loved it. Each time would sear itself into my memory, and when I was old and gray, I’d be able to replay them—hopefully using some advanced, 3D virtual reality technology.

But right then, when he was teasing me to the point of violence, his dangerous charm wasn’t going to work.

Okay, it kinda still did.

But I glared anyway. “Then fuck me harder.”

“Love you so fuckin’ much, Ophelia.” His smile shifted to a smirk that looked extra sinister in the dim lighting and shadows. “But I never did make you beg.”

It seemed like years but had only been weeks since he’d told me I’d beg before he touched me.

And one thing I could say about my man, he wasn’t a liar.

But one thing I could say about me?

I was ruthless.

Cupping his cheek, I ran my palm against the rough stubble and smiled.

And, smart man he was, Judge went alert.

With forced nonchalance, I tilted my head. “I’m thinking of going off the pill.”

That did it.

Judge pulled me down at the same time he raised his hips. “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, princess.”

“I’m a shit liar.”

He lifted his finger. “Don’t play with me.”

I bit it and sucked it into my mouth before slowly releasing. “I thought you liked when I did that.”

A low growl vibrated from his chest as he sat upright to take my mouth and grind his pelvis against my clit, stretching me fuller than I’d ever been.

But I wanted more.

Tearing my mouth away, I ordered, “Fuck me.”

“Bossy,” he grunted back, but he listened. Holding my hips, he moved me up and down his length savagely, his own hips rising and falling to fuck me harder. He bit and licked and kissed and sucked wherever his mouth could reach.

Like he couldn’t get close enough to me.

Couldn’t get enough of me.

I was almost there. My legs trembled, my body tightened, and my heart raced as if I was actually sprinting toward the cliff I desperately wanted to leap off.

And then it stopped.

My unfocused eyes narrowed and my mouth opened to tell Judge where he and his amazing dick could go, but then I saw he wasn’t just teasing me.

His head was turned toward the door.

And then I heard the knock.

“We expecting anyone?” I asked, climbing off him despite his attempts to clutch my skirt and keep me in place.

“No, clubhouse is closed tonight.”

That was another big change Judge had insisted. One night a week, the clubhouse was ours. I’d thought the brothers would be pissed, but they hadn’t given a shit. Especially once Judge had made it clear they were still welcome if they needed it.

Like in an emergency.

“Light on,” Judge said to the room, the mood lighting returning to full brightness. Standing, he tucked his still hard cock away and reached under the couch, pulling out a gun I hadn’t known he stored there.

If I hadn’t been worried, I’d have thought his badass gracefulness and his muscular body were works of art.

Fine, I still thought it.

I approached, but he kept me behind him as he brought up the front door camera on the alarm panel.

“Holy shit,” I whispered as he bit out a harsher curse. I took a step, but he stilled me, putting his finger to his lips. He used the controls to check the area quickly before opening the door.

Haze and Hollywood stood there, practically propped against each other to stay upright.

Both were beaten.

Bloody and raw.

“The—” Judge started.

“What the hell happened?” I interrupted, shoving him out of the way.

Going onto my toes, I tried to get a better look at their already swelling shut eyes.

“Got jumped,” Hollywood bit out, blood dripping from the dirty tears in his lip.

“You…” I was about to tell them they needed to go to the hospital, but I knew it was a waste of time. If they’d been willing to go, they would’ve.

“Let me get you guys cleaned up.”

Judge reached for Haze, who looked worse—which was saying something since they were both pretty damn bad.

I tried to help Hollywood, but he shook me off. “I got it.”

He took a few slow steps into the family room before stopping and inhaling. “My pussy senses are tingling. Were you fuckin’ on the communal furniture?”

Face burning, I opened my mouth to deny it but couldn’t get the words out.

“We put a blanket down,” Judge pointed out like it was no big deal.

“Hold your breath.”

“You don’t want me smelling it, don’t break your own damn rules,” he said, but his words grew forced as he stopped to clutch a chair.

I reached for him again, but that time when he tried to wave me off, I snapped, “We get it. You’re a big, strong man who doesn’t need help. It’s much better to let you fall and bleed everywhere.”

“What’s one more bodily fluid in the room?” he shot back. Despite his smart mouth, he let me help him, giving me most of his weight.

He’s worse than he’s letting on.

It was slow, but we eventually got both men into the kitchen where it’d be easier to work on them. They slumped to the floor in front of the prep area sink.

I was about to crouch when Judge snagged me by the waist and hauled me back against him.

Leaning closer, he whispered, “They’re my brothers, and they’re hurt, but I’ll be fuckin’ damned if they accidentally get a glimpse of what’s mine. Go put your panties on.”

“Right.”

In a rush to help—but also so I didn’t miss the inevitable recap—I practically ran through the clubhouse. I pulled on a pair of panties and shorts before sprinting back.

No one had moved, and it didn’t seem like they’d spoken, though I couldn’t know for sure.

Judge grabbed me the big first aid kit from the cupboard, but I wished I had some of my own stuff.

After getting the confirmation from Judge, Glitch, and Nox that Elder Oaks was secure, I’d gone back to work the week before. I’d also gotten my car back and the okay to return to my apartment, though I’d rarely driven the former and hadn’t stepped foot in the latter.

Because he was protective—and it was also more fun—Judge took me to and from work on his bike. If the weather was crappy, we drove his car that I was totally planning to steal. I’d started keeping my bag of supplies in my locker rather than lugging it around.

I regretted it right then because the little antiseptic wipes they had were garbage.

Hoping there were a few strays left behind, I asked, “Baby, can you go see if I’ve got medical gloves and wipes in my trunk?” I held up the small square packet. “They’re triple the size and thicker.”

He raised his chin and left, returning a minute later with gloves and a small handful of wipes.

It’ll do.

After filling two bowls with warm, soapy water and grabbing several hand towels, I pulled on the gloves and started cleaning them off so I could get a better idea of the damage.

Most of their wounds were bleeders, but superficial. Haze had a gash above his eyebrow that looked borderline for needing stitches, but he refused to go to the hospital, and I wasn’t performing action movie surgery with some dental floss and a sewing needle.

Once they were cleaned enough to talk without the dried blood pulling, Judge—a surprisingly good assistant—asked, “What the hell happened?”

Hollywood shook his head. “We were going to a concert at Rye. Parked down the street, got off our bikes, and got jumped as soon as we took our helmets off. Four dudes at first. We put up a fight, but then a second wave came. Six total. Maybe seven, I dunno.”

“Did they take anything?” I asked, wondering if it was a random mugging.

“No, this was personal.”

“Why? And how would they know you’d be there or where you’d park?”

“Think there were multiple groups out looking,” he said, ending with a hiss as I touched his shin. “Tell your woman to stop feeling me up.”

“Shut up and stop being a baby,” Judge said. Though, truth be told, he didn’t look thrilled about me moving up to touch Hollywood’s thigh, but since it was necessary, he kept quiet.

I checked their abdomens and ribs, but neither seemed to have an issue beyond expected tenderness.

“Usually my face is the second most important part of me,” Hollywood paused, trying for a dimpled smile that fell short. “But I’ve been in enough fights to know internal organs are kinda vital, too. Protected them instead of this beautiful mug.”

I rolled my eyes, but it’d been smart since they could’ve had serious damage.

Judge paced. “Why do you think there were other groups?”

“When I climbed off my bike, I heard someone behind me say what street we were on. I turned just as one of the assholes swung a damn two-by-four like he was Hacksaw Jim Duggan. If I had ignored them talking, that sucker would’ve hit my head not my arm.”

“They brought wood?” I asked, surprised. Of all the weapons, it seemed the least effective and most conspicuous.

“No, we parked next to a broken fence. He must’ve grabbed it as they approached. I tried to get it, but it got knocked under a car.”

Shaking his head, Judge slowed his pacing. “Did they say anything?”

“Other than where we were, jack-fucking-shit.”

“How’d you get away?” I asked.

“I pulled my piece,” Haze said, his eyes closed. “Couldn’t see or aim for shit, but I was able to get it from my ankle holster.” He tilted his head.

“After they got me down, they seemed more focused on him.”

“Crazy fucker pulled himself up and waved his glock around ‘til they ran like bitches. Stood in front of me ‘til they were gone.”

“I’d have shot the fuckers if I knew which one of them to aim at. Or if I had two guns—one for each of them.”

Judge’s brows lowered. “Thought there were six—” I looked up at him. “You’ve never seen Tombstone?”

“No, what’s that have to do with this?”

“We’re having a movie night soon.” Turning my attention back to Haze, I asked, “You seeing double, Doc Holliday?”

“Not anymore,” he said.

“Your eyes are closed.”

“Makes it hard to see double that way.”

“Open.”

He did, tolerating me shining a flashlight in his eyes and asking him a million questions.

“I don’t have a concussion,” he said.

“Says you. But it’s your brain telling you that, and since your brain is possibly concussed, I’m not taking its word for it.”

He shot Judge a look. “Your woman is nuts.”

“Yeah, I know,” Judge said, not sounding the least bit upset about it.

“You don’t want to go to the hospital, fine. But you’re both crashing here tonight,” I ordered.

“Surprised we made it here without having to lay our bikes down, so sounds like a fucking plan to me,” Hollywood agreed.

“Why didn’t you call?” Judge looked pissed at them for taking the stupid risk, but there was a lot of worry underneath all the anger.

“Didn’t wanna interrupt your time with O,” Hollywood said before laughing at Judge’s furious and insulted expression. “I’m fuckin’ with you.

Didn’t wanna wait around for them to regroup for round two. We were just gonna ride for a few minutes, but once we got started, figured we’d keep going.”

Stubborn and bullheaded and stupid.

Judge opened his mouth, likely to echo my thoughts with a lot more swearing and threats.

Before he could, Haze put his hand up. “Can’t yell, I’ve got a concussion.

Either that, or someone’s phone is ringing.”

We all quieted and heard the soft sound before it cut off.

Judge tapped his pockets. “Must’ve fallen out…”

His words trailed off and my face heated, making it clear exactly what we’d been doing when it fell out of his pocket.

“On our couch,” Hollywood said dramatically. “I watch TV there. I’m gonna sleep there.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Judge muttered, heading out to retrieve his phone.

Hollywood flashed me another forced smile. “I’d ask who was on top so I knew where I wanted to put my head, but I’m thinking—injured or not— he’d smash my face and you’d rip my dick off.”

“You’d be thinking right,” I said.

“Helluva woman.”

“I know.”

“You’re good for him. For each other.”

It was the first time any of the brothers had ever commented to me on our relationship—not including the occasional joke. Part of it was likely that they didn’t really give a shit beyond Judge being happy. But most was probably because they knew Judge was gonna do whatever the hell he wanted to do.

And, in that case, what he wanted to do was me.

Still, it was nice to hear Hollywood thought that.

It was also the truth, which was why I repeated, “I know.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a slam echoed around.

The swinging door had banged into the wall as Judge stormed in, his face like thunder.

And though they were both beat to shit, both men instantly—and wobbly —stood, ready to have his back and be pissed about whatever had set him off.

“That was Nox,” he said. “Rye’s been raided.”

“What for?” Hollywood asked.

“Dunno. Cops streamed in on a mission. Rhys was telling me he’s had a shit-ton of problems with staffing and deliveries. Typical shit for a bar, but it seemed to be happening too much. Said it was giving him a complex and an ulcer.”

Standing, I wrapped my arms around Judge’s waist before he trashed the kitchen and got on Swedes’ shit list.

It worked, and he plastered my front to his side, his hands playing with my skirt.

Man loves a good skirt.

“Us getting jumped and Rye being raided is too big of a coincidence,” Hollywood said. “Why would it matter whether we were there or not?”

Raising his phone, Judge said, “That’s what I’m waiting to find out.”

OPHELIA Two months later…

“You nervous?”

I looked up at Judge and smiled. “Nope.”

And it was the truth. After all we’d been through, what was one more thing?

I’d returned to Elder Oaks two months before, only to leave again a few weeks later. Permanently.

Surprisingly, Judge hadn’t been the one to suggest—or try to order—I quit. He hadn’t hidden how much he’d hated the time we spent apart, and he’d made it clear my income wasn’t needed, but he’d otherwise kept his mouth shut.

The choice to quit had been mine—and not because I didn’t want to spend time away from him while he traveled for work.

Well, not just that.

After all the fights and bike trips and drama and action, taking care of rich seniors who didn’t really need much was… unfulfilling.

Okay, fine, it was boring.

I needed more mayhem in my life.

And, to be honest, they needed me, too.

In the short time since I’d quit, I’d already handled a burn, a staple gun incident, a fall, and more than a few killer hangovers. Not to mention some fistfight injuries.

I’d also tagged along with Judge when he’d gone to help Glitch update the security system for some bigwig’s building in the city, traveled with him to New York City when he’d met with a new client, and even got to hang at Nox’s with Gus and their dog, Nolan, when the guys had been called away from our planned dinner.

It was far from dull.

Even with all that, I still had a lot of free time, so I spent it volunteering at clinics in the city.

Oh, and getting married.

I’d also done that.

According to Judge, he’d wanted to put his ring on my finger a few days after we’d met. But sensing I’d freak out—and try to pop off his nipples— he’d held off as long as he’d could.

In Judge time, it’d been ‘for-fuckin’-ever’.

For the rest of the world, it’d been a month and a half.

We’d gotten married a week after he’d asked with all our friends, the brothers, their families, and my parents in attendance.

It’d been… interesting.

My parents had been reassured I hadn’t shacked up with some meth dealer who would knock me up, knock me around, and then knock every other woman up.

They’d been happy to see me happy.

They hadn’t stayed for the afterparty.

So, after all those changes, getting one little tattoo hardly seemed like a big deal.

That was, until the pretty tattoo artist walked in and everything became very real.

“First time, right?” she asked, throwing her hot pink and rose gold hair up into a messy bun, exposing the shaved side.

“Yup,” I barely squeaked out, making Judge chuckle.

“I love fresh skin.”

Little Walking Dead, but okay.

After washing her hands and setting up little cups filled with ink, she grabbed a pair of gloves and a stabbing machine—otherwise known as a tattoo gun. “Ready?”

No. “Yup,” I squeaked again.

Maybe to distract me from the pain, or because the pain would distract me from him, Judge waited until she started before announcing, “We gotta move outta the clubhouse.”

My eyes snapped to him. “What? Did someone say something? Are they mad?”

“Relax.”

I flipped him the bird with my free hand.

“This is coming from me. No one’s said shit, and I haven’t said shit to them about it ‘cause I’m not discussing our shit before I talk to you. But the clubhouse is for Mayhem. Brothers have to be able to come and go.”

“Okay, and? Let them.”

I hadn’t understood what Judge had meant about liking the company until I’d experienced it. Every day was new and exciting, seeing brothers nearly daily or ones who just came through every so often.

It was home.

And they were family.

“That would mean I can’t fuck you on the couch,” he pointed out.

That’s a very big con in my book.

My face flushed as my eyes darted to the tattoo artist.

“Don’t mind me,” she said. “And definitely not the worst thing I’ve heard during a tattoo.”

Judge leaned closer, bringing out the big guns. “Babies don’t belong in a clubhouse.”

Every time he talked about babies, my brain went stupid and my heart went crazy.

And my pussy went Niagara Falls.

I hadn’t known it before, but there was very little hotter than the idea of a big, badass biker holding a tiny baby.

“Bongs probably aren’t good toys for developing fine motor skills,” I joked.

“I’m shocked since stoners are known for their quick reflexes.” Gripping my thigh, he sweetened the pot, even though he’d already won—not that I was gonna interrupt to tell him. “Any house you want. We can even build.”

“Near the clubhouse?”

Giving a quick head shake, his words were guarded. “Not having my family that close.”

Guess if danger came knocking, we don’t want our family home right there for them to hit, too.

“But it’s a lotta land,” he said. “We’ll circle the perimeter and see if you like a spot.”

I tapped my fingers on his hand, pretending to think. “Fine. But you owe me.”

He smiled his wickedly charming smile.

Before he could say whatever filthy thing he was thinking, I reached my free hand over and pinched his nipple.

Less than an hour later, I was looking down at my first tattoo—a tiny gavel on my ring finger.

It was completely different, but still perfectly matched the crown Judge had gotten inked on his ring finger before the wedding.

I was plotting my next one as we paid and headed outside.

“Like it?” Judge asked.

“Love it. But I won’t be able to wear my wedding rings while—” “Wear ‘em on the other hand.”

“Or I could wear them on the other hand.” Leaning into his hold, I looked up. “You’re a psycho.”

“Yeah, but I’m your fuckin’ psycho, princess.”

JUDGE Two and a half years later…

“Harder.”

Fuckin’ hell, she was killin’ me.

“No.” “Please, baby. I need it harder.”

Christ.

There was only so much my dick could take, and O’s soft, moaning voice begging me was far beyond that line.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” I said.

“You won’t.” Ophelia looked over her shoulder at me, her blond hair wild and her gray eyes narrowed. “But I’m gonna hurt you if you don’t do it harder.”

“Violent.”

“Ruthless, too.” Her last word stretched into a moan as I pressed my thumbs into her lower back.

Digging deeper, I worked my palms and fingers up and across her shoulders before returning down to start again.

“You’ve got magic hands,” she sighed when I used my knuckles between her shoulder blades.

“Got a magic something else, too,” I growled.

Keeping her eyes closed, she tried to hide a smile that said she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

Working my way back down, I straddled her legs and rubbed her lower back harder, moving my hands out toward her sides. I gripped her hips, but before I could lift her onto her knees, my perfect wife was already moving, positioning herself with her ass in the air.

“You good?” I asked.

She shot a playful smile over her shoulder. “Other than you taking forever, yeah.”

I wrapped an arm around her, spanning a hand over her small baby bump before sliding to cup her between her thighs. My middle finger teased her slit through her fuck-all hot panties.

“Please,” she begged.

I’d told her when we’d first met that she’d beg, but she rarely did.

Rarely had to.

But when she did, it seared in my brain and shot straight to my dick.

“I need your cock,” she continued on a whisper, and fuck yeah, it was still my kink.

“It’s yours.” Pulling my sweatpants down to free myself and her panties to mid-thigh, I kept her legs between mine and positioned my dick. “Fuck yourself with it.”

She leaned back, her greedy pussy taking me inch by inch.

“Fuck, I love you,” I bit out, my eyes locked on the view.

Once she had all of me—dick, sanity, heart, and soul—she stopped.

“Dammit.”

My hands moved, skimming her as if I could feel the problem. “What’s wrong?”

But then I heard it.

A faint cry that would grow to a bossy, demanding one.

“Ignore her,” Ophelia tried, but she was already shifting away, knowing I wouldn’t.

“Don’t move,” I ordered, groaning as I pulled free. “Not even an inch. I want this view of your perfect pussy when I get back.”

Tugging my sweatpants back into place, I walked down the short hallway, pausing for a second to smirk at my favorite framed picture. O and her friends, sweaty and happy. I’d stolen it that first day and after she’d found it, jokingly—kinda—calling me a perv, she’d hung it with the countless others that covered our walls. Brothers and friends and us.

Family.

Every time my eyes landed on it, I was hit in the gut by how damn lucky I was.

Fate.

The crying amped up, and I pushed open the cracked door.

“You got crap timin’, kid,” I said.

Standing in her crib, Arielle looked up at me with big gray eyes and grinned.

She may have only been eleven months, but my daughter knew a sucker when she saw one.

I lifted her so we were eye to eye. “We talked about this. Ya gotta sleep.

I’m not always gonna come runnin’ when you cry.”

Like her mama, Arielle called my bullshit and laughed in my face.

“Yeah, fair point.” I cuddled her close, burying my nose in her dark brown curls as I walked around her nursery, patting her back.

It took fifteen minutes to get her settled enough to go to sleep. Closing the door on half my heart, I went back to finish what I’d started with the other half.

Only when I got to our room, I didn’t get a view of a perfect wet pussy waiting for me.

I got one of my tired as fuck, pregnant wife sleeping on her side.

Not the same, but still perfect.

Stripping, I climbed into bed and turned on the TV. Then, ‘cause I couldn’t stand not touching her, I carefully shifted Ophelia so her body was pressed against mine.

“You’re a psycho,” she murmured, her usual response to my obsession with her.

“Yeah, but I’m yours, princess.”

And I’ll end any motherfucker who tries to change that.

The End Stay tuned for Lars’ story...

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Layla Frost has always been a rebel. A true badass.

Growing up, Layla used to hide under her blanket with a flashlight to read the Sweet Valley High books she pilfered from her older sister. It wasn’t long before she was reading hidden Harlequins during class at school. This snowballed into pulling all-nighters after the promise of “just one more chapter”.

Her love of reading, especially the romance genre, took root early and has grown immeasurably.

In between reading and writing, Layla spends her free time rocking out (at concerts, on the couch, in the car… Anywhere is a stage if you get into it enough), watching TV (the nerdier the better!), and being a foodie. Though she lives in NY (the state, not the city), she’s an avid Red Sox fan.

CONNECT WITH LAYLA FROST I love connecting with readers. Please stalk… I mean, follow me… I post all the best memes: Facebook Naughty Cupcakes Group Goodreads My Amazon Store My Site Twitter and Instagram: @LaylaFWrites Email: laylafrostwrites@gmail.com

Table of Contents Table of Contents Until Mayhem Copyright Other Books by Layla Frost From the Pervy Mind of the Author…

Dedicated to…

Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Epilogue About the Author Connect with Layla Frost

Table of Contents Table of Contents Until Mayhem Copyright Other Books by Layla Frost From the Pervy Mind of the Author…

Dedicated to…

Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Epilogue About the Author Connect with Layla Frost