Dancing with the Devil (Ravens Ruin MC 3)

TJ brought me home last night, and although I reintroduced myself in his vehicle like I couldn’t remember him, he didn’t take the bait. He carried me inside, situated me on my bed, and covered me with blankets. He didn’t let his eyes linger. He didn’t take my clothes off with the excuse of making me more comfortable. He didn’t molest me or touch me without permission.

To build my courage, I grab my flask from my bedside table and take a long pull. As the tequila burns down my throat, I refocus on the millions of questions I have for him.

Why do I feel like I know him even though I only met him last night?

Why didn’t he hurt me?

Why didn’t he use his knife on me like he promised?

A shiver of anticipation rolls down my arms at his dark promise.

I can make you come with just the tip of my blade.

I want exactly that, and that scares me more than walking into a frat house with the hopes of being hurt. Wanting someone is new to me, and the sole reason I haven’t gotten off my bed to head to Ravens Ruin territory.

A few more slugs of tequila and my perspective changes. Within thirty minutes of making my decision, I’m in the back of a cab and arrowing toward the brutal biker’s property. I don’t give myself a second to think or wonder about how I’m going to get home. When the cabbie pulls up to the gate, I slide my card and jump out. He can’t seem to get away fast enough, leaving me standing on the road with the gravel dust swarming around me.

“Hey there, gorgeous.”

I smile at the guy standing just outside the door of a small guard shack.

“I heard there was a party here tonight.” I give him my sweetest smile. I don’t have to flirt very hard. My clothes, or lack thereof, do all the talking for me.

“Ever been here before?”

My head shakes, and his smile grows wider.

“You’re in for a treat then. Tonight, is one of the few nights the guys let people in without formal invites.” Reaching inside the shack he does something to activate the gate, and it’s sliding open to reveal the Ravens Ruin clubhouse.

I must stand there staring at the building and the rows of motorcycles to the left of the parking lot because the gatekeeper sidles up beside me and whispers in my ear, “I’d tell you that the guys in there don’t bite, but I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He chuckles when I can’t hide a full body shiver.

“Clubhouse rules,” he begins, “no fighting with the other girls. No touching the VP. No touching the Prez unless Zoe says you can.”

“And everyone else?”

“They’re all fair game, darlin’.” He gives me a little push to get me started, and honestly, I need it. I don’t think I’d begin walking toward the door otherwise.

The gate begins to close, startling me. When I look back over my shoulder, I realize he’s closing me inside. My blood pumps harder, and the familiar sound of my raging heart pounds in my ears. I make my way between a couple of SUVs in the lot and pull my flask from my small clutch, frowning when I bring it to my lips, only to remember I drained it during the cab ride over here.

“Get some rest, my beautiful broken girl.”

Those were the words TJ left me with last night when he pressed his soft lips to my temple, and the thrill of him being here tonight is enough to motivate my legs to move. Why I want to seek out the one man who somehow threatened me with a knife, but turned me on at the same time is beyond me, but being in his arms on the dance floor last night was the most alive I’ve felt in almost a decade. I’d be a damn fool to not find him.

My heels come to an abrupt stop as I realize exactly where my head is. I don’t want to like him. I don’t deserve the thrills TJ gave me last night.

“Hey, sexy.”

My head turns, finding some guy standing in the shadows of another vehicle. His eyes rake me up and down as if he’s appraising the value of something he’s already purchased. The tremble in my hands is immediate. The sweat pooling along my spine despite the cool air is a warning telling me to get away from him. So I do what I’ve always done in these situations. I smile and ask him his name.

“Spencer.” He holds his hand out, pulling me roughly by my wrist.

I tumble against his chest, and his hands immediately find my ass, fingers skimming along the narrow fabric between my thighs. Bile rises in my throat, and my eyes burn with the effort to swallow it back down.