Slow Burn (Lost Kings MC 1)

Empire certainly isn't the biggest county in New York, but even so it can take at least an hour and a half to drive from one end to the other. The ride into the City of Empire takes a good half hour then another fifteen minutes to drive through the city and into Riverwalk Park where we meet. It’s right off the highway, but except for a few homeless folks who bed down there each night, it’s usually deserted. At the back of the park, thick trees give us plenty of privacy.

Once we clear the empty parking lot, I signal the guys to back the van down the narrow road leading to our drop point. I go ahead of them to make sure everything looks legit. Spotting Gunner, I park my bike and greet the young shotcaller.

"Where’s your crew, man?" I ask after we do one of those weird male ritual arm-to-elbow-bump-handshake things.

"Fuckers are late. Always chasing pussy, you know?"

"I know, but you gotta lay down the law. You’re the boss." I end up counseling Gunner like this more often than I care to admit. He’s had a lot of responsibility dumped on his shoulders recently. I like the kid, but I don’t think he’s going to last long. His crew doesn’t respect him.

The rumbling of a car halts our conversation. Headlights sweep over the pavement. Wrath strides up to me, hand on his piece. I recognize the two in the SUV—Pinky and Kidd. They wave and pull their SUV near the van, practically blocking the road. My gaze darts to the sidewalk and grassy area along the road. It’s heavily crowded with shrubbery, but I could get my bike through it if I had to. Same for the van. It could plow through the evergreen trees in front of it with ease if it became necessary.

Why am I thinking like this? To some degree, my brain works like this everywhere I go. Tonight for some reason, my mind is working overtime.

"Let’s see the goods." Gunner laughs. He claps me on the shoulder and swaggers to the van.

Pinky and Kidd meet us at the back of the Van. Wrath, Zero, Teller, and Bricks also join the party. Gunner raises an eyebrow at the extra manpower but doesn’t have the stones to ask. Murphy flings open the van doors from inside and pushes one of the crates to the edge. It’s the one full of Jaded Bastard.

Gunner snorts. "That’s an MC out in Oakland, you know?"

I didn’t know and wonder about Sparky.

"Small outfit. Like ex-cops or some shit," Gunner elaborates, like I give a fuck.

I start giving him the sales pitch, and he takes out a small notepad and one of those little golf pencils and actually writes down notes on each strain. It’s precious, really.

When we’re done with the presentation, Kidd hands Gunner a thick envelope and a small duffel bag. I quirk my eyebrow at the envelope—our regular fee should fit just fine in the duffel. Gunner pulls me aside, and I signal the guys to move the crates over to the SUV.

"It’s a tip from Loco to say thanks for taking care of the Viper problem."

The Viper problem went down last year, so I don’t know what’s taken Loco so long to get around to "thanking" me. It’s fucking bizarre too. No one parts with money for shits and giggles in our world. I open the envelope, and there appears to be twenty grand in it. Interesting. Gunner could have kept it for himself, and I never would have known the difference.

Ah—it’s a test. Fuck me. Gunner is not long for this world. No respect from below, and no trust from above. Christ.

"Thanks, man. I’ll give Loco a call and tell him I appreciate it." I don’t want to be responsible for this kid’s demise.

As I tuck the envelope into the waistband of my jeans, the roar of Harley pipes fills the quiet night. Way too fucking close. They’ve definitely entered the park. My gaze darts to Gunner, who looks about ready to shit himself. That’s not encouraging or surprising.

"Wrap it up!" I shout to my guys. The four head into our van and lock it down. Wrath tosses the duffel in through the front window to Z and jumps on his bike. Kidd and Pinky are standing outside the SUV looking confused.

Gunner is staring into the woods.

"G, where’s your piece?"

He turns and gives me a look like he has no idea what I’m talking about. Slowly he lifts up his shirt and pulls out a Glock. I unholster one of my pistols and screw on a sound suppressor. We’re not quite in the city, but we’re not exactly out in the wilderness either.

Two Harleys sneak around the front of the SUV, firing shots wildly into the air. What the fuck? I recognize one of the punks from the 18th Street Boyz, a rival to GSC. Why the hell they’re on Harleys, I have no idea. Not exactly their ride of choice, which is obvious from the way they can't seem to control the machines. The first idiot brakes and aims his weapon at Gunner. Wrath comes out of nowhere and punches the kid off the bike. Both bike and rider hit the ground.

The other kid doesn’t appear to have a weapon out yet. He’s still stunned from seeing his pal knocked to the ground and getting his ass kicked by the fury that is a six-foot, six-inch, two-hundred-and-sixty pound sometime-underground fighter. I’m not too shabby in the fighting department myself. Wrath and I have trained together for years. Launching myself at the kid, I tackle him to the ground. He gets in a few solid punches, but they only spur me on. When he’s finally limp, I yank him to his feet. Wrath does the same with his trophy.

"What the fuck do you think you’re doing?" I shout.

The punk I’m holding spits in my direction. "I ain’t gotta answer to you, old man."

"This old man just kicked your fucking ass," I remind him before shoving my fist into his gut. He doubles over and barfs.

Gunner has finally woken up out of his stupor or coma or whatever had him paralyzed. He puts his gun to the punk’s head.

"You trying to jack us? On fucking Harleys?"

Yeah, about that. "Bricks, Teller, get over here."

"You punks lift these from someone?"

I only get moans from the one on the ground at my feet. Wrath’s thug is more talkative.

"Yes! We picked them up outside the Green Room."

That’s Viper territory. "Are you two suicidal or plain stupid?"

Gunner moves like he’s going to shoot them.

"Not so fast." I nod at Bricks. "Grab some zip ties and a sharpie."

He’s back in a few seconds. We drag the little punks to the tree line and lean their backs against the trunk of one particularly thick tree. Running the zip ties together, I tie the two in a backwards hug against the tree. We zip tie the bikes to the next tree over. For fun, I paint a little message on each of their foreheads. Don’t steal from Vipers.

Wrath shrugs and nods. "Should do."

Gunner, Pinky, and Kidd come up beside me and laugh.

"Go down to Green Room and tell them where they can find their bikes, okay?"

Gunner going there will cause a lot less problems than one of us will. Plus, this whole clusterfuck seems to be a GSC problem, not a Lost Kings one, so I don't want to get any more involved than I already have.

All this adrenaline coursing through me has me jonesing to see Hope. A flick of my wrist tells me it’s only nine-thirty. She’ll still be up.

"Take the money to the club and put it in the safe," I whisper to Teller. As the club treasurer, he'll count it and sort it before storing it in the safe. We'll do our split at church tomorrow night. He gives me a fist-bump, and the four of them take off in the van.

"Where you going, prez?" Wrath asks with a smirk.

My none of your business stare isn’t working tonight. "Hope’s."

"Tell her I said hi."

Yeah, right.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tired from my shopping trip and spa day, the first thing I do when I get home is take a nap. Pathetic, I know, but I’ve done more in the last two days than the last twelve months combined, so I feel entitled.

When I wake up, it’s dark outside. I check my phone, but there are no calls or texts from Rock. My pride is a little stung. I picture him at Crystal Ball with girls like Inga on their knees for him, and my stomach lurches.

This is stupid. We had

one night together. I said goodbye to him less than twelve hours ago. He doesn’t owe me a phone call or anything yet. Besides, I remind myself, he said he had business to take care of. Who knows how late that goes? It’s not like he keeps conventional business hours.

Feeling sweaty after my nap, I pile my hair on top of my head and take a quick shower. After wrapping a towel around myself, I sort through my purchases from this afternoon. I pull out a pair of satin pajama shorts with frilly bows on the sides and a tiny matching cotton T-shirt. Since I feel all sleek and smooth from my spa day, I want to wear something worthy of my new appearance. My feet are cold, but I don’t want to wear anything that will cover up my pretty sky-blue pedicure, so I jack the heat up instead.

Seems practical.

My nap has left me restless. I consider calling Sophie, but she said Jonny was in town, so I don’t want to bother her. I flip through Netflix and decide to start watching a television series that’s been taking up space in my queue for a while now. A little popcorn sounds good, so I tug out my air popper and find a jar of kernels. The second my butt cheeks kiss the couch cushion, I hear the distinctive rumble of a motorcycle. My heart races. It has to be Rock.

Sure enough, a few minutes later there’s a knock at my door. I peek through the window first, then throw the door open. His face makes me stagger back a few steps.

"Oh my God!" I pull him inside and press my fingers against his chin so I can get a look at the bruising decorating the right side of his face. "What happened?"

"Nothing." He takes my hand and squeezes it, then kisses my fingertips. "You always dressed like that when you answer the door in the middle of the night?"

"No, I uh…" His question annoys me as it sinks in. "I checked to make sure it was you before I opened the door," I mutter. "Now, what happened to your face?"

"Work accident."

The corners of my mouth pull down—I hate seeing him hurt.

"I’m not made of glass, baby. Trust me, I’ve endured much worse."

That doesn’t exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. In fact, it kind of terrifies me.

Before I spiral into a full freak-out, he takes hold of my shoulders and really looks me over. "I like what you’re wearing. It’s awfully cute."

I shrug. "I went shopping today."

He kicks the door closed with his boot. "Oh yeah? What else did you do?"

My lips purse into a pout. "I went to the spa."

For the first time, he notices my hair. He sucks in a breath, then blows it out slowly over my forehead, ruffling my newly clipped fringe. "You’ve got your bangs back."

My shoulders jump again, and I smooth the short hairs back into place with my hand. I’m still a little self-conscious about the cut, and the way he’s staring at me isn’t helping.

His hands drop to my waist so he can pull me closer. Automatically, I go up on tiptoes to meet him halfway for a smoldering kiss. His arms wrap around me, pulling me into the protection of his body. The smell of leather and crisp outdoors surrounds him, and I inhale deeply.

The movement of his lips against mine becomes more urgent as he pushes me backwards into the kitchen. I should know the layout of my own damn house, but I’m so lost in his drugging kisses that I bump into the counter. Rock doesn’t miss a beat. He picks me up and plants me on the counter, shoving his way between my knees.

He breaks the kiss and touches his forehead to mine, looking me in the eyes. "Your counters are the perfect height," he whispers. His devilish grin only adds fuel to the fire racing through my belly.

"You’re at the perfect height," I remark as I push against him and slide off the counter. Hunger and curiosity toy with his expression. I need to use my hands on his hips to steady myself as I sink down to my knees. His belt takes a moment to figure out. Rock’s hands slide over mine as he undoes it, then he lets me take over unsnapping the button and pulling down his zipper.

The hard length of him fills my hands. With a light touch, I run my fingers over the satin-soft skin, testing and admiring. Opening my mouth, I flick my tongue over the smooth head, then slide it along the underside as I take him fully inside. Above me, he lets out a low groan, then a hiss as I wiggle my tongue. His hands tangle in my hair, but his touch remains light. I’m slow and deliberate in my exploration. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.

My head swirls with dizzy desire as I pull back to stare at his heavy erection bobbing in front of my nose. Wild hunger spreads from my belly to my clit, but I resist the urge to touch myself. This isn’t about me. Curling my hand around his shaft, I run my fingers up and down the silky smooth skin. I lean in and inhale his scent. Wild, salty, musky man. My tongue darts out, tasting the sensitive skin of the smooth head of his cock again. Above me, Rock lets out a sharp grunt.

Hmm… I can do better than that.

With pleasing him in mind, I lean in and circle the fleshy head of his cock with my tongue. I let my eyes drift shut, and my hand moves up and down his steely hard shaft. With aching slowness, I take him into my mouth. My tongue dances along the underside, earning a hiss of male appreciation from above. His fingers sink into my hair a bit tighter and his hips thrust forward, pushing him more firmly between my lips. A fleeting sense of panic wells up inside me, but I bat it away. I want him so much. Slowly I slide him out until the head of his cock is squeezed between my lips and then I take him deep again. A few more times, and his hips jerk with frantic need. My eyes pop open, and I stare up at him. The fierce, hungry glint in his eyes sends a pinch of heat to my clit.

"Hope," he rasps. "Baby, stop."

I hum in disagreement and hear him suck in a hissing breath. When his eyes drift shut again, I push my hand into the opening of his jeans, cupping his balls.

"Jesus, Hope," he snaps. His hands curl under my arms, lifting me from the floor. I let him go with a soft, wet pop. The cool counter under the backs of my thighs takes a moment to register. Rock's hands cup my face, and he brings his mouth over mine, kissing deeply. The hem of his T-shirt tickles my thighs, and I tug it up, needing his hard, hot flesh against me. His leather vest gets in my way, so I ease it from his shoulders. He removes his hands from my face but keeps his mouth fused to mine, so I can slide the leather off. I fold it and set it neatly on the counter next to me, breaking our kiss for a second. In shock, I stare at what the vest has revealed.

Strapped to his body is a holster stuffed with two guns. My jaw drops, and I jerk my hands into my lap, afraid to touch them. He unsnaps the leather straps and slides them off his body. Very carefully, he bunches it on top of the vest. I’m not sure what to make of that particular accessory. Guns make me nervous. But then his hands are in my hair, his lips on mine, and I get to work divesting him of his T-shirt. He breaks the kiss long enough to take the shirt off, draping it over the guns and vest. If the guns didn’t shock the shit out of me, the bulletproof vest he’s sporting under all that sure does.

"Rock, what—"

"Shhh. Later, baby."

He strips off my shirt next. Immediately, my hands fly to his abdomen, tracing the hard ridges of muscle, trailing over the lines of ink. He is chiseled perfection everywhere. His hands cup my breasts, his thumbs finding and teasing my nipples. The raw desire on his face makes me squirm.

"Rock," I whisper.

His hands drop to my waist, where he tugs at the shorts. After a brief struggle, he tears them off and captures me in another kiss. His hard body pushes between my thighs, his cock lining up—

He groans and reaches over. My eyes pop open, and I watched him fish a small box out of one of the pockets in his vest.

"Someone was hopeful," I tease.

"We've only got three, baby. Let's make 'em count," he replies as he rolls the condom down his shaft.

His hands settle at my thighs as he pulls me to the edge of the counter. Lifting my legs, I wrap them around his hips, opening myself to him. He pushes and nudges, but the angle isn’t quite right. He lets out a frustrated grunt, picking me up

and impaling me fully. I clasp my arms around his neck and fuse my mouth to his. My hips buck wildly in the air, grinding against him.

Rock yanks his mouth away. "Couch?" he asks breathlessly.

I throw my arm in the direction of the living room. "That way."

Still carrying me, jeans slipping down his thighs, he shuffles us into the living room. Lowering us to the couch, he groans as the new angle shifts him deeper inside of me. My hands rest on his wide shoulders for balance.

"That a girl. Ride me like this."

He won’t have to say it twice. Planting my knees in the couch cushions, I rise up and slam back down.

"Ah, fuck," Rock groans in my ear. "Again."

One of his hands clasps my hip, the other zeroes in on my clit.

"Oh, baby, what did you…?"

He’s too far gone to finish the thought, but I know what he meant.

"Waxed. Today."

His arms wrap tight around me. "So smooth. I can't wait to fucking lick you all over."

Just the promise of his tongue sliding all over that newly bared flesh sent a fresh wave of warmth to my pussy. I spread my legs wider, slamming myself down harder. He pumps his hips up meeting me thrust for thrust until we’re both panting.

"Fuck, Hope."

"Uh-huh."

He grabs both my hips and begins pounding up into me. Animalistic sounds of pleasure rise from his throat as he keeps pumping. Our flesh crashes together in a fierce, slick tempo. Every inch of him stimulates me. The tension finally snaps as my first climax breaks over me. Sharp, almost painful waves of orgasm. Rock’s eyes glow with crazed lust, but it only tips me further until I explode again with him.

A painful cramp seizes my leg, and I jerk on top of him. Because I'm crying out from both the pain in my leg and the pleasure of my orgasm, Rock doesn’t realize something is wrong until he opens his eyes.