Her Secret Pleasure (Death Lords MC 2)

I lean my ass against the sink and fold my arms across my chest. I’m not the first thing that Schmidthead will see when the door opens but I’m not hiding either.

Chapter Four

Pippa

Later, after I kick all the testosterone out of the house, I’m going to give myself a stern talking-to. No more men and no more men wearing leather cuts with patches on them. Let’s rule out men wearing leather in general. And no badges. Those are out. I’m going to concentrate on using my vibe collection to its fullest extent. Maybe I’ll even order a new one as a prize for my self-imposed no-man rule.

The weight of Judge’s gaze prickles the back of my neck. I want to shove him in the closet and beg him to hide until Chief Schmidt leaves but I know better than to even try. “No bark,” I say to Morgen and he pipes down immediately. I can’t resist throwing a ‘see, look at how obedient my dog is’ look to Judge. He only grins.

Throwing open the door, I startle Chief Schmidt who is in the process of knocking again. “Can I help you?”

“I was about to call in a 419.” Schmidt glares.

“419?” I ask.

Behind him, a deep voice interjects, “Dead body.” The newcomer subtly nudges Schmidt to the side by raising his hands holding two brown paper sacks. The smell of cooked beef and fried potatoes draws a rumble from my tummy.

“Sorry,” I say. I step out onto the small wooden porch to make way for the man. It’s either that or risk being mowed down. He’s on a mission to…deliver food? He’s not a Death Lord. There’s no leather cut but he’s wearing a Death Lords’ uniform of jeans, a tight-fitting T-shirt and shitkickers that have laces wound a couple times around the tops of the boots.

He gives me a small chin nod and disappears inside. A moment later the door opens and Morgen trots outside. He growls low in his throat and bares his teeth menacingly. Judge is right. Morgen is a sweetheart but he puts on a good show. Schmidt takes a step back.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“You don’t know?” At my negative shake, he jerks his chin inward. “That’s Abel Drake, 27 years of age. Deployed for four tours with the Marines. Comes here to join the fucking Death Lords. What a waste.”

That explained the lack of a cut. Prospects are the men who want to join the MC. Usually they do shit jobs like delivering food out to the country so that the club president doesn’t have to inconvenience himself.

“What are you doing here? You made yourself perfectly clear earlier in town tonight how you felt about me.”

“Yeah, about that. I got to admit that I was caught off guard. The Death Lords are a menace in this county and not enough people take them seriously. Hank Harrison’s son killed a man and if I hadn’t been in charge of the investigation he would have gotten off on a self-defense.”

“Which you think would have been wrong.”

“Damn straight.” He stretches his neck to the side, peering around me. Fortunately the blinds are drawn but there is the low murmur of voices, clearly male, having some kind of conversation inside.

“I appreciate you coming out here to tell me this but Judge is no danger to me.”

Schmidt snorts and places his hand on his belt. “You’re already using their gang names, huh?”

“Road names,” I correct gently. I’m not afraid of the MC culture. As a group they represent no greater danger to a woman than any other set of men, particularly the ones that wear uniforms. I had a girlfriend in college who’d been felt up inappropriately during a traffic stop and another who’d been roofied and date raped at a fraternity. Simply because Judge and my dad wore leather and rode a motorcycle and went several days between shaves didn’t mean that they were dangerous.

Some clubs were bad and some were decent. It all depended on who was in charge. I had a feeling Judge ran a pretty tight ship when it came to treating women right. For all his bossiness, he didn’t argue when I wanted to drive my own car, had made sure I came first, and had given me the opportunity to say no in the bedroom. A guy who does those things respects women, a least a little bit.

Unlike Schmidt who can’t even stand to be corrected by a woman, even on this tiny little thing. His eyes narrow and his lips get so thin they almost disappear. What had I been thinking when I agreed to go on a date with him? Clearly the badge and position had blinded me. Kissing his nearly lipless face would have been like exchanging a wet one with an eel or whatever animal doesn’t have lips.

“Something else you should know.” He pulls a sheaf of papers out of his back pocket and holds them out. “Your contract requires you to live in town for the first year. This here is unincorporated territory. Out of town. You’ll need to move before the council meeting or we’ll have to find a replacement.”

He slaps the papers in my hands. “I don’t understand,” I say.

Before he can answer, Judge comes out. He’s put on his cut and his jeans are zipped but he’s shirtless and bare footed. It’s not hard to guess what we were doing before Schmidt arrived.

“Your food’s getting cold, baby,” Judge says softly. He curls his hand around my neck, marking his territory. It should make me mad but instead, I’m turned on and kind of relieved.

Schmidt’s face takes on a veneer of angry disgust. “How many of them are you going to fuck tonight? Or is she the initiation prize? Patch in and pound the pussy of a new sweet butt.”

“You’re an idiot,” I say and turn on my heel and walk inside the trailer. Morgen follows me inside, sensing my distress.

Inside Abel stands at loose attention. His military bearing is still instinctive. I hold my nerve until I reach the kitchen where I collapse into a chair. Hands trembling, I cover my face. It’s stupid to be shaken up by the insults of a dickhole but what woman enjoys getting called a slut and whore?

“Have a shot. It’ll make the burger go down better.” He splashes some amber-colored liquid into one of my juice glasses and pushes it across the table. What the hell, I think. With a shrug, I knock it back and revel in the burn. Morgen lays his sweet head on my leg. I run my hand over his warm fur and take a few deep breaths.

Outside, I hear Judge order Schmidt to leave. “As you pointed out, this isn’t part of Fortune so you’ve got no jurisdiction here.”

“You better watch yourself,” Schmidt threatens. “Make a wrong step and I’m going to put you and any one of your members behind bars.”

“My suggestion is to stop using so much of the product you help traffic. It’s making you too goddamned paranoid,” Judge drawls.

I try to shut it out. “I’m Pippa Lang, the new Fortune librarian.” I give Abel a tentative smile.

“Not much of a reader,” he admits.

“That’s okay. I read enough for half the county,” I say. “Thanks for the food.”

“No problem.”

He is not a sparkling conversationalist. “Chief Schmidt said you were in the Marines.”

“Did he?”

“Yep. Not much more to say?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. You staying for dinner?”

“No, ma’am.”

I shake my head. “Where are you from?”

“South, ma’am. Tennessee.”

“You have family there?”

“No, ma’am.”

He’s so stiff I want to say ‘at ease, soldier’ but there’s something almost comical in the brevity of his answers. Parrying with him helps to chase away the bitter taste of Schmidt’s slurs and by the time Judge steps in, I’m actually wearing a little smile.

“You need me to stick around?” Abel pushes away from the counter he’s been leaning against.

“Nah, I got it covered.” Judge leans over me and tips my face up to his. In front of Abel, he plants a hard kiss on my mouth.

Self-consciously, I lick my lips when he draws back. “What’s that for?”