Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink 1)

"Trying to. Don't have a clue what I'm doing. Trying not to get her killed, but fuckin' don't want to give her up."

"Then don't, Reaper. Hang on to her. The club has your back. I have your back."

Reaper nodded, but inside his gut knotted tighter. Anya deserved so much more than a man like him. If he had any decency in him, he'd get rid of her so fast her head would spin. Instead, he was trying to pull her in deeper. He made his way back down the hall. Under the door, he could see the light was out. He turned the knob, noting she hadn't locked it this time. She was learning.

He hadn't pulled the privacy screen and neither had she. Moonlight spilled through the window. Anya lay on her stomach, the beams hitting her back and the curve of her butt. He sank into the chair just across from the bed and tugged off his boots. His shirt came next, then he peeled off his jeans. Every muscle hurt like hell. He stretched out his legs and leaned back, his gaze on her body. She had a fantastic body.

"Stop staring at my butt."

Her voice was drowsy, a little amused. It washed over him like the breath of sin, a temptation he'd never be able to resist, not even now, when he was so tired he could barely hold his head up. His body didn't want to move, but it still managed to make his cock harder than titanium. He leaned his head back against the wall, his fist closing around his shaft. After so many years of total control, he was beginning to like the fact that his cock went rogue every time it was near her. Or he thought about her. It didn't seem to take much.

"Can't help it. Love your ass. Gives me all sorts of ideas."

She turned her head to the side so she could see him. He was in the shadows, but the moon was spilling enough light into the room that she could probably make out his fist pumping his cock.

"Are you always hard?"

"Apparently around you."

"Hmm. Well, come to bed."

His heart stuttered. Tripped. Raced. Not yet. He didn't dare take that step yet. He had to be careful. He hadn't let her put her hands on him. He'd tested his reaction that first time in the hallway, when she'd tried to shove him. It had been a miracle that he'd been able to let her keep her hands on him without triggering violence. He wasn't going to push it, not yet. One small step at a time.

"Go to sleep. I like sittin' here lookin' at you."

"You're jacking off."

"That I am."

"You're jacking off looking at my butt."

"I am."

She smiled, but didn't lift her head. "Kind of a waste."

"Not from my point of view. Enjoying the moment. When I'm ready, I'm putting my mark all over your back and that pretty little ass. Going to rub it in and let you wear me all day tomorrow. When you're working and I'm sitting there watching the men go crazy, I'll know you're wearing me on your skin."

She shifted just a little, folding both arms under her head. He could see the outline of her breast, the swell of the side. "I just took a bath."

"That's good. You won't need a shower. I'll be there all day. I'm going to write on your back and ass and that will stay there too."

"You're a little kinky."

"You're just figuring that out?"

That made her laugh. It was small but melodious, playing over his skin like the cool touch of fingers. "What will you write on me?"

"I've been thinking on that." Her gaze was on his hand, watching that tight fist slowly pumping up and down. Her eyes on him made it all the hotter. He could feel the burn starting in his balls, a slow buildup this time. "'Reaper's woman' right across that sweet little ass."

"I have no idea why you can make just about anything sound hot, but you manage."

"Spread your legs wide." He waited. Counted his heartbeats through his stroking fist. She complied slowly, and his cock jerked hard and leaked more fluid. He used his thumb to smear it. "Put a pillow under your belly." It took three lazy pumps before she pushed a pillow under her tummy. That lifted her just enough that with her legs spread, he had a good view. She was beautiful. And damp for him. "Slide a hand between your legs and get yourself off. I want to watch you."

His mouth went dry when her butt muscles bunched and her hand slid between her legs. Her fingers curled in, and he heard her gasp. His gaze was riveted between her legs, watching her fingers disappearing, working, sliding in circles around her clit and then disappearing again. His fist tightened, squeezing harder, jerking up and then down faster. She was so sexy. He'd never seen anyone sexier.

His breath left his lungs. Her breathing turned ragged. His hips thrust, adding to the pressure in his balls. Her hips bucked. He couldn't take his gaze from her, his fist tight, pumping until pleasure was bursting behind his eyes, and he knew he was close. So close. He got up slowly, careful not to jar his stiff body. Took the necessary steps to get to the side of the bed, the side her face was turned toward so she could see his every movement and he could see her expression.

Bliss. Pure bliss. That's what she looked like, a woman in the throes of passion. Flushed face, half-closed eyes, lips parted, her breath ragged.

"You close, baby?" He hoped she was. She looked like it. "I'm there."

She nodded, unable to get the words past the waves that were overtaking her. He felt his release like a volcano rising, long ropes of white-hot liquid splashing across the small of her back and over her buttocks. Whips of white, claiming her body. That wasn't good enough for him. He wanted to claim all of her. Not just her body, her heart. Not just her heart. He wanted her fucking soul, because he was damn sure she'd somehow captured his in that long month of watching her.

"Stay still," he ordered and reached for her hand. The one that had been inside her. He pulled it to his mouth, deliberately sucking on her fingers, one by one. Taking what belonged to him. Her taste was addicting. He loved that she just lay exactly as he'd asked, watching him, her eyes dark as he licked at her fingers.

With his palm, he spread those white ropes all over her buttocks and back, caressing her skin, rubbing it in as if it was lotion. Then, with one finger, he wrote what he wanted tattooed on her back. Reaper's woman. "Someday, I'm going to have Ink tattoo my fingerprints like bracelets around your wrists and this on your back where I can see it when I fuck you."

Her lashes fluttered. "You think you'll be doing a lot of that?"

He liked the tinge of amusement in her voice. He always listened for that note when she was bartending. She was brightness in a world that could be bleak and ugly. He always saw a light around her, spilling out from inside her.

"I know we'll be doing a lot of that." He rubbed his finger along her lips until she opened up and sucked deep. Her tongue slid along his finger, and his spent cock jerked again. Fuck, the woman would kill him eventually with her tempting ways.

She smiled around his fingers, those long lashes veiling her expression. "I'd say something about the condition of your body, all those bruises you have, but you wouldn't tell me how you got them even if I did."

"Told you. I got in a fight."

"There's more to it than that."

If her tone had been anything but mild, casual even, he would have abruptly walked out. He'd told her as much as he was going to and that ended the conversation, but he could tell she wasn't really pushing.

He slid his finger from her mouth, trailed it down her chin to her shoulder and then slid it under her arm so he could trace the side of that soft mound exposed by the way she was lying on the bed. "You're going to sleep just like this, aren't you? Let me soak into your skin so you're wearing me all day."

"You really meant it, didn't you?"

The smile was in her voice again. That did something to his insides. Turned him to mush, and he didn't like the sensation. She was crawling inside him too deep. Places he didn't want her to go. Places where she might see things better left alone.

"Yeah, I meant it." He realized he had meant it. Just like he meant the tattoos, just as he meant to keep her. The thought brought him up short. Abruptly he turned away from her and caught up h

is clothes. Just the act of bending over to pick up his jeans and shirt, to collect his carefully folded cut, hurt his body. He needed another long soak in the tub. He yanked the door open and turned back to her, picking up his boots.

"Aren't you coming to bed?"

He ignored her question. He thought it was rather obvious he wasn't. He wanted nothing more than to lie next to her all night. Holding her. Watching her sleep. But he wasn't taking chances with her life. He was already a selfish bastard just for what he was doing. "You going to give me what I want?" He knew the question was far more than asking her if she was going to let his seed remain on her. Or the tattoos or the writing. He wanted to know if she could handle him the way he was. If she would even try.

She eyed him as he stood there, holding his clothes in one hand, his boots in the other, but she didn't lift her head or turn over. She didn't get up and storm into the bathroom to remove every trace of him.

He found himself holding his breath. He didn't have much to give her. He didn't know how long he had or what mistakes he'd make--and there would be a million of them. He had to find ways to know what they could and couldn't do together. He was asking for a miracle and giving her very little in return. Still, he wanted that miracle. He needed it. He stood in the doorway, naked, uncaring if the world saw him that way. Knowing he was naked and vulnerable in other ways, stripped down where only she could see with her sparkling, jeweled eyes.

"What are we doing here, Reaper?" The question was a whisper.

His heart clenched. "Told you I say when we're done, not you. We're not done. We stay together until then."

He saw her pull in a breath. He knew she didn't like that, but he didn't have much more to give her. Empty promises? He was a fucking killer and she was an innocent caught in his trap. He wasn't going to lie to her if he could help it.

Her tongue touched her lip. "Another woman ends it, Reaper. I walk."

He couldn't imagine, after all this time, that suddenly other women would become attractive to him. "I'll ask it again. You going to give me what I want?"

Those green eyes moved over his face moodily. Brooding. She must have seen something she liked because she gave him a little half smile that turned him inside out. "We'll see, won't we?" Her lashes drifted down. "Good night, Reaper. Soak in Epsom salt, and really hot water. It will do you a world of good. Wherever you go to sleep, it had better be alone."

He stood there in the open doorway until her breathing turned slow and even. Only then did he turn and head for the bathroom and a long soak in the tub.

EIGHT

Reaper sat in the back of the bar, legs sprawled out in front of him, the neck of a beer bottle between his fingers. Absently, he rolled it back and forth. He'd been busy all day and hadn't checked in with Anya deliberately. She was already ruling his thoughts. His mind. His body. He couldn't have her knowing that shit. She hadn't texted or called. He knew because he looked at his phone a thousand times, so much so that the others were giving him hell and calling him pussy whipped. He was. He didn't want them to know--or her.

He'd spent a good part of the day getting a couple of chairs and kitchen shit for the house. Ice and Storm helped him, but he was certain Czar sent them to ensure he didn't do anything else out of line, like drive off cliffs or fight a dozen men. He was paying for that little indiscretion with a sore, stiff body.

Anya was driving him crazy. She smiled at him a few times, flashing that bright, jerk-a-man-to-his-knees smile that had his cock reacting, but she didn't give him more than that. He was beginning to think he was an idiot. He should have walked in, pulled her over the bar and kissed her right there in front of everyone, so any badass biker walking through the door would know just who that woman belonged to. He might still do it if the place got any more crowded.

"You're looking good tonight, Reaper," Betina greeted, coming to stand directly in his way, blocking his view of the bar. "I'm on a break in five. We could go outside."

He raised his gaze to her face. "Do I look like I want to go outside?"

"It's dark enough in here. I could take care of that for you." She indicated under the table.

His body froze and that demon inside him stirred. Darkness welled up. Threatened to swallow him. He raised one finger and moved it sideways, indicated for her to move over. Something in his face must have tipped her off that she was in danger, because she took one step to the side, and then he could see Anya. His light. She shone there. Bannister, the older biker, said something to her and she threw back her head and laughed. The sound was like a melody playing through his mind, the musical notes streaking through the black rage, the need to kill.

Anya looked up suddenly, met his eyes and sent him her little half smile. That enigmatic one that told him nothing and everything. His muscles relaxed one by one. He breathed the need for vengeance, for self-preservation away.

He knew his cock had to look like a monster. It felt that way. Anya did that to him without trying, and watching her half the night, wondering if she wore him on her skin, was driving him out of his mind. That little half smile didn't give a thing away, but it looked as if she had a secret. A smug little secret. That kept his cock at attention.

"Don't want your help, Betina." He was blunt, but blunt might actually get her to listen. Nothing else he'd done had. She wanted to brag she'd had him. She wanted to go through them all. Even Czar was on her list. She had been all over their president until he'd told her she'd be gone if she didn't leave him alone.

Betina paled, her eyes showing fear. Reaper knew he'd given off that vibe the others had warned him about. He couldn't help it. Sometimes the devil escaped, and then no one was safe. He reined his control back and brought the beer to his lips, took a pull, his eyes never leaving Anya's before he set it back on the table.

Anya popped the cap off another beer and came around the bar, threading her way to him. He didn't like her out in the open on the floor. More than one biker thought he could put his hands on her. She slipped through them with practiced ease, leaned down to set the bottle in front of him and put her lips to his ear. "You need me to kick Betina's ass for you? I can protect you if you need it, honey."

Her lips, petal soft, brushed against his earlobe. That soft little laugh accompanied her question, but he knew she meant it. She'd make Betina want to quit. He caught the front of her tank in his fist and pulled her close. His hand threaded through her hair and he took her mouth. He loved her mouth. The instant his tongue slid into that hot haven, fire erupted and they both ignited. He nearly pulled her down onto the table, but he managed to stay enough in control to just hold her still while he kissed her over and over.

When he allowed her to lift her head, she smiled at him. "I think that should just about do it, honey," she whispered. "I'm pretty certain everyone got your message loud and clear."

"You do it for me? You wearing me all over my property?" His hand slid down her back to cup her bottom. His thumb caressed her, brushing back and forth over the words that declared her his.

She lifted a shoulder. "Maybe."

She left him, walking back through the crowd of customers, head up, regal, like a queen. He adjusted his cock, uncaring how many witnesses there were to what she did to him. He really couldn't drink two beers tonight. He might have to ride. Steele and the others were on their way back and they'd be meeting as soon as they arrived.

Hammer's wife only had so much time, and God knew what those men were doing to her. The "ghosts" Reaper had killed had been sick fucks. He didn't like thinking about any woman in their hands too long, let alone one who had been sick with cancer. He pushed the beer across the table even though his woman had brought it to him.

His woman. He liked thinking of her like that. He liked that Anya was his. He was even beginning to like that his body responded to her of its own accord. Either that or he was getting used to being in a constant state of arousal. He pulled his gaze from her and took stock of the room.

The bar was as packed a

s it was on weekends, because a small motorcycle club had come into Sea Haven, headed up to the redwoods, and quite a few other small clubs joined them. They stopped to check out the bar and liked what they saw. Maestro jammed sometimes on Thursday, and played shows on Friday and Saturday when the urge hit him. Although it was rarely scheduled, quite a few of his local followers liked to come in on Thursday to catch him playing.

Reaper took in each person, man or woman, in the bar. He always did when he was there. He sized up each individual and appraised the threat level to Czar, and now Anya as well. Aside from the obvious bikers, there were three strangers sitting at the corner table opposite him that didn't seem to belong. They kept to themselves and stayed quiet, drank very little, just enough to keep Betina going back to flirt with them. They weren't quite in the shadows as he was, but they'd chosen their table carefully.

He kept watch on them. They didn't seem to look at anyone too long. They mostly put their heads together and talked in low voices, but he noticed they were very flirtatious with Betina, and very generous with their tips. One slipped his hand around her thigh and rubbed. She leaned into him like a cat, putting a hand on his shoulder and allowing him to move his hand a little higher. Twice she glanced back at Reaper, as if to see whether or not he was watching--or to talk about him.

He kept his legs sprawled lazily in front of him and his eyes hooded so they couldn't get a lock on whether or not he was watching them. Betina knew better than to talk about the club. She was a lot of things and she liked playing games, but she wasn't into betrayal, not at any price. Not that he could see.

He glanced up at the camera and then tapped on the table. Three, two, three. He did it twice, as if he was tapping to Maestro's music. He didn't like puzzles, and those men were a puzzle. Code had equipment and access to databases most government agencies would kill for. He was that good. They'd have the identities fast.

He eased his hips forward to keep pressure off his rib cage. He'd been an idiot to fight when they were trying to get Hammer's wife back. He needed his body in good shape. It wasn't. The fists had torn open the laceration in his side. He hadn't bothered trying to neatly put the edges back together, he'd just bandaged the wound. He was a fast healer and he had that going for him, that and his body knew how to take punishment. He'd been taking fists, bats, whips and knives since he was a boy. That didn't mean he wasn't sore and he shouldn't have indulged his need to inflict pain as well as take it.