Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink 1)

"Both." Now they were getting into territory Reaper didn't want to discuss. Pierce was Diamondback. Their club was the top club and all the smaller clubs in their territory--and it was very large--deferred to them. Torpedo Ink had been careful to fly under their radar. Men like Plank and Pierce were smart. They saw things. They sized up anyone who might be a potential threat to their club. It would be impossible for a man like Pierce not to see that every member of Torpedo Ink was deadly. Knowing they were trained assassins probably didn't sit well with the enforcer. His president had gone into the bar with complete confidence that they had the upper hand, when in fact, they were surrounded by men already planning out how to kill them.

"Alena and Lana train there as well?"

Reaper turned his gaze fully to Pierce's. Let him see what was coming at him if the man went after either woman. "Yes." He kept his tone terse. Ice dripped. He wasn't alone. The other men in the van turned toward Pierce, and, Diamondback or not, the threat was very real.

Pierce was a man who would recognize the threat, but he didn't react. He didn't look uncomfortable, he just nodded. "They were . . . extraordinary. At the bar. In the nightclub. I would have liked to have seen them in action in the casino. No one would ever suspect them."

Reaper was impressed in spite of himself. Few men outside his circle impressed him. Czar's brothers--but they'd gone to different training schools in Russia, suffered at the hands of sadistic instructors--and strangely, Jonas Harrington, the local sheriff, and his deputy, Jackson Deveau. Those men had earned his respect. Pierce joined that elite realm. Because he was beginning to like the man, he warned him off.

"She's beautiful, but she's also a fully patched member. We have two women in our club for a reason, Pierce. Blythe and Anya are under our protection, but that means under Alena and Lana's protection as well. She'll never switch to another club. Never. She's got our colors on her back, the same as all of us. She's sworn to protect every member and she would never break that vow. Don't go there."

Pierce flashed a grin. Reaper noted it didn't light those deadly eyes. He shook his head. He'd given the warning. If Pierce chose to ignore it, that was on him. Alena was Torpedo Ink. Pierce was Diamondback. There was no mixing those two. Even if she dated him, she would wear her colors with pride, and sooner or later another Diamondback would get ugly. She'd kill him, and the war would start.

The ride home was mostly silent. Sylvia slept and Steele stayed close to her, washing each of the lacerations on her arms and chest and then along her legs and torso. A few he closed with butterfly stitches. A few he glued. He was gentle as only Steele could be. Reaper watched the care on his face. He was very impersonal with the way his hands cared for her, yet the personal was on his face, the flashes of anger as he moved to her lower body.

"Was she . . ." Pierce wanted it confirmed, but Sylvia was a friend and he couldn't say it aloud.

"Yes, she was raped. She has tearing." Steele swore softly, his hands still closing cuts. "She needs antibiotics. I can prescribe them. And Plan B, the morning-after pill. She's a fighter. Her hands are bruised, knuckles torn. She has bruises all over her. They worked her over pretty good. You have good doctors in your club?"

Pierce stared out the window. "Some. Not close, but we can send for them. Plank may ask you to help out until we can get someone from one of the other chapters."

Steele nodded. "I can do that. I've had a lot of experience with this . . ." He broke off and shook his head.

Reaper felt for the man. He'd been the one to care for all of the girls when they'd come back broken and bloody to their disgusting, germ-ridden dungeon. Too many. Too many times. Over and over. Helping Sylvia had to bring back those nightmare days.

Pierce glanced at Steele and then his gaze jumped sharply to Reaper's face. Reaper gave him stone. What they'd all suffered was private. Alena and Lana had a past that belonged only to them, not to anyone else. If they chose to share it, as he'd shared his with Anya, that was their prerogative. He wasn't about to confirm or deny what Pierce was thinking.

It moved through Reaper's mind that someday he might have to kill this man. It was the reason he never got close to anyone. There was always that possibility. He didn't let himself like Pierce, but he wanted to. The man was solid. He was the kind of man Reaper hoped Alena and Lana would find someday. But not a Diamondback. Neither woman would ever fit into a club where the women had no say, no vote, and came second. Not only would Alena hate that and refuse it, her brothers--Reaper included--would never allow it. They'd fought too hard to keep Alena and Lana alive and give them freedom. Two women out of so many.

His eyes met Steele's over Sylvia's head. They'd seen this hundreds of times. They had experienced it. The pain. The humiliation. The guilt. The horror. Life went on, but the victim wasn't the same. They would never be the same. They didn't know Plank. They didn't know if Sylvia's husband was a good man, one that would take his time and allow his woman to process in her own way. They had no idea if he would allow her to work things out slowly, to come back to her life and grieve and be angry. To go through the gamut of emotions not once, but over and over.

"You have someone she can talk to?" Steele asked. "She'll need someone."

Pierce's expression shut down. "We don't go outside the club."

It wasn't exactly what Steele asked, but it still said a lot. The men looked at one another and then out the window, memories far too close.

Plank waited at a house on the outskirts of Ukiah, a town an hour and a half from the coast. The president of the Diamondbacks had an army with him. The van had to go through two checkpoints before they made it to the drive in front of the house. It said something about Plank that he ignored the men guarding him and leapt forward even before the engine had shut off to jerk open the double doors of the van. When he saw his wife, he turned away, a loud groan escaping before he swore violently.

Pierce jumped out first. "We got her back. The ones who did this are dead, but they have an operation going, Plank. A big one."

Plank turned back to his wife, hearing nothing, seeing nothing but her bruised, swollen face. He reached for her. Steele gathered her up and gently placed her in her husband's arms. Pierce covered her with his suit jacket once again.

"I'll want a report," Plank snapped, his voice thick with emotion. "Who was taking care of her?"

Steele jumped out of the van and stretched. "I'm a doctor. That would be me."

"Come inside with me. And Czar as well."

Reaper stepped out of the van. "Czar's inside, so am I." He said it to Pierce. It occurred to him that the Diamondbacks' president might not want others to know his wife had been raped. What better way than to wipe out the Torpedo Ink club. They were small in numbers, and right now, the Diamondbacks had the vehicles surrounded. The vehicles were armed with all sorts of weapons, but the Diamondbacks had no idea of that.

Pierce glanced back at him, gave him a curt nod and then followed his president into the house. Reaper watched Lana and Alena take up their positions. They were still dressed in their slinky, formfitting, low-cut dresses and both made a show of moving around their little car, bending to look in the mirror, checking makeup and generally keeping all eyes on them.

Pierce came back out of the house as Czar and Reaper approached, but his gaze was on the two women. He shook his head. "I see they know exactly what they're doing."

Reaper didn't react. As far as he was concerned, Pierce was on his own figuring out what Czar's crew was doing while Plank's men were watching the Alena and Lana show. He flanked Czar, Savage moving into step beside him. His brother had come out of nowhere. Pierce's sharp gaze jumped to his face then to Reaper's. Neither man looked at him. They weren't going to explain where Savage came from, not when he had to have ridden in one of the three vehicles to Marin and back.

Pierce shook his head again. He knew now just what kind of men and women Torpedo Ink was composed of. They'd wanted to keep that secret, especially from other clubs, but they

'd blown it when they'd decided to help Plank get his wife back. Now, it was up to Pierce whether or not he decided to share that information and start a war, or just tuck it away for future use, if he ever needed it. Either way, Reaper didn't like that he knew.

Plank carried his wife straight to the bedroom, glancing over his shoulder at Steele. "In here," he said unnecessarily. "Why won't she wake up?"

"I gave her a mild sedative. She was in a van surrounded by men she didn't know, no clothes, and I had to work on her. I didn't want her more uncomfortable than she needed to be. She'll wake up soon. She's been showing signs of coming around for the last few minutes. If you talk to her, that will help. She'll need to take a couple of pain pills in the next twenty minutes. I want to keep her as comfortable as possible."

"Before she wakes up," Plank said, staring down into his wife's bruised and swollen face, "I want you to tell me everything that happened to her. Don't leave out one detail."

Steele told him everything he knew about the multiple attacks on Plank's wife. "They had to have intended to kill her, because they would know if they gave her back in this condition, you'd retaliate."

"I would have retaliated anyway," Plank said. "We're already preparing to take down their club and the casino."

Steele shrugged. "I don't care what you do, but I do care that your wife recovers. To do that, she needs her man."

"I get what you're saying." Plank walked him out of the bedroom and pushed open the door next to the room. "You can stay in here." He wasn't asking.

Steele stood for a moment then looked past him to Czar. Czar nodded slowly. Steele shrugged. "I'll need my equipment." He walked around Plank, heading for the door. Two Diamondbacks stepped in front of him, preventing him from leaving.

Pierce shook his head, went straight to his president and lowered his voice so no one else could hear him. Reaper was on the side of Czar closest and he shifted, gliding silently so he could get into position to hear what the enforcer said to his president.

"Plank, this club risked their lives for Sylvia and you. They pulled the rescue off like clockwork. Precise. It was a thing of beauty. Not once have they shown disrespect toward us, but every time they turn around they're met with suspicion and hostility. You've got to tell the boys to stand down."

Plank shook his head. "It's Sylvia."

"I was there when Reaper shot the bastards. He killed both of them before they could even register we were there. There was no risk to Sylvia, and the moment they got her out of there to safety, Steele began working on her. She was treated with respect at all times. I didn't have to make sure of it, or remind them who she was. They just did it."

Plank nodded his head and waved the guards from the door. "I wanted to kill those fuckers myself, Pierce. Sitting here, waiting for word on my wife while another club rescued her, made me feel like a pussy. I should have taken the boys and stormed that place."

"They would have killed her before you got to her. The place was a fortress. Security that tight. It had to be a small force going in undetected to get her back. It was the only way, and you did the right thing. Torpedo Ink is affiliated with us. They came to us and asked to be in our territory. We agreed. They might be small, but they have their uses. Seriously, Plank, I watched them work. They were like a machine. If you want my advice, I would tell you to form closer ties with them. They definitely have their uses."

Plank regarded him for a long moment and then nodded. "We'll do it right, put it to the members and bring them in closer."

Pierce nodded. Reaper thought the enforcer was a crafty, seriously intelligent son of a bitch that he was going to have to watch night and day because the man was up to something. He hoped he didn't have to kill Pierce, but there was a glimmer of dread forming in his gut that told him that possibility was growing. He glanced at his brother. Savage was looking at Pierce and thinking the same thing, Reaper could tell by the ice in his eyes.

TWENTY-ONE

The Demons arrived late evening. Czar had invited them for a meeting and a party after. Reaper knew they needed allies. The Diamondbacks had made vague overtures after Steele had returned, but Czar was reluctant to be too close to them. In the end, that club tended to swallow the smaller clubs. None of them could give up the freedom they'd finally found after years of being "owned."

Hammer brought a small contingency of twenty with him plus three prospects. Torpedo Ink had enough room to host the bikers and the women they brought along with them. Hammer's wife didn't come. He claimed she was still recovering, but Reaper was certain she didn't want to see the men who had rescued her quite yet. He didn't blame her.

Reaper and Savage stayed close to Czar at all times. The meeting went well, with the two presidents, vice presidents and their top people hammering out details of what they were willing to do and the cut each side would have. Czar insisted that anything running through their territory had to be reported to the Diamondbacks and a deal struck before it went through. Hammer agreed to allow Czar to do the negotiations, but he wanted to be there.

The party was already under way by the time they adjourned. Drinks flowed freely, along with food from the barbecue that had been going most of the day, slow roasting a quarter of a beef and enough chicken to feed an army. A couple of hours later, the fire pits were lit and the music was cranked up.

The Demons weren't any shyer about snagging a woman and letting her have her way with them. Tops were coming off and women were dancing on tables by the time Reaper could leave to go get Anya. He'd wanted her there for the barbecue, before things got crazy, but he couldn't keep his eyes on her while the meeting was taking place and he didn't trust the Demons that much--not with his woman.

The party had completely taken off by the time they arrived, and Reaper snagged a blanket, bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses. He took Anya outside where the fire pits were lit and the music was loud. They talked to several of his brothers as they passed them, but the men were already occupied with the women who had come to the party to try to snag one of the club members. Snag them or have wild sex, it didn't matter, they wanted to have fun.

He claimed a spot out of the light, spread the blanket, and set the whiskey and glasses down so he could dance with his woman because she liked that. After a while, he wasn't going to be able to do that with her body sliding against his so seductively. She knew how to move. She wore a low-cut camisole with no bra, because he'd asked her to, and her breasts pushed against the stretch lace, demanding to be freed. Her jeans hugged her body and when his hands slid over the curves of her ass, she didn't reprimand him, just moved in closer, pressing against his fully aroused cock.

Reaper took her back to the darkest corner of the large fenced-in area where one of the three fire pits burned. They sat together on the blanket, back to the fence, her between his legs, the whiskey burning pleasantly down his throat as music pounded around them, adding to the frantic beat of his heart. Women danced, pulling their clothes off as time went on, and the alcohol kept flowing. Some of them crawled over to one of his brothers' laps and went to work.

Reaper caught Anya's chin and turned her face around to his, settling his mouth there because he needed it. He kept kissing her because Anya's kisses were like the whiskey, fire in his belly, in his veins. In his groin. He let it happen, that slow burn that built and built until he was so hard he thought he might cut right through the material of his jeans. His hands dropped to his lap, and he unzipped his pants, allowing his thick cock freedom.

"Your glass," he whispered in her ear, pushing aside the stray strands curling around her face. She didn't argue, just lifted her glass. He knew her eyes were on the women kissing another brother, taking turns, their hands all over him. He remembered worrying that she wished she could just touch him whenever or wherever she wanted. Now, they experimented every night. They both looked forward to the massages, and he especially looked forward to her hands on him, and sometimes, when it worked, her mouth.

He poured the whiskey

into her glass and then set the bottle aside. She rested her back against his chest as his hands went to the front of her camisole, finding the laces. She lifted the glass to her mouth, tasting the drink, letting the whiskey slide down her throat. He opened the laces, allowing her breasts to spring free. He loved her breasts. The soft weight of them. The firmness. The way they were high and jutted out just perfectly. Her nipples.

"Someone will see." She put her hand up to cover them.

He pushed her hand down. "We're in the dark, away from the fire. And who gives a fuck? They won't bother us. They're occupied with whatever they've got going on." He was already tugging at her nipples, pinching and rolling. Giving her that little bite that always made her squirm. The tension went out of her and she eased her body back, arching just a little to give him more. He liked to play and he did, squeezing, kneading, stroking. All the while his mouth was on her neck, kissing, sucking, teeth scraping and then biting. Her earlobe. That sweet spot where her neck met her shoulder. She squirmed.

"You getting wet for me?" he asked, his lips against her ear.

"Yes. Always."

Her voice was breathless, and he recognized that need. She was close to where he wanted her. The place he loved to get her, where nothing mattered to her but him. But his body. His mouth. His hands. What he could do to her.

"Did you do what I asked? No panties?"

"Yes."

"Unzip your jeans." He whispered the command into her ear, his hands working her breasts, his mouth on her neck. He was harder than ever.

She put down the drink, and he noted her hands were shaking as she slowly pulled down the zipper. He turned her face toward him again and kissed her. Over and over. Deeper. Harder. Rewarding her. Claiming her. Happy as fuck that she was his and she loved his body as much as he loved hers.

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. "Slide them down over your hips, baby."

She glanced out toward the fire. The bodies swaying in the darkness. Dancing. Kissing. Fucking. Some women on their knees. Others drinking and laughing.