Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink 1)

"Nope. Get on the bike."

She sighed and climbed behind him. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that both Lana and Alena had come to the door of the clubhouse. Behind them crowded several of the members. All watching. All staring. She shivered and involuntarily pressed closer to Reaper. He did what he always seemed to do--reached around and caught her hands, pulled her arms around him and pressed her hands to his waist. She ignored those watching and snuggled close, wiggling until she was right next to Reaper, so she could feel every inch of him. The bike roared to life and then they were riding with the wind. She freakin' loved being on his motorcycle with him.

Once on Highway 1, they headed south toward Sea Haven. The wind tore at her face and hair. She had shoved most of the thick mass into the helmet. It wasn't long before he turned off the main highway to a road leading east. She suddenly had a bad feeling. She thought he was taking her to a restaurant, but as far as she knew, this was private property.

He rode between two gates and continued along a narrow lane that led through the property. A house loomed up. He drove right to it and stopped. She stayed right where she was. He killed the motor, and she still didn't move.

"Where are we?" She couldn't keep the suspicion out of her voice.

Before he could answer, a little girl burst out the door. She was no more than five or six. "Uncle Reaper! I didn't know you were coming." She ran right down the steps, hopped around the motorcycle like a bunny and then seemed to notice Anya. The hopping stopped and curiosity crept onto her delicate features. "Who are you?" The child had the reddest hair she'd ever seen. Freckles spread across her nose, just a dusting, but Anya found it adorable.

"Emily, this is my friend Anya. I want you to be very nice to her and show her around. She's been having a little bit of a tough time lately. Can I count on you?"

Anya's mouth dropped open. His entire demeanor changed when he spoke to the child. His harsh features softened. He didn't smile, but his mouth didn't seem so hard. His voice was gentle. Sweet even.

Emily studied Anya's face for a long time even while she nodded solemnly. "She's really pretty."

"Great skin," Reaper conceded.

Anya's mouth refused to close. She was a little afraid bugs would fly into it. He shocked her. She didn't think Reaper could be so easy or soft. She couldn't believe he was talking about her skin. Great? He thought she had great skin? He held out his arm to steady her as she climbed off. She felt strange curling her fingers around his biceps to swing off the bike. When she looked up, a woman stood on the porch with Czar, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

"Reaper. Anya." Czar smirked at his friend.

Reaper flipped him off. "Lookin' for breakfast or early lunch, Blythe. Are we too late?"

Blythe flashed him a bright smile, her gaze sliding to Anya. "You're never too late for food around here, Reaper, you know that. Come on in."

Emily reached up and took Anya's hand a little shyly. That sprinkling of freckles across her nose endeared her even more to Anya, as did the gesture.

"Blythe's a good cook," Emily confided in a loud whisper. "Everyone likes to eat here. Specially Ice and Storm. They never stop eating."

Czar laughed. Blythe joined him. Anya couldn't help but notice Reaper still hadn't cracked a smile.

"Should we expect everyone this afternoon?" Blythe asked Reaper.

He shrugged. "Probably. They're all being asses. Even Alena and Lana. I thought I could count on them." He stepped back to allow Emily to escort Anya up the steps.

Blythe shot Anya a quick, sympathetic glance. It made Anya breathe a little easier. Czar's wife seemed normal. The house was beautiful, with wide-open spaces. She noticed that Reaper hesitated at the door before he stepped inside. She didn't know why that tugged at her heartstrings, but it did.

"Unusual circumstances, Reaper," Czar said. "They'll figure it out."

Anya had no idea what they were talking about. Half the time, the club members seemed to talk in code.

"Maybe you'd better fire up the barbecue, honey," Blythe suggested to Czar. "We can do something simple like hamburgers and veggie burgers. It will be easier to feed a large group."

"Large group?" Anya echoed faintly.

Reaper glanced over his shoulder at her. "Emily is right there. She'll show you around and keep anyone from saying anything mean."

"Was someone mean?" Blythe asked, sending an anxious glance toward Czar.

Instantly he wrapped his arm around her and kissed her. It wasn't a little peck on the cheek by any means. It was a full-on kiss to end all kisses. Anya had to look away. It wasn't hard to see that the president of Torpedo Ink was madly in love with the woman who wore his ring on her finger.

"I really shouldn't stay," Anya said, deciding if she didn't speak up for herself, she was going to be entangled deeper and deeper in a world she didn't understand, didn't want--that didn't want her in it.

Reaper stopped in his tracks. He turned, his motorcycle boots surprisingly noiseless as he stalked across the room straight to her. Both hands went to her waist. He didn't break stride, but kept walking, taking her to the wall so she was trapped there, his body holding her prisoner. She looked around him, expecting Blythe to say something, but Czar had already swept Emily and his wife into the next room, leaving them alone.

She stared up at Reaper's implacable face. He could have been stone for all the expression she got. He had that scary vibe again, the one he'd lost when little Emily had skipped down the steps outside and rushed him.

"You aren't leavin'. We had this discussion, and we're done with it."

Her breath hissed out as she struggled to hold her temper. "It isn't a discussion if one person lays down a decree and the other doesn't get to talk."

"That's all the discussin' we're going to have over this. Keep an open mind and let yourself have a good time. Blythe and her kids are . . . special. Give them a chance."

Great. Now if she didn't stay she'd look judgey. Well, she kind of was, if she were being honest. After first meeting Betina and Heidi, and then Lana and Alena, she had no more interest in meeting the women in the club. There wasn't anything to say without looking like she was giving in to him, and she had the feeling the slightest inch with him and he'd take that proverbial mile.

His hand came up to her hair. He sank his fingers deep, pulling gently on the strands. "They hurt you, didn't they?"

She pressed her lips together tightly. She wasn't a tattletale, running to her daddy to fix it because someone hurt her. She'd never had that option. No one had protected her. No one had fixed things for her. No one had ever given a damn whether she was hurt or not.

His body was so warm. Too big. Too close. He'd taken a shower and she could smell that faint scent she associated with him. Man. Motorcycle. Outdoors. She took a breath and her breasts brushed his chest.

"Stay, Anya. You have a job. I've got a place for you to stay. The fuckin' thing is an albatross around my neck. Big house right on the cliff. It's empty right now. You could stay there and help me get the fuckin' thing fixed up. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it."

She frowned up at him, not understanding. "Are you saying you have a house? Your own house?"

He fiddled with her hair, nodding.

"You own a house but you don't live in it."

"Got nothing in it. Bed in the bedroom is all. Never slept in it. Halfway through the night I have to get out of there so I can breathe. Four walls close in on me sometimes. Czar insisted we all have a home, so there it sits, like a crouching monster, waiting to eat me alive."

Wow. Okay. What did one say to that? She had the strange desire to put her arms around him and hold him close. There was a lot he was saying in that strange description of his home. Her body was going up in flames, but it was her heart that had her worried. Reaper was such a strange man, violent, impenetrable, abrupt, alone, sexy as hell, suddenly sweet and then this . . . vulnerable. She could maybe hold out against his sexy, his sweet

, but never this. Never such a strong man giving her something she knew he didn't give others--especially not his club brothers.

"I'm not the best interior designer," she said, lying her ass off. She rocked at it. She'd always wanted a home. Always. She'd dreamt her entire life about having her own home. Her own family. A man she could spoil. She'd learned to cook, although there was only her to cook for. She baked amazing desserts. She made bread. Every apartment she'd ever had she'd worked to keep clean and make as nice as possible because it mattered to her. She even read books on gardening, because someday, she was going to do that too.

"You've got to be better than me." He stepped back, allowing her to breathe air that wasn't all about Reaper. He took most of the heat with him.

"Stick close to Blythe when the others get here," Reaper advised.

She frowned at him. "Do you think the others are coming?" By others, did he mean Lana and Alena? She hoped not. She'd rather Betina and Heidi show up. At least they didn't pretend to be anything but what they were. She liked them both. She didn't want their life, but at least she liked them. She could understand wanting to be a part of something, and both women were determined to be part of the club in any capacity they could. Anya wanted to tell them they were doubtless going about it the wrong way, but what did she know?

She probably had put Lana and Alena on a pedestal. The two of them were almost revered by the male members of the club. She knew how rare something like that was. Every club member she'd met talked about them as if the two women were the backbone of the club. She'd been there long enough to realize the backbone was Czar. But the two women were definitely loved by the men in Torpedo Ink.

Reaper reached for her wrist, his long fingers closing around it like a bracelet. He was gentle this time as he led her into the kitchen where Czar leaned against the counter, his gaze fixed on Blythe's face as she deftly sliced tomatoes. She was laughing, her head back, her eyes shining. On the counter was Emily, her father's arm around her waist. It was a normal scene, a casual one, but it choked her up. Czar had a family he loved. She'd never seen this side of him, and it was beautiful.

Czar turned his head as they entered the room, his gaze dropping to Reaper's fingers circling her wrist. "You ready to give me a hand? I thought we'd fire up the big grill."

Reaper nodded. "I heard the hogs arriving."

He had? Anya hadn't heard anything. Did he mean the motorcycles or the men because they ate too much? She didn't know, nor did she care. She was going to do exactly what he said and stick close to Blythe. Hopefully, that would get her through the lunch. In the afternoon, she'd get to her car, pick up her clothes and some money and find out how much the repairs were going to cost her.

Ice and Storm sauntered in. She kept her eyes on the floor, trying not to think about Ice naked. He had a good body. A gorgeous body. Not that she'd looked, but how could one unsee something like that? He gave her a small salute and then leaned in to kiss Blythe on the temple. "Got coffee, babe? I need caffeine." He plucked Emily off the counter and swung her around. "Hey beautiful. Where's my kisses?" She squirmed until he put her down, and she ran a few feet from him.

"You don't get any, Uncle Ice," Emily screeched, her brown eyes dancing in merriment. "I'm giving them all to Uncle Storm." She raced across the kitchen straight into Storm's open arms.

Storm braced himself and then pretended to stumble back against Savage, who leaned down and kissed Emily's forehead. "That's called stealing," he said. "Just pointin' it out, Em."

"You're taking up space in my kitchen," Blythe said. "Pick up a knife and get busy, or head out to Czar and Reaper." She pointed with the blade of her knife to the door leading to the backyard.

The twins held up their hands in surrender. Anya could see she was losing Emily to the good-looking bikers, but she couldn't blame the little girl. She caught Savage watching her as she stepped to the counter and picked up a knife and pulled a tomato to her.

"How bad is he hurt?" She kept her head down. It was stupid to ask when she was certain Savage wouldn't answer.

"It's under control. Not the first time, won't be the last."

She was pretty sure she got that. She nodded, pretending great concentration on her tomato. "Thanks, Savage."

It felt strange talking to him. Savage, like Reaper, rarely spoke. Certainly not to her. She wasn't part of the club and never would be. There was no role for her, other than bartender. Still, they'd protected her.

"Reaper was hurt?" Blythe asked, pausing in her slicing.

Savage shot her a glance. "No big deal, babe, he's fine. You makin' your potato salad?"

"I thought pasta," Blythe said. "It's faster."

"Potato," Savage said decisively. "Or both."

Blythe laughed and pointed with the tip of her blade. "Out." As soon as he was out of the kitchen, she pulled out a bag of potatoes. "They love to eat. I can never keep enough food in the house."

Anya took over slicing the tomatoes, pickles and onions for the burgers. "I can't imagine how much food you go through if they all eat here. Do you always cook for them?"

Blythe washed the potatoes. "A lot of the time, but everyone pitches in. This is impromptu in your honor."

Anya's heart jumped. "What?" She turned just as two more of the club members came in. Absinthe and Preacher gave her a wave, looked at each other, grinned and hurried to kiss Blythe. "Anything you need? Store run? You name it."

"We're good. The others are in the back." Blythe waited until they were out. "It isn't every day Reaper puts a woman under his protection formally. As in never."

"I don't understand." She didn't. She often didn't get the terms they used or understand the logic of their choices.

"That's all right, Anya. Just know, once Reaper says you're protected, the entire club will protect you. They have Lana and Alena they claim as their own. Me. My three girls and Kenny. Now you."

Anya ducked her head, shaking it as she deftly sliced pickles. "You misunderstand. He doesn't even like me. He wanted me fired. I think he felt bad over asking Czar to fire me when later he discovered I was . . ." She bit her lip. God. Was she really going to admit to Blythe that she was homeless, living out of her car? Did she want the woman to look down on her the way Lana and Alena so obviously had? Screw it. "Living in my car. Camping at the Egg Taking Station."

Blythe drew in her breath. "That wasn't safe."

Keys, Master, Transporter and Mechanic came in. With them was Fatei, the prospect. He trailed after them. The four club members kissed Blythe, nodded at Anya, really looking her over, taking their time until Blythe laughed and threw a wooden spoon at them. They went out, and Fatei looked around the kitchen.

"Be glad to help. What can I do?"

"You know where the paper plates and napkins are, Fatei," Blythe said. "Would you get them and take them out to the tables outside? Maybe the others can help you move the tables into the sunshine."

He nodded and was gone, leaving Anya and Blythe alone again. Anya wished she had Blythe's easy manner with the men. With the bar between them, Anya was in her element, but right now, she felt under scrutiny. "Why are they all acting weird toward me? They're staring."

"You have on Reaper's shirt."

The way Blythe said it, Anya knew immediately she had the wrong impression. Most of his club brothers probably did as well. "No, you don't understand. It isn't what you're thinking. Lana and Alena brought me some clothes because I didn't have time to get mine out of my car. The top was . . ." Now she was being a tattletale. "It just didn't fit, so I asked him for a shirt to put over it." She knew she was blushing. She couldn't help it, couldn't help remembering the feel of Reaper's knuckles brushing over her breasts as he'd buttoned the shirt.

Blythe turned away from the stove where she'd put the potatoes on to boil. "Let me see."

"It's pretty awful." She opened the shirt to show Blythe the tank with the lacy bra showing and her breasts bulging out everywhere.

Blythe looked at her and the

n turned her gaze to the doorway. Lana and Alena were frozen there, Steele, the vice president, just behind them. Both women looked at Blythe, shame on their faces. Steele put them gently aside and came across the room. Anya, horrified, her face bright red, buttoned up Reaper's shirt and wished the floor would open so she could fall through.

"We haven't formally met," Steele said, holding out his hand to Anya. "You're Anya."

She nodded. "Bartender," she reminded. She wanted that formal title now, to disassociate herself from Reaper. Everyone was getting the wrong idea. She didn't want them to get that idea about her. It would be too difficult later on when they all remembered Reaper had wanted her fired. Gone. He was being nice because of her circumstances, but that didn't change the fact that he didn't like her.

She held on to that. Held it close to her like armor. Her only protection against what she was feeling for him. One night of wild, soul-destroying sex was one thing; anything to do with her heart was off-limits. She had to keep Reaper at arm's length. She couldn't see how vulnerable he could be. She couldn't recognize that he was traumatized by something that had happened in his past. She didn't want to see that the brothers in his club were worried about him and maybe wanted his kindness to her to mean something else just a little too much.

She shook Steele's hand, smiled at him and went back to her slicing while Blythe pulled eggs out of the refrigerator for the potato salad.

"Anya." Alena spoke first. "It was a shit thing to do, bringing a top that small. I'm sorry. We brought you a few that will fit better. Please try them on."

She glanced at them. There seemed to be genuine remorse on their faces. "What did I do wrong?" She put down the knife. "You have to be aware I don't know the first thing about this lifestyle. I needed a job. I'm a good bartender. Actually, I'm a great bartender. The club needed one so it was a good fit for both of us. I'm trying to learn, but I seem to get on everyone's nerves. Yours. Reaper's. Just straight up tell me what I'm doing wrong."

The two women exchanged a long look, mostly puzzled. "Why would you think you're getting on Reaper's nerves?" Lana asked, coming around the island to take the bunch of broccoli Blythe was holding out.