Breaking It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs) (20 page)

I could never be cold, finding her like that.

“It doesn’t matter.” She slides down in her seat, burying her hands in the pouch of her hoodie. “Just call it a mistake. Because God knows you wouldn’t have kissed me under normal circumstances.”

Under normal circumstances—in a shower, with Anna naked against me? I’d have kissed her. But I sure as hell wouldn’t have stopped at a kiss.

But I don’t think that’s what she’s saying. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have even been alone with me. You always make an effort
not
to be—that’s pretty obvious. And this is the most you’ve talked to me in years. So under normal circumstances, you’d never have touched me.” Her eyes are glassy and hard when she flicks a glance at me. “Am I wrong?”

Completely fucking wrong. Because if anything about my family and these circumstances were normal, I’d have spent the last ten years touching her. Being alone with her.

Wrong—yet everything she said was true. But what the fuck can I tell her now?

I can’t be alone with you because I won’t keep my hands off you? Because every fucking second of every fucking day I’m thinking of you? Because the more I open my mouth around you, the more likely I’ll say all the filthy things I want to do to you?

Starting with pulling this truck onto the side of the road, tossing her ankles up over my shoulders, then fucking her so deep and hard she won’t be left with a single doubt about why I can’t be alone with her.

But there’s not a damn thing I can say. Not now. Jaw set, I watch the road. Until a soft gasp makes me glance over.

Anna’s looking at me with horror dawning on her face. “You thought it was them.” Her hand lifts to her bruised cheek. “You thought it was them. That’s why you were so surprised there was only one man—and that he didn’t have blue eyes. You thought they came after me and raped me. You thought your
brothers
raped me.”

I nod, my throat suddenly a constricted mess. Because the distance she was saying I had shrinks to no distance at all, just imagining what might have happened. By the horror on her face, that distance vanishes for her, too. It’s one thing to talk about my family. It’s another to realize they might have shown up on her doorstep—and what they’d be capable of if they did.

And now we’re heading for
their
doorstep.

Confusion replaces her horror. “But…why would they hurt me?”

“Those rumors about you and me.” Gravel fills my voice. “My family got wind. So I thought…I thought they might have come. Because you aren’t part of their plan for me—and they’ll make sure no one fucks that up.”

“Oh.” Lips rounded in surprise and realization, she stares at me.
“Ohhhhh.”

That’s not a good sound. “What?”

Gingerly she asks, “Is that why you never hook up with anyone—because they might come after her?”

No. Because I could have had as many hookups as I liked. My family doesn’t care if I screw around. In their eyes, the more women I fuck, the more of a man I am. They’d only go after a woman I was serious about. Keeping the Cooper line pure is what matters.

The only reason there’s been no one else is simply because there
is
no one else. Not for me.

There’s no one but Anna.

“So that’s why it’s important they know I’m just Stone’s little sister,” she says softly. “Or we’d have more to worry about than finding my brother. Right?”

“Yes,” I say roughly.

“Well, then.” Voice oddly hollow, she looks to the road ahead. “It’s a good thing I’m not anything more.”

Anna

After our late start, we don’t arrive in Santa Rosa until well after dark. But instead of heading to his family’s spread—a farm somewhere in the hills outside of the city—he pulls into the parking lot of a mid-range chain hotel.

As soon as Gunner finds out that the two rooms Widowmaker reserved for us don’t have a connecting door, he changes the reservation to a third floor deluxe suite—which turns out to be a regular double queen with a fireplace and a spa tub, separated from a living area by a half wall.

Gunner slings his bags on the bed nearest the door. Ten minutes later, after checking out all the locks and the security of the balcony’s sliding glass doors, he heads down to the hotel’s weight room.

Unpacking my bag takes up ten more minutes and then I’m out of things to do. Back in Pine Valley, I’m always busy. Either bartending at the Den or working on my house. Even while watching TV, I usually have another project with me—like sketching on my drawing pad or editing my pictures on my desktop computer.

God. I need a laptop. I’m afraid to poke at my phone too much. With my luck, I’d be playing Candy Crush when Stone’s call came in and accidentally hang up on him by pressing the wrong part of the screen at the wrong time.

Sprawled on my bed, I aimlessly flip through channels, debating whether to head down to the swimming pool. But I’m tired, and sore enough that I probably wouldn’t enjoy it.

Not to mention, I didn’t bring a swimming suit. Plus, my phone and the pool? Maybe not a good combination.

Anyway, I know what I’m really trying to do: distract myself so I don’t think about Gunner.

Big surprise, I think about him anyway. Story of my freaking life.

With a sigh, I haul my ass off the bed and examine the spa tub. It looks clean. So I’ll trust that the hotel maids bleach the hell out of it every morning and try to soak away some of this soreness.

God knows I’ve got time. My brother and Gunner often work out together, so I know he’s going to be down there at least an hour. Maybe more.

I turn on the tap as hot as I can stand before stripping, then pile my hair on top of my head. My cheek still looks as if an asshole rapist slapped the hell out of me—because, hey, an asshole rapist did—but the swelling on my lips has gone down. Not so bad. The bruise on the side of my thigh has darkened to an ugly purple splotch the size of my fist and hurts like crazy if I touch it.

So of course I bump it against the rim of the tub while climbing in. Teeth gritted, I lean back and close my eyes—and try to mentally sort through the chaotic jumble that has become my life. Which is,

A) My brother has essentially been taken prisoner and will be forced to fight in a cage match to the death.

I don’t even know what to make of that. Not really. Do they just fight with their fists? Maybe MMA-style? Or is he going to be like Mad Max, grabbing chainsaws off the sides of the cage?

I hope it’s just fighting. I’ve seen him up in the ring a couple of times. He’s fast and he’s strong and, from what I hear, he’s also very good. But these assholes are probably grabbing other men who are good, too.

And that scares the shit out of me. Because the guy who attacked me—Chef—made it sound like losing was an inevitability. Eventually.

But that
eventually
is what keeps me from descending into terror, because

B) Gunner’s going to find him. And Blowback’s looking for him, too. Between them, they’ll bring my brother home.
Eventually
will give them enough time.

I don’t know what route Blowback is taking to find my brother, but I’ll help Gunner in any way I can. Any way.

Right now, that way requires me to wait for Stone’s call. And to keep things between Gunner and me as simple as they’ve always been. Which brings me to

C) Gunner grew up in a cult,

and D) Holy shit.

Because I
still
can’t completely wrap my head around it. But it puts a lot of what I knew about him into context. His refusal to talk about his past—and the whole celibacy thing.

Not that he’s always been celibate. I know he hooked up with girls when he was in the Marines. But maybe it was different when he was in the service. Maybe his family was far enough away that he felt he could—or maybe it was just that his time in the Marines was a temporary thing. But when he moves into a town to settle down? Maybe he couldn’t fuck around anymore because his family would see a more permanent arrangement as a threat.

That eases some of the old hurt—knowing he probably turned me down because of this thing with his family. And it wasn’t just me. He turned down every girl who asked. Over the years, there must have been hundreds of hookups he passed on.

But, Jesus. Pussy’s a hell of a thing for a young, straight guy to give up. Especially because Pine Valley isn’t that special—it’s just like any other town in central Oregon. So what’s there that’s worth settling down and sacrificing sex for? Was joining a motorcycle club and hanging out with Stone really that great?

As much as I love my brother, I don’t understand that. But maybe I
can’t
understand that. Gunner said he found real brotherhood in the Marines and with the Riders. Maybe after the way he grew up, that brotherhood was worth giving up sex for. Since I wasn’t raised in a cult, I can’t begin to know how Gunner feels about it.

Anyway, going without sex for years and years isn’t
that
bad. I should know. My fingers and toys do a pretty bang up job of getting me off. Like every guy in the world, Gunner probably eases the tension by jacking off—

Oh god. I shouldn’t have let my mind wander in that direction. Because now I’m thinking of how he might look when he pleasures himself. Maybe stretched out on the hotel bed, all that male beauty on display. The ropes of muscles in his arms. His corrugated abs. The happy trail leading downward, his strong heavy thighs…his big hand wrapped around his cock.

Maybe going slow, his eyes closed as he imagines a leisurely fuck. Or stroking harder, his gaze hot and intense and locked on mine.

On the bed, stroking himself—watching me in the bath, where my thighs fall open to the advance of my hand. My fingers glide over my clit and I try not to think of him. I’m quitting all that. I try to picture someone else on that bed but although my mind flits from one sexy actor to another, my imagination comes right back to Gunner.

Maybe that’s not a surprise. After fantasizing about Gunner for so many years, my brain is conditioned to associate arousal with images of him.

So just this time. One last time.

And I’m not picturing him on the bed anymore but coming back from the gym, sweaty and gorgeous—and his beautiful face going hard when he finds me in the bath. And he’d stand there for a long second, watching me. And I’d see how aroused he was, his cock rigid and his sweats doing nothing to hide it.

But I’m over him. So I wouldn’t feel anything as I stand up out of the bath. Just haughty amusement when he sees me naked, his crystalline eyes going hotter, but it’s nothing to me.

Because I’m
so
over him. And I just saunter toward the dresser to get my pajamas.

But the next thing I know his big hands grab my waist and his rough voice growls in my ear, “Don’t walk away from me, Anna.” And he pulls me hard back against him and his fingers dive straight between my legs, delving into the cleft of my pussy, and I’m so wet, and he’s so strong, and I can’t stop him from rubbing my clit. And he groans against my ear and says, “You’re so damn sexy, sweetheart. I’ve wanted you for so long and I need you so bad. I need to fuck you.”

And I’m going to let him, but only because he’s so beautiful. It’s just a physical thing. I don’t want him or need him. Not anymore.

But before I can answer he shoves me forward onto the bed, and instead of letting me turn around to kiss him, he drags me up onto my knees and I feel him hot and hard behind me.

And he’s so desperate. So rough. Because he hasn’t had anyone in years, because his family’s too dangerous—

no, no, this is my fantasy, so instead I’ll dream it’s

—because for all these years he only wanted me, and that’s what he says as his big cock slams deep inside my tight pussy, so long and thick that I scream, because there’s been no one else for me, either, but he’s ruthless, just fucking me and fucking me, because he can’t control himself anymore and he needs me so much, and his relentless fingers are rubbing my clit, rubbing and rubbing even though I’m too close, too sensitive, and he’s leaning over me and with every devastating stroke of his cock he tells me—

I need you, I love you

—and I come hard. So hard, the water sloshing against the sides of the bath and lapping the tight, burning points of my nipples. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath.

Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so screwed. Because

E) I’m never going to get over him.

And for such a long time, I tried to protect myself by saying I didn’t love him. By reminding myself that I didn’t know him. But now I’m finding out more.

With some people, that would kill it dead right there. With some people, the better you know them, the more you realize the things you liked aren’t really what you thought. What seemed like a dry sense of humor is just bitterness. What seemed polite is rooted is sexism. What seemed considered and thoughtful is just a dull imagination.

But what I’m finding out about Gunner isn’t disappointing me. And I’m still eager to know more. I’m a glutton for pain, apparently.

Or I really just don’t know when to quit.

Because even if his family is the reason why he rejected me all those times, he flat out said I’m nothing more than Stone’s sister. I can’t
be
more than Stone’s sister, especially now.

And if I ever
had
been more, he could have taken the risk.
I
would have. Because, God—I spent the last ten years thinking I was going to die soon anyway. So if I thought he loved me, I’d have grabbed onto a chance to be with him and held it so tight. No matter the danger.

But it’s been ten years. And in all that time, nothing. So I’m not worth that risk to Gunner.

So I’ll just be his friend’s sister. And if my heart is fucked, it’s fucked.

All that matters now is getting my brother home safe.

* * *

I don’t hear Gunner come back because I’ve got the hair dryer on high, and I don’t see him right away because I’m bent over with my head upside down. Then between my legs I see
his
legs, and my heart jumps. I straighten and flip my hair up.

And, good god—it’s just like I imagined. I’m out of the tub and dressed in a nightshirt, but Gunner’s sweaty and his muscles are ripped and his chest is bare, because he’s using his wadded shirt to wipe down his skin. Except he’s not wiping anything now, just standing utterly still and staring at me, his face hard, his eyes hot.

But he doesn’t say,
I need you, I love you.
He doesn’t grab me and shove me toward the bed. Instead he stalks wordlessly into the bathroom, and a second later I hear the shower.

So. Looks like we’re back to silence.

Looks like we’re back to “don’t be alone with Anna.”

Looks like we’re back to hiding how much that hurts.