Breaking It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs) (36 page)

“Sweetheart.” With another groan, he pulls me completely out of the bath, swings me up in his arms. “You wanted to live as much as you could. You think I could risk shortening that? But here’s the selfish part of me. I thought all you wanted was sex—and that wasn’t worth risking you. But if what you’re offering is your heart? I’ll do anything. So if you’re wondering what’s changed? It’s this.”

Gently he lays me on the bed, kissing me as his hands work between us, belt buckle clinking, zipper rasping. Then he’s deep inside me, and I’m gasping with the pleasure of it.

“What’s changed?” The raw emotion in his pale eyes burns straight through me. “Is that now you’re mine. And I’ll
never
give you up.”

“Gunner—” I whisper but the hard thrust of his body breaks his name into a sharp cry.

“And this.” He rocks against me, his gaze locked to mine. “Now I know you were hurting because we weren’t together, and I’ll
never
hurt you again.”

But this hurts. In the best way. Panting, I wrap my legs around him. “Please—”

Fiercely his mouth claims mine, his cock thrusting deep, harder and harder, until I’m gasping and poised on the edge.

Then he stops and growls against my lips, “Now I know you love me, Anna. And that changes
everything
,” before fucking into me again, and I’m coming hard, so hard, clinging to him with everything I am as he comes to his own release deep inside me.

His mouth softens, and gently he kisses away the tears at the corners of my eyes before raising his head to look down at me. “Knowing you love me changes everything,” he says softly again. “And all of these years, Anna—If
you
had known why I was staying away, that it was just to protect you, that I was dying for wanting you…what would you have done?”

It would have changed everything for me, too. “If I’d known you loved me? I’d have gone after you. I’d have worn you down. And I’d have never let up.”

“Then are you going to let up now? Are you going to let this fear get in the way? Because it’ll fucking kill me if you walk away,” he says hoarsely. “You going to do that to me now?”

“No,” I whisper on a shuddering breath. “And if you ever told me that we have to go back to being what we were—to keeping it simple—it would kill me.”

“I’ll never tell you that. Never. I’m going to give you that future you want, sweetheart. And whatever is in that future…in
our
future, we’ll face it. Together. No more lines between us. All right?”

I only nod and kiss him, because my throat’s too tight to answer with words.

“Now,” he says and reaches for the phone. “This photo. You look so fucking hurt, baby. It kills me just to see it. You want to get rid of it? Because you don’t need this reminder anymore. We should do another picture, maybe one of your pussy, and I’ll write ‘Gunner was here’ with my tongue.”

Giggling, I snatch the cell before he can trash the picture. “No. Because here—this is what I wanted to tell you. To show you. Because in this photo, you already had my heart. Even not really knowing much about you. That’s how I kept a tiny piece of it to myself—telling myself that I didn’t really know you. Just a tiny piece that I tried so hard to protect. Because the rest of my heart was yours. And now…knowing you, you have that tiny piece of my heart, too. You have it all. And that’s the difference between this…” I extend the phone out over our heads, snap the picture. “And this. Look at us. Look how much I love you.”

“Ah fuck,” he says and his voice is hoarse again, but he’s not looking at the photo. He’s staring at me, his eyes glittering, his hand clamped to his chest. “Shit. This is why you started crying when I said it. Oh my fucking heart. Say it again.”

“I love you.” When he groans and clutches his pec, I grin and lean in, flicking my tongue against his lips. “Does it hurt? Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to make you feel real good again. Maybe I’ll be the one who goes down and writes ‘Anna was here’ with my tongue.”

With a laugh, he claims my mouth again.

And grabs my phone.

Anna

When the knock comes on the hotel room door early the next morning, I’m already dressed. No need to wake up—neither Gunner nor I slept last night. Now I’m sore and tired and more hopeful than I’ve ever been, happier than I ever dreamed.

Gunner opens the door. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s grinning when he greets the huge man standing there—Bull, the Hellfire Rider who’ll be escorting me home.

But apparently Bull didn’t only come to pick me up—he also brought Gunner’s kutte with him.

“The prez said you’d need this,” the big man says. “The other brothers are waiting for you down in the lot.”

Gunner’s throat works as he takes the Riders’ colors. He turns to face me when he slides into the kutte, his pale eyes blazing, and it’s like everything in the world settles into place when that leather settles over his shoulders again.

And I do more than hope. For once, I trust that everything will be all right. Because Gunner’s wearing that kutte again, so it has to be.

My throat a thick lump, I give him a thumbs up. “Looking damn good.”

Looking as he should.

With powerful strides, he crosses over to me, catches my face in his callused hands. “I’ll bring him home, sweetheart.”

“I know.” I do.

“And everything will change for you and me.”

I’m too overwhelmed to speak, so I nod, then he’s kissing me long and deep.

Too soon he lifts his head, says hoarsely against my lips, “I love you, Anna.”

“I love you, too,” I tell him, and he kisses me hard again.

“I’ll carry that with me,” he says.

Then I watch him go—and it’s not just the kiss he’s taking with him.

He’s got my heart, too. And I know it won’t beat again until the next time I see him.

Gunner

Stone’s being kept on a fucking horse farm.

At least, what used to be one. In two days, I haven’t seen a single horse. Just motorcycles belonging to members of the Iron Blood and a few vehicles that circle the property on regular patrols.

For two days Zoomie, Blowback, and I have been taking turns lying out in the goddamn desert, seeing what we can of the layout. It’s making me as impatient as hell, but the surveillance is necessary. If we rush in without knowing where Stone’s being held, he could be dead before we get to him. But we’re on a tight timeline here, because even though we’re out square in the middle of nowhere, up on a bluff with our eyes trained on the compound, the longer we watch the place the greater the chance we’ll be discovered. And hell knows when another fight will be held—or whether Stone might go up in the ring again.

From what I can see, the Cage itself isn’t here. Just two barns where the fighters are kept, and a clapboard farmhouse that isn’t home to a family but where the guards sleep and eat.

Most of those guards aren’t Iron Blood. Not wearing kuttes, at least. Most likely they’re hired guns, and the Iron Blood just picks up the fighters at the rallies and provides extra security.

The second morning, I see Stone being herded toward an old racetrack with three other men.

Exercising them like they’re fucking animals. A tower overlooks the track and through the scope I can see the guards up on the platform, rifles slung.

Animals in a goddamn prison.

“Easy, pretty boy.” Lying on her belly beside me, Zoomie nudges my leg. She’s watching through her own scope, her gaze flat and hard. “I know you’re excited to finally see your boyfriend, but keep your head down.”

I’m keeping my fucking head down, and keeping eyes on Stone. He’s moving smooth, quick. Not injured from his fight—not in any way that shows.

After a half hour, they’re herded back to the east barn.

Got him.

But he’s not the only one we’re after. We wait through more exercise rotations, only a handful of men at a time—some faces I recognize as bikers who’ve gone missing, some I don’t.

“All that muscle to push around,” Zoomie says softly. “Not enough guards on duty to handle all of it at once.”

Good news for us. “You seen Crash yet?”

She shakes her head.

And we don’t see Crash. Just Handlebar, coming out of the west barn and heading toward the track. So we’ll need to hit both barns.

Almost noon, Blowback returns from his recon on the north side of the property, listens as we fill him in on the location of our two men. “Tonight, then?”

“We going to have trouble with the Iron Blood swooping in?” A part of me fucking hopes so.

Blowback shakes his head. “They’re on a relay run. So it’ll just be the guards on site.”

Two dozen guards, by our count—with only a third of them on duty at any time, and the rest taking their ease in the house.

Chef won’t be here. But that’ll keep.

Zoomie looks to me. “You want me to call everyone in?”

“Everyone” is the Butchers, the Riders. Each of them holed up in different towns a few hours’ ride away, waiting for word from us. And when we give that word, that’ll be a hell of a lot of bikers converging on one point. We run the risk of someone noticing and pulling the plug on the stables before we get our boys out.

Blowback, Zoomie, and I could go in quiet. Pull out Stone, then get to Handlebar, and get the hell out before the guards take notice and the shit hits the fan.

Or we can bring everyone in and burn the whole fucking thing down.

“Call ’em in,” I tell her.

* * *

I suppose kicking through the door of a guarded facility is what Anna might call a stress situation. The sort of situation where Stone told her that I’ve got fucking ice in my veins.

Doesn’t feel like ice. Not when the explosion the Butchers set off in the main house sends heat racing across my skin.

And ice is glacier slow. I’m not. My finger is lightning on the trigger. One, two, three bullets—and three guards down, each one looking surprised that there’s a big fucking hole in his skull.

Inside, the horse barn…looks like a horse barn. A high peaked ceiling opens over a long central aisle lined with stalls. Steel bars reinforce the sliding doors, and men are charging against those doors now, their yells joining with the increasing noise from outside. Gunshots. Roaring engines. Shouting.

It’s dark—overhead lights went out two hours ago, at ten—but recessed lighting along the central aisle provides more than enough light to see by. I snag the keys off a guard’s belt and toss the lot to Zoomie. “Start opening the cages. I’ll clear the road.”

“There’s a faster way.” She heads toward a small office off the right side of the entrance. Looks like a horse barn but more like a prison, I realize, with central controls for the cell doors.

Doesn’t smell like a barn, either. No hay, no horseflesh.

Smells more like a hospital.

I head down the aisle, ignoring the men shouting at me to let them out, looking for one face.

He’s in the fourth stall, standing at the sliding door with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing just a pair of sweatpants—and not a bit fucking surprised to see me. And this isn’t ice in my veins when I reach through the bars and clasp his hand in a tight grip, my eyes locked on his.

Roughly, I say, “Good to see you, brother.”

He returns my grip, holding tight. “And me, I’m always glad to see your girly mouth.”

Not girly. Just pouty. But I’ve only got time for a grin before an electric hum sounds and the door rolls open.

All at once there’s men running everywhere. No more guards yet but they might be coming. I pull my extra piece from its holster and toss the gun to Stone.

“Ready?”

He’s not. Years of fighting at his side means I can read him fast, and he’s not focusing on the the exit. Instead he’s tilting his head. Listening.

Then taking off running deeper into the barn. I keep up easily. Most of the fighters have cleared out, heading the opposite direction, and despite the noise echoing through the barn I hear it—

The clatter of metal. A muffled scream.

A
woman’s
scream.

He heads for a door, what looks like an old tack room. Wordlessly he signals. He’s going low.

I take high, slamming through the door, gun sweeping the room. Clean, white, an exam table, medical equipment scattered over the floor. Movement in the corner. A big fucker on top of a smaller figure—tearing off her panties.

Then the fucker collapses on top of her, the top of his head gone, Stone’s gunshot still echoing around the room. With a shriek, a strawberry blonde scrambles out from under him, wearing a tiny nurse’s outfit and thigh high stockings splattered with blood.

Stone starts for her and she cringes back against the wall decorated with the fucker’s brains, holding out her hands as if to ward him off, begging.

“Please, please! I don’t care what you do to me. But please first let me find my b—”

Scooping the panties off the floor, Stone shoves the wadded fabric into her mouth, then rips a white stocking off her leg, using the nylon to tie the gag around her head. Wildly she fights him, trying to rip off the gag and speak, but he traps her hands behind her back and binds them next.

What the fuck? He’s been through some shit, but Jesus Christ—treating a woman like this? Shaking my head, I step forward and her panicked gaze swings over to me.

Emerald eyes lock on mine.

Cherry. Without the big red wig.

I back off, let him finish whatever the hell he’s doing.

Without a word, Stone picks her up and throws her facedown over his shoulder. Expression savage, he turns toward the door.

Outside, everything is chaos. The fire’s blazing in the house. They’ve started the west barn burning. I spot Spiral at the wheel of my truck, signal to Stone.

He tosses Cherry into the back, leans over and warns through clenched teeth, “Don’t fucking move or I’ll round up every single man you caged up and bring them over here to use your pussy.”

Stalking away from her, he heads toward a group of bikers—the Bedlam Butchers. They’ve gathered around Handlebar, the Butchers’ VP.

One of their VPs. Crash was the other.

Uneasy, I shake my head. “Maybe not the best time, brother.”

The Butchers are friends but this is a hard fucking thing to ask anyone to take in. And while hurting?

In his place, if I was hearing Stone was dead, and a friend was the one who killed him? I don’t know that there’d be any ice at all. Just fire until his blood ran in rivers over my hands.

But I see Stone’s eyes as he heads over toward the other men, and I know that look. I’ve seen it in broken men. Stone doesn’t give a fuck what they do to him. Maybe even welcomes their worst, if the worst is easier to deal with than the shit in his head.

So I’m tense as fuck when Handlebar sees him and all the laughter and backslapping around him stops. The Butchers are watching Handlebar, too. Maybe just waiting for a signal as Stone halts in front of the other man.

“I’m so fucking sorry, man.” Stone’s voice is hoarse as he spreads his hands out wide, exposing his bare chest. “I’ll take whatever you got. Fists. Bullets.”

Slowly Handlebar approaches him. He’s a massive fucker, with a thick beard, ink, piercings. He looks fierce as hell but I know him as a big, laughing man always ready with a joke.

That laughter is gone, his expression bleak as he grips the back of Stone’s neck with one hand, pulls him close and bows his head. Stone does the same, his mouth near the other man’s ear. I can’t hear what he’s saying—just see Handlebar’s nod and the wet sheen in the big man’s eyes.

They pull away from each other, hands clasped. Then Stone turns and heads back to the truck. I jump into the truck bed after him, watching as he crouches next to Cherry.

Harshly he says, “You’re going to pay for every fucking lying word that came out of your mouth. You understand?”

She’s not even looking at him. Instead she’s staring at the burning buildings, her emerald gaze wildly searching the flames.

Roughly he catches her chin and forces her to face him. “You understand?”

When she frantically nods, he releases her, then looks to me. “Anna?”

“Safe,” I tell him.

“The fucker who touched her?”

“Taken care of.” Or same as, because he will be.

He exhales a long, shuddering breath. Closes his eyes. “Thank you.”

“I love a goddamn bonfire.” Wearing a huge grin, Zoomie swings over the side of the truck and takes a seat on the tire well. “But we forgot the fucking marshmallows.”

“Next time,” Stone tells her.

“Aw. Look at you, you big asshole, promising to get kidnapped again just for me.” With as much affection as she ever showed any of the Riders, she rubs her hand over his short hair before shoving at his head. “Who’s the nurse?”

“Cherry,” I tell her, then rap my knuckles on the cab’s back window, letting Spiral know we’re ready to haul out.

“Cherry?” Zoomie echoes, her eyes narrowing. “So why aren’t we roasting her instead of a marshmallow?”

“Because I’ve got something else in mind for her,” Stone says and turns his grim gaze toward the woman, who cringes away from his stare. “And I’m going to take a real long time to do it.”

His voice—so fucking cold.

And for the first time that night, my blood finally runs like ice.