Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (80 page)

“Stay the fuck away from Royal.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, reeling back and giving her a look that's got to be pretty similar to the one Kailey threw at me when Royal pulled down my hair. “I'm sorry, I think I misheard you.”

“No,” the girl says, standing up straight and glaring down at me. She's a good six inches taller than me. Add in the three inch heels she's wearing and our height difference is almost as extreme as mine and Royal's. “You heard me right.”

I lift my hands up in mock surrender.

“Look, I don't know who you are—”

The girl cuts me off before I can finish.

“That's exactly right. You
don't
know who I am because you appeared out of thin air yesterday. You don't know anything about this club and you sure as shit don't know anything about its president. I've been here too long, been through way too much crap to lose out to some bitch in a suit.”

“I think we might have a slight misunderstanding,” I say, hoping I can cool this situation down before Kailey realizes that something else is going on. I've given her enough dirt for today. Not that I think she'd ever use it, but it never hurts to be cautious. “My name is Lyric Rentz, and—”

“I don't give two
shits
about who you are,” she hisses at me, crossing her arms over her flat chest. Her eyes are dark, like Royal's, but instead of a feral wildness, she just looks mean. I hate to judge, but what the hell did I do to deserve this? “He's
this
close to picking me up as his old lady, and I don't need you to waltz in here and screw things up.”

“Old lady?” I ask, my voice rising in pitch as I look her up and down. She's hot enough, that's for sure, tall and skinny and flawless. It wouldn't surprise me if he
was
interested in her.
But then why was he just kissing me?
I don't know what she thinks I'm up to, but all I'm trying to do is figure out what the hell I did to provoke her.

“You don't think I'm good enough?” she asks me, her red painted mouth turning down in a deep frown. The expression should look silly on her, but it doesn't. Every movement she makes oozes sex and sensuality.

“No,” I start, but what I really meant to say was
No, I don't think that at all.
Instead, I barely get the single syllable out before the woman's throwing herself at me, hitting me right in the eye with an impressive right hook.

My head snaps back and I stumble, but I'm not about to go down without a fight. I'm not exactly sure
what
it is that we're fighting for, but I won't be pushed around.

I duck down and avoid a second hit to the face, bringing my left fist up and under the woman's chin. I don't wait, following that up with my right, drawing a bright bloom of blood from her nostrils as I slam my palm into her nose.

A wild shriek escapes her lips as she full on launches herself at me, knocking us both to the pavement as the skies crack and rain starts to fall with a wild vengeance. When it rains, it pours, right?

We scramble around on the ground for a moment as I struggle to shove her off of me, instead settling on flipping us over so that I'm on top. While I attempt to grab her wrists and stop the fight in its tracks, Tattoo Girl is far more intent on getting in as many hits as she can. Her knee comes up and hits me right in the lady parts, hard enough to make me scream as she tosses me aside, my own knees skimming across the pavement and drawing blood.

When she climbs on top of me and grabs my hair, all bets are off. I don't start fights, but I'm a woman in politics; I know how to finish them.

“Get the fuck off me!” I scream, slamming my elbow back and hitting the bitch right in the tit.
Goddamn it! I'm fighting over a guy I don't even know, that I don't even want. More proof that I need to run away from all of this while I still can.

If I'd only known then how much worse it would all get.

Ah, hindsight. You're always twenty-twenty, aren't you, you sadistic bastard?

I throw my elbow back again and draw a satisfied grunt from Tattoo Girl, her grip loosening on my hair. That's when I hear the pound of boots and Kailey's shocked scream. In an instant, the weight is off of my back and I'm being hauled to my feet by rough, calloused hands—hands covered in roses.

It's Royal. Of
course
it's Royal.

“Ladies,” he says, his voice holding that false brightness, that wry amusement that lets him pretend he's normal and nice when he's everything but. I jerk my arm from his grip and he lets me go. “There's no need to fight, plenty of me to go around.”

“Royal,” Tattoo Girl whines and I want to hit her so hard right then that I have to clench my hands into fists by my sides. “She—”

“It's not my job to police this shit. If you want to cause trouble, go do it elsewhere,” he snaps, what little patience he has falling away like it was never there. Whoa. Scary. With tears sparkling in her eyes, Tattoo Girl turns and runs up the steps and into the clubhouse.

CHAPTER SIX
Royal

With everything going on in my life, I don't need a distraction, especially not one handpicked and sent to screw me over from the mayor's office. It's like the bloody bastard knew what his daughter would do to me. One day in and my head's already gone to shit.

“Are you okay?” I ask, trying not to grit my teeth. Christ. Mia and I have had some good times, but what the hell got into her? We're not nor have we ever been any sort of serious; she knows that.

Not that Lyric and I are either.

I tell myself that my concern for the girl is purely selfish, looking out for the best interests of the club. What happens if the mayor's daughter goes back to the office and says one of the club's groupies jumped her in broad daylight? Not good publicity for any of us. And now with this whole mess of shit that's going on with our shipment, I can't deal with a cherry on top of my crap sundae.

“Lyric?”

“I'm fine,” she says as she glances over her shoulder and finds a group of soccer moms gawking at her from the auto yard. They're here to get their minivans serviced and flirt with the boys in black. It's a win-win for all of us. “Just fine.” She glances down at her knees, at the torn nude tights I hadn't even realized she was wearing. Blood and grit sticks in her wounds like it's glued there.

“Royal?”

It's Dober, drawing my attention back to him and the, uh,
situation
that's sprung up suddenly and unexpectedly.

“Have Glacier deal with it,” I snap and then glance over at the clubhouse. “But first, have him take Mia home. And let her know it's okay to take a little holiday from the compound.”

Dober raises his dark bushy brows, but he doesn't say anything. Smart move on his part.

“You don't have to do that,” Lyric says, swiping her hands down her dusty suit. “I'm not pressing charges.”

“Pressing charges?” Mad as I am, even I find that funny. A laugh escapes my throat as I shake my head and run my fingers through my hair. Her first thought is cops and court. I guess in a way mine was, too. But in my world, a fistfight generally isn't a big deal. People have problems; people fight them out. But in this, I have to take a stand. Mayor's daughter … Mayor's
anything
is off-limits right now. Even for me.

“Do you have a bathroom or something where I could clean up?” Lyric asks and I nod, looking down at her, at the slight purple swelling around her eyes. They're as green as the trees soaring above us.
And why the fuck did I even notice that?

“I'll show you the way.” I nod my head, running my tongue across my lower lip. I can still taste her on my mouth, like honey and wildflowers.
Goddamn it.
There I go again with metaphors. Not generally my thing. My boys would whip my ass if they knew the thoughts going through my head right now.

“You sure you don't want me to call the cops?” Lyric's sister asks, but I don't bother to turn around. My boys will make damn sure she doesn't—and they'll do it in the nicest way possible. A little flirtation never hurt anyone, right?

“It's fine, Kailey. I'll be right back. Just … wait for me, okay?”

I move across the deck and hold the door open for Lyric, a small smile teasing my lips as she scoots around me,
very
careful not to touch.

“I don't bite—hard,” I whisper as I follow in behind her and she jumps. “Not unless you want me to.”

“Just show me where the bathroom is, please.” Lyric shoves her loose hair over her shoulder and then pauses, reaching out a small, delicate hand towards me. My cock hardens in response. Eh, I think it was already halfway there anyway. Even the cold shock of Dober's news couldn't completely douse the fire this girl started in me. “My clip, too, thanks.”

I unhook her hair clip from my pocket and drop it in her outstretched palm, using the movement to wrap my fingers around her wrist and tug her towards me. I'm not even sure
why
I'm doing it. Lyric Rentz is a pretty girl … no, more than pretty. She's curvy and feminine and soft with big eyes and long lashes, full lips and a whole hell of a lot of spirit.

And she's forbidden fruit.

Makes me want her all that much more.

“Let go of me, you … wanker,” she says and then cringes as I laugh at her, releasing her wrist as I take a step back. Her eyes wander down and then pause on the bulge in my pants. She glances away suddenly, pretending not to notice. But I do. I can see her nipples hardening beneath that hideous blue shirt of hers.

“Wanker? Is that the best you've got?” I ask as I move up the stairs to my right, hand sliding along the bannister before I turn and glance down at her to make sure she's following. She might not know it yet, but she's walking straight into the wolf's den, pun intended.

Just one taste won't hurt, will it?

“Well, you are British, aren't you?” she quips.

“Ah, but I'm an expat. Hardly counts, right?” I stop at the landing and move aside while Lyric follows cautiously behind me. I have so many other things to worry about right now, but all I can seem to focus on is this. I keep repeating that this is what's best for the club, that taking care of this girl keeps everything running smoothly. But then that's only half the truth. I think my dick's taken over the rest of my brain.

“I guess,” she says, reaching the top and skirting around me like I'm on fire. Or maybe she just doesn't want to touch my throbbing cock. “Bathroom?” she asks again, her voice rife with suspicion, like she expects me to jump her at any moment. I won't lie about that one—I'm about ready to tear that proper little skirt right off.

“Cool it, sweetheart. I'm taking you to one of the dorm rooms. Toilets in there get cleaned by the hang-arounds after every guest and stay clean. The downstairs loo is fucking nasty, even after a good scrubbing. You wouldn't feel comfortable cleaning up in there with a bunch of burly bikers pissing in the urinals, now would you?”

She huffs, but she doesn't say anything, following me down the hall to the third door on the right. I reach down and turn the knob, pushing it open and gesturing for her to enter with a sweep of my arm.

“Thanks,” she says cautiously, scooting past me. When she turns to close the door, I'm right there shutting it for her—and locking it behind us. I don't miss her nervous swallow. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you a first aid kit.”

“You're a strange character, Mr. McBride, you know that?”

“Now, why would you go and say that?” I ask, stepping closer, forcing her to back up so that her thighs are pressed against the edge of the mattress.

“Charming one minute, scary the next. Makes a girl wonder if you're completely sane.”

“Charming, huh?” I ask, reaching up and brushing the back of my hand against her pale cheek. She shudders when our skin makes contact, her own hand coming up and wrapping around my wrist.

“And scary the next,” she murmurs. “You missed that part.”

“But I didn't miss this,” I murmur, sliding my left hand down and under her skirt, cupping her warm heat with my fingers. “You're already wet for me, love.”

Lyric gasps, those pretty green eyes of hers going wide with shock and then blazing over with a rush of heat. I tease her moist panties with my fingers before withdrawing my hand and inserting them into my mouth.
Fucking shit.
She tastes like she smells—sweet, fresh, bright.

When her hands drop to the button on my jeans, I'm not surprised.

There's a fire burning inside all of that prim and proper.

When she tugs down my zipper, I take that as a sign, shoving her back on the bed and grinning as she settles into the mattress, face burning with desire, lips gently parted, pupils dilated. Oh yes. She wants this as much as I do.

I move over to the desk in the corner and grab a condom from the drawer. We keep them in all the rooms—for obvious reasons.

I hit the edge of the bed and kneel between Lyric's legs, finishing what she started and freeing my cock from my jeans. She doesn't look at me, draping an arm across her forehead as her breathing deepens and a moan breaks from her throat.

I slide the condom over my cock and toss the wrapper to the floor.

“My tights,” she begins, but I'm already a step ahead of her, reaching down and slipping my finger inside a run. A little pressure and the fabric splits easily, giving me access to … a red thong.

“Are you bloody fucking kidding me?” I ask as her eyes snap fully open and she struggles to sit up.

“Oh God,” Lyric moans as I push her back and wrap my hand around her wrists, pinning her against the mattress. “I forgot I was wearing it.”

“Ah, Pint-Size, you're just full of surprises, aren't you?” With my free hand, I reach down and push her sexy panties aside, positioning my cock at Lyric's opening as I look down at her flushed face and wide eyes. Our gazes lock and a possessive urge surges through me.
What the hell is wrong with me?

I almost pull away and slip my dick back into my pants, walk away and throw my hands up. It's what I
should
do. Our weapons shipment from Seventy-seven Brothers is late and Smoky says he's having trouble getting ahold of his guy. Not good.