Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (99 page)

He throws me off, reaching into his jacket for his gun.

I tried,
I think as I kick my leg out and he grabs it with his left hand, aiming the gun at me with his right.
Fuck, I really, really tried.
Tears pierce my eyes as a million thoughts scatter through my mind, but I don't stop fighting. I won't. Not until it's really all over.

A shot rings out, echoing in the quiet forest air, the damp scent of the woods drifting through the shattered driver's side window.

My kidnapper pauses at that, just long enough that the roar of a bike comes up on us, tires squealing and skidding across the pavement. I hear another shot, my body going completely still, hoping that whatever it is that's happening is enough to distract my guy from killing me.

This time when a hand comes through the window, I recognize the tattoos.
Royal.
He unlocks the door and wrenches it open in a split second. The man's quick, turning his gun on the Alpha Wolves President in an instant, but it's too late.

Royal snaps his wrist aside the same way he did to me in the bedroom the other night, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and yanking him out of the truck. I sit there, completely stunned, my eyes wide as I watch him crack the man in the face with his ringed right hand.
What a broken, beautiful man,
I think, echoing my very first thoughts of Royal as I watch him slam the guy into the side of the truck, his fist coming forward again and landing another hit.

The black truck from before is pulling up, a few guys spilling out the back as it skids to a stop. I open my mouth to warn Royal when another shot goes off and one of the men drops to the dirt. He doesn't take notice of any of it, hitting my kidnapper in the face so hard that his head snaps back. The man tries to fight back, swinging my borrowed hammer around and managing to clip Royal in the shoulder. He may as well have clocked a hunk of cement.

I watch in openmouthed shock as Royal grabs the guy's arm and twists it, loosing the hammer enough that it falls and he picks it up, swinging it in a graceful arc that hits the bearded man right in the side of the temple. He stumbles and then collapses against the base of the redwood tree that we clipped, blood streaming down the side of his face.

“You alright, Pint-Size?” Royal asks, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, his full lips parted as he pants and stares at me like he thought he'd never see me again.

“I'm fine,” I whisper and he nods once, bending down and grabbing the gun from the forest floor. Royal crouches low and moves to stand behind the open driver's side door, lifting the gun up and aiming it through the open window. Without a second of hesitation, he points it at the driver in the black pickup as the man tries to speed away, and pulls the trigger.

The truck swerves and skids, slamming into another tree while the guys that just climbed out of it struggle to find different cover. Royal keeps his eyes on them, pulling the trigger systemically and without restraint. He doesn't rain bullets on them, just watches and waits for the right moment.

That's the first time I realize
exactly
how dangerous he really is.

And the first time I realize that no matter how ridiculous it seems, how little time we've actually known each other, how strange a match we must make … that I'm in love with him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Royal

This is such a shit fest,
I think as I take a small step back and lower my gun.
But at least I got my girl.
A quick glance over at Lyric and the rapid thumping pulse of my heart starts to slow. When I first heard her scream, something broke inside of me, something that I don't think I ever want fixed. A change came over me, made me realize that
someday
is today.

Don't know Lyric Rentz all that well. Don't give a bloody fuck. I want her and nobody's going to stop me from getting what I want, not Mile Wide, not the mayor and definitely not my own stupid bullshit. If things between us don't work out down the road then fine, but fuck. Just thinking about that phone call, how I almost didn't call her back, how I almost acted like a petty bitch. Big wake up call.

“The boys are en route,” Glacier says, a freakish smile stretched across his angelic face, blue eyes bright, the tattoos on his neck obscured by the dark spray of blood. “Ten minutes or less.”

“Good.” I toss my stolen gun onto the floor of the truck, my eyes sweeping across Lyric, dressed head to toe in leather, her green eyes wide and struggling to blink back surprise. There's some blood leaking from her nose, but otherwise she looks okay.

I turn and grab Lyric by the boots, pulling her body along the seat until she slides out of the truck and I pin her against it with my body. Her legs wrap around my waist reflexively while she threads her fingers behind my neck. I don't waste a single second, thrusting my tongue into her goddamn mouth and letting her know something I should've suspected since the first moment she caught my attention back at the clubhouse.
Mine.

She lets me kiss her for a few seconds before her grip tightens and her body rocks against mine, feeling the hard, ready bulge in my jeans, tasting the desperation in my mouth.

Glacier makes a coughing sound behind me, but I ignore him. What's he going to tell the boys? That I kissed a sexy girl? Made her moan? That I know how to handle a woman like a fucking
boss.

“You,” Lyric begins, trying to pull back enough to talk. I grind her harder against the side of the truck, tasting blood and wild things and that distant sweet scent of wildflowers. “You,” she begins again and this time I let her, pausing to set her down on the wet dirt. “You came for me.”

“The hell did you think I was going to do, Pint-Size? Of course I'd come. Nobody ever said Royal McBride would abandon a damsel in distress.”

“But … you were so angry,” she says, eyes flicking back to Glacier, brows raising. I see that little chill go down on her spine. Yup. She feels it, too. Total psychopath. “I mean, you had a right to be, but …” She pauses and runs her hands over her face while I curl an arm around her waist and tug her against me.

“Hey red coat,” Glacier says, moving around us and leaning against the truck, so I have to look at him. “I know you Brits aren't used to winning wars, but we got a situation here.”

“Fucking Yank piece of shit,” I growl, glancing up at the few boys that happened to be right there when I jumped on my bike and took off like a bat out of hell. The rest are on their way. “How's it looking, Smoky?”

“They're all dead,” he says, like he's disappointed. Would've been nice to have someone to talk to about this, dig up some more information. Clearly, Mile Wide isn't done with us.
Good, because there's no way in hell they're walking away from this.
Club justice is going to come down hard on these motherfuckers.

A groan from behind me brings both Glacier and me whipping around, another gun in my hand, snatched from the shoulder holster under my coat. He's brandishing his hammer, the end already dark brown with blood.

The man I hit in the temple is still alive, struggling to stand as he braces himself against the tree.

“Take him back to the clubhouse,” I tell Glacier. Getting information out of unwilling participants is another one of his hobbies. Doesn't relish it like he does the chase, but I'm sure he'll still have a damn fine time. “Figure out why Clayton Moore sent his boys up here to die. And load some of these bodies up before you go. Should be a tarp in the backseat.”

“You got it,” Glacier says as I turn back to Lyric and block the man from her view with my body. She looks up at me with those big eyes of hers and searches my gaze for something. Whatever she sees there makes her relax a little.

“Who are these people?” she asks, gesturing a hand towards the open truck door and the bodies beyond it. I notice she doesn't look. “What's going on?”

“Later sweet stuff,” I tell her, stepping back and waving for Smoky to come over here. “We've got to clean up this mess before anybody stumbles onto it.” Smoky jogs over, his brother—blood related sibling this time—right behind him. Everybody calls the guy
Mug
because his face is the ugliest damn mug you ever did see. “Call back to the clubhouse and have Dober send a couple of guys out here in one of the loaner cars. We need someone to get these bikes and the other truck out of here.”

“Got it,” Mug says, his cell already in his hand, his bright red hair a jarring sight against the green and brown of the trees. Yep. Another goddamn ginger in my club.

“How do you want us to clean this up?” Smoky asks, giving Lyric a long, lingering look. This is club business, and she's a witness to all of it. Fuck, even if I didn't like the girl, I'd have to make her my ol' lady just to keep the Wolves off her ass.

“Spread 'em out. Park a few in the usual spot and dump the rest in the bay.”

Lyric swallows hard, her body stiffening as she listens to me lay out the facts.

“I'm taking Ms. Rentz here back to my place.”

“Smartest damn thing you've done all week,” Smoky says with a shake of his head. “You're not the sergeant-at-arms anymore, remember? You're the fucking president. Get your ass out of here and wash your damn hands. If I need something, I'll call you.”

“You're a fucking dick, Smoky,” I say, pulling Lyric along with me and pausing next to my bike. Even in my panic, I had the good sense to bring my Swinger so she'd have somewhere to sit. Good for me. I grab my helmet and slide it over Lyric's head. It's way too damn big, but better than nothing. I reach up and tighten the chin strap while she stands there and stares at me with a curious facial expression. “Let's get the fuck out of here, Pint-Size.”

“Why am I still alive?” she whispers, her body beginning to tremble. “
How
am I still alive?”

I slide my fingers away from the chin strap and down the sides of Lyric's neck until they're resting on her small shoulders.

“Because you're a feisty little tart, that's why,” I say, a grin curling across my lips. “Because, whether you like it or not, you were born for this life, baby.”

The ride back to my place is like a balm for my soul, soothing away the violent seething urges that have been plaguing me since last night. By the time I pull into my driveway and climb off the bike, sliding a pair of shades from my face and tucking them into the front pocket of my cut, I feel better.

I shouldn't, but I do. What the hell is up with that? If I thought I had shit to deal with before, this crap with Mile Wide is even worse. And it's just beginning.

I glance down at Lyric as she pulls her helmet off and takes a deep breath. An impulse strikes me, and I take it, cupping her face in both hands and leaning down to press our mouths together, her tongue hot and needy against my own.

We need to talk, Lyric and me.

But fuck this.

I grab the helmet from her fingers and toss it aside, scooping her up in my arms and carrying her to the front door before setting her down just long enough to unlock it. The dogs assault us with a chorus of excited barks and frantically wagging tails, but I ignore them, lifting Lyric back up and kicking the door shut behind me.

“Royal, I—” she begins, but I cut her off with another kiss, taking her into my bedroom and tossing her on the bed. “We should … I need to know what happened today,” she says, but her head falls back and her breasts arch against my chest as I climb between her legs and press my mouth to the thumping pulse in her neck.

“Later, Pint-Size. Later. For now, this. Just this.”

I sit up and slide my cut off my shoulders, tossing it to the floor before I yank off my shirt and unzip Lyric's jacket. Underneath … My breath catches sharply and my dick throbs with excitement.

“Is this for me?” I ask as I run my hands down the sides of the purple corset and pause at the zipper to Lyric's pants. “And am I going to find naughty knickers under all this leather?”

“It's not for you,” she says, but her cheeks are flushed with excitement as she looks up at me. “Well, maybe these were, but just a little bit. You beat up my brother.”

“Could've done a whole lot worse,” I say, refusing to let the subject come between us. Right now, hell would have to freeze over for me to stop—and even then it'd be a stretch. “That fucking phone call,” I say, unzipping her pants and finding a matching pair of panties and a bloody garter belt. “If that shit hadn't been enough to drive me crazy, then this would be.”
I need this girl,
I think as I peel her riding pants down her legs, tear off her boots and then finish the job, until she's lying there in nothing but purple lingerie. “I need to fuck you right now, love. If I don't, I'm going to lose my goddamn mind.”

I lean over her, kissing the side of her neck and working my way down to the corset, running my tongue along the top of it, tasting the pale creamy swells of her breasts. When my fingers seek out her pussy, it's soaked straight through and ready for me, clamping down hard on my hand as I work two and then three in and out.