Raw and Dirty (Bad Boys MC Trilogy #1) (2 page)

“Shame,” Royal says with another wicked little smile. “I guess you're off-limits then?”

“Off … limits?” I ask as the boys behind him laugh again, all of their eyes on me, amusement apparent in their gazes.

“Yeah, I mean, how would the mayor feel if I took his pint-size prodigy daughter to the bedroom and tore off that bloody awful little skirt of hers?”
I knew it! British accent. It's faint, but it's there.

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I stand there dumbfounded for a second. I'm not stupid, okay, but I work in a
mayor's
office. Talk about prim, proper, and politically correct. This man's like a shock to the system.

“No offense, Mr. McBride, but this
bloody awful
skirt belonged to Toni Gladstone, the
previous
deputy mayor. I might have inherited her position and her suit, but I'll be damned if I inherit her mistakes.” Royal stares at me for a moment, his brown eyes dark and deep and soulful, then throws back his head and laughs, like I'm the most ridiculous thing he's ever seen.

“Oh sweetheart, I promise not to do a bodge job on you. We'll take it nice and slow and easy, alright?”

“The only thing you'll be
taking,
Mr. McBride, is a few hours of my time and a look at the papers I've brought you. I think you'll find that a healthy relationship with the mayor's office and the people of Trinidad will be beneficial for all of us.”

“Oh, I don't mind getting into bed with the mayor's office,” Royal says, eyes twinkling, mouth twisted to the side in a wolfish smirk as he takes a step closer to me. “Only I'd rather get into bed with
you.
”

“That rat bastard,” I snarl, slamming my car door and glaring out the window at Royal's retreating back. “
Sorry to say, I'm too busy for that today, love,
” I mimic, hating that man with every fiber of my being. Maybe it's some sort of defense mechanism against the overwhelming attraction I feel for him. Never in my life have I had this sort of reaction to anyone before. I'm generally a pleasant person. But Royal McBride? Ugh.

So I rescheduled with the club secretary and climbed back into my car, watching in the rearview mirror as customers pull their bikes into the shop—the shop whose books are good, so good that the forensic accountant my father hired to go over them couldn't find a single discrepancy. Thing is, we all know that the club is up to no good. And they know we know. But any efforts to actually catch them doing wrong have gone badly—for us. This … business arrangement we're considering, it won't stop them from doing what they do, but it will help my father's chances at re-election, show the city that he's 'cleaning up the riffraff'.

I sigh and turn the ignition, well aware that the club's on their best behavior right now. It's not like I'm going to see them trafficking illegal weapons or making drug deals in the bright light of day.

“Screw you, Royal,” I murmur, pulling out of my parking space and heading towards the front gates. It's not until I hit the highway that it starts to really pour, drops splattering against the roof of my car. I could go back to the office, but my dad's going to want to hear all about my meeting, and I have even less to report back on than Toni Gladstone did.
She
got laid by the president; I got dismissed like a stray dog.

My hands tighten around the wheel and my eyes wander to my cell phone, plugged in and laying across the passenger seat.

I press the dial button on my steering wheel, connecting with the Bluetooth in my phone.

“Call Royal McBride,” I say and listen as the phone rings over the speakers in my car.

“Wolf Cycle Service and Repair, this is Janae, how can I help you?” The sugary sweet voice of Janae, the club secretary, fills the quiet car and forces me to take a breath to clamp down on my anger. It isn't directed at her, isn't her fault that her boss is a dick. I think—though I'm not certain—that she's an … an
old lady
or something. Isn't that what bikers call their wives? A small shudder goes through me, but I make myself smile. People can hear it in your voice, you know.

“Hi Janae, this is Lyric from the mayor's office, I was wondering if you could get ahold of Royal for me?” There's a small pause as she considers my request. “I know he said he's busy today, but—”

“Busy?” Janae repeats with a small laugh. “Is that what he told you? Oh, bless his heart. Did he dodge out on your meeting?” My smile fades from my face. “There's a party tonight at the clubhouse. The boys are swearing in a new VP tomorrow.” I don't bother to ask what happened to the old vice president—I know she won't tell me. Club business
stays
club business. “He's probably just flirting with groupies and hauling in kegs.”

“Uh huh.” I can feel my mouth twitching with frustration. “Is that so?”

“That's so,” Janae says with a small laugh. “But I can try to wrangle him up for you if you want.”

“No, that won't be necessary. What time is the party tonight?”

There's a pause on Janae's end of the line.

“Could you hold a moment for me?” she asks.

“Sure thing.”

I'm already at my exit by the time she comes back.

“The party starts at six here at the clubhouse,” Janae begins, her voice holding a strange sort of hesitancy. “Although I'm not sure that this is the sort of party that you'd be interested in.”

I narrow my eyes, even though I know she can't see me, my gaze focused out the windshield on the wet pavement and the green of the trees flickering by on either side of the car. It's easy to see why they call this the Lost Coast; even with the fairly recent population boom, the area's still wild enough that I feel like it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to catch sight of some sort of Jurassic period monster—like Royal McBride.

“Six at the clubhouse,” I say, just to reconfirm.
Not the kind of party that I'd be interested in.
Please. If Royal thinks he can use his secretary to scare me away, he's dead wrong. “I'll be there.”

Holy hell.

Talk about a shit fest.

I slide a cigarette between my lips and feel my mouth curl into a smirk. Somebody hired strippers—not me, too busy dealing with my
ex
VP—but I owe whoever it was a favor. Fifteen minutes to six, and I'm already enjoying the show, watching my boys piss away two weeks worth of rage and frustration on alcohol and leather lovers. One of my favorites, a slim waisted brunette with legs for days, is smiling at me from across the room. I give her a wink and a silent promise to check in later. Right now, I've got business to take care of.

“You invited the mayor's daughter to one of our parties?” Smoky asks, lighting up and giving me a sideways glance that says he doesn't approve. “You think that's a good idea? On so many levels I can see this going wrong.”

“I'm not planning on shagging her,” I say, raising my brows and exhaling. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals a sea of leather cuts and scantily clad women, not a single gray skirt suit in sight. “I'm not a complete idiot, you know.”

“Only a half-wit,” Smoky says with a smirk, his green eyes narrowing as he shakes his head at me. “You never pass on a beautiful girl, even if fucking her's likely to get you tossed in the slammer. So tell me, what's wrong with this one?”

Royal McBride.
I can still hear that girl's voice ringing in my head, the mighty punch she packed into the four simple syllables of my name. I have to admit, it was a fucking shock to turn around and find Pint-Sized and Pretty glaring up at me, not even a hint of concern for where she was or who she was talking to.

I liked it.

I run my tongue over my lower lip and Smoky groans.

“Goddamn it, Royal.” I flick my gaze over to my friend and smile. “You're so full of shit your eyes are brown.”

“Yeah, well, you can blame my mum for that one.” My smile turns into a grin as I move away from Smoky and into the crowd. It parts like the Red Sea, bodies shifting aside as I make my way towards the front entrance. I know how to crack a joke and a smile, but I also know how to break a man's ribs without leaving any bruising. There's a reason I'm the youngest president in the club's sordid history, thirty-two years old and the officers twice my age don't have shit to say about it.

“She's here again.”

“Damn it, Dober. I thought I told you I wanted the night off?” I pause just outside, my boots dark against the rich red stain of the deck. A quick scan of the parking lot and there's no black Chrysler in sight. Eh, I don't know why I'm letting myself get so worked up over some bureaucratic government bitch that's just as likely to screw me in the courtroom as the bedroom. She wasn't even very attractive, more plain than anything else. But there was just something about her …

“What do you want me to do? Throw Rebecca and the kids out and close the gates? She's not stupid, Royal. Clearly, there's a party happening here, and as far as she knows, her husband died to protect the club.”

I grit my teeth and realize I've forgotten to ash my cigarette. Gray flakes drift in the breeze and fall to the black leather toes of my boots. I flick it away and grab a new smoke from my pocket.

“He
did
die to protect the club,” I growl as Dober steps up next to me, arms crossed over his broad chest, his mouth turned down in a frown that I can barely see through that thick brown beard of his.
I know because I took care of him myself. Fucking rat. Fucking backstabbing, idiot, blindsiding twat.

I miss him so bad it's like a knife to the gut every time I think about it.

“Yeah, well, what do you want me to tell Rebecca?”

I close my eyes and listen to the heavy bass throbbing in the background, taking a drag on my cigarette as I try to figure out how to handle this. I've already offered to keep paying Rebecca her husband's salary, at least until she gets herself on her feet. Landon might've been a snitch, but he was my VP and, once upon a time, my best friend.

I sigh.

“Where is she?”

“In Janae's office, bawling her eyes out.”

“Lovely.” I snub my cigarette out in a nearby ashtray and ignore the squealing and shouting and jeering that's taking place all around me. My brothers need a party to get their minds off things; I don't have that luxury.

Without another word, I take four steps down from the deck and hit the pavement in front of the parking lot, preparing myself to look Rebecca in the eye and lie through my teeth. No fucking way I'm telling her what really happened between me and Landon.
I can still feel his blood on my hands.

I shake the thought away with a growl and jam my fingers through my hair. This surprise visit, last thing I needed tonight.

“Rebecca.” I don't bother to knock, opening the door to the Wolf Cycle office without preamble, slipping in and closing it behind me before one of the guys notices and decides this is any of their business.

“Royal.” Rebecca is a mess. Her blonde hair is tangled and twisted around her face, mascara streaming down her cheeks in two dark lines. Her lower lip is a bloodied mess, all scarred and scabbed from being worried at by those pearly white teeth of hers. It's a habit she's had since high school, one that Landon was always trying to get her to break.

Dober said the kids were here, but I don't see either of them.

“In the back watching TV,” she says with a sniffle and a small smile, one that fades just as quick as it came. “I need to talk to you.”

A crash sounds from somewhere outside, but I don't bother to check on it. I'll leave that to Smoky—he's my sergeant-at-arms and even drunk, he's
good.

“What about, sweetheart?” I ask, and I actually feel bad, I do.
I killed your husband, I'm sorry.
It's what I should say, but I can't bring myself to feel anything but betrayal.
He put all of us at risk, all of us, even you.

Rebecca puts her hands on her lower back and turns in a small circle, her brown boots clicking against the cement floor of the office. Even as a grieving widow, she cuts a nice figure in her tight denim and leather jacket. It's not hard to see why Landon was smitten with her from the beginning all the way until the end.