Rough & Raw (Notorious Devils Book 2) (31 page)

“I’m fine with not being able to touch you right now, Brentlee. But that doesn’t mean I can stand to watch another man anywhere near you,” he grumbles.

“You were talking to Star,” I begin. His hand flies up and wraps around the back of my neck, startling me. I stare at him in shock and surprise.

“I didn’t let that whore touch me. I wouldn’t. Not now, not ever again,” he says.

I search for the lie in his eyes, except I don’t find it.
Truth
. His eyes are swirling with nothing but the absolute truth.

“I…”

“You need time to trust me, that’s cool, baby. I get that. You don’t get time to get off with another dick. You’re still mine,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against mine.

“It was innocent,” I whisper.

“
Bullshit
. You were showin’ him your tits and flirting with him,” he barks. I back up, but don’t get far as his hand is still on the back of my neck.

“Fuck you. You had your dick shoved down Star’s throat. You don’t get to tell me anything,” I snarl. He grimaces.

I lift my arms to hit him, but his other hand wraps around my wrists and he pushes me down onto the seat. His hips between my legs.

“I love you, my
tigritsa
,” he whispers as he gently pushes his hardened, jean clad cock against my panties.

“I’m so fucking mad at you, Bates,” I cry as tears begin to leak from my eyes and down into my hair.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs before his lips crash against mine, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth.

I fight him for about two seconds, maybe three. Then I shamelessly moan and roll my hips up to meet his rough jeans.

“Forgive me for fucking up, baby,” he murmurs, kissing my jaw and neck.

I want to forgive him, but I can’t. A week of being a
good boy
doesn’t take away the way he treated me. I can’t forgive him, not yet, if ever.

“I can’t,” I truthfully admit. I feel his whole body sag on top of me before he sits up and rights himself.

“How can I make you?” he asks. It almost makes me laugh.

He was the exact same way when we were young. Anytime we fought, he’d try and force me into telling him how to fix it. Some things never change about people.

“I don’t think it’s anything I can just
do
. It’s going to take time. It’s only been a week,” I say. Bates takes my hand and wraps his warm, strong fingers around it, giving me a gentle squeeze.

“Time,” he nods. “I’ll give you as much time as I can, but please, for my sanity, don’t fuckin’ flirt with other men.”

“Okay,” I agree with a nod.

Wordlessly, Bates starts the truck and we head back home to his house. We walk inside and relieve Tammy. I thank her for staying with Stella, and for being wonderful in general. Once she’s gone, I check on Stella and then walk toward my bedroom.

I turn around and look at Bates.

He’s standing in the middle of the living room, looking hopelessly lost, and so damn sexy it makes me ache. I want to just invite him into my room, tell him it means nothing, lie to him and to myself. I want to, but I don’t. I turn away from him and close the door before I do something stupid. Something that would clearly ruin what we’re trying to build—what we’re both desperately trying to fix.

The next thing I know, there is screaming coming from the living room. It’s animalistic and guttural and so fucking scary, my heart practically leaps out of my chest.

I don’t think.

I do
.

I jump out of bed and run to the living room. Bates is on his knees on the couch, his pillow wrapped in his arms, his eyes wide as he looks at it, screaming with tears running down his face.

I take a deep breath to calm my shaky nerves and I slowly walk toward him. I don’t want to startle him. I start to call his name, hoping it will wake him from his dream. I call his name louder and louder. I’m afraid to touch him, so when I’m right in front of him, I dip down to get in his view and say his name sharply, with purpose.

His eyes flick to me and he inhales suddenly, but he doesn’t see me. I don’t know what he sees, but it isn’t me. His eyes are wild and his movements jerky. He stands and scoops me into his arms, holding me close and tight as he stomps loudly to the bedroom. I’m thankful that Stella is a hard sleeper. This, right here, would terrify her.

The bedroom door closes and he locks it before he throws me onto the bed. His heavy weight shortly follows, and I gasp for air. He grunts in return. I feel his hand slide beneath the cotton shorts I’m wearing, and then two fingers roughly enter me. I cry out in pain and tears soon follow; then I watch as he wakes. His eyes slowly focus and he looks down at me, horror replacing the wild before he quickly leaps from me.

“I…
fuck
,” he growls.

“Bates,” I say, sitting up and reaching for him. He shrugs me off and heads for the door.

“I won’t stay here anymore. I’ll go back to the club,” he murmurs, leaving the room before I can speak.

I sit quietly for a moment, then I hear his bike start. I quickly scramble to my feet and run to the front door. By the time I get there, he’s gone. I close my eyes and I cry. Not because he’s abandoned me; he hasn’t, not really. He’s going to protect me, that much I know. But I don’t want him to. I want to help him. I want to hold him when he’s had a nightmare, a flashback. I want to comfort him however he needs it, just like I want him to do for me.

I just want him.

All this push and pull, this internal struggle. It isn’t because I don’t want him, not in the slightest. I do want him, that’s part of the problem. I want him so baldy, I never want him to leave me again.

I wipe the tears from my eyes and decide I need to get my shit together. He’s fucked up. I’ve fucked up. Doesn’t matter how or when, we’ve both fucked up over the years. But if we don’t let that shit go, we’ll never get back to each other and we’ll forever be unhappy.

I don’t want to be unhappy.

I want to fight and makeup and love.

I want to love him and he love me and show it however we desire.

I want it all.

The good, the bad, and the assuredly downright filthy and ugly.

Sniper

I
t fucking aches to stay away, but I have to. If I don’t, I could hurt her. When I slept next to Brentlee, with her in my arms, my nightmares were almost nonexistent. I hadn’t slept that good in years. I didn’t even realize I was sleeping so well next to her until I started sleeping on the couch. I was sober, and the nightmares, they came in full force. I almost raped her. I would have, too, had her crying not woken me.

“Gotta head up to the border, you game for a few days?” Torch asks as he walks into the room. I’m sitting at a table drinking a bottle of water, thinking.

“Yeah, I need a few days,” I grumble.

“Brentlee still giving you hell?” he asks.

“No, I had a nightmare,” I explain. I don’t have to go into detail with Torch. He knows and he understands.

“Let’s roll,” he grunts.

We ride together, to the border and then over to Canada. I think about the brothers we lost when Fury was in prison, the families that were destroyed by the skinheads and the Bastards. It was the saddest sight I had ever seen. It made me question the life, question my position. I would die if something happened to Brent or Stella because of my involvement with the club.

“What’re we doin’ here?” I finally ask once we’ve pulled through the clubhouse gates and start to get off of our bikes.

“Just doin’ an accounting check and popping in,” he shrugs.

“Who ordered it?” I ask. I’ve been checked out lately, so I don’t know what the hell is going on with the clubs, apparently.

“
MadDog
,” he says. Fury’s dad, and the President of the original charter. This club must be in some deep shit.

“Hey guys, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Blow, the clubs President, hollers as we walk up to the building.

“Just out for a ride and thought we’d stop by and pay a visit to our brethren,” Torch smirks.

“Well, come on in—fresh beer, weed, and pussy for you guys,” he says with a chuckle. I watch his eyes as they shift from side to side. He looks cagey, uneasy, and that in turn puts me on alert.

Once we step through the clubhouse doors, I cringe. It reminds me of our club in Bonners Ferry before Fury came in and cleaned house. There are a couple of broke down, strung out whores lying on the sofa, barely breathing. Nobody is laughing, joking, or partying. They’re separated and they all look pissed.

I walk over to a guy I’ve known for a while, Free. He’s leaning against the wall.

“Got a minute?” I ask. He lifts his chin toward the door and I follow him out. “You guys in trouble?”

“Got more trouble than we know what to do with,” he admits, looking off into the distance.

“Need help with that?” I ask.

“Might here shortly,” he says.

“Whatever you need, here for you, brother,” I say. He nods.

“I appreciate that. Give me a month to try and clean house. If I can’t get it done, then I’ll call in reinforcements,” he murmurs.

“Got your back, Free,” I confirm.

Free walks away, leaving me standing near the clubhouse, and I watch him take off on his bike. I turn around and head back inside. Torch looks at me in question and I shake my head. We spend the evening partying. Well, they do. I don’t drink a drop. I nurse the same beer all night and I observe.

The drugs are flowing; cocaine is everywhere. The whores are junkies itching for their next fix, and most of the men aren’t fairing much better. There’s a problem here, and I have a feeling Free won’t be able to fix it himself. I have a feeling that we’ll be back soon and cleaning house with vengeance.

The next morning, we leave the clubhouse but we don’t head back home to Idaho. Instead, we drive to California, to
MadDog
. We need to report what we’ve witnessed, who is definitely fucked up and fucking things up. Then we need to report on who definitely doesn’t approve of the shady shit happening. There are a few on the fencers, but for the most part, there is a clean divide between the brothers.

The ride to California is going to extend our trip, but that’s ok. I need some time away from Brentlee or I’ll fuck it up even more than it already is. After a long day’s ride, we settle into our hotel and I decide to call Brent and check up on her.

“Hello,” she murmurs sleepily into the phone.

“Hey, baby, it’s me,” I say.

“Bates, I thought you were going to be back in town today,” she yawns. I had text her the day before and told her where I was and when I’d be home so she wouldn’t worry.

“Gotta go see MadDog in California, then I’ll be home.”

“That’s a long trip. Be safe, please,” she whispers.

“You too,
tigritsa
,” I sigh.

It’s been another week. A long fuckin’ week. A week where I haven’t been sleeping, and the flashbacks are coming regularly. Between riding to Canada, to Cali, and now coming home, I’m so fuckin’ exhausted, I don’t know which way is up. I should give in to the bottle of Jack that’s underneath my bed, but I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be my father.

I’ve been drowning myself in work at the club and the drama of the Canadian brothers. Now that I’m home, it’s time for me to focus on the Devils Club. It’s a place I have been neglecting for weeks.

“You haven’t fixed your shit,” Fury grunts as I walk from my room into the bar at the clubhouse.

“Nope,” I reply, straightening my cut.

“You need to,” he says. I want to roll my eyes.

“Doin’ the best I can,” I lie, knowing damn well I could do a fuck’ve a lot more to woo Brentlee back. I don’t want to do that, though; I want her to come to me.

“Prospects gettin’ patched in tonight. Party at
Devils
starting at midnight,” he informs me. I nod.

Fuck. The girls hate getting last minute changes to the schedule. I roll my neck and stretch it out.
I’m gonna have to give some of these bitches a pay raise.
I grunt as my response and leave. I don’t have time to waste telling Fury all the reasons he’s an asshole. I have bitches to round up.

The club is already alive with music, strippers, and booze when I arrive. I quickly make my way backstage, where the girls are all applying makeup and changing into costumes for their next show. A few of them give me knowing smiles, because I’ve fucked them more than once. I try not to with the girls that work for me, but patch-in parties happen, and shit happens.