Bomb (Ruin Outlaws MC #1) (7 page)

“Surge didn’t put this in place so we could fuck it up,” I say. I breath in sharply. “An opportunity for a small gang like us to get a leg up over any of the others in the territory is huge, especially if things are in turmoil. If the other clubs get wind that we’re this weak-willed, it’s over.”

Six-Shooter clears his throat and leans over onto his elbows. “So what d’ya want us to do?”

I meet his gaze and give him a slight nod. “You can’t fight with each other anymore. I know Surge stressed that, but it’s more important than you realize. We’re brothers here, and as much as I hate to say it, even Rifle with all his shit-stirring. And before this deal goes down, we’ll start acting like the brothers we are.”

Sword snorts and gives me a sideways glance. “Brothers?”

“Brothers. Tighter knit than blood.”

A pale smile crosses his lips, and they all start to agree. The air changes from tension, not quite camaraderie but hell of a lot better than whatever was going on before. Tank smacks me on the back and nearly throws me onto my face, but I nod to him. It’s a start, at least. Another thought crosses my mind, and I decide to go with it. “We’ll have an initiation, a new one. I don’t know what you boys were subjected to when Surge let you join Ruin MC, but no more casual-riders will be walking around with our name. After I’m through with you, you’ll be men.”

I clench my jaw and wait for any protests. No one stands to leave, and they all seem to be in better spirits. As for me, I need something else to calm my nerves. Something more carnal and lustful. My mind goes to Cassie, and her severe eyes and knitted brow. Like my thoughts had strayed far from her all day.

T
he next morning, I drag myself out of bed and crawl into the shower. I feel groggy and out of it, and worst of all, frustrated. My dreams were tumultuous and eerie, and too realistic to get grips on. One of those nights where the emotions flooding your dream hang over you all day like a wretched cloud. What else can I do but try and ignore it?

After bathing and getting dressed, I silently creep into the kitchen to find Sara there with Mark. She’s sitting on his lap, being altogether too disgustingly flirty for me to handle. Mark’s hand is angled on her thigh, but mostly hidden under the edge of the table. They’re making kissy faces at each other, and making my mood that much more sour.

As I slip past and reach for the fridge, Sara’s gleaming smile fades and she turns her head to talk at me. Not to me, but in my general direction. I’ve lived with her long enough to know better. She’ll avoid my gaze if I try to meet her. “Who was that last night?”

I pull up the carton of milk from the door and crack open the spout. Just before I pull it up to my lips, I play dumb. “Who?”

Sara’s voice raises an octave. “Cassie! I’m not stupid! We both saw him!”

Placing the milk back in the fridge, I eye for something to eat. I pretend to not hear her, not wanting to get into it. With my head still ducked in the chill air, I talk into the carton of eggs. “Just a guy I met the other day...”

Sara sighs and I hear her whisper something to Mark. My eye twitches, and I instinctively grab it to try and stop the spasm. I hate it when this happens, it’s like hiccups but worse. Once it starts, my eye will be twitching all day long. My mom used to say that it was because I made goofy faces as a kid, but growing up, I know it’s from stress. I groan and shut the fridge shut. I don’t want to be here anymore.

“Where are you going?” Sara calls after me as I walk past her and grab my sweater and bag. Without another word, I open the front door and leave.

The sun is blistering, and I’m already missing the relatively cool winter nights. It never gets really cold where we live, but it’s better than facing ninety degree weather days for four months in a row. Thinking about wearing something white outside? Forget about it. Too bad darker colors just make you sweat more.

. . .

At work, I duck under Becky’s assaults and try to make my way through the day unharmed. While she had been nice for a few days, her mood has been tanking recently. It wasn’t unusual, and I probably should be used to it by now, but after months of watching her go back and forth through her bipolar phases, I'm just exhausted. It doesn't help I'm the only one she ever focuses on.

“Cassie, how nice of you to join us,” she says as I shut the door behind me. She’s dripping with sarcasm so thick that everyone in a four block radius must know she’s displeased. I speed walk past the confused clients and their dogs, and disappear into the back room. I steal a look at the clock in the break area and realize I’m not even late.

Becky walks into the room, her eyebrows knitted and face scowling. I stare into my locker before fishing out my apron and tying it on. “You’re late, again.”

I shake my head and hold my eye to try and stop it from twitching. I’ve gotten good at pretending I just have something in it. “I’m not late.” I finish tying the apron. “It’s ten till eleven.”

“You were scheduled to come in at nine.”

I shut my eyes and try to imagine the schedule I looked at. “I swear...”

Becky slams my locker shut, nearly catching my fingers. “Me too. I can’t keep coming here to clean up your messes. We had three clients waiting at the door this morning and wondering why they were locked.”

“I-I’m sorry,” I begin, and she does a silencing motion with her hand.

“I don’t want to hear it, but I do want you to stay tonight and help get a couple of the dogs home.”

I’m livid, but I try to hide it. I squeeze my eyes shut and open my locker again to put away my bag. While I’m procrastinating, Becky leaves the break room. After she’s well out of ear shot, I slam the locker closed, wanting a little bit of that satisfaction. The gesture feels empty.

Clutching my eye, I go back out into the main room, and put a fake smile on my face.

. . .

I come back home in somewhat of a daze. It’s too close to sunset. The orange light filtering through the drapes makes the living room look frozen in the seventies, with the thin carpet being the only thing keeping it firmly locked in the present.

I call out into the apartment after I drop my purse near the door. “Sara? You here?”

Not a sound stirs the air. The sunlight catches on some dust in the living room, and I stick my tongue out in disgust at how messy it makes the house look. I move to the couch and collapse on it, the smooth fabric sinking enough to make me feel like I’m in quicksand. It’s just cheap.

I kick my feet up onto the coffee table and peel my shoes off, before kneading my sore arches.

Becky worked me hard, and having me corral three dogs up and take them to some 'client’s' house fifteen minutes away was just the perfect topper on it all. It wasn’t that far, but he did try to invite me inside, ugh.Also, the little detour set my drive home back by an hour and a half thanks to all the idiots on the highway.

Thankfully, Sara isn’t here to pity or ignore me. I lean my head back on the couch and close my eyes. The sunlight warms my cheeks, and even though I was whining about how hot it was in the car, it’s somewhat soothing now. A wind kicks up and shakes the trees against the windows again, and the rattling is almost hypnotic.

I’m just about to doze off when someone knocks on the front door. My eyes go wide and I throw myself to my aching feet, padding over to the peephole to take a look. Tall, dark and tattooed is outside, his posture aloof but cocky.

My mind races as my heart does, and my vestige of sleepiness vanishes without a trace. I unlatch the door and open it wide. He throws me a dark grin and steps inside, sidling next to me closer than he needs to. I breath in his scent as I close the door. I feel my insides burn.

He has a familiar look, too. That hungry, yearning look I saw on my face last night. I don’t want to say a word and break the moment, and he doesn’t look like he has any intention to either. He steps forward and scoops me up in his arms, and his lips embrace mine. I feel a shocking electricity vibrate through me, and without a second thought, I close my eyes and curl my arms around his neck. The kiss lengthens, and with time, deepens until my mind is filled with nothing but a black canvas ready to be painted on with colors of pleasure. His tongue explores my lips, and his subtle beard scratches my face. I don’t care. For once, I just want to be swept up. I can’t even consider this isn’t real, that it might be a dream.

He slides his arm behind my back and pulls me closer to him, his bulge digging against my legs. I let a gasp slip out and my jaw drops open as our eyes meet. His fiery blues look almost menacing in the orange, aggressive light of the sunset. With a pull of his hand, he drags me toward the couch, and collapses on it. I don’t even hesitate to throw my legs around his waist and clutch him.

What am I doing? The only one-night stand I’ve had was with a guy in college, but it was unremarkable enough to turn me off to the whole idea. What was the point? A quick burst of sex and then nothing afterward? Sitting on top of Logan though, with his hands exploring my body and our lips locked, I’m starting to see the appeal.

His hand cups my breast through my shirt, and I suddenly remember the fantasy I had last night. His hands are stronger than I thought they would be. I throw my head back and twist my hair, and he looks at me. We stop to catch our breath for a few minutes, and I grow more self conscious of what I’m doing. Why is he here? Is this just a game to him?

“We shouldn’t...” I start to say. His finger quickly goes to my lips, and I almost feel like laughing at the absurdity of what I just said. 'We shouldn’t' isn’t quite the same as what I’m thinking, ‘I really want it, please fuck me now, Logan.’

“Not now, don’t say a word,” Logan says. I nod in agreement, and something about the gravel in his voice gets me even hotter. I run my hand from his shoulder to the back of his hair, dragging my fingers through his scalp and making him growl. I feel like exploding, and he’s still wearing his jacket and his pants. A tempestuous heat rises from him, engulfing my senses with his smell, his look, and his touch.

I work at undoing the buckle and zipper holding his leather on, and I feel myself blush from his attention. His eyes are on me, and I’m too embarrassed to look back. It’s almost like I don’t feel worthy of him, which is ridiculous because I’m straddling his lap. He helps me take his jacket off by pulling his arms through the sleeves, and I throw it on the ground. His tattoos are visible now, and that fuel and leather smell is that much more potent. I moan quietly as I kiss his cheek, his neck, and move my lips down to his chest. His grunts of pleasure only encourage me more. My eyes open for a brief second and pass over his vest, finally reading the patch blazed across the back.

BOMB. RUIN RIDERS MC.

“Bomb, huh?” I whisper. He cracks a grin and undoes my bra, the warm air tickling my exposed nipples. In a second, I’m topless and my naked skin is touching his tattooed chest. I really shouldn’t be doing this, especially in the living room... Sara could come home at any minute, right? I can’t think. Logan’s hands squeeze my breasts, and a gasp slips from my lips. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. I rake my finger through his hair and nibbles on me.

I seize back and clasp my hands across his strong shoulders. He skin is hot to the touch, and his tattoos look like they’re twitching with life whenever he moves. Ropes of coiled snakes squirm under his tattoos, and I feel dizzy and lightheaded. His eyes lock on mine, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.

I want to tell him to take me into the bedroom, to throw me onto my sheets and ravage me there. But I can’t. I feel transfixed, almost hypnotized. I don’t want anything to shatter the mood or break the illusion. Our hands explore each other, and I laugh a little as a grin stretches across his face. His eyes meet mine again, and he lets out a low growl. My body can’t take much more teasing, but something tells me he isn’t breaking a dry spell like I am.

He plants his hand on my ass and picks me up, only turning to set me down on the couch. With my head wedged between the worn cushions, he kneels down between my legs, planting firm and warm kisses on my skin. Usually I’d close my eyes at this point, to try and fixate on the pleasure, but watching him work his magic on me is the pleasure. He dips down between my thighs and slips my panties off, before going back down and savoring a taste. I can’t believe it’s happening. Without a thought, my hand stretches down to urge him in the right direction, and he obeys without an inch of protest. Soon, I’m swimming in euphoria, the entire apartment falling away around me and nothing but his touch and the firm cushions under my shoulder blades.

I must have fallen asleep, I tell myself. There’s no way he showed up out of the blue to break this tension. He stands up, and I shake myself to my senses. His bulge looks eager to burst from his jeans, and a part of me wants it to, but I know I shouldn’t let him go so far.

“Logan,” I break the silent staccato of skin and breathing once more. “We shouldn’t...”

He grins, and despite myself, I do too. Even I know the words are hollow tokens at this point, but a part of me wants to resist. I never fall for men of his type... He squeezes his erection through his jeans and a pained but hungry look crosses his face. I bite my lip and eye him. Who says I’m falling for anyone? This is just a little taste...

“How long has it been?” he asks. I stare at him, confused by the question. I don’t want to believe he’s asking what I think he is.

“Since...” I meander around the question, but his eyes narrow. “I’ve had sex?”

“Yes,” he says.

I pretend to think about it, but I know the answer. Four months. “Too long.” He gives me a roguish grin, and he starts to unzip his pants. I stare at his waist with a mixture of fear and excitement.

“Don’t get attached.” It really has been a long time, but does that mean I should be hooking up with someone who might as well be a stranger?

He pulls his jeans down and his boxers barely hide his cock. My legs feel tight, and my insides burn for some kind of release. I know my cheeks are red, from how much they sting to the touch. My heart races, and his look isn’t making it slow down at all.