Unbeautifully (6 page)

It wasn’t any secret Tegen had a serious crush on Cage; she’d never hidden it and in my opinion, her following him around like a sad little puppy dog all the time was just sad. But more so embarrassing. For me.

“Baby?” Dorothy gave her a shake.

Tegen glanced up. “What?”

“Your news,” Dorothy repeated. “Tell everyone.”

Tegen’s cheeks turned pink. “Mom,” she muttered. “Really? It’s not that important.”

Dorothy gaped at her. “Your story was published in a national newspaper and it’s not important?”

Eva tugged on Tegen’s hair and grinned. “That’s so awesome, baby. I’m proud of you.”

Rolling her eyes, Tegen shrugged. “It was just some stupid contest,” she said and went back to not-so-secretly eyeing my brother. Dorothy and Eva continued their conversation and I went back to my cold sweat, because Ripper was still stare-glaring at me.

• • •

“Baby,” Nikki cooed, running her hand up Ripper’s thigh. “What is wrong with you?”

What was wrong with him? He was still waiting to die, that’s what was wrong with him.

Motherfuck, he was a mess. He hadn’t slept in almost a week, unless you counted passing out cold from alcohol poisoning.

Goddamn, what had she said to him?

Ripper, you’re still beautiful. So you’ve got some scars. So what?

She’d fucked him, both literally and figuratively. He’d been done for the moment she’d called him beautiful.

Jesus, he was only human.

With twitching hands, Ripper grabbed his pack of smokes off the picnic table in front of him, shook one out and, as he brought it to his mouth, turned his gaze across the lawn.

What the fuck was her game?

She hated him. She had to. She wanted him to die.

But why would she hate him? He’d never done shit to her. He’d barely had anything to do with her.

Until now.

She hadn’t told on him either.

But why would she? She’d been wholeheartedly into it, if memory served.

Ripper closed his eyes and saw Danny splashing naked in the lake, the water only reaching her waist, her long blonde hair wet and plastered to her body, beads of water clinging to her eyelashes, lips, and breasts.

“
Oh my god.” She laughed. “I’m so drunk!”

Yeah, and he had a hard-on from hell that was making it hard to think about anything but grabbing her, throwing her down, and fucking the shit out of her.

“
What’s wrong, Mr. Grumpy?” She giggled, slinging her arms around his neck, pressing her tits up against his abdomen and her stomach into his erection. He held his breath, kept his hands fisted at his sides. He wasn’t going to touch her. He was not going to touch her…

“
Ripper?”

He glanced down and found her peeking up at him through wet eyelashes. Jesus.

“
Yeah?”

“
Thank you for dancing with me,” she said softly, almost shyly. “And for not taking me home.”

“
Yeah,” he said tightly. “Ain’t no big deal.”

Her hand slid from his neck to his chest and he closed his eyes as she traced one of the many scars there. “It was to me,” she murmured.

“
Danny,” he growled, refusing to look at her. “You keep touchin’ me like that and I ain’t gonna be responsible for what I end up doin’.”

Then he felt it. Her lips pressed a soft kiss on the center of his chest, over the worst of the scars and lingered there, softly kissing.

And then he heard it. Five little words that shut off his brain and spurred his body into action. “Ripper,” she whispered against his ruined skin. “Make my prom night perfect.”

She’d wham, bam, thank you for your services, Ripper, and they’d gone their separate ways. No need to tell anyone; no need to do it again.

Which brought up another question. Why the fuck had she done it in the first place?

Because she was drunk? To give her father a secret fuck-you?

Between Deuce and Cage constantly breathing down her neck, the girl hadn’t had a whole lot of freedom to do as she pleased. So he supposed in a way it made sense that she’d ended up in bed with a brother, the only human beings with dicks that Deuce had willingly let her associate with.

But lately Deuce had been absent from the world, and Cage was usually buried in women.

If she’d just wanted a fuck, there were other brothers, younger, a lot less fucked-up looking.

Holy shit…had she been a virgin?

Oh god, he was going to throw up.

Why had she done this to him? What the fuck had he ever done to her?

“Hello?” Nikki snapped her fingers in front of his face. “This is a party, remember? Loosen up.”

Yeah. Whatever. There was always a party. Between the club members and their families, it was always someone’s birthday, a wedding, a baby being born. He froze. Birthdays. Holy fuck, how old was Danny?

Ripper scanned his memories, thinking back to the birthdays over the past year and…

His shoulders slumped as he sighed in relief. She was eighteen. Legal. Thank you, God. She’d turned eighteen a few weeks before he’d turned thirty-two.

Shoving Nikki’s hand out of his face, he glanced back across the lawn.

And…she still wasn’t looking at him.

He’d spent an entire week thinking about nothing but her, wondering if she’d spilled the beans, wondering if she was going to show her face at the club, wondering why he gave a shit if she showed her face at the club or not, freaking the fuck out every time he saw Deuce, thinking at any second he was going to get his balls blown off.

He stubbed out his smoke on the picnic table, grabbed his pack, and shook out another.

Was it over with?

Could he just forget the whole fucking deal and move on?

He wished someone would tell him.

That someone being Danny, who, by the way, still wasn’t looking at him.

And fuck him, he was still looking at her.

He couldn’t stop.

Danny was the natural version of Nikki. Naturally blonde, naturally tan, didn’t have to wear a shitload of makeup.

Nine years ago, when he’d first met Nikki, he’d liked her enough to consider her his girl. She was hot as fuck, curvy as hell, and a freak in bed. Only problem was he never got to that point where he’d wanted to give up pussy on the side, and strangely enough, Nikki had been okay with it. Then when he’d come home, all fucked-up from Frankie, she hadn’t even blinked. She hadn’t given a fuck.

That’s when Ripper knew she was just like every other club whore, only in his bed for what the club could give her. But he hadn’t cared. She was just some bitch he threw a couple of bills at once in a while. She got the club and he got pussy whenever he wanted it. It worked.

He glanced over at Nikki and frowned. Her dyed blonde hair was dried out and frizzy, her makeup cakey, her eyes tired. And all those curves had expanded. The bitch looked beat-up, older than she was, and sadly still trying to rock those tiny leather skirts he used to love.

Yeah, it wasn’t working anymore.

He glanced back at Danny. At that killer body, the slinky pink sundress covering it, her long blonde hair hanging down her back in soft curls and…

He’d been inside that.

He’d been inside that.

Fuck him. It still wasn’t registering. He knew it had happened, had the memories, but couldn’t fathom it. He hadn’t been with a woman that beautiful since before Frankie.

Ripper couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been with someone like Danny. Clean and good and…virtually untouched. Because she hadn’t been a virgin, right? She hadn’t acted like a virgin. God, he hoped like hell she hadn’t been a virgin.

“Are you going to be like this all day?” Nikki asked.

He ignored her. Danny was on the move, walking toward the clubhouse, all that pink material clinging to her body, inching up her thighs. Thighs he remembered wrapped around his waist, her nails digging into his shoulders, her screaming out his name while he pounded into her.

He stared and stared and…she shot a glance his way and yep, he got a reaction. Her eyes went wide, her face turned red, and she quickly looked away.

So…what the fuck did that mean?

Was she embarrassed that she’d fucked him? A girl like her, he wouldn’t blame her.

But…she’d begged for his cock. She’d whined and begged, grinding her pussy against his mouth, ripping his hair out of his head.

“
Ripper,” she’d cried out, thrashing beneath him. “Now, please, please, now…”

What if it hadn’t been him who’d picked her up?

What if it had been Bucket or Dirty or ZZ?

Would she have fucked them instead?

Did he care?

No. Pussy was pussy. He didn’t give a fuck whose pussy was giving his dick a temporary home as long as it was wet, warm, and tight.

Neither did he give a fuck who else was dipping inside that shit.

But Danny… And suddenly he was giving a fuck about pussy?

No. No, he did not care.

But yeah, he sort of did.

What the motherfuck was wrong with him?

Nothing was wrong with him.

He didn’t give a fuck. Nikki, the club bitch standing across the lawn, the brunette in a bar bathroom a few weeks back, none of them mattered because pussy was pussy.

Ripper, make my prom night perfect.

He wasn’t sure how perfect he’d made her night, but she sure as fuck made his pretty fucking spectacular.

Spectacular. When was the last time he’d used a word like spectacular to describe sex?

The blonde slut he’d lost his virginity to? Tiffany something or other?

No. That had consisted of “holy fuck, this feels awesome” and a minute later it was over.

Ten years ago when Eva and Kami had shown up out of nowhere and he and Cox had spent three days locked in a room with that skinny rich bitch?

No. That mess could only be considered just that. A mess. A hard-core fuck fest, yeah, but still a mess considering Cox was married to the bitch now and Kami loved using Ripper to make Cox jealous when she was mad at the guy. Which was every five seconds and so goddamned annoying that he’d begun wishing the three-day fuck fest had never happened.

So, no. He’d never had spectacular sex before.

Until now.

Holy shit, what was wrong with him?

He was going insane, that’s what was wrong with him.

He’d finally lost his mind.

“You’re acting weird,” Anabeth said, not bothering to look up from painting her toenails. “Weirder than usual, I mean.”

Ellie glanced up from her book. “She’s right. You’ve been acting weird since prom.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned back to my vanity mirror and applied a light coating of peach lip gloss, just enough to give some shine and a boost of natural color. Then I smoothed my long blonde curls, reapplied my eyeliner, double-checked the zipper on my jeans skirt, straightened and re-straightened my pink T-shirt. Maybe my hair would look better straight today?

“Seriously, Danny, what is wrong with you? And why are you putting so much makeup on? You look like a hooker.”

What was wrong with me? I was a mess. All I could think about was Ripper and what had happened at the lake.

Since Dorothy’s birthday party nearly two weeks ago, I’d avoided the club like the plague. I didn’t care that no one was home to hang out with me; I was terrified of running into Ripper again.

Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him?

“Danny, what is wrong—”

I whirled around. “I slept with Ripper,” I blurted out, then immediately slapped my hand over my mouth.

Ellie’s mouth fell open, a starkly different reaction from Anabeth’s grin.

“Ripper,” Ellie said slowly. “As in
Ripper
, Ripper? Your dad’s sergeant-whatever guy?”

I nodded.

Anabeth let out an excited shriek. “Finally!” she yelled. “I thought you were going to die a virgin!”

I glared at her. “I wasn’t a virgin.”

She made a face. “Shawn O’Brian does not count. That was like, what? Five minutes of horrible in the woods? So doesn’t count.”

“Oh god, Anabeth,” Ellie muttered. “Your whole life is based around sex.”

“So?” she shot back. “It’s better than having sex with fictional characters!”

Ellie shot up out of my desk chair. “I do not have sex with fictional characters!”

“Oh puh-lease, I’ve seen the books you read, all big muscley men and virginal women and steamy sex. Why else would you read that crap if not to get off?”

Ellie was about to blow. Her eyes were bugging out of her head, her nostrils flaring.

Ignoring her, Anabeth turned to me. “Was it good?” she asked.

I buried my face in my hands and peeked out at my friends through my fingers. “Yes.”

Anabeth’s smile turned sly.

Ellie turned her bug eyes on me. “Do you actually
like
him? He’s so…old.”

Like him? Um, I didn’t
like him
, like him…did I?

Anabeth laughed. “Oh, who cares. He’s only what, like, thirty?”

“Thirty-two, I think,” I said, wincing as Ellie’s face scrunched up in disgust.

“Ignore her,” Anabeth said dismissively. “Ripper is hot. All big and bad and scarred up. And speaking of big, how big is he?”

“Scarred up?” Ellie gaped at Anabeth. “The man has half a face!”

I dropped my hands and glared at both of them.

“What? It’s a legitimate question!”

“It’s none of your business! And he doesn’t have half a face!”

Anabeth’s grin turned positively evil. “Oh. My. God. You do like him!”

“Gross,” Ellie muttered. “Not only is he deformed, he’s old enough to be your dad.”

“That makes it even hotter,” Anabeth said, nodding gravely.

“He is not old enough to be my dad!” I yelled. “My dad is like fifty!”

“Whatever,” Ellie said. “That’s not the point. The point is you like an
older,
deformed man who works for your crazy dad. Do you actually see yourself dating him?”

Date him? The thought of going on a date with Ripper was absurd. He wasn’t the kind of guy you went to dinner and a movie with. He was the kind of guy who dragged you out of the lake, shoved you down on the ground, growling and groping you, telling you all the dirty things he wanted to do to you…and then did them. No-holds-barred, invasive, mind-numbing, disturbingly awesome things. I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering…