Chaos Bound (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #4)(64)
Her soft words, the gentle lilt of her voice, her hand roaming his body, the sweet scent of her perfume, and her lush naked body all ripe for the taking eased his tension, assuaged his fears. He reached for her and pulled her against him, ground his erection into her hips. “You better not be f*cking with me, Ella.”
“I would never do anything to hurt you, James,” she whispered, leaning up, her breath soft in his ear. “I want you too much. I always have.” She clasped his hand, drew it down to the juncture of her thighs, slid his finger through her wet, slick folds.
Ella Masters, one of southern Montana’s top reporters wanted him. She wined and dined with governors and senators. She was on the f*cking news every night. She was smart and rich and beautiful and talented and she wanted him, really wanted him. Tank. An outlaw who had never even finished high school. She was wet for him, and he hadn’t even touched her.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Ella reached into his cut and pulled it out.
“Let’s put this away,” she whispered. “Right now it’s just you and me.”
The sight of her slim white fingers wrapped around his phone broke through the haze of his lust. Images tumbled through his mind: T-Rex, Banks, Connie, Sirens, Black Widow spiders with their heads bitten off, and the button on his phone that he pressed with his thumb to unlock it. And through her fingers he could see the flash, flash, flash of Jagger’s name.
“Jesus f*cking Christ.” He ripped the phone from her hand and stepped away.
His president needed him. His club needed him. There was only one way she could have accessed his phone when he was sleeping and the thought she’d used him that way made his skin crawl.
Ella opened her arms and his betraying cock throbbed.
“Come,” she beckoned him forward.
He went. But not in the direction she was expecting.
SEVENTEEN
Naiya slid off the bed, careful not to wake Holt. After the movie, they’d watched a crime show, and made love two more times before falling asleep. Holt had woken twice already with nightmares about his time in Viper’s dungeon, but he calmed quickly when she held him, so she’d given up sleeping anywhere except curled tight against his body.
He was in a deep sleep now, his breathing slow and regular. Restless, Naiya walked over to the window, her mind going over what Holt had said. He was having doubts about his plan to go after the Sinners, but he still intended to follow it through. How could she save him from himself? Save the bikers who were his closest friends? She knew how overwhelming the desire for revenge could be. She’d been there, ready to pull the trigger, without any thought about the consequences other than an end to the man who had caused her so much pain.
Holt didn’t have a priest to save him. But he did have Naiya, and the answer was out there. Rider’s Bar wasn’t far away.
She dressed quickly and left a note for Holt, telling him she’d gone for a walk. As an afterthought, she stuffed his cut in her bag before heading downstairs. Although it was nearly midnight, the lavish hotel lobby was busy with people chatting in the huge overstuffed chairs and clinking glasses in the hotel bar.
A cool breeze blew through the pink cotton sweater she’d bought during a rest stop on their way to Conundrum. She pulled it tighter around her as she raced through the streets, dodging pedestrians on their way home from the bars.
By the time she reached Rider’s Bar, her hands were white from the cold. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped into a proper, old school biker bar that smelled strongly of beer with a hint of leather. The dark, cherry-stained wood walls and warm colors gave it a comfortable, yet masculine, appearance. Rough-hewn wooden tables were scattered throughout, and the walls were decorated with pictures of whiskey bottles, motorcycles, Harley symbols, fancy cars and, of course, women.
Conversation ground to a halt when the door closed behind her, and it took Naiya a moment to realize she had walked into a sea of biker cuts with not a civilian in sight.
“What do we have here?” A burly giant of a man wearing a padded “Security” vest cracked a toothy smile. “You get lost on your way to a wedding, sugar?”
Naiya gave him what she hoped was a winning smile, or at least a smile that would convince him to let her into the bar. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Don’t think the kind of someone a girl like you would be looking for would be in a biker bar.” He took a step in front of her, blocking her way. Yeah, he was intimidating, but so were all the Black Jacks she’d encountered. And look what she’d done to Viper, who was the most intimidating biker of them all. Although her penknife had barely scratched him, she’d dared to stab the man many called untouchable.
“I’m here for a drink.” She looked up, met his gaze head on, her hands dropping to her hips. “So unless this is a private bar, I suggest you let me in, or does the owner not want paying customers?”
A grin spread across his face. “Why don’t you ask him?” He gestured to the bar. “His name is Banks. He’s the dude in camouflage who looks like he just came back from a Black Ops mission. Tell him Gunner’s buying your drinks tonight. He can put them on my tab.”
Gunner. Holt said he was the club’s sergeant-at-arms, responsible for internal discipline at the club. And she could see why. His arms were like steel pipes and, despite his smile, he was clearly not a man to be crossed.