ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(64)

She nodded, her teeth gritted in the sexiest angry scowl I’d ever seen.

“Then f*cking scream, baby,” I commanded, picking up my pace until the only word that could be used to describe the way I was f*cking her would be brutal. Then I did what I promised her I was going to do and I f*cked the anger right out of her.

It started as a small growl from her mouth. A little roar in my ear. Seconds later, Rage was all-out screaming into the night, and I found myself screaming right along with her. I felt her release everything in her little body that had her all twisted. Violently coming around my cock, she gave me everything then took everything I had, milking me as I came inside of her. Whatever was happening between us was more than bodies and orgasms—it was like we were crashing into one another and holding on for our f*cking lives.

Rage may not have shot me, but I’d been right all along, because she had killed me.

No death had ever been sweeter.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT




Rage


“Nolan, where the f*ck are my parents?” I asked, still trying to catch my breath. A burst of laughter shot from his mouth. “Why exactly is that funny?”

He wagged his eyebrows at me and dipped his fingers between my legs rubbing our combined wetness on the inside of my thighs. “Because we just f*cked. Because I just broke your * with my cock and my cum is still leaking from your *…and you’re asking me about your parents.”

“You knew I was different,” I pointed out.

“I sure as f*ck did,” Nolan whispered, running his fingers up my stomach, tracing circles on the outside of my hip. “Your parents are at the Belgian American Social Club in Port Charlotte at some sort of festival that involves a mannequin that pees or something. They’ll be back in the morning.” He looked up at the sky. The sun had already started to rise. “Or shortly.”

I smacked my own forehead. “They go to that every year. Wait. How did you know they were going there? Or where they lived? And how did you get my phone number to send me that picture and…” I sat up, continuing to fire off my questions. Nolan reached out and twisted my nipple under my T-shirt to get me to shut up. I smacked his hand away and he grabbed my wrist, gently rubbing his thumb over my palm and planting a soft kiss on my knuckles.

Nolan sighed. “I couldn’t find you for shit, well, except for your bogus Instagram account. Your Photoshop skills suck, by the way. I can’t believe your parents really think that’s Paris in the background. Then I remembered what you said about them being from Belgium, and the exit off the interstate you talked about with the big new Harley dealership where you used to watch the bikes. My sources ran with that information and led me right to your parents.”

“You looked for me?” I asked, biting my bottom lip.

“Every. Fucking. Day.” My stomach flipped.

“What sources helped you?” I asked, curiously.

“The club’s got plenty of computer geeks and hackers on payroll. They made it happen. It’s one of the perks of being a brother in an MC.”

“Shit,” I said, remembering the reasons why I ran in the first place. The MC. Joker.

“Fuck, what now?” Nolan asked, tightening his hold on me like he was preventing me from running again.

“There’s something I have to tell you. It’s about the MC…” I started.

“Yeah, heard you burnt down Joker’s house,” Nolan said with a smile. “But why do you look all pissy about it? I thought that was your thing?”

“No, the f*cking fire was magical, but you’re not hearing what I’m telling you. Your president. The man you swore loyalty to. I burnt down his house and he wants me dead.”

“And?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe I was thinking that could be a slight conflict of interest?”

“How so?” Nolan asked, raising an eyebrow at me and settling back on his elbows.

“Because you. And then me…ugh forget it.”

Nolan chuckled. “I’m just teasing you. I know what you’re trying to say. It’s a problem because you and me are together. You’re mine. I’m not letting you go. You’re coming to stay with me in the cottage until we figure the hockey shit out, and then you’ll come with me wherever I go. I’ll talk to Joker, sort that shit out.”

“You still want me?” I asked. “After knowing what it is I do? I’m sure you heard the nicknames.”

“Angel of death. Rambo Barbie.”

“Rambo Barbie.” I laughed. “I like that one.”

“I’m not exactly the choir boy type myself if you haven’t noticed, and you do what any guy in my MC does. You have a business. You do what needs to be done. You handle shit. The way I see it is that the only difference between you and a guy in my club is dick size.” He looked at me and winked. “I think yours is bigger.” I leapt on top of him and playfully punched at his chest. He held me down so my breasts were pressed against his skin. Suddenly, guilt plagued me.

“I wasn’t going to kill you,” I admitted. “I mean I was, at first. But then I changed my mind. Even if I got the call to do it, I wasn’t going to.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?” I asked.