Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1) (13 page)

“Grace! Let’s go!”

My shoulders curled in, the thought of going back to that place making me shrink where I stood. I held out my hands. “Oh, please, no. I can’t go back there.” I knew he couldn’t possibly hear me, so I shook my head. Adamantly.

“You’re a witness and wasting fucking time. Get on the back. Now.” His voice traveled over the sound of the engines with no problem. I placed one hand tentatively on his shoulder and swung my leg around. Tread’s big hand grabbing that ankle before it could touch the bike made me lose my balance and jostled the heavy machine.

He didn’t say anything, just manually put my foot on the peg and pushed my knee out so that it didn’t touch the chrome pipes. The second I lifted my other foot off the ground, the bike was in motion. My nails dug into Tread’s bare shoulders reflexively. He seemed not to notice.

The group of men took the turn at an alarming speed, making me squeak and close my eyes. We weren’t even wearing helmets!

After coming to a bone jolting stop, Tread was off of the motorcycle and taking me with him, since I hadn’t released my grip on his shoulders. I stumbled, once again catching myself on the same driveway with my marred hands. When I tried to stand, a hand pushed me back down.

“Stay behind my bike and call the police,” Tread said, tossing a phone, which I fumbled. I watched the men split up, some going to the back door. Tread disappeared through the front.

“Hi, yes. There’s been a shooting at the vet’s office on Saint Michael’s Street. We need an ambulance. Please hurry.”

Men started coming out of the building as soon as the sirens could be heard. I watched them eye me as they put several guns into the saddlebags of their bikes. I said nothing.

As the first cruiser skidded into the parking lot, the MC members raised their hands in the air without prompting. The sheriff got out with his gun drawn, aiming at them.

“Sheriff, we have a man down. He isn’t going to make it if we don’t get medical attention. Place is clear of perps. Looks like they cleaned house and left,” Royal said, stepping to the front with his chest out, as if making the officer’s target bigger on purpose.

“Yeah, and how many civilians are dead?” the sheriff asked without lowering his gun.

“Four dead, three injured. They don’t have time for bullshit. This wasn’t us and you know it’s not our style.”

The officer didn’t have a chance to reply before an ambulance swayed onto the property. Several EMTs jumped out. To my surprise, Royal turned his back on the sheriff to direct the crew to the injured.

The officer holstered his gun roughly, saying something into his radio before throwing it in the car where I watched it bounce around inside. I swallowed nervously when the phone rang in my hand, drawing his attention.

“Do you need medical attention, ma’am?” he asked politely. I shook my head slightly as he walked closer.

“Are you sure about that? You’ve got blood all over you.” He gestured vaguely, and I looked down, just now feeling the tightness of something dried to my face, red smeared on my shirt and my hands. I held them up again, watching them begin to shake violently. They were almost orange now, like I’d dyed them to match the sunset.

“It’s not mine,” I whispered numbly, trying to wipe the blood away.

“I’m going to clear the place. If you’re sure you don’t need medical attention, just stay there. I’m going to need your statement.”

“But the building’s cleared. Royal said—”

“I heard Royal. God knows he probably let them out the back before they called us.” He sighed. My shoulders got tight.

“I called you,” I choked out in indignation. The sheriff rocked back on his heels.

“Are you in cahoots with the MC, ma’am?” he asked sternly.

“What is that supposed to mean? You really think they shot one of their own so close to his femoral artery that I had to use a leash for a tourniquet, all to get drugs for animals?”

“You must be new, then.” He smirked. “Maybe they missed.”

My jaw clenched. “I haven’t been here that long, no. But I do know they’re all ex-military. Something tells me they don’t miss.”

The older man harrumphed then walked away from me.

TWO HOURS LATER, WE ALL
piled into the saloon. Tread nudged me towards the stairs immediately.

“Go take a shower, babe. Put the clothes in that bag so these dicks can get out of our bar.” He gestured over his shoulder to the two deputies tailing us. They effectively made up a whole half of the sheriff’s department. Amazing.

I turned, finally numb, and climbed the stairs. It wasn’t until I stripped off my clothes that I looked in the mirror and saw just how absolutely covered in blood I was. I couldn’t get in the shower fast enough. I couldn’t get the water hot enough. There wasn’t enough soap to make me feel clean.

I cried as I scrubbed my skin until it was raw and the water ran cold.

After my mini-meltdown—completely justified, I reminded myself—I set up twenty shot glasses at the bar and poured whiskey into all of them with a shaky hand.

“Where the fuck is Lonny?”

The voice made me spill liquor on the counter. I looked up at Tread and shrugged my shoulders listlessly.

“He was in the garage when we left, passed out on the fucking couch. Someone go check,” Mac said as he sat down. I placed the shot glasses down as each man that rode out today filled up the rest of the bar top with beers in hand. I ignored the shaking of my hands, but was aware of the curious looks I received as the glasses rattled.

“Where’s yours?”

I looked up, directly into Tread’s espresso eyes. Shrugging again, I looked back down.

“You could use one, Grace. Probably more than us,” he pointed out.

Recklessly, I grabbed his and slammed it back like the guys had. Immediately, my throat was on fire, my eyes watered and I coughed, gagged, barely holding the drool in my mouth as a room full of men sputtered with laughter.

My eyes continue to water after the coughing stopped, and I felt my chin start to wobble.

“Knock it off, douche bags,” Tread said as he stood. He came around the bar and took my hand, walking towards the entrance without another word. I followed, not having a choice, but more not wanting to stay in that room.

Tread helped me onto his bike, making sure I didn’t put my leg on the pipes. My hands went back to his shoulders visible under his tank top and leather vest. He drove us out of town. My hands clenched, digging into his skin as he picked up speed.

Suddenly, the replay of events, the hellish day, was drowned out by the sound of the wind. My hair slapped my face, stinging my cheeks so that I couldn’t think of anything but the road flying by and the vibration of the heavy machine between my legs. My eyes stung, not with tears, but with the force of the wind.

When we stopped, we were at a junk yard with cars in varying states of wreckage. Tread helped me down, and I noticed the nail marks on his skin. I rubbed at them, foolishly trying to wipe the half-moons away.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

Tread looked over his shoulder absently and smirked. “Anytime, babe.”

I ran my hands through my hopelessly tangled hair, just now realizing he’d been calling me that more than Grace today. Since the kiss. My first kiss.

Suddenly, the junkyard filled with cars seemed entirely too isolated. “Why are we here?”

He shrugged easily. “Thought we could scout out some parts for your car. It looked like you needed a break. Side benefit of rescuing the fair damsel.”

I laughed weakly. “MC member turned white knight, huh?”

He chuckled, his teeth so bright against his bronze skin. “It’s my hero complex left over from the Army, I guess.”

“Consider me thankful, then.”

We walked among the weeds and cars with no purpose and the day couldn’t help but snake its way into my thoughts. I took a deep, shaky breath.

It caught Tread’s attention. “You’ve dealt with a lot since you’ve been here.”

I nodded and shrugged. I’d been through lot the last several years, if he wanted to get technical about it, though this day had been the worst for a whole set of different reasons.

“Where are you from, Gracie Lou?”

“Utah.”

“Ah. Mormon?” Typical. It was what everyone thought when you mentioned that state, however true it might have been.

“Yup.”

“Brothers? Sisters?”

“Yup. Seven.”

“Wow, that’s a lot. How many moms?” he asked casually.

I looked over quickly. “Oh no. We weren’t poly. Just LDS.”

“They marry young, don’t they?” His face scrunched, like he was trying to remember something.

“Yeah,” I answered shortly.

“You weren’t about that, then?”

“Definitely not.” I shrugged and looked at the ground. “Not so much marrying young, as long as it was the right person.”

“So it wasn’t?” I looked at him. “The right person, I mean.”

“Nope. Arranged, I guess you could call it. Guess I’m stuck in past centuries no matter where I am.” I smiled feebly.

“That’s fucked up. Do you miss your family?” he asked the sky.

I swallowed, but my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, bone dry. “Yeah, sometimes. Not as much as I thought I would. Since I graduated, my siblings have become more like more chaperones or little tattle tales than brothers and sisters.”

“’Cause you’re such a rebel.”

I knocked my elbow into his shoulder. “Hey, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Sure enough.” He cleared his throat and the awkwardness of it made me glance over quickly. He ran a hand over his smoothed back hair. I watched as his muscles flexed when he squeezed the tight bun on his head. “About that kiss . . .”

“Was it terrible?” I mumbled through my fingers. To my mortification, he laughed.

“No, it definitely wasn’t terrible. Unexpected, the way you just went for it, is all.”

“Did you hate that? I figured with the Soiled Doves and everything, they’re so straight forward . . .”

Tread turned to me with a frown. “Babe, never try to model your behavior after one of those girls. Watch a movie, or hell, look to one of the other girls. Though, they don’t do much kissing as far as I know.” My face fell and he stepped closer, taking my arm. “It was a fucking hot, unexpected kiss. I’m kind of glad you turned tail, though.”

“Why?” I could barely breathe as I awaited his answer.

“Because I had enough time to readjust my dick before the guys showed up.” He laughed at the look on my face. Probably one of abject horror.

I leaned closer and whispered, “I made your . . . ya know, your . . . hard?” Despite myself, I was fascinated.

Tread leaned closer still and whispered back, looking me right in the eyes, as he said, “So fucking hard.” The words, the look, and his closeness made me react in a way I’d only felt once, during the kiss.

I swallowed again, my mouth so dry the motion almost impossible as I remained silent. Tread studied my reaction, his eyes all over my face. “Do you know what I do when the days go to shit, Grace?”

I shook my head slowly and took an involuntary step back. He followed.

“I let off some steam.”

“How?” I asked, my body starting to tingle where the numbness had been lingering since those shots were fired.

His dark brown eyes grew darker, and suddenly I found myself pushed up against a dirty Honda with a missing hood.

Tread shrugged, and I felt his shirt rub mine like it was a caress. “Sometimes I shoot. Sometimes I drink. Sometimes I rub one out. Have you ever done that, Grace?”

Why was he suddenly using my name again? “I’ve never shot a gun.” I was trying to deflect his question.

He grinned, one side of his mouth higher than the other. “Well, we know how big of a drinker you are. Have you ever rubbed one out?”

“No.” I shook my head, my hair sliding across his vest. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think . . . Christ, you’re so sweet,” he mumbled right before his lips sipped from mine. That’s what they were, sips. One caught my top lip then the bottom. His breaths were feeding me oxygen, which I was thankful for, because I didn’t think I could breathe without it. “When those fireworks go off inside of your body, lighting you up like the Fourth of July, you know it, and you won’t be thinking.”

“Tread,” I whispered, not knowing what I was going to say beyond that. I just had to say his name.

Then his lips. His tongue. They were in me. Stroking.

Suddenly, my mouth wasn’t dry anymore. It was wet as we glided together.

“So sweet.” His hands framed my face, tilting it where he wanted. I was putty. Play-doh in his hands. His mouth fused with mine as he took his tongue deeper. Mapping me.

My body tingled from the top of my head to my toes that curled in my sensible flats. When he sucked my tongue, I couldn’t help but make a noise. Something. A moan or a groan, maybe a whimper. Whatever it was, he liked it. He moved his knee between mine and rubbed.

I shuddered, the completely unfamiliar but not at all unwanted stroke tingling from my lower stomach to the tips of my fingers fisted in his leather. I suddenly realized I could touch him. I was touching him.

My hands tentatively moved up, over the collar of his vest, and onto hot skin. It was so hot, it singed me. When he lifted his knee and hit that spot again, I moved against him. My hips had detached from my brain, moving, seeking the feeling again. And he gave it to me.

Over and over, as he changed the angle of his mouth he rubbed that perfect spot. When I moved my mouth from his, desperate for more air, he tilted my head back, placing open-mouthed kisses on my jaw, my neck, down my throat.

I could feel his tongue tasting the salt on my skin and he hummed. It was the sexiest sound I’d ever heard. I wanted to hear it again.

Tread’s hands started to move, first down my back, then they branched off. One went to my ribs. I could feel each individual finger and their hold on my skin.

His other hand traveled farther south, until he was kneading my butt, moving me against his leg in the rhythm he set. Sparks shot off behind my eyes.

“Yes,” I hissed.

“That’s right, baby. Give me that,” he demanded against my collarbone. I put more weight on his leg, getting more friction as he started to suck the skin above my breasts, his beard sensitizing my skin.

Suddenly, I felt out of control. I squeezed his neck harder, one hand grasping his bicep roughly. “Tread . . . something . . .”

His pace picked up, his head lifted and brought my face back to his. My eyes met his as I panted uncontrollably. He bit his lip and groaned, pushing me down onto his thigh. My mouth dropped open as sweat fell from his temples.

“You’re right there, baby. Let it happen. Let me give it to you.”

He let go of my jeans and moved to my breast, his fingers pinching my nipple just enough sting and make me clench, and then the world around me fell away.

All I saw was his eyes, his gritted teeth that emitted a sound like the rumble of his motorcycle revving. My body fell apart into tiny pieces that would float away on the slightest breeze.

When I came back together, his lips sipped mine again. Soft, yet hard, they took my gasps like he’d earned them. And he had.

When he backed away, not hiding the fact that he had to arrange the hard angle in his jeans, he reached for my hand, and I couldn’t help but smile despite the blush turning me red. I felt like a whole new world had opened up to me, where the colors were more vibrant, the wind stronger, the sun brighter.

The only thing I could think to say was, “Rubbing one out, check.”

Tread laughed loudly from his gut, and I smiled. He pulled me closer, his arm going around my neck as we walked back to his bike.

“Oh, Gracie,” he sighed. “What am I gonna do with you?”

I straightened slightly. “Hey, I thought we had a deal? A first for a car part.”

Without letting me go, he kicked his booted foot out at a car, unhinging the side mirror. He stooped, making me bend with him.

“Here ya go, babe.”

I smiled, taking it from his hand. “Is this even the right mirror for my car?”

He chuckled. “Nope.”

I tossed it over my shoulder. The laugh I earned from that took away any residual awkwardness I felt.

When I settled on the back of his bike, I sighed as the vibration of the engine took on a whole new feeling. “What a day.”

Tread slapped my thigh, rubbing it slightly. “You got that right.”