Devil May Care: Boxed Set (76 page)

I opened my eyes again and looked up to see him considering me oddly. “What is it?” I asked. Concern is replacing the heat that had just moments ago been raging in my core. “Is something wrong?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he said.

“Say what?” I asked, my brow knitted together in concern.

“You know what to say.” He didn’t blink or budge. His member wavered just inches away from me, so close to giving me everything I needed and yet so far.

I racked my brain, trying to think of what he wanted to hear. After all this time, what could be left unsaid? What needed repeating? Then it clicked. I looked at him, my eyes glistening with equal parts desire and love, as I told him exactly what he was looking for.

“I’m all yours, Dominic,” I said. “Now and forever.”

Those were the magic words. He slid into me, and everything was right in the world.

THE END

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I'm going to use her, again and again, until I have what I want.

The look on her face when I kicked in the door was priceless. 
Another day, another time, I might've laughed. 
But not today. Not now. 
There was business to take care of. 
I cut right to the chase. 
Ivan, my former business partner and mob boss extraordinaire, had tried to have me killed. 
I'd survived the assassination attempt, but now, there was a Russian hitman locked up in the basement of the Kings of Hell clubhouse. 
I needed someone to translate. 
That's where she came in. 
Her. 
Julia Danvers, professor of Russian history and linguistics. 
At first glance, I thought she was prim, proper, a princess in an ivory tower. 
But every layer I peel away reveals something more. 
Skin I want to stroke. 
A body I want to squeeze. 
A mouth I want to force wide open while she moans beneath me. 
She doesn't belong in my world. She's far too fragile. 
But I'm going to drag her, kicking and screaming… 
…right into the heart of the blaze. 

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This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

Unholy copyright 2016 by Ellen Harper. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

By Ellen Harper

Charlotte

Violence.

I cringed at the sound of fist against flesh. It wasn’t new and it wouldn’t be the last time I ever heard that sound, but I was tired of it. And I was tired of knowing what it came from.

Initiation.

I was tired of knowing that the guy on the receiving end would be several ugly shades of purple and yellow and black as his skin tried desperately to fix itself after the beating it took. And it was definitely taking a beating. No one in the Unholys was there because they were accused of being gentle or because they went easy on someone new. And Johnny was no exception to that rule.

The thought of Johnny still did strange things to me. Things that were difficult to explain to anyone who wasn’t from this life and hadn’t seen what I’ve seen. Violence was a part of it and so was initiation, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

Desperately I hoped Johnny didn’t like it either.

I heard another punch, imagined it whistling through the air like a power hammer, one meant to both judge and maim, and it was finally enough to make me look once again at the beating the poor man on the ground was taking.

He wasn’t an attractive man to begin with and the beating hasn’t helped with that. He was big, but it was more blubbery bulk than anything else. His weight has to have been a problem for him all his life, or at least most of it, because he looked more or less comfortable in his own skin. Maybe not happy with it or proud of it, but comfortable wasn’t one of those things that required pride or happiness. It just was.

I was comfortable with the Unholys; I wasn’t happy with them.

The man took a sharp hit to the side of his face, but it didn’t look like it did too much damage. It looked like he bit his tongue because there was blood trickling out of his mouth. There was no question as to whether or not he was in pain.

I gave him credit; he didn’t ask them to stop. That was one of the rules here: If you asked for it to stop, it would. But you’d also be gone. No club, no patch, no initiation. If you wanted in, you had to suffer the consequences, and it looked to me like this guy was ready to do that.

My eyes slipped away from the grunting, moaning man on the pavement, unwilling to look at him any longer. He was ugly, but determined, and that made it so much worse. Determination always made things take longer and I never needed to see this much violence again.

Of their own accord, my eyes found Johnny. They couldn’t help it; he stood out in a crowd.

A bloodied, bruised hand raked through his thick, dark hair. It was damp with sweat, but it didn’t make him look greasy or unkempt. If anything, it only added to the sex appeal that oozed from him. He was grinning wickedly, like he was enjoying this, and I admitted quietly to myself that he probably was. He was probably getting a kick out of this whole thing.

That should have disturbed me, but I was long past the point where any of this
disturbed
me. It made my stomach twist in knots and caused my heart to ache from time to time, but I knew that it was all part of the life and if I wasn’t capable of handling it, I should get out.

But Johnny.

He rolled his shoulders, flexing those large muscles of his. He was wearing a black t-shirt, the shoulders cut off to expose his biceps, and jeans that hung low on his hips. When he raised his arms, I could see a strip of skin beneath that shirt. Tight, muscled, and towards his belt buckle, covered in just a few dark hairs that led to promising, seductive places.

It was only Johnny throwing the next punch that jerked me from the inappropriate places my mind was slinking down to.

Johnny’s already bloody fist caught the man—they called him Worm, a new recruit—square in the jaw until he coughed up a spittle of blood. I saw a tooth scatter across the pavement and took a small moment of comfort in knowing that it was over. Lose a tooth; that was another rule. I cringed as Worm spit up blood again, but tried to keep it in. No use in showing these guys fear; they’d never leave me be after that.

Oh, Johnny would hold them at bay. He was my warrior and my lover and no one would cross a man like Johnny, but it would go easier for everyone if I acted like the tough bitch I was supposed to be.

Times like this, though, it was hard.

Worm worked at getting himself back onto his feet. He got up halfway and I knew that someone would go to help him soon; the initiation was over, so the punishment was, too. But while he was on his hands and knees, I saw a guy out of the corner of my eye. He moved too fast for me to say or do anything—what could I do anyway? I was just an old lady—and before anyone even knew what was happening, Specter slammed a steel toed boot right between Worm’s ribs.

I caught myself before I screamed, but Worm didn’t.

He let out a sharp wailing sound as he slammed back into the pavement, clutching at his ribs and groaning. I was willing to bet money that Specter had caught the rib they had already broken. More than that, I was almost positive that he’d meant to.

The protests were instantaneous and none were as loud as Johnny. It gave me a little smidgeon of hope that things were still okay in his heart and soul, Johnny was still a good guy. Maybe not a great guy, maybe not the kind of guy who wore a white hat and did things by the letter of the law, but a decent guy when it counted.

It didn’t take more than a minute with Specter to know that he was
not
.

“Back the fuck up,” Johnny said to Specter as the other large, menacing man laughed like the maniac he was. “He’s passed, he’s in. The rules stand.”

Specter shoved Johnny off, but still smiled. It wasn’t a good or comforting smile, but he held up his hands to show that he respected Johnny’s authority. Or at the very least still abided by it.

Specter was around six foot four or five inches with broad shoulders that were built from lifting weights and other types of abuse. He had a shaved head and a snake tattoo spiraling around behind his ear and dipping down his neck to his shoulder. Specter was the kind of guy that a motorcycle club had a tendency to attract: big, mean, and a little unhinged. There were probably other, worse things to say about Specter, but I didn’t like to think about them.

I didn’t want to know the truth, because then I wouldn’t be able to be brave. And I
needed
to be brave.

My eyes flickered over to Worm, who had thankfully stopped wailing. Several of the other guys had gathered around him and for a moment, I saw it all starting again.

“You think you’re Unholy material?” Johnny asked, his voice low and rough and sexy as hell. “You think you belong with us?”

“Yes,” Worm said, though his hands trembled at his side. I didn’t know if he knew what was coming, but he must have sensed the danger.

The club members encircled him. They were a ring in the parking lot, roping him in, ensuring there was no escape. Either he would make it or he wouldn’t. By the looks of his fat, blubbery stomach, everyone was probably pretty sure he wouldn’t. But there was determination in his eyes as well as a thin line that was his mouth.

He would see this through.

Specter threw the first punch and that was when I knew it was going to be bad. He had a mean streak in him that was so much worse than everyone else.

I knew when I heard the slap of his fist against flesh that Specter wasn’t going to be able to take it easy on this one. He couldn’t, it wasn’t in his nature. It made him a good lieutenant, the kind of man you could go to when you needed something dirty done, but it didn’t make him a very good person.

I’d caught him looking at me a time or two since my dad’s death and it didn’t leave me with warm fuzzy feelings about the whole thing.

Johnny would protect me, I knew, but he couldn’t be there twenty-four seven. And besides, I wasn’t sure where Johnny and I stood anymore.

Specter hit him again and I thought that maybe Johnny caught on to what I’d already realized: Specter was going to make things hard for Worm. Before Specter could throw the next punch, Johnny stepped in and slung a hard fist into Worm’s gut. He whispered something that I couldn’t hear, but I didn’t care. Things would be bad, whether Specter was throwing the punches or Johnny was.

When Johnny pulled away, the others began. A barrage of violence and I had to look away.

But I was wrong. Things weren’t starting again; they were over. Worm had survived initiation, most did these days. It was rare that an initiate didn’t survive, and that usually had a lot more to do with underlying problems than anything else. And that hadn’t happened in years. Except for—

I shook my head. It wasn’t important, and I told myself that if Johnny had been there that day, if things hadn’t been left to Specter and those who followed him, it would have ended differently. Maybe he wouldn’t have joined the club anyway, but he wouldn’t have died.

The members grouped around Worm and embraced him as they might a brother. These guys took the club seriously and considered members family, even the ones they didn’t like.

They helped Worm up and patted him on the shoulder, offering wonders of congratulations and encouragement. Johnny even shook his hand and said that he believed Worm would be an excellent addition to the Unholys.

That was nice of him,
I though snidely before I could catch myself.

That wasn’t fair of me to think, not really. This was a violent way of life, that much was definitely true, but Johnny was a loyal, good man. If he has said it to Worm, then he’s meant it, and I shouldn’t be so critical.

But it got hard when you knew the kind of violence that was going on right under your nose. Everything was hard.

Johnny looked over at me, his eyes bright with excitement and adrenaline. It was a familiar look, one I’d seen a thousand different times before. It didn’t used to bother me when he looked like that, but things had shifted lately and now I wasn’t sure what I thought. But I knew that there were things that bothered me now.

He sent me a wink, grinning that smile that I had always loved so damn much, but I didn’t know what to think of it this time, so I looked away.

I loved him, I had loved him since high school and I didn’t think that would ever change, but I didn’t love this anymore. I didn’t love the violence or the blood or the fear. Not anymore.

My eyes slipped shut and I sent a silent prayer out to my father. An apology for all the things that had gone wrong in such a short amount of time. An apology for the things I couldn’t let go, no matter how much he would have wanted me to.

Because whether this had been his life or not, he never would have wanted it as mine. Never.