Devil's Angels Boxed Set: Bikers and Alpha Bad Boy Erotic Romance (5 page)

CHAPTER TEN

Somehow he managed to get her off the bike, their clothes collected, and into the house. Still slightly brain-dead, Christian remembered that they’d laughed a lot, that they’d stumbled a couple of times, and that he’d had trouble making his hands stop shaking enough to open the lock.

He’d wanted Sandy in his bed, or somewhere near it. They settled on the shower. There wasn’t much washing done, but there were more acrobatics and a senses-draining oral ending that made him glad the soap dish could support the weight of a full grown man.

Sandy couldn’t remember a time when she’d been this needy for a man. There was no getting enough when it came to Christian. It would make for a sore morning tomorrow, but it would be worth it.

They made it to the bed, finally, and all she could do was sprawl across it and try to catch her breath. Her knees were raw from the carpet on the floor outside the bathroom, and her thighs had taken on a permanent tremor.

The sight of her, arms and legs thrown wide across his big bed, naked as the day she was born, had Christian hard again in seconds. No woman had ever been in his bed. He came to them, he never brought them home. What made her different? It was a question for another time. Christian climbed up next to her, lifted one half-limp arm, and let it fall onto his chest.

“You’ve killed me.”

Sandy’s voice was so muffled by the comforter that at first he hadn’t understood her. “You’re still talking. Pretty good for a zombie.”

Halfheartedly, she smacked his chest. “I can’t stay.”

“Mmmm, yes you can. I can’t drive in this condition.” That teasing southern drawl made her skin go all hot.

Barely raising her head, she took a good long look at the area he was indicating, eyes wide at the sight of his renewed hardness. “That’s it. You’re a real cyborg, and that tattoo was me seeing the future.”

“It’s your fault. I’m not the one who decided to sprawl fully nude on top of my bed.”

“I’m nude because I can’t walk to find my clothes.” She walked her fingers up his chest and ran her fingers over his swollen lips. They matched hers.

“If you’re dead set on it, I’ll try to control my randy partner and take you home.” He chuckled when she looked up long enough to stick her tongue out at him.

Reality took that moment to rear its ugly head. He could see it hit her. She was in his bed, the bed of the man Atticus hated. If he took her home, Atticus would know what they’d been doing. She didn’t want him to know. It was plain on her face. He turned his head away and tried to keep the anger he felt out of his voice. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. I’ll drop you back at your shop so he’ll never know I had my hands on his precious daughter.”

Sandy could hear the anger he was trying to mask. Could feel it all around him. “Christian, I don’t know what is going on with you two, and I won’t beg you—or him—to tell me. No, I don’t want him to know that I was with you right this very second.”

She got up and straddled his lap, forcing him to look up at her. “I don’t even know where this is going, Christian. If I don’t know what this is, how am I supposed to explain that to the man who raised me?”

Christian nodded. She was making sense, dammit. He wanted her to crow about her night with him so he could watch Atticus’ head blow, but at the same time he didn’t want anyone to know. He wanted to keep her all to himself for a while longer. Sandy Rivers wasn’t like the other women he’d spent his time with, and he needed time to process that.

Smacking her soundly on the ass, Christian sat up and tossed her over onto her back on the bed. She bounced once and giggled. “I’ll get your clothes.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sandy nodded off more than once on the ride back to the shop. She was exhausted, and a little sore. If she hadn’t been so tired she might have noticed the light in the office upstairs go out quickly.

Christian stopped and turned off the bike. He took off his helmet, surprised when she didn’t move. “Tired?”

She nodded, knowing he’d feel it against his back.

“Promise you’ll be careful going home?”

She nodded again, a small smile crossing her lips. “Same to you. It’s late and you know what that means for folk like us.”

He chuckled lightly. “Yep. Must be up to no good.”

“Well, it isn’t a lie. We were up to no good.” She rubbed her cheek against the fabric of his t-shirt and sighed. Moving was not high on her list of things to do, but she made herself get off the bike.

If she’d thought she was just going to walk away, she was wrong. Christian grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him, holding her close to his chest for a minute and kissing her gently to keep from aggravating the rash his beard had left on her face. “This still isn’t over, pretty girl.”

Something inside her softened even more. “I guess we’ll see what the morning brings. Goodnight, Christian.”

“Goodnight, Sandy.”

He watched to make sure she got safely onto the road to her house, just a mile away from the club. When she rounded the corner slowly he pulled out and headed home.

*****

He hit the speed dial on his cell. “Wake up. He’s headed your way.”

“Atticus, I have to ask again—are you sure you want me to do this?”

“Do what I paid you to do.” Atticus hit the end button and tossed the phone into his desk drawer. Tomorrow he’d get rid of it.

*****

He took the drive home slower than usual. His body was tired, but his brain just wouldn’t shut off. Sandy had him all twisted up in knots and that was something that hadn’t happened in a long time.

Mainly, he wondered what it was that Atticus truly had against him. He’d been tolerant of him when he was new, even agreeing with some of his ideas. Then something had happened. If he only knew what that was, maybe he could reason with the old man.

Sure, there were rumors about him. Lots of them over the last four years. He’d been more than a little wild in the beginning. Drinking too much, sleeping around, and racking up fist fights. He’d thought that the life was just that—one big party.

Christian’s past was his past. He’d left it there three years ago and hadn’t looked back. He’d straightened up his act and made friends. Put down roots. Gotten involved in the real work that a club could do. Good work. He had the shop and his house, work he loved and people who cared what happened to him.

Sandy. She was like the missing piece of a puzzle. She fit in the empty spot so perfectly that it was seamless. What did it mean that he’d broken all his rules for her? He’d broken them, and if he were being honest he’d admit that it had nothing to do with pissing off Atticus. He realized that not one second of his time with Sandy really had anything to do with Atticus, other than giving him an excuse to get close to her.

Tomorrow the shop closed at noon. As soon as he was cleaned up, he was going to hunt down Atticus and have a long overdue talk. Find out once and for all what it was that he hated about him so much. He had to face the old man if he was considering anything long term with Sandy—and he was seriously considering it.

Lost in those images of her on his bed, he didn’t see the car until it was too late.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A few hours of sleep had done wonders. All Sandy’s aches were gone, aside from a little bit of remaining beard rash that stung under the hot water of the shower. It was after nine before she was dressed and ready to face the day.

She skipped breakfast, rushing to get to her shop and get opened up for the day. Saturdays were busy, usually Towners with requests for small pieces or flash art. Nothing she couldn’t handle.

It wasn’t until she got everything organized that she thought to check her cell and see if Christian had called. There was a small twinge of disappointment when the screen showed no missed calls or messages.

Of course, her disappointment wasn’t reasonable. They’d been up late, and he opened his shop at eight on Saturdays. Since he was the only mechanic in town, there was little doubt he’d be busy today.

The bell over the outer door dinged, and she welcomed her first client of the day.

*****

Pain pounded in Christian’s head, making him feel slightly nauseous.
Concussion,
he thought. Helmet had stayed on, which was good news.

Trying to take stock without moving too much, Christian carefully tested his arms and legs. Everything worked, but his right leg was messed up. Dislocated or broken, he couldn’t really tell. He didn’t think his neck or back were broken.

The smell of gasoline was making the nausea worse. The tank must be leaking. He couldn’t tell where the bike had landed without moving, and that was out of the question for the moment.

He tried to remember what the car that hit him had looked like. A sedan of some kind. Definitely not American. It was dark, either blue or black. It had come out of nowhere, and he’d been distracted.

Cell phone.
He carefully moved his hands to the pocket of his jeans where he kept it, but it was gone. It must have fallen out when he was hit. Hoping it was on the ground, he felt around but it wasn’t within the reach of his arms.

His stomach heaved and he managed to roll onto his side, scared he’d choke on his own vomit. When his stomach was empty he rolled onto his back again. His head felt like it might split wide open.

He had to get a sense of how far from the road he was, and how long he’d been out. Maybe he could spot his cell close by. There was no choice; he had to sit up. Being as careful as possible, he planted his hands on the ground and pushed up. His head spun, but it was manageable.

Once he was mostly sitting upright, he looked down at his leg. It didn’t look broken, but his knee was swelling up. Dislocated then, not broken. He looked left and right. The road was about a hundred feet to his right. The bike was on his left, destroyed, gas tank leaking. It was far enough away that if it caught fire he could get away.

He didn’t see his cell phone anywhere, and the world was getting a little fuzzy around the edges. He tried to stay awake, but the pain took him under.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sandy’s first client was done and gone. Wanting a simple set of roman numerals to commemorate the birth of his first child, the Towner had been chatty and obviously nervous. Sandy actually enjoyed the part of her job where she got to make first-timers comfortable. She enjoyed talking with her clients and getting to know a little bit about their lives. Of course, the real talent was doing all that without revealing anything about herself.

Her second client was a looksee. Spent a half an hour looking at flash, claiming to want ink but not finding anything that was—her. Sandy tried to feel her out, but got nothing. The woman liked the idea of being rebel enough to get a tattoo without actually wanting to get the tattoo. She’d go out tonight and tell her friends how she’d gone to a tattoo parlor, but hadn’t found anything unique enough to fit her personality.

She took a break after the woman left. The club was open, but there were barely any people hanging around because of the charity ride. Even Mariah was off today, her backup cook sitting bored behind the flattop reading a magazine.

Moving behind the counter, Sandy grabbed a glass and filled it with ice and sweet tea. Back in her shop she dug into her bag and pulled out her cell. Still nothing from Christian. What could it hurt to send a quick text? She typed, ‘Get any sleep?’ and hit send.

*****

The pain in his head wasn’t getting any better. He’d managed to get his helmet off but it had taken every bit of energy he’d had. The nausea had returned, and he’d been breathing very slowly to get it under control. Each movement of his head brought waves of sickness.

It was close to eleven, according to his watch. He’d been out for a while, and that was scary. Every biker was aware of just how dangerous concussions could be. He needed to get closer to the road, try to flag down the first car he saw.

A familiar tone sounded off to his right.
His phone!
It was the text message alert. It sounded again, and he could tell it was close. Carefully turning his head, he could see the silver case glint in the sun, less than four feet away. He rolled over onto his stomach and reached out, but it wasn’t enough. Raising his head up brought on intense dizziness, so he half army-crawled, half dragged himself a couple of feet, breathing hard as his fingertips touched the phone.

He had to close his eyes and lie still for a moment to be able to see clearly. Everything kept blurring together. The screen was broken, but he could make out the words. It was from Sandy. He clicked the bar to type. ‘Hit by car. Need help. Remember road to my house?’ He hit the send button and closed his eyes again. She’d figure it out. She was smart, his pretty girl.