Heart Ties (Club Ties Book 2) (10 page)

“Ace? Oh yeah.” He sent a look across the room at Ever. The bombshell blew him a kiss in return, and a crooked smile creased his face.

Bunky pitched his voice low. “Too much shit going on for us to be kidnapping women.”

Drake snapped upright, ready to fight to get Delta back, just as Jamison had done with Ever.

Bunky raised a hand. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, man. It needs to be done. We all see that. It’s just a damn inopportune time, with the gambling shit and the drugs. I hear the cops were here today too.”

“They were, but only because the chief needs assistance.”

The authorities often recruited the Sons to help with street drugs. No one was more invested in keeping their streets clean than the MC.

“Drugs?” Drake asked.

“Yeah, on the edge of town. I’ve sent Harris and Franklin to help.”

“Hell, that chief just wants a taste of sweet butt,” Bunky said.

Paxton bobbed his head. “He had a look in his eye for Morgan.”

The guys volleyed dirty thoughts back and forth on the subject while Drake fought the urge to go behind the bar and get some Scotch.

Jamison tapped the tabletop, and Drake’s mind cleared.

“We take Kipi and Wrench with us. They stand outside the walls, talking shit about the Raiders to distract the guards. Jamison, you take out the cameras, and I’ll worry about the dogs.”

“Shoot the fuckers if you have to.”

“I don’t want to do that. Tranquilizer gun will work well enough.” Delta had better be on the roof waiting. If he got there and she wasn’t, she was going to find a man storming through the rooms calling her name.

He chafed his knuckles over his jaw. He’d shaved close with thoughts of protecting her sensitive skin.

“I’m going to blow up one of their vans, distract from my activities and keep them off Kipi and Wrench’s asses.” The plan unfolded in his mind. He could do this. Delta would be in pinned under him by morning.

Strother got up and rounded the pool table to reach them. “Ace and I are setting up a sting. We’re taking some of our own valium and putting it within the Raiders’ reach.”

Jamison nodded. “Good plan. See the flow of the river before we make our move.”

“Yeah.” Strother glanced between the group of men surrounding Jamison. “You have anything you need to discuss with me?”

Jamison pushed his chair back and stretched as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Nah. We were just talking about Bunky’s new tat and how the police chief wants a piece of Morgan.”

Strother raised a brow. “Oh? Set that up then. Can’t hurt to have more of an in with the cops.”

As Strother made his way back through the room to wrap his arm around a sweet butt of his own, Jamison muttered, “Asshole. His old lady would cut off his balls if she knew.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the ladies lets it slip,” Bunky said.

Drake stood too. His leg was getting stiff sitting for so long. “Round up Kipi and Wrench. We have work to do.”

•●•

Windows trembled and the walls shook as the
boom
echoed through the club. Delta dropped to her knees, her hands over her head. Panic spread rapid-fire through her chest. Around her, the guys erupted. Launching to their feet, running for guns, hollering for the ladies to get into the back room.

Drake was here.

She jumped up and patted her front pockets, which were still empty. She hadn’t had time to take anything from her room, but Drake had just done a hell of a job of making his presence known.

“Hell’s Sons!” someone bellowed, and men stormed out into the night.

Delta froze, unable to move a muscle. She couldn’t leave. This was all she knew, and what if Drake kicked her to the curb?

Even if he did, she’d have a place with Ever.

Her muscles unlocked and she took off running. Through the kitchen and out the back door. The moon wasn’t concealed behind clouds tonight, and she looked up at the ladder along the side of the building in time to see a dark form barreling down at her.

She jumped back. That muscular man could only be Drake. He kicked off the rungs, propelling himself downward and catching the ladder several rungs below. When his boots hit the ground beside her, she gave him her hand, and they ran.

Skirting around the building. Raiders running toward the beautiful flames shooting into the sky. A shot over her head, and glass exploded from a security camera. The parking lot was on fire, and several Raiders were rushing to save their bikes. Shouts filled the night.

Drake towed her to a corner against the fence. “Get down and get through.”

She didn’t have time to do anything but obey. She curled up tight and rolled through the gate. How he fit was a mystery, but a second later he popped out. He gathered his feet under him and they were off again.

Her heart hammered. She clutched Drake’s fingers, and he squeezed back.

It was enough.

He picked her up and practically threw her over the concrete block wall. She landed on one knee, pain ricocheting into her thigh. She bit back a cry, and then Drake was there, hauling her up.

She limped the first few steps.

“Damn, you okay?” His gritty tone grounded her.

“Yes.” Ignoring the pain, she kept pace with him. If he could run on a titanium foot, she could suck up a little bruise.

Sirens were nearing, and they ducked into the alley before the flashing lights reached across the pavement and pointed fingers at them. They were running from an explosion and both wearing all black.

Before they lost sight of the MC, Delta threw a look over her shoulder. Remorse flooded her. What had she done?

“Come on. My bike’s not far.”

Her resolve restored, she followed Drake. He’d cared enough to blow something up for her. He’d risked himself and some of his men to save her. The least she could do was stop being a whiney baby and get away before they were caught.

They reached the head of the alley just as a dark van whizzed by. Jamison saluted it and yanked Delta until she ran into the street. He kicked his bike to life, and they roared off without bothering with helmets.

She clung to his broad back, burying her face against the ridges of muscles on either side of his spine and tasting his leather. He rested a hand on her thigh, sending flames up into the last place she needed more heat.

They drove for miles, cutting through the humid Alabama air south then west. She had no clue where they were going, but she trusted Drake. She had no choice.

Her hair flew like a wild flag behind her. When they stopped she would have a hell of a time getting the tangles out.

Who was she kidding? She didn’t even have a brush.

Drake had said he’d get her everything she needed, though. Right now she didn’t give a damn about her tangles. She wanted more of his kisses.

The hotel night manager behind the glass handed Drake a key through a small window without any money changing hands. Then Drake led her to a door with a number nine.

“It’s not five-star, but it will do for what I have planned.”

Shivers rushed down her spine and took up residence between her thighs. Her nipples ached for his lips and tongue again. Her hand trembled in his, and he tossed her a look that curled her hair.

As soon as they were inside and he switched on the light, he went dead still. His gaze latched onto her face, and it took her a heartbeat to realize she wore bruises from both Micky and Houlihan.

With extreme slowness, Drake laid the key down on the ugly laminate table, still gazing at Delta’s face.

She began to squirm, a clawing sensation in the pit of her belly. Not knowing what to expect was worse than bracing herself for a blow.

“Who did that to you?” His face might have been chiseled from marble for all its expression. And his eyes no longer burned—they were hollow, the lights extinguished.

She lifted a hand to her cheek, hating that she was shaking. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” His roar made her cringe as badly as the bomb he’d detonated at the MC. “Jesus, it’s my fucking fault you’re wearing a bruise the size and shape of a goddamn knuckle ring!” He whirled and drove his fist through the cheap plaster. The striped wallpaper folded inward around the hole. He cocked his fist and produced a second hole.

A third.

Long ago Delta had been ingrained with the knowledge that you don’t get between a man and his fist, but she couldn’t stand the set of Drake’s shoulders and the blood on his knuckle.

She caught his arm as he reared back, and he played statue again. His muscle was tense and warm under her grasp. Very slowly, he turned to face her.

His throat worked, and his eyes grew warm and liquid again. Cradling her face, he gazed at her as if his look could heal her. “I’ll make them pay.”

A small thrill went through her, but she shook her head. “It’s not important now.”

The crease between his dark brows cleared, and he leaned in. She quivered, mouth tipped up, ready for those scorching kisses.

But only his breath touched her skin. His lips hovered over the bruise on one cheek, then the other. When his warm, dry lips brushed her skin, she gasped, unable to fill her lungs with enough air.

“Delta.” He crushed his mouth to hers even as his fingers dug into her ass cheeks. In three steps he hit the bed and spread her under him. The bulge in his jeans perfectly fit tightly against her pussy, and she began to pulsate in time to her heart.

He angled his head and gave her his tongue. She yanked him down, drowning in his taste and feel. Needing so much more.

The bite of his belt buckle against her lower belly was oh, so good. She arched under him, throwing herself into the kiss.

His growl vibrated her chest, and her nipples peaked. She ached to touch him. Since she’d met him she’d dreamed of his chiseled jaw and hard lips, the planes of his back and those hips holding up low-slung jeans.

She kicked off her shoes and slid her foot up his leg.

Shock bled into her haze of passion, and he lifted his head, laughing. “Didn’t know it’s not just a titanium foot, did you?”

“No. How far up does it go?”

He took her hand and ran it over his bulging thigh muscle to straps and finally plastic that must hold the titanium leg and foot.

She met his gaze. “How?”

“Being a dumbass.”

Ever had mentioned Drake was in Afghanistan. Did he consider losing a limb for his country stupid?

He was staring at her, eyes clear green pools. “Are you okay with it?”

This time she took his hand. She guided it over her breast and hardened nipple. His primal groan was a good answer.

They rolled on the sagging mattress, bodies meshed, rocking and stripping each other. Her black T-shirt and leopard-print bra were no match for him, and his cut and shirt hit the floor.

Small squeaking gasps emitted from her as he sucked her nipple into his hot mouth. Dizzy with lust, she closed her eyes, but not for long. She wanted to see every tattooed inch of his gorgeous body.

She traced each with her gaze. Stars that must represent the Marines, curling script across his chest that said
Brother at Arms
. A Harley insignia on his upper biceps, spider web across his elbow. Wings, flames, the Hell’s Sons’ skeleton on a bike shooting flames from the tailpipe. She followed the inky lines over his flesh, discovering a serpent coiled on his abs and more words—
blood brother, freedom
.

His gaze tracked her but he lay dead still. She moved to his hands which spelled out
Hell’s Sons
with stars riding each knuckle above. The other arm bore a myriad of guns, knives, and a bleeding heart.

His throat worked as she moved upward. “Do you have a favorite?”

“I think I do.” Her pulse hammered in her temples, and she opened her mouth over the cross on his neck, right over his Adam’s apple.

He tasted of salt and man and everything good.

She kissed from one intricate section of the cross to the opposite, then down and up, licking a path over his smooth jaw. Releasing a long sigh, he tipped his head back to give her access.

When she reached his mouth, he growled and sucked her tongue deeply. They rolled, his heavy thigh wedged between hers, rocking against her swollen clit until her panties were a useless, soggy scrap.