Heart Ties (Club Ties Book 2) (13 page)

“Better?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re as edgy as a whipped dog.”

She dropped her gaze, twisting her hands. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I realize that, and it’s okay. But we’re going to be together for a good, long time, Delta. We’re going to need to talk.” His chiseled face did warm things to her insides.

“How long?”

“A while,” he answered. He reached for her hands, stilling them. “I don’t expect you to spill out your past to me. I know things were rough for you. I see the evidence on your face. But there are neutral subjects to talk about.”

She studied the hard set of his lips as he stared at the bruises on her face. “Like what?”

“Like how much you screamed last night when I took you.”

She flushed hot and looked at their meshed hands. Dark hairs on the backs of his invited her touch. She ran a fingertip over them.

He went on, burning her into ash right there in the booth of Fox’s Diner. “When I licked your pussy, you were so hot and wet for me. You came hard, didn’t you? Maybe harder than you ever had before.”

Damn, how did he know? She’d worked a lifetime to hide her emotions, but Drake saw through her defenses.

He gripped her fingers. “I’m right.”

“Y-yes.”

A smug smile crossed his face, and he leaned close. “I would have kept you under me for three days without coming up for air, Princess, if those fucking Raiders weren’t on our trail.”

“How close are they?”

“Not close.” He raised the mug to his lips and sipped. His hair was disheveled from the wind and a night of her fingers running through it. He set the mug down with a clunk. “You’re safe with me.”

She shouldn’t risk questioning his actions, but she had to know. “You don’t think I’d be safer at the club with Ever?”

He studied her for a long minute, his eyes unreadable. “Is that what you want?”

Did she? If he was on the run, she wouldn’t see him. “I want to see my sister, but…”

He seemed to understand. “I’ll put you in touch with your sister. But we have a little business to see to first.”

“We’re going back to Heller’s Gap, aren’t we?”

He nodded. Then the waitress arrived with two platters of pancakes smothered in butter. Drake thanked her and she blushed. Once he and Delta were alone again, he poured maple syrup on his pancakes. Delta paused, unable to choose between the maple, blueberry, or raspberry syrups.

Drake’s gaze made her squirm. “The Raiders don’t eat pancakes?”

She shook her head. “They’re more of a Valium and Tequila bunch.”

“Ah. Well, try all three.” He didn’t take a bite until she’d poured small amounts of each syrup on her plate. Only when she’d cut into her stack of cakes and dipped the bite in the first puddle did he even blink.

She almost groaned around the sweet flavors bursting on her tongue. She chewed slowly and swallowed.

“Try the others.” His voice was ragged, as if he was getting off on watching her.

Her nipples tingled and beaded. Feeling a little heady with the power she wielded over him, she made a show of popping the dripping bite of blueberry syrup and pancake into her mouth.

She groaned.

His Adam’s apple worked under the cross tattoo she’d licked last night. “If you keep making that noise, I’m going to have you here on the table.”

Something light bobbed up in her, bubbles fizzing to the surface. “In front of all these truck drivers and families?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Her pussy flooded, ruining her panties once and for all. Purposely, she smeared another bite through the raspberry syrup and licked the edge.

“Princess, are you sure you want to taunt me this way?”

Her cheeks hurt from smiling. “Yes.” She swirled her tongue around the fork tines before taking the bite into her mouth.

He shot out of his seat. Before she knew what he was doing, he landed beside her. She bounced on the springy cushion right against his hard thigh. He took the fork from her hand and drove his tongue into her mouth as his hand closed over her breast.

She’d long ago cut her teeth on public sex but had never participated. Still, she didn’t think Drake would go that far. And besides, his groping hands were concealed from view by the high back of the booth.

She couldn’t stop her moan, and he swallowed the noise, thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth and reminding her of the way he’d tasted her pussy.

She practically crawled into his lap.

Rumbling, he dragged her across him. His cock dug into her hip, his hands in her hair. Someone cat-called, but he continued his assault. Tugging her hair, burning tongue working against hers.

A few more whistles from customers at the counter finally broke through their haze. Drake withdrew, a smile in his eyes. She slid off his lap, and he took his seat across from her, lifting the fork to his mouth as if he hadn’t just ravaged her.

“Finish your pancakes, Princess.”

•●•

Drake swung his head left and right, searching every corner of his hometown for danger. Though he and Delta had targets on their backs, he had no choice but to take care of this shit in The Gearhead.

Those were his guys and his operation. Sure, Jamison could walk in there and get answers, but Drake’s appearance would be more effective.

The bar was surrounded by brothers. While no Raiders would get past their guard, Drake wouldn’t take any risks with Delta.

He hurried her inside, too damn aware of how hot her ass looked in the jeans he’d stopped and bought her. They’d lingered in the clothing store while she bit her plump lower lip and hemmed and hawed, but he didn’t believe she was being picky. No, she was afraid to make decisions.

Inside, the bar was dark and smoky. Burns near the door, waiting for them. Drake pushed Delta toward him. “Guard her with your life. Meat!”

His other guy came forward to flank Delta.

“If either of you lets her out of your sight, I’ll cut off your balls and feed them to your families. Got it?”

Delta’s eyes flared wide, but she didn’t make a noise of protest. Drake nodded at them and went to take care of business.

Operation Riches was in full force. Even in broad daylight, three men slumped around the card table. The place smelled of blood and money. Blood because the gamblers were not about to let their cash change hands—the wild looks in their eyes said as much.

Drake leaned against the wall to speak low to the guard. No one looked up. “How long have they been at it?”

He shook his head. “Since yesterday I think.”

“Any drugs involved?”

“Only cigarettes and booze. Except that guy with the gray at his temples—he doesn’t touch drink.”

Drake covertly looked at the guy. He was most likely in his forties, squint lines around his eyes and his mouth tense. He wore a button-down shirt, but the collar was open and his sleeves rolled to the elbows.

“Does he say anything?”

The guard shook his head. “Never heard him speak.”

“Not even to bet?”

“He does a good job of getting his point across.”

The man nudged some cash into the pot with a grunt.

“I see what you mean.”

The mute player looked right at Drake, his lip curled in disgust.

Drake slipped into soldier mode without thinking. He moved forward and braced a palm on the table, placing his face close to the player’s. “You got a problem?”

He pursed his lips and propelled spit right at Drake. It struck his cheek and slid down.

Drake exploded. Reaching across the table, he caught the guy’s collar and ripped him from his seat. Drake took a hit to the gut and one to the jaw. He laughed and returned the blows.

Something hard was smashed over his back, and he released the man he was holding before whirling to see one of the other players stumbling back. The guard raised his gun. Instead of firing, he smashed the butt against the man’s head.

He crumpled in a grubby heap.

Mr. Button-down Shirt was panting hard, glaring at Drake as if he’d raped his mother. He struck Drake again, splitting skin over brow bone.

Drake shook it off as he would a gnat. “The fuck’s your problem?”

Two loud
thunks
against the door. Another, and the whole room rattled. Someone was throwing himself at the door.

“Drake!”

Not himself—
herself.

Drake’s attention was diverted long enough to allow the asshole in his hold another sucker-punch. Knuckles glanced off his cheek, cutting his inner mouth. Iron blood welled on his tongue.

Rage burned hot and bright. More body blows against the door.

Enough toying with this guy.

He carefully fitted his hand against his throat and squeezed. Rarely could a man keep from pissing himself when Drake used this chokehold. This man’s eyes bulged and grew bloodshot in a hurry.

“I’m giving you a chance to walk away alive this time. But only because you bring some decent money to my operation. Believe me, though. I’ve got my eyes on you.”

He didn’t respond—he couldn’t.

Delta hurled herself at the door once more, and Drake released Mr. Button-down Shirt. He twitched his head at the guard. “See this gentleman out.”

He sagged against the wall for a heartbeat, filling his lungs with air again, before reaching for the money on the table.

Drake placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Leave the cash.”

He shot Drake a glare that would make lesser men wince, but he just stared at him until the guard took his elbow and showed him the way out. Once he was gone, Drake went to the door leading to the bar before Delta injured herself trying to get to him.

A small smile played around the edges of his heart.

He nodded to the third player, who still sat, frozen by what he’d just seen. The dealer gathered the cards off the table and began to shuffle them expertly.

“What do I do with this guy, boss?” The guard nudged the body with his foot.

Drake looked at the man sprawled on the floor, unconscious from a gun butt to the skull. “Find his ID and see if he has any connection with the other asshole. Then drag him outside and let the sun sober him up.”

He opened the door leading into the bar just as Delta hurled herself at it again. She slammed into him with an
oomph.

Grinning, Drake wrapped an arm around her and closed the door behind him before she could see inside.

Her eyes were wild as she raked her gaze over him. “What the hell
happened
in there?”

“Just some rowdy customers.”

“Rowdy! You’re bleeding.”

He led her behind the bar and into the stockroom. “Jesus!” she cried when he pulled up his shirt and fingered a rib. “You have a broken rib.”

“Nah, just bruised. You should see the chair,” he said wryly.

She pushed her long hair off her face. “What happened in there?” Without waiting for an answer, she began to inspect him. Smoothing her cool thumb over the cut on his brow, prodding the bruise on his jaw.

“Let me see inside your mouth.”

He dutifully opened to her, amusement sparking in him. She went on tiptoe and peered into his mouth. She dropped back to her little feminine shoes with an unladylike snort. “Just as I thought. Bleeding.”

“It’s just my cheek. Tooth cut it.”

“Cut cheek and brow, bruised jaw, and a broken rib. Sit down.” She pushed him toward the stool they used to reach the top shelf. She took a bottle of whiskey from the stock and held it up. “Wash out the cut in your mouth?”

“Nah, it’s stopped.” He couldn’t trust himself with alcohol right now.

She shook her head, searching his face. “What’s the other guy look like?”

“He’s not dead.” He wrapped his fingers around her full hips, bringing her to stand between his knees. She wrapped her arms around him. “You’re shaking, Princess.”

Their gazes connected and the fire was lit. He covered her mouth with his, owning her with his tongue as he peeled up her shirt and kneaded her breasts. She grappled with his belt buckle and had his jeans down in a blink.

He rose from the stool and crowded her back against the wall between shelves. She squeaked as his erection pressed between her legs. Need engulfed him, and he ground his hips.