Hunter: MC Romance (Hell Reapers MC Book 1) (22 page)

I didn’t want to ever let him go. Not even for a second.

Chapter 22

Jessica

Many, many hours later, just when I thought the night would be winding down, Hunter insisted he take me to the abandoned Ryker’s district where some race was supposed to be going down. I’d tried to tell him that I wasn’t super comfortable with the idea of breaking the law, though I didn’t have much of a problem with bending it. Of course this only emboldened the man to make it his personal life goal to get me to say yes. Eventually, after saying no so many times that the word began to sound nothing
like
a word, and my throat began to hurt – though it was probably more from the singing – I caved and agreed under the condition that the drive be a quiet one.

And so of course, there was anything but silence.

He’d wanted to take my baby out for a spin, so I’d let him drive the corolla. In hindsight, this was a huge mistake as he treated her like a sloppy, reckless bastard. His surprise at me being serious about having him pull over and switching seats was a memory sure to be burned into my mind.

I decided that I would leave those bits out of my article, and when my mind turned to the thought of my job, my heart dipped into my stomach.

Like a masochistic mantra, I told myself that this was all an illusion. It could not last.

When we finally arrived, the place was dark and eerily devoid of life around the neighboring buildings. Three streets worth, a good deal of the outside bend that made up the edge of the city; and the entire shipyard were normally desolate. Never did bother to find out why exactly, but I did know from my days researching the homeless initiatives that even the drifters didn’t bother going here really. Too far from the civilized world to be of any use, not like you can beg or steal from things that aren’t there. Not to mention a lack of life meant no socialization.

Tonight though, the streets were alive with people. After parking parallel with the other cars on the side of the road, we got out and Hunter cinched a hand around my waist, leading me through the dark, poorly lit street. The only lights were from other cars; cell phones, the moon and a few stray barrels that were alit, producing thin, twisting lines of smoke.

“Just act natural,” Hunter offered, tightening his grip against me – his eyes drinking me in with this basic lust that made my core tighten, “you’re with me, so you’ll be safe.”

“Don’t need the likes of you to keep me safe.”

“Well a tall, freakishly handsome and big guy such as myself can’t hurt your chances,” he joked, and I couldn’t help but glow.

“I guess not,” I playfully conceded as we walked past a man with his smartphone. He’d a white cap on turned backwards on his head, and wore saggy blue jeans with an overly large plain white tee. His dark skin danced with orange light against the glowing embers of the flaming barrel that had taken residence beside a broken street light, on the side walk. His eyes flicked over me and he raised his chin in both acknowledgement and no doubt wanting to get into my pants.

Hunter cast a stern look the dude’s way and pulled me along towards the two cars that were beside each other in the street. There was a crowd on either end of the two cars, with neon lights emitting just below the two beasts. One green, the other red. Hunter and I walked on the right side, nearing the edge of the crowd of people that were gathered by the red neon of the car.

My heart fluttered with excitement at seeing so many different people yammering away and stuffing money and various papers into a box. The man who held this box walked all along the edge of the gathering of people, a golden tooth glinting as he encouraged people to give up what paper they had. His hair was dark and shaggy and spilling all over his head in these long curls. I guessed his age to be somewhere in the forties. His brown skin all leathery and worn with lines of age, and a few days old lack of shave could be spotted around his face.

Hunter pointed at him, “Betting man,” he said, and I gave him a pointed look as if to say ‘that is obvious, you dick’ and immediately he put his hands up to me in defense. “Sheesh,” Hunter said, “goes by the name Roll-Em Jones. Also holds a poker game on LaFayette. I know he looks shady, but he’s actually one of the realest people you’d get to meet out on the street,” this was clearly Hunter’s element, I could tell he prided himself on knowing the people of the street.

“I see,” I said in understanding, “he
does
look shady.”

Hunter raised both of his brows and I graced him with a smile.

“Can we get up closer?” I asked, not really asking as I already stepped in front of Hunter and worked my way past the veritable hodge-podge of onlookers. Upon closer inspection, it was clear to me that the car with red neon was a modified 2002 Subaru Impreza; customized with glossy red rims, a spoiler and dark green tinted windows. Hunter caught up to me as I glided over curiously to the passenger side, crouching down to peek inside the open window.

Ignoring the tatted up, poser of a man resting easy in the driver’s seat, my eyes drank in the beautiful sight of plush dark leathers and pristinely kept interiors. From the corner of my eye, I could see a subwoofer in the back of the car and a surround sound stereo system decorated the inside; each speaker a honeybee yellow and obsidian black.

I saw that on the man’s excellently kept steering wheel, it held paddle shifters. Internally I swooned, but on the outside I tried to make it look like nothing at all.

The driver turned to face me, and for a small instant I held some regret for dismissing him as a poser. He had a gorgeous face, maybe not quite as nice as Hunter’s but definitely impressive in all of the right places. He had the slightest whisper of pronounced cheekbones, and alluring, deep green eyes that pulled me to his thin lips. The handsome man smiled at me, and my insides did a little happy squirm – he genuinely had one of the greatest, kindest smiles I’d ever seen.

Like a kid in a candy store who’d stolen his parents credit card or something.

Hunter’s hand found my wrist and he tugged me back to reality, “Come on beautiful,” he whispered, having me turn to face him, “think you’re holding up the show.”

“Am I not good enough to be your show?” I teased.

“Never,” Hunter gave his sexy, low purr, and before I knew it, after he pulled me to the edge of the crowd, his lips smashed against my own. His tongue flicked and danced with mine, coming together in this delightful softness – each exploration uncovering another gem of hidden pleasure. God, even his saliva tasted good, like liquid jolly rancher. I felt like an idiot for thinking that way, but in that moment, with my core winding up in dark lust I knew: I couldn’t ever deny those lips.

As if it were true to the movies, a girl with a large red card stepped into the middle of the street and the street audience came alive. We clapped and jeered right along with them. The girl wore a skimpy, gaudy kind of glittering bra for a top. The rest of her skin glistened and her blonde bubblegum hair came down as two French braids.

Bubblegum Girl stood between the two cars as they revved up their engines, igniting the cheers of the people. After doing a set of excited little bobs and wiggles of her hips, Bubblegum Girl flipped the card over and screamed, revealing a bright green.

The music of screams and engine and tire wailing against asphalt filled the night, as the twin demons rocketed off into the distance – screeching as they quickly crossed the drag line. Far and away, one could spot a yellow card being held up on the right side of the road and from the commotion, that indicated the Impreza Driver had taken the glory.

Meanwhile Roll-Em Jones gleefully took his money off of the top and cashed out the winning bets.

An hour of the night passed and Hunter had managed to introduce me to a good number of characters that he’d come to know. Mentioning off handedly that although Hunter himself never raced, he made sure to check them out usually once a month.

Guess I was his exception for a number of things.

Once the night came to winding down, there was one event left that Hunter had been insisting was new. That the organizers had set up a small make-shift, miniature racing track along the shipyard with traffic cones.

I don’t know if it was the high from earlier singing in front of everyone like that, or if it was just an effect Hunter was having on me. But I felt something warm and overpowering grow in my chest, this invisible thorn that I couldn’t pluck.

When what remained of the group moved over to the shipyard, I saw that Impreza Driver was competing again, though this time with an entirely different opponent.

The dark blue, almost pitch black ocean waters lapped against the elevated base of the shipyard – only the bathing of moonlight giving each cutting, rolling wave a silvery glimmer. What remained of the working man’s graveyard were lots of tagged shipping containers of blues and reds and yellows. Littered all around were these bright orange traffic cones. An eerie tone was set to the exciting night by the low crawling mist, it seemed to lazily grab at people’s legs.

I glanced over at Roll-Em Jones, who was conversing with two other guys – each of them a head bigger than him, and way more cut. Flicking my gaze to Hunter, I said, “Don’t freak out, but I’m going to go talk to the driver,” I pointed towards the Impreza with my chin. When I went to leave, I felt Hunter’s familiar hand on my wrist again, and he was giving me a pointed look. Was he jealous?

“Why? What you know that guy or something?”

I forcefully removed myself from his touch and stepped forward, “No, just stand back for once and let me see if I can give you a story to tell like you gave me.” I was being purposefully cryptic and it felt fun. When I found myself beside the Impreza’s driver side window, I leaned down and tapped on it and a moment later, the windows rolled down.

The driver’s arm draped out the window and casually hung there as he leaned his head out, drinking in all that my body had to offer. “Like, you want a ride or something, chick?” He said with that positively radiant smile, a playfulness to his voice. He sounded nothing like Hunter; where his was dark and cool and gravel, the driver’s was warm and inviting and all-american. His dazzling green eyes slid over my body again.

“Something like that,” I teased, leaning in a little closer, “your guy know the course?” I asked, looking towards the car that he was racing.

The Driver shook his head, “Nah. Fresh like virgin snow, baby,” he laughed at his own joke and tilted his head. I’d scarcely seen a man so happy. “Why d’you ask?”

“I’ve got four hundred in cash money,” I explained, a wry smirk dawning on me, “you want to make some money?”

“S’why I’m here,” he chuckled, flashing his white teeth and looking behind his car out of the window, “think it’s kind of why we’re all here.”

“Walk with me to Jones and lets tell him we want to make some money then,” I placed my fingers beneath the man’s chin. Where Hunter was hard, the Driver was soft – save for his barely pronounce cheek-bones. “You’re gonna scoot your ass over and let me drive that beauty.”

His eyes bugged out immediately and he looked away from me in disbelief, and then brought his gaze back. The man neglected to say anything, his jaw drooping and his brows knitting together tightly. Still nothing. Dude was speechless.

“Trust me I’m not like your Barbie girlfriend. I’ve been working and driving cars since she was old enough to hop-scotch.”

“No,” he said in total disbelief, the absurdity of my idea making him shake his head, “I mean, seriously?” His eyes rounded again, and I worried for a moment they might come out, “you’re serious? For serious? You – I just…”

“Hey it’s your call,” I brought up my hands, “we could turn whatever you make and probably more than triple it, split the profit two ways.”

There was a beat of time, and he said, “Sixty forty. You mess up my baby, like even a scratch or a dent yo – you
pay
.”

I extended my hand towards him, smiling, “Sixty for me, forty for you.”

“Other way around,” he dropped his head down, still looking at me; his hand hovering close to mine but not grabbing. “If we got a deal? Name’s Jesse.”

“Fine,” I conceded with a hard breath, and we shook. “Jessica.”

Turning on my heel, I sauntered back over to Hunter; he’d already a suspicious look etched on the lines of his face, and his arms were crossed over one another.

“I’m getting the feeling that you’re up to no good.”

“What gave you that impression?” I tried my hardest to feign innocence; Jesse got out of his Impreza and walked towards Roll-Em Jones.

“Definitely not the look on your face. Seriously, Jess, what the hell are you doing?” He gave me a pointed look.

“Making some money,” I stepped forward, matching his intense gaze, “you just sit back and enjoy being a good arm piece for my personal winners circle.”

Hunter brought his hands to my waist and his chest puffed out, his brows knitting together. “I don’t want you getting hurt, baby.”

I slid my hand up his chest and let it crawl to the back of his neck, pressing his lips against mine in a tight and hot embrace. “Relax.”

“Seems like I can do anything but, around you,” Hunter remarked.

***

Getting things squared away with Jones, I adjusted the driver’s seat for my height and sunk myself back into the caressing leathers. There was a nervous excitement rushing through my veins and I looked over to Jesse, who was buckling up in the passenger’s seat. His gaze flicked to me and we shared a moment of mutual understanding.