Stoned (Unlikely Heroes Book 4) (4 page)

She yanked her arm from him grasp, stumbling back. “I can manage just fine on my own, thank you.”

Stoner arched a brow as she marched past him and entered the lodge.

Viper was right that she was a handful. The woman was going to be the death of Stoner.

Quite literally.

CHAPTER SIX

“So, Viper said to get a list of all the items you’ll need to clone marijuana.”

Stoner eyed Karen across the round table where they sat in the compound’s dining area. He had a notepad in front of him and a pen in his hand, waiting for her to answer.

Karen ignored Stoner’s question. She wasn’t telling him shit. He could go to hell, along with the lot of these murdering bikers, who could all kiss her ass.

As soon as they’d entered the building, Stoner had ushered her into this room and pushed her into a chair at the table.

The building was huge, built out of massive logs with large, open rooms, hardwood floors, silk plants placed around the place in corners or empty spaces, big leather furniture, bear rugs in front of couches, various animal heads on the walls, a long wooden bannister that went up a stairwell to the second and third floors…it was quite impressive.

Karen glanced around the dining area, which contained about ten or fifteen round tables, each table capable of seating about six people. A few other bikers sat at some of the tables surrounding them, talking and joking, some playing cards, some drinking beer. Karen was relieved she wasn’t the only woman at the compound. There were currently three other women in the dining room, one about Karen’s age, the other two much younger, mid-twenties. The other women all eyed her curiously, though they made no attempt to approach her or speak with her.

A kitchen area was located off to the right of the dining room and contained three large stainless steel refrigerators, a gigantic commercial gas range, various other kitchen appliances, and a big metal sink. She had no idea how many bikers lived here, but the kitchen was large enough to prepare meals for a small army.

Stoner had pulled a beer from one of the refrigerators and offered her one. Karen had declined. He’d shrugged and popped off the top of a
Negra Modelo with his pocket knife. He’d slid into a chair at the table where they now sat and took a large gulp of the beer, watching her across the table.

Karen stared back as he took another sip of the dark beer. It had been awhile since she’d had a beer. She needed one now. If she was going to survive the night in this place, she might as well get a little tipsy so she could endure whatever they had planned for her.

“I’ll have one of those.” She motioned to his beer.

He quirked a brow.

“Please.”

He rose and went into the kitchen area with a lazy stroll, returning a few moments later with a beer. Damn, the man had a nice build. Stocky, muscular, yet not bulky. A male lion, the king of beasts. He had a graceful, feline way of moving, and he was in damn good shape for his age.

Stoner plopped the beer in front of her and slid into his chair. “The list?”

She met his gaze across the table. “I’m not showing you how to micropropagate marijuana, so you can just give it up, asshole.”

She reached for her beer.

His hand shot out, lighting fast. He snatched up her beer, pulling it in front of him. Out of her reach.

“The list,” he prompted. “You already know you’re not getting out of here alive, so you might as well try to make the best of what little time you have left.”

Their gazes locked. Held. Tension arced between them, the air filling with challenge. His cold hazel eyes bored into hers. And as they stared at each other, something shifted between them, the air thickening with something new, something more daring…something…sexual. His nostrils flared. Just barely. She would have missed it if she wasn’t staring so hard. His eyes darkened, heated. Karen’s breathing quickened. Her heartrate sped up. Hell, it had been a long time since she’d been with a man. And she’d never been with a man like Stoner.

She wanted him, wanted his hands all over her. Wanted her hands all over him. The startling realization caused her to draw in a sharp breath. She didn’t care in that moment if he was a criminal, a drug dealer or a murderer. She wanted him to take her somewhere private, somewhere they could be alone. So she could make him lose control. So
she
could lose control. Just for a while.

And so she could feel wanted. So she could feel like a woman again.   

No, don’t be a fool. You can’t go there. He’ll know. Then he won’t want you anymore.

“You want to play games?” His voice was velvety soft, but held an undercurrent of warning. “That’s fine, we’ll play. But you’ll never win, Karen.”

She swallowed hard. “I’ll give you the list, if you give me…something in return.”

A sandy-colored brow shot up. “And what is it that you…want in return?”

Karen stared into his eyes, noticing for the first time the dark turquoise-colored ring around his irises. His eyes had darkened to a deep green color, the blue blending into the background, and the gold flecks becoming nearly invisible. The man had striking eyes, the way they changed and evolved with his moods. He reminded her of a chameleon. Could he as easily change, blend in or disappear like his eyes? Mesmerized, she couldn’t look away. She sensed the man was much, much more than he allowed her to see. Who
was
Stoner?

She cleared her throat and lowered her gaze. He was right. She would never win in a game against him.

“I changed my mind. I’m not giving you a list.” She wasn’t in the mood to play this game anymore. Not yet. She needed to know a little more about her opponent first.

“Who are you, Stoner? What’s your real name?”

“Neal Stone,” a voice said from behind her.

Karen spun around. One of the younger bikers, a kid with black hair and striking light blue eyes, stood behind her. “I’m Rebel. We met out in the forest, but I was wearing a hood, so you probably don’t recognize me.”

“You’re a southerner.” Karen smiled at the young man. “I love your accent.” He had very distinct lilts and drawls in his voice that she immediately picked up on. When he spoke, his vowels came out sounding long and lazy. So different from the northerners around here.

He shrugged. “What can I say? Womenfolk really love the southern talk, but truly, it’s not just an accent you’re noticing, but also the different dialects. And the rest of y’all talk funny, not me.” He slid into the chair next to hers.

Karen chuckled. “Well, I stand corrected.
Dialects.
You’re so right. You’re referring to southern speech such as
y’all
when you mean dialects, correct? Where are you from?”

“Alabama, ma’am.” He grinned. “And yup, that’s what I meant. Y’all have accents too, you know.”

Karen considered that. The musicality of his speech was different from hers and everyone else’s around here. To her, he had an accent. But to him, she and everyone else had accents. It made perfect sense, though she’d never thought about it before.

“You’re a smart kid. I would never have thought of dialects if you hadn’t mentioned it.”

Rebel’s eyes twinkled with mischief. He glanced at Stoner, then back at her. “No one else around here is smart enough to understand dialects, but I can tell you’re an educated woman.”

Karen darted a glance at Stoner. Had Rebel been trying to insult Stoner? Or was Stoner an educated man as well? She had no idea because she didn’t know what Stoner did for a living.

Stoner’s expression remained impassive, his eyes shuttered. Karen couldn’t tell if he was insulted or not. He lifted his beer and took another sip.

A black Pit Bull Terrier puppy sidled up to Rebel and rubbed its head against his legs before sitting on the floor next to his chair. Karen guessed the dog was about four or five months old. She leaned over to pat the animal’s head. The dog cowered away from her, its eyes wild with fear. It was then that she noticed the poor thing was heavily scarred on its head, neck and chest. Most of the wounds were still healing.

She let out a soft gasp. “What happened to your puppy?”

Rebel leaned down to pat the dog’s head. Instead of cowering from him as it had from her, the dog leaned into his hand and closed its eyes, as if in rapture from the young man’s touch.

“He was one of Viper’s bait dogs. Got torn up pretty bad. They tossed him out back to die, but I couldn’t stand to see him suffer, so I brought him in and nursed him back to health.”

Bait dogs? As in illegal dog fighting? Karen fought back the outrage that swirled in her chest.

That asshole! That’s why I keep hearing barking dogs.

The more she learned about Viper, the more she disliked him. It sickened her that someone could be so cruel as to deliberately inflict such horror upon this innocent creature. No wonder the poor thing was terrified. But this young man was an unexpected delight. He’d rescued the pup and nursed it back to health. From the looks of the dog’s ugly scars, it hadn’t been easy. She liked Rebel even more. “What’s his name?”

Rebel glanced down at the dog, then back up at her. His eyes darkened with pain. A sad, troubled look flickered across his face before disappearing. Was Rebel more damaged than his dog?

“I call him Scar.”

Karen nodded. An appropriate name. Scar.

She glanced across the table at Stoner, who’d been watching their exchange in silence. “So your real name is Neal Stone? Can I call you Neal?”

Stoner tossed a glare at Rebel, then met her gaze. “No. Call me Stoner.”

Rebel snickered next to her. “He doesn’t like to be called Neal. Most of us don’t like our birth names. We came here to become someone else, to get rid of our old lives and start new ones. Viper lets us choose whatever name we want. It’s kind of cool.”

Karen studied the young man. He had to be in his early to mid twenties and was strikingly handsome with his perfect, “pretty boy” features. As she studied him, he seemed vaguely familiar.

“Do I know you?” she asked, ignoring Stoner for the moment. “You seem familiar somehow.”

“He was an actor in his previous life,” Stoner supplied. Rebel skewered him with a glare. Stoner’s lips quirked. “He got mixed up with the wrong crowd, got into drugs and alcohol. They fired him from his last role. His acting career is now his-tor-y. No one will hire him again.”

“Not true.” Rebel leaned toward Karen, diverting her attention back to him. “I’m a vet.”

“A vet? What kind of vet? A war vet? An animal vet?”

“Animal vet. You know, dogs…”

“Ah.” Karen glanced down at the half-grown Pit Bull pup. “That makes sense, though you don’t look old enough to be a vet. How old are you, kid?”

Rebel jerked his chin up. “I’m twenty-five. Don’t worry, I have my degree. I just got it a few months ago. Viper lets me treat all the animals here at the compound.”

The only animals Karen had seen here so far had been the Rottweilers. But apparently Viper also housed fighting dogs somewhere on the premises. How often did Rebel have to fix the dogs up? How many had he had to destroy? She didn’t ask.

“That’s a great career to have.” She smiled at Rebel. Not only a southerner, but an educated one as well. “I like you already. You don’t talk like a redneck.”

Rebel scowled. “I’m not a redneck, ma’am.”

Karen’s cheeks heated. Had she insulted the young man? She hadn’t meant that she assumed all southerners were uneducated rednecks, but it had come out sounding that way.

“My apologies. It goes to show I don’t know much about the south. Maybe you can teach me more about it sometime.”

Rebel beamed. “Be happy to, ma’am. Anytime you want.”

Stoner rolled his eyes. Karen narrowed her gaze at him. She didn’t understand his attitude toward the younger man. Certainly he wasn’t jealous? A veterinarian was a wonderful career. What did Stoner do?

“What about you, Neal? What did you do in your previous life?”

His gaze hardened as it bored into hers. The use of his first name obviously irritated him. “Pot grower,” he said softly, seriously. Too seriously.

Karen quirked a brow. “Ah. That’s why Viper wants me to show you how to clone marijuana. You’re a drug dealer.”

Rebel laughed, an impish gleam in his light blue eyes. “I like her, Stoner. She’s witty. And pretty hot for an older lady. If you were younger, Karen, I’d do you.” He waggled his brows.

Karen choked out a laugh. She was old enough to be this kid’s mother. Her own daughter was about Rebel’s age. But she wasn’t offended. Rather, she was charmed. Rebel was a good-looking kid. He could charm the panties off of any female, young or old.

She recognized him now. He
was
an actor. She’d seen him on one of those cop shows on television a few years back. And in a couple of movies too. She just couldn’t recall what ones right at that moment. Why Rebel had given up that life to join a biker gang? What had been so horrible about his previous life that made this one better?

“So you were an actor and now you’re a vet?” she asked. “Why the change in career?”

Rebel jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “Acting’s not as glorious as they make it sound. I wanted out. I wanted to do something good. No one’s more surprised than me that I actually passed vet school and got my degree. But hey, stranger things have happened.”

As Karen studied the young man, she sensed a deep pain he was struggling to overcome. He hid it beneath his nonchalance, pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Pretending to
feel
something he didn’t. What had happened to him? Though she was curious, she didn’t dare probe. The nonchalance was all an act. His rapid mood swings—from mischievous to sad to charming to nonchalant—were an indication of how easily he turned his emotions on and off. Of how quickly he became someone else.