The Death Lords, Volumes 1-3: His Wild Desire, Her Secret Pleasure, Their Private Need (14 page)

“Well?” I ask impatiently. I want to reach over, grab the hardcover and give Judge a good thunk on the top of his head.

He rubs a hand over his jaw. “I can’t say anything that you’re going to want to hear at this point.”

“You can’t order me around. I’m not your son or daughter. I slept with you once. It was good. Real good and I’d like to do it again, but I’m not climbing back into bed with you if you think I’m your property.”

He sighs. “You know that’s not what those words mean. Wearing your old man’s cut, being an old lady, isn’t about being a slave to that man. It gives the man the right to protect you and it makes sure everyone else knows that there’s a heavy boot and a hard fist on the other end of the leather.”

“Then why aren’t you warning me about the potential dangers that I should be on the lookout for and why are you coming here and telling me what to do in a place where I’m in charge?” I press a shaking hand against my nose. Did I pick wrong again?

“Baby.” He stands and then vaults over the wooden divide once again. “What’s happening to you is my fault and I want to be able to make things right for you. If you’d broken it off with Schmidthead and dated the coffee maker down the street, Schmidt wouldn’t ever have leaned on the mayor. You wouldn’t have shitheads vandalizing your car and I wouldn’t be worried about your safety. So this is all on me and I take care of my own.”

He tries to put his arms around me but I push him back. “That may be but you’re undermining my authority and making me look weak.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Judge, if I walked into your club and reprimanded some patch who’d stepped out of line, how would that look?”

He exhales heavily and then reaches up to brush a lock of my hair out of my eyes. His touch sends a zing of electricity down my spine. Even in argument, I still find him hot as hell. His amazing intuition picks up on this and his eyes darken in response.

“It’d be bad and I’m sorry. I’m not trying to take away your authority. I like that you stand up to me.” He grins. “It makes your bedroom submission a helluva lot sexier.”

“All right. Then let’s make an agreement that in the library I’m in charge.”

His big body crowds me. “And if you need some attention during a lunch break? Who’s in charge then?”

I run a hand over the edge of his cut, the leather buttery soft from years of use. “I am,” I whisper as his head descends. “Because I can always say no.”

I don’t get anything more out because his mouth is over mine, his tongue pressing insistently between my teeth. We tangle for a few hot, heady moments. The tightness of my skirt prevents any good pressure against my sex but Judge is undeterred. He bends his knees and places a firm hand at the top of my butt and pulls me against his hard erection but the rub of his thick, denim-covered flesh only teases rather than satisfies.

He breaks away from my mouth to trail his lips along my jaw and behind my ear. “I’ll never give you a reason to say it. That’s not arrogance talking, only truth.”

Shuddering, I manage to stiffen my spine and step away. I smooth my hair back. “No customers behind the circulation desk.”

For a moment, I feel like he will disagree, but he doesn’t. He winks and walks around the end. I work, sorting through the suggestion cards patrons have left and Judge prowls the stacks.

“You have
Car and Driver
?” he asks in surprise.

“We also carry a selection of new movies and digital books,” I respond proudly.

“Glad to see my tax dollars are doing something worthwhile.” He settles at the same table Easy did and I realize that it’s the perfect position to see the entry door, the emergency exit and my office.

Whatever Easy does for the club, it involves strategy and planning.

“Tell me about the Death Lords,” I ask.

“What do you want to know?” He turns toward me and pushes the magazines he was pretending to be interested in away.

“How’d you come up with the name? You guys one percenters?”

He stretches his legs out, scoots his ass toward the edge of the chair and leans back, hands clasped behind his head. The shiny knife is still lying on my counter but I have no doubt he’s armed and dangerous even in this relaxed pose. “My granddad was from southern Minnesota. A nice town.” He names a large town down in Southern Minnesota near the Iowa and South Dakota borders. “You know of it?”

“I can place it on a map but I’ve never been,” I admit.

He shrugs. “It’s a nice enough place. Anyway, my granddad was drafted and served in the Vietnam War. When he came back home he didn’t recognize anyone. It was a bad time for vets. Back then, even in his hometown, there were people who didn’t like anyone who had anything to do with fighting. He wasn’t spit on like other vets were but people were careful around him and it wasn’t home anymore. He hooked up with a couple other vets and they moved up here to Fortune. They were still in a familiar place but far enough away from everything that they didn’t have to pretend that they fit in. They fixed up their own motorcycles and then some other vets joined them and soon they had a posse of broken-down vets and bikes.”

“How’d the name Death Lords come about?”

“Because death ruled them except when they were on the road. My granddad said that the road was the one place where the devil couldn’t catch them. They dominated the asphalt on their two tires and metal frames.”

I envision three long-haired grandpas on bikes motoring down the road and smile. “Your grandfather sounds like a closet romantic.”

“He loved his bike, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I roll my eyes at his response. “He must have loved a woman if he had your dad.”

“From the sounds of it he loved too many women. The club raised my dad.”

“Are your folks passed on?”

“Nope. Granddad is kicking it in Arizona. Says that he’s tired of the tit-freezing winters and my dad lives in the Cities with his latest woman.”

“No woman in your life?” I’m fishing, a tiny bit. In his forties, I find it hard to believe that he hasn’t had one big romance in his life. I’m leaning on the desk, work abandoned and totally caught up in our conversation. Sharing isn’t a problem for him and that is absolutely refreshing.

“Wrecker’s mom died when he was four, of breast cancer, but my mom and dad were great in the sack and hated each other out of it. She eventually got on the back of a nomad and took off. My grandma never married my granddad because he couldn’t keep his dick to himself. She died a couple of years before Wrecker went into the pen.” He looks up at the clock. “You about ready to go?”

I’m surprised to see it’s only ten minutes before closing time. “Yes, let me get my stuff.”

Quickly I log out of the computer and shut it down. My handbag is on the desk in the tiny office. Judge follows me around as I double-check to make sure the doors and windows are locked, and all the computers and lights are turned off.

“We’re good. Am I driving you home?”

He frowns. “Baby, didn’t you hear? Your car was vandalized. You’re not driving anywhere. The car was towed to the garage and we’re going to fix it up for you. Takes a couple of days for the paint to cure hard enough for us to sand and buff.”

“But it’s still drivable, right?” I protest.

He takes my purse and pushes me gently out of the library. By habit, I turn and lock the door. “It’s not drivable. You don’t want to be driving around town with a bad graffiti job on your car.”

“I’m not getting on the back of your bike, Judge,” I say in alarm. My skirt is too tight for me to straddle a motorcycle seat.

Cupping my elbow, he draws me outside. There’s a shiny truck sitting where my car was parked. “Give me a little credit. I brought a cage.”

“Judge, I—” I begin to argue but he’s got me inside the truck before I can get out any more words. That man can move fast.

Once he climbs into the pickup, he turns to me. “Pippa, there’s something going down and I want you to be safe. Tonight we are both staying at the granary. That’s where the club meets, hangs out. But if I get called away, there are men who will be able to protect you. I get that in ordinary circumstances you can watch out for yourself but you’ve got to admit that this is something different. Tuck that pride away and know I’m not trampling on your independence. I’m making sure you’re safe and that my resources aren’t spread too thin. Got it?”

Pippa

The exterior of the granary gives the impression of vastness. The center building is tall and thin with a single-gable roof. Two large lean-to structures are stuck up against either side like a mom with a kid attached to each leg. And the attached silver steel silo is large enough to house a few trucks the size of Judge’s.

I wonder how big the Death Lords’ club is. Most MCs my dad consorted with were small operations. He shied away from the national clubs, citing their penchant for strict rules and large tributes he didn’t feel comfortable paying. The smaller clubs allowed him to bunk down in a clubhouse in exchange for manual labor, some cash or a favor.

“My stepdaughter, Chelsea, likes to call this the milk carton,” Judge comments as he steers onto the compacted gravel.

The tall center structure does look like a half gallon milk container. “I can see that. Plus the initials are the same—MC.”

In the back of the truck is the suitcase he packed this morning. He hauls it out effortlessly as if it weighs no more than a small kitten and places a hand at the small of my back.

“You going to be able to make it over the gravel in those heels?” He eyes my shoes with skepticism.

“Does a librarian love books?” I sniff and start moving.

The interior of the granary is a lot more welcoming than I had envisioned after you get past the opening room, which smells faintly of rubber and gasoline.

“During bad weather we park our bikes inside,” Judge explains. “The living space is toward the back.”

Through a set of old barn doors is a wide open space divided into different areas. To my left is a big hearth surrounded by three sofas and several chairs. To my right is a long table and beyond that is a bar. More importantly, Morgen is sitting by the bar and leaps forward when he sees me.

I crouch down and hug his sleek neck as he barks out his happiness. He tries to climb into my lap and give me sloppy dog kisses. Judge watches with tolerant amusement in his eyes.

“Thank you,” I say. Knowing I'd want Morgen with me is a mark in his favor. Two men are at the bar, one behind it and one in front of it.

“Not a problem,” Judge answers. He helps me rise to my feet and then pulls me flush against him. In front of the two strangers, two men I presume to be part of his club, he kisses me hard. His mouth covers mine and his hands are all over my butt. As swiftly as he started the kiss, he stops and I nearly stumble backward but for Judge's hands holding me up.

He turns me toward the bar and I face two grinning men.

“This ugly motherfucker behind the bar is Bang Bang, our warlord, and this one's Bear.” He nods toward the full-bearded man with full-sleeve tattoos sitting with his hands around a stein of beer. “This is Pippa Lang, Chuck's daughter.”

“Welcome,” Bang Bang says. His voice is deep and melodic. I wonder if he sings.

Bear sticks out his hand and I watch bemusedly as my own gets swallowed up in his grasp. He's big all over.

“What time is church?” Judge asks Bang Bang.

“Everyone is coming in after dinner, seven.”

“Good. We'll be upstairs. Don't bother us until then.”

Bang Bang and Bear's grins both widen and I have the urge to slap all three men. I say nothing though and Judge leads me toward the stairs, explaining the rest of the layout.

“Behind the bar is the kitchen and upstairs we have six bedrooms. There are a couple of patches who live here all the time and the other rooms are for guests or those who need a place to stay.”

Meaning, if they are screwing around on their old ladies, they do it here. To Judge, I ask, “And how long will I be staying here?”

“Just for tonight.”

“You're going to take care of the trouble tonight?” I arch an eyebrow.

“Yup.”

“Thanks for embarrassing me in front of your men.” I'm not happy about it and he should know. He stops on the stairs and looks back.

“You'd rather have someone knocking on the door in the middle of me eating you out?”

My sex clenches at the memory of his eager mouth between my legs but stubbornly, I argue, “Maybe I'd like to shower and have a nap.”

“You can do both. After I eat you and after I fuck you.” He turns as if the conversation is over and moves up the stairs.

On the one hand, his frank declaration of what he'd like to do is a turn-on. I don't have to guess and truly I knew what was going to happen if I got into his truck. The tension between us this afternoon was equal to about four hours of foreplay. On the other hand, I thought we'd come to some agreement about him ordering me around all the time.

I follow his tight butt up the stairs to the third floor. There's a hallway and a row of doors. It looks vaguely like a small motel. “What's on the second floor?” I ask curiously.

“A couple of different rooms. Guys like to play video games or want to watch the game, there's a place for that.”

“This is more and more like a frat house every second,” I say dryly.

“I wouldn't know,” Judge replies. “Never went to college.”

He opens the door to the last room and I step inside. It's a fairly good-sized bedroom with a small dresser, a television at the foot of the bed and a chair by the window. “There's a bathroom in here,” he says, throwing open the door to reveal a small shower, stool and sink. He places my suitcase on the floor next to the dresser and that's when I see it.

Frowning, I walk over and bend down to check the luggage tag on the larger suitcase that is the perfect match for the carry-on Judge set down. I rise and put my hands on my hips. “What is my other suitcase doing here?”

Judge has seated himself on the end of the bed and is in the process of unlacing his boots. “I figured I did a shit job packing your stuff this morning so I sent Chels to gather up everything you might need.”

He doesn't even look up when he answers me. He finishes pulling off his socks and wiggles his long toes. Crap, even his naked feet are sexy. I hadn't noticed that before.

“You said I was staying one night and that the trouble would be over.”

“That's right.” He stands and starts unbuckling his belt.

“Wait a minute. What are you doing?”

He looks incredulous. “Baby, I'm undressing, then I'm going to bend you over the bed, ruck up your skirt and fuck you until all these worries you have in your head about today, tomorrow and next week are gone. Afterwards, I'm putting a plug in your ass so I can fuck that tonight when I get back from taking care of business. That's what I'm doing.”

His graphic words make my skirt feel a size too small and my panties very uncomfortable. But no matter that my body is urging me to hop into his lap, I'm not done arguing with him yet. “None of that explains why you had a stranger go to my house and rifle through my things.”

“My daughter Chels, my son Wrecker and Abel, the prospect you met last night, went out to your place. Abel went to help with the dog and Wrecker went because he doesn't like Chels being alone with any dick other than his own. He's like his old man.”

Judge has come to stand in front of me; his buckle is hanging open and his jeans are unsnapped. There's a tiny bit of white elastic striped with red that I can see if I look hard enough. His erection is growing more prominent with each passing minute. I lick my lips remembering the thick feel of it on my tongue and how I felt utterly surrounded by him when he slid down my throat. My hand comes up and rubs down the column of my neck.

He groans and pulls me to him. “It's been a long time since I had a woman in my life I cared about, baby. I'm used to ordering things in my life and not checking in with anyone. In the future I promise I'll do a better job of clearing things with you but I swear to Christ, I can't think about anything but fucking you right now.”