American Street Kings: The Complete Series Page 4

  Fascinated, yet scared, I couldn’t look away from his eyes. Green mixed with the subtle tone of honey. After years of wondering what color his eyes were, I finally knew.

  “I know you,” I breathed.

  A sly grin curved at the edges of his lips. “I can assure you, ballerina girl, you don’t know me at all.”

  A shiver traveled down my spine, my throat dry. I heard the threat in his voice as clearly as I saw the promise in his eyes all those nights he stared back up at me standing by my window.

  I swallowed hard. “Wha…what is going on? Why am I here?” My voice was nothing more than a shaky whisper.

  He didn’t answer. He just kept staring at me, a half-smile plastered on his face. With his cold, hard gaze pinned on mine, pure malice oozing out of every pore, it crossed my mind that maybe I had been naïve dreaming about my stranger in the dark. Maybe he didn’t come for me with the intent of whisking me away on his motorcycle while butterflies and romance followed us for the rest of our super happy life. Because there was nothing romantic about this moment, nothing dreamy about the way he stared at me. Everything was wrong, not like I had imagined it at all. I wasn’t supposed to be afraid of him, but I was. I really was. Under his scrutinizing gaze, there was nothing but uncertainty while my heart raced with panic. My skin was cold, yet damp. My palms sweaty while the rope cut into my wrists.

  “Why am I here?”

  He cocked his head, wild curls framing his face. “I think you know.”

  “I don’t.” I could barely swallow, my throat was so dry.

  “Oh, I think you do.”

  “I really don’t.”

  “Then you’ll find out soon enough.”

  The sight of him before me, so close—so damn close, made it impossible for me to look away. For so long I’d wanted to look into his eyes, to finally know what it would feel like to be this close to him. But I never could have imagined fear would be among my emotions.

  He moved closer, my heart beating faster with every step he took. I noticed the tag on his cut. President. And another tag below it. Blood Brothers.

  I was right. He was the leader. Of course, he was. Even little, innocent me could spot his dominance and authority a mile away in the fucking dark.

  His eyes never once left mine as he continued toward me, stopping a few feet away, putting his thick, denim-clad thighs right in my view. From out of nowhere, a flush of heat swept through my chest and up my neck, and I prayed to God my skin wouldn’t turn red.

  He crouched down in front of me, and we were eye-to-eye. “It was only a matter of time, ballerina girl.”

  “What are you talking about?” I struggled to keep his gaze, my fear urging me to look away. To look down. Anything to show I wasn’t a threat.

  He just smiled, not answering my question.

  I swallowed hard. “Why do you call me that?”

  “That’s what you are, right? A ballerina. That’s what you do.” His gaze raked down my neck before looking back up. “You dance.”

  “How do you know?” My voice was almost a whisper, my tied hands shaking in my lap.

  He smiled. “There ain’t nothing about this town I don’t know, sweetheart. Especially when it comes to the police commissioner’s daughter.”

  I didn’t know why it shocked me. Why him knowing who I was twisted my insides into a thousand little knots. Of course, he knew me. He had weekly dealings with my father. It was only natural to have assumed he knew who I was—who my father was. Really. Why the fuck was I shocked?

  I cleared my throat. “Well, since you know who I am, why don’t you show me the same courtesy by telling me who you are?”

  He leaned forward, and the rich, earthy scent of sandalwood mixed with the sharp smell of alcohol enclosed me, assaulting my senses, and if it wasn’t for the fear his presence evoked, I would have easily lost myself in it.

  His dark eyebrows twitched, his mustache moving with his lips. “I’m the man you’ve been wanting to meet for a very long time.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” A little courage decided to come out of nowhere, and I remained stoic.

  He snorted, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t say anything. The next sound I heard was that of the rope around my wrists as he cut through it effortlessly with a knife. The glint of the blade in his hand startled me, and I jerked back. He grabbed my leg, wrapping his long, strong fingers around my calf. “Don’t,” he warned, his face stone, eyes flinty. For a moment, he tightened his grip around my leg, until I sat up straight, my hands at my sides in surrender.

  He let go of my leg. “If you try to run, these ropes go back on, and I’ll tie you to the goddamn bed. And believe me,” he cut the rope around my ankles, “in a house full of mean motherfucking bikers, you do not want to be tied to a goddamn bedpost. Feel me?”

  I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth and nodded.

  “Good.” Green eyes studied me, the golden specks illuminated under the light. “A word of advice. Don’t fight.”

  “Don’t fight what?”

  A devious smirk curled at the edges of his mouth. “Me.”

  That was all it took. One word, and every nerve ending in my body prickled with warning as the threat in his voice penetrated deep into every bone. My lips quivered, my skin cold and damp while our gazes remained locked.

  He toyed with the tip of his beard while he remained crouched in front of me. The seconds that passed felt like hours. But no matter how scared I was, how easily he evoked fear in me, I could not look away from him. Every moment was possessed by conflicting emotions.

  Attraction and fear.

  Curiosity and panic.

  Excitement and uncertainty.

  My mind was a vortex of thoughts that made absolutely no sense.

  Placing his hands on his knees, he was about to stand, but I moved to the edge of the bed. “Who are you?”

  He stilled, eyes narrowed, then lightly tapped at the rank displayed on his cut, silently answering my question.

  “I know you’re the president. I meant,” I sucked on my bottom lip, “what is your name?”

  For a few seconds, his eyes found mine. Cold. Hard. Undeniably mesmerizing. It elicited a kind of fear I fought hard to control, yet my skin heated under his gaze.

  He licked his lips, the movement drawing my attention to his mouth framed with an unruly black beard. “You’re here in a room, with a stranger, no idea where you are or what’s going to happen. Yet the question you demand an answer to is what’s my name?”

  I shrugged, putting on the bravest face possible. “I want to know the man who saved me from being kidnapped only to kidnap me himself.” One good thing my mother taught me was to never show weakness. Show weakness, and you exposed your greatest vulnerability.

  His hand reached out to touch a strand of my blonde hair, and I closed my eyes, holding my breath. Anticipating. Fearing.

  The gentlest touch of his hand brushed against the side of my face right where it ached from the blow I was dealt. I could have sworn I heard a groan as he pulled back, and I exhaled.

  As he straightened, making his way to the door, I jumped up. “My father will find me.”

  A wicked grin laced with secrets and sin spread across his face. “Not when I’m the one helping him look for you.”

  Chapter Five

  Granite

  It took every ounce of self-control a man like me could have to be able to walk out of that room without taking her. I was pretty sure if it wasn’t for the bruise on her face turning my lust into anger, I probably would have.

  No one needed to tell me what a bad motherfucker I was. I already knew. But when I crouched down in front of her, witnessing the fear in her eyes as she watched me, I wanted to rip through those goddamn tights she wore and fist her hair while shoving my dick so far up her pussy she would taste the head of my cock on her tongue.

  There was something about the scent of fear on a woman. Sweet, yet thrilling. Innocent,
yet so fucking forbidden. It turned me the fuck on. Always had. But smelling it on her, seeing it in her eyes, it was different. It wasn’t just something I had to have. It was something I needed. Something I craved more than just the pleasure of a release. It was stronger than that. It fucking possessed my soul ever since I knew of her existence—which was why I had to get the fuck out of that room before I lost myself to the craving. She wasn’t ready.

  Not yet.

  I rounded the corner and saw Ink, our sergeant-at-arms, waiting for me by the stairs. “Have someone here at all times. Understood?”

  “Already on it.” He leaned over the rail. “Yo, Manic. Get your Hispanic ass up here, pronto.” Then he turned back to face me. “So, the prospect ain’t giving us anything we don’t already know.”

  “Of course, he ain’t. Where’s the fucker now?”

  “Waiting in the back. Fucker pissed himself…twice.”

  I stomped down the stairs and lit a cigarette while Ink hauled his tattooed ass behind me. His name was pretty much self-explanatory. “I’ll take care of him.”

  I inhaled a big breath of smoke before pulling out the knife I had hidden beneath my cut. “I got this.”

  “Wait. What?”

  I was down those stairs and across the bar to the other side of the building within seconds. My fury was fueling me, and every goddamn member I passed could see I no longer saw any other color but red.

  “Yo, Granite. Wait, man. What the fuck is up?”

  When I reached the door, I kicked it down instead of turning the lock. God, I was a savage, one with psychopathic tendencies. Basically, I was one giant shit-storm.

  The door fell to the ground, breaking in half. I didn’t slow down when I spotted the son of a bitch across the room tied to a chair. There wasn’t a single goddamn person in this entire universe who would have been able to stop me.

  I rushed forward, and without pause swung the knife, jabbing it right into his motherfucking skull, blood instantly pouring down his face.

  “Granite! What the fuck, man?”

  I pushed the blade deeper for good measure, feeling bone crack. The fucker’s mouth was still open as he tried to say something two seconds before I sliced through his tiny fuck-wit brain.

  “Jesus.” I heard Dutch behind me. “What the fuck is going on?”

  I snarled then pulled the knife out of the dead man’s skull. “Just taking care of loose ends.”

  “By leaving a mess?”

  I turned to face him. “By spilling blood.”

  “Well, fuck,” Ink commented behind me. “Who’s going to clean all this?”

  Dutch placed his hands on his sides. “Really, Ink? That’s the only thing you’re worried about?”

  “Well…yeah.”

  I almost smiled. Almost.

  “What the fuck happened here?”

  I glanced over Dutch’s shoulder at Onyx standing by the door. “The Python prospect got acquainted with my knife.”

  Onyx glanced at the corpse in the chair. “Yeah, no shit.”

  My priorities shifted, the dead Python behind me easing the initial reason for my anger. “Tell me, brother. What does your tag say on your cut?”

  The look in his eyes told me he knew where I was going with this.

  “Vice president.”

  “And what does mine say?”

  “Don’t patronize me, brother.”

  “What. Does. Mine. Say?” My jaw was clenched, and I was fucking grinding my teeth.

  Onyx glowered at me, nostrils flaring and eyebrows arched inward. “President.”

  “So next time when I tell you to do, or not to do something, you fucking listen.”

  “I made the shot.”

  “You could have killed her.” My blood simmered.

  “I made the fucking shot!” Onyx spat out the words, and I rushed forward, stopping inches from him.

  “I told you not to shoot. You didn’t listen. I don’t care whether you made the shot or not, next time you disobey me, your ass is out. Brother or not.”

  Onyx took a step forward, a silent way of showing me I didn’t intimidate him. If he knew how close I was to beating the shit out of him, he wouldn’t have made such a bold statement. If Onyx wasn’t my little brother, and I hadn’t made a promise to our dad that I’d take care of his stubborn ass, I would have beaten the shit out of him right now.

  “Next time, do as you’re told,” I warned with a snarl.

  “I wouldn’t have taken the shot if I thought there was a chance I’d miss.”

  “I don’t give a fuck if you have x-ray vision. The next time I tell you to not shoot…you don’t motherfucking shoot!” Anger reverberated as I spat out the words, and I kept my glare pinned on his. It was about the only physical trait we shared, our height. We had the same dad, but not the same womb. His hair was lighter than mine. Shoulder length. His eyes were a sky-blue, the kind of blue that could charm the panties off any woman. But his arrogant attitude pissed me off more than half the time.

  I stared him down while I stood a mere foot away from him. “Do not ever disobey my direct order again. Understood?”

  “You know I’m the best—”

  “Understood!” My voice boomed through the room, my rage echoing off the walls. The animosity between us was toxic, and judging by the silence around us, the other guys felt it as well.

  Onyx’s face was hard, one corner of his mouth turned up. Those motherfucking blue eyes were currently shooting bullets at my skull.

  “Understood,” he gritted out in disdain.

  “Good. And just so you know, someone called the cops reporting they heard gunfire. Not only did you risk her life, but you risked exposing all of us. So before you decide to get your brooding ass in a twist over being chewed out by your big brother, think about the rest of the guys.”

  “We were on the back roads, Granite. No one saw.”

  “Well, someone heard.”

  “Yet nothing came of it.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Because, lucky for you, we have guys at the precinct currently on our fucking payroll.”

  Onyx lifted a brow and shrugged. “Well, then. Why the worried face, brother? It all turned out great.”

  “Dude has a point,” Ink commented behind me, and I clutched the blade tighter in my hand.

  “Get the prospects to clean this shit up.” I turned and walked out.

  There was no doubt I loved my brother. But did I think he was ready to be vice president of the club? No. But our dad did, and there was no one’s judgement I trusted more than our old man’s. I just fucking hoped Onyx would grow up—and soon.

  “So,” I heard Ink say behind me, “we got the girl. Two bodies, thanks to all our local psychos. What do we do now?”

  I rubbed my forehead, pinching my eyes closed. “We wait.”

  “For what?”

  “For the police commissioner’s call.”

  “Right. After that, we need to make sure we have enough evidence to go to war against the Pythons.”

  “We’ll have the evidence.”

  “Someone is going to have to hurt her, you know? The girl.”

  I bit my lip then cursed. “The dead prospects left enough evidence on her face.”

  “Holy shit, is that why—”

  I turned and glared at him before he could end his sentence. He saw the promises of pain by just staring at my face, so he shut his mouth.

  Neon, one of the waitresses, came walking past carrying a few beers. Ink grabbed two and held one out to me. “Well, we’re officially on the right track toward destroying the fuckers. The Pythons are going down once and for all, and I don’t care who we have to cross, fuck, or disembowel in order to get it done.”

  I stopped, took the beer, and chugged almost half of it down my throat. The throbbing ache I had in my dick earlier moved to my goddamn temples because of Ink’s incapability of shutting up. “Ink, are you on meth?”

  “What?” His pierced eyebrows slanted. “No. Of c
ourse not. You know I hate that shit.”

  “Then why the fuck are you acting like a goddamn rodent with a battery up his ass?”

  Manic passed us on his way up the stairs. “I’m starting to think it’s the sight of blood that gets him going like a whore on crack.”

  Ink showed him the finger, and Manic laughed as he took two stairs at a time all the way to the top.

  I relaxed slightly knowing Manic was standing guard. Manic was one huge motherfucker, and he had no issue with dishing out pain. He had no issue with being on the receiving end either. The beast didn’t seem to feel pain. The grotesque scar on his face that stretched from the top of his right eye all the way down across his face to the left corner of his mouth was self-inflicted, according to Ink. Said he overheard Manic tell this to one of his many victims before slicing the fucker’s throat, burying his confession with the corpse. Whether it was just a scare tactic he used, we didn’t know, and we didn’t ask. Everyone had their own demons to live with, and around here you didn’t poke around in other people’s pasts.

  But Manic was the most observant fucker I had ever come across. Nothing got past him, and that alone made him the best goddamn road captain any club could have. He might seem all chilled and relaxed while gripping those ape hangers, but give him a gun and real good motivation, he’d pull the trigger faster than you could fucking blink. Manic’s incapability of feeling pain made him one mean-ass motherfucker to deal with when shit got real. Since he joined the club, he had been shot three times—his arm, his back, and his chest. Fucking bullets were mere millimeters from being fatal. Apparently, the psycho had nine lives too.

  I shoved my empty bottle against Ink’s chest. “Make sure the prospects clean up the back room real good.”

  “Oh, you mean the corpse you left behind.”

  I glowered at him, unamused by his sarcasm.

  Onyx and Dutch were now sitting at the bar, and by the way Dutch leaned close, I knew the man was probably giving my brother a pep talk. He had always been better at handling my brother than I was.