Nomad Kind of Love Read online

  Clara flashed in my mind. I shook my head, suppressing the vile memory.

  “Sorry I'm such a nuisance. I already told your brother, I'll be outta your hair whenever you let me go. Won't waste a second longer here.”

  “You said that to Blaze? Nosy bastard.” His face softened, and then tightened angrily. “Look, you're reading this shit all wrong. I want you to get on your feet while you're with us. Remember, I'm the one who chose you as fucking collateral. Nobody else.”

  “Shoulda picked a different girl. Guess nobody told you the Dirty Diamond's star dancer is also the most fucked up.”

  He snorted, picked up the glass at his side, and slammed his whiskey. Maverick stood, leaning far over the bar, and came up a minute later with a glass of something clear in hand.

  “Mineral water. Your favorite. Drink this and show me you care about waking up alive tomorrow.”

  I reluctantly accepted the drink. It tasted cool on my lips.

  Through the empty prism top of the glass, I studied him. Maverick was cold, hard, and demanding. But so far, he hadn't been cruel.

  He was a lawless savage. It must've been the drink and my bleeding heart that caused the sudden desire surging through my body. An image flashed before my eyes, so vivid and scorching I nearly dropped my water.

  I imagined his huge body wedged between my legs, naked and plastered with the tattoos I could only see the edges of around his clothes. He pulled me to him with the same fevered need in his commands, roaming his big paws all over my body, grabbing my flesh and taking whatever he wanted.

  Stop it! Now you remember why you didn't drink around the Grizzlies?

  I did. Of course, thinking about fucking one of them made me wretch. Contrasting Maverick with my old captors made him much, much more appealing too.

  And that was dangerous...

  “Good girl,” he said when my empty glass clinked on the counter. “Our new skin shop opens next week in town. Think you got it in you to get back on the stage? You'll keep way more money working for me than you ever did those assholes.”

  “Sure.” God help me, I leaned in closer to him as I said it, really tasting his rich manly scent for the first time.

  Sweat. Leather. Whiskey. Power.

  “Good. With you debuting there, you're sure to help the place get on its fucking legs. Half the guys we've talked to in this town say they drove up to Missoula just to see you. Not real hard to see why.”

  He looked me up and down. My panties drowned with wet heat, forced out as his eyes crawled over my flushed skin.

  I was losing control, and it felt good. Damned good.

  Where the hell had the shrieking bitch gone? Was she really put down so easy by a few shots?

  “You know, I've seen hundreds of guys watching me shake my thing. But nobody watched me the way you did that night.”

  “Yeah?”

  The air between us swarmed with heat and pheromones. Maverick recognized the animal glint in my eyes and threw his arms around me at once, jerking me onto his lap.

  Holy shit. What's happening? Why can't I stop?

  The mutinous nub between my legs pulsed, sending rough, filthy fire straight up my core. It was like two years of pent up frustration boiled over at once.

  I shouldn't have been surprised. A young girl can only hold her body under the big, sexy gun without going further for so long. I just never expected I'd throw myself at a biker – not a man like the brutes who'd wrecked my life.

  Was I that fucked up?

  It sure didn't feel like it with his hot breath on me. Maverick leaned in, one little touch away from fusing his lips to mine. I wondered if he'd taste as good as he smelled.

  “You like being watched, babe?” He was only an inch away, running the very tip of his tongue over his bottom lip.

  Hearing him call me 'babe' didn't upset me anymore. It had a nice ring to it in his deep, slightly smoky, and very manly voice.

  “I like touching more.” Crap. I almost said fucking, but then I would've sounded like a complete and total slut.

  His hands tightened around me. Good, I thought.

  Let him think I'm a wounded little birdie if it gives me this heat, this sweet distraction. Hell, maybe I need to let go a little. I need something new to take away the memories.

  I wasn't a tiny girl, but Maverick was huge. His hands traveled lower down my back, stopping on my hips to squeeze and throw me forward.

  My legs went around his waist, and I sensed the very edge of a raging hard-on below his jeans. My hips bucked instantly, grinding against him.

  “Fuck!” he whispered, pressing one hand behind my head.

  No more screwing around. He pulled me into him, and his lips were on mine. It was a world shattering a kiss, a kiss so wicked and intense it caused me to short circuit.

  I moaned into his sweet lips, running my tongue across them. Next thing I knew, I had a sensation like I was going to faint.

  Seriously. I'd only had the disembodied feeling a couple times, as if all the blood in my system had pooled below the waist and was now rushing to my head at once.

  I literally swooned in his arms. Maverick lunged forward, aiming for another kiss, but he must've felt the way I'd gone limp in his arms.

  “June? Babe?” No answer. “Fuck!”

  He threw my head against his shoulder and stroked my back. I cooed, loving the cool contrast of his leather jacket and the scratchy heat of his stubble.

  My head throbbed, cycling through pain and pleasure and fear. Mainly exhaustion. My adrenals were shot for the night, fogged by whiskey and completely spent from all the shitty and amazing things that just happened out here.

  “You better not pass out on me,” he said sternly.

  His hands were on my thighs again, but not to claim me. He lifted me up, safe against his chest. I rolled my face against him, trying not to cry as he began to walk.

  “I'm gonna let you down,” he whispered. “Take it easy. Roll over.”

  I was on my side in the squeaky old bed. I shifted at his words, throwing one arm over my face. God, I needed total darkness, hoping the mineral water and some sleep would do its thing to shake the worst hangover of my life.

  I slept fitfully. At some point in the night, I rolled, and cracked my eyes.

  The other side of the bed was being held down by one hell of a weight. It took me a minute to realize the weight was Maverick.

  Holy shit!

  In the peaceful darkness, he looked beautiful while he slept. And still in control too, if the fierce tattooed arm around my waist was any indication.

  I rolled into him, nestling against his shoulder. Muscles deep inside me clenched, slick with desire, but the sickly headache forced me to ignore them.

  When I cracked my eyes again, the bed was cold and empty.

  I threw my hand out, rubbing the space where he'd left his impression. It was morning – maybe even noon. Pale gray light filled the room through the half-open blinds attached to my window.

  I threw my legs over the bed and sat up.

  Big mistake. My stomach flipped so hard I almost lost last night's dinner all over my bed.

  My shaking foot touched something on the floor. I reached for it, and saw it was another bottle of water.

  I drank it in shallow sips, thinking about him the whole time.

  Something amazing had happened – or rather, almost happened – last night.

  Frankly, it scared the hell out of me.

  In the fresh dull light, I remembered who I was. A man like Maverick would always be a bastard biker, no matter how big and gorgeous and caring he might be.

  God, had I really almost fucked him?

  I saw myself in the small mirror across the room. I looked like a fucking mess – hair rumpled, red faced, clothes wrinkled with last night's sweat.

  Ugly. Just like the way I'd acted last night, the way I'd come damnably close to doing something I'd regret for the last of my life.

  I chugged the rest of the wat
er and threw the empty bottle on the floor. My stomach growled, but I ignored it. I didn't dare risk creeping out of my room and running into him.

  Limp hand over heart, I swore off drinking, and not just due to the hangover. The same darkness I'd carried since Clara's death lashed inside me, insistent and unsettled.

  I couldn't use whiskey to keep it contained, and I sure as hell couldn't use big, tattooed, dangerous men either. I needed something a lot more powerful to drown my demons.

  IV: Missing Pieces (Maverick)

  My cock kept jerking in my pants at church the next day. A wicked heat shot through me like a big swig of Jack. It took all my energy to focus, everything I fucking had to forget about the way I'd slept next to that beautiful fallen angel last night.

  So close. So fucking close to her skin, her little ass, her sweet, tight pussy.

  I'd been a perfect gentleman. Fucking girls when they were screwed up and unconscious wasn't any fun.

  Settling in next to her and behaving was far from easy. Had to run back to the bar for another pint of Jack and a bottle of water before I joined her in bed.

  The whiskey was to make sure I didn't do anything fucking stupid. The water was for her. She'd need a lot more than the lone glass I'd served up at the bar to get through the day.

  Now, it had been three days and she'd gone back to her cat-like ways, only scurrying out for food at night. I hoped like hell she didn't have any regrets.

  “Well, what do you think, brother?” Blaze stared at me.

  I looked up, wondering how many times he'd repeated the question. “Sounds like we're in business. I'll talk to June as soon as we adjourn and make sure she's feeling up to it tomorrow.”

  “She better be,” Blaze growled. “Girl's the god damned star. We've spent plenty giving her ass a place to crash too.”

  Anger throbbed through me. My eyes focused on him, and I forgot about June's tight little body pressed up against me for a micro-second.

  “Cut her some slack. She's been through a lot, and I don't think she'll let us down.” I wasn't asking.

  Time to puff out the Prez patch and bitch slap my boys back into line, including my blood brother.

  Blaze's face went cold. He wore the look that said, are you fucking kidding me?

  I wasn't in the mood to argue with my asshole brother. MC code meant I didn't have to. I was the President of this god damned club, and it didn't matter if the patches on my cut said PYTHON or NOMADS.

  I never went looking for a wrestling match with my brothers, but I'd remind anybody who forgot what I was the hard way.

  The other guys shifted uncomfortably. Hypno and Shatter had been around long enough to know when to stay out of it. The new guy, on the other hand, sat there like an expressionless gorilla.

  I honestly couldn't tell what the fuck was turning in his head.

  “Hey, Tank,” I said, snapping my fingers for extra emphasis. “You've been on guard duty before, right?”

  He nodded. “Sure thing. Throttle had me escorting the guys on mule duty all winter. Also guarded my fair share of shit in Afghanistan before I left the service.”

  “Then you're taking the first shift at the new joint. Just seeing a guy like you should be enough to keep any uppity bastards in line.”

  No joke. In all my time as President, I'd learned it was a lot easier to prevent a fight from starting by flexing than actually throwing punches after it began.

  “You got it, boss. Uh, what's the new place gonna be called?”

  I almost smacked my head. The muscle head across the table had a great point nobody else had considered.

  We'd finished everything with this new strip joint except the name, saving it for last.

  “It'll be right next to the new tattoo parlor. How about Pink and Ink?” Hypno piped up.

  “That's shit, brother. We need something spicy...maybe Cinnamon Swing or something?” Shatter was always trying to one-up Hypno. They'd both transferred into the Nomads at the same time.

  Blaze just shook his head. I stroked my chin, putting some serious thought into it. The name wasn't just gonna be on the neon sign and the billboards stretching out to Bozeman and Coeur d'Alene.

  We were the owners. And like everything with club credibility, the place's reputation fucking mattered.

  “I like the pink part for everything it implies,” I said, pausing as Hypno and Shatter snickered. “Let's keep the motherfucker simple. Pink Unlimited.”

  The two guys who'd weighed in squinted. Tank stretched his hands in front of him, disinterested in the naming part and only wanting to know where he'd end up.

  “It'll do,” Blaze said. “We've already decked the fucking place in pink anyway.”

  “Doesn't sound like we need a vote.” I waited, and nobody disagreed.

  Even mundane shit gave them voting rights as long as it was club business. I'd been head long enough for democracy to get under my skin, and I welcomed the times when everything went through seamlessly.

  “Do you want us to start pushing shit on opening night? I hear the mule's coming through tonight. Throttle wouldn't blink if he dropped off some extra dope here, yeah?” Hypno asked. “Could be lucrative. This fucking place is dry as a bone except for the shit the Grizzlies used to push down here, or so the locals say...”

  I leaned back in my chair. Fucking charmer. He was doing his thing – the very thing that gave him his name.

  Some family drama with Hypno and his estranged family made him hard up for money. He wanted to start raking it in right away, and he was trying to charm up support from the other members to get it over my stubborn head.

  Hypno could be one cool, calculating prick, and his road name was a reminder to the rest of us not to be fooled by his hypnotic shit. On the plus side, when he aimed it at everybody outside the club, they were truly fucked by his cool charm.

  “The Prairie Devils aren't in the business of dealing anything, brother. You know that. We just run the shit and take a cut off both ends for playing middle man. Throttle would have my ass for dinner if I got the Fed's eyes on this club doing the one thing we don't do.”

  “Okay.” Hypno spread his hands, hoping to deflect a lecture. “We're cool, Prez. Just thought things might be different out here...”

  Yeah. I'll bet you did.

  “No other business?” I waited, silently relieved when five seconds went by without anything from the other guys. “Then let's call it an evening and get our last ducks in a row. It's all about opening up Pink Unlimited now.”

  I slammed my fists on the table. Most MC Presidents had gavels, but the idea of lugging around a fucking mallet as a Nomad hadn't ever been appealing.

  I enjoyed using my hands. Damned fine way to keep my knuckles warm and ready at a moment's notice too.

  It was late when I went looking for June. Had to bust ass all evening with a few last calls to the county to make sure everything was kosher for opening night at the strip club.

  I took a quick shot at the bar and then walked down the hall. I knocked at her door, but there wasn't any answer. Reaching for the knob, I gave it a good turn.

  Unlocked. I pushed it open to stick my head inside and saw her bed was empty.

  Weird. Girl's been avoiding me and everybody else since party night.

  I looked high and low through the bar, the kitchen, and even the little storage rooms. She was nowhere.

  I started to wonder if she'd done something stupid like run. The idea of her leaving us, leaving me, when I'd been so fucking close to getting my hands on her turned my hands into fists.

  Fuck. No, babe, don't fucking do this to me. Not now.

  The back door practically tore off its hinges as I went outside. I stepped into the darkness, walked past the Harleys, listening to the still night.

  No, scratch that. Not so still.

  The voices around the corner drew me in. I saw her, standing next to the tall older guy who blew in a few hours earlier from Cassandra.

  “I don't care how
much you're offering, girl. I don't push the hard shit unless my Prez tells me to. Now, fuck off.” Bolt sounded angry.

  What the fuck was going on here? I stomped toward them, stepping right between our guest and June. Didn't like his tone with her one bit.

  “Hey, brother, this girl's under my fucking watch. If she's done something to ruffle your feathers then you better let me know about it. Keeping my people in line is Python business. Not Cassandra's.”

  Bolt tightened his lips and cocked his head, sizing me up. “Jesus, Maverick. Your whore needs a tighter leash.“

  I stepped forward, using my size to push him toward the wall. “June's not a club whore. Watch your fucking mouth. I don't appreciate dumb assumptions, brother. Now, what the fuck is going on here?”

  “She was pestering me for a hit. Wanted to buy some of the shit in my bag. I offered her a couple joints, but she was interested in the smack. Wouldn't take no for an answer the first two times, and everybody knows I don't do three strikes.”

  Fuck. Did the party knock something loose in her head, or is she trying to fucking defy me?

  I turned so fast I nearly pushed the asshole messenger in front of me to the floor. Rage prickled in my blood. Felt the hair on the back of my neck standing up like a werewolf's.

  “It's true?”

  June's face was red, contorted. She wouldn't look at me, staring at the ground instead. She shuffled her feet and gave me the smallest, mousiest nod ever.

  I looked over my shoulder at Bolt. “Beat it. I need to talk to her alone.”

  “No arguments here.”

  I waited until he was gone. Then I was on her, grabbing her by the shoulders and hauling her feet off the ground.

  She kicked at my shins. I was fucking pissed. Her little toe taps felt like pebbles bouncing around my boots when I'm riding on a gravel road.

  I carried her three steps to the wall and pinned her down. June looked shocked, scared, but offended more than anything else.

  Motherfucking offended. You have no right, babe.

  “Did the Jack blast away your memory of what happened the other night, or what?” I demanded.

  “I just wanted to forget. You took away my sleeping pills...I can't work if I'm thinking about all the bad shit that's happened to me, Maverick. You want me on the stage tomorrow, don't you?”