Her voice was music, moving through his mind like a breeze. Of course she would have noticed that when she’d been in his head. He glanced down at her, not answering her question. “You know the things you see in my head, you shouldn’t know about, right? They can get you killed.”
He hated telling her the truth of that. He really hated that it was the truth. She knew too much about the club. Their history. The fact that they were assassins. The fact that they hunted and killed pedophiles. They were all alive because they never left witnesses.
She looked up at him, her eyes dark with absolute trust. “I’m well aware.”
“You ready to ride?”
She nodded.
“We need to go to Czar’s. Tonight.”
“It’s late.”
“I know, but we need to go. He has to know what’s going on. You willing to go with me?”
“Is he going to take out a gun and shoot me?”
“If he tried that shit, I’d stop him.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he realized it was true. Anat Gamal was right, and Gedeon Lazaroff knew he’d just made a commitment. He was going to stay and fight for Zyah Gamal with everything and anything he had for as long as it took because she was worth it, and she was definitely the woman for him.
“Then let’s go,” Zyah said.
ELEVEN
The moment Player was riding down the ribbon of Highway 1, Zyah’s arms around his waist, her hands clasped together near his cock, his motorcycle roaring between his legs and the wind in his face, he felt alive. Totally, absolutely alive. He felt free. The world felt a completely different place on his bike. It always had.
After a lifetime spent in the freezing, rodent-filled torture chamber of a basement in his native country, a captive, a puppet forced to do a cruel master’s bidding, riding in the open air with the blue of the sea throwing misty salt into the air on one side of him and wildflowers, trees and grasses of all colors on the other gave him a sense of absolute peace. He had never considered putting a woman on the back of his bike. He’d never wanted one there. If someone had asked him for a ride or touched his bike, he would have felt murderous. Zyah only added to that sense of perfection. Of well- being.
Her arms tightened around him as if she sensed what he was feeling—or thinking. And she probably was. They were that connected. He dropped his hand down to cover hers, just for a moment, needing to press her even closer. Her body moved with his, matching the smooth line of the motorcycle as it took the long, sweeping turns or the sharper, narrow ones. She never hesitated to follow his lead. They were in perfect sync, just the way they were in bed.
His Harley was a powerful machine, souped up, and eager to run when necessary. The machine rumbled between their legs, the vibration stirring already inflamed bodies. It was impossible to get near Zyah without wanting her. Having her on his bike made that need so urgent he could barely think. He felt her tits pressed against his back. It should have been impossible with the combined thicknesses of his jacket and hers between their skin, but he felt every movement, every bounce and jiggle. That just put extra stiffness in his already aching cock.
He swore she moaned. A soft sound in his mind. Intimate. Needy. Bordering on desperate. Just the way he was feeling. Now he could feel her thighs around his hips. Pressing into him. Her pussy tight against him, feeling hotter with every movement of the bike. For a brief time, it felt like agony, and then it wasn’t. Then it was perfection. Beauty. Just like Zyah. That’s what she was to him.
To a man who had been trained to never have normal erections, finding Zyah was a miracle. A gift. Realizing she was much more to him than a sexual partner, one who would always inflame his body with just a thought or look, that sex alone wasn’t enough for him and never would be, was enlightening— and equally shocking.
He had known he wanted her for himself. He just hadn’t known it would be this—the feeling of wanting her for so many reasons. Knowing that his past didn’t matter and that she was still there. Zyah was more than worth fighting for. More than worth putting himself on the line for. Anat Gamal was a very wise woman, and he vowed he was going to listen to her, no matter what.
Once he accepted the way Zyah made him feel, she became part of the experience of the night. Of being on his motorcycle. Of the ocean rising up toward the bluffs and stars overhead. It was clear and cold, the way it often could be on the coast. The wind was biting and capricious, whipping through the leaves of the trees and the long grasses, turning them a strange silvery color as they rushed past, just adding more magic to the jeweled blue of the sea.
Player didn’t want the ride to end. There wasn’t much distance between Sea Haven and the farm where Czar resided with his wife, Blythe, and their children. The farm was enormous, and Czar co-owned it with five other families. Each family had five acres to themselves, and the rest was planted with crops or groves of trees or rows of greenhouses. Two other members of Torpedo Ink owned the farm along with Czar, Blythe and the others.
He hesitated before he made the turn to the road leading to the farm. He really wanted to spend more time on the bike alone with Zyah, just having that experience, savoring it. He hadn’t had too many great happenings in his life, and he wanted this one to last, but it was extremely late and it wasn’t fair to Czar and Blythe to have to wait up long hours because he wanted to run the highway with his woman. Mostly, he was reluctant to betray Zyah to Czar. He was going to have to do that in order to protect the other members of his club, and he would have to make her fully understand the stakes before they went in.
The double gates loomed up in front of them. They were closed but not locked. Czar had made certain of that. He could control them electronically from his home, and when Player had texted him that he was coming with Zyah and it was important, Czar hadn’t hesitated to tell him he’d be waiting up with his wife. He hadn’t asked questions, he just said he’d be waiting. That was Czar. Always available to them. Always a constant.
The gates were a work of art. Lissa Prakenskii’s work. She had gained fame as a glassblower, her chandeliers in demand throughout the United States and abroad, but she also did metalwork. Anything to do with fire and art. She was married to Casimir, one of the Torpedo Ink brothers. He was an actual blood brother to Czar, but not one of the original eighteen members. Player supposed he was going to have to get used to thinking in terms of nineteen, to include Destroyer. Destroyer had survived their school as well.
Player slowed the Harley and then brought it to a halt, indicating for Zyah to climb off. “We’ve got to talk.” Another conversation he didn’t want to have with her. One he didn’t want to have with Czar, but there was no question. He had no choice. It was imperative that Zyah understand what could happen when he exposed his secret.
Zyah put her hand on his shoulder and slid off the bike, her movements graceful. Flowing. Just like always. She wasn’t in the least affected by the experience of being on the back of the machine, and for a moment jealousy welled up. He’d wanted to be the first man to give her the experience of riding with the wind.
He studied her face as she turned back to him, watching him come to her right there at the ornate gate. Her hand gripped the beautifully twisted metal, and he realized she wasn’t nearly as unaffected as she wanted to appear. Her fingers trembled just a little. He walked right up to her and removed her helmet, needing to see her expression clearly.