A personal lesson that she’d never forget.
She’d stared at me, looking so innocent and frightened, as if I was a monster she’d never seen before. That intrigued me. I needed to be the one to show her what kind of monster she was dealing with.
Then, as soon as I saw that killer body of hers, I knew I had to have her.
That soft, smooth skin, untouched and waiting for me to mark her. Tits, firm and round and just the right size for my hands. Dark curls meant to wrap around my fist. That soft pussy, like silk on my fingers.
The fear in her eyes—fear of me—was like an aphrodisiac.
Then I saw how wet she was after I’d made her strip.
I felt her juices coating my fingers. Her fighting so hard not to respond to my touch. Her fear made my cock painfully hard. I’d never had every cell in my body react to a woman this way before.
That threw me. Women mean nothing to me. They’re there to for my pleasure and nothing more. I like it that way. Yet my whole body craves her.
What the fuck?
The little thief is mine. She just doesn’t know it yet. As of now, the life she once knew is gone.
I keep a tight grip on her wrist while I head out of the party room with the others. With every step, she tries to pull out of my grasp. Her wrist is so small and fragile in my fist, but I won’t ease up.
A loud thumping noise greets us when we step out into the hall. I feel a tugging on my arm and look over my shoulder. She’s stopped dead in her tracks.
“Is there a problem, Wildcat?” I’ve heard Dee call her Stephanie. I doubt that’s her real name, but it doesn’t matter. We won’t be getting to know each other, and this isn’t a fucking date.
“What is that?” Her voice shakes as she tries to pull her hand free. Her eyes are riveted to the room across the hall, where the sound is coming from. It’s the Outlaws’ private meeting room.
The thumping gets louder, faster.
I laugh. Does she seriously not know?
Saying nothing, I smirk and wait for her to figure it out.
Pip groans and a lusty cry from Monica reverberates through the whole hall.
Stephanie’s—or whatever her name is—eyes widen, and her cheeks flush a glorious pink. The sight has me imagining all the things I will do to her to make her blush.
“Oh, dear Lord,” she mumbles, catching on.
I reel her in, gripping the back of her neck. I could snap it like a twig.
“You’d better get used to that sort of thing. We aren’t shy about fucking our women.”
Her face turns even redder. Fuck, I’m going to devour her.
She pushes at my chest, desperate to get away from me. Tough shit for her. She’s mine now.
I crush her to me, gliding my palm over her cheek, tracing her lips with my fingers. She tries to jerk her face away, and when I won’t let go, she deflates. Helplessness fills her eyes. She looks everywhere but at me.
Now and again the guys glance at her and then at me. They’re all asking the same silent question. I have her, I’ve trapped her, but now what?
I don’t know, and that pisses me off. I’m not an impulsive man. Yet I’d taken her into that room purely on impulse.
Need to think about where I’m going to take this, but first, she needs to understand what’s what.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” I tell her, grabbing her curls in my fist. “You don’t leave my side or speak to anyone outside the MC without permission. Try to escape or breathe a word to anyone, and I will kill you. Understand?”
Her eyes snap to mine, and all the color leaves her face. Her throat works hard.
“I understand,” she grumbles.
Dislike for me drips from every word.
“Good. You’re not a stupid thief. That’ll keep you safe.”
We reach the back door, and the two of them are still going at it. More thumping, more groans, and another scream from Pip’s girl.
Striker snickers. Fuck, he’s such a ten year old boy sometimes.
Beside me, Arson gives me a broad smile and wiggles his eyebrows.
I shake my fucking head.
“You’re the one who told him to go fuck his girl,” Arson reminds me.
He’s right I did, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand around and wait for a horny prospect to get his rocks off when we need to get gone.
“Kid!” I bellow, knowing I’ll break the mood. “Haul ass!”
There’s a jingle of a belt and murmured voices from Pip and Monica before he comes down the hall with a cheesy-ass smile on his face. A red-faced Monica follows behind, straightening her wrinkled skirt.
“Hi, Spidy.” She waves at me. Then she gives Stephanie an arctic glare.
I nod and glance at Stephanie. She averts her eyes from Monica’s, guilt playing across her face.
“I’m going to stay with Monica, all right, guys?” Pip asks. “I’ll see you at the clubhouse later.”
“No.” I push open the door and step out, pulling the little thief with me by the wrist. “Diesel’s birthday party has already been going for a few hours. You’re supposed to be there, Prospect.”
Outside, Stephanie’s head swivels as she looks at the street at the end of the alley. Looking for a way to get herself out of this.
Except I notice that her face is pale with fear, and something tells me it isn’t of me. Either way, she looks on the verge of bolting. I tighten my grip on her and move my cut aside so she sees the gun on my hip.
She relaxes in my grasp. From fear or defeat?
Pip gives Monica a shrug and then a long, wet kiss. They clasp hands for too long before Pip joins us outside.
Monica holds open the door. “Have fun, sticky fingers,” she tells Stephanie with a wide, vengeful smile.
I snort.
Stephanie mashes her lips together and cocks her head, as if accepting a slap in the face. The sadness pouring off her is palpable, but it appeases the MC Gods that command I restore the Outlaws’ honor.
It appeases them for now, but they are fucking hungry, greedy gods who require constant sources of pain. I will be the one to give them that sustenance.
“Monica, get her clothes,” I tell her.
She looks irritated, probably at having to do anything that benefits the woman who tried to steal her night’s wages, but she disappears inside. She’s been a club girl long enough to know not to push her luck with a guy like me.
It baffles me how women can be every bit as cruel as men. Meaner, sometimes. In the club, the men do the fighting and dirty work when dealing with other clubs, people whose attitudes need adjusting. But piss any one of the club girls or old ladies off, and they’re every bit as dangerous to cross. The men are just more direct about it.
A minute later, Monica returns with Stephanie’s bag. Stephanie reaches for it, but I snatch it away before she can grab it.
“Can I change my clothes, please?” She jerks on the back of her skirt.
“No.” I look at her heels. “You got better footwear than that?”
“Sneakers,” she says. “In the bag.”
I open the bag, dig out the sneakers and hand them to her. Her socks are tucked inside them. “Get those on.” Then I toss the bag to the prospect, and he ties it to the back of his bike.
Stephanie drops her shoulders. I can see it in those eyes, she knows she’s not going anywhere.