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Shemelts.Beast’s nose is only half an inch from Elle’s when he murmurs. “And trust me, sweetheart. No one wants you easy. Where’s the fun in that?”
9
ELLE
The three of us reach a tenuous sort of truce, but days later, the sensation of being pinned between Rattler and Beast — Ryland and Zeke — stays with me. Just the thought of Rattler’s fingers on my neck sends shivers running down my spine. Every hour of every day that passes, it gets harder to ignore the way they affect me.
I read, but find my mind wandering to the feel of their bodies. The electric, jittery need that rises in me when they’re near doesn’t ease up. We play video games and I get put in the middle, sandwiched between so much muscle I’m surprised I don’t catch second-hand testosterone poisoning. I nap, but then I dream, and those dreams are filthy. I wake up so horny that I might as well be a cat in heat.
No matter what I do, I can’t escape them. Sometimes they’re both home, sometimes it’s just one of them, but whatisconsistent is that I’mneveralone. Not that I want to be alone all the time, but lord, that bag of vibrators is calling my name. Five or ten minutes to myself would be heaven.
I wake up early on Saturday morning and stare at the ceiling, already more restless than I can bear. I’ve been sitting around, kept completely in the dark for a week. An entire goddamn week.
Rattler and Beast have both promised me on numerous occasions that there’s a plan in motion. They’re working on it. Things need to be in place. There are a lot of moving pieces. All I know is that they’re going to make it look like he took off. Even the Sinners can’t get away with killing a cop, dirty or not. But whatever their plan is, they won’t fill me in. ‘Reaper’s orders.’
Needless to say, I’m not exactly feeling warm and fuzzy toward their Prez right now. Every day that goes by puts Brandon at risk, and ‘a few days’ has turned into seven. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m basically being held prisoner and I can’t talk to anyone outside these walls, I think I’d be perfectly happy to stay here forever.
There’s the food for starters. Rattler is a hell of a cook. He comes home from the tattoo shop like a hard ass on his bike, all leather and scars, but an hour later, he’s asking me to taste his pasta sauce and spoon feeding me homemade cobbler.
Beast is no less of a surprise. The second he sets foot in the door, he’s sweet-talking Bane and getting him to roll over for tummy rubs. I watched him fold a fitted sheet on Tuesday and I’m ninety-nine percent sure I ovulated.
Speaking of the big bear, I sit up to find Beast passed out in the recliner, his usual hard expression nowhere to be seen. He looks younger, almost boyish if you ignore the fact that he’s like six foot nine and built like a tank.
Warmth curls in my belly, but I’m immediately annoyed by the flare of affection. They flirt with me constantly, but I know that’s just the game they play. I don’t think it actually has anything to do withme.To them, I’m just a piece of ass.
I wish I could lie. That I could convincingly tell myself I feel nothing for him or Rattler. Because what does it say about me? That I’d fall right back into biker life at the first sign of a six-pack and gray sweats?
Fraud. Hypocrite. Fool.
In short, nothing good. I need to shake this feeling off. I need to move. My muscles twitch, desperate to be active before they waste away. I don’t dare go out for a run, but I figure the garage is fair game. I debate waking Beast, but truthfully, half an hour alone with just my thoughts and a punching bag is too much of a temptation. Grabbing my sports bra and leggings, I slip out of the room as silently as possible.
I get dressed in the bathroom, taking a second to appreciate the contempt my leggings have for basic physics. TikTok may have made me buy the first pair, but after one look at the glow-up they gave my ass, I bought six more. Last month, a man fell off of a treadmill at the gym while trying to get a good look. Talk about an ego boost.
The garage lights hum, flickering twice before illuminating the space. The front half of the space is dedicated to their bikes. Helmets, jackets, tools, and spare parts are stowed on big black shelves for easy access. My little blue Fiat is squeezed in with the bikes to keep people from asking questions. Reaper didn’t want it out on the street since it’s pretty fucking recognizable.
The rest of the garage has been converted to a quality home gym, complete with rubber flooring. Full racks of weights sit under a mirrored wall, battle ropes, and resistance bands hang in the corner, but the best part, at least in my opinion, is the worn-in punching bag. I’m pretty sure that the faded red cover could go at any minute. It’s covered in duct tape patches and someone has drawn a stupid-looking face on one side.
Boxing gloves are tossed on the floor next to it, some of which are as big as my face. “No question who those belong to,” I mutter to myself, grabbing the smallest pair I can find. They are still too big for me, but they’ll do.
I warm up, hitting the bag gently while my muscles and joints loosen up, but it doesn’t take long before I’m venting all of my frustration on the sand inside it. I don’t have my phone to follow a workout, so I just hit and kick to my heart’s content, working up a solid sweat. I’ve just reached a solid rhythm when the interior door swings open with so much force that it smashes into the wall, sending wrenches clattering to the floor.
“Jesus!” I shriek, the ear-splitting cacophony making me jump so hard that, for a second, my soul leaves my body. Quicker than a heartbeat, Beast is coming through the doorway, Rattler hot on his heels. They’re both sleep rumpled, shirtless, and wearing identical stormy expressions.Verystormy expressions. The sight of them advancing on me like that triggers an urge to run, but sprinting out into the early morning darkness won’t do me any good.
“You weren’t supposed to leave our sight,” Beast growls. They’re both on me in an instant, but I don’t back down. I don’t give a single fuck if Beast as big as Andre the Giant and Rattler is covered in ink. I’m not afraid of either of them. What Iam,is pissed.
“You wanna un-bunch your panties?” I shout back, planting my hands on my hips. “You were both passed out. All I wanted was five seconds to myself while I hit something! I’ve been stuck in here for days without complaining, but God forbid I get a little exercise without you two breathing down my neck!”
The only warning I get is a slight squint before Beast tosses me over his shoulder. Literally. His hands circle my waist and I’m in flight, landing on his shoulder with an indelicate “Oof.” He storms inside, taking me to the living room. I can see Rattler’s bare feet as the world jostles around me, but that’s about it.
Beast tosses me down on the couch, and he’s not particularly gentle about it. “Hey!” I jump back to my feet, so pissed off I could spit fire. I’m more than ready to square off again, but Rattler wraps his hand around my ponytail and yanks, tipping my face up. I stare right back into his eyes. Looking away would be tantamount to admitting guilt, and I amnotabout to do that, even if his eyes are harder than I’ve ever seen them.
“You seem to think you’re in charge here,” Rattler says, tugging when I fight his grip on my hair. “Just because we’ve been soft on you so far doesn’t mean we have to keep it up. There’s more at stake here than you know. Not just for you and that kid. All of us. This whole thing could go tits up if you even breathe wrong, and we will not let that happen. So here’s what you’re going to do,sweetheart. You’re going to fall in line and do what you’re told. You’re going to be our good little girl for a few more days unless you want us to lock you in that room.”
Sweet baby Jesus, he’s sexy when he’s mad. Maybe it’s the feral rage in his eyes, or maybe it’s the way his lips snarl like a wolf’s. Either way, there go my panties. Not that I would admit that, either.
“I’ve got news for you,Ryland,”I hiss back. “I’m not an animal you can train. You want a tame little pony? Go find another woman.”
“No.” Rattler grates out. The finality, the sheer determination, in his voice is harder than granite, but all it does is make my pussy ache. Squeezing my thighs together and finding no relief, I tug away from him. All it accomplishes is a stinging scalp and a click of the tongue from Beast. Rattler circles me, gripping a calloused hand around the delicate skin of my throat. His fingers tighten in an unmistakable display of dominance.
