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I yelp, “Put me down. Are you fucking insane? You’ll throw your damn back out and then I’ll have to try and drag you out of here.”
When his hand lands on my ass, I’m reminded I only have on a long sleep shirt and panties. I clamp my mouth shut while I make a wish to disappear on the second star from the right, because that’s the special one, right?
Tucker manhandles me until he’s sitting on my couch and I’m straddling his lap. His lap that contains his very obvious dick. His hard dick. I should not grind myself down on said hard dick.
I mean, it would not be the right move.
I’m clearly already in enough trouble as it is. Even though it’s very tempting because the bulge underneath me, positioned right underneath my very interested pussy, feels impressive as hell.
But it would be wrong.
Tucker looks into my eyes and studies me, the air between us becoming thick with something I don’t even want to examine. There is just enough light for me to see most of him, but parts are still in shadow. Up close it’s clear he’s probably a few years older than me, mid-thirties if I had to guess. His jaw looks so strong, chiseled, and I thread my fingers together and put my combined hands on my lap to prevent myself from touching him.
Touching him would be dangerous right now.
“First, let’s get one thing out of the way,” I arch an eyebrow to prompt him to keep going since I don’t trust my voice, “you’re not too heavy for me to put over my shoulder or pick up anytime, anywhere. You should get used to it because I’m going to be doing it often.”
My mouth falls open as I stare at him and the corner of his lip twitches in response. “I,” I scrunch my face up and shake my head, “what?”
“You heard me,” he states before the little smidge of amusement I saw on his face disappears and his whole demeanor hardens. “You’re the hacker,” he doesn’t phrase it like a question and how sure he is along with the warning in his eyes to not lie has me nodding slowly. “You stole from my club.”
“The Devil’s Saints MC,” I whisper, and his eyes bore into mine as he nods. “I’m not sorry,” my voice is barely audible, but I know he hears me from the way his breathing deepens and his jaw clenches.
“You should be. You have no idea who you stole from and what that money was going to do,” there’s a note of condescension in his voice that has me narrowing my eyes.
I try and stand up, but Tucker’s hands come down on my hips and hold me in place. “Don’t speak to me like I don’t know where that money was going to go and the kind of men you and your club,” I spit the word like it’s foul, because it is, “are involved with. The money was probably going to buy more women or at least hide them from those looking for them while ruining more lives in the process.”
Tucker blinks at me, something crossing across his features I can’t place before he throws his head back and laughs. If this were any other situation, I would find the sound beautiful, but all things considered, it might as well be nails on a chalkboard to me. I start to struggle against his hold while hitting his hard as a fucking rock chest and not making any progress.
When he finally gets himself under control, and I’m still perched on his lap mind you, he wheezes, “You’ve got it all wrong, Temptress.”
“Don’t fucking patronize me,” I hiss the words and it seems to sober Tucker up immediately.
“You have it very wrong. We do not hurt women or work with anyone who is involved in the skin trade.” His face twists up in disgust. “There is no fucking way we would help scum like that. Especially not after what happened to my brother’s sister,” his voice goes soft and is filled with pain.
My heart sinks, my own pain recognizing his and, even though I’m not sure I want to know the answer, I force myself to ask, “What happened?”
“She was taken, stolen,” his voice cracks. He closes his eyes briefly before opening them again and meeting my gaze. “The club went after her and we found her along with a lot of other victims. We rescued them all but finding her took a few days.”
“Oh no,” I murmur, my hands gripping his shirt as pain rips through me.
He nods slowly before his hands pull me a little closer, our bodies molding together and his forehead coming down on mine. “She couldn’t take the memories of her trauma. Monk found her after she committed suicide.”
Quiet surrounds us while my pain reaches out to meet and twine with his. I don’t even realize I’m crying until Tucker pulls back enough to tilt my head up while his thumbs wipe my cheeks. The way he searches my eyes is too much. He’ll see too much.
“You lost someone too,” his voice is a gentle, coaxing rasp.
“My best friend, Kyla. She was like a sister to me. I was supposed to go to the concert with her, but I was sick. I,” I look away from him, but he doesn’t let me get far and grips my chin to turn me back toward him. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, not wanting to be lost to the past more than I already am. “I never saw her again.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers and how he knows why guilt eats me alive from the inside out, rotting me slowly, is a mystery I don’t want to examine.
“I got her the tickets for her 18thbirthday and then I didn’t go with her,” I try and insist, but it sounds more like a plea to prove me wrong.
“What did you do with the money you took?”
His blue eyes are full of curiosity even though I know there should be anger there, deep anger and the need for retribution. Why isn’t it there? What is going on?
“I gave it to people who need it. Organizations who help find traffickers and put them behind bars and help people who have been victimized either in trafficking rings or abusive situations.”
