Filthy Bastard by Madison Faye

Chapter Four

Killian

My entire body clenches tight, my muscles rippling and my control on the very brink of shattering. I’m seconds away from turning back, walking right back into that bedroom and just making her mine—and I do mean seconds away.

But then, that’s not my style, and that ain’t me. When I take her—and I will take her—it’ll be when she’s begging me for it. It’ll be when I’ve got her twisting on the line, moaning for more.

Then and only then will I claim her.

I growl as I march to the kitchen, my pulse still racing. I grab a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the shelf and slump into a seat at the table, looking out on the moon over the water as I pour myself a heavy drink.

I’m compromised beyond belief with this mission.

Fuck, now what.

At the end of the day, past my obsession with this girl, she’s an innocent in all of this. And this is not the normal Royal Bastards style of doing things. We don’t just take innocent people, but then, we’ve been pushed to the brink of extinction here. Yeah, sure, we’ve got chapters all over the damn country, but the Boston Bastards are a special breed of, well…

Stubborn.

We’re a bunch of stubborn pricks is what it comes down to, and it’s pretty much unanimous that we’re going to deal with this shit ourselves. So while this might not be our usual M.O. it is now. It is when we’ve been hammered and pushed to the edge like Leonard’s done.

I grunt, knocking back my drink and pouring another one as I look out the window. This isn’t my first time here, and even with the storm raging through my head, I can appreciate the peacefulness of this place. I like it here.

The little shore house out on Cape Cod belonged to Grey, our president’s, grandparents. When they passed, he took it, and now it sort of acts like a getaway for the club. He added a decent size garage on the property for fixing up bikes, but other than that, it’s the same, straight out of the damn fifties. And no neighbors for miles, which is a huge plus for the us.

And for me right now.

I think I might like it here too because it reminds me of a time in my life before I knew pain and fury. Back when I was boy, my brother Conall and I lived in a house not totally unlike this one on the coast with our Gran. It was after she died that we both got swept up in the system and shoved into a revolving door of boys’ homes in Belfast—sometimes together, often times apart. And that’s where I got hard.

That’s where I got mean, and got tough, and learned to survive in this world.

I grew up big, and I learned how to use that to stay alive. I learned to fight, and steal, and keep moving, until I aged out of the boys’ homes. After that, Conall and I fell in with whatever street crew would take me, pretty much doing whatever needed doing—knocking over jewelry stores, robbing private gambling clubs, hijacking trucks from the ports.

It wasn’t the life either of us ever wanted, but it was the one we got good at surviving in. That is, until the walls started to close in—until the ground started to run out beneath our feet, and until the heat started to get too hot to bear. And when it was clear we were both one wrong step away from getting shot in the back of the head or tossed into prison, we cut ties, and we bailed.

Conall disappeared into the London crime world, and eventually made his way to the states. I caught a job on a cargo ship and did what a lot of Irishman from the wrong side of the tracks and law do when they need to get out—I bailed the second we docked in Boston, and I never looked back.

Conall did his own thing, mostly out west for a long time. I spent years living under the table—fake IDs, working cash jobs as a bouncer or a bartender at fake-ass Irish pubs full of drunk college girls. But one day, I found myself in a real Southie shithole, overhearing a bunch of pricks trying to get into it with this one guy. I don’t make other people’s business my own, but when five fuckers with knives try and take on one fucker, I’m not gonna sit back and watch him die.

So I jumped in. It could have been the dumbest move of my life—or the last one. But between the two of us, we ended up beating the fuck out of the whole crew of wannabe tough guys. The man I helped turned out to be Owen Corden, Vice President of a motorcycle club.

He bought me a drink, and we talked bikes since I’d grown up fucking around with engines my whole life. He invited me to come around the garage a few times, and pretty soon, I was just there all the time. A month later, they tapped me for a prospect, and a year after that, I patched in and never looked back.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

I knock back the rest of my second drink and take out my phone. Fuck, I need to check in and tell Grey or Owen how fucked this operation has gotten. And it’s worse that I’ve got little miss temptation tied up naked in a bedroom testing every single ounce of my self-control. It’s that this job is supposed to be my redemption—it’s my making good with a lot of loose ends.

See, the Bastards aren’t the only ones getting fucked in the ass by Leonard. Another crew out of Southie, the O’Connor Boys, are also feeling his heat. The O’Connor Boys and the Royal Bastards are… well, not allies, and not really friends. More like business associates. We both have similar business interests, and it makes more sense to play nice than it does to fuck around with the balance. That is, until I fucked around with that balance, badly.

Not on purpose, believe me. It was almost a year ago, and I was fucked up, drunk, and in a dark place. She was all hands and too much perfume. I don’t remember shit about it, except telling her I wasn’t going to fuck her. One nights aren’t my thing, and I wanted no part of her. I was barely conscious when she ended up dragging me back to her place, telling me I was clearly about to pass out, and her bed was closer.

I have no idea why I said sure, but I did. But I never touched her, that much I know without a doubt, and that much I do remember.

…I also distinctly remember the part the next morning when I woke up to a gun in my mouth. Yeah, turns out the chick was none other than the fucking wife of Jerry O’Connor, the President of the O’Connor Boys.

Yeah, fuck me.

Somehow, I managed to not get a bullet through my teeth and bugged the fuck out of there. I caught a grazer on my shoulder on the way out, but I’m alive. Grey and Owen and the rest of the club are aware of what happened, and they know I literally just slept in a bed next to her, with my fucking jeans still on, too. But Kelly, Jerry’s wayward bride, decided to keep telling him “how good I fucked her,” for some shitty, petty way of getting back at him for infidelity on his part.

…I mean how the fuck did I get involved in this bullshit?

So, despite me and the Bastards swearing on everything we know that I never touched Kelly, Jerry’s held a bit of a grudge ever since. As in, he wants to cut my fucking head off.

Anyways, needless to say, despite it being bullshit, it’s fucked things up pretty good between us and the O’Connor Boys, business-wise, which is why this is my problem to fix. After all, the Bastards gave me everything I have. Bullshit or not, I owe it all to them. Before, I was fucking lost—a forgotten kid from Belfast with a fake ID and a shit bartending job.

So, this is my shit to fix, and the fix happens tonight. It’d just be so much fucking easier if it was Leonard tied up back there, I’ll say that.

I pull out my phone and swallow some more whiskey. Fuck it, it’s time to break the news.

Owen answers on the second ring.

“How’d it go?”

I frown, and my silence is deafening. Owen swears.

“Shit, brother. What happened?”

“The plan…” I frown. “So, the plan’s changed a little.”

“Fuck. Is he dead?”

I snort. “I wish. It turns out, he wasn’t there.”

“Shit,” Owen growls. “Well, he’s always there on Thursdays, right? Check with that call girl about next week, and then you can just—”

“Someone else was, Owen.”

“What.” He swears. “What the fuck happened, Kill?”

My frown deepens.

“He wasn’t in, but his…” I glance down the hallway towards the bedroom door, and my cock fucking twitches.

But his gorgeous, fucking perfect, sassy as fuck, tempting as sin, makes my dick hard daughter who I’m fucking obsessed with was.

“His daughter was there. Nicole.”

Owen swears again. “Shit! Did she see you?”

I clear my throat, wincing.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Fuck, man. Fuck! Shit, Killian, this ain’t—”

“It’s handled.”

He pauses.

“Jesus, man,” he growls. “You really are stone cold—”

“No, not like that.” I sigh, slugging back more whiskey. “I’m at the Cape house.”

There’s a second of silence before he swears again.

“Oh fuck, Kill. Don’t tell me—”

“Yeah…”

I clear my throat as he groans.

“Owen, I couldn’t just leave her there. She saw me. I think that might have done a pretty good job of making sure we never get within a fucking mile of her old man.”

Owen groans. “So you’re at the house, with this chick.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t see how that’s a big fucking problem?”

“Of course I do,” I growl. “But I’m handling it.”

“It doesn’t sound like it, Kill,” he mutters. “Sounds like you’re drinking whiskey and wondering what the fuck to do now.”

“She can be leverage.”

There’s a long pause before he answers.

“That’s cold, brother. Even for us.”

“It’s fine,” I growl.

Owen whistles.

“You’re a hard bastard, you know that?”

“Yes, I do.”

He sighs.

“Look, let me talk to Grey myself,” I growl. “I want to be the one that breaks this to him if that’s cool.”

“No can do, Kill,” Owen mutters. “He’s on a smuggling run up to Canada for the next few days. Only brought a burner with him, and I’m supposed to be his only contact.”

“Shit.”

“I’ll call him. We’ll discuss all of this and get back to you.”

The line goes dead, and I put the phone back down.

Shit.

I’ve neglected to tell Owen that Nicole seeing me is entirely my fault. I know damn well that the second I saw that it was her in that condo, I should have walked the fuck away. But my obsession wouldn’t let me. My addiction was too strong. My desire for her hooked me deep and wouldn’t let go.

That’s why I still broke in there. That’s why every shred of self-control blew away like dust when I spotted her panties. That’s why I stayed when I should have gotten the hell out of there. And now, here we are.

I glance down at the bulge in my pants, and groan. Fuck, even just knowing she’s down the hall, tied up and fucking naked has my cock throbbing and pulsing, and leaking precum into my boxers. I grunt, feeling my balls swell with cum as my hand tightens to a fist.

I think of her soft, perfect body—those curves, those freckles, that long red hair I want to wrap in my fist while I sink my thick cock into her tight little pussy.

I growl, reaching down and cupping my fat cock through my jeans before blowing the air out through my lips.

I should shower.

I stand and yank my shirt off, when suddenly, I hear a crashing sound from the bedroom.

Fuck, now what.

I growl, barreling down the hallway and almost taking the door off its hinges as I crash in—just in time to see Nicole struggling to squirm through the damn window.

…Naked, squirming, and with that tight little ass and fucking perfect little pink pussy thrust right up in the air. I growl, frozen to the spot as my cock pulses thick and hard between my thighs. My jaw clenches, my eyes narrowed right on her pouty little lips and that pert, curvy ass before I shake my head and rush back to reality.

Shit.

I lunge across the room, and Nicole screams when she feels my big hands on her hips, yanking her back in. She hisses and writhes and tries to kick me again. But I know she can fight this time, and I’m ready—grabbing her tight against my bare chest before I toss her back down on the bed. I yank my belt off, and with one deft motion, I’ve wrapped it tight around her tied wrists and lashed it to the wrought-iron headboard.

For her ankles, I grab a pillow and tug the case off it, twisting it and tying it tight to the binds on her ankles and then to the footboard of the bed. I stand back, and I grunt as my eyes take in the unobstructed, unmarred view of her tied, stretched out, and utterly naked for my hungry gaze.

Fuck me.

The resolve is crumbling. The self-control is shattering. My body starts to move on its own, and when our eyes lock, and that blue fire in her gaze sparks and sizzles into mine, I know there’s no going back.

I keep moving, and her breath catches, her cheeks flushing. Her eyes hold mind—wild and fierce but burning deeply with something forbidden.

This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea. But nothing in this world is going to stop me now.

I move to the bed, and I lean over her, my fists on either side of her head as I hover maybe six inches from her lips. Nicole gasps quietly, her fierce eyes darting over mine, her lips quivering before she rakes her teeth over them.

“What…” she breathes. “What are you—”

“This.”

I move, knowing there’s no going back and knowing this could shatter my world. But also knowing there’s no stopping this from happening.

My lips crush to hers, her whimper tumbles against my mouth, and I swallow her moans as we go crashing together, hard.