Mating Fever by Susan Hayes
Trina
Trina knew the second he kissed her that she was hip deep in a whole new kind of trouble. Her pulse raced and her pussy creamed as he slammed her up against the wall and fucked her mouth with his tongue. Sweet baby Jane, the man could kiss.
She’d known going in there was a chance she was going to have to get physical with one of the club members. She’d done it before, but never once had it felt this damned good. It wasn’t enough she was undercover and on her own, surrounded by men who would kill her if they found out who and what she really was. No, the universe had to fuck with her by throwing a sexy, musclebound distraction into the mix.
She never went for the bad boy types, even as a teenager she’d known there was nothing redeemable about them. Her girlfriends had all twittered and swooned over the rebels and hard cases, but not her. Years later, when those same friends had to deal with their deadbeat baby daddies or tried to hide the bruises their abusive husbands gave them, she’d been grateful not to have made the same mistake.
Now here she was—hot, wet, and aching for a man who probably already had a reservation at the devil’s dinner table. After this op, she was going on a long vacation somewhere tropical, where the rum flowed in a river and the men were all from another country or at least another state. She clearly needed to get laid and get her head on straight. It was the only explanation for why she had her fingers fisted in Ramrod’s shirt, pulling him closer so she could kiss him back.
He growled, the deep sound rumbling up from his chest as he claimed her mouth. His unshaven jaw rasped against her skin, and every breath she took carried his scent. It was a mixture of leather, road dust, and musk. She wanted him with a ferocity bordering on madness, but Trina was a trained agent, and there was no way she was going to let her libido interfere with the mission or her survival.
She’d use this insane attraction, channel it to make sure she got what she needed to close this case, then walk away and find a lover who didn’t have blood on his hands.
“Kiss me like that again and I’m going to think you’re starting to like me,” Ramrod murmured as he lifted his head and ended their kiss.
She didn’t have to fake the blush on her cheeks as she dropped her gaze to his chest, trying her best to look like the shy, uncertain woman she was pretending to be. “You said I had to make a choice, so I made it.”
He chuckled, tugged at a lock of her hair, and then moved away from her. “Keep making smart choices and I promise you won’t regret it. I protect what’s mine.”
A calloused hand cupped her cheek and when she glanced up, he was looking down at her with an oddly gentle expression on his face. “I am not gonna’ leave you here, Lily. I wouldn’t leave my lying, cheating ex-wife with these bastards, never mind an innocent like you. Just don’t go telling anyone, okay? You say anything and neither of us will enjoy what happens next.”
She nodded once, already trying to figure out if this new facet of his personality was an act, or something she could use to her advantage. “Okay. So… uh, what do I call you?”
He grinned at her, looking the slightest bit sheepish. “I guess I forgot to introduce myself. Name’s Rod Steele. You can call me Rod, master, or Ramrod, I’ll answer to all three.”
“Okay, Rod,” she answered, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at him.
“I guess master was too much to hope for, huh? All right, sweet cheeks, let’s go inside. Whatever happens, stay quiet, stick close, and don’t try to run.” He wrapped an arm around her waist before heading for the door to the clubhouse. She managed to keep up with his long strides despite being barefoot, but it wasn’t easy.
Now she could see it properly, she realized the clubhouse wasn’t much of a house at all. It was more of a ramshackle shed that had been extended a few times and wasn’t up to any building code known to man. Whatever money these guys were making, it wasn’t going into property upkeep.
Inside, things were different. The whole space was more like a dive bar than anything else. Flat screen televisions on the walls, a pool table in one corner, and a bar covered in bottles, most of them only half full.
It was cooler too, which was a pleasant surprise, but even the air conditioning couldn’t take away the reek of stale booze and cigarette smoke. There were about a dozen men inside, all of them wearing Legion colors. There were a few women, too, and it only took a few seconds for Trina to figure out which were the old ladies. They were softer looking and stuck close to their men, while the others were hard-edged, with jaded eyes and a lifetime’s worth of bad decisions poorly hidden beneath the layers of make-up plastered on their faces.
The old ladies looked at her with curiosity, while the others glared with open hostility. Trina hunched her shoulders, dropped her head, and stuck close to Rod’s side.
“Who the fuck is she?” one of the unclaimed ones asked, disdain dripping from every word and her eyes gleaming with spite. Her hair was dyed black and there was too much makeup plastered onto what must have once been a pretty face.
“Mine. That’s all you need to know, Trixi,” Rod snapped.
Trina made sure not to meet the woman’s gaze. She was supposed to be a meek, gentle soul caught up in something she didn’t understand. Her job was to look totally nonthreatening and entirely dismissible. Rod was willing to protect her because he thought she couldn’t protect herself, and she needed to keep him believing it. She needed everyone to believe it.
“She ain’t yours yet, Ramrod. You want her, we need to talk about it,” a new voice spoke out, ringing with cold authority.
“That’s why I’m here, Snarl. Otherwise, I’d be home already, showing my girl just how lucky she is I took an interest in her instead of leaving her to Freak’s tiny dick and performance issues.”
There was a round of laughter and a path cleared ahead of them. At the far end of the clubhouse, seated behind a heavy wooden table, was a greasy-haired, heavy-set man with gray in his beard and a brutal scar that slashed across his face, twisting one side of his mouth into a perpetual snarl. “Bring her up here and tell me why you think I should let you have her.”
Trina found herself standing across the table from one of the vilest scumbags in the state. The way he was looking at her made her skin crawl. This was the club’s president, Sam Wolfe, the one everybody called Snarl.
“She’s too fucking pretty to be related to Dwayne. You see any resemblance, Mutt?”
The club’s second in command shrugged. “They’re both blonde and scream like little girls when they’re scared. I can’t blame her, though. Freak’s face is so ugly he makes his own momma scream.”
“Did Freak scare you, little girl?”
Lily nodded. “Y—yes sir.”
“Ain’t that sweet? She called me sir. I like it.” He glanced around at the men closest to him. “I think you should all do it from now on. Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags full of meth, sir! What do you think, Ogre?”
“I think it suits you, sir.”
Snarl grinned and the next thing she knew he was slamming a large skinning-knife point down into the tabletop. “Done!”
Some of the good humor faded from his eyes as he looked at her again. “So, Freak scared you, your shit-stain brother sold you to us, and now you’re club property… unless I let Ramrod have you. Freak was out of line, he’s not patched and he knows better than to fuck with club property without my permission, but you… what the fuck am I going to do with you?”
Rod tightened his hold on her. “You’re going to give her to me, Snarl. I’ll make sure she’s nicely broken in for your boys by the time I head out again.”
“And why should I give her to you?”
“Because I’m the guy who is going to tell Rocket if you and your pack of fuck-ups are still worthy of wearing our colors. The raid cost us a goddamned fortune and brought down heat none of us needed. It’s a fucking gong show out there, and we’re closing ranks. When that happens, what side of the door do you want to be on?”
Snarl yanked the knife out of the table and pointed it at Ramrod. “Rocket needs our support. Things are too unstable. He wouldn’t cut us loose.”
“He needs the support of the clubs who have their shit together. I’m here to decide if you and your crew meet the new standard, and so far I ain’t seen nothing to make me think you’re anything but a liability. Impress me, Snarl. Give me the girl and explain how your club is going to make up what was lost. Do that, and I can go home and leave you alone to run your club.”
Everyone watched in silence as the two men stared at each other, the tension increasing by the second. Any moment she expected the two of them to whip out their dicks and start measuring.
To pass the time she worked on figuring out her best escape route if things went sideways. If these two went at it, she had no intention of getting caught between them.
Just as she was thinking things were going to go to hell, Snarl nodded. “She’s yours.”
“If she’s his, he has to mark her, club rules,” Freak’s grating voice chimed in from somewhere behind her.
“Son of a bitch, I warned you to stay out of my sight you little shit!” Rod spun around, looking for Freak, but the grate of a chair being pushed across the floor pulled his attention back to Snarl, who was standing now, the point of his knife directed at Trina.
“He’s right. Club rules. You want to claim her then you’re going to need to mark your property.”
Trina stiffened. What the fuck did that mean?
“Club rules?” Rod’s arm locked around her waist as if he was expecting her to bolt at any second, which wasn’t a bad bet. If there were fewer bikers between her and the door, she’d be seriously considering it.
“In this club, yes,” Snarl answered. Before she could so much as draw breath to protest, Trina found herself face down on the table with Rod’s hand planted between her shoulder blades. She tried to struggle and got a stinging slap to the ass for her trouble. “Don’t fucking move Lily or I’ll tan your sweet little ass right here and now.”
Her heart was slamming against her ribs and there was enough adrenaline in her system to keep a narcoleptic elephant awake for a week, but she managed to hold still. Not because the arrogant bastard had ordered her to, but because no matter what came next, it would be a hell of a lot easier to cope with than what would happen if she openly defied him and refused to obey the rules.
Whatever it was, she’d just have to make sure she passed on the pain and suffering to Max later… with interest.
Rod leaned over her until his lips were right beside her ear. “I told you I’d protect you. Trust me.”
Yeah, because trusting a criminal who had more or less kidnapped her as a sex slave was such an easy thing to do. She swallowed her sarcastic retort and nodded before forcing herself to relax a little.
“Good girl.”
“Nice trick, Ramrod. What are you, the pussy whisperer?” someone joked.
“I had to learn to calm the ladies down once they got a glimpse of my massive dick. Have to convince them it’ll fit without tearing ‘em open. Not a problem I expect you’ve ever had, Mutt.”
“I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Enough. We’ve got business to discuss. Get this over with, Ramrod, or I’ll do it for you.” Snarl punctuated his words by slamming his hand down on the table only a few inches in front of her nose.
Rod’s hand left her back, freeing her, but she knew there was no point in running. She wouldn’t get three steps. He took off the leather vest she’d been wearing, leaving her in just a thin cotton T-shirt still damp from the rainstorm. She had just enough time to wonder what the fuck would happen next before he grabbed her shirt and tore it from the bottom up to the collar, baring her back. There were catcalls and hoots from all around, and Trina gritted her teeth. She expected pain, but instead she felt something cool and wet glide across her skin. There was a whiff of a vaguely familiar, chemical odor, and then she was being helped to her feet.
What the hell did he do to me?
The answer to her silent question came when she looked up and spotted the black felt pen dangling from Rod’s fingers.
“You wrote on me?”
“Yup.” He smirked at her and she had a nearly overwhelming urge to smack the smug look right off his face.
“Do I get to know what it says?”
“Property of Ramrod. Hands off.” Laughter erupted all around them, and Trina made herself drop her head and slump her shoulders in apparent defeat. The asshole looked far too happy with himself, but he had kept his promise. He’d protected her.
Rod wrapped her in his vest again, covering her torn shirt. “Now we’ve got that little formality out of the way, can we please get on to the business at hand? I want to take my new toy home and show her what it means to belong to a member of Legion.”
Snarl set his knife down on the table and took a seat. “Pull up a chair, Ramrod, and I’ll explain to you exactly how this club is going to make up for what was lost in the raid.”
Trina let herself be pulled into Rod’s lap as he settled at the table, and she found herself nestled in his arms, perfectly positioned to hear and record every second of their incriminating conversation.
