STRIKER: Lords of Carnage MC Read online

  “So…” I frown. “What are you proposing?”

  “If you can give me the account information on our joint investment account, then I can pull the money from there. It amounts to about five-thousand-dollars. In exchange, I promise to split the money from the sale of the land with you, fifty-fifty.” Mark’s grin widens. “That’s a pretty good return on investment, yes? Spend twenty-five hundred to get fifty thousand?”

  I have to admit, that does sound good. And I could sure use that kind of money from the sale of the land. I’m broke as a joke lately, especially because I haven’t wanted to ask Mark for money for the mortgage payments. Mark was always fairly lax about remembering our account information, so it’s no surprise he’d need to get it from me.

  “When would you be putting the land up for sale?” I ask.

  “Just as soon as I pay the property taxes. The realtor I’ve been speaking to already has a couple of interested buyers. He assures me that he should be able to get the land sold within a month or two.”

  I tilt my head, considering. “I suppose that sounds good.”

  I go to a console table by the stairs and pull out a pen and pad of paper from one of the shallow drawers. From memory, I write down the username and password for the account he wants to borrow from. “Five-thousand?” I repeat as I rip off the sheet and hand it to him.

  “Five thousand,” he agrees as he takes it from me. “You won’t regret it, Ember. This is win-win, for both of us.”

  For some reason, the moment he utters the word regret, I start to wonder if maybe I should re-think this. But just then, Striker calls my name from outside. Mark’s mouth tightens into a thin line.

  “I’ve got places I need to be,” Mark glowers, tucking the paper with the account information into the pocket of his chinos. “You really ought to think twice about letting someone like that into your house, Ember. Even just to mow the lawn.”

  He grabs the doorknob and abruptly pulls the door open. Striker is approaching from the garage, and Mark flashes him an angry scowl as he walks outside and then stomps down the sidewalk to his Beemer.

  Striker and I watch as Mark gets into his BMW and starts the engine. The tires make an anemic squeal as he pulls away.

  “Wow,” Striker remarks. “You married that.”

  “Temporary insanity,” I sigh. “You must be thirsty. You want something to drink?”

  18

  Striker

  My nerves are jumping after Ember’s ex leaves. But my adrenaline rush doesn’t have all that much to do with his weak ass.

  My heart is pumping because of Ember.

  Standing there with her, making sure Panty doesn’t push her buttons, I can’t stop thinking about something I’ve been trying to push into the far recesses of my mind all along.

  I want to fight for her, but it’s more than that.

  I want her. I can’t stop wanting her.

  I want to get lost in her body and never find my way out.

  As I watch Panty drive away, I keep repeating the same phrases in my head, hoping they’ll take root.

  Stop wanting her.

  Don’t touch her.

  “What’s with the flowers, anyway?” I ask Ember.

  She’s staring at the bouquet Panty left now, which is lying on the counter. I’m at the kitchen island with a glass of ice water, adrenaline still buzzing. I’ve pulled my sweat-drenched T-shirt back on, but I thought I caught her stealing a glance or two at my naked torso before I did.

  “They’re a ‘Get out of jail free’ card,” she answers, a bitter edge to the words.

  “What do you mean?”

  She pushes them away. “Giving me flowers is sort of Mark’s version of an insurance policy. It’s always been that way. Mark is a charming bastard. He’s a financial advisor, specializing in helping people invest their money. His entire professional identity is based on projecting a certain image and convincing people it’s real.” Her lips tighten into a thin line. “What I didn’t know at first is that that extended to our relationship, too.”

  I get the feeling Ember is processing more than just Panty’s visit, and I’m not wrong. I don’t say anything in response, and she jumps into the silence and runs with it.

  “Do you know, Mark gave me flowers every single Friday of our relationship?” she asks, turning to face me. “In the beginning, I was absolutely charmed by it. How romantic, right? What a perfect boyfriend. Everybody said so.” She clasps her hands and mimes a swoon. “Once we got married and moved into this house, he bought me that table and the giant vase for the foyer, just as a display for my Friday flowers. From then on, the bouquets got bigger and more impressive. They were right there in the front hallway, the first thing that anyone who came in the house would see.”

  Ember rolls her eyes, but she looks a little sad, too. “It took me a while to realize that the flowers had nothing to do with me at all. They weren’t even for me. They were for him. To make him seem like the perfect husband in the eyes of all our friends and his business associates. God, Mark loved it when people would come over and immediately exclaim at the beautiful bouquet. That was my cue start the proud, fawning wife act, and tell everyone how he always bought me fresh flowers every single Friday. And I started to notice that whenever we got into a fight, he always managed to bring up the flowers. ‘Don’t I do enough to show you I love you?’ he’d ask. ‘Don’t I bring you flowers every week?’ As though that meant he never did anything that he should excuse himself for. I realized toward the end of our marriage that I had never actually heard him utter the words, ‘I’m sorry.’”

  “A get out of jail free card,” I murmur, understanding.

  Ember’s eyes meet mine. “Exactly.” She turns back to the bouquet in disgust. “Eventually, I realized I was just like the flowers: an ornament. An accessory to his life. Just like this house. Just like the entire life he’d built with me.” She spreads her arms wide. “Nothing but a pretty picture for him, to show off to his friends and clients.”

  Damn, that is sad as hell. And some sick fucking manipulation. “Well shit. Way to ruin a romantic gesture.”

  “I don’t know why I don’t just get rid of that damn vase in the front hall,” Ember mutters angrily. “Now whenever I look at it, all I see is Mark’s bullshit.”

  I don’t say anything for a couple seconds. She seems lost in thoughts that I’m sure aren’t good ones.

  “What’s Wednesday?” I finally ask. “I heard Panty say something about that as he left.”

  “Oh.” She grimaces. “Wednesday is the day of that charity gala. Remember I told you about that? He wanted me to show up with him. The pretty, perfect picture of the pretty, perfect couple.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I turned him down,” she sighs. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to show up alone, and he’ll spend the whole evening clinging to me and pretending we’re still together anyway.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going with you.”

  She gapes at me. “You are?”

  “I’m your bodyguard until Tank says I’m not. Which means I go where you go. You’re going to that rich person party, so I’ll be there, too.”

  She could refuse, I guess. Maybe she will, since I imagine showing up on my arm would set off a storm of gossip, and piss Panty off pretty good in the bargain. But damn, I don’t want her to. As I wait for her to say something, I try not to think too hard about why I just volunteered to take this woman to a party that sounds about as fun as dipping my nuts in a bag of scorpions.

  “But…” Ember says slowly. “If I show up with you, every single person there will instantly know Mark and I didn’t come together. Which means they’ll figure out that we’ve split up.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “That’s probably true.”

  Ember looks at me for a second with an expression I can’t read.

  Then, with one decisive gesture, she sweeps the bouq
uet into the garbage.

  We both start laughing at the same time.

  “Okay,” she agrees, eyes twinkling. “It’s a date.”

  I’m still chuckling as I bring the glass of water to my lips and drain the rest of it, then set the glass on the counter. “Thanks for the drink,” I say. “Hey, I noticed that blade on your mower’s pretty dull. I’m gonna go out and sharpen it real quick.”

  Ember clears her throat. “Okay, but you have to let me thank you for mowing. Can I fix you dinner again tonight?”

  “I have a better idea. How about we run out and get some steaks, and I can grill them? I saw a pretty decent grill out in your back yard.”

  “Oh, yes,” Ember rolls her eyes. “The top-of-the-line Viking. That thing cost more than the car I drive.”

  “That wouldn’t be hard,” I joke.

  “Har har,” she tosses back. “That grill hasn’t been used since before Mark moved out, though, so you should probably check and make sure it’s working first.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  She smiles. “That’s a yes. But let’s grab some beer while we’re out, too, since you’re too much of a snob to drink my wine.”

  I snort. “Done.”

  Out in the garage, I find a file and sharpen the mower blade, then grab a clean shirt from my truck and go inside to use Ember’s shower. When I’ve finished, we take off in my Tahoe and run out for steaks, salad fixings, and beer. Back at Ember’s place, I crack open a beer and she pours herself a glass of wine, and I go out back to check out the grill, which is dirty but in working order.

  Ember puts herself in charge of making a salad and I throw on the steaks. We sit on her back patio, with the sun setting and Bert at my feet as we eat our feast. Her face is bathed in a soft glow, and she’s happy and animated. I realize as I sit and watch her talk that I’ve never done anything like this with a woman. Make and eat dinner. Sit around and shoot the shit about everything and nothing.

  In my experience, women ain’t for talking to or hanging out with. They’re for fucking. But since I’m not supposed to do that with Ember, spending time with her is a different animal. I like it a lot more than I thought I would.

  Even though all things considered, I’d rather be fucking her.

  When we’re done eating, we sit there for a while and finish our drinks. Then Ember invites me in to watch movies. “I mean, if you’re going to be here anyway,” she says softly, “you may as well hang out in here with me, right?”

  We end up nixing the movie idea and just watching a few episodes of a comedy series she likes. I barely even notice what it’s about, but I don’t care because I mostly just like watching her laugh.

  Jesus, she’s beautiful.

  Eventually, we get tired of watching the show. Ember turns down the volume and we just talk instead. Sexy-as-fuck-Ember is back now, due to the couple glasses of wine she’s had, and there’s a glint of mischief in her eyes that’s damn unnerving.

  “Striker,” she says suddenly, “what would you be doing tonight if you weren’t here with me?”

  The line I used with Tank pops into my head: Drinking, fucking, fighting, riding. Except I haven’t fucked anyone at all lately. Not since I met Ember.

  “I dunno,” I rumble. “Probably not much. Maybe I’d be at the clubhouse with the Lords.”

  “So… you don’t have a girlfriend?”

  I start to crack up. “Uh, no. I don’t have one of those.”

  “Why not?”

  I get ready to make a flip comment, but she’s asking me seriously. And for some reason I find myself answering seriously, too. It’s weird how it feels like she’s reading my thoughts from earlier.

  “Because… I never met a woman I wanted to just hang out with.”

  “You mean like this?” she asks.

  I blink.

  “Yeah. Like this.”

  I clear my throat, and tell myself to change the subject. To get off the couch and go get another beer. Anything, to put some distance between me and the fucking gorgeous woman sitting two feet away from me. But then, her lips part, and she licks them, and something happens in her eyes that makes them darker and deeper, and then somehow she’s in my arms and my mouth is on hers. I stroke my tongue across her bottom lip. She moans and sinks into me. It’s heated, and rough, and fierce, and Jesus Christ I’ve been waiting my whole life for this woman and I didn’t even know it.

  “Striker,” she whispers when my mouth breaks from hers.

  “Jesus,” I groan. “Ember…”

  I cover her mouth with mine. I kiss her like I’m fucking her. My hands rake down her body and pull her against me. She shudders in my arms, gasping as her hips buck against me. She’s so hot, so ready, and my dick pulses with a need so damn intense I’m not sure I won’t just come on the spot. I’m consumed with her, every coherent thought blocked from my head except possessing her.

  Until the rumble of a familiar engine somehow breaks through the fog of my lust.

  Shit.

  I don’t know how I manage to pull away from her, but I do. Ember’s eyes open, her swollen lips parting slightly as she gazes up at me, disappointment and confusion etched in her features.

  Then she hears it, too. She turns and glances toward the front window.

  “Oh,” she says softly.

  “Yeah. Jude.”

  How it got to be midnight, I have no idea. But I guess I should be fucking thankful to be stopped before I did anything stupid. I’m not, though. Not by a long shot.

  “This, uh… wasn’t something I planned,” I tell Ember, my voice thick.

  She’s flustered, maybe embarrassed. “Do you regret it?”

  “Depends on what you mean by regret.” My cock is still throbbing. I struggle to ignore it. “I’m supposed to be guarding you.”

  “Well, I mean…” She sucks her bottom lip. “I’m not in any danger with you around, so technically you’re doing your job.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” I retort, tearing my eyes away from that plump fucking mouth of hers. “Look, I’m gonna get out of here,” I say, standing up. “I need to cool off.”

  Ember walks me to the door, eyes cast downward. The whole time, my dick is yelling at me to send Jude away. To spend the night here, fucking Ember into next week. But I gotta stop. I gotta get hold of myself.

  Before I open the door, I can’t resist bending down and kissing her one final time. It leaves us both breathless. I stroke her cheek with my thumb, and it reminds me of the first time I touched her.

  “I’ll see you later,” I tell her.

  “Okay,” she whispers. Her eyes are huge and dark with desire. Jesus, I’d give anything to take her upstairs right now.

  But instead, I go home, take my dick in my hands, and come so hard I see stars — calling out Ember’s name as I do.

  19

  Striker

  Sunday night into Monday, I get Jude to pull a double shift watching Ember so I can get some club business and other shit done during the day.

  And yeah, it’s also so I can put a little distance between Ember and me. I’m hoping I can get a handle on my feelings if I just give myself some time. But it doesn’t help that every time I close my eyes, I think about how soft her lips were when I kissed her. Or what she might look like naked, with my cock buried deep inside her. Or what that plump, kiss-bruised mouth would feel like wrapped around my dick.

  Fuck. It’s a problem.

  On Monday morning, once I confirm with Jude that Ember made it safely to work, I call Twisted Pipes, the MC’s auto and motorcycle shop in Tanner Springs. I need to give the Tahoe an oil change, and it’s easier to do there in the shop. Hawk picks up, confirms they can keep a bay free for me, and I head on over.

  When I pull into the garage, Tank is there, too. I find him leaning over a huge box of donuts that’s sitting on a rolling utility cart in one of the bays. A steaming to-go cup of coffee is in his hand as he selects a raised glaze. I immediately recognize the l
ogo on the open lid of the donut box: The Golden Cup, the coffee shop and bakery owned by Brick’s old lady, Sydney.

  “Sydney’s gonna give us all the diabeetus,” I joke as I walk up to him. “How the hell doesn’t Brick weigh four-hundred pounds by now?”

  “You ever see how much time he spends in the clubhouse gym?” Tank snickers. “He works out like a man tryin’ to outrun the demons of middle age.” He slaps his gut for emphasis.

  “What about you?” I ask. “I ain’t seein’ you refuse that sweet, sweet sugar whenever Brick brings it in.”

  “Me?” Tank bites into the donut, then talks around it. “I get enough workouts with Cady, if you know what I mean. Better than doing calisthenics any day. More fun, too.”

  Of course, the image that flashes through my mind at his words is Ember. Specifically, me and Ember getting all sweaty and nasty with her on top of the kitchen island.

  Fuck. I’d do some horizontal aerobics with her.

  I turn away before Tank can see the growing bulge in my jeans.

  “I’m gonna give the Tahoe an oil change,” I call over my shoulder. “I got Jude watching over Ember at her office, FYI.”

  “He doin’ okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You doin’ okay?”

  What the fuck does he mean by that?

  “Yeah,” I say simply, my back turned to him.

  I get to work on the oil change. Tank takes his coffee and goes into the main office. I can hear him in there, shooting the shit with Hawk and Brick. A few minutes later, he comes back out, empty handed now, and comes over to where I’m working.

  “Hey, brother,” he says. “Just to let you know, Cady’s ex called her last night. And her stepdad called afterwards. They got the letter Ember sent. They’re fuckin’ pissed about the divorce filing. Pissed enough that Cady’s stepdad told her they’re disowning her. She’s dead to them, out of the will, et cetera, et cetera. I guess her ex threatened to come find her. Said, and I quote, ‘You better be careful, baby girl. Now I know where you live.’”