His daughter wasn’t going to live that life. That’s what he decided. Not after what happened to my mom, not after what Linc’s father did to her. Gang-raped, beaten, left to die.Over his dead body, Jimmy said. They yanked me out of South Bay my senior year, and ever since, I’ve been chasing… something. The Raiders could have been it. The thing I was looking for.
Until I was asked to pledge my loyalty in another way. No, not asked. Told. I was property to that club, and despite growing up in the life, knowing what it means to be a woman who belongs to an MC, I wasn’t prepared to give what they were trying to take.
That’s where the knife came in.
“Tell me who I’m holding for, and I’ll consider giving it back to you,” Decker says. “And get that fucking gun out of my face.”
I shove it hard into his throat. “The gun stays.”
He grabs the barrel and jerks it away. I don’t let go. We struggle for the upper hand, but he’s stronger and I’m losing my grip. Gritting my teeth, I cling to the gun with all I have. I refuse to relinquish control. He pulls, and then I pull. I kick at his shins, and he dodges me. I jam my knee up into his crotch, but he twists a second before I make contact. Then he spins me around and clamps his arms around me to stop my movements.
When something hard presses into my tailbone, I grin. “This exciting you, Decker?”
His body goes stock-still. “What?”
In answer, I wiggle my ass against his groin.
He lets out a snort. “My belt buckle, Gracie.” He jerks me back around and tugs me into him as he pulls at my fingers. “Let go.”
I tighten my hold on the weapon. “Not a chance.”
“Gracie. Let go of the fucking?—”
The gun goes off, and we’re hit with a shower of plaster. We both freeze, and when Decker tilts his head back and eyes the hole in his ceiling, a look of fury overtakes him.
Oops.
“That was an accident,” I blurt.
With a violent yank, he rips the gun from my hand and tosses it onto the bed. “The hell it was.” He brings that free hand to my throat and squeezes, his eyes locked with mine, a mix of anger and excitement swimming there.
The bridge of my nose tingles, a heaviness of sorts settling into my temples. My heart beats in my ears and pressure mounts in my head. Maybe this is what he meant bynot gentle.And maybe I like it.
“You’re not gonna hurt me,” I say, voice hoarse as an unexplained heat settles in the pit of my belly.
There’s this air of violence to him now. The kind that makes me wonder what kind of man he’s become.Not gentle.I’ve never really liked gentle. Never known it, I guess. The men I spend my time with these days, the men I share my bed with, are the same kind I grew up with. Rough. Violent. This unrestrained ferocity ingrained in them.
And from what I can tell, these past ten years have turned Decker into exactly that.
He hums, pulling me in closer, his lips an inch from mine. “You break into my house, trash it, threaten me. Again. This time with a fucking barrel pointed at my dick. Shoot off a couplebullets. And now you expect to just walk out of here in one piece?” His breath his hot on my face, igniting that heat in my core. Setting it on fire. “I’m gonnahurt you, Gracie.”
I dig my nails into his wrist. Trying to free myself, maybe. Or encourage him to squeeze harder. A punishment. For all I’ve done, for the trouble I’ve brought with me. For the life I took.
Rough. Violent. Unrestrained ferocity. I’m like that too.
A brutality that was bred and built into me, that keeps leading me down this road, that starts with heart-beating, pulse-thumping, adrenaline-racing-through-my-veins kind of excitement and ends with me speeding down a highway on my bike with blood still dripping from my hands.
I don’t want Decker to be gentle. Iwantit to hurt. I want to feel it in every dark corner of my body. On every inch of my skin. Then I’d get what I deserve. Or maybe it would help me forget. If I let this feeling take over. Allow my mind to clear and my body to fill with desire and need and nothing else.
Here, now, there’s no knife. No body. No enemies hunting me.
Just him. And his hand around my throat.
Smirking, he backs me up against his bedroom wall.
I scratch at his arm, my nails breaking skin. His grip only gets tighter.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He chuckles. “Can see it all over your pretty fucking face. You might as well be begging for it.”
