Page 32 of Triplets for the Rival MC

The confession leaves me raw, exposed in a way I don’t often allow. I take her hands in mine, kissing the tips of her fingers. “I need you to know that you’re safe here. You’re loved, and we won’t use you like your father did,” I assure her.

Tears pool in her eyes, glistening in the light, and I brush one away, gently stroking her face, committing to memory the softness of her skin. “Cyrus,” she breathes, tilting her head into my hand, leaning into my touch, like it’s something she’s yearned for, for too long.

I feel so overwhelmed that I can’t hold it back any longer. I have to tell her how I feel. The words feel inevitable now, rising up out of my throat, creating a lump so I feel like I can’t breathe, until there’s no space left to keep them in or I’ll suffocate.

“I love you, Tori.”

She looks surprised, and for a horrible moment that seems to last an eternity, she doesn’t respond. My heart stutters, fear crashing through me in a cold wave. I worry I’ve blown it, that I spoke too soon, that I misread everything, that my biggest fear was true and she’s only with us for some fun and vengeance. But then she says the words I’ve been longing to hear that make my heart soar and banish all of my fears about her motives.

“I love you, too, Cyrus.”

Relief hits me so hard it’s almost dizzying. I pull her into my arms and kiss her passionately. The kiss deepens, becoming frenzied and desperate, aching to lose ourselves in each other. I slide the papers out of the way, pulling her onto my lap to straddle me. I kiss down her neck, burying my face in her cleavage. My cock strains against my pants, hard and ready for her.

“Cyrus,” she moans as I stroke her clit through her cotton panties, feeling the damp patch that’s already formed there.

I’m glad that she’s wearing a dress today. We’re too eager, too hungry for each other to take things slowly. Tori slips her hand inside my pants, stroking my erection. She pulls it free, easing my pants down low enough to gain access. Pushing her panties aside, she positions my cock at her entrance, soaking wet and ready for me, and sits down on me, taking me inch by inch.

“Fuck,” I grunt as she sits down on me completely, feeling how tight and wet she is for me.

I kiss her again while she grinds on me, rolling her hips in small circles. I stroke her clit, enjoying the sight of her taking control, of her fucking me. She throws her head back and moans, pushing me to lie down, placing her hands on my chest. I grip onto her hips and ass, helping her to fuck me harder and faster. She feels so fucking good, I know I’m not going to last long.

“Fuck, Cyrus, I’m close,” she moans, teasing her own nipples.

“Holy shit, babe, me too,” I growl, bouncing her up and down on my cock now, feeling the climax building inside of me as her pussy tightens around my dick.

“Cum with me,” she pants, as I feel her reaching her climax, getting slicker and tighter as the first waves of her orgasm ripple through her.

I pull her close, kissing her deeply, our tongues intertwining as I cum hard, pumping deep inside her while she orgasms on my cock. We stay interlocked, two halves of a whole, for a moment, enjoying the post orgasm bliss as one.

The world feels hushed afterward, like everything else has fallen away. I tenderly kiss her, and she kisses me back, tears of joy on her cheeks, her forehead resting against mine as our breathing slowly steadies.

“I love you, Tori. I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how amazing you are and treating you the way you deserve, the way you should have been treated your whole life.”

Her tears flow freely now as I pull her close into an embrace, holding her like something precious, something I refuse to let go of. I kiss the tears away, one by one, each kiss a quiet promise.

“I love you too,” she says. I know I’ll never tire of hearing her say it.

Chapter 19

Flint

We sit on our bikes in the scrub outside the Raging Bulls’ warehouse. I scan my men, counting heads like I always do. There’s eight of us here—Hunter, Cyrus, Hank, Screw, Drifter, Smoke, and Red. A handful of other brothers are on their way, loyal men who’ve followed me into worse odds than this without hesitation. That doesn’t mean we’ll all walk away. That thought never gets easier, no matter how many years I lead this club.

My gaze slides to the far end of the lot, where a single dim security light flickers over the corrugated metal wall of the warehouse. Tori’s intel runs through my head again, every detail burned in. Shift changes. Camera blind spots. How many guards are usually inside at this hour. Where King keeps his enforcers posted. Where the Raging Bulls are holding the women inside, King won’t be here tonight, nor Spike, more’s the pity. But the goal isn’t a battle. This is a rescue mission. We want to get in and out as quickly and quietly as we can with as little bloodshed as possible.

We wouldn’t have this chance without Tori’s help. Without her turning her back on her blood and choosing us instead. I hate that she’s tied to this at all. Hate that she’s already paid a price for being a good person, for doing the right thing. I’m glad that she finally saw reason and agreed to stay behind where it’s safe. I couldn’t keep my head clear while worrying about her safety. I won’t waste what she gave us, not when lives are on the line.

I raise my fist, giving the signal. The engines cut. The sudden quiet is brutal. Sometimes, silence can be louder than gunfire. Silence hangs over us now. The kind of silence that presses in on you right before everything goes to hell. The kind that makes your pulse thud in your ears and your hands itch. I pull my gun out, feeling the comforting weight of its steel.

Hunter rolls his shoulders beside me, jaw tight, eyes sharp. Cyrus is still as stone, gaze fixed on the warehouse like he’s already picturing the bodies that’ll drop inside. Neither of them speaks. They don’t need to. We’ve done this dance too many times.

I lean in, voice low. “Same plan. In and out. We get the women first. Nobody goes cowboy. We leave together or not at all.”

A murmur of agreement ripples through the group. Red gives me a sharp nod, eyes fierce. He’s been itching for this one ever since he heard what the Bulls were doing. Hell, we all have. The Raging Bulls give motorcycle clubs a bad name. There used to be honor among the clubs. We were meant to create a family, to protect our communities. There are unwritten rules that we all abide by, and the Raging Bulls are breaking one of the biggest ones by getting involved with this shit.

I count to three in my head. Then I drop my hand. We move. Boots hit dirt, fast and quiet. We fan out like we rehearsed, slipping through the gaps Tori mapped for us, past the cameras angled just wrong and guards too busy smoking to notice shadows moving where they shouldn’t. The warehouse door looms ahead, rusted and scarred, one weak point in a building that the Raging Bulls think is untouchable. Screw and Hank handle the lock. We collectively hold our breath as they do it, letting it out at the sound of a soft click. The door creaks open.

The smell hits me first, stale sweat, fear, cheap booze, cigars, and something darker underneath it all. Human misery has a scent. Once you know it, you never forget.