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I press a finger to her lips to quiet her, and follow with a slow kiss. Whatever the fuck her father did, it wouldn’t have been kind and it would have been public. Mutt’s death was far from her first. I had been wrong to guess she’d been shielded from club business, knowing who her father was.

“I’m sorry, little toy. That was cruel of him. You should have been allowed to play and learn. And love,” I say quietly. The jealousy in my chest released, replaced for a kind of mourning for the loss of the young girl and whoever her first lover had been. The kid didn’t deserve his end, even if he should have known better than to play with his president’s daughter. But fuck me if I wouldn’t have done the same if I’d been in his shoes. Poppy is fucking irresistible. And she deserves so much.

“What do you need?” I press a kiss to the corner of her lips, balancing her on my hands beneath her ass where I stroke the crack of her ass, and lower under her covered cunt. “Tell me.”

She writhes and moans for me, all heat and passion and pretty filth.

Her eyes fly open, her personal brand of darkness framed by thick lashes, and she fucking glows. “I want to get my bike. Then I want to ride back to the Sons wearing your name on my back.”

I kiss her hard and long until she’s grinding down on me. When I place her on the ground, her breasts press against her top, her nipples peaked.

“Deal,” I murmur back to her, before the wind can strip my words away. “And once we’re in the clubhouse, I’m gonna lay you back on one of those tables in my cut and lick your pussy until you cream on my tongue while everyone watches.”

The little sound she makes is a taster of what’s to come, and I’m already halfway gone.

Chapter Fifteen

Carve My Heart

Walker

Tumbleweeds are the order of the day when Poppy creeps into the Forsaken Saints’ compound. The damn place looks deserted. Maybe that’s their ploy, but it feels as though Samuel is either losing control of his crew, or gearing up for something bigger. Like a war.

She was all for knocking on their front door, but a reminder that her father has a price on her head discounted that idea in short order. Instead, she talked me around to the next safest idea: I stay at ground level watching my sled and the door, while she climbs into her father’s room for her keys. News fucking flash: I hate guard duty.

It’s not a card I’ve pulled since I was a prospect and this is the sort of shit I left the club for. Waiting on others to see who lives or dies isn’t my idea of a family fun day. Apparently, however, Poppy is the sort of girl who gets off on crawling into small spaces like a monkey, and getting exactly what she wants without raising a single alarm.

Because within ten minutes she’s back in my arms, her lips on mine right in the shadows of the Saints’ yard, her keys in hand and sporting a fresh set of shiny new pistols.

They’re a bit shiny and chromed for my taste but hey if that’s what gets my girl off, then I’m happy for her. Maybe we can have a little playtime with them later on. See if we can dirty those grips up a little.

She shoots me a flirty as fuck smile, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and strides right out into the sunlight toward a black and silver bike that matches the guns. Her leg is over the saddle before the shouts start. Her engine revs, and it’s time to go as the first members—on the money better than their lazy prospects who just earned themselves a beating—begin to pour from the building.

The decorations on her bike glint in the sunlight. What I thought initially were swirls are actually chains and as she carves an arc in the dirt, drawing a literal line in the sand, I realize the name Medusa is made out in a diagonal line reading vertically down the bodywork.

Huh. Apt. That she can turn a man’s heart to stone with one stare is the damn truth. I grin and follow my woman out of the rival club’s yard as the first bullets fly, making sure I stay between her and them. It’s a fucking miracle alone that nothing hits either of us, but her sweet, high laughter is audible over the calamity behind us.

My girl in front, and Samuel’s wrath behind. Finally, here, my mind is at peace.

****

The Sons of Sin clubhouse is doing a roaring trade at sundown as we pull in. Heads turn at the sound of two bikes, one unknown, when we left with only one. And there’s one more change to note.

We stopped at the same little turnout in the woods a mile or so back from club grounds. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but it was pretty. Poppy followed me in, every inch the Amazonian biker goddess, capable and dangerous as fuck. I waited for her to pull up and climb off her bike before I turned to her.

“Before we left, I promised you two things.”

She inhales sharply, but says nothing. Her chin raises an inch, and I know she’s listening carefully.

“I promised you we’d get your bike.” I take a step closer to her. “She’s beautiful.”

A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, shy and proud at once. “I missed her.”

“Good. You should.” I cup her cheek, rub my thumb across her jaw, and let my hand drop when she doesn’t move. “You asked me for something. Has anything changed?”

Poppy still doesn’t answer, though her chest rises and falls a little quicker.

Damn. My girl won’t make this easy for me, but doing things that hard isn’t unusual for me.