Burned_Viking Bastards MC Page 6

  “What’s the matter?” He pauses with his roll halfway to his mouth. “Not enough sugar?”

  “No, it’s great.” I take another mouthful and manage not to gag. It’s been years since I gave up sugar, but there’s no way I’m telling him that when he’s remembered, after so long, what a sweet tooth I used to have. “Unexpected,” I add as I sit next to him and open up the bag.

  “Yeah, well.” He shrugs and looks a little uncomfortable. “Thought this’d get me through the door. I couldn’t get away last night.”

  I place the cup on the floor. It doesn’t sound as though he was with another woman, after all. “Everything okay?” My voice is deliberately casual, and I bite into my roll. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.

  “Just some trouble at the club. Could’ve sorted it out, but some fucking dickhead called the cops.”

  “Mm.” I nod, my mouth full of egg, but I don’t really get it. Not the trouble at the clubhouse—that’s too easy to believe. It’s the calling of the cops. None of the Bastards would do that. At least, not from what I remember.

  “They won’t make that mistake again.”

  “I bet they won’t.” Maybe he’s talking about a clueless hang-around. I don’t want to know the fallout from that, but blood and broken bones were probably involved.

  “No one screws me over at work.”

  I’m not sure what he means by that, since we were talking about the MC, but it makes me wonder. Does he still work for his dad? I guess so. The stripper business Jett owned was always profitable. And while I have many issues with the whole idea of exploiting women for the benefit of sleazy shitheads, now’s hardly the time or place to list them.

  Right now, I just want to find out everything I can about Ty’s life, as though filling in the missing pieces will somehow make it easier to move on.

  “How’s it going? At work, I mean?”

  “It’s okay. Makes a profit.”

  “Mm.” I’m not sure what I wanted him to say. Maybe deep down, all I wanted to hear was that he’d broken away from Jett’s fleshpot empire.

  Like that’d ever happen. Jett never made any secret of the fact he expected Ty to take over his business when he retired, and Ty always seemed keen. We’ll always be okay, he told me on more than one occasion, and the one time I tried to tell him how uncomfortable it all made me, he thought someone had made a mean comment about my mom and threatened to knock their brains out.

  I don’t want to talk about the Bastards. Don’t want to talk about the brotherhood at all. I take another bite of my breakfast and pretend not to notice the quick sideways glance he gives me, as though he expected more questions.

  After a few moments, he breaks the silence. “Need your number, babe.”

  “Sure.” I pull my cell from my pocket, and we exchange numbers. Will he delete mine on Friday? Will I delete his?

  He screws up his empty bag, drops it next to him, and drapes his arm around my shoulders. “Did you miss me last night?” He leers at me, and I laugh and snuggle against him. I’ve missed this so much.

  “Yes. I was hoping for a massage. My muscles were killing me.”

  “You shouldn’t do heavy lifting. I’m here for that.”

  Whoa. I didn’t expect him to leap all over that part of my comment, and a warm glow spreads through me. “I didn’t. I’m only clearing out all the garbage and small things. Really, I was just hanging out for the massage.”

  His hand slides inside my robe. “I could do that, if you make it worth my while.”

  “I’m still eating.” I wave my half-finished breakfast under his nose. “Oh. And I bought more supplies yesterday, so we’re covered for the week.”

  His big body shakes in a silent laugh that I remember so well, and a bittersweet ache grips my heart. I’m so not going to get over you by Friday.

  “So did I. You plan on doing anything other than fuck this week? Because I’m up for that.”

  I cradle his goods with my free hand. “Hm. So you are.” I tease him a little, and he growls and plunges his fingers through my hair.

  “I’ve had a hard-on all fucking night. Don’t push your luck if you want to finish eating.”

  I take another bite of breakfast, even though I could easily toss it and eat Ty instead. “A few more minutes won’t matter, then. I don’t want to get indigestion.”

  “I’ll give you indigestion.” He hauls me onto his lap, and I laugh down at him, holding my now-cold breakfast above his head. As I lean into him for a kiss, my cell rings.

  He swears. “Who the fuck’s calling you at this time of the morning?”

  I squint at my phone. “It’s Dad.” I climb off Ty, who doesn’t look thrilled by the interruption, and answer my cell. “Hey.”

  “Hey, honey. Just checking in that everything’s okay.”

  “It’s all good.” There’s nothing more to tell him than when we last spoke yesterday morning, but he promised to ring every day, and except for one time, Dad’s never broken his promises to me. “I’m on track to finish by Friday.”

  “And you’re sure you don’t want me there for the memorial service? I can fly out and be with you Wednesday night. It’s not a problem.”

  I know it’s not, and we had this discussion before I left, but he’s mentioned it every time he’s phoned, as though he thinks I’m going to change my mind.

  “No, it’s fine.” It’s not fine, but I don’t want to get into another conversation about it with Ty right next to me. “Look, I have to go. Speak to you later.”

  “Sure, honey. I love you. Marina sends her love, too.”

  I close my eyes for a couple of seconds. “Love you both, too. Bye.”

  I balance my cell on the arm of the couch, and for some reason I’m reluctant to look at Ty, so I make a big fuss of wrapping the remnants of my breakfast up in its paper bag. When that’s done to my satisfaction, I fold my arms and shoot him a defensive glance over my shoulder. Why’s he keeping so quiet?

  He gives me an odd smile. “You’re still close to your dad, then?”

  “Yeah.” I focus on his throat. I don’t know why I’m being such an idiot. Maybe it’s because the last time we discussed my dad we ended up yelling at each other. Well, Ty yelled. I ended up in tears. Not one of our best moments.

  “It worked out all right in the end, you moving in with him and your stepmom?”

  He sounds calm and reasonable. Why shouldn’t he? It’s all water under the bridge. Hell, we’re both adults now. I should at least act like one and look him in the eye.

  “Yes.” That’s all I can manage, as though I don’t want to confide in him, when the truth is there’s so much I want to tell him. But after so long, where would I even begin?

  He grunts, obviously fine with my reluctance to share, and I stifle a flare of regret. It’s better this way, keeping everything shallow and superficial. If we start talking about my family, that takes it to another level. And this thing between us has no levels, only sex and closure.

  “She wasn’t a bitch, then?”

  “Who? Marina?” The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them, and a strange little pain squeezes deep inside my chest. Sometimes I’m not sure I would’ve survived if it hadn’t been for Marina. “No. She’s lovely.”

  “They ever have any kids?”

  I clear my throat. It’s stupid to let Ty’s concern affect me so much, but I can’t help it. “No. It’s so unfair. She’d make the best mom.”

  Not many women would’ve opened their arms to a traumatized stepdaughter the way she did to me, or taken the time to find out why she was in such a mess, or ensure she received therapy.

  She even kept her word and never told Dad what Viper did to me.

  Ty scowls, but it’s not directed at me, and a shiver skates along my spine. Please don’t go there…

  “You would’ve made the best mom.” It sounds like an accusation, but the pain is still there, buried in each word. Jesus, I don’t want to talk about it. Why does he
want to, after all this time?

  Closure. It screams through my head, but this isn’t what I meant. I suck in a harsh breath, try to focus. “Who knows?” My attempt to keep my voice light fails dismally.

  Silence beats between us in tandem with my heart. I should’ve known we’d discuss this, but I didn’t think he’d care after all this time, and I sure as hell had no intention of reminding him.

  “You would.” His voice is flat as if that’s not up for debate. “You ever think about what might’ve happened with us if we hadn’t lost the baby?”

  Chapter Seven

  Ty

  Jas doesn’t answer right away, but she grips her fingers together on her lap, and I have the crazy urge to pull her into my arms and tell her everything’s going to be all right.

  Like I tried to that night, after she called me while I was working at Viper’s junkyard, so hysterical I could hardly understand what she was saying. I had to break down the front door to find her in her mom’s bedroom on the floor.

  “I don’t know.” Her voice is soft, and she looks at me with those beautiful brown eyes that, despite pretending otherwise, have haunted my nights since the day she left. “It wasn’t just losing the baby. It was…everything.”

  Nothing we couldn’t have sorted out. Fuck, I had sorted it out. I just hadn’t told her so before everything went to hell.

  I don’t even know why I dragged up the past. It won’t change anything. Except there’s something about that night, something about Jas, that’s always ground into my chest like a rusty spike, and I don’t mean because of the obvious.

  Something staring me in the face that I should’ve seen, but could never grasp.

  “We were too young.” My voice is gruff. Why did I start this? I don’t want to remember how completely helpless I was that night. How nothing I did or said made any difference because it was already too late before I got there. I’d always looked out for her, protected her, and when she needed me most I couldn’t do a damn thing.

  “Maybe.” There’s a wistful note in her voice that tears me up inside. I expected her to agree. “But it didn’t really have anything to do with our ages, did it?”

  Up until two days ago, I’d convinced myself that Jas threw everything back in my face and left because she was too young and had never wanted what I offered.

  Two fucking days. That’s all it’s taken to challenge the ironclad convictions that have shaped my life for the last ten years.

  Except I know I’m lying to myself. Deep down, another truth’s always lurked, and only now, when she’s sitting so close to me, can I face it.

  She always tried to hide it from me, but it was my family’s opposition she couldn’t cope with. When she found out she was pregnant, she made me swear not to tell anyone, not until she was ready. She lost the baby before she was ready, and I kept my word. Never even told Zach.

  A week later she was on a plane to Florida.

  I thread my fingers through hers and tug her hand from her lap. She gives me a half smile, her eyes big and sad, and I can’t take it.

  “You’re not seventeen anymore.” I don’t even know why I say that, or what it’s supposed to mean, but she doesn’t call me out on it, almost as if she understands something I don’t.

  I kiss her knuckles and the tension seeps from her. After that bloodied night, she never let me touch her again. It was like she thought I expected sex, when all I wanted was to hold her tight and try to make things right again. But she wouldn’t even talk to me and didn’t tell me her plan to go live with her dad until the day before her flight.

  I’m not proud of the way I handled that news, but what the fuck did she expect? I was only nineteen, and my whole damn world was falling apart.

  The baby was my kid, too.

  All I want from her now is sex. Except that’s not true. Even after all this time, I want to fix things between us. It’s more than a few hot fucks so when we split at the end of the week, everything we ever had is finally finished.

  I want us to part as friends.

  Jesus. Friends with a chick? That’s a new one for me. My brothers would never believe it, and I don’t fucking care that it’s something I’ve never considered before.

  Closure.

  Now I get what she meant by that.

  “I’ve not been seventeen for a long time,” she whispers, and I don’t know why I get the feeling she’s not talking about her age at all. What the fuck else can she mean? And then she trails her fingertips along my jaw, and I don’t care what she’s talking about.

  Our kiss is slow, and she tastes of sugar and chocolate, so different than what I’ve gotten used to from the girls who hang around the club. Jas pulls back and tangles her fingers in my hair.

  “What’s so funny?” she asks.

  “Nothing.” I tug on the belt of her robe but don’t bother trying to hide my grin of satisfaction. “You better be naked under this.”

  “As if.”

  “You soon will be.”

  “I don’t think so.” She’s trying to not laugh, and grasps the top of her robe to keep it from gaping open. “I’m not getting naked while you’re sitting there in your full MC regalia.”

  If any other chick said regalia to me, it’d be intended as a compliment. I don’t get that vibe from Jas, which is weird, since she’s the only girl who’d ever dare say anything like that.

  “MC regalia?” I loom over her, and she sinks back against the couch, an irresistible smile of challenge on her face. “What’s that supposed to mean? You love my colors.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes, mocking me without remorse, and I’m kind of stunned. “I’m not an impressionable little girl anymore, Ty. Please take off your clothes. As an apology for not turning up last night.”

  For a second I’m tempted to call her out on it. Sure, she was only fourteen when we started dating, and maybe she was impressionable. Hell, she thought the sun shone out of my ass, and I loved every second of it. But impressionable little girl and the touch of disdain in her voice rubs me up the wrong way—like she no longer has any respect for the Bastards.

  Or for me?

  Is that why she left? Did something happen that I don’t know about?

  Fuck that. I never overthink shit, and I’m not starting now. I stand in front of her and give her my best let’s fuck smile. “No touching until I’m done. Reckon you can handle that?”

  “I’ll sit on my hands if you like.”

  I tug my cut over my shoulders in a gross, over-the-top stripper kind of way that makes her laugh. I leer at her before placing my cut on the chair. “No, don’t sit on your hands. I want them where I can see them.”

  She gives a theatrical sigh and places her hands on her thighs, fingers spread. “Looking better already.” Admiration heats her words as she runs her gaze over me, and again doubt gnaws through me, wondering what she’s really saying. “It should be illegal for a guy to look that good in a white T-shirt.”

  The flicker of unease dies. What’s the matter with me? It was just a throwaway comment that meant nothing, and I flex my muscles and strike a pose like I’m a bodybuilder on show.

  “I’m all about the illegal, babe.”

  She groans and slings a cushion at me. “Don’t I know it. Are you waiting for me to beg or something?”

  “You’re begging me already.”

  “And you’re holding out on me.”

  I rip the T-shirt over my head. “Feast your eyes on this.”

  She licks her lips, and the look on her face reminds me of when she walked into the kitchen yesterday morning, except this time it’s all good. “Your body’s a work of art.”

  “Cade’s the best.” Does she remember him? He was an apprentice back then, but still the best tat artist I’ve ever met.

  “I’m talking about the canvas.”

  Her quick-fire response is unexpected, but I’m sure not complaining. “You wanna see the back view?”

  “No, thanks. I’m enjoyin
g this one.”

  Most chicks can’t wait to crawl all over my back, dry-humping my ink in some kind of sex-crazed Bastards worship. Jas has never been most chicks, but I guess I expected her to admire my back tat, since she took off before Cade finished it.

  “Do you need some help?” She’s on her knees before I know it, unzipping my jeans and pushing them over my hips. “I love when you go commando.”

  “Open your mouth,” I growl as I plunge my hands through her gorgeous hair. Instead of obeying, she lets out a huff of laughter, her warm breath teasing my cock. She clasps my ass and tilts her head so she’s looking up at me.

  “Okay.” She opens her mouth, still looking at me, and a desperate groan burns my throat.

  “You want me to draw you a fucking picture?” I thrust my hips forward, and she pillows my dick with her cheek. It’s not funny, but I give a choked laugh anyway. “You’re pushing your luck here, babe.”

  “If you want me to stop, just let me know.” Her fingers play with my ass and thighs, and her face cradles my junk. “Can’t make any promises, though.”

  This is crazy. When chicks go down on me, they don’t give me sass. They fill their mouths with my dick, and that’s the way I’ve always liked it.

  And this is the best damn non-head I’ve gotten in my life. That’s fucking insane as well, and there’s no reason why she should look so hot and sexy in that plain bathrobe that hides everything, but this is Jas and none of the usual rules ever applied with her.

  She doesn’t wait for my response. Not that I’m capable of giving her one that makes sense. Instead she brushes hot little kisses over my groin, her face pushing my dick out of her way, and I couldn’t answer her now if my life depended on it.

  Her wet tongue licks along my length, and my fingers tighten in her hair. It’d be so easy to fuck her sweet, sassy mouth. My eyes screw shut, but that’s no good. I want to watch her because, goddamn, seeing her fooling around is better than anything I’ve had for years.

  She cups my balls and twirls her finger behind my sac, and I let out a tortured groan. Her lips and tongue drive me crazy, but not once does she come close to sucking me inside her tempting mouth.