Ransomed MC Princess #2 Read online

  Ransomed MC Princess #2

  By Vivian Cove

  ***

  The man I grew up with might have stolen my heart, but someone else would claim me.

  To save everyone I love, I will have to make the ultimate choice...and the ultimate sacrifice.

  This is the story of the beginning of our love, and the end of it.

  It's the story of how and why I was taken.

  It's the story of the night that changed my destiny.

  Chapter 1

  Damien runs his hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

  I shiver and hug the sheets to my body. I’ve heard Damien say that word ‘fuck’ so often in the last hour. I’ve said it myself, too. Many times. Like, a seriously embarrassing number of times in a seriously embarrassing number of positions while we participated in some seriously embarrassing…

  I shut my eyes. I don’t think I can stand hearing him say that word anymore, knowing all I know now. Which is unfortunate since the asshole’s vocabulary is so limited that he often literally uses it every other word.

  Ryder grabs Damien’s pants and throws them at him. “For the last time, put some fuckin’ clothes on. Not all of us want to see your shit.”

  Old Damien would have responded by saying something about “his shit” with a cocky smile. Then, he would’ve looked over at me to make sure I was an unflattering shade of strawberry or raspberry or some other shade of fruity red.

  That’s not what happens. This isn’t old Damien, and while he used to be an asshole, this new Damien scares me. His biceps work as he grips his pants like he was gonna rip them in two. His jaw clenches as he scowls down at them like he just asked a magic 8 ball an important question and received a less than satisfactory answer.

  What the fuck, man? They’re just pants! They house your junk, not the secrets to the universe! I almost yell at him.

  But then, he looks up at me with dark eyes that pierce my soul.

  What the hell? Why is he looking at me like that? What the fuck did I do?

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Princess,” he whispers.

  “Dear God, did you not hear me?” Ryder yells. “Put. Your. Pants. On. Please. I’m tired of talking to the dimples in your ass!”

  Damien balls his pants up in his fist and shakes it at Ryder. “Didn’t I tell you to get the fuck out?”

  “Look, we don’t have time for this. We’re not there, Prez is gonna come lookin’ for us and take one guess where he’s gonna start?”

  I shiver beneath the sheets. Oh God. They were going to come to the compound, weren’t they?

  I feel a weight on my shoulder. Looking up, I see Damien glancing down at me with the softest expression I’ve ever seen on his face. “I don’t want to do this in front of Ryder or anyone, so when I get back, you and me, we gotta talk.”

  I gulp. “Talk?” Why did we need to talk? Not ever talking again—or looking at each other again—was fine with me!

  Damien bends over, steps into the legs of his pants, and yanks them up. “Yeah. Can’t talk to you the way I want to in front of anyone or with my pants half on.”

  Wait, does that mean he wants to be alone when we talk? What the fuck does he have to say to me that he can’t say in front of an audience?!? And what the hell was up with that cryptic “pants half on” comment? Does that mean he wants to talk with his pants on, or with his pants off? What kind of fucking conversation did he think we were gonna have?

  I feel my eyes bug out.

  Oh no. Oh God no. He thought we were gonna talk like that!

  “Don’t worry,” Damien whispers, punctuating that horrific response with a smile. It’s a nice smile, not the sardonic and cocky smile of an unrepentant asshole.

  Fuck! That can’t be a good sign! I have to do something about this fast!

  “We already talked,” I squeak. “I mean, we didn’t talk that much. Um…but we tried to talk, I think? Like, we did some talking, before…uh…the other stuff…”

  Damien’s eyes are growing softer by the second. It’s making my heart beat so fast I feel like I’m gonna pass out. What the fuck is he planning? What’s his angle? And I don’t mean the angle of his hips as he pounds into…

  Okay. Hold up. What’s wrong with my mind? What is happening to me?!? I’ve lost control. I shut my eyes, wanting nothing more than to throw the sheets over my head and continue this conversation from the safety of a pink blankie cocoon.

  The sound of Damien’s zipper rips through my happy thoughts. “Sorry ‘bout all this,” he says, pulling his aged leather belt strap through the gleaming metallic buckle. Then, he bends over until all I can see is his massive, strong, tattooed chest.

  Oh fuck. Here it comes. I don’t know what “it” is yet but I know it’s gonna be bad!

  His rough fingers cup my cheeks, tilting my head up. I can’t make out his expression. We’re too close, and the overhead light is too harsh. But, very unsurprisingly, Damien uses his mouth for something other than talking.

  First he kisses my forehead, then the tip of my nose. His lips barely touch me. These are airy, sweet kisses, not hungry and dark, but by the time his mouth finds mine I’m already breathless and so giddy with anticipation I can’t think.

  His fingertips softly dig into the back of my head as he draws me closer until there’s nothing between my chest and his but a thin layer of cotton. My heart’s pounding. I know he can feel it—how could he not? I lean back, opening my mouth more as he claims me tenderly.

  His lips are so much warmer than mine. Just a few minutes ago we were entwined as if we were one person instead of two. I remember how hot he was—how strong. I shouldn’t feel so cold now, after just a few minutes apart.

  My hands act on their own, grabbing his wrists as if they want to keep him close. He sighs and steps back.

  What the hell? Why is he stopping? I frown, reaching for him, until I hear a cough.

  Ryder’s cough.

  Oh shit. Ryder’s still in here. He just saw me make out with Damien. And more than that, he found us in bed together! Oh my god, he knows we fucked! How could this possibly get more embarrassing?

  Oh, why do I even ask questions like that when Demon Spawn is right next to me?

  “I’m comin’ back as soon as I can, and when I’m back, we finish this,” Damien says. Then, he smiles. “Don’t worry, Princess. We haven’t even started talkin’ yet.”

  We haven’t even started talking? What?!? How the hell was that supposed to prevent me from worrying? Considering how intense our last “conversation” was was, I don’t think I could survive another one!

  I bite my lower lip. Damien breathes deeply and slowly, like he’s trying to suppress a growl. “God damn, I’d kill to know what you’re thinkin’ ‘bout right now, Princess.”

  “Please don’t make her tell you,” Ryder interrupts. “I am still here, and she’s practically a sister to me.”

  Damien frowns. “That makes your presence here even more messed up, perv.”

  “Aww. That almost sounds sweet when you say it,” Ryder jokes.

  Damien whips around. “The fuck? I’ll show you sweet!”

  Damien stalks forward like he’s about to hulk out. And Ryder…Ryder’s smiling as he holds his hands in front of his face half defensively, you know, like thinly veiled death threats are fun. I really don’t think he’s considering the gravity of the situation.

  Damien grabs Ryder’s shirt, bringing them face to face. “Only reason why you’re not fucked up right now is ‘cause we gotta go to the meeting and I don’t want them askin’ questions. Two weeks from now, I am gonna beat the shit out of you.”

  “Okay bro.” Ryder laughs.

  I don’t think this scene could possibly g
et more surreal. Why is he laughing? When you receive a death threat, the proper response is not “okay bro.”

  Ryder raises his eyebrows. “And just so you know, only reason why I’m lettin’ you touch me right now is ‘cause you finally put your pants on. Now Prez is waitin’. Let’s go.”

  “Fine.” Damien lets go and walks to the door. When he reaches it, he looks back at me and points. “See you soon, Princess.”

  What the fuck does that mean?

  Then Damien leaves and Ryder smiles at me as he follows. “Glad you two worked everything out, Princess,” Ryder says and I swear to fuckin’ God his eyes are twinklin’ like he’s fuckin’ Santa. Well, this sure as shit doesn’t feel like Christmas morning. Does he really expect me to react to being left alone with Damien like it’s the best present I could have ever gotten instead of 10+ inches of infuriating, angry, rock-hard coal? I mean, what the hell was I supposed to do with that?

  You know exactly what, my traitorous body replies, making me shiver.

  Damnit!

  As their footsteps fade out down the hallway, I retreat under my bed. Finally, I am in my special pink hideaway. I breathe deeply, trying to make sense of everything that just happened and get my body under control.

  It’s at this moment that I realize my sheets smell nice.

  Really nice.

  Damn, they don’t usually smell this good. I inhale deeply, taking in the rich, tantalizing, masculine scent. It makes my heart race and my toes curl and my mind go to deliciously dark places.

  Like…to Damien.

  My eyes pop open.

  What the fuck?

  I did not just think that. There’s no way. I inhale again, nostrils flaring, as I realize that rich, tantalizing, masculine—no, I mean that disgusting, infuriating, manwhore—scent is him.

  Oh my god! That asshole contaminated my bed! I have to fix this fast!

  I jump up and rip every pink, frilly piece of stupid fabric off the bed. Holding the pile, I race down the hall to the washing room. Immediately I get to work, first moving Reggie and Kimchi’s dry clothes out of the dryer, and then Turtle’s clothes from the washer to the sink. He must’ve left them in for a few days because they smell funky.

  Goddamnit Turtle!

  Cringing, I shove mine into the washer and pour aqua blue detergent it over the sheets. It’s about four times the amount of detergent I need, but I can’t be too careful. I’ll never be able to live it down if anyone finds out. Well, I guess Ryder already knows but if anyone else finds out, then I’ll never live it down.

  Never.

  Damien and I were like oil and water. Cats and dogs. Clichés and B horror movies. And sure, some people fucked with the B Horror movie formula. You’ve got your Cabin in the Woods, your Evil Dead 2. But never, under any circumstances, did someone actually fuck the formula.

  “Jesus, what did I get myself into?” I moan, leaning against the wall and sliding down.

  And, unfortunately, on my way down I look down.

  “Oh no.”

  There are other things I could have said, like: What the fuck is that?!? If this monstrosity had been attached to anyone else, then I might have actually asked that. But the monstrosity was attached to me. My vajazzle had been through a lot this evening and, well, there’s no nice way to say this, but it looked like it had been through a lot.

  It had started the night by parading on a makeshift bar stage in front of a legion of drunk bikers.

  Then, it had stolen Damien’s bike and totaled it.

  After that, it had swooped through the canyon like a fuckin’ bald eagle before landing in a tree, where it had been rescued by a smooth-talking stranger. And what did vajazzles do when they were saved by sexy, dark, mysterious men? They offer themselves to said stranger on a platter, even if he was their father’s enemy.

  I cringe. “Fuck.”

  Oh, right. Fuck. Yes, that had been the cherry on the top of this godawful night—my vajazzle, getting the living daylights fucked out of it by Damien.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask it.

  It sparkles back at me, or at least tries to. Actually, it kind of flickers on and off like that busted neon light OPEN sign in front of that diner that kept giving its patrons salmonella right before it went out of business.

  Yeah. Good times.

  The clothes twist together in the washer like they are getting their necks wrung by German Headmistresses, then tumble together in a torrent of soap and scalding water. As I watch them, a strange sort of peace settles over me. This counts as the worst night in my life, right? Or at least the one night where I’d really gone off the tracks. It wasn’t possible for things to get any worse.

  And then I hear footsteps.

  I glance down.

  Vajazzle, check.

  Nothing else, check.

  I scream. Shit! I’m not wearing any clothes! Why didn’t I grab a t-shirt or something before rushing down the hall? It’s like, when I hid under my covers, I’d hot boxed myself with Damien’s strangely intoxicating scent and now all my brain cells were dead.

  I glance around, but the only available clothes are Turtle’s neglected, damp shirts that are currently molding in the sink.

  Fuck!

  “Annie!?!”

  It’s a female voice. Alright, that’s better than a man’s voice, but the only female who would be at the club at this hour would probably be Cheyenne, my dad’s old lady.

  Cheyenne’s my rock, and I’m the daughter she never had. We’ve talked about a lot of stuff over the years, but there’s one conversation I never want to have with her—the one about tonight. Why? Because Cheyenne has always told me to respect myself and my body, and I don’t see how parading around naked, fooling around with random men, and allowing manwhore Damien to take my virginity counts as respecting either. First thing Cheyenne is gonna do is tell my father. Then, my dad’s gonna beat the shit out of Damien and I will die of mortification because after that everyone will know.

  There’s only one way out of this: I have to hide. I grab the detergent and hold it in front of my body. Then, I close my eyes because even though this is the worst “hiding place” ever, I’m out of time.

  The door’s open.

  Chapter 2

  “ANNIE!”

  I open my eyes to see Candy standing in the door, panicked. I drop the detergent. It rattles on the floor as I stumble towards her, probably looking like a zombie with my outstretched arms, make-up smeared face, sniffling and gagging like I want her brains.

  “Oh my god, Annie, it’s you! I was so worried.”

  “Candy!” I whine.

  “Why are you naked? Why are your and Damien’s doors busted open? And what the fuck happened to your vajazzle?”

  “Candy, it was awful.”

  Candy pulls me into her arms. “I am so sorry, Annie. This is all my fault.”

  My drippy nose wheezes like a kazoo. “No, it’s not you. It was me. I’m so stupid.”

  Her grip on me tightens. “God damnit! I am gonna fuck up that son-of-a-bitch.”

  “No. It wasn’t his fault. At least, it wasn’t all his fault. Oh God…” I gulp.

  Candy’s fuming. She was not going to take this well.

  “You see,” I begin, “Damien and I…we slept together.” I cringe.

  “What?”

  “Don’t make me say it again!” I wail.

  “Well, what happened when you slept together? Was it awful? Did you not want it?”

  “I did at the time. I mean, it felt great. I mean, oh God this is so embarrassing. I don’t know what to do.”

  She’s quiet a second. “So you had sex with Damien and you liked it and were into it?”

  “Yes!”

  She exhales slowly. “Jesus Christ. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought something horrible happened to you! I get here, see your door and Damien’s busted down, all the sheets off your bed, then f
ind you crying in the washing room, lookin’ like someone went after your vajazzle with a weed whacker!”

  “Candy, did you not hear me? I slept with him. We had sex. We fucked.”

  “Well, duh. When you showed up to the barn in a thong and not much else, I pretty much figured this would happen.”

  I step away and stare at her for a full ten seconds. Candy looks a little fidgety. A little…guilty.

  “You knew this would happen?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Just look at the tension between you two. I mean…it had to go somewhere.”

  I try very hard not to think of all the “somewheres” our tension had gone so I could focus instead on the very important situation that was developing right now. Slowly, I tilt my head to the side. My eyes feel like they’re being forcibly peeled back by demon fingers. I no longer blink; I twitch. Oh yeah, the crazy eye is out with a vengeance. And right now it’s zeroing in on the kill.

  “Hey Candy, remember my father’s biker rally?”

  She gulps, backing up. “Yeah.”

  I run my fingernails along the wall like Freddie Kruger, advancing. “Remember how I waltzed into it, practically naked?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Remember how you told me that waltzing into it almost naked was a really good idea?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Well, newsflash Candy. It wasn’t a good idea. And you knew it wasn’t, but you still convinced me to do it while I was in a fragile emotional state. HOW COULD YOU?”

  “Hey, you and Damien got together, right?” The panicked giggle she ads at the end has a very disturbing “all’s well that ends well” feel to it.

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” I yell.

  Candy suddenly looks very guilty.

  A horrific thought enters my mind. “You didn’t.”

  “I didn’t what?”

  My lips peel back into a crazy ass smile that’s all teeth. “Please tell me you did not orchestrate all this so Damien and I would fuck.”

  “Look girl, before you do something bad, just let me explain. You and Damien needed to stop this ring around the rosy bullshit—”

  “Ring around the rosy?” I yell. “That song is about the bubonic plague, and do you know what Damien is? A bubonic plague on everything that is beautiful in this world!”