Around a bend in the road, the Ravens’ compound came into view. It was a huge piece of property—pushing 300 acres if Ike recalled correctly, and it could be accessed from two directions—the front, public entrance that led to the Green Valley Speedway, and the rear, private entrance that led more directly to the large clubhouse building, the chop shop, and the cottages. The latter was the heart of the Ravens’ MC.
Ike took them around to the private entrance since they were meeting Bunny, Doc, and Rodeo at the clubhouse for dinner and staying there for the night. Most of the Ravens were in Baltimore helping Nick’s team, but some of the Old Timers from Doc’s generation who couldn’t much ride anymore and some of the newer and prospective members had stayed behind. In case the shit hit the fan, those extra hands were better than nothing. Ike felt more secure having Jess behind the Ravens’ guarded walls until the fight in Baltimore played out.
And, frankly, it was probably better for both him and Jess to be surrounded by other people given how badly Ike had fucked things up—and to keep him from fucking them up even more.
He’d hated staying out of the house the previous night, but he’d been too raw, too angry, too torn apart—about so many things. And he didn’t know how to make any of it right. Jess’s easy acceptance, forgiveness, and understanding of what he’d done to Lana had been so fucking hard to take. Because Ike had none of those things for himself, and that made him want Jess—and want everything she had to give—even more than he already did.
And, Jesus, he did. He wanted Jess. Not just in his bed, although that had been fucking fantastic. He wanted her in his arms. By his side.
But Ike…Ike was fucking terrified that he’d let himself fall…only to have it all ripped away again.
It made him realize that he’d been living half a life since the day Lana died—closed off, not taking chances, not feeling half of what he should. Which meant he’d wasted so much time. But he didn’t know how to change, how to put the past behind him, how to fucking man-up.
And now he’d screwed things up with Jess royally. But, what did he know? Maybe it was better that way. For her.
Ike banked the bike onto the mountain road that led to the private entrance. You could tell when you hit Ravens’ property, because the road narrowed and signs told you to turn the fuck around. Ike rolled up to a card reader with a mounted camera. They might be bikers, but they had some tech where it counted—and security was definitely one of those areas. He slipped his card into the slot and waited while the gate slid open.
When he had enough room, Ike shot through the breach and followed the road a short distance to where it opened up into a large parking lot. It was weird seeing it so empty of bikes and cars when it was usually hopping. The chop shop across the lot appeared quiet, too. Ike parked in one of the spaces right in front of the clubhouse, a long two-story, brown brick building with a front porch that ran the length of it. Back in the day it had apparently been some kind of mountain inn, and now it housed the club’s main social spaces, a kitchen and mess, their meeting room, a workout room, and some rooms upstairs where people could crash or fuck or otherwise find some privacy.
“This is it,” Ike said over his shoulder.
“Okay,” Jess said, dismounting the bike. Without looking at him, she handed him her helmet. As she took in their surroundings, Ike couldn’t help but run his gaze over her. Tall black boots. Tight black jeans. A slinky, see-through red shirt that had a wide neck prone to sliding off one shoulder or the other, and a tight black tank revealing a lot of cleavage underneath.
The dark purple and red of the hickey was visible depending on how she moved her hair.
God, he felt like such a shit.
Clearly, he wasn’t any damn hero. That much was for sure. Not like her father. Ike’s jaw was clenched as he unloaded their bags. If her old man had thought some partying, low-level drug dealers were the wrong kind of people for Jess to run with—and they were, no doubt—Detective Jakes would’ve hated Ike on sight. Ike Young—who came into this world as Isaac Yeager, the son of a violent criminal who had no problem being in bed with the worst of the Mexican cartels. Ike’s actions—and his inaction—had caused the death of his girlfriend and unborn child. After that, grief and fear had turned Ike into a drifter until he met Dare Kenyon, who fed him and took him in and gave him a whole new family—and the papers for a new identity, too. And now Ike handled bets, debts, and enforcement of collection when necessary.
Ike chuffed out a humorless laugh. What a fucking prize.
Jess eyeballed him for a long moment. “What’s funny?”
“Not a damn thing,” he said, lifting their bags to his shoulder. “Look, Jess. I wanted to say—”
“Jess! Ike!” Bunny chose that moment to rush out the door and down the steps. She drew Jess into her arms. “Come in, come in. I hope you’re hungry. Ike told me he was bringing you up here tonight, and I love any excuse to cook a big meal.”
“I appreciate that,” Jess said, humor in her voice.
“Bunny, you know you have volunteers to eat your cooking pretty much any time you’re in the mood to do it,” Ike said. Looked like he’d have to find another time for that apology.
The older lady laughed. “I know it. Y’all are like wolves.”
Ike and Jess followed Bunny through the front entrance hall that was now a lounge to the mess hall off the right side. The décor throughout was mountain kitsch meets biker memorabilia, which pretty much meant mounted deer heads hung next to vintage metal road signs and neon beer lights. American and POW/MIA flags fluttered from the thick, exposed wooden beams overhead. Above the tall, stacked-stone fireplace—one of many that existed throughout the joint—hung a big carved wooden plaque of the Ravens’ logo inked on Ike’s back.
“Everybody,” Bunny said to the group of people already seated around the big table, “this is Ike’s friend Jessica.” Then Bunny went around the table. “Jess, you remember Doc and Rodeo.” Jess waved hello to the men she’d met at the lake. “And then there’s Scooter, Blake, Jeb, and Bear,” Bunny said, pointing to each of the men in turn. Blake and Jeb were probies, prospective members still proving their chops, commitment, and loyalty to the club. Scooter was the Ravens’ newest member, his unfortunate nickname coming from the fact that he actually owned a fucking scooter. Bear was another Old Timer, though he could still ride.
“Nice to meet you all,” Jess said.
“And these two ladies are Haven and Cora. They’re visiting for a while,” Bunny said, pointing to two pretty blonde-haired women sitting together at the near end of the long table. Ike gave them a nod as Jess said hello. He’d met the two cousins a little over a week ago when Nick and his SF teammates had rescued them from a Baltimore street gang with a side business in human trafficking.
The Ravens had invited the women to hang there where it was safe while they figured out what they wanted to do or where they wanted to go. It was one of the things the club did, part of its mission. All thanks to Dare.
“Well, all right, then,” Doc said, looking down the table from his seat at the head. “Can we eat now or are we gonna torture Jess by seeing if she remembers everyone’s names?”
Chuckles filled the room.
“No torture,” Bunny said. “Just lots and lots of food.”
Words of approval were quickly followed by praise for the feast of pork barbecue, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, coleslaw, and cornbread that got passed around. Normally, Ike would’ve been thrilled to sit among his brothers and dig in to an excellent meal, but when Jess chose the seat between Bunny and Cora, that steel bar of guilt he’d been carrying hit him upside the head all over again.
But what could he do? He’d made his cold and empty bed, and now he had to fucking lie in it.
* * * *
Jess enjoyed the dinner with Bunny and the Ravens a lot, in part because she could keep her distance from Ike and try to forget about their fight—at least for a while. When it was over, though, she was wo
rried that she and Ike were going to be stuck together again—and didn’t that say a helluva lot about where they were? Bunny and Rodeo went home, and Doc and Bear—who apparently lived somewhere on the compound—left for their places. Cora and Haven seemed super nice but on the shy side, and they pretty quickly retreated to their rooms upstairs.
Thankfully, though, the younger Ravens saved Jess from the possibility of more fighting, awkwardness, or one-on-one drama with Ike when they invited them to play pool in one of the other rooms. Jess was only too happy to accept. Drinks, music, and pool sounded like the perfect distraction—not just from Ike, but from worrying about whatever fight was looming tomorrow for her friends back home.
Blake fired up the coinless jukebox while Jeb racked the balls on the felt. A hot, driving beat spilled into the room.
Away from the dinner table, Jess could better study the denim cuts they wore with black leather patches and badges. “How come your cuts only have the club’s name on the back but not the logo?” she asked.
From where Ike sat on a stool at the bar behind her, he said, “Because they’re prospects. They don’t get patched until they’ve been voted in and earned it.”
“Is that when you get the back tat?” Jess asked, directing the question to Blake and Jeb.
Jeb looked across the room to Ike, clearly prepared to defer to him to answer. When Ike didn’t, Jeb nodded. With shoulder-length brown hair and a lanky body, he was a cute guy even though he had a total baby face. “That’s right. Same time.”
“Who does your ink?” Jess accepted a cold bottle of beer from Blake and took a long sip.
“I do,” Ike said, nailing her with a stare when she turned to meet his gaze.
Heat ran over Jess’s skin, and she hated the way her body reacted to him even when he was being an ass. And she really hated how hot she found it that the younger guys here so clearly respected Ike and that Ike was responsible for their ink. It was like seeing a whole new side of him, this man she’d known for the last four years.
Blake swept his dark-blond hair out of his eyes and held out a cue to her. He had a whole surfer vibe that she found appealing, though his eyes were harder and more serious than she’d noticed at first glance.
“All you,” she said, waving off the cue. She wanted to assess the competition first. “I’ll play winner.”
It didn’t take her long to determine that Blake was the better shot. He ran the table pretty handily against Jeb, which meant Jess might actually have some decent competition tonight. Her dad had made sure Jess could hold her own at pool, foosball, air hockey, and pinball machines—all his favorites. No one ever expected her to be any good, though. Back in college she had a lot of fun with the misperceptions.
“All right, Jess. You’re up,” Jeb said, coming to stand beside her. His elbow gave her arm a little tap. “He’s brutal though, I’m warning you.”
Jess smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Blake racked and broke the balls, sinking a solid on his first shot. He sank two more in quick succession before missing a bank shot that set Jess up very well.
“What should we bet to make this more interesting?” she asked, bending over the table and eyeballing her options.
Blake joined Jeb at the side, which she knew put both of them right behind her and probably staring at her ass. All part of her evil plan. “How ’bout five dollars,” Blake said, slapping a fiver on the edge of the table.
Jess shrugged. “Sure, why not. I’m good for it,” she said, winking.
“I bet you are,” Blake said.
One, two, three, four balls down in quick succession.
“Damn,” Jeb said. “She’s gonna smoke your ass.”
Blake’s gaze narrowed, and it made Jess laugh. “Thirteen in the corner,” she said. She lined up and took her shot, but the orange-striped ball caught the bumper right next to the pocket.
Back up again, Blake sank two more before not giving himself much of a shot on his next turn, so he used it on a Hail Mary of a bank shot that screwed up her balls.
“Gee, thanks,” she said.
The look he gave her communicated more than some friendly ribbing. He was interested. “Any time, Jess. Any time.”
Part of her wanted to be interested in return. Objectively, she could look at him and think, That’s a hot guy. I’d totally do him. But her body wouldn’t get on board with anything more than visual appreciation, not with Ike in the room. Not with Ike owning her heart.
Love fucking sucked.
But at least she handily won the game, running the rest of the balls straight through. “Thank you,” she said, swiping the five off the table and making a little show of tucking it into her bra.
“I think we need a round of shots,” Jeb said. “Make this more interesting.”
“Bring it on,” Jess said. “If you think it’ll help.”
From behind the bar, Jeb grabbed a bottle of tequila, a container of salt, and a baggy of lemon wedges, then lined up three shot glasses. “Ike?” he asked, holding up a fourth glass. Ike just shook his head.
What the hell was wrong with him anyway? “Come on,” Jess said. “Have some fun.”
“I’m good,” he said, gaze narrowed at her.
Jess turned back to the guys as they each licked and salted the side of their hand and lifted their shot. “Lick, sip, suck,” she said. And then she was licking the salt, swallowing down the golden liquor, and sucking hard on the lemon. A shudder rocked through her.
“One more for good measure,” Jeb said, pouring and passing the salt again.
They did the second shot, and Jess could already tell it was a good thing she’d eaten a big dinner. Warmth bloomed outward from her stomach, and her head got just a little bit light. It felt damn good after the stress of the past week.
Jess won the second game of pool, too, and that one earned her a twenty. Blake insisted on two more tequila shots to even his odds, and Jess laughed as she teased and taunted him. Her muscles loosened and her body felt flushed. The guys were funny and flirty and the tequila made them even funnier.
Best of all, her troubles floated away and Jess could just be and let all the crap go. At least for a few hours.
* * * *
Ike watched Jess play pool with the prospects for over an hour. She was damn good at the game and sexy as fuck bending over the table in those tight jeans and flashing cleavage down the front of her loose shirt—where she kept stuffing her winnings. In typical Jess fashion, she was sarcastic and full of trash talk and flirting nonstop. Ike had been sporting a semi for a long time now, and he was starting to go a little out of his mind.
And he wasn’t the only one getting turned on. Blake and Jeb were eating Jess’s antics up, not to mention looking at her like they wanted to spread her out on the table between them and make a meal of her. They made no effort to hide their appreciation of her assets when she took her shots, and if Blake adjusted his junk while watching her one more time, Ike was going to punch him in the fucking throat.
“Bunny said you might be staying here for a few nights,” Jeb said, sitting on the side.
“I don’t know how long,” she said, studying Blake as he tried to make a hard shot. “But definitely tonight.”
“Nice,” Jeb said. “Where are you staying?”
“Oh, uh, here?” She looked to Ike, her gaze shuttered, her expression that careful neutral she’d been wearing around him all day. It was making him insane and causing a feeling in his chest like someone had punched him there and yanked out some important stuff. “I’ve never been here before, so…”
Ike studied her eyes, but he couldn’t get a read on her. He couldn’t tell what the look meant. Was her question purely informational? Was she wondering if she and Ike would sleep together? Was she looking for his permission to sleep wherever she—or her and the prospects—might want?
Fuck if that last possibility didn’t make the blood go from a simmer to a low boil in Ike’s veins. He almost felt like
the fever was back, though he knew it wasn’t. This heat was coming from the possessive, territorial part of him. The part that said, She. Is. Mine.
He squeezed the neck of the beer bottle hard enough that he feared it could break in his hand. “We’re upstairs,” he bit out, not including the detail that Bunny had given them separate rooms. Or that Ike had requested it be that way.
“While most of the club’s away,” Blake said, “we’re upstairs, too.” He gave her a look that made Ike want to break things. “Your turn.” The guy winked at her.
Jess grinned as she lined up what should’ve been an easy shot—and missed. She was a little thing and had now thrown back part of a beer and four tequila shots. Ike had only seen Jess drunk a handful of times, not enough to remember how fucking fluid and sensual her body got under the influence. She had him gritting his teeth and aching in his jeans.
“Aw, shit,” she said at her miss, making the guys laugh.
“’Bout time I give you a spankin’,” Blake said, his gaze very obviously skating down to her ass.
Jess raised her eyebrows in challenge. “Think so, huh? Do it if you’re man enough.” She used the pool cue to hold herself steady.
“Better get that ass ready for me,” Blake said.
Annnd that’s when something snapped inside Ike’s brain. “Game’s over,” he said, shoving off his stool. “You two, clean up and get the fuck out.”
The fact that the prospects hesitated before following his order ratcheted up his pissed-off factor by about ten. The fact that Jess was glaring at him like he’d ruined her fun—and her chance to get laid—had him wanting to destroy things with his bare hands. The fact that Blake paused in the doorway like maybe he was thinking of asking Jess to come with him pushed Ike all the way to homicidal.
“What part of get the fuck out don’t you understand?” Ike said, glaring at the prospect. The kid disappeared into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind him.