Specter's Wake Page 10

  “You’ll live, doesn’t even look like you’ll need stitches, but I can doctor it up if you want. There could be some steri-strips in here.” He started rummaging through the first-aid kit and I couldn’t help leaning in. He smelled like leather and grease, two of my favorite smells. I took a large inhale, and I noticed the corners of his mouth lift in amusement.

  Damn it, he caught me.

  He went back to looking for stuff to patch up my hand, but my mind was wandering and there were questions burning inside of me that I needed answers to.

  “Did you enjoy your body shot?” I asked him, not really caring about my hand anymore.

  Specter looked up at me, eyes filled with confusion. “You got a giant shard of fucking glass in your hand and you’re worried if I liked my body shot?”

  “Well, it seemed like you were enjoying it. Especially down there,” I looked down at his crotch, trying to push Desi’s smug face out of my mind.

  “I’m a man. When a pretty girl offers you a blow job, it’s hard to say no. Especially, when you’re single and the whole club is cheering you on.”

  “Why are you single?”

  “It’s a choice. Being single leaves things open. No ties. No jealousy.” He gave me a knowing glance, and I looked away like I was oblivious to his insinuation.

  I was not jealous. Not one bit. Maybe a little bit. Okay, seeing her suck his cock almost killed me, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “I guess I understand that. I wish I was single right now.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Cause I’m not exactly fond of who I’m tied down to.”

  There he goes again, looking at me like he’s all confused and shit.

  Yeah, I said it. I don’t like being Diego’s Old Lady.

  “Then why be with him?” he asked, his hazel eyes filled with so many questions. “You may want to bite down on something this is going to hurt.”

  I leaned forward and bit down on his neck, sucking the flesh between my lips, using my tongue to taste his skin.

  He tasted even better than he looked.

  “Like this?” I whispered in his ear.

  His whole body went rigid and a low groan bubbled out of his throat. “Fuck, Faith. What are you doing?”

  “Biting down on something I’ve been wanting to taste.”

  “I . . . God, that feels good,”

  I pulled back, grinning evilly. “I’m good at sucking other things, too, Holden.” I liked calling him by his real name. It was sexy, and a little more intimate. I also liked calling him Specter. It was dark and mysterious, just like him. “I could show you.” My good hand flirted with the bottom of his shirt, moving downward until I was almost to his belt.

  Come on, Specter, let me have a little fun.

  The glass in my hand could wait. I just wanted to taste him.

  “We can’t,” he groaned, removing my hand.

  My lip jutted out in sexually deprived defiance. “Why not?”

  “Cause you’re Diego’s Old Lady and doing something with me could get you hurt.”

  “I’m not afraid of a little danger.”

  Specter grabbed my hand and pulled the shard of glass out of it without asking me to bite something this time.

  “God damn it!” I hollered. “What the fuck? I thought you were going to let me bite down on something?”

  “I couldn’t let you walk around with that shard of glass in your hand any longer. If it stayed, you would continue to bleed. I’m sorry, Faith, even though the idea of you sucking me off sounds amazing, I’m not touching you—not as long as you’re someone’s Old Lady, even if that person is enemy number one of the club.”

  I glared at him. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

  “Why does that make me an asshole?”

  “Because, you’re the first guy I’ve been attracted to in this club and that’s fucking huge for me. Do you know how fucked up it is to have to watch you throw your dick down every sweetbutt’s throat, but you won’t even give me a taste? I’m fucking starving over here, and you’re denying me my meal.”

  His eyes went wide. Then he moved close, his hips fitting between my legs, his cock hard as steel, pushing against the zipper of his black jeans. “Let’s get one thing straight, Faith. I may have had one sweetbutt’s lips wrapped around my cock, but it was your mouth I was picturing down there sucking me off, not hers.” His breath was hot against my skin. A whisper of breath flashed across my cheek and then tickled down the skin of my neck. “If you weren’t bleeding and someone else’s Old Lady, I’d whip my cock out right now and feed you exactly what you’ve been craving.”

  Damn. I wasn’t expecting that. My whole body washed over with an insane heat of desire that flooded me like a broken dam. I fucking wanted him more in that moment than I did in any of the fantasies I had about him in the last two months.

  “Then why don’t you stop teasing me, and feed me what I want?”

  Specter pressed his head firmly against my forehead, arms shaking, his entire body quivering with need. His breath battered the slope of my neck, it was like he was fighting the animal inside of him that was clawing against the bars to claim me.

  I felt his tongue briefly touch my skin, then work its way down until it was between my breasts.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful, Faith,” he moaned. “I wish I could have you right now, but I can’t. Your life would be in danger if I touched you.”

  “I don’t care about my life. I haven’t cared about it in years.”

  He grabbed my chin and tipped it up so he could look me in the eyes. “You may not care about your life, Faith, but your life is the only thing that matters to me.”

  I thought he was going to bend in and capture my lips, but he pulled away, grabbing a wad of bandages out of the first-aid kit.

  “We need to patch your hand up.”

  “My hand is fine,” I lied. My hand actually hurt like hell and I was losing a lot of blood, but in that moment I didn’t care. All I wanted was Specter.

  He took some hydrogen peroxide and dabbed at the wound, cleaning it gently.

  That shit stung like hell.

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry, I have to clean your wound.”

  I watched him work fast, putting some sterilized tape over my wound like makeshift stitches, then covering it with a gauze bandage.

  “All done.”

  “Not exactly. There’s still something you can help me with.”

  I opened my legs wider and curled my ankles around the back of his legs, bringing him in closer.

  I knew he wanted me, but for some reason, Specter was playing hard to get.

  “Come on, Holden, have a little fun with me.”

  “Fun can be dangerous.”

  “You strike me as the kind of man that enjoys a little danger.”

  He stared me deep in the eyes. I couldn’t read his expression, but I did notice a little intrigue behind his half smile.

  The door to the kitchen flew open with a bang and Switchblade stood in the doorway. His eyes were trained on Specter, glaring at my legs wrapped around his knees, and the possessive hand Specter had on my hip.

  “Prospect, get the fuck out.”

  “Why?” Specter challenged.

  “Because I said so.”

  Specter turned to me, “Next time we get dangerous,” he whispered in my ear, throwing a flirtatious wink in my direction as he pulled away from me.

  My bottom lip jutted out. All I wanted was a little fun, and he left me hanging because of stupid Switchblade. Once Specter was out of the room, Switchblade walked toward me.

  “Go away,” I threatened, when he got too close, but of course in pure Switchblade fashion, he didn’t stop until he was right in my face.

  “What makes him so damn special?”

  I could smell alcohol on his breath.

  “Why the fuck do you want him and not me?”

  I jumped off the counter and looked up at him, not caring
that Switchblade towered over me.

  “Because he’s good and you’re Satan.”

  I pushed past him, but Switchblade grabbed my arm and whipped me into his muscular chest. It actually felt like I was hitting a brick wall.

  “Satan’s the prince of darkness, Faith, and this Satan won’t stop until his princess submits.”

  I wretched my arm out of his grasp and glared at him.

  I shoved him away from me, making sure he didn’t grab me again. “Buy a fucking dog if you want someone to submit to you, Switchblade. This woman submits to no one.”

  But that wasn’t exactly true. If Specter asked me to submit to him, I probably would with my legs wide open and my once broken heart ready for him to repair.

  Chapter Twelve

  Specter

  Switchblade has been all over my ass since he caught me and Faith in the kitchen together. Damn, I can’t believe I was able to hold my ground and not fuck her right then and there. Every move she made rocked my world like an earthquake, and every word she spoke had me fucking even hornier than I already was. Desi meant nothing to me, but the sweetbutt body shot was one of those things every man who joined the club had to do—even the ones already tied down by Old Ladies. Desi took it a bit far, but as much as I wanted to stop her, I couldn’t. If I did, it would make me look weak, and I had to make the club think I was worthy of being a member.

  The worst part was seeing the jealous rage flash through Faith’s eyes. Playing nice wasn’t something I was used to, but in order to keep her safe, I had to keep my hands off of her. If Diego got wind that another man touched her, there’s no telling what he’d do. I couldn’t put her life in danger like that, not while she was still wrapped up with Diego and the Diablo Saints. It was hard to keep my distance when everything about the woman was my undoing. Just being near her unraveled me. She smoothed my rough edges and melted away the rigid wall I had around my heart.

  I was here on two missions and until I completed them; I needed to keep my hands off Faith. She was definitely going to be my kryptonite, and if I wasn’t careful, this superman was going to fall out of the sky and never recover.

  Most of the guys in the club were still leery of me. I did my best to fit in, but too many of them were corrupt, and the number of hard drugs and amount of illegal activity going on inside the club was fucked up, even for an outlaw motorcycle club. How the fuck did things get so bad?

  “Prospect, we’re going on a ride, get your shit together,” Scythe ordered.

  My fellow brothers came out of the building one by one, joking and pushing each other as they made their way over to their bikes. This was the first club ride they asked me to be a part of. Lately, they had me staying behind to watch shit while they went out and had fun without me.

  “Everyone’s going?” I asked, noticing that both Jagger and Rex were going, too.

  “Yeah, sometimes we all just need to grab the ape hangers, get some cold steel between our legs, and ride,” Ice remarked, clapping me on the shoulder. “Better learn how to stay in line now, while you can.”

  Little did they know, I was already familiar with their riding habits, and I took my place near the end of the pack, with only Riptide’s bike behind me. I longed for my old position in the club. Being the club’s Tail Gunner filled me with pride, and I took the club’s safety very seriously.

  As Tail Gunner, it was my job to make sure that lanes were safe to merge into. The Prez would signal he wanted to get over, but only would move over if the Tail Gunner had made sure that the road was clear for the club to switch lanes. It was an important job, and one that nobody should take lightly.

  Riptide, the new Tail Gunner, looked high as a kite as he mounted his bike and revved the engine. He was a fucking jackass. I could tell from the first day I met him, gauging off the dull look in his eye, that he was a little slow, and that was definitely a side effect of alcohol or narcotics—probably the ever so friendly powdery substances that rots your brain. He also had a lack of friendliness that gave Switchblade a run for his money in the personality department.

  “You okay, Man?” I asked him, studying his body language. He was definitely drunk or high.

  “Fuck you, Prospect. I’m fucking peachy.” He glared at me as he grabbed his lid and smashed it down on his head. Riptide’s bike was custom painted to look like water, sand, and waves. His lid matched the paint job, and I had to admit, it was actually pretty fucking badass, but he didn’t seem like the kind of guy that deserved a bike that pretty. “What the fuck you looking at?” he growled.

  “Admiring your chrome.”

  “I would too, if I drove that piece of shit you call a bike.”

  I almost laughed. My bike was a 1989 Harley Davidson Fat Boy with a sleek silver and black paint job. My bike was a classic, his looked like it belonged in a surf shop.

  I watched Jagger and Rex load up into the crash truck, pulling behind them a large trailer in case any bikes took a shit on our ride. It looked like I was the only prospect actually allowed to ride with the rest of the members.

  Scythe took his position as lead, and pulled out of the clubhouse, Switchblade, Guerrilla, and Trigger all drove out after him, followed closely behind by Obi, Cipher, and Ice, until it was only me, Riptide, and the cage full of other prospects left.

  “Well, you fucking going or not?” Riptide yelled at me.

  I grabbed my lid and attached it beneath my chin, revving my bike to life so I could follow my brothers. The second the wind hit my face and the sound of my brothers’ bikes roared around me, I felt at peace. This was my home. On the road with heavy metal between my legs, the sun beating down on my exposed skin, and nothing but asphalt and freedom ahead of me. The only thing that was missing was Faith’s arms wrapped around me from behind.

  Our club drove for a few miles down the highway, maneuvering through traffic easily because we owned that fucking road. This is what I loved about being in a motorcycle club. The pride of belonging to a brotherhood, and the respect that gained from outsiders.

  After driving for thirty minutes, Scythe gave the signal to turn around and head back to the clubhouse. These small trips didn’t happen very often, but I remember them being just what the club needed to keep the unity going. I’m glad to see that Scythe was keeping some of his dad’s old traditions alive. I wonder what happened to him? Nobody really talks about him anymore.

  We pulled onto a crowded street, which can be rather dangerous if you’re not paying attention. People were all over the place, kids riding bikes, people power walking near a park, and a pretty woman was walking her dog down the opposite side of the street. I noticed her immediately but paid her no attention. Riptide, on the other hand, started show boating. He revved his engine, swaying recklessly into the opposite lane of traffic toward her.

  “Knock it off,” I yelled at him.

  He flipped me the finger and kept doing what he was doing.

  Up ahead, Scythe motioned he wanted the club to merge over. As Tail Gunner, Riptide was supposed to move over first and make sure that there were no cars coming up the road and block the door. Once moved over, the rest of the club would merge as well. Only, Riptide wasn’t paying attention, and he moved into the other lane like the lane was open and free to switch into, but he failed to see the car of teenagers turn the corner and get into that lane as well. Riptide was so busy flirting with the girl across the street that he moved back into the original lane, opening it back up for other vehicles. Scythe was supposed to move over first, but I guess things had slightly changed since I was last in the club, and I watched Trigger move his bike before Scythe. He started to switch lanes and looked over his shoulder just in time to see the teenagers racing up the street. Trigger jerked his bike and barely missed the car, but his over-exaggerated movement made the bike tip over. He hit the pavement, the metal machine dropping on top of him before it dragged him across the asphalt at least ten feet and slammed him into a nearby light pole. The whole club stopped, and the car full o
f teenagers came to a screeching halt, barely missing Trigger’s motionless body lying on the ground.

  “Call an ambulance,” I ordered, hopping off my bike and rushing to Trigger’s side.

  “Trigger, you alright, man?” Scythe asked, appearing beside me.

  I looked down at Trigger’s leg. White bone and torn muscle stuck out of what should have been a solid femur. Instead it was snapped in two, hanging lazily at a forty-degree angle.

  “Fuck, this shit is bad, Scythe. Did someone call an ambulance?” I forgot how much shit like this made Scythe squirm. He couldn’t even dissect a frog in biology. Blood was no problem, but you break a bone and show it to him, and he becomes a squeamish teenage girl.

  Trigger was unconscious and non-responsive. The bike must’ve snapped his leg when it toppled over on top of him. We weren’t going all that fast, maybe thirty-five, but the sudden jerk of his bike and the way it landed on him, really fucked him up.

  “We gotta compress that leg,” I told Scythe, who was doing everything he could not to look at Trigger. I took off my cut, then my shirt, ready to use it as a tourniquet. Trigger was out cold, which meant I could probably do it quickly and have him not wake up.

  I was so fucking wrong.

  The second I even touched Trigger’s leg, his eyes popped open in a pained frenzy, and he started screaming.

  “FUUUUUUUCK,” he wailed. “My fucking leg is gone.”

  He looked at his leg and started hyperventilating.

  “Don’t fucking look at it. I know it hurts, but the ambulance is on the way, Trigger, I got you brother.” I cradled his head, holding him as he screamed in my arms.

  Five minutes later I could hear the sirens pull around the block and start heading our way.

  “Some of the guys can’t be here if the cops show up,” Scythe said, really to no one at all.

  “Get them out of here then. Go if you have to, I got this.”

  Scythe shook his head. “I don’t leave my brothers behind.”

  “Guerrilla, Switchblade, Ice, and Riptide; get the fuck out of here before the cops show up. We don’t need you motherfuckers going to jail. Obi go with them; you got some shit on you that don’t need to be fucking seen right now. I’ll stay here with the prospects and Cipher to take care of Trigger.”