Wrath (Heartlands Motorcyle Club Book 7) Read online

  There’s a knock at the front door and I lean over to see my friend, Jillian, waving through the glass.

  “Entre vous.” I yell, waving as I dry my hands on my mother’s embroidered white apron, then I close up the dishwasher, get it started, and take one last look around the kitchen to be sure everything is in order.

  My father likes order.

  “Wasss up, homey?” Jillian saunters through the living room and into the kitchen in some exaggerated long step like she’s in a rap video.

  “Really? Wass up, homey?” I give her a confused stare.

  Jillian was my assigned roommate at University of Arizona. Unlike most roommates, however, we became best friends instead of arch enemies. Her father is the head of the School of Applied Sciences and Technology and has so many degrees from Ivy League schools and MIT, I can’t even count them on my fingers. He immigrated to the United States from Sierra Leone with his mother, when he was twelve. They barely made it out alive and spoke no English. Jillian’s mother, on the other hand, is the head of African American Studies at the university, so Jillian’s had the full academic upbringing and is culturally the polar opposite of my world, but that hasn’t stopped us from becoming as close to sisters as I could have imagined.

  We even fight like sisters sometimes.

  “Hey.” She shrugs. “Doesn’t work?”

  I shake my head. “If it works for you, I guess.”

  She is one of the smartest people I know and that’s saying something. She’s letting her hair go natural after straightening it for most of the years we were in school. She’s reminds me of Zoe Kravitz with Pam Grier’s seventies hair. She’s stunning and smart, with a heart of gold, and my first and only best friend outside of my mother.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” She asks me, crinkling her nose. “We’re going to a bar, and you look like June Cleaver.” She squints, checking me over. “Are you wearing pearls?”

  “Shut up.” I snap back, my hand going to my throat. “Aren’t pearls in?”

  I run my hands down the front of my dress, looking down at myself.

  “You are hopeless, you know that? Four years together and you still dress like you’re on Happy Days.”

  “Whatever. I’m just bringing sexy back, 1950’s style.”

  “Uh huh.” She rolls her eyes and sits down at the kitchen table, hanging her vintage US ARMY satchel on the back of the ladderback chair. “Your father know you’re going to a drag bar tonight?”

  “Shhhh!” I lean to look down the hall toward his office. “You know he doesn’t. I said we were going to a movie. A Disney movie. Then dinner and back to your house. I told him your parents would be home.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” She does this sign of the cross and I screw up my face.

  “That’s for Catholics, dummy.”

  She throws her hands up. “Sorry, me and my pagan upbringing...”

  Before she can go on, I hear the click of the door on my father's office and his voice.

  Jillian sits up and turns toward the hall as I see my father emerge with someone behind him.

  A second later, I hear the other person’s voice and that anxiety and nausea returns in spades.

  “Tomorrow is food pantry. Don’t forget.” My father is saying as they come into the doorway to the kitchen. He nods at Jillian, then looks at me as William Steward, our Junior Pastor, comes in behind him. “I will count on you both to be there promptly at seven am. The delivery truck comes at eight, and the volunteers as well. William is in charge until I return.”

  “Yes, I’ll be there, like I always am.” I reply and see the flash of anger in my father's eyes as William holds back a snarl.

  “Your attitude is...uncalled for.” My father says.

  “I’m just saying.” I soften my voice. “Have I ever not been there at seven am?”

  “I think your father is just making sure we are going to work together as a team.” William is several inches shorter than my father. He was a student at the Fostoria School of Theology where my father teaches in the Master’s of Divinity program.

  When our previous junior pastor was called to his own church last year, William took the position and is looking to take on the position as son-in-law as well, it would seem.

  He’s got this air of arrogance and forced power that makes me nervous. He also has this off-putting vibe like he’s always on the prowl. Like he needs to get laid and he’ll say or do whatever he can to make that happen. Jillian calls him “pastor creepy”, and I have to say I don’t disagree.

  “I’ll be on my way out in the next hour.” My father looks at Jillian, then to me. “The retreat is silent. I’ll be checking my phone but only if you have an emergency should you call or message me. Is that clear?”

  I nod and he finishes, looking at Jillian. “You girls don’t be out late.”

  “I’ll have her home before our chariot turns back into a pumpkin.” Jillian smiles, and my father nods.

  He likes her, and she gets away with talking to him in a way I never could.

  “I should be going as well.” William is staring at me like I’m standing here naked and it makes me shiver. “Can I have a word with you, Kristina?”

  He nods back toward the hall and I restrain my eye roll as my father looks at his watch, then to me, tipping his head as if to say, ‘Go on’.

  “Sure, fine, whatever.” I follow as he walks down the hall, through my father’s office and outside to where his car is parked.

  But as soon as we’re outside, his manner hardens and the tension he’s causing only makes my head start to hurt.

  “Where are you going tonight?” He asks, his dark eyes narrow as he sucks in his bottom lip, biting down and I see his hands clench into fists then release.

  “Uh, a new place.” I look to the sky like I’m thinking. “I think it’s called Noneya.”

  “Noneya? What kind of place is that?”

  “I said...” I pause, then finish in my sweetest voice. “None. Ya. Business.”

  He doesn’t smile, and goosebumps raise on my arms. In fact, he has no expression at all and it’s like he’s staring right though me.

  When he replies, his voice is flat, dead sounding. “Your father is leaving me in charge. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  “In charge of the church. Not in charge of his twenty-one-year-old, fully capable daughter, with a brain and everything she needs to make her way in this world.”

  “Don’t be petulant.” He reaches over and cups my cheek but I turn away and his hand drops. “In time, you will need to come to terms with the plans your father and I have.”

  I mock back. “In time, you and my father will need to come to terms with the plans I have.”

  He raises his chin, looking down at me. The blue polo he’s wearing pulls at his shoulders and the sleeves are too short. His chest is oddly concave, and he always walks with is hips jutting forward. Weird. Bile comes up in my mouth as I look down and see the outline of his half-hard penis under the fabric of his khakis.

  Eeeew.

  “God has a plan that trumps all of ours. That will be the plan we will follow.”

  With that, he eyes me up and down, turns and gets into his car as I spin and make my way back inside, trying to calm the sick that’s coming up in my throat.

  3 | Wrath

  I can barely fucking concentrate.

  It’s as though every day, every time I see her, my need to have her increases in some exponential way I can’t explain.

  She’s the white to my black and in every story I concoct, she’s mine. But in reality, I know she’s way above my fucking pay grade.

  There’s a loud bang, then another, and another, and I come back to earth looking over to see Gage’s fist come down on the table again as he gives me an evil stare.

  “You with us?” He snipes and I look around to see Ryder, Jaxon, Bulldog—and Dice, who drives the tow truck for the Heartland’s garage—all staring at me.

  “Y
eah, I’m with you.” I bite back, but they have every right to be pissy with me.

  “Good. Because we need to keep this tight. This deal needs to go down fast and easy. These tweakers run hot and last time we nearly went to shit town when their paranoid asses thought we were setting them up with ATF. So pay fucking attention.” Gage waits for my nod, then goes on to finish up the itinerary and instructions for the run we’re going on.

  It’s a minor arms deal, so just a handful of us are going, but every deal has the potential to go south so I try to focus while the crew talks out the details.

  I listen as we get things in order and as we’re finishing up, the bells over the front door of the garage jingle and Chain and Meadow walk into the backroom.

  “What’s up?” Jaxon stands and gives Chain a hand-shake and a half hug, then leans in to give Meadow a kiss on the cheek.

  Everyone else follows suit, and I stand and head over to do the same.

  “You guys be careful today.” Meadow takes a seat and slips a laptop out of her computer bag as Gage moves over to sit next to her. Chain is our treasurer and his woman has been investing some of the club’s money and nearly making us all rich in the process. They are there to make sure the figures are all straight for what we need to collect, and probably Gage has her investing some of his private funds as well—as most of us do.

  “Cookies, anyone? Mom sent them special...” Chain sits a container on the table and opens it and the scent of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies overtakes the smell of gasoline and grease.

  “We’re always careful.” Gage answers, grabbing a cookie, then his eyes drift over the rest of us. “We’ll head out in an hour, so go shit, or shave or get your cocks sucked and be back here at noon sharp. Anyone who’s late...Bulldog...I’ll personally beat your ass.”

  Bulldog walked into our morning meeting forty-five minutes after Gage told us to be here, looking ridden hard and put away wet, so Gage has been riding his ass since, and I don’t blame him.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Bulldog grunts, stretching and putting his hands behind his head as he leans back in the metal chair. “I’m going to sit here and eat cookies.” He reaches for a cookie, but Ryder grabs the plastic container and holds it hostage.

  While they start to nearly knock each other out fighting over Chain’s mom’s cookies, I know where I’m going for the next hour. I’ve been watching the clock, knowing I’ve got about a half hour before she’s done with the food pantry deal she does the third Sunday of every month, and I’m hungry and she’s the one that’s going to feed me.

  I walk this time, the spring weather at its peak this time of year, and in a few minutes I’m pulling open the front door of the church, passing the sign outside with the arrow that says ‘Free Food this Monday, 9 am – 11 am. All are welcome.’

  There’s no other cars in the parking lot and I know most people come early, hoping they will somehow get better or more food than someone that comes late, but that’s not the case. Kristina is no pushover, and she’s fair with the distribution.

  How do I know?

  Because I’ve been stopping by for my free food for the last ten months, just to be able to be close to her even for a few minutes.

  When I step into the food pantry room, she’s putting boxes on some metal shelves and I clear my throat.

  She freezes but doesn’t turn around immediately. I hear her sigh and it sounds annoyed. I’ve not grown on her like I’d hoped, but I don’t give a shit. I don’t scare away easily and with her, I won’t scare away at all.

  “Here for my food.” I say, forcing her to turn around.

  “You don’t need free food.” She’s curt, but cute as fucking hell, wearing a white tank top today with a pair of jean shorts, her hair in a ponytail on top of her head. Her eyes are so blue they look like they have light behind them and my cock jerks as she locks horns with me from across the room. She is my new drug of choice and there’s no rehab that could rid me of the Jonesing I feel when I look at her.

  “How do you know? Do I look like I overeat?” I rub my stomach, hooking a couple fingers under the hem of my t-shirt and pull it up, raising my eyebrows.

  “Look, I’m busy. Sure, you can have a box of food. Over there.” She points to the boxes already packed that are left, then turns around and starts putting other cans and food items on the shelves.

  “Thanks.” I answer, watching her ass as she pushes up on her tiptoes to a top shelf, then turns around to grab some other items and I’m a few steps closer.

  “Over there.” She points again with an annoyed tip of her head and I lick my lips because the closer I get, the more her nipples push out on her white tank top and my balls feel like they weigh ten pounds full of cum that should be inside her pussy.

  “I’ll get it. On my way out.” I take a few more steps forward and she looks at the open door, then back at me. She’s not scared and that only turns me on more.

  She tightens her jaw and her shoulder sort of twitches up to her ear a couple times and it’s clear I’m getting to her. I know what I see. Her mouth may say get lost but her tits and her eyes say ‘fuck me’, and sooner or later I intend to do just that.

  And more.

  Fucking is fine. Well, it was before she came into my life. Now, I want to fuck her but I want to know her. I want to watch her paint her toenails. I want to paint her toenails. I want to know if she’s grouchy in the morning and how she likes her coffee—if she even likes coffee.

  I want to know how she sounds when I kiss her neck and what’s her favorite kind of cake to have on her birthday.

  I want her ass in my bed every night and her lips on mine every morning. I don’t know what she’s done to me, but I took one look at her and I was addicted. I’m still waiting for my first real fix but I plan on making sure the waiting is close to over.

  “You are on your way out.” She snaps back as I come closer, the distance between us two paces at most, and she gives me a slow look up and down as I drop my t-shirt and I feel the rational part of me evaporate as her sweet scent hits me.

  She’s turned on. By me.

  I could be deluding myself, but I swear I smell her arousal mixed with her usual light floral and fresh scent. I don’t know if it’s her perfume or her shampoo or some other girly lotion shit but she always smells so fucking good it makes my mouth water.

  My blood rushes through my veins, hot and violent, as I close the space between us. I’ve been like a caged animal since that first day I saw her and I’m done pacing behind the bars.

  “What are you doing?” She looks down to where my hand is on her upper arm, my other one drifting to her neck, sweeping under a few errant wisps of her hair that have escaped the ponytail, and I squeeze the back of her head, pulling her a few inches forward.

  There’s panic in her eyes, but she doesn’t pull away. The feel of her in my hands sends a feral pulse through my body. My dick is throbbing, leaking cum, and practically tearing through my jeans to get to her.

  “Let go.” She locks her eyes with mine. “If you don’t want your food...”

  Her voice trails off as I lean down and take a deep breath next to her ear, letting her scent move through me like a tsunami.

  “You want me to let go?” I whisper, tightening my grip on her neck as my other hand drifts down her back to just above her righteous ass, and I press forward until her tits are against me and I want to pound my chest with my fists.

  “I want...” She starts, her voice breathy as her body softens and I make sure my dick makes clear contact with her hip. Her lips are like a bow on the top of a present, and I lean down, my face not an inch from hers, watching her eyes dilate as the slightest of moans replaces whatever else she was going to say.

  Fuck, she feels so good. I wrap my hand around her waist, swaying slightly against her, holding her steady. The heat between us could light tinder.

  “You were saying?” I ask. “You were saying what you want...”

  Her breath is
warm and sweet against my lips. She’s breathing faster and I know after this, I won’t be able to live without her. If this simple touch is making me this rabid, once I get inside that little pussy of hers, there will be no turning back.

  “My father would kill you if he saw you here.”

  “I don’t see your father anywhere.” I challenge, listening to the little hitch in her breathing. “Besides, he doesn’t strike me as the killing kind.”

  “And you would know.” She bites back, but what I feel coming from her tells me a little danger is just what she needs.

  I brush my lips to hers. This is the kiss I’ve been waiting for, dreaming about, for a year.

  Just as I press forward, I’m ripped from the moment by a voice behind me.

  “Get your hands off her.” I turn to see the dude that is sort of the second in command around here, glaring at us, and feel Kristina’s hands shoving against my chest as she backs into the shelves behind her.

  I swallow hard, turning to square off with pastor Junior.

  “Don’t think you get to tell me what to do, bro.”

  “He was just leaving.” Kristina’s voice is moving behind me, but I keep my eyes on douche bag in his khakis and pink golf shirt. “Here’s your food, Mr. ummm...” She comes around, the box of food in her arms, outstretched toward me. “Please, just take it and go. You need to leave.”

  I look at her for a long moment. She’s not scared, but it bothers me how her demeanor changed as soon as fuck face came on the scene.

  “Leave or I’ll call the sheriff. If I recall, last time he came to encourage you to leave, he said next time we have to call about you, there will be handcuffs and jail time.”

  I suck a breath through my teeth and march over to him, the box the only thing between us. “I don’t give a shit about the sheriff. Call him, don’t call him. I’m just here for my free food. Sign says all are welcome. So here I am. And shit, I sure was made to feel welcome.” I glare at him, he’s inches shorter than me and my wrist is bigger than his bicep.

  From the flicker in his eyes, dude’s never known what it feels like to bust your knuckles on someone’s teeth.