Nadia
Sitting in a puddle of slick pooled in my panties, I’ve never been so confused in my life. I’ve waited years to feel Cutter manhandling me and whispering filthy words in my ear. All the self-love solo sessions with my fingers and B.O.B have primed me to respond to the man. But the situation is fucked. I lost everyone that mattered to me in the span of heartbeats. He was a part of that. What kind of sick fuck am I to be creaming and pushing his buttons to see if he’ll give me the punishment I know I deserve? The thought of surrendering to the dominating man with gray threaded to his close-cropped hair is intoxicating. It took everything in me not to melt under the intensity of the deep-set black eyes, bracketed by thick dark brown eyebrows.
His olive skin tone suits the oblong face, broad brow, noble cheekbones, and Greek nose. He’s like Tom Hardy with a tan. His juicy lips twist so cruelly when he’s threatening me. My pussy flexes on nothing, and I bow my head as shame colors my cheeks and the back of my neck. This man has become my enemy. What would my father think of me, lusting after him like a bitch in heat? But he saved me. Amid the turmoil, moments from my death, Cutter came through for me. Shivering at the thoughts echoing in my mind as I took my last breaths, I admit I have a lot of regrets. I said yes when I should’ve said no and denied myself so many times.
I was given a second chance. I have to honor that and live for myself now. Does that mean forgetting the men who raised me? Gut churning, I shake as my adrenaline leaves, and I face the horror of my new reality. I’m alone, and my future is uncertain and dependent upon my forever crush. Tears blurring my vision, I rock back and forth and let myself break. I purge the pain and sorrow, holding nothing back as I mourn my loss and make plans to honor them. When I have nothing left, I allow my face to dry. The best revenge is survival. I’ll do whatever it takes to walk away from this situation in one piece. Because if nothing else, the Feral Wolves survive. I couldn’t turn off my attraction to Cutter. Emotions aren’t a light switch. If time hasn’t cured me of my thirst for the older man being here under his protection, sure as fuck won’t.
It’s karma. My good deed coming back to me, nothing more. I can’t read into his heat-filled gaze or the words. I close my eyes and groan. No man has ever spoken to me like him before. I would’ve sliced them to ribbons with my tongue had they tried. But everything is different with Harris Cutter Witmer, the sexy star of my fantasies turned captor. I slam my head against the headboard, using the pain to focus. He wants a good girl to put the Kings at ease. I can give him that. I have to hold something back to keep from getting lost in this game. Heavy boot falls draw me from my musing. I hold my breath when they stop in front of the door. Keys jangle, the lock turns, and the door swings open, revealing a grim-faced Cutter.
“Tank wants to see you.”
Exhaling, I slump. I’m not ready for this. Closing the door with a deafening click in the silent room, Cutter walks over to me and unbuckles my arms. I immediately miss the pressure that kept me grounded. There was a strange sense of security that had come with the bondage. I crave it. Where is this coming from? Embarrassed by my response, I shove the thoughts down as he removes the neck buckle and massages my wrists.
“I want to make sure the blood is flowing well,” he explains.
I nod, enchanted by the concern in his voice and the soft touch. “You did good, Nightingale. Did you enjoy your time bound for me?”
Fuck, yes. I bite my tongue and shrug. Letting my wrists drop to the bed, Cutter spins me to face him on the bed and wraps a hand around my neck. I whimper and lean into the pressure.
“Asking was a courtesy. I can see the truth with my own eyes.” He groans. “I bet you’re soaked right now, aren’t you?”
I nod my head, unable to lie.
He grunts. “If you only knew the things I’ve been wanting to do to you.”
I blink, startled. “Wait. You’ve thought about –.”
“Tanks’ not a man who likes to be kept waiting. Let’s try not to piss him off any more than he already is.” He switches gears so swiftly that I nearly get a case of whiplash.
“R–right.” Climbing from the bed, he holds his hand out. I take it, allowing him to help me stand. Despite it all, he’s my anchor in a boat rocked by a storm on the ocean.
“Whatever you do, don’t lie to him.”
“I have nothing to hide,” I whisper hoarsely.
“I sure to fuck hope that’s true, Nightingale, or we’ll both be swinging from the gallows.” The honesty in his words is sobering.
Both of our lives are on the line. Jesus, he’s risking everything for me. The fact does funny things to my insides. I’ve never had a man make me feel so cherished. And when I do, he’s involved in the max extension effort of my entire family. Hallowed out and ready to crash, I follow him through the building on autopilot. Vaguely registering familiar and unfamiliar faces of the clubmen, I note exits. We stop in front of a wooden door, and I take a deep breath. I pray he believes the truth, because it’s all I have to give. Cutter knocks.
“Come in,” a deep voice calls out.
Cutter opens the door. I step inside, finding myself under the heavy censure of Tank the President, His VP Speedy, and the Sergeant in Arms Shotgun. This is bad. Anyone meeting the trifecta is about to get patched in or put under. The acrid smell of gunpowder mixed with leather, musk, and individual masculine scents pours off the men. Tank’s pale green eyes are eerie and full of controlled anger and hyperawareness. Even sitting between the giants who stand at his left and right, he’s intimidating. His broad brow furrows and the strong cheekbones flex in his square face revealed by his chocolate-brown, thick braid. He pulled his thin lips taut into a line.
“Nadia. We’re going to ask you some questions, and I want you to think long and hard before you answer, okay?”
I nod my head, unable to speak when my mouth has become a desert, and my heart is pounding in my ears. Like some damsel in distress, I bend my knees to keep from keeling over in a dead faint. They’ve saved me enough today.
“Have you noticed anything unusual happening at the clubhouse in recent months?” Shotgun asks. He trained his dark blue eyes on my face like he’s a human lie detector. Golden-blonde hair falls over his narrow forehead and dips slightly over his left eye. Strong cheekbones flex along with hands he repeatedly balls into fists and releases at his side. His six-foot-three, primed, heavily muscled frame springs is prepared action. The tension flowing through him sets me on edge.
“I–I mean. I could say no, but the truth is I’m not there enough to notice,” I whisper.
Shotgun looks over at Speedy, who frowns. His ebony eyebrows come together, and his large brown eyes bore straight into mine.
“Why is that, chica?” his full pale pink lips press together, and I nervously shift my weight. He slicked back his coal-black hair from his face and held it in place with a black bandana.
“Because nursing is demanding, I clarified that my future doesn’t lie with the club.” I drop my gaze to the ground, feeling like I’m betraying the Feral Wolves.
“What does that mean?” Tank asks.