Damn, she was pretty. Smelled good, too.
“No, it’s Dad who’ll kill you,” she said quietly. Thoughtfully. Great, because thinking wasn’t going to make this any better on her end. “Liam—wait, what the hell is your name, anyway?”
“It’s Liam. Hunter is my road name.”
A shadow crossed her face.
“Are you really one of them?”
I didn’t pretend not to understand.
“Yeah, I’m a Devil’s Jack. Nomad. Been my job to keep tabs on you and your sister for a while. Among other things.”
“Why?” she asked, her face genuinely confused. “We’re not important.”
I laughed, wondering how she could be so impossibly naive.
“You’re pretty f**kin’ important, babe,” I told her. “That club loves you, even more than your sister because you stayed in Coeur d’Alene. Half the guys consider you their daughter and the other half want to bang you. All of ’em are scared of your dad. Still can’t quite figure out why he’s not national president. When Atlas retired last year, we figured he’d step up for sure.”
“He’s not interested,” she said absently. Then she leaned up on one arm, studying me. I kept my eyes on her face, because clearly she’d forgotten that corset thing was wide open and showing off her tits. Not my place to remind her . . . Fortunately, her puffy lips provided a nice distraction. I kept picturing them wrapped around my cock. “Tell me the truth, Liam. Was there ever anything real between us?”
I should tell her it was all real. Tell her it was love at first sight, that we were Romeo and Juliet and I’d defy my club to be her one and only.
But for once I was just f**king sick and tired of lying.
“I have no idea what’s between us,” I said, not even sure that was true. The first time I’d seen Em, it’d felt like a gut punch. I’d wanted to nail her on the spot. That hadn’t changed, but now that I had her laid out on a bed, for some reason making her feel better was more important than sticking my dick in her. Go figure.
“Not sure I know what real is,” I said. “But I don’t believe in love, babe. I believe in gettin’ laid.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I shrugged, feeling almost philosophical about the situation. There’s a certain freedom in being totally screwed—and that was definitely what this was shaping up to be. Clusterfuck all around.
“Well, I do know I’ve got come all over my pants, and that’s not something that happens every day,” I told her. “You’re f**king hot, babe. No matter what other stories you tell yourself, don’t doubt it for a minute. I can’t remember the last time I blew like that. Not sure what it means, but that part’s sure as shit real.”
“Heh,” she said, then rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling. “Am I gonna end up dead?”
I considered the question seriously, rolling it through my mind. I felt certain about one thing. I’d kill myself before I hurt her—well, hurt her physically. I was relatively sure I’d already done serious damage emotionally. But so long as I needed her making phone calls to Daddy, I couldn’t afford to let her feel safe. Those calls needed to motivate him, and that required fear.
Crap.
I didn’t like this feeling, I decided. I didn’t like feeling at all. Half the guys in the Jacks thought I was some kind of killing machine, and they were probably right. Give me a target, I’d neutralize it. But that usually involved guns or knives . . . or on one very memorable occasion a particularly sharp deer antler. Sometimes you just have to improvise. I tended not to talk to my victims much, let alone try to comfort them.
But for reasons I didn’t care to consider, I wanted to make her feel better.
“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” I finally said, compromising. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
“What about Sophie?”
“I got nothing against her, either. All I want is my brother back. Alive.”
Silence fell again. I could almost hear her thinking.
“What would you do for Kit?” I asked her abruptly.
“What do you mean?”
“How far would you go to save her life?”
Would she make the connection? Understand why I had to fight for my brother?
“I’d do anything I had to,” she replied softly, and I heard a hint of despair in her voice. Yup, she was starting to get it. Somehow that was even worse. “I’d steal. I’d lie . . . I’d kill. Anything.”
Silence fell again, heavy between us. Shit. I pushed up suddenly, rolling off the bed. Her eyes followed me as I walked across the room to the closet, opening it to find my bag and pull out a clean pair of briefs. I thought she gave a little gasp as I slid down my pants and kicked them off, but that could’ve been wishful thinking. I pulled up the fresh ones, then tugged my shirt over my head.
Her eyes went wide as she watched me come back toward her. I wanted to believe my body impressed her, but hell—she was probably just looking over my tats to decide which one she hated most. I didn’t have a back patch with my full club colors on it, but there were a few DJMC symbols here and there.
“You should put on some clothes,” she said.
“Need some f**kin’ sleep. Might as well get comfortable,” I told her, and that part was the truth. Apparently I’d shot all my adrenaline out through my dick, and while a second round would finish things off nicely, I didn’t think she was up to it. I leaned down over the bed and swung her up, setting her on her feet. Then I reached for the snap of her jeans, figuring she’d be more comfortable without them, but also pretty sure she wouldn’t take them off herself.