The Cut by Carol Lynne: Kings of Bedlam MC Series, Book One Read online

  He climbed off the bike. “Don’t call me again.” He hung up the phone and shoved it into the pocket of his leather vest, known as a cut, before reaching down the front of his T-shirt for the envelope.

  “’Bout time you got here,” Gordon bellowed. “I was about to call your boss.”

  Stake stopped and stared up at the slimy sonofabitch. Although Cecil was club president, no one was his boss. Despite what Cecil said, Stake was dying to put the sheriff down and take his chances with the next prick who moved up to take the position. “You’d better shut your fucking mouth before I shoot your ass.”

  Gordon’s eyes went wide. “I don’t think you realize who you’re talking to.”

  Stake stepped up on the porch, invading Gordon’s space. He towered over the sheriff and narrowed his eyes. “I know exactly who I’m talking to.”

  A sound from the road drew Stake’s attention away from the threat he was about to issue. A slip of a woman with big tits and long dark hair piled on top of her head stopped in front of Gordon’s house. “Fuck me.”

  He blinked again, unable to believe the incredible creature was Santana. He wouldn’t have even recognized her if it weren’t for those memorable tits and hair. He was too far away to see her eyes but he didn’t need to. Kaleidoscope. That’s the color he’d always told her they were. She used to argue, insisting they were boring hazel, but he’d never seen hazel eyes with flecks of so many colors in them.

  As if she’d been shot, Santana’s body jerked before she took off toward the house next door. In her haste to reach the safety of the dilapidated building, the wagon she pulled tipped on its side, spilling its contents onto the hard dry ground.

  He shot off the porch before he could stop himself. He didn’t put thought behind his action as he ate up the distance between them where she was scrambling in the dirt and gravel to retrieve her groceries. By the time he reached her, Santana’s head was bowed as she cradled a bottle of grape soda that had split open and sprayed its contents all over her and the ground.

  “Here, let me help,” he offered. After righting the wagon, he began to re-bag the groceries. There wasn’t enough food in the wagon to keep a bird alive. No wonder she looked so fucking frail.

  When he tried to take the bottle out of her hands, she jerked away. “Don’t touch me,” she growled, looking up to meet his gaze for the first time.

  The moment he saw the bruises marring the prettiest face he’d ever seen, his blood ran cold. “What the fuck happened to you?”

  Santana got to her feet, still clutching the nearly empty bottle. “Ask your friend,” she spat before taking off again.

  He stalked toward her. “I don’t have friends, so you’ll have to be more specific.”

  She didn’t say anything more, but he noticed her glance in Gordon’s direction.

  “Oh, fuck no.” Stake moved to block her path. He reached out and ran his thumb gently over her cheek. “Gordon did this?”

  She pulled her head back, breaking the contact between them. “Stop acting as if you give a shit.”

  Stake looked over his shoulder at Gordon. The thought of the fat bastard touching Santana in any way fueled his rage. “I’d like a verbal confirmation before I kill a man. Are you going to give it to me or not?”

  She narrowed those beautiful fucking eyes and dug a sheathed hunting knife out of her purse. “I can take care of myself.” She removed the knife from its leather holster and held up the fourteen-inch serrated blade. “I’ll go to prison before I let that pig touch me again.”

  A sick feeling settled in his gut. “Did he rape you?”

  “Is that your polite way of asking if I’m still a virgin?” she shot back, squaring her thin shoulders. The action drew his attention to her tits and the fact that her nipples were hard and begging to be pinched and sucked.

  “I don’t give a fuck if you’ve had dick up your cunt every day. I want to know if that bastard raped you.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he did give a fuck if men were sticking it to her on a daily basis. Shit!

  “Not yet, but he tried.” She waved the knife again. “That’s what this is for.”

  Stake turned away from Santana and strode toward Gordon. He took the porch steps three at a time and grabbed the sheriff around the neck. Using every ounce of strength he possessed, he slammed Gordon against the side of the house. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he ground out between clenched jaws.

  Without saying a word, Gordon held up his cell phone.

  “Stake!” Cecil yelled through the speaker, the sound of his Harley making it hard for Stake to hear him over the deep rumble.

  He knocked the phone out of Gordon’s hand before kicking it off the porch. “Give me a reason not to kill you, motherfucker.”

  “So I slapped the bitch,” Gordon replied, spittle landing on Stake’s chin. “You gonna go against your club and the law for that gash?”

  Stake tightened his hold, ready to squeeze the life out of the man who dared raise a hand to Santana, when the sound of Cecil’s bike speeding towards him caught his attention. “You fuckin’ pussy.” He gathered a wad of spit in his mouth before blowing it in Gordon’s terrified face.

  “Stake,” Cecil growled from the foot of the steps. “We don’t need this shit,” he warned.

  Stake continued to hold Gordon in place. He knew what would happen if he went against the club’s president, and as sick as he was of the whole fucking lifestyle, he knew it wasn’t Gordon’s day to die. “You so much as look at her again, and I’ll cut your fucking eyes out of your head. Got that?”

  Gordon stared up at Stake but made no move to answer.

  Stake pulled Gordon forward before slamming him into the house once more. “I said, you got that?”

  “I’m the fucking sheriff. I don’t answer to you,” Gordon replied, obviously feeling safe with Cecil there.

  Before he released Gordon, Stake drew back his right hand and drove his knuckles hard against the man’s jaw.

  Gordon’s head flew to the side, nearly knocking him to the floor despite the grip Stake had on his neck.

  “Goddammit, Stake!” Cecil bellowed. “You’re going to fucking pay for this one on your own dime.”

  Stake released Gordon and took a step back. He tugged on the chain attached to his wallet while keeping a close eye on Gordon. “Remember what I said.” He dropped several hundred-dollar bills at Gordon’s feet. “If I have to come back here, nothing’s gonna save your ass.”

  * * * *

  Santana watched the exchange between Stake and Gordon through the ripped screen window in her tiny bedroom. She felt her nipples pucker and harden as Stake slammed Gordon against the house for a second time.

  “Stake,” she whispered to herself. Damn it, why did he have to be the one to stand up for her. For years, she’d tried to put the sexy-as-sin tattooed biker out of her mind, but there he was, in full inked glory. His dark brown hair was a little longer then she remembered, but his big amber-colored eyes were just as dreamy as they’d always been.

  She squeezed her legs together at the familiar twinge of need in her pussy. Since the age of thirteen, he’d had that effect on her body. Even after he’d turned his back on her after her father went to prison, no other man had invaded her fantasies.

  When he released Gordon, she took a step back. The last thing she needed was for Stake to catch her spying. Watching him drop money at Gordon’s feet enraged her. How many times had she prayed that Stake cared enough to make sure she and her mom had enough food or money for the electric bill after her father was sent to prison? Smash and Stake had been best friends for years, yet he’d found it easy to forget that fact the minute Smash had been put behind bars.

  Halfway down the porch steps, Stake stopped and stared directly at her.

  She let the bed sheet fall into place. She didn’t have time to think about him. It wouldn’t do any good. Like all Kings, he was the enemy.

  Chapter Two

  Stake
sat on his back porch and stared out over the landscape. There wasn’t much to look at other than brown grass and stubby trees as far as the eye could see, but that’s what he liked most about his place. There was a degree of solitude in the nothingness that he hadn’t found anywhere else, and with a blank slate in front of him, his mind had nowhere to go but to the shit he needed to figure out.

  Some of his brothers went to the club to get away from their old ladies or children. In his younger days, he’d found a certain amount of peace just hanging with the others, but at some point, he’d changed. He was only thirty-eight, which was still relatively young, even in biker years, but the shit that went down at the club was getting old. How many rank pussies could a guy fuck before his dick fell off? There were a few bitches at the club who were nice enough to talk to, but other than the occasional blowjob when he was desperate, he preferred non-club pussy. The ongoing bullshit with Rachel was proof that if he wanted to find a good woman who wasn’t batshit crazy or suffering from stalker-like tendencies, he’d need to look outside the club.

  He reached for his beer. Nope, the club wasn’t where he found his peace, it was right where he sat, looking at everything and nothing, and at the moment, all he could think about were those damn kaleidoscope eyes. Fuck. After the shit Ellie had pulled after Smash’s death, helping Santana in any way would be the same as going against the club. It was something Cecil had reminded him of before they’d left Gordon’s place, but he couldn’t get those damn eyes off his fucking mind.

  Despite her bravado, she’d been damned scared of Gordon. Her fear was palpable, like an injured cat curled in the corner ready to strike at anything that came near her. He didn’t blame her. Gordon had let his badge and association with the club go to his head, and Stake wouldn’t put it past the sonofabitch to go after Santana again just to prove he could. The question was, what was Stake willing to do about it? How far would he go for a woman he wasn’t supposed to associate with?

  “Christ!” He stood and took another drink of his beer. The sight of Santana clutching that damn broken bottle of grape soda nearly stole his breath. It was as if it had meant everything to her, and from the look of the other groceries, it probably had.

  His heavy boot scraped against a nail head, sticking up from the porch floor. Beer in hand, he opened the back door, but stopped himself before walking into the house. He drained his beer in two gulps before stepping inside. Since moving out on his own, he’d adopted a very strict rule about not drinking in the house. Growing up, it wasn’t uncommon to see his mom and whatever man she was sharing a bed with passed out on the couch—sometimes dressed, sometimes naked. A beer or two after a long day was fine, but in south Texas, there was never a reason not to have that bottle on the back porch.

  When he’d built the two bedroom cabin, he’d purposely left off the traditional front porch, instead choosing to concentrate on the view behind the house. Front porches were welcoming, and he didn’t give a shit about welcoming anyone. In fact, he preferred people left him the fuck alone when he was at home.

  After tossing his empty beer bottle in the trashcan, he grabbed a hammer out of his toolbox. As he returned the nail in the porch’s floor to its rightful place, he couldn’t help but think of Santana’s roof and that damned blue tarp. Didn’t she have a boyfriend or someone who could help her keep up the house? The place had always been a shithole, but from the look of it, he was amazed it was standing at all.

  Weighing the hammer in his hand, he considered stopping by and helping out. Although Smash’s betrayal had gutted him, Stake knew it wasn’t Santana’s fault, Ellie’s definitely, but no way was that sweet girl guilty of anything.

  Tormented by the thought of Santana living in the crappy house next door to Gordon, he swung the hammer and put a quarter-sized dent in the porch floor. “Fuck!”

  * * * *

  “Come on, Mama, just two drinks, and I’ll leave you alone,” Santana pleaded. She held the glass to her mom’s lips and waited for her to take a sip. The fact that it wouldn’t be long before her mom was gone was really starting to sink in. Dr. Braverman had told her that once Ellie stopped eating, she’d only have a matter of weeks. Well, it was the third week of forcing the vitamin drink down her mother several times a day and it was getting harder each time.

  Ellie pushed the drink away from her mouth and pressed her lips together.

  Santana sat back in the kitchen chair she kept beside her mom’s bed. “Oh, mama.”

  “Go,” Ellie croaked, her voice so dry and weak Santana barely understood her.

  How many times had she wished she could do just that? Unfortunately, her heart was stubborn, and no matter how much she wished she didn’t love people who were incapable of loving her back, she did. “Can I come back before I go to bed and try again?”

  Ellie shook her head in reply.

  Trapped somewhere between hurt and pissed, Santana stood. She left the room without turning off the bedside lamp. Yes, it was a childish thing to do, but she allowed herself the satisfaction after the day she’d had. Seeing Stake after so many years had really fucked with her emotions. While her heart sang when he’d run to her aid earlier, the rest of her resented him for witnessing the truth of what her life had been reduced to. It was harder to accept kindness when you knew it could be snatched away at any moment. So, she’d resorted to using the defense she’d honed over the years. She’d never have the strength to physically challenge a man, but she’d sharpened her tongue after years of practicing on those in town who thought to keep her down.

  She poured the expensive vitamin drink back into the bottle before moving into the living room. She slid a VHS tape into the old player and settled on the sofa. She’d discovered the tape in her dad’s trunk, but hadn’t had the guts to watch it. With thoughts of Stake still fresh in her mind, she decided it was time. According to the piece of tape stuck to the side, it was the Kings of Bedlam Fourth of July Picnic. She didn’t know what year, but at the moment it didn’t matter. All she really wanted was to be reminded of the life she used to have. It had never been perfect, far from it actually, but it had been hers, and she’d felt safe.

  Her father had always been mean. In his own way, she assumed her father had loved her, but when she’d been young, it had been Stake who’d intervened when Smash had so often punished her. Stake who’d picked her up from wherever she’d run off to and took the time to care for the belt wounds on the backside of her body. Everyone in town knew how far Smash went with his punishments, but Stake had been the only one brave enough to go up against her father after one of his infamous whippings. She’d never understood how a man like Stake could befriend someone like her father.

  She supposed she should be grateful he’d been there for her because he’d shown her there were good men in the world. Unfortunately, he’d been so kind she’d believed he was her knight in shining armor who would one day take her away from her parents and Broken Ridge. He’d even given her a special nickname that he’d used whenever she was hurt and he’d come to her rescue. Lady bug. She’d told him it was a stupid thing to call a girl, but he’d kissed her forehead and told her she would forever be his lady bug.

  “Damn him,” she whispered when the camera panned to Stake. Tears filled her eyes as she watched him laugh. The movie had no sound, but she didn’t need it to remember the hardy laughter of him in a good mood. She spotted herself in the background. She had to have been around thirteen, maybe fourteen.

  Her right hand flew to cover her mouth as she realized her feelings for him had been right there for anyone to see. Had he known? She scrambled onto the floor to sit in front of the television on the threadbare gold rug. Reaching out to the VCR, she paused the tape on a close-up of his face. “Oh,” she gasped as she touched the image on the screen. “Stake,” she whispered, outlining his chiseled features with the tip of her finger. She grinned when she got to his heavy, black, beard. God, she’d hated that thing. She’d actually told him so at one point, and the next t
ime she’d seen him, he’d been clean shaven. Being a girl with a mad crush, she’d believed he’d rid himself of the facial hair because she’d asked.

  Lying back, she stared at him as she unbuttoned her jean shorts and eased the zipper down. It had been a long time since she’d pleasured herself, and with his image in front of her, she slid her middle finger through the light cream of her slit. Moaning, she ran her free hand over her breasts as she turned her attention to her clit. She began to pant as she ground the heel of her hand against the bundle of nerves, needing to be filled with something other than her fingers.

  A floorboard on the porch creaked loud enough to get her attention. Shit. She lunged for the power button on the television before fumbling with the zipper on her shorts. “Who’s out there?” she called, reaching for the knife in her purse.

  A handsome face appeared on the other side of the screen door. “I know it’s late, but I brought you a few things,” Stake said. “I thought about just leaving ‘em on the porch, but I saw a posse of coons over by the trashcans.”

  “A posse?” Despite the very real possibility that he’d seen her pleasuring herself, she couldn’t help but smile. She turned her back to him and zipped her shorts while making a production of setting the knife on the coffee table.

  “Can I come in?” he asked. “These bags are getting heavy.”

  She warred with herself for several moments. “Why now?”

  “Open the door, lady bug,” he ordered.

  “Answer my question first.” She walked to the door and stared up at him through the screen, pretending the nickname didn’t fill her with memories. “Before today, how long’s it been since you’ve been here?”

  “You know how long it’s been, and you know why.” He set the sacks on the porch. “Eat the food or don’t. It’s up to you.” He turned and walked away, the dark night swallowing him almost immediately.

  Santana held her breath, waiting for the loud rumble of his Harley. When it didn’t come, she unlatched the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. Nothing. No Harley, no vehicle of any kind. Where had he gone, and how had he gotten to her house? “Stake?”