Nowhere (Crimson Outlaws MC #1) Read online

  Swiftly, I open my mouth to protest. Then snap it closed as he continues.

  “Now, before you overthink what my bet entails, let me set your mind at ease … I wouldn’t force sex upon you unless you asked. I wouldn’t cause you any bodily harm, in any way. However, should I win, you would attend events with me. You would be—”

  “Your arm candy,” I gripe.

  “No. I have plenty of that.”

  Of course, he does.

  He keeps on. “You would accompany me to events, and willingly do the things that I ask. I know you’re a school teacher and don’t work in the summers, Gwen. So what I’m proposing wouldn’t be a problem for you. I also know your daughter, Patricia, is no longer living with you and now has a life of her own. So this wouldn’t be affecting anyone but you, for one month … Thirty days of living under the same roof with me—should I win. If not, you take the quarter of a million in cash and buy whatever your heart desires. I’m a fair man, Gwen. And I know what I am suggesting is a reasonable wager.”

  This has to be the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard! Why would I do that?! No way! Wait … why does it matter, anyhow? I’m going to win. I’m going to get the money … hmm … decisions … decisions. But first…

  “How do you know so much about me? And why make this bet? It seems … risky.” I snap to face him so he knows I mean business.

  Those serious baby blue eyes of his melt into mine. “Gwen, seriously? I know everything about everyone I race against. Especially the women. Do you think my bet was something I just tossed out on a whim? No. I’m a businessman. I make rational decisions that are in my best interest. A quarter of a million dollars to a woman who kicks my ass.” Pausing a beat, he grins like he thinks that’s an illogical outcome. “As I was saying … that kind of money I could make in a day. But it could also do some good in your life. So I find it fair.”

  Why am I even considering this? I don’t know, but it sounds too good to be true. That’s a lot of money that I could pay Trish’s college with and pay off my house. Here I thought I might have enough money saved to put on a deck. That kind of money could change my life.

  Fuck it! You only live once … Right?

  “On one condition,” I explain.

  “Name it.”

  God, he knows he has me hook, line, and sinker. I can already see the gleam in his eyes. Too bad I’m gonna wipe the pavement with him.

  “If I win, you make it three hundred thousand dollars.”

  “I’ll make it half a million if that’ll make you feel better.”

  Holy fuck!

  This time I nod, dumbfounded, and he smiles hugely, showing off those pearly whites. “What? Did you think there wouldn’t be negotiations? A half a million was going to be my first offer, but I figured I’d see if you’d work harder for it.”

  Of course, he did. Asshole…

  “O … kay. But, should I, you know…”

  “Lose.”

  That word feels horrible battling in my brain—Lose. It shouldn’t even be a part of the English language.

  Painfully, I nod. “Yeah, that. If I do … I agree to your terms … but … if money isn’t an object for you and you’re taking away thirty days of my life, I think you should pay for one year of tuition for Trish, anyhow. You know … out of the kindness of your heart.” It’s hard, but I resist rolling my eyes on that last part.

  “I’ll pay for two. Out of the kindness of my heart.” He winks, extending his hand to take mine.

  Talk about changing my life.

  I can’t believe I’m about to do this…

  Reaching out my hand, I slide my gloved fingers into his huge palm, and we shake. It’s firm, warm, and lingers a bit longer than I’d like.

  “Deal,” I blurt in confirmation, yanking out of his grasp.

  “Deal.” He smiles. It’s smarmy, yet, somewhat attractive. That doesn’t make much sense, but it is what it is. “And may the best racer win,” he finishes.

  Yes. They shall.

  See you at the finish line … sucker.

  No! No! Hell no! This cannot be happening!

  Why did I agree to that bet?

  I fucking had him by the balls. I had everyone by the balls. The road was unyielding with its deathly sharp curves and potholes. It tested both my mind and body in ways I didn’t know was possible. Wes, another racer, and I tore from the pack within the first half mile. Then after the third blind corner, I took the inside track and shot ahead, setting myself apart from the rest. The triumph steadily clouded my mind as I kept pushing, never letting up. I was sure I had the last quarter mile in the bag since I could no longer hear the racers approaching. Driving my Ducati the final neck, I happily tested what I could do—my limits. Until everything unexpectedly changed when Wes gunned past me, seemingly out of nowhere, his bike roaring toward the finish line in a blur of NOS.

  Screaming into the night, I revved harder, dropping my chest to fight the wind at speeds no one should have driven on that road at any time of the day. Inch by inch, I grew close enough that Wes’s brilliant blue taillights were mocking me. Then, suddenly, we were there—the end. It snuck up on us around the last curve, and he was the first to cross the chalk line. People cheered, and I cried. His blondes threw themselves at him in a fit of excitement. And I cried some more, drowning in a dark sea of self-loathing.

  Now I’m sitting in the back of Wes’s limo, headed to God knows where, with an arrogant SOB and his four groupies who are busy attending his needs in front of my very eyes. If I hadn’t been groomed to handle this display of lewdness, I’d be throwing up, or worse, tossing myself out of the moving vehicle. Yet, here I sit, in my jeans and t-shirt, trying to mind my own business as Wes’s blondes suck his dick, nipples, and neck simultaneously.

  “Don’t look so glum,” he attempts to speak to me like he’s been doing since we left. However, I’m having none of it. Just because I lost and I’m stuck here, nursing a bruised ego doesn’t mean I have to talk to him. That was not part of the arrangement.

  Before we had departed, I packed my belongings and stored my bike with my trio. Needless to say, Tony, Fat Larry, and Jack went ballistic, trying to fight for me. Even though I told them the deal I’d made, and that I’d planned to make good on it. Still, they didn’t approve, and tiny Jack ended up knocking around a few of Wes’s bodyguards. If it weren’t for those meatheads, I’m sure things would have gotten a lot uglier.

  Just as I’d slipped into the back of Wes’s limo, I promised my trio that I’d be safe. Even Wes assured them, too. What little good that did. When I can’t even convince myself I’m going to be okay. I don’t even know this man. When I’d agreed to our little bet, I didn’t honestly think I could lose. So I didn’t take the possible consequences into enough consideration if I’d lost. Which I did, and now I’m reaping those consequences in living, moaning color.

  Wes keeps on, his voice husky with need. “When we get to my home in the mountains, you’re welcome to make a phone call to Patricia to inform her of your impromptu summer vacation. And you can also call your guard dogs so they know you’re alright. This way, they won’t try to murder me the next chance they get. That Jack is a feisty fellow.” He chuckles his last sentence like he’s mildly impressed. I subdue the impulse to flip him off.

  Good luck with that. Those men will never forgive Wes. And if he considers that possible, he’s delusional.

  The funny thing is, if he thinks those men are guard dogs, I’d wonder how he’d fair if faced with my actual guard dog … or the one who used to care enough to be.

  Ha…

  I can remember the very first date I ever had. I was barely nineteen at the time and living with Nash in that apartment above my parent’s garage. John was the boy’s name. We’d met in my college math class, and after a couple of harmless study sessions in the school’s library, he’d asked me out. Needless to say, that went over like a lead brick. When he’d showed up to our apartment door, like a gentleman, carrying a bouqu
et of daisies, Nash intercepted him. Trish was hitched to Nash’s hip as he wore his cut, with no shirt on underneath, and proceeded to grill John about anything and everything he could squeeze in before I went ape-shit.

  “How old are you?”

  “You do know she’s not gonna fuck you, right?”

  “You better keep your hands to yourself, or I’ll remove them for ya.”

  “You get that I’m in a motorcycle club … yeah?”

  I’m sure there were about fifty other questions he’d asked, but those were a few that I caught. Thankfully, John took Nash’s rudeness in stride. Even when he continued to be a jerk as I tried to slide past him to leave on my date. We lapsed into a short argument when he’d refused to budge. Once I was finally permitted to leave, I kissed Trish bye-bye, elbowed Nash in the gut, and bound down the steps, hand-in-hand with John.

  Sadly, though, John and any other man I’ve attempted to date never stuck around long. Part of me knew it was because of Nash and his overprotective ways. While the other part of me realized if they couldn’t handle my brother, they wouldn’t be able to handle me, my daughter, or my family—which will always consist of Nash and his club brothers.

  Fruitlessly, I try to smile at the thought of that big lug, but it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. The blonde with the soulful brown eyes, who was sucking on Wes’s neck, takes the seat across from me and our knees almost touch.

  “Hi.” She waves meekly as if I might kick her face in for speaking to me. I don’t seem like that big of a bitch, do I? God, I hope not.

  “Hello.” I force a smile.

  “So, she can speak,” Wes groans, fingers threaded in a headful of hair as he thrusts into a wet, eager mouth that moans around his girth.

  For a moment, I sort of envy Wes. He’s got four hot women at his beck and call. If roles were reversed and I had four sexy men, I’d revel in the attention, too. Heck, I have done that plenty of times, so I can’t really judge him without being a hypocrite, can I? Guess not.

  Ignoring the show, I turn my sights back to the soulful-eyed blonde. She’s genuinely smiling at me, her legs tucked to the side, hands folded in her lap.

  “I’m Candi with an ‘i.’” She offers her hand, and we do a quick shake. Her palms are so soft.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Candi with an ‘i.’ I’m Gwen.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad my girls can play nice,” Wes interrupts, and I purposefully roll my eyes. He chuckles, which is odd since he’s busy getting a blow job. I can’t say I’ve ever met a man less affected by one. Maybe they’re not his thing? Oh, why do I even care? That’s right … I don’t.

  I mean, he is stupidly good looking in a tall, lean, fitness model kind of way. Even his dirty blond hair is tousled in a perpetually sexy, just-crawled-out-of-bed-after-a-long-night-of-fucking way. And you already know about those ridiculously gorgeous blue eyes. None of that I care about. Nope … not at all…

  If you were to put Nash and Wes side by side, you’d observe little similarities. Where Nash is thickly muscled, Wes is more tone. Where Nash is inked head to toe, I’d be surprised if Wes has marred his body with any ink. One man has black hair while the other is blond. I’d say the only thing they have in common is their height. They’re both well over six feet. Yet, if I had to be honest … I still find them sexy in their own ways. Apparently, I don’t have a type if both appeal to me. Even though I’ll never admit that tiny factoid to either of them. And neither should you. They don’t need their egos inflated any more than they already are. Hey, they’re the ones with the bombshell blondes. I don’t know about you, but I’m no bombshell. I’m just lowly ole me—nothing special.

  “Soooo … Candi with an ‘i,’ what is it you do for a living?” I ask, trying to make small talk to pass the time. It seems harmless enough. A few feet over, Wes moans. It’s deep and sensuous as his breath begins to burst in sharp pants. I don’t want to say it, but he’s getting close to coming. That’s how most men sound when they do.

  Candi, paying the rest of the car no mind, smiles kindly at my interaction. “I work for Wesley,” she explains.

  “As in, this?” I signal to the … um … you know … sexual stuff.

  This makes her giggle as she shakes her head. “Heavens, no. I was in a pretty dicey part of the porn industry for quite a few years. Then, I met Wes and he helped me.”

  “Helped you how?”

  Candi runs her fingers through her long locks. A troubled expression passes over her features, departing almost as soon as it arrives. “He got me out of the game. You know, I always wanted to be an actress. So when I met a man who told me I could work my way up to major films, I was stupid enough to believe him. I was young at the time, only eighteen. Long story short, a group of men ended up my pimps and used my body for profit. A few years later, at an event they forced me to attend for the porn industry, I happened to catch Wesley’s eye, and he’s employed me ever since.”

  This is quite … um … interesting … I think.

  Uncomfortable with what I’m about to say, I shift in my seat. “So he bought you instead?”

  “If you mean paid for my freedom, yes.” She nods. “He paid for me to get an apartment. Get back on my feet. And he got me a job at one of his companies as a secretary. All of us…” She gestures to the women who are preoccupied. “We were all found by him in some way. So now we work for him.”

  “And you sleep with him,” I blurt, tactlessly.

  Candi seems to take my brashness in stride when she fluidly replies, “Yes, we sleep with him because we want to. Not because we have to. We signed our contracts willingly, which spells out every minute detail of our intimacies with Wes. And these same contracts are updated every year, for everyone’s benefit.”

  I can’t believe I’m playing into this conversation. It seems so weird that Wes ‘saved’ these women, and now has them pleasuring him. It’s strange, at best. Fucked up, at worst. If I ever speak to him again, I might have to ask him about this little arrangement he’s got going. For now, I’m not going to dig any deeper about these quasi-contracts, because they’re none of my business. Wes might have an issue with Candi imparting this information to me, and I don’t want to get her into any trouble.

  The roar of an orgasm thunders through the cab, and I squeeze my eyes temporarily shut at the sound. It’s been over twenty-four hours since I’ve climaxed, and it’s rare for me to wait that long. This asshole is making me more envious by the minute.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the woman that was between Wes’s legs move to sit beside him. A flash of his deflating cock burns into my retinas before it’s tucked into his jeans. I can’t believe this. Less than forty-eight hours ago, I was being dissed and dismissed by Nash, and now, here I am sitting in a car full of buxom blondes and a sex machine. Jesus, if you’d have told me this weekend would end this way, I would have sworn you were fucking insane.

  Candi transfers onto the seat next to me, and we cruise into further casual conversation about her life working at Wes’s company. It turns out that she’s twenty-six and has a two year old son. I want to ask if her son is Wes’s, but bite my tongue before the question leaks out. It’s not like I should care. The more we carry on, the more she divulges, as do some of the other blondes. They all seem like lovely gals, except Amanda, the cocksucker. She screams entitled bitch. You can tell by the way she lays her hand on Wes’s thigh like she’s staking claim. From time to time, Wes chimes in, too, which falls on my deaf ears. Even if Candi and the rest of the women are painting him out to be a do-gooder, I don’t believe it for a second. He can kiss my ass. Then maybe that’d help mend a fraction of my bitterness toward him.

  Hours pass, and we stop to grab a bite to eat at Taco Bell since they’re open twenty-four hours. With a full belly of wannabe Mexican food and cinnamon twists, my bantering dies down, and I begin to nod off.

  ***

  Jostled out of a dream, I’m partially awakened as my body is weightlessly c
arted out of the limo by something that smells clean and spicy. The attempt to pry my lids open is difficult, so I don’t even try. My head lulls to the side, tucking against something sturdy, yet soft.

  “It’s okay, Gwen. I’ve got you. I’m just taking you into your room. No need to wake up,” a familiar voice whispers before I’m rocked back into the dreamland. The last thing I remember is a fluffy cloud enveloping me, and a warm softness pressing to my forehead, bidding me a good night.

  Day 1

  A single knock at the door rouses me from my slumber. Expelling a tired groan, I flip onto my back where the plush covers rest at the hollow of my neck. Another knock resounds as bright sunlight cascades into the room from a large set of bay windows. The door soundlessly opens, and a head full of short blonde hair pokes around the corner.

  “Good morning, Gwen.” She smiles cheerily, although I don’t recognize this particular chick. Without pause, she wades in further, leaving my door ajar.

  Blearily, I sit up in bed. Resting my back on the white leather headboard that matches the clinical paleness of the room. It’s triple the size of my bedroom at home.

  The female stops at the foot of the bed. “How’d you sleep?” she asks, cocking her head to the side, dressed in a crisp, black pantsuit. This woman radiates intelligence as she assesses me with her penetrating gaze.

  “I slept … fine. And you are?”

  Jesus, does Wes ever hire someone less attractive? This blonde doesn’t even exude sexuality, and here she is, still young and beautiful.

  “I’m Mr. King’s assistant, Zoe.”

  Zoe. Hell, even her name is pretty.

  I’m not sure what possesses me to ejaculate words foolishly, but I can’t take it back as the word vomit begins to pour. “Are you all blondes? I mean, I’ve yet to see anyone but blondes in Wes’s company. Is he taking some of his business tips from Christian Grey’s handbook or something?” I run out of breath, and before I can continue, Zoe flashes me an amused smile.