Chapter 1
Raven
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The cool night airclings to my skin sending a shiver coursing through my body. I tighten my grip around Fuel’s waist. Tilting my face toward the night sky, I inhale a deep breath. The heavy air fills my lungs. Exhaling, I let out a soul-cleansing scream. My scream turns to an uncontrollable laughter that brings tears to my eyes.
Fuel chuckles at my reaction. “I told you it was exhilarating,” he says, increasing his speed. The vibration of the motorcycle tingles my spine. It’s been a long time since I felt in control of the chaos of my life. I’ve never felt so free. The weight I’ve carried on my shoulders over the past few years eases for a moment.
I know I’m sending him mixed signals. I don’t share the same feelings, I can’t. For weeks, I’ve skated around his stares and casual flirtation while I worked up the courage to take a ride with him. I shouldn’t be here holding on to a man that’s a deadly combination of tender and dangerous, but the way he described riding, I had to try it. Against my better judgment, I broke my number one rule: Don’t Get Too Close. I can’t afford to let my guard down. That’s how I’ll end up dead.
I blink away the moisture from my eyes and realize drops of rain are pelting against my face. In an instant, rain is pouring down around us, slicing through my skin like tiny razor blades. The visibility reduced to the narrow beam from the headlight. Fuel makes a hard right and I wrap my arms tighter around him. Thunder crashes and his body rumbles against mine when I press closer, burying my face into the back of his leather. The wind kicks up, whipping the long, wet strands of my hair hanging loose under the helmet against my neck, chilling me to the bone. Goosebumps erupt on my body, causing me to shiver and press even closer to shield myself from the assault of the storm.
Fuel makes a sharp left turn onto a narrow road that’s umbrellaed by dense trees bringing a small piece of country to this shitty washed up town. Rows of houses scattered along the road break up the scenery. Fuel eases the bike into a driveway leading to a small brown house set a few feet back from the road.
The rumble of the bike cuts off, the noise replaced by the splatter of the rain on the pavement. Fuel holds the heavy bike up with the power of his thighs and extends his arm. I use it for leverage and climb off as my nervousness builds. “Where are we?”
He lowers the kickstand and dismounts his bike. “Somewhere we can wait out the storm.”
Stalking along the length of the rickety porch, he reaches underneath, digging his fingers in the dirt at the base of the steps. The house looks abandoned. The grass is overgrown, and the paint is peeling and dirty. I shoot him a pointed glance. “Fuel, whose house is this?”
He wipes the mud off the key onto the leg of his jeans and leaves me standing in the driveway. “It’s a stash house. You can stay out here and drown but I’m going inside.” He heads towards the door shooting me a daring look to follow. “You’re wet, but not in a good way.”
The thrill that overcame me earlier evaporates leaving nothing behind but an eeriness that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I scan the street, but the rain is pounding so hard, I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me. The closest neighbor is at least a block away, but the sense of someone watching me puts me on edge. I weigh my options and despite my hesitation, standing out here in the rain is foolish.
I follow him through the door, cautiously moving further into the house as our wet shoes creak against the wooden floorboards. Fuel kicks his boots off, landing them with a thud against the wall and I nearly jump out of my skin, my cynical side kicking into overdrive. He smirks at my reaction and shrugs. “Make yourself at home.”
There’s a fine dust coating every surface in the room. It’s a small house with a combination living room and eat-in kitchen. Fuel grabs two beers from the fridge, popping the caps off on the edge of the kitchen counter. I watch him as his intense gaze zeroes in on me. He strides toward me, his movements swift and powerful. I shiver involuntarily, partly from my wet clothes, but another part of me is nervous as hell. I fiddle with the bracelet around my wrist, a nervous habit I developed a few years ago. He sets the beers on the table and sweeps my wet hair off my shoulders, running his hands along my arms.
“You’re shivering. Why don’t I warm you up?” Fuel’s muscles tense as he wraps his arms around my waist, pushing his hard cock against me. When he leans in for a kiss, I turn my head and his lips graze my cheek. I squirm in his arms, feeling trapped, but he tightens his hold. He’s toying with me, enjoying my obvious discomfort. I plead with my eyes for him to let me go, forcing myself to stay calm before I lose my shit and freak the hell out. He clutches my ass in the palm of his hand, giving it a hard squeeze before letting go. “Let’s get out of these clothes.”
I watch him with leery eyes, unsure of what move to make next. I’m sure the erratic change in my behavior is pissing him off, but I can’t let him think I’m here for more than shelter from the rain. “Fuel, I’m not...”
“I know, but you are soaking wet.” He cuts me off and curses under his breath, something about killing the man that hurt me. Are my secrets that obvious? Shaking his head, he turns toward a short hallway. “Come on, I have something you can wear.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on, please take me home.” He cares for me. I just wish I could return the feelings as more than just his friend. It’s been so long since I was with a man that cared about me.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, but you can’t go home yet.” He removes his cut, draping it over the back of a chair and heads toward the bedroom. “I’m tired of club pussy, but I’m not an asshole.”
I follow reluctantly, “Why can’t you take me home?”
He empties the contents of his pockets onto the dresser and strips off the wet shirt, dropping it to the floor on his path to the closet. I watch his tattoos dance across his rippling muscles as he moves. Fuel tugs a t-shirt on and tosses another one. I hold it up in front of me to see it’s way too big and wrinkle my nose at the stale scent. An amused smirk crosses his face.
“We’re stuck here until the storm blows over. Try to get some sleep. I’ll be on the couch if you change your mind and want company.” He shoots me a wink over his shoulder, trying to sidestep the friend zone I just boxed him in and leaves me standing alone in the bedroom.
He doesn’t allow me to refuse, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him. I wish I could let someone past the walls I’ve built around myself. I could fake feelings for Fuel. I’m good at pretending, but my body doesn’t respond to his touch the way he wants it to, and I can’t bring myself to pull him further into my mess. After I change into the dry shirt, I crawl into the bed, scrolling through social media apps on my phone. I browse through posts from my family and friends. It seems like a lifetime since I could reach out to them. Cyber stalking with a fake profile is the closest I can get. It’s just too risky for all of us. The only connections I have these days besides Fuel are the girls from work. When you sling beer at a sleazy biker bar, no one questions your identity. A wave of jealousy comes over me, I would give anything to live the way they do.
No fear. No walls. No pain.
I’m always looking over my shoulder, avoiding close contact as much as I can. Which means staying away from the camera lens, unlike them. Their social media feeds are full of pictures of themselves hanging on to a guy, mainly members of the Krymson Destroyers MC, regular patrons and co-owners of our bar. One in particular always catches my attention, I watch him from a distance whenever they drop by. His dark eyes and glistening bronze skin get to me every time. I dream of his hands on me, his sculpted body molded over mine. Just thinking about it gets me wet.
I power off my phone and place it on the side table next to the bed, listening to the rain and the wind howl against the window. I slip my hands below the covers to relieve the pent-up tension separating me from sleep. My fingers circle my clit, relieving my anxiety. When I close my eyes, it’s the one they call Prez I see. My fingers pump through the wetness, intensifying between my legs with the image of Chainz and the tattoos that cover his chiseled muscles.
A sudden urgency flows through me thinking about him fucking me. He makes my heart race and my knees weak. The more I picture his dark penetrating stare and the shit-eating grin under his full goatee, I explode. Desire floods my fingers as I clench down around them, and I shudder almost violently from the explosive orgasm ripping through my body. I bite my lip to silence the moan of relief from escaping. The sound catches in my throat, suddenly interrupted by a thundering bang from inside the house. The loud noise catches my attention, I pull myself out of the bed to see what the commotion is.
“Where the fuck is she?” A voice bellows.
My hand curls around the doorknob but Fuel’s throaty growls stop me in my tracks, “What the fuck, man? You have ten seconds to get the fuck out.”
