Cutter's Claim E-Book

Monique Moreau

• Herausgeber: Moreau Imprint
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

A demanding bad boy who won’t take no for an answer. A prickly princess who refuses to say yes. Who will come out on top? 

Cutter 

Who needs more than bikes and willing women? Not Cutter. Until he meets Greta, a former biker princess who turned her back on the club life. She challenges him every step of the way, and Cutter doesn't tolerate disobedience. 
 
Greta 

Greta lives by one rule: No Bikers. She didn't escape her father's MC and build a new life for herself just to be brought down by a dirty biker. Not even a hot, domineering man like Cutter could change her mind. 

Cutter is ready to play dirty. In their battle of wills, he begins to master her deepest desires. Can she find the inner strength to submit to him? Meanwhile,  danger from the past lurks in the shadows—ready to pounce. 

Leseprobe

CUTTER’S CLAIM

A BAD BOY BIKER ROMANCE

MONIQUE MOREAU

CONTENTS

Meet Monique!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Epilogue

More by Monique Moreau

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Copyright © 2020 by Monique Moreau

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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1

Beads of sweat slid off the woman’s flanks and drenched the bedsheets. Cutter rolled off her, floating on the high of a good fuck. It had taken the edge off. Tomorrow was the third Saturday of the month. Tommy’s day. Lying beside her, he cast a glance sideways and blew out a gust of frustration. It had been a mistake to fuck her twice.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted them on the carpet. Christ, his balls were gonna freeze off. Late March in Poughkeepsie did that to a man. He glanced over his shoulder at Mandy, her chin propped on her hand, her eyes following his movements with greed. Her red-dyed hair matched the smear of lipstick around her lurid grin. Rolling onto her belly, she jiggled her pink ass at him. He gave her what she wanted, a sharp slap to each butt cheek.

“More, Cutter, more,” she pleaded.

Of course, she wants more. His rep preceded him wherever he went in the circuit of motorcycle clubs. He was a magnet for a certain kind of woman with a certain desire. It was common for brothers to deal with women wanting to be their old lady or baby mama, but he got it twice as bad. Women knew about a biker named Cutter, and his knack for satisfying a woman’s kink with singular talent. They vied to be one of his “speed-dial bitches.”

“The more you beg, the less you get.”

The energy roaring through his system crashed like a downed helio. Ever since Prez got sick, sex left him empty. Bracing his arms on the futon, he pushed himself up. Even before Prez, his mind began to wander. He’d switched up his routine, amped up his techniques, but still, he was left worn out. For a man who’d turned thirty a month ago, that was wack.

Buck naked, he disposed of the used condom. He returned from the bathroom, moving around the space and releasing Mandy from the ropes around her wrists. A kiss on the crown of her head and then he gathered his tools. Following a ritual of cleansing, they were returned to their proper places in the drawers. Mandy’s lips drew down into a pout. She crawled toward him as he stood by the plastic drawer storage that doubled as a night table and grabbed his hand. Christ, her antics.

Swiping the underside of her breast, he instructed, “Time to go, babe, I got things to do. Be a good girl and drag your panties over that sweet, blistering ass. Make sure the elastic band scrapes up my marks real good.” He cupped the back of her neck and gave her a bruising kiss before turning his back to her.

In the bathroom, he twisted the lock. Lifting his head to the cracked mirror above the sink, Cutter took a hard look at himself. He scratched the prickly scruff on his jaw. Been a while since he’d shaved. His deep-set eyes made him look rough enough without adding facial hair. He liked to keep things easy. Chill. Relaxed. Mellow. Those were the words people used to describe him. Except in the bedroom, where he exercised absolute control over women. He was the yang to their yin.

Puck poked his head into Cutter’s bedroom and called out, “Yo, Cutter, get out, we got to talk. I’ll be downstairs.”

After a quick shower, he took the stairs to the main floor of the clubhouse. Puck was sipping a beer, spread-eagled on a leather couch cracked and aged with a scattering of cigarette burns like confetti at a ticker-tape parade. The cloudy midafternoon February light peeked in through a row of back windows and illuminated a pool table. Brothers advanced, retreated, and circled the green felt like hunters on the prowl. A clatter of glasses and dishware being arranged in their proper places behind the bar reverberated in the spacious room. Cutter snatched a water bottle and joined Puck.

Sprawled on the couch, the odor of ammonia twitched his nose, reminding him it was Tuesday, the day prospects mopped down the floors. A splintering sound sent both their gazes toward the pool table. Loki held a broken pool stick in both hands, the jagged edges pulsing in the air. There was a shout from the bar, and he threw them down. He whipped on his leather jacket as he stormed past them.

“He’s one moody fucker,” offered Cutter.

Puck grunted in agreement before replying, “Loki was never talkative, but ever since Chopper offed himself, he’s caught up in a world of shadows.”

“At least Kingdom’s gotten over it. If our VP’s head was still in the toilet, Prez’s cancer would have dismantled the Squad. There’d be no surviving that shit.”

“Can’t compare their situations,” debated Puck. “Chopper was Loki’s blood brother, not Kingdom’s. And Loki’s got no woman to pull him through.”

“At least the fucker’s not blaming Kingdom no more,” Cutter noted. Before their truce, there were times the feud got ugly. “Loki pledged his life over to Kingdom. Which was a fucking good thing because a man like Loki doesn’t do shit half-assed. Though, thank fuck I ain’t like him.” Cutter gave out a shudder.

“Would be good if you were like him once in a while,” Puck grumbled, unease pricking at his chest.

Cutter straightened. “Christ, tell me how you really feel.”

Puck’s lips flattened. Puffing out a breath of exasperation, he said, “You’re an asset to the Squad, but you’re wasting your life. With your skills, you could rise in the ranks. It’s a fuckin’ shame.”

Assessing the empty water bottle, Cutter crushed the plastic in his hands. “Brother, that isn’t for me. I’m a chill motherfucker. Stress-free. Responsibilities come with stress, and stress don’t agree with me.”

Puck flexed his bicep and massaged it. “You’re a selfish dumbass is what you are.”

Yeah, he was. Sue him if he wanted to make up for his lost childhood.

“I don’t see you rankin’ up,” he pushed back.

Puck began massaging his left tricep, the one that always cramped after a long workout. “I can barely contain my sister. Can’t expect me to do more. I’m where I’m supposed to be. You aren’t.”

“I’ve been taking care of Tommy my entire life. You don’t see me complainin’.”

 Lifting his chin toward Loki, who was returning from the back offices, Puck observed, “He’s the Sergeant of Arms. Kingdom’s the VP. Fuck, even Whistle patched in and he’s the poster boy for ‘Stupid as Fuck.’ Sage bails his ass out of jail on the regular. Even so, he’s found his place. You wanna stay the same. Never grow up like Peter fuckin’ Pan. You”—Puck stuck out his forefinger—“you’ve dug your heels in like a righteous, stubborn bastard.”

“That’s cold, bro.”

“That’s real is what it is.”

“I ain’t shopping for an old lady and a bunch of kids.”

Cutter wasn’t one to get riled up, but his gut burned. His skin crackled, choking his body, like a snake before a molt. Forcing a grin, he joked, “Admit it, you’re jealous because I get the bitches you ain’t never gonna get.”

Puck snorted and shook his head. “Those bitches are gassin’ you up if they’ve convinced you tying them up is somethin’ special.”

“See, that right there proves you don’t know half of what women want. Takes a special man to give it to them right and teach them new tricks.”

Puck released his upper arm and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. Eyes hard, he checked their surroundings before speaking low. “Things are changin’ up in here. Your head is stuck in too much pussy to notice.”

Cutter’s gaze snapped toward Puck, on the alert. “Say what now?”

Puck shifted closer and growled, “I said you’re too stupid to realize what’s going on.”

Cutter’s head jerked back. Puck’s dander was up. What the fuck? Puck didn’t do dander. “The fuck you talkin’ about, yo?”

Puck muttered under his breath. Lurching forward, Cutter caught the tail end, something about “another one coming up.”

“Hold up. Repeat that,” Cutter directed. A slew of curses poured out of Puck’s mouth and flew over Cutter’s head, making him dip low.

Tipping his head another inch closer, Puck reiterated, “One man’s going down and another’s gonna rise in his place.”

Fucking Puck, with his opaque philosophical shit. Half the time he didn’t know fuck-all what Puck was going on about, but apprehension crept up the nape of his neck and raised his hackles.

Cutter grabbed the pack of cigarettes he’d dropped on the low coffee table. He tapped it, and a loose cigarette dropped out. In one swift move, he tossed it between his lips. Bending low with Zippo in hand, he lit it. Sucking in nicotine, he took a moment to regain his balance. Then he surreptitiously scanned the area once more. Puck and he were speaking close, but not close enough to catch anyone’s attention.

“Prez is sick.”

Cutter let out an irritated puff. “No shit.”

“Again. He’s sick again and it’s uglier than last time.”

Smoke poured out of Cutter’s partially opened mouth. “Nobody’s said anything.”

“I’m saying it. Seems I’m the only brother who’s got eyes that work. It don’t help that the power couple’s in denial.”

Cutter bit back a smirk. Kingdom and Loki, the power couple. Funny.

“Neither of those bastards can deal with another death, but I know the truth,” said Puck.

“And how in the fuck would you know the truth?” Cutter asked dubiously.

“I eavesdropped on Prez.”

Cutter’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Come again?”

“Get off your damn high horse, you lazy piece of shit.”

Where in the fuck was this coming from? Cutter scowled, and snapped, “Don’t get pissy with me.”

Thumping his chest bone, Puck declared, “Everyone’s got their heads up their asses. I’m the only one who bothered to find out. At Prez’s last checkup, I drove him. Stood outside the door when he talked to his doctor. I was checking my phone and shit when the door swung halfway open, and I heard the doc’s diagnosis.” Puck spat out the last word as if it were venom.

A heavy, frigid sensation hit Cutter as if he’d been dunked in freezing water. Scooting to the edge of his seat, he murmured, “Prez did it on purpose. No way you would’ve heard anything unless he wanted you to.”

“Whatever. Doc ordered him to take it easy. From now on. ‘Quit your job,’ he said, and ‘make your health the number one priority. You can’t be of use to anyone if you’re dead. I’ve got you an appointment at Sloan Kettering in New York City for chemo and radiation. A colleague of mine owes me a favor. Radiation begins in six weeks.’ Can you believe that shit?”

Prez was like a father to him. Didn’t matter that his moms hated Prez’s guts. He’d been their neighbor when he started the Demon Squad with two other members. Prez had fallen for his moms, and she’d repaid him with revulsion. Good man that he was, he never held it against Cutter. Closest thing to paternal love he’d ever experienced, because he sure as fuck got no maternal love. That had been used up on Tommy.

After he’d patched in with “those hooligans,” as she called them, she refused to see him for years. Until she got sick. And then, only for Tommy’s sake. He did what she’d asked of him. Shouldered the responsibilities she’d foisted on him. Still, he was kept at bay until her illness took a turn for the worst. One afternoon, he lay down on the hospice bed beside her sleeping form and, caressing her hairless skull, wept like a pussy. His moms. Gone. After the other Squad founders died, Prez was the last one standing.

Cutter hunched over, his gaze cutting to Puck. He cleared his throat, trying to speak, but it took a moment before he got words through the painful swelling of his throat. “Sloan what?”

“Memorial Sloan Kettering, a hospital that has a Cancer Clinic. Place where they take care of people with bad cases of cancer.”

“Six weeks till he leaves. For how long?” Cutter asked.

Puck lifted and dropped his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “It doesn’t fucking matter. Shit has got to be put in place now. Gotta say, I almost bawled like a fucking kid. Him stepping down will rock the Squad to the core.”

After drawing in a deep breath, Puck continued, “It’s up to you, Cutter. Besides me, you’re the closest thing to a son Prez has. After Chopper’s death, you’re the closest brother to Kingdom. Loki will flip his shit when he finds out. Kingdom’s gonna need you to keep him strong, to push him through the transition. And to keep Loki out of the psych ward. That’s gonna be a killjoy, for fuckin’ sure. If not done right, it’ll be a clusterfuck of massive proportions.”

The cigarette dropped from his fingers, burning a new hole into the scruffy rug. Staring down at his open palms, he scrutinized the lines as if he could consult them about the future. The Squad’s future. His future. One deep horizontal groove crossed the others, slashing them in half.

Puck gripped his arm and gave it a shake. “You can do it. You’ll keep the brothers from blowing up—because they’ll be ticking time bombs, for sure. Keep them chill. We’ll need a strong hand, not a hard fist. We’ll need someone easy.”

The cigarette butt died. The rancid odor of burnt rug fibers singed his nostrils. Cutter wiggled his numb fingers to get the blood flowing. Shame and regret double-teamed him. His muscles trembled as if he were lifting weights without a spotter, and abarbell was about to land on his throat. He’d never cast himself as a disloyal brother, but he’d squandered his time on fun and games, on jesting and fucking.

“How much time does he have left?” asked Cutter.

“Dunno, the door shut afterwards. The club is his bitch and his baby. Don’t know what’s gonna happen to him without it.” Puck strained to rise, leaving Cutter to replay the times he’d messed around, this week alone.

Thump.

Two shots materialized on the coffee table. Lifting a shot glass, Puck saluted, “To the best of us.”

Blindly picking up his shot, he raised it to match Puck’s gesture, and downed it. The liquid blistered his throat, coating his tongue with a bitter aftertaste. He wasn’t one of the best. The day he walked away from his mother and Tommy, at age eighteen, he put himself first. Made him a selfish bastard, but it was the only way to make up for a childhood shackled with taking care of his uncle twenty-four seven. Puck included him in the toast, but it was a damn lie. Prez, Kingdom, Loki. Even Puck himself. But not him. Cutter scrubbed his face roughly. He had a debt of honor to pay off; he’d work himself to the bone and earn a place on the throne, alongside the heroes of the Demon Squad.

2

Greta pulled out her clipboard with the completed forms she’d gathered earlier. She twirled a pen around her fingers. Fussing with her long skirt, she steadied her legs, leaned back, and smiled at the woman sitting beside her. She had recently gotten her paralegal certificate and already Sage, her “boss,” entrusted her with a new type of client her firm represented. Pretty big deal. If she could manage to keep her shit together.

The woman’s gaze flitted nervously around Sage’s office. Before finally settling on Greta, her eyes screamed caution despite her tentative smile.

“Good to see you again, Christine. I’ve read over your paperwork, but I’d like to hear, in your own words, what’s happened.” Greta held up her clipboard and pen. “I may take notes, but anything I write is strictly for myself and Sage. Do you remember what I told you before?”

“Everything I tell you is confidential. You will share it with Ms. Cameron and no one else unless I give you permission.”

Okaaay, that was a word-for-word recitation.

“I’m glad to know that you’ve been paying attention, but remember, you may call her Sage.”

Christine whooshed out a breath, although she had not entirely surrendered her intense grip on the worn purse on her lap.  “When it comes to this, I’m always gonna pay attention.”

Greta gave her a soft smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.”

Twitching her skirt into place once more, she crossed her ankles, the tip of her pen poised against the clipped sheet of paper. “Just pretend I don’t know the details of your case and start.”

“Sage helped my brother, Jackie that is, stay out of the pen after he smashed up my asshole of a husband’s face.” Christine flinched. “Against a brick wall. Messed him up pretty good. I screamed for him to get off and tried pulling him away. I didn’t want the brother I love to get into trouble for my stupid mistake. You see, what my husband did to me, my father did to our mom, and Jackie couldn’t stop himself. I tried hiding it from him, I did.”

Fury thrummed through Greta’s blood. The part about Christine’s father gutted her. In a previous interview, Jackie told Sage straight-out that if Christine wasn’t taken care of, he’d be back with another assault charge or worse. Without helping his sister, there was no helping Jackie. It led Sage to help Christine, and others like her, free of charge.

At first, Greta hedged. She wasn’t a trained social worker, but a paralegal, and she didn’t want to get vicariously fucked up by working with a survivor. Like now. Greta paced her breathing to keep her pulse steady.

Wringing her hands, words tumbled out of Christine. “My husband won’t leave me alone, and if he doesn’t, someone’s going to end up dead. For once, I’m afraid for his safety, because Jackie will kill him. I was stupid enough to fall for a loser, and I’m paying the price. Jackie shouldn’t have to. You know how my brother is.” Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. A sob slipped out.

Greta seized her hand. “Christine.” She squeezed hard enough to cause her a twinge of pain. “Take a deep breath.”

Instead, Christine released a storm of sobs, and her purse toppled off her lap. Greta deftly picked it up and placed it on the table before caressing her back. Tears pricked at the back of Greta’s eyes. After a few minutes, she didn’t know how much more she could take, so she firmly shook Christine’s shoulders.

“It’s not your fault. Wipe that thought from your mind. Abusers are experts at manipulation and putting the blame on their victims. If you want to save yourself and your brother, it’s going to be a tough fight. But, trust me, it’s winnable.”

Her professional demeanor almost broke, but she clamped her lips shut to keep from confiding that she’d once been in the same position. Perhaps she hadn’t taken the physical blows, but she’d lived in a world of violence. Hers was a story of escape and survival. Of starting over and building her life from scratch. Of success in creating a new life. Despite her resurrection, fear was imbedded in the marrow of her bones.

Shaking off her nervousness, she said, “Breathe with me.”

Nodding weakly, Christine breathed alongside her.

“Again,” Greta directed. They took the second breath in unison. “Let’s do a one-minute breathing exercise.”

Greta closed her eyes and concentrated on the center of her forehead. Their inhalations and exhalations overtook the room. Sixty seconds seemed excruciatingly long, but they got through them together. Her heart rate was unsteady, but at least when she opened her eyes, her focus was back.

“Are you ready?” She didn’t bother to ask Christine if she felt better. That was a ridiculous question. Her long fingernail tapped the papers balanced on her knees.

“Why don’t we start with going through the legal forms allowing our law firm to represent you? Then, we’ll return to this. Please take out any documents you were told to bring and put them on the table, and I’ll go through them one by one. I understand that you’re out of the house and staying with a co-worker. Great first step. And you’ve changed your cell phone number. If we’re lucky, you won’t see him again until the court date.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen. He’s sworn up and down that he’ll never let me go and he’s already stopped by my workplace once. Made a hell of a scene. It’s only a matter of time before he strikes again.”

“Let’s get through this paperwork, and then we’ll work on other ideas,” Christine said, blowing out a huge breath.

“Yeah, okay.”

“We’ve established contacts with organizations who have committed to working with us. I’m going to give you the contact info of a great social worker. Her name is Abby, and she already knows about you. You should call her and set up a meeting within the next few days to create a safety plan for you. You’ll have access to a support group and a therapist. But, Christine? No matter how much support you have, you’re going to want to go back to him a hundred times over.”

Christine’s eyes widened and her eyebrows touched her hairline “How could you tell?”

“Trust me, I know.”

The statistics were dreary. It took survivors several times, sometimes many times, to ride the merry-go-round of hell before they got off for good.

Boundaries. The stories walking through the door were going to get worse. How would she handle seeing a kid with a busted lip or broken bones? She had to stick to her part of the script, the legal part. That’s the only way she could make a difference.

“Right then, let’s get to it,” she said.

Once they were done with their consultation, Greta walked into the reception area and nodded to Sage, who gave her a worried look. Her heart hammered against her breastbone and sweat plastered her shirt to her skin. 

Man, did she need a breather. Good time to get lunch. Knowing Sage, they’d both be starving by the time Christine left.

※※※

Greta joggled a large paper bag of takeout on her knee as she shimmied the front door closed. Whew, no clients. After depositing the bag on her desk in the reception room, she locked the door in case of a wayward client. Implementing a policy to close the office for half an hour for lunch had been a struggle, but otherwise Sage would never take a break to eat. It had the added perk of getting Kingdom out of her hair, because he’d made it a habit to randomly check in on Sage to make sure she took care of herself.

Greta was setting out the various containers when Sage emerged from her office. Dragging a visitor’s chair across the carpeted floor, she sat down with an oomph. A whiff from an open container drifted up. Shooting Greta a brilliant smile, she said, “Yummy, I’m starving.” Armed with chopsticks in one hand and a spoon in the other, Sage scooped up a spoonful of broth, and blew on it.

“How’d it go? For you, I mean,” asked Sage.

Through a mouthful of rice, Greta garbled out, “Alright, I guess.”

Sage wrangled a serving of pho noodles with her chopsticks and spoon. Between slurps, she asked, “Want to debrief?”

“I like the way you use rice noodles as a perfect foil to poke around my head without being blatantly intrusive.”

Sage clutched her string of fake pearls and gave her a look of horror. “How dare you suggest that I use food for anything but nourishment? Getting my favorite dish from my favorite Vietnamese restaurant is a form of obstruction and a low blow. Even for you.”

“Okay, okay, lawyer lady, I’ll stipulate to that count. Listening to the details was rough. So many details,” her voice ended in a low whisper. Her head and shoulders drooped. Spine curling inward as if she could coil into a tight ball, the adrenaline in her system crashed, leaving her a little woozy. “I went over her documents and gathered more evidence. Then we covered how to keep her safe. Well, as safe as she’s willing to be.”

A furrow broke the smooth skin between Sage’s brows.

Greta assured her, “She’s going to yo-yo. Get back together with him, then leave, come back, leave again. The typical cycle.”

“It’s true, the process is long and arduous, but at least we’re part of the solution.” Leaning over, she grasped Greta’s hand. “Anytime you need a break, I’ll cover for you. Time we recruit volunteers and train them, because we’ll need help. And to give you space if you need to step away for a while.”

Sage was amazing. Sophisticated, sharp as a tack, with intuition and empathy in spades.

“Why don’t you take a break this afternoon,” suggested Sage. “There’s not much going on.”

Greta stifled a huff. “Yeah, right, you’re overloaded as it is.”

“You with your savior complex. Take the afternoon off and let me feed my inner monster with work. Anyway, Kingdom’s coming over later to pick me up.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place? It relieves me of playing babysitter.”

Sage gave Greta a saucy wink and gestured with her chopsticks in the air. “You act as if he has magical powers.”

Greta snorted out, “He’s a biker, so yeah, I’d say he does. Especially when it comes to you.”

Sage snatched a carton before Greta could put it away and said, “Just go before I get angry at your assumption that he can rein me in.”

Greta came around and gave Sage a quick hug. With a peck on her head, she grabbed her purse from under her desk. Shrugging on her biker jacket, she unlocked the front door and said, “Alright, I’m off.”

“Go to a library or a used bookstore. I’m sure you’ll find a treasure trove to add to your colossal collection at home.”

Her plan was to go browse alright, but not for books. Window-shopping at the Harley Davidson dealership was on the menu. Some people went to church, some went to yoga. She went to look at bikes to re-charge.

3

Cutter was late meeting Kingdom. He’d stayed longer than he intended, sparring with Puck at a boxing gym they were checking out as an investment for the club. His thigh muscles screamed from overworking them. A week had passed since his conversation with Puck about Prez’s condition, and he’d been working out harder than usual to burn off the irritation churning in his gut.

Normally, he wasn’t one to hurry, but he lengthened his strides on his way to his bike. Passing by the Poughkeepsie Coffeehouse and Bar, he did a double take and screeched to a halt. From the other side of the windowpane, a pair of brilliant green eyes stared out at him on the busy avenue and quickly snapped away. Too late. The instant their eyes connected, a deep burn seized his muscles as if he’d caught a fever. He had to meet her.

Fuck me.

She was fucking beautiful. Those lively eyes of hers popped out of a heart-shaped face. Straight black hair cascaded down to her rib cage, pink ends brushing a leather bustier. Better yet, the bustier showed off the tops of plump tits. Which he appreciated since the rest of her was encased in a bulky sweater. Damn, he’d suck and bite those tits of hers for days.

Her almond-shaped eyes swept his way again, pinning him in place. Cutter broke into a wide grin. This one looked like she was about to spit fire. After a moment’s hesitation, her lips tilted upward slightly, and that small smile of hers cinched his balls like a harness.

The pretty girl pivoted to speak to the person by her side, and his scalp pricked at her dismissal. At the edge of his vision, her friend waved in his direction, attempting to get his attention.

Sage. With an excited smile, she urged him to join them. Hell yeah, perfect timing. This was his chance to press Sage into service before Prez left for radiation. He grabbed his cell and sent off a text to postpone his meeting with Kingdom by an hour. Didn’t hurt that he’d get a closer look at the green-eyed woman with tits that made a man quick to sin. And he was a sinner down to his core.

Once inside, he bent down to smack a kiss on Sage’s upturned cheek. Pulling back, he inspected her.

“Whattup? You look mighty fine today,” Cutter complimented smoothly.

“You’re such a flirt,” Sage chided. “We just finished up in court and ate lunch before heading back to the office.”

Sage’s eyes gleamed with purpose, as if she was giving him the go-ahead with her friend. Interesting. Not that Sage’s approval mattered, because he was on the bitch’s scent, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to be put off by anyone.

“I don’t think you’ve met Greta. Although, I’m sure you’ve heard of her,” Sage guessed accurately.

Greta. Sage’s personal warrior bitch.

His jaws clanked like a steel trap. This was the same woman who’d hidden Sage away in some bumfuck state near Canada when she skipped town on Kingdom.

Greta eyed him, her plump red lips on the brink of a snarl, daring him to step to her. She stood up to Kingdom, toe to toe, after he’d fucked up with Sage. During their confrontation, Kingdom had come down hard on Greta. Not only did she refuse to give up Sage’s location, but she told him to fuck off along with choice words about his behavior. Truth was, she’d done her job too well, because Cutter’s efforts to find Kingdom’s woman had also failed, and he was a tracker, dammit. Pissed him off that he’d rescued soldiers held hostage in Iraq but couldn’t track down one bitch in his own damn country.

This, then, was the infamous Greta.

Cutter jiggled the long keychain attached to the wallet in his back pocket. Like a dog whistle, the jingling put this woman on full alert. Her chest rose and fell like bellows. Coincidence? Not if his life depended on it. His fingers twitched with the desire to redden her ass. He could sniff out a subbie in Times Square on a rowdy New Year’s Eve at the stroke of midnight.

She’d caught his knowing smirk and scowled like a pit bull ready to maul him. Little did she know pit bulls were his favorite breed. He had a talent for making them straight-up docile in his hands.

He braced one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table, caging her. Fenced in, her gaze fell on the prominent veins snaking around his forearm, lined with tattoos. Feisty Greta liked what she was seeing. Bending low, until there was but a mere inch separating them, he murmured, “So. You’re Greta.”

He drew in a breath and her scent hit him like a tsunami. Caramel notes of burnt sugar, mixed with cinnamon and spice. She averted her bright eyes and nonchalantly picked at imaginary lint on her skirt. Biting down on his lower lip, he nudged her. “Aren’t you a pretty little girl?”

Her body went as taut as a leather restraint. “I’m no one’s ‘girl.’”

A challenge? He hadn’t had a test in a long-ass time. Game. Fuckin’. On.

“Do you mind? You’re being rude,” Sage interjected, as she patted the seat beside her.

“Sure thing, babe.” Cutter dragged the chair Sage motioned to and placed it right up against Greta. He eased back in it and draped his arm around the back of hers. “I’d do anything for you. After all, you’re the Squad’s number one old lady.”

“Why bikers insist on calling their girlfriends and wives ‘old ladies,’ I will never understand. Either way, we are not having this conversation again.”

“Sweetheart, make our lives easier and just accept the fact that you’re our savior.”

“Nothing has changed,” she huffed.

“See, you’re wrong there. The writing is on the fuckin’ wall. It’s happening.”

Switching her gaze from one to the other, Greta queried, “What’s going on?”

Sage bowed her head, intently focused on her empty cappuccino cup, and fiddled with the spoon. “Cutter is leading a campaign to convince Kingdom to become president.”

Greta’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? Why haven’t you mentioned this before? That’s a huge step, you know. It will affect every aspect of your life, including the time you have for your cases.” She held her breath before adding, “And our other project.”

Sage looked up at her beseechingly. “Exactly. Kingdom hasn’t said much on the subject, so this is a Cutter pipe dream.” Muttering low, she finished, “Hopefully.” Squinting up at Cutter, Sage complained, “Since when do you get riled up about club politics, anyway? That is simply not your MO.”

Cutter gave her a shit-eating grin. “I saw a need, and I got involved. Time to suck it up, babe.”

Sage’s mouth fell open. “Who are you? And bring back the Cutter I know.”

“Times are a changin’. You’ll end up doing it my way.” He added a wink to his smug smile.

Greta thrust the butt of her palms against Cutter’s chest. His heat clung to her fingers, and she clenched her jaws to keep from curling them over his pecs. “It’s not good for her to get embroiled in the Squad more than necessary. Old lady to the VP is one thing but being the senior female of an entire MC is a completely different scenario.”

Cutter deadpanned, “This is club business.”

“Whatever. Sage isn’t getting caught up with criminals. Not on my watch.”

His eyes bored into hers, and he chastised, “Manners, little girl. Watch them or I’ll take you over my knee. That what you want? Because that’s what you’re in for if you don’t watch the attitude.”

Clenching her fists, she banged them on the table, her voice unsteady. “You’ll do better to kill me than lift a finger to any part of me.”

※※※

Greta

Holy hell.

The biker staring her down from the street moments ago was looming over her like a grizzly bear. She was so close to blowing up. The only thing holding her back was the disapproval vibrating off him. Nervous tension pulsated in her gut. Sage reached out to place her hand over Greta’s shaking fists.

“Oh, Greta, I’m so—”

“Don’t touch her,” Cutter commanded in a cold tone.

Sage’s hand hovered in midair before returning to her lap. Stiffly, Greta focused on a spot in a far corner of the bustling shop. What the hell was happening to her? She hated bikers. Wanted nothing to do with them, but, here she was, trembling. This is dangerous. This I have to fight. A hand seized the back of her neck and pulled her sideways until she smashed against a massive chest. She jerked slightly and rubbed her cheek against the leather of his vest, better known as a cut, in a subtle movement.

He held her still until she got ahold of herself and indicated that she wanted to sit up. He slid his hand down her spine before releasing her. Mortified, she was about to leap up and run screaming from the coffee shop, but another—stronger—part of her kept her glued to her seat. A shiver went through her. The struggle between her body and mind was beginning to overwhelm her when he slipped his hand beneath her hair and massaged her nape. His calloused fingers left a trail of electricity crackling on her skin.

“Apologize.” Cutter’s baritone shuddered down Greta’s spine, and she cringed inwardly. She’d butted in and snapped at Sage.

Without thinking, she obeyed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“Good girl,” he praised. She flushed at his compliment, and pleasure surged inside her. Sage’s eyes bugged out in shock. Oh, fuck. She’d outed herself. Not that Sage doesn’t know, but still.

Shoving her chair backward with a screech, Greta stood up with her spine straight as a javelin. Cutter held her wrist for a moment before deciding to let her go. Smart move, buddy.

“Excuse me,” she muttered mulishly, spun on her heels, and stalked away.

At the counter, she requested a glass of ice water and emptied it in one go. She was desperate for something stronger than water, preferably a shot of vodka. Her head spun, but she’d be damned before she ran away. Stomping back to the table, she heard Sage giving him a piece of her mind.

“You can’t just grab people! Especially women. Grab, grab, grabby. You’re like a caveman.”

Greta placed a hand on Sage’s shoulder. “Relax, it’s no big deal.”

Ignoring Sage’s reprimand, Cutter kicked Greta’s chair out to make space for her. He slanted his eyes toward her and then over to her seat. When she hesitated, he raised one eyebrow. Growling under her breath, she threw her shoulders back and swept into her chair.

Cutter’s open arm settled on the back of her seat. Again. Blood rushed to her head at the weight of his stare. His blue eyes were at half-mast, praise for heeding him. A frisson ran down the length of her spine, because, asshole or not, he was devastating. A satisfied grin curved his full lips, his upper lip plumper than his lower. Like a pretty boy, only nothing else about him was pretty. Certainly not his square jaw, sporting a scruff of hair so blond it was almost imperceptible, but she noticed every detail about him. Like the curls on his fair head that she wanted to weave between her fingers and tug on as it moved between her legs.

What the fuck? Ugh, he’s a biker, and not the weekend type either. Pure, unadulterated alpha biker.

She schooled her features and settled for a scathing look that ordinarily froze men as if they’d looked into the eyes of Medusa. Unfortunately, he wasn’t cowed in the least. Was “subbie” emblazoned on her forehead? Changing tactics, Greta graced him with a fake, bright smile. Although he’d won this round, she’d be ready for him next time.

And there would be a next time, because she planned to fight him for Sage’s soul. At all costs.

4

Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.

The cover of Cutter’s Zippo snapped up and down, the percussion of metal on metal sounding through the twilight air. Cutter leaned against the brick wall of the back of the clubhouse, lighting the cigarette he’d pulled from his pack. Taking a long drag, the burning tobacco created a perfect circle of red light. Kingdom waved his arm and the motion-sensitive porch lights flashed. Placing his coffee mug on the ground beside him, Kingdom coughed and hit his chest with his fist, complaining, “Are you going to quit that lung cancer shit?”

Ignoring the complaint, Cutter turned toward Kingdom, his shoulder scrapping the brick wall.

“Prez can’t keep up anymore. Since the second round, he hasn’t been the same. If you want what’s best for him, talk to him about stepping down. You’ve been skirting the issue for over a year.”

Kingdom scowled and noted, “Don’t you lecture me. I’ll start talking to Prez.”

Cutter shot his brother a look of shock. “All those behind-the-door sessions and dinners at his house, and neither one of you spoke about it? Not once? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Dead silence hung between them. Kingdom wasn’t a pain in the ass on purpose. Although both their moms died of cancer, Cutter had never had a brother die on him. Chopper may have technically been Kingdom’s surrogate brother, but when he self-destructed, Kingdom had fallen apart. Luckily, he’d found Sage. The brothers groused about Sage not being from their world, but Cutter had recognized her potential from day one. His instinct had been right; she was one strong bitch and she’d pulled Kingdom out of the rubble.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you. It ain’t your fucking business how we conduct ourselves.”

“Christ, you’re both in denial.”

If Kingdom hadn’t spoken to Prez about it, then it was worse than he thought. Didn’t faze him, though. Nothing stopped him from a mission. He took care of his moms. Check. Took care of Tommy. Check. Finished his tour in Iraq. Check. Finished his associate’s degree, like his moms insisted. Check. Never mind that he didn’t do fuck-all with it. The one thing he’d done against her will was join the Squad. She’d rejected him for it until she needed him to take care of Tommy.

“What’s up with Sage’s guard dog, Greta? She had the gall to dictate club business to me.” Fuck, he sounded like a pussy.

Kingdom gave Cutter a sidelong glance. “What in the fuck are you babbling about?”

“She tried to shut me down when I talked to Sage about you bein’ the new president.”

Kingdom’s fingers paused in the middle of poking at his cell. “You talkin’ club business? More importantly, you bothering my woman?”

“I’m not bothering her. I was discussing her new role.”

“What role would that be, exactly?” Kingdom asked in a careful tone.

“Why are you actin’ thickheaded? Old lady of the president.”

“Not sure I want that for her.”

“Why the fuck not? Sage is more than up for the job.”

Kingdom’s gaze skittered around the backyard. “If it’s not good for my woman, then I will not become president.”

The floor underneath him bottomed out. “Are you saying we’re not good enough for Sage? Because the Sage I know would disagree. She loves the club.”

“It’s not about what she wants, it’s about what’s best for her. My woman comes first. Period. The end.”

“Both can happen at the same time.”

“Maybe, maybe not. The verdict’s still out. She’s a criminal attorney and we’re not exactly clean. Sage’s legal career is important to her, and I’m not going to place it in jeopardy.”

“We’re cleaning ourselves up. Besides the bar, Puck and I checked out another boxing club. This one’s promising. We’re getting a proposal ready. After that’s up and running, we’ll be in the clear.”

“Cutter, we’ve got a few big jobs left, during an internal shift of power. We need the money more than ever with Prez’s medical bills. That’s a whole lot to chew off in one bite.”

“You can do anything you put your mind to, Kingdom,” he argued.

“It would put her in a vulnerable position, and I can’t have that.”

“We’ll protect her.”

“I’m not putting a target on the backs of my woman and kid,” Kingdom ground out.

Shock reverberated through him, leaving his blood drumming in his temples. He was at Kingdom’s side, clapping him on the back, but Kingdom put a hand up to stop him.

“She miscarried,” he said in a weary tone.

His hand fell away. “Fuck.”

“I’m working on putting another one in her belly. Went to the OBGYN, and the doctor explained that shit happens. She’s healthy. I’m healthy. No blank bullets on my part. No problem on hers. But I’m not about to put my old lady and a kid in a potentially explosive situation. Ever.”

Cutter backed away. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that I can guarantee her safety. Sage would do it in a heartbeat.”

“Even if I said yes, Greta’s gonna fuck up that plan of yours.”