Chapter 22

22

AMITY

I park the RV and lean back with a sigh. The campground's deserted, and the call of nature pulls me in. I change into my running gear and leave a note for Nevaeh.

I head out on one of my favorite trails, not bothering with music; I just want to soak in the peace and recharge as my social battery is running low.

I run until my watch beeps at the five-mile mark, then loop around to head back to the RV. I slow down when I see a family coming my way, with two kids on bikes trying desperately to keep them upright.

"Thanks," the woman smiles as I move aside. "Excuse me, do you live here or are you just visiting? We're here for the next few days, and I'm not sure what to see or do."

"I'm staying here temporarily. I know there are some good hiking trails, and the diner's amazing—the food is so good. I saw a flyer there the other day about a ghost tour, but I didn't stop to check it out."

"Oh, that sounds fun, right, Bill?"

Bill, who I assume is her husband, rolls his eyes. "Yes, dear."

She elbows him in the stomach.

"Don't mind him. He's grumpy because someone broke his camping chair last night and stole his beer."

"We left the city to get away from asshole kids, but it seems they're everywhere," he grumbles.

The wife shakes her head. "He's a high school principal, and believe it or not, he loves his job, well, most of the time anyway."

I laugh, holding my hands up. "No judgment here." I look behind me to make sure their kids are out of earshot. "Honestly, I think most kids are assholes."

"See? She gets it," he says, pointing at me, and I laugh some more. "Anyway, don't listen to us. You should finish your run before it gets dark."

I nod, smiling, thinking he's probably a really good principal despite everything. It's hard caring for people who don't seem to have an ounce of sense; I can only imagine it's a million times worse when those people are a bunch of teenagers.

I wave goodbye to them and jog back to the RV, spotting Nevaeh's car when I get there. I open the door and catch the water bottle that's flying toward my head.

"Nice reflexes."

"Thanks, keeps me from being knocked unconscious," I say, twisting off the cap and gulping it down.

I watch as Nevaeh puts the groceries away, knowing better than to offer to help. She's seriously anal about where things go and how each label should be facing forward. Looks like my man and my bestie have that in common. The other night, I tried to help G by putting away some of his things, and he lost it. He told me he has a system, and I couldn't help but laugh as he went around fixing what I'd done.

I sigh and collapse into the nearest chair.

"What's up? Everything okay on set?"

"Monica's stalker struck again. She found another letter in her trailer. She was pretty freaked out when I left."

"I bet. That's why I use a pen name when I write. I'm not saying I'm as popular as her or anything, but I know being in the public eye definitely brings out the crazies."

I bite my lip and look away, not wanting her to see how I feel. But she's known me too long to know I'm hiding something.

"Amity…" she draws my name out.

I sigh and look back at her. "I'm jealous, okay? And I feel like a bitch because of it. I know G and I are new, but I trust him. It's just that I don't know how much longer we'll be here, and the more time he spends with Monica, the less he spends with me. Ugh, I'm a horrible person."

"No, you're not. You're just being honest about how you feel. You like G—probably more than you thought you would. You took a chance when I know your instinct was to run, and I think it was the right move. He's good for you. I've seen how he looks at Monica, and it's the same way he looks at anyone else he talks to on set.

"Everyone else, that is, except you. I swear, when he looks at you, it's like the rest of us disappear. Trust me, he hates being away from you as much as you do."

"You think?"

"Yeah, I do. Now go take a shower because you stink, and I'll make something for us to eat. I assume he's coming over later? I'll head to the library for a little while to give you guys some space. Actually, I could probably get a hotel room for the night?—"

I cut her off. "He wants me to stay with him tonight at the clubhouse, so you'll have the RV all to yourself."

"Oh, that's perfect. I was struggling with this one scene, and it came to me while I was driving. I had to pull over and make a few notes so I didn't forget. Now I can write in my PJs and stuff my face at the same time, both things frowned upon at the library."

"Are you sure? I've been spending a lot of time with G since you moved in here, and the last thing I want you to feel is abandoned."

I tilt my head as I realize what I said. I have been spending a lot of time with G, so Monica getting his attention at work has more to do with my insecurities and less to do with him. Dammit.

"I'm sure. I really do want to get this book done. And as much as I love spending time with you, this thing won't write itself, unfortunately."

"Alright, but promise you'll let me know when you wanna do something like catch a movie or have girls' night or whatever, okay?"

"Absolutely. After I write ‘the end,' let's go out. We'll find a place to dance and have drinks and celebrate."

"Now that's a plan I can get behind."

I leave her to finish putting things away and jump in the shower. I keep my hair out of the spray and wash off quickly before climbing out and drying off. I wrap the towel around me and search through my clothes, trying to decide what to wear.

In the end, I keep it simple—I'm going to an MC clubhouse, not The Ivy. I pull on a pair of dark boot-cut jeans and a silver knit tank top that dips low enough in the front to show some cleavage but not so low that I risk flashing anyone my nipples. I grab my low-heeled biker boots with silver buckles, figuring we'll take his bike, and my black leather jacket with silver zippers on the sleeves.

Not wanting my hair to become a tangled mess, I braid it and pull it over my shoulder. I add a few silver rings and a pair of hooped earrings to finish the look.

I leave my gun behind for Nevaeh. She might hate them, but she knows how to shoot, and it makes me feel better about leaving her alone. Still, I don't want to walk into the clubhouse unarmed. I think for a moment. I've got just the thing.

I head out of my room, passing Nevaeh, who gives me a whistle. I grin at her but keep walking until I'm standing next to the driver's seat. I reach up and untangle the silver rosary that once belonged to my mother from the rearview mirror. Pulling the bottom part of the cross off reveals a small blade that, though short, is wickedly sharp—kind of like Pippin.

My mom always wore it, saying a woman could never be too careful. I click the bottom piece back into place, slip the beads over my head, and pull my braid free. The cross sits in the V of my chest and adds a gothic twist to my outfit.

"What do you think?" I turn and pose for Nevaeh, who's stir-frying some vegetables. The smell is making my mouth water.

"You look hot."

"I'll take that. Should I bother putting on makeup? I'm not sure what time G will be here, and I don't want to overdo it."

"Yeah, put some on. It shows you made an effort. I know you usually skip it because it sweats off your face, but the only exercise you'll be getting tonight is the sexy, fun kind. Just remember to pack some makeup wipes."

"Yes, Mom," I say with a grin before heading back to the bedroom to throw a few things into my backpack—mainly clean underwear and makeup wipes, of course. I toss in my toothbrush, phone charger, Kindle, and a change of clothes. After zipping it up, I carry it out to the living area and place it on a chair before sitting at the table.

"Do you need any help with anything?"

"Nope. It's almost done."

"Okay, I'll do the dishes then."

"Whatever makes you happy. So, you're off for the next couple of days, right?"

"Yep, unless I get called in to reshoot something."

"Do you have any plans, or are you going to have a lazy few days? And when I say lazy, I mean run a half-marathon for fun and maybe eat some egg whites."

I stick my tongue out at her. "I thought I'd mostly just have lots of hot and sweaty sex. The rest? I'm going to play by ear. I might even sleep in."

"Oh, you rebel, you."

"Alright, smart-ass, what about you? Gonna spend your weekend with your fictional boyfriends, or maybe go out and talk to a real-life man?"

"Now, why would I wanna do that? Real men can't compete."

"You say that now, but I'm sure there are a few biker hotties that would love to pop your cherry, both figuratively and literally." I wiggle my eyebrows at her, and she snorts.

"Unless he's the president, I'm going to have to pass. I have standards, you know."

"Sorry, the president's taken, and his old lady Sunshine looks like a fucking supermodel. I want to both bask in her glory and shave her head to even the playing field. Though she's one of those people that you just know would suit being bald, the bitch."

"She sounds awful."

"I know, right? Plus, she's sweet, smart, and pregnant, so she's got that whole glowing thing going on. It's disgusting."

"Oh, my poor little ugly duckling." She pats me on the back in the most condescending way possible.

I grin, and she smiles back.

"Jokes aside, I'm glad she's nice. Old ladies hold a lot of sway over the rest of the women. They can either make you feel welcome or completely freeze you out. I'm happy she's a good one."

I nod as she puts our food on our plates and hands me mine before sitting across from me. I open the drawer behind me and grab us both forks.

"I'm hoping Legs is around so I can see how she's doing. We really do need to arrange a night out or something with her, but with my crazy schedule, it's tough."

"Invite her to the set. Stefan's been pretty cool with everyone from the club dropping by, so I doubt having Legs there will bother him."

"That's a great idea. I should text Mercy and Jinx to see if they want to come, too. They're the ones I told you about—the ones I met when G took me out for breakfast."

"There you go. A girl's day out that works with your schedule, plus I can keep them busy while you're filming."

"You sure?"

"Of course. I'm excited to meet them. I've never met real-life biker babes before."

I throw my head back and laugh at the stars in her eyes. She's around famous people and doesn't bat an eyelash, but tell her she's going to meet some real-life biker chicks, and she gets all starstruck.

By the time G shows up, Nevaeh has already gone to bed. I've been trying to watch a Friends rerun for the last ten minutes, but my eyes keep slipping closed.

The sound of his bike outside pulls me from my light doze. I stand up and stretch before grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. A quick look at the clock shows it's quarter past eleven. It's not that late, but it sure feels like it after a long day on my feet, even with the nap I took this afternoon.

I walk out, locking up behind me before heading over to G. He holds out the helmet for me, and when I take it, he tugs me into his arms. "Sorry, I'm so late. Monica's tires were slashed. I had to take her back to her hotel."

I tense at the thought of Monica on the back of his bike with her arms wrapped around him. I might not know much about biker rules, but I know putting a woman who isn't yours on the back of your bike is generally considered a no-no.

As if sensing what I'm thinking, he pulls back and rubs his hands up and down my arms as he looks into my eyes. "I couldn't leave her there, not with her stalker lurking around. I was just doing my job. I promise, nothing more. The prospect was already at the hotel when I got there, and he'll watch her tomorrow."

I swallow and nod, still not happy, but what can I say? He's right. He couldn't just leave her there.

I pull the helmet on and flip the visor down so he can't see my face. Sliding the backpack onto both shoulders, I climb onto the bike behind him and wrap my arms around him. Closing my eyes, I try not to think about Monica doing the same thing. He pauses for a moment, his hand moving to my thigh, and squeezes it before he starts up the bike again.

The ride to the clubhouse is uneventful, though my brain is going a million miles a minute. Did she wear my helmet? Did she feel like she belonged behind him? Does she want him like I do, or is her interest in him purely based on fear and protection?

Ugh, I hate this. If it had been anyone else, I would've walked away, preferring to be the one to call the shots. Being in control is important to me, more so than most people. After my accident, my body was so broken I had no control over anything. Hell, I couldn't even wipe my own ass.

Giving over some of that control to G has been liberating. I've felt lighter because he made it feel like a privilege. But this whole thing with Monica makes me second-guess myself. As comfortable as I am in my own skin, it's still a road map of all the scars I've collected over the years.

Monica has the kind of skin that gets her ads for a fancy skincare line. She's a famous actress, for fuck's sake. Next to her, I'm a cheap knockoff. So why would he pick me over her?

My demons ride with me all the way to the clubhouse, only shutting up when the engine turns off, and the silence envelops us. I climb off his bike and pull the helmet from my head before setting it on the seat. I stand there waiting for G to get off, not knowing what to say or do.

He steps toward me, slipping my bag from my shoulders and easing it to the ground. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't. I'm just being stupid?—"

His finger on my lips silences me. "Your feelings aren't stupid. I might've had good reasons for what I did, but I still hurt you. I'd fucking hate knowing you'd been on the back of one of my brother's bikes. I promise it won't happen again. I wasn't thinking clearly, all I thought about was getting home to you."

I rest my head against his chest and take a deep breath before letting it out slowly. "Thank you." I lift my head to look up at him. "I did overreact, though. I let the voice in my head fill me with doubts, and that's my issue, not yours. It's something I need to work on. I guess I got worried you'd wonder why you were with me when you could have her."

His hands cup my face. "You don't see what I see, but that's okay. You will, even if I have to fuck you every single day to remind you. I chose you. You're all I think about and talk about, much to my brothers' annoyance. You're all I see, Amity. Just you." His lips press against mine, and he kisses me softly, more so than ever before, conveying an emotion I'm not sure I'm willing to put a name to just yet.

As he kisses me, his hands move to my jacket, and he pushes it from my shoulders, letting it drop to the ground with my backpack. Lifting his head, he spins me around and bends me over his bike. My helmet falls off the seat, but we both ignore it as G pops open the buttons of my jeans and eases them and my underwear down over my ass.

"Someone will catch us," I warn him, but I can't deny the thrill that runs through me at the thought of someone seeing us.

"Look up, Amity. Do you see the two red dots in the corners? Do you know what they are?"

"Cameras," I whisper, the realization making me wetter than I ever imagined.

"You're damn right someone's watching. I could call and ask them to turn them off," he tells me as I hear him lower his zipper. "But I won't. I think you like the thought of someone watching us. I bet if I slipped my fingers inside your pussy right now, they'd come out soaked, wouldn't they?"

I whimper and nod as he kicks my legs wider. They can't go much further because of my jeans, but it's enough for him to get closer. He slips a couple of fingers inside me, and I groan.

"I fucking knew it. You're dripping all over my hand. You want to show my brothers what they can see but never touch?"

"Yes," I cry as he pulls his fingers out.

I feel him press against me again, but this time, it's definitely not his fingers. He thrusts inside me, making the bike wobble, but thankfully, it doesn't fall over.

"Jesus, taking you bare is my favorite thing ever. The only thing better than painting you with my cum is fucking it back inside you."

I hold on for dear life as he fucks me slowly, like he has all the time in the world. Anyone could walk in, and I know he wouldn't care; he'd just carry on like it was totally normal to rail his girl while chatting with his brothers.

The taboo of it all has my body buzzing, warning me that this orgasm is going to be intense. I can't stop it any more than I could stop the sun from shining, and honestly, I don't want to. I don't care if the whole clubhouse is watching, stroking their cocks to the sight of G's pierced dick, wet from my arousal, sliding in and out of me.

"Such a dirty girl. You like the idea of being watched, don't you?"

I swear this man can hear my mind sometimes. But I bite my tongue, worried that if I say it out loud, the next time we fuck might be over the pool table in the middle of the clubhouse.

"Tell me the truth, Amity. There are no lies between us, ever."

I swallow hard.

"You like being watched?"

"I don't know. I like the idea of it—of being caught. But I don't know if I like the reality of it."

"You like the thrill of it." He thrusts into me hard, rewarding my honesty. "We can try anything you want, baby. And if you want to explore those kinks or any others, I'm down with that. I'll never push you beyond what you're comfortable with. The only thing I won't do is share you. No fucking way am I ever letting another man inside you. This pussy is mine."

"Yes!" I gasp.

"Say it. Tell me who this pussy belongs to."

"It's yours, G. My pussy belongs to you."

"Damn fucking straight. Now I want you to come all over my cock. I wanna wear your cum like a badge of honor tonight. This pussy might be mine, but this cock? It's all yours."

He reaches around to rub my clit. My legs start to shake, and my stomach tightens as my orgasm builds, coiling inside me like a snake ready to strike.

"Come for me, baby. Come for me, and I'll fill you so full of my cum you'll taste it."

He sinks his teeth into the curve of my neck, not hard enough to hurt but enough to push me over the edge. I scream his name as I explode, a wave of pleasure hitting me like a tsunami, crashing through everything in its wake, dragging him along with me. I feel him pumping his cum inside me, filling me up before he brushes his lips across my shoulder.

"If you only knew what you did to me," he mutters. I'm not sure if he's talking to me or himself, so I don't reply—I'm not even sure I could form a sentence anyway.

He stands up, his hand sliding between my legs as he fucks his fingers into me slowly. I mewl in protest, still feeling too tender. He ignores me as he fucks his cum back into me. When he finally pulls his fingers free, he spins me around, keeping hold of my arm so I don't fall over, and offers them to me.

I open my mouth, letting him slip them inside. The taste of him, of us, explodes in my mouth as I suck them clean.

He pulls them free before pressing a kiss to my lips.

"I don't want her. I don't want anyone but you. Got it?"

"Got it. I need to clean myself up. There's some wipes in my?—"

I suck in a sharp breath when he drops into a squat and rubs his cum into my inner thighs and through the little strip of curls covering my sex.

"I want you wearing me on your skin like an invisible tattoo marking you as mine."

I open my mouth to protest, but he stands back up and grips my jaw gently.

"It's not a request, Amity. I need you to do this for me."

I give in even though UTIs are not sexy. If I get one, I'll punch him in the face.

He pulls my jeans up for me and refastens them. I ignore how my damp skin feels against the denim, willing to bend if it means something to him.

Once he's tucked away and I've straightened my clothes, he holds my jacket open for me, and I slide my arms in.

"Feel better?"

"If you say anything about your dick being the perfect medicine, I will not be held responsible for my actions."

"Well, maybe not the perfect medicine, but I'm sure a therapist would say it helps relieve stress and anxiety."

I grumble just for the sake of complaining. I hate giving in, even though I know he's right. After stressing all evening, he managed to calm me down in a few moments. Stupid man and his magic dick. I keep my mouth shut because I don't want him to know he has that kind of power over me.

"Okay, I'm ready. Do I look like I've just been ridden hard?"

"Maybe a little. You're fucking a biker, baby. We always ride hard." He smirks before grabbing my bag and tossing it over his shoulder.

Taking my hand, he leads me out of the warehouse and toward the clubhouse. I can hear the music from here—some kind of soft rock playing—but the words are muffled enough that I can't make out the song.

"How do you sleep with all that noise?"

"All the bedrooms are soundproofed."

"Ooh, that's good to know. So I can scream ‘yes, Daddy' at the top of my lungs, and nobody would hear?"

He stops and looks at me, his eyes flaring with the promise of something dark and dirty. "I've never been into daddy kink, but I said I'd try anything you want."

I roll my eyes. "I'm not calling you Daddy ."

"That's fine. I'm good with Master or God."

"Your ego is bigger than your cock, and that's saying something."

He laughs loudly, drawing the attention of the three bikers walking our way. One of them looks familiar, but the one with the scars on his face, I don't know—or at least don't remember. And the third guy, I think, might have come to the movie set a couple weeks ago.

"I wondered if we'd see you tonight," the vaguely familiar guy says when they stop in front of us. He turns to look at me, and I have to fight the urge to shiver.

You know the saying, The lights are on, but nobody's home ? Well, this guy's like a haunted house version of that. There are no lights on, and the only thing home are the dozens of ghosts haunting him.

"Thought I'd show my face. I know how much you miss me when I'm gone." G looks at me before introducing us. "You remember Hannibal?" I nod because once he says his name, I do, but not this look in his eyes though.

"The asshole beside him is Probe. And this is Kruger," he says, pointing to the guy with the scars. "Guys, this is my girl, Amity."

"I remember tall, dark, and psychotic, but I'm not sure about you two," I admit to Kruger and Probe. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from asking them how they got their names—the struggle is real.

"Tall, dark, and psychotic?" Probe snorts. "You sure got Hannibal pegged."

"I saw you throw yourself off a perfectly good horse. Not sure you're in any position to call me a psycho," Hannibal says, crossing his arms.

G moves closer until his side is pressed against mine.

"Crazy recognizes crazy." I shrug.

Sure, the guy looks like he'd happily pop my eyeballs out just to see how squishy they are, but I'm not sensing any malice or hostility from him. I'd much rather deal with his standoffish attitude than Blade's when he's in a mood.

Kruger takes me in, his eyes flicking to my hair. "You have sex hair."

"You have scars on your face."

Everyone tenses like I just told him he's into his mother or something.

"What? I thought we were just stating facts." I point to G and then Hannibal. "Pierced dick. Psycho. Scarface." I point to Kruger before moving on to Probe. "Alien insemination."

"What the fuck?"

"Your name's Probe. I can't help that that's where my brain went. Look, I understand that you might not want to talk about the little green men sticking things up your ass, but you shouldn't bottle it all up."

Kruger's lips twitch, but he doesn't say anything. Probe, on the other hand, looks pissed.

"I'm not called Probe because aliens abducted me."

"Shh…don't say that too loud. They might hear you and come back. What if you attract one with a breeding kink?"

They stare at me in shock until Hannibal, of all people, starts laughing.

"I think you'd be fun to play with."

G wraps his arm around me and snarls at Hannibal. "Mine."

I resist the urge to say something about peeing on me in case G thinks that's one of the kinks I want to try. Instead, I lean against him and turn away from Hannibal. The way he's looking at me makes me think my version of playing is a lot different than his.

I like my organs exactly where they are—inside my body, not on ice.