Joy Ride: A Virgin Romance (Let it Ride Book 3) Read online

  “Come on, he’s right. You should eat something. Voodoo outdid himself tonight. These burgers are amazing.”

  Ignoring her, Ryker stood and advanced on Duke.

  “Get the fuck away from me, man.” Duke gripped the edge of the table.

  Ryker laughed. “And here I thought you got used to men being close. You know, bendin’ over for the soap in the big house—five years is a long time to go without pussy, brother.”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll sit down. Now.”

  “Why don’t you make me, Duke?”

  That’s it.

  Duke shot up out of his chair and socked Ryker in the jaw, causing his head to rock back. Shepherd pushed himself between them, but Duke nailed Ryker with a blow to the gut. Ryker clipped Shepherd’s jaw before he backhanded Duke, sending him reeling into another table.

  Shepherd turned to the prospects. “Get your asses over here and run interference.”

  They dashed over, but Duke ignored the commotion and circled Ryker, keeping his fists up. Ryker had been itching for an excuse to start some shit with him ever since he got paroled.

  “Both of you knock it off.” Captain jumped out of his seat and strode over.

  Undaunted, Duke grabbed the back of Ryker’s head and slammed the bridge of his nose into a nearby table, causing blood to spatter and drip down to the floor like ketchup from a squeeze bottle.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Duke saw Elizabeth withdraw the Taser Daisy had encouraged her to buy and launch herself at him with a battle cry. Fetch blocked her attack but fell shuddering to the floor in a haze of electrified pain.

  Ryker tackled Duke to the ground, and together they rolled over and over, crashing into tables and chairs. Then a couple of prospects pried Ryker off and held him at bay. Pretty Boy held onto Elizabeth to keep her from pouncing again. The Taser lay harmlessly on the ground at her feet.

  Captain arrived on the scene, and when Duke got up to have another go at Ryker, the Prez stepped in between them.

  “What the hell is wrong with both of you?”

  “He called me a fuckin’ fag.” Duke jerked a thumb at Ryker.

  “No, I said you might like a dick in your ass—didn’t say you were gay.”

  Captain sighed. “You’re givin’ me a headache. If you wanna kill each other, be my guest, but don’t break club property and don’t do it in front of the old ladies. Now get the fuck out of my sight and cool off.” Captain folded his arms over his chest, looking every inch the president of the Four Horsemen MC.

  “This don’t concern you, old man.” Ryker wiped the blood from his nose.

  “What did you say to me, boy?”

  Everyone got real quiet.

  No glassware clinking or chairs squeaking, not even the scrape of cutlery on plates. No one mouthed off to Captain—no one but Eddie.

  “Nothing.” Ryker glanced away.

  “I don’t want to see either of you for a couple of days. If I do, I might shoot you both. Meet me at Perdition the mornin’ after, and trust me, there’s gonna be hell to pay, boys.”

  Duke scowled, and Ryker smirked.

  Then he whispered something to Elizabeth Duke couldn’t overhear, but he’d bet his boots it was an apology. She crossed her arms over her chest, and her eyes softened. He kissed her forehead, and she dabbed at his bruised and bloody face with a napkin, then she placed her arm around him and escorted Ryker from the restaurant.

  Fucking Ryker. He has it too easy.

  Duke hesitated at the edge of the room, long enough to draw some unwanted attention. Chesty got to her feet, but he shook his head. He didn’t want to talk to her—she had a tight pussy, but not much going on above the shoulders.

  He felt like pounding his fists into the walls, but it’d earn him a beat down from Captain. So he wandered out to the parking lot behind the diner to walk off his bad mood.

  At this rate, he’d have to hoof it to China.

  After fifteen minutes of pacing back and forth, he stilled when he heard the scrape of the metal door behind him.

  “What the hell crawled up your ass tonight?” Shep always cut straight to the chase.

  Duke turned away. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I’m fine.”

  Shepherd pulled out a smoke and sparked it up in his unnerving, almost supernatural, far-too-patient way of his. He simply waited for Duke to start talking— like the biker version of Buddha.

  “It’s nothin’.”

  The VP lifted one disbelieving brow.

  “I ain’t some goddamn cocksucker, for the motherfuckin’ record.” The words exploded from his throat before he could jam them back down.

  There goes my private life.

  Shepherd leaned against the brick wall, barely beyond the floodlights overhead, which wreathed his face in shadows.

  “I know you aren’t, brother. I can see he struck a nerve.”

  Even though Duke had spent five fucking years in prison, he hadn’t resorted to dick. He’d slapped the snot out of the first lady-boy who’d hit on him, and he’d picked a fight with the biggest motherfucker on his cell block so he didn’t risk being anybody’s bitch. It was a matter of not being caught alone. Safety in numbers.

  “Damn straight. I love pussy. If Ryker thinks—”

  Shep made a disgusted noise in his throat. “Since when do you give a damn what Ryker thinks? He got a rise out of you because he’s pissed about Captain hittin’ on Eddie and can’t do a damn thing about it. He used you to let off some steam.”

  “Yeah, I made a convenient punching bag.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.

  Shep was right, of course. It was one of his most irritating qualities. He had a way of bypassing all the noise straight to the heart of a situation.

  “I really hate the fucker.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Kiss my ass, Shep.”

  “No offense, but you ain’t my type, brother.” He blew a couple of smoke rings.

  “You’re so fucking funny.”

  “You’ve got no idea, Duke,” the VP drawled, an edge in his voice. “But come on, I ain’t gettin’ any younger here. What set you off tonight? You and Ryker usually bug the fuck out of each other, but you seem pricklier than usual, emphasis on prick.”

  “Nothin’ to tell, brother.”

  Ryker had blundered into dangerous territory and gotten the best of Duke. Not about his most recent stint in prison but his childhood—and he didn’t share that shit with anyone. Not his mother, not Eddie, certainly not the prison psychiatrist, and not his brothers either.

  He kept it six fucking feet under—dead and buried where it belonged.

  “Fine. Have it your way. You got it together now?”

  “Yeah.”

  The VP stepped back into the light, and Duke pondered how weary his brother appeared. How worn.

  “What about you?” Duke noted the deep, dark circles beneath his eyes. He obviously hadn’t had a good night’s rest in weeks. “You look like you’ve been on a long bender in Vegas.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “No, no one can help me. Not with this.”

  Duke studied Shep. Something was wrong. Really fucking wrong.

  Maybe the role of VP weighed on him? He took on all of their problems, settling beefs between the brothers, scrutinizing new members and old ladies. It had to be a thankless job. Bikers weren’t known for their good choices.

  “’Night, brother. Do me a favor and stay out of trouble.” Shep ambled back inside.

  Duke stared at the closed door for a moment and made a mental note to check on him later, maybe offer to take on some extra responsibilities. He bitched about Shep all the time, but he respected him.

  Ah, hell, he loved the bastard. He was the closest thing Duke had to an actual sibling. As he headed for the door, a bottle clattered to the ground on the far side of the parking lot, grabbing his attention.

  When he
investigated, he found Rose seated on a set of concrete stairs near the loading dock. She had a cigarette in her mouth and tried in vain to get a pink disposable lighter to work. Near her feet, an empty beer bottle rolled back and forth on the uneven pavement.

  When she saw him, her eyes widened. Duke knew from experience she wanted to avoid his ass. He’d witnessed one of her most vulnerable moments. She’d been helpless, dressed as a fuck toy. Scary shit had to be shoved down, locked away—and he made it harder to do because he’d witnessed her degradation firsthand.

  But he couldn’t walk away. Not yet.

  Duke plucked the cigarette from her mouth and sat down beside her. She gasped in protest as he placed it in his own, but she didn’t snatch it away from him. He produced his Horsemen Zippo, etched with the club logo, and lit the cigarette with a flourish then handed it back to her.

  She offered him the tiniest of smiles before placing the cigarette between her lips, exactly where his mouth had been moments ago.

  And as fucking crazy as it sounded, it pleased him.

  “Thanks.” She inhaled deeply and then coughed a bit. Rose wasn’t a smoker.

  He grabbed a cigar from the inner pocket of his cut, as well as his stainless steel cutter. He preferred Ashton Symmetry cigars, which featured a crown emblem like the tattoo on his back. They had a spicy scent and an earthy taste he found comforting.

  During his stint in the military as a Special Forces sniper, he’d gotten into the habit of smoking. Duke sparked one up after he’d taken out a target. He clipped the end of the cigar and heated the tip in the Zippo flame until the cigar smoldered.

  Now, all he needed was a scotch and soda.

  She staggered to her feet, grabbed her bag, and the empty bottle.

  “Not so fast.” Duke seized her leg, and she flinched. He released her, and she rubbed the spot as though she’d been burned. “Sit down.”

  Her eyes flashed, a bit of spirit showing.

  It cheered him. He didn’t want to think of her as broken, maybe because he’d been the one to free her.

  “Why?”

  Duke waited to be obeyed.

  Rose stood there, staring at him, and he could see the emotions drift across her pretty face— annoyance, resentment, and then finally resignation.

  She sat, putting a couple feet between their bodies, and heaved a disgusted sigh.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to ask you a couple of questions.” Shep didn’t have the market cornered on being a nosy bastard. He hated to get involved, but someone needed to do something.

  She smiled. It was the fake one she used on Cowboy and Daisy all the time.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I didn’t ask, but we both know you’re lyin’. I know you aren’t fine. What’s going on?” he asked.

  Rose dropped the act. “Nothing.”

  “I ain’t lettin’ it go, so you might as well save us both the time and level with me.”

  Rose stared straight ahead, as though mesmerized by the asphalt.

  “It’s nothing. I’m coping.” She gestured with the cigarette and bottle.

  “How did you get the beer?”

  “I, uh—”

  “Stole it?”

  “Borrowed it.”

  “Borrowing means you were gonna give it back at some point.” Duke sighed. “You’re what? Twenty?”

  “Nineteen.”

  Fuck, she’s young.

  Duke would be thirty-nine next January, which made him an old man compared to her. Talk about a knee to the balls.

  Wait. Why the fuck do I care how old the girl is?

  “You know, the club could help you.”

  “With drinking?”

  “No, with documentation. Ryker’s in charge of ordering booze for Perdition and Hades. He accounts for every fucking beer. Trust me. He might be an idiot, but sooner or later, he’ll figure it out. If you had a fake ID, you could get your own hooch without anyone bein’ the wiser. I could get one made for you.”

  “Um, okay. Thanks.”

  Duke watched as the metal door leading inside swung open, and Chesty came trotting out, evidently impatient to be fucked. She lit a smoke, staring at him from across the lot. Thank God she didn’t approach them.

  “You can get the ID tomorrow,” he said to Rose. “But you have to promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Drink somethin’ with a bit more kick than beer—like Jack or Jim. Self-medicating only works if you put your back into it.”

  “You aren’t going to tell my sister?”

  “Why would I? Ain’t her business.”

  She nodded, standing once more, and he jumped to his feet. Before she could walk away, he seized her sleeve, pulling it up her arm. He needed to check something.

  “Hey.” She swatted him with her other hand.

  Ignoring her, he examined her skin. As he’d suspected, she had a series of red lines crisscrossing her pale forearm. Yeah, she’d been cutting herself. He noted she’d avoided the veins in her arms, and the cuts were shallow, so she hadn’t done any serious harm.

  Most people assumed cutting was a suicidal gesture, but Duke knew better. Cutting had more to do with survival than anything else. Sometimes focusing on physical pain instead of the emotional kind could be a relief. It was the world’s worst way to cope with excruciating shit.

  “Let me go.”

  He traced one of the lines. The skin had turned an angry-looking red and felt hot to the touch. “These are getting infected. If you’re gonna keep cuttin’, you need to take better care of yourself.”

  “I—”

  “No. You don’t need to tell me a comforting lie. I don’t expect you to be okay, or normal, or whatever the fuck they want you to be. I know you’re a mess, and you should be a mess after what you’ve been through.”

  “How did you know?”

  Across the lot, the hellion cleared her throat, and it echoed off the wall loudly. Duke didn’t bother making eye contact.

  “I saw you tuggin’ at your sleeves earlier and made an educated guess.” He wished he’d been wrong. Duke read the question in her eyes. “No, I ain’t tellin’ your sister, but you gotta keep the wounds clean so you don’t lose your arm. What are you usin’ to slice yourself?”

  “A paring knife I snagged from the kitchen.”

  He released her arm. “You need a sharp blade, one you sanitize between cuts.” He withdrew his pocket knife and handed it to her. “Be careful with it or you’ll cut your arm off.”

  “Why are you helping me?” She tucked the knife into the pocket of her jeans.

  Fuck if I know. “Because I can.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m just doing damage control, and I want you to think about something.”

  “What?”

  “You’re free. You got away from him, physically at least—but not mentally. Not yet. You gotta break the hold he has on you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Don’t let him keep you in the cage too much longer or you’ll lose yourself, Rose. Oblivion is a comfort, but it’s an illusion. It ain’t the way out. Trust me.”

  He went to Chesty, who beamed at him, eager for his attention. Duke put his arm around her and led her to a hotel room he planned on commandeering for a night of oblivion.

  Duke had just given Rose some damn good advice.

  Too bad he’d never taken it himself.

  Chapter Two

  “Are you hiding from me, Goldilocks? Playing a wicked game?”

  Rose drew her legs up to her chest and pressed herself into the furthest corner of the closet, as far away as she could get from him—the small, shadowy space felt safer. It was another barrier between them, but she could never escape Kent for long.

  She screwed her eyes shut and tried to think of other things, tried to distract herself from the inevitable. He would find her, toss her on the bed, and rape her again. She’d lost count of how many
times, how many ways, he’d violated her. It’d become a blur of pain, fear, and dread.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  She could hear the disturbing excitement in his tone, the anticipation. Rose trembled. She needed to drift away once more, let her mind go elsewhere. Leave this place and him far behind. Let Kent do what he wanted to her body—he wouldn’t touch her mind.

  The closet door flew open, and there Kent stood. Rose had nowhere to run.

  On the surface, Kent was a handsome man in his early forties. He had patrician features and blue-gray eyes, which held something cold and icy in their depths. His short black hair was streaked with white. And he had a lean frame she’d become horrifically intimate with.

  She noticed his arousal, could see the bulge in his expensive trousers. Rose averted her gaze only to see a look of predatory expectation settle on his face. He reached for her, and she cringed.

  “Come here, Rose.”

  He seized her by the arms and hauled her to her feet, then he fit their hips together so she could feel his erection pressing low, against her belly. A knot settled in her stomach. He ground against her, a shameless moan escaping his lips. She refused to meet his eyes, staring down instead, willing her mind to flee the scene.

  “My Rose.” He kissed her forehead before trailing kisses along her cheeks. His mouth invaded hers, and she opened for him.

  There was no point in fighting. She lost every time.

  God, she hated his kiss most of all, because she couldn’t detach from it. Rose could pretend everything else happened to another girl, but not something as intimate as a kiss.

  He murmured against her mouth, “You taste so sweet, Rose. My Rose….”

  “Rose?”

  Eyes snapping open, Rose sat up in bed with a startled cry. She blinked, disoriented from being thrown out of the dream world and into the real one—looked wildly around the hotel room, searching for some sign of Kent. But she was alone and at Hades. It wasn’t much to look at, but the room was clean, and she didn’t have to pay any rent. Plus, she didn’t share it with an oversexed psychopath.

  I’m safe. Safe. He can’t get me here. Rose sagged in relief.

  Someone banged on the door again.