Misled. Part 2

As usual, Boss was right. The b.i.t.c.h wasn't for him. She sounded like a spoiled little c.u.n.t.

"Give Dinah whatever she wants, too." He frowned, downed half the contents of his gla.s.s. "Or I did 'til she met the a.s.shole she's married to."

Outlaw didn't say s.h.i.+t, but, f.u.c.k him, if Boss didn't sound like a lost puppy when he mentioned this b.i.t.c.h.

He smiled, his eyes red-rimmed. "Don't need Snake finding out about my girl and I know you two a.s.sholes are friends when you aren't involved in p.i.s.sing contests." He sn.i.g.g.e.red at Outlaw's scowl. "Boy has enough issues. Don't need him finding out about a little sister I never told him about."

Outlaw grunted, not bothering to comment. Snake didn't take surprises well.

Outlaw's resentment spiked towards Boss. He should've known he couldn't keep his f.u.c.king mouth shut about the b.i.t.c.h. Even if he hadn't said anything to his psycho son, he sure as f.u.c.k told Rack about her. Just more evidence he'd never been special to Boss, like another son to the man, with secrets shared only between them. The confidences Boss shared with Outlaw was just a lie. No he'd said all that bulls.h.i.+t to get Outlaw under his thumb.

"Outlaw? You hear me?"

"What about the b.i.t.c.h?" he asked, dragging on his cigarette again. How many other people knew about the b.i.t.c.h? Great f.u.c.king going, Boss.

A scream rose above the music and laughter humming in the background. Then silence. Complete and utter silence. Rack winced. Outlaw pulled his nine, a reflex reaction and started down the hallway. Light reflected off the gigantic mural of the Grim Reaper, his scythe dripping blood, his eye sockets burning red.

"Daddy!"

The wail pierced the sudden stillness as he rounded the corner. A little blonde urchin barreled into him and semi-peaceful waves kicked into his brain. She stopped, his gun inches from her head and he loosened his grip.

He stared into familiar eyes. Blue. Intense. Brilliant. A perfect mirror of the former president of his MC. Only these eyes were unfamiliar. And not because of the dark circles ringing them.

They were the eyes of the daughter of the man he'd killed.

Chapter 3.

A gun. Meggie had a gun in her face, pointed at her head. The man holding the gun could be a s.e.x symbol women all over the world drooled after. Muscles swelled from his tatted arms. Broad shoulders and a wide chest narrowed to ripped abs and...and he stood, tall and tempting and all but naked. Despite her best effort, her eyes insisted on roaming to his unfastened jeans. Black pubic hair and part of his p.e.n.i.s showed.

The gun should be more important, but she'd never seen such a beautiful man before. A beautiful, unclothed man. The one man she had seen naked...G.o.d. That man and this one were worlds apart. Her stepfather reminded her of the Pillsbury Doughboy, soft and pudgy. This man had muscles rippling from his broad shoulders down his flat stomach. They defined his biceps and his legs. The tattoos on his arms and chest flexed with power.

But his p.e.n.i.s kept drawing her attention.

"What the f.u.c.k do you want?"

Meggie blinked and jumped. The edge in the words hardened his voice, made him appear scary. She'd come this far, though, escaping whatever Rack intended for her over five measly dollars. She made herself meet his green gaze and ignore the weapon. "I want my daddy."

A heartbeat pulsed by before he lowered his gun and stuffed it partially in the front pocket of his jeans. His thick, black hair lay in complete disarray, swatches of it falling onto his forehead. Her errant gaze refused to stay on his face and insisted on traveling down to his p.e.n.i.s and upwards over his perfect six pack to his amazing face. He smiled, a wicked gleam in his eyes as if he knew how he affected her.

She limped a step back and winced at the pain. The heat sweeping through her body, pulling at her belly and nipples had nothing to do with her foot injuries.

"Boss is your pops?"

She would've sworn recognition flashed in his eyes when he first saw her. Obviously, she'd been mistaken. She nodded. "Yes."

He tipped her chin up, his fingertips rough against her skin. Stubble shadowed his strong jaw. Coupled with his enticing lips, he had a dangerous aura. He smelled of musk, smoke, and something wild and ripe, mixing with the underlay of his unique scent.

He rubbed his thumb over her lips and they parted, her heart jumping and her breath shortening. His fingers slid through her hair and exhaustion pressed in on her. She was so tired and so hungry, she could've stood beneath his scrutiny forever.

He traced the tender skin under her eyes. She was so glad she'd stuffed a toothbrush and toothpaste in her backpack when she'd run away. Bad enough she wore the same, smelly clothes she'd had on for a month. At least her teeth were clean.

The man nodded. "Yeah. I can see that he's your pops."

She leaned into his touch and he stiffened. "I need to see him," she whispered, regretting the loss of his nearness when he pulled away and stepped back.

Another half-smile curved his full lips, this one cold and mean, not reaching his green eyes. He folded his arms and mockery twisted his face. "He ain't here."

She refused to panic. He seemed to be waiting for her to fall into a screaming heap. Although she wanted to fall into a screaming heap and have him pick her up and take care of her until her daddy returned, she wouldn't humiliate herself in front of all these men. Men who looked up to her father. Her weakness might somehow be broadcast upon Big Joe. Her stomach growled and her feet throbbed, like they had a direct connection to one another. In a way they did, since both of them were causing her such distress and misery. She stiffened her spine. "When's he coming back?"

He laughed, the sound as ugly as he was beautiful. And he was very beautiful. "Probably never."

Women's cackles and harsh male snickers followed that announcement.

Meggie pressed down on her lips. If she hadn't they would've began trembling. Okay. Now she was on the verge of breaking down. It was all just too much. All of it. Her father had been her last chance for her mother to escape Thomas. Now, Meggie either had to go back home or live on the streets forever. She'd called her father's cell phone, over and over, and he hadn't answered. She couldn't understand why. She'd clearly heard her mother say they'd talked about Meggie living with him.

"Why isn't my father coming back?" she demanded. "Where is he? And why won't he answer his cell phone?"

He lifted a brow at her, but didn't answer. Instead, he started to turn away. She lurched toward him, grabbing his forearm. He narrowed his eyes and jerked away from her.

"Don't ever, ever put your f.u.c.kin' hands on me. Ever."

Desperation made her reach for him again. Let him hit her. So what? Her stepfather was a huge fan of whippings and he knocked around her mother on a regular basis for nothing. If this man could tell her her father's location and give her something to eat, he could do his best.

He raised his hand and Meggie flinched, despite her bravado, unable to stop her own hand from s.h.i.+elding her face while tightening her grip on him with her other hand.

"Please," she said in a rush.

"Put your f.u.c.kin' hand down. I ain't a woman beater."

"Well, my stepfather is," she mumbled, lowering her hand and her eyelids but refusing to lose her hold on his forearm where he had a tattoo of a Celtic cross entwined with black roses. "I just want directions to where I can find my father." Her stomach growled. "And I want something to eat."

His nostrils flared and the black fury on his face reminded Meggie these men were part of an MC named the Death Dwellers. He looked as if he could mete out death without a second thought while the Grim Reaper painted on the wall looked as if he'd step from the mural and hack everyone to death any moment. The inescapable work of art slapped you in the eyes the moment you stepped through the door and looked to the left. But her father always said his club just had a frightening name. They were actually just a group of guys who didn't agree with society's rules and who loved motorcycles.

"Rack, bring this b.i.t.c.h to my office. Get her somethin' to eat then get her the f.u.c.k outta here." He glared at her and pried her fingers from his arm, shoving her away. "If you know what the f.u.c.k is good for you, you'll stay the f.u.c.k away from here."

Rack grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the hallway. She hobbled as fast as she could behind him, peeking over her shoulder. Rack was dragging her in the opposite direction from which the other man was going and disappointment sank into her like a heavy stone. Rack opened the door and flipped on the light. Meggie noticed the word, 'President' painted on the s.h.i.+ny wood.

"Sit, you thieving little b.i.t.c.h."

As if she had a choice. Not with Rack manhandling her and shoving her down on a brown leather sofa. He slammed the door closed and Meggie sagged in exhaustion. Now that her adrenaline was dipping again, the pain was returning. She settled one ankle on her knee and studied her foot. Dried blood, dirt, small gla.s.s shards and gravel coated the bottom. She needed to see to her feet, remove the gla.s.s, but she was just so tired. It had been a long, long month, and she'd survived by a thin thread, living off chips and cinnamon rolls the guy at the minimart gave to her after she'd traded her coat in lieu of giving him a b.l.o.w.j.o.b. She drank water from the creek, the place where she spent the majority of her time.

She hadn't thought of the possibility of not being able to contact her father since her mother told Thomas she intended to send Meggie to Big Joe. Perhaps, he'd gone on a run. Or, maybe, they'd crossed paths. She'd been running to him in Hortensia and he'd been hightailing it to Seattle to pick her up.

Frustration made Meggie want to scream. The adults in her life were driving her insane. She'd had to leave when the opportunity presented itself. She hadn't been able to wait for her father's arrival. In the span of twelve hours, Thomas had clamped down on where Meggie could go and who she spoke to. Since her mother had spoken to him, her father should've been expecting her. Or, at the very least, her call.

The adults- Meggie sank back and rubbed her temples. As of today, she, too, was an adult.

When she'd last seen him, he said he still lived at his club, where he'd resided for the past fifteen years after he and her mother separated.

The door slammed open and Megan jerked her head up. The beautiful man sauntered in, carrying a tray with something steaming from a bowl. She'd expected Rack's beady face again, not the big s.e.xy biker whose smoldering green eyes took in every inch of her. After using his foot to close the door, he sat the tray on the desk, then stopped in front of her, leaving her eye level with the tease of his p.e.n.i.s.

She flushed. His p.e.n.i.s pressed urgently against his jeans, waging a war with the zipper.

"Wanna see all of it?" he asked. His words were clipped and anger lingered in his eyes, but laughter curled around the offer.

She gazed up at him, searching for a sign of trouble. She was all alone with him and he might be perverted just like Thomas. She shook her head. "Would you zip your pants?"

He mimicked her and shook his head. "Nope. Wouldn't wanna ruin your study of my c.o.c.k."

The burning tips of Meggie's ears rivaled the heat in her cheeks. She told herself she was leery of this situation but the lie mocked her. She wasn't leery of him. Not. At. All. She wanted to study every inch of his tanned skin and explore the entirety of his hard body. She wondered how her b.r.e.a.s.t.s would feel if he touched them with his rough fingertips.

Without warning, he pulled her to her feet and began patting his hands down her body. She gasped when his hand landed on her chest and unb.u.t.toned her s.h.i.+rt. She was hungry and hurting and wouldn't be able to fight his intentions long, but she would fight. He dug his fingers into her bra and Meggie threw the full weight of her body against him. Other than a brief widening of the eyes, he didn't budge.

His hand slid down to her jeans and she balled her fists, but he saw the hit coming and grabbed her wrists, pulling her to him.

"What the f.u.c.k you doin'?"

She struggled against his hold. Her stomach roiled and her vision blurred. She hated she'd felt safe for some crazy reason, but he was no better than Thomas. "You know what I'm doing. You want to force me to have s.e.x with you." She kicked out and he lifted her off her aching feet. He threw her down on the sofa and landed on top of her, holding her hands above her head.

"I f.u.c.kin' told you I don't f.u.c.kin' hurt women," he growled. "I ain't into takin' p.u.s.s.y when I have so much of it thrown at me for free. Even if I didn't, that's your p.u.s.s.y. I don't have no right to it unless you give it up."

The fight was draining the last of her strength and energy. If she didn't have something to eat soon, she'd faint. She licked her lips, her mouth dry and her head pounding. "What are you doing if you aren't-"

"I'm lookin' for your f.u.c.kin' ID. I want to see your G.o.dd.a.m.n name."

"You're feeling me up for my name?" she hissed. "Why didn't you just ask me, you moron?"

He stilled and narrowed his eyes, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Did you just call me a f.u.c.kin' moron?"

G.o.d, nothing beyond the meal he'd promised her ran through her brain. If she'd been rational, she wouldn't have bitten the hand promising to feed her by calling him a moron. "I'm sorry. Please. I'm hungry," she said. She cleared her throat, appalled at the heat pooling in her belly and centering between her thighs with his hard body pressing into hers. "May I eat the food you brought in?"

He continued his unnerving contemplation of her before removing his body from atop hers. He got to his feet, walked to the food, then brought her the bowl. He stood there, not moving out of her personal s.p.a.ce. Her knees brushed against him and she felt...safe within the bubble of his zone. By his own doing, he'd swept her into his personal s.p.a.ce and he had to know what an overwhelmingly s.e.xy, virile man he was. Meggie figured he was trying to unnerve her on purpose, though she didn't detect any menace behind his actions. Just pure sin and wickedness. Had she been a different type of girl, she would've been doing whatever he wanted her to do. She wasn't at all like her two best friends. Farah went into graphic detail about how she'd did most of the high school football team and Lacey made no secret that she went both ways.

Meggie kept her head bowed, slurping up the soup like the starving maniac she was.

She'd been tempted by men before, but her temptations always focused on the cute male teachers rather than the student body, so she'd kept her mouth shut and enjoyed the male attention she got from boys her own age. She couldn't risk sleeping with anyone, though. High school boys could be so juvenile and she'd get a reputation for whoring around even if she didn't deserve it. And, of course, with her mother being the a.s.sistant princ.i.p.al at the school Meggie attended, she couldn't risk that. If her mother found out, then Thomas would inevitably find out since Dinah found it necessary to tell him every little detail of both their lives.

Her spoon clanked against the bowl and she frowned. She'd finished? Already? G.o.d, she'd just gotten started.

"How long since you last ate?"

A s.e.xy voice to go with a s.e.xy body and magnificent face. Meggie s.h.i.+vered at the timbre, promising to memorize his voice so it soothed her to sleep at night and banished the memories of Thomas's voice and actions. "Two days."

He grabbed the bowl from her. "Can't give you no more. You gonna hurl if you stuff your stomach with food after not eatin' so long."

"But I'm still hungry," she protested, hating her whiny plea. "And I haven't had anything hot to eat in days."

"Your ma ain't feedin' you or somethin'?"

"She can't since she's in Seattle."

That startled him. His eyes widened and he c.o.c.ked his head to the side. Meggie squirmed beneath his intense scrutiny. Their gazes locked and she wondered at his impression of her. Electrical currents raced through her veins and she parted her lips. From her head to her toes, her body reacted to him. The memory of her last night in her mother's house replayed in her mind and she closed her eyes.

His voice broke through her misery. "Why're you here and she there?"

"Because my father is here and her husband is there." She didn't want Thomas inflicting any more damage to her psyche or her person. She pretended the sheer horror of his actions didn't affect her. In reality, she hurt to her very soul. Recognizing the sickness in Thomas consoled her but left her with two choices. Allow his brutality to rule her or acknowledge the problem for what it was and keep her life on a forward motion.

To counteract her reaction to his proximity, she refocused on her feet, deciding to give up the argument about more soup. Her stomach was already starting to hurt. He touched her foot, his hand dark against her white skin. Crouching in front of her, he checked one foot and then the other.

"You cut your feet?"

"Rack didn't tell you?"

He straightened and sat next to her, his raised brow encouraging her to continue. His thumb caressed the high arch of her foot, almost stealing her ability to think and talk.

"Don't matter if he did. I'm askin' you."

A spot he touched made her wince.

"Um, I stole five dollars from him. I wanted a hamburger, fries, and a milk shake tonight." To celebrate her birthday.

He didn't stop his investigation of her feet. "Five dollars ain't enough."

"For a kid's meal it would've been," she countered, gasping when he squeezed her upper sole.

"Are you? A kid, I mean."

Not as of today. "I'm eighteen," she said softly, taking advantage of her unfettered access to him and touching his scruffy jaw before combing her fingers through his silky hair.

Her touch seemed to anger him and he glared at her. "I told you don't f.u.c.kin' touch me."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You've been touching me. Why can't I touch you?"

He got to his feet and she looked away, not wanting to defy him. Whenever she or her mother stared at Thomas, he took that as a challenge. But this man said he didn't hit women. And? What man admitted to domestic abuse? Thomas certainly didn't. He didn't even admit it behind closed doors. He blamed everything on either Meggie or Dinah.

She sat still, not raising her gaze when she heard him rambling around through a drawer. A moment later, he stood before her, wrapping his big hand around each ankle, one at a time, to wipe first one foot and then the other with a wet napkin before covering them with medical tape. Who knew an MC had such things? She supposed it was necessary given all the alcohol she'd noticed and the temperament of the men involved.

"By the f.u.c.kin' way, what is your name?"

"Megan," she answered. She didn't have her ID. It was in her backpack and she'd left it in her hiding s.p.a.ce at the creek.