Ransomed MC Princess #1 Read online

  His face scrunched up. “The fuck?”

  I grabbed the tool and held it above my head. “It’s what the evil bats use to ward off the stinging bee warriors! They’re trying to cross the soda spring fountain to get to the lollipop castle! Actually, I just decided the bats aren’t evil. They are super-duper cool. They’re like, glittery bats, not night-time bats with red eyes that drink your blood, you know?”

  He just stared at me.

  “You know. Because they have to protect the magical beef jerky princess?”

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “You’re just thinking ‘bout food, aren’t you?”

  I was a little hungry. “Maybe.”

  He dropped the Wudignzia. “You’re hopeless.”

  My shoulders fell. I gulped.

  MC Princesses don’t cry. They get even. They…

  Oh, who was I kidding? I sucked. I couldn’t even remember the name of a stupid tool!

  “Oh shit,” Damien stammered. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not hopeless. Please don’t cry.”

  I glared at him, eyes burning. “You’re just saying I’m not hopeless now because you don’t want me to cry because then you’re daddy will get mad at you!”

  “No, that’s not true.”

  I frowned.

  “Alright, it’s sort of true, but not totally true. I just don’t want to see you cry,” he said.

  “Why? Because it’s inconvenant, no wait, inconvent—inconvu—?”

  “No,” he interrupted, “I want you to stop ‘cause it makes me feel like shit!”

  My heart beat so fast I felt lightheaded. I didn’t understand it. It made absolutely no sense. But for some reason, I liked that it me feeling bad also made him feel bad for some reason.

  Gnarles turned down the music. “What the hell’s going on over there? Something we should know about?”

  Damien turned white.

  “No!” I yelled back at them. “He’s just teaching me stuff.”

  “Good,” Gnarles yelled, then the music returned to its normal volume and the guys got back to work.

  “Thanks,” Damien whispered.

  My stomach flipped. Why the hell did being around slimy shit spawn make my body do weird things? “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. Now I owe you one, and I still have to make up for how I talked to you the other day.”

  My stomach did an entire gymnastics routine. “You want me to forgive you for that?”

  “Well, yeah. My dad says I have to.”

  So he only wanted to make it up to me because his freaking dad said so? My stomach dropped to the floor. Fuming, I pointed the end of the Stining Bat Wand at him. “Well, you’re just gonna have to tell your dad that it’s too bad because I’m totally not going to forgive you! Ever!”

  Damien had the nerve to look shocked. “The fuck?”

  “You’ve got a dirty mouth, Damien. And you’ve got dirty ways.”

  “What the hell do you know about ‘dirty ways,’ Princess?”

  Was he walking closer to me? What was up with all this confidence radiating off him? “I know tons about it.” I gulped. My voice didn’t shake when I said that. Not even a little bit.

  Damien tilted his head to the side. “Wanna bet?”

  “Um, my daddy says I shouldn’t bet.”

  “How about I make you a promise, then?”

  “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “Oh, I’m gonna keep this one.”

  I shut my eyes. “You really don’t have to keep it.” I did know what his promise was gonna be, but I just knew with every fiber of my being that it was gonna be bad!

  “I’m gonna teach you all about ‘dirty ways,’” he told me. “And you’re gonna like them.”

  I scrunched up my nose and threw the Stinging Bat Wand at his feet. “That’s disgusting!”

  Damien just kept on laughing.

  I learned everything I needed to know about Damian that day. Unfortunately, all that knowledge didn’t help me at all for what came next.

  Chapter 2

  Present Day

  I groan. Unfortunately, I’m the only groaner. Or the loudest. Or the most consistent.

  The huge black and white photo I have of the extended MC family in front of the compound thumps against the wall in the same sickeningly steady rhythm as the creaking bedframe in the room next to mine.

  “God he’s disgusting,” I said to Candy, my bff and co-conspirator.

  Candy coughs, face red. “Yeah. He’s gross. Totally gross.”

  My eyes narrowed at my best friend and c-conspirator. With her black hair pulled back, I could see that her cheeks were getting mighty rosy. “You don’t think he’s nasty?”

  Candy looks away. “That’s not it.”

  “Listen to that woman! It sounds like she’s freaking dying in there.”

  The corner of Candy’s lips quirk up in a smile. “Maybe she is experiencing a little death.”

  My entire body recoils. “That was so uncalled for.”

  “Look, it’s obvious Damien knows how to please a woman, alright?”

  I put my hands over my ears. “I so do not want to hear this.”

  “Then don’t ask!”

  So I don’t. In fact, I don’t say anything at all. Unfortunately, what fills the silence between me and Candy is more groaning. A headboard banging against the wall like a jackhammer. A loud slap followed by begging.

  “Oh God, Damien! You’re going in so deep! I’ve never felt anything go so deep before!”

  I shudder. It’s like they’re filming a porno over there. Who actually talks like that?

  “Yeah, babe. Show me that perfect, little greedy cunt.”

  “My cunt is yours!”

  That’s it. I stand up, take my family portrait off the wall, and shove it in my desk drawer. It’s cruel to subject everyone in that photo to this! I mean, I know they can’t hear anything but…GOD DAMN! I glare at that offensive wall. “Are you listening to this?”

  “Stupid question. I can’t not listen to it.”

  I guess it was kinda stupid. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

  She shrugs. “I’m used to it. It happens every time we stay overnight at the club.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you? How we’re supposed to just take it?”

  Candy gives me a pitying look.

  “How am I supposed to live next to him?” I go up to the wall and start banging my fist against it. “I mean, some of us are trying to sleep here!”

  “Sorry Princess!” Damien’s deep voice calls back. Then, he laughs. He fucking laughs. God, he’s still such an asshole.

  For a beautiful, brief second, the noises stop.

  “Sorry, babe. Gotta finish up quick. We’re bothering the Princess.”

  I rush to the bed and put my hands over my face. “Oh God. Here it comes.”

  Candy puts her arms around me. “It will be over soon, girl.”

  I knew it would be, but it was never fast enough.

  “That’s it, babe. Cum for me.”

  Desk drawers pop open. Some of the clothes in my closet come off their hangers. For a second, it feels like the entire room is going to implode. The girl starts screaming. Not like she’d been screaming before, when she was probably biting into a pillow, trying to keep it quiet. No, the real screams start. The intense, skull-shattering, my-soul-just-got-ripped-out-of-my-chest-B-horror-movie-style scream. The, oh-my-god, the-world-is-ending-Roland-Emmerich-style-and-everythin-you-love-is-being-blown-to-fuck scream.

  Then it stops, and I hear him groaning out his own release.

  This. Is. So. Fucking. Gross.

  Candy stops hugging me and smiles. “Hey, it’s over!”

  I hear Damien zip up his jeans. Fabric rustles. There’s another ass slap—I know it’s an ass slap because she thanks him for it. More fabric rustling. The door opens. She thanks him again and begs him for a next time. Then, she suggests that next time could be right now.


  “Na babe,” Damien says. “It’s Princess’ bedtime. She’s gotta get her beauty sleep.”

  “Beauty sleep? BEAUTY SLEEP?!? Does he think I’m a fairy tale princess? I am MC President’s daughter! Who the fuck is he?”

  “That’s the spirit!” Candy mock cheers.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “You think I’m pathetic, don’t you?”

  Candy gives me another pitying look which tells me that regardless of whatever she says next, she thinks I’m pathetic. “No way. I just think that you gotta get over this thing you have with him.”

  “What do you mean I have to get over it? He’s the one fucking girls left and right every time I stay over!”

  Candy stands and puts up her hands. “No. Don’t give in.”

  But it was too late. I wanted blood.

  Damien’s blood.

  I stomp out of the room and into the hall just in time to see his latest conquest push up her sequence gold dress so she can adjust her pink thong. After a few seconds, she lowers her dress back over her ass.

  I glanced right.

  Damien’s leaning against his door in nothing but his jeans, showing off all his inked, sculpted muscles. The asshole wouldn’t have such godly muscles if he didn’t spend all day riding motorcycles under the hot sun, fixing cars, getting into stupid fights, and fucking himself and every other woman around him stupid.

  But it’s not like I’m noticing his muscles right now. Or the tattoos that snake up his torso, stretch down his arms and coil around his wrists and neck.

  I take a deep breath. Calm down. His tattoos are beautiful, and it’s okay to admit they’re beautiful because another person put them on his body and it was wrong to condemn an artist for making a work of art just because they used a shitty canvas.

  “Hey.” He tilts up his chin, dark green eyes filled with even darker promises.

  “What the fuck was that?” I hiss, pointing down the hall “his perfect, little greedy cunt” had fled.

  “You really need me to tell you, princess?”

  His mouth quirks up beautifully as he chuckles, softening his severe expression and…

  And what the fuck was up with that thought? Damien has a nasty, dark-overlord face, like he’s plotting to kidnap the kingdom’s princess and lock her in his pleasure-torture dungeon to have his wicked way with her. Nothing can soften that kind of evil.

  As if to prove this, his smile twists into a challenge.

  A shiver races down my spine. Oh God, it was freaky how accurate that description of him was!

  “To what do I owe this pleasure, Princess?”

  Pleasure? How could he refer what just happened as pleasure? It was some sort of cruel Medieval torture! “I’m not tolerating this behavior from you anymore.”

  “What behavior?”

  “You know what I mean. Don’t try to be cute with me.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not the one tryin’ to be cute. You’re the one havin’ fuckin’ sleepovers at a Motorcycle Club and complainin’ when a man lets off a little steam after a day of hard work.”

  “Oh don’t even give me that. I work in the shop plenty, and you don’t see me dragging men back to my room cavewoman style to fuck.”

  “Maybe if you did you wouldn’t be wound up so tight.”

  My mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”

  He drinks me in with his hooded gaze. “You heard me, Princess. I’ll be happy to work out your issues with you, anytime, anywhere.”

  Anger swells inside me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did my offer upset you?”

  “What do you think? That wasn’t an offer. It was an insult.”

  “Remember that time you sliced some strawberries in half and drew red circles on your cheeks with them? Your face is that red right now. It’s almost cute, actually.”

  I frown. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

  The left corner of his lip curls up. “I bet I know a few other ways to make you red.”

  “Like what?” I respond, oddly choked. “Raspberries, blueberries, bananas? Oh wait, only the first one will make me red.”

  “Oh, I bet I could make all of them make you red. If you feel more comfortable starting with fruit, we can definitely do that.”

  His eyes dip below my chest, below my belly button, all the way down to…

  Oh God, was he looking at me there? And why the fuck was my “there” freaking out over the fact that he was looking at it? My core clenched and got all swollen and soft and tender like overripe…

  No, I will not say it! I refuse to even think it!

  “I prefer eating my fruit, thank you!” I tell him.

  He looks up with a wolfish grin. “So do I.”

  I leap back into the wall. “I don’t know what you mean—”

  His tongue flicks against his bottom lip as he moves forward. “Oh, you know my meaning exactly, Princess.”

  “I do not!” I answer, forgetting whatever I was about to say before. “I can’t even believe you would suggest that I would know about a thing like that! It’s so freaking lewd and disgusting and…”

  And he was suddenly way too close.

  My back molds to the wall. He parks his elbow right next to my temple. I tilt my head up to look at his face, and the second I do I regret it. Dark, emerald eyes lock in on me, and I feel the heat of his gaze all the way to my core.

  Feeling like you’re about to orgasm from something as elementary as a look is bad enough, but when the person who made you feel that way is your sworn enemy? It’s beyond embarrassing. It’s betrayal. Your body is supposed to do what you tell it to, not go off and decide to shoot off fireworks of pleasure for gigantic assholes who take a different girl home every night to loudly “work off some steam” in the room next to yours and…

  I whimper.

  Fuck! How could I have just made such a disgusting, breathy, slutty noise right in front of him! I locked my legs to keep my knees from giving out and looked down, straight at his muscled, tattooed chest.

  Fuck! That’s also a bad place to look! I shut my eyes trying to shut out the disgusting images flashing in my suddenly perverted mind.

  “How do you know those things are lewd and disgusting if you don’t know what they are?”

  My tongue snakes between my parted lips.

  “You gonna answer me, Princess? Or are you just gonna keep lickin’ your lips like you’re thinkin’ ‘bout fruit?”

  I moan from hate and disgust as my core sparks! What was this, the fucking Fourth of July? “You’re gross,” I tell him.

  “I think we’ve already established that you think my nocturnal activities—”

  “And diurnal activities!” I interrupt.

  “—Are disgusting,” he finishes.

  “Abhorrent,” I add.

  “Completely dirty,” he whispers, running a hand up the side of my arm to my chin and tilting it up. His eyes lose focus as they lock on my lips. “And filthy.”

  I shiver in his rough grip. Those stupid words I’d said so carelessly as a child came back to haunt me.

  I’ll show you filthy ways, he’d said. I’ll make you beg for them.

  “You could go home, you know,” he continues. “Cheyenne’s got that cozy little place in the suburbs far, far away from me. I bet the walls of your bedroom are still painted pink. Bet your blankets are still pink, too, and bet you still got that picture of the two of us the first time you went fishing on your dresser.”

  “I only still have that picture because I caught a really big fish. You just happen to be in it.”

  “If it helps you sleep at night, you keep tellin’ yourself that.”

  My eyes narrow. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  He plants his other tattooed hand on the other side of my head, caging me in. “I know why you stay here instead of at home, Princess. Why you can’t say away despite all your big talk. Why you haven’t cried to daddy about how much my diurnal and nocturnal activities both
er you so much.”

  “I’m no snitch, and this is my club, not yours. I grew up here too. I’m not gonna let you scare me off just because you fuck like a freak!”

  His eyes grow dark. I can see the muscles in his tattooed arms tighten. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

  I take in a rapid, indignant breath. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You’re whole body’s screamin’ for it, but you’re so goddamn stubborn you can’t even hear it.”

  I tremble.

  “Or maybe you do hear it, and you’re just scared—so fuckin’ scared—that you’ve decided to pretend like you can’t.”

  I open my mouth, about to tell him all the ways in which he’s wrong, when he grabs my hips and pushes me up against the wall, sliding his hard body into mine. I moan as my legs wrap around his strong torso, feet curling around his knees, back arching so my chest hits his.

  “Look at me,” he demands.

  The button of his jeans hits my clit, and below that I feel the outline of his impossibly long erection pressing up against my ass. Instinctively, my fingers dig into his back as I squeeze my aching core.

  “I said look at me.”

  I do. We’re face to face, now. Me, held captive against the wall. Him, looking into my eyes with raw lust.

  “Beg for it,” he whispers, voice as ruthless and wild as his eyes, “and it’s yours.”

  Chapter 3

  MC Princesses do a lot of things. Fix motorbikes. Keep the crazy motherfuckers in their club in line. They don’t beg for anything. So I tell him, “I don’t want anything from you.”

  He grins, slowly. “Yeah, Princess. You do.”

  “No I don’t!” Why was my voice so high and squeaky, and why didn’t he believe me!?!

  His eyes take me in again. “Know what you want, and I can give it to you. Pretty, perfect, pampered little princess wants to know what it’s like to get taken by a man.”

  My nostrils start to flare. Damn! MC Princesses weren’t supposed to do ugly shit like that either!

  “You wanna get fucked,” he clarifies, as if such a vile statement needed clarification. “To be one of those bitches screamin’ as I slam into them, fuckin’ ‘em s hard they’ll never forget the feel of my big, thick cock inside ‘em.”