Blake: Hell’s Exiles MC, #2

Prologue

Tears streamed from her eyes, and hatred boiled her blood. Racing through the clubhouse, Becca ignored the looks flung her way. Looks of pity, and some of anger at the way she’d spoken to their president. Blanking them out, she finally made it through the front door, the fresh air doing nothing to wipe from her brain the scene she’d just left.

It was her mother’s wake, and her father had been in his office screwing one of the club sluts. How could he! How could he disrespect his wife that way?

Bastard!

Quin Anderson had always put his club first. Becca knew it, and her mother had known it, too. Her mom had hated the life they lived, but she was the Hell’s Exiles President’s wife. And she remained by her man’s side; devoted only to him. And when his precious club had caused that loyal woman’s death, how did he honor her passing? By fucking one of his bimbo bitches.

God, Becca hated him. Hated everything to do with Hell’s Exiles.

She couldn’t be part of it anymore. The club had taken so much from her life already, and with Nessa now hooked-up with her brother, her best friend was lost to her too. Because Becca couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t hang around and wait to see what, or who, would be taken from her next. It was time for her to move on.

Not looking back at the building, she strengthened her resolve and stormed toward the road. The need to be as far away as possible from her so-called family drove her forward. She wouldn’t even need to pack. Most of her belongings hadn’t survived the fire, and what little left sat in a suitcase at the hotel. Once she had her car, she’d be miles away before anyone noticed her gone.

The rumble of a Harley broke through her planning and reignited her anger. It wasn’t a surprise that it was Blake who rolled in front of her, cutting off her escape. He had been Becca’s shadow for weeks.

Where do you think you’re going, princess? His voice was almost as deep as the growl of his bike, and it sent shivers down her spine.

That voice always drew such an intense reaction from her, despite how she felt about the idiot. She gritted her teeth against the tingle which started between her legs, and glared into his black eyes. Fuck off, Blake. Or should I say, go fuck one of your club sluts and leave me the hell alone. The fact she had to look up at him, even while he sat astride the bike, only added to her pissed-off mood.

The fucking part’s gonna have to wait, ‘cause until your dad tells me otherwise, you’re my responsibility, princess. And in case you hadn’t realized, there’s shit going down. It’s not real smart of ya to go wandering around by yourself.

Without conscious thought, Becca lashed out and slammed a left hook into the side of the overgrown asshole’s face. The pain, which radiated up her arm, was nothing compared to the shock that passed through Blake’s eyes.

Shaking out her hand, Becca stepped closer, until he had to look down to see her eyes. One: Stop calling me princess, she hissed into his face. Two: That man in there, she flapped her still-tingling hand toward the clubhouse, "is no longer my father. And three: Don’t fucking dare treat me like an idiot. I know shit’s going down. I buried my fucking mother today. So, yes, Blake, I’m well-and-fucking-truly aware that being associated with Hell’s Exiles makes me a walking target. But news flash, you leather-wearing bonehead; I was born with that target on my head. I’ve lived with that every day of my fucked-up life.

Your little brotherhood has cost me more than I was ever willing to give. So excuse the hell outta me if I’m not willing to give y’all anything more.

When she finished, she stood there frozen, caught in Blake’s black gaze. Angry tears rolled down her cheeks while she waited for his retaliation. He had threatened more than once to put her over his knee for her bratty behavior. She didn’t think he’d take too kindly to being slugged. But if there was one thing she’d inherited from Quin Anderson, it was the inability to back down from a fight. And she would not start now.

Rough hands gripped her face, and Becca anticipated the crushing pressure those large fingers could administer.

Get on the bike, princess. I’ll take you back to the hotel. Blake’s words were soft wisps across her forehead, while he brushed away her tears with the pads of his thumbs.

There’d only been one other time when he had treated her as if she was more than just an annoyance—the day of the attack. He had found her sitting in the spot where her mother had died. All she’d wanted to do was cry, but numbness had ruled her body. Blake had sat on the damp ground beside her. Not saying a word, he wrapped his strong arms around her, then rocked her as if she was a baby. His touch shattered the numbness that had surrounded her; allowing the tears to finally flow.

Blake shifted atop of the bike, and with little effort, lifted her until she was straddled behind him. If she could she would have fought the action, but his tender touch had wiped away her anger and taken with it any energy she had left.

Her tight, black dress rode up, revealing the small strip of lace covering her apex. Lucky for Becca, she had little to no inhibitions about her body. But still, she moved closer until her hips butted up to his. Blake’s breath growled from his lips before he kicked the Harley into gear.

I’ll miss this, she whispered into the wind. It was about the only thing she would miss about her current life. There was nothing like the scent of leather filling her nose, while the vibrations of the beast between her legs hummed through her body.

For the first time that day, a sense of contentment waved over her. On its heels, sorrow followed. She was leaving. Never coming back. And to make a clean break from the MC, meant she couldn’t have anything to do with bikes or bikers ever again. Being the daughter of Hell’s Exiles president sucked balls. She was too well-known by too many, to be seen around the machines she seriously loved.

The ride to the hotel was over quicker than she’d have liked. Had she known the day would end with her deciding to leave, Becca would have taken her Low Rider for a long ride. Would have enjoyed the wind on her face one more time. It was just another thing she could add to the list of things ripped from her life.

Sliding her arms away from Blake, Becca got off the bike, and headed toward the room she was staying in. Her bodyguard following her every step. Damn, she hadn’t thought about the fact he was staying in the room adjoined to hers. How the hell was she supposed to slip out of town with the almost seven-foot giant once again shadowing her every move?

Pulling a key from his pocket, Blake opened her door. Knowing the drill, she patiently waited beside it as he swept first her room then his. She could have tried to take off right then, but the big bastard could move, and he’d be on her before she even made it three feet. Besides, she couldn’t leave without her bag. It held the last of her mother’s belongings; a few precious items that the fire and smoke hadn’t destroyed. At his nod, Becca pushed the door, closed it, and made her way to the bar.

Do you want a drink? Becca lifted the bottle of tequila and waved it at him.

Blake raised dark eyebrows at her. You’re a little young to be drinking that shit, princess.

Biting her tongue against a retort about using his pet name, Becca pasted on a smile. Pot. Kettle. Black, anyone? Look, leech, I’ve had a really shitty day. Now, you can either get the fuck out of my room or join me for a drink. Which is it?

Please stay . . . Please stay. Damn, she hoped the wistfulness didn’t show on her face.

What are you up to, Rebecca?

Fucking hell, the bastard knew her well enough to know that with her there was often an ulterior motive. Fine, then get the fuck out. I’m going to get myself good and drunk. And hopefully wash the images from my mind.

Blake looked her up and down, and right then, Becca wished she’d taken drama instead of commerce. Rubbing his palms over his face, he glared at her before answering, Fine. I’ll be back in a minute.

He spun on his booted feet and headed into his room. At the sound of the bathroom door closing, Becca raced to grab the little pill bottle from beside the bed. Popping the lid, she shook two of the capsules into her hand, then thought about the size of Blake. The man truly was a giant and probably weighed in at about three-hundred and twenty pounds. He reminded her of the Jack and the Beanstalk fable, but instead of being warty and grotesque, Blake the giant was a mountain of visual delight. Fee-fi-fo-fum, that man can grind his bone into me anytime. Becca snorted at her inner slut. She added another two pills to her hand, then dashed back to the bar.

Lime, salt and shot glasses ready, she filled both the tiny tumblers with golden liquid before splitting the capsules open and adding the contents to one. It was unlikely he’d be able to taste the sedative through the bitterness of the tequila. Well, she damn well hoped he wouldn’t. A pissed off Blake would not work in her favor.

Retrieving the lime and salt, she looked into the amber liquid and saw no traces of what she’d done.

What are you so deep in thought about?

Blake’s sudden reappearance had Becca planting the heels of her stilettos into the carpet to stop from jumping. Afraid her voice would give her away, she licked the top of her hand and sprinkled on the salt before raising her glass toward Blake, and waited for him. Tapping the rims together, Becca mumbled, Salute.

Again, he crinkled his eyebrows at her as she downed the shot and followed it with the wedge of lime. Through slitted eyes, she watched as Blake tipped his head back and emptied the glass. How long would the drugs take to work? She’d only used the tablets twice, and both times she’d been sound asleep and dream free within twenty minutes. Tilting her head, Becca studied him. Maybe she should get him to a softer surface in case the double-dose worked quicker.

Filling the shot glasses again, she left the salt and lime behind and carried their fresh drinks to the small sitting area.

Think this is the quietest I’ve ever seen you, princess, his deep grumble broke the silence.

Tucking her knees beneath her, Becca turned around on the sofa to face the big man. She was by no means a small girl. Okay, she was short, yeah, but small? No. Her size twenty ass could attest to that. But in Blake’s presence, she felt absolutely dainty. The two-seater lounge really wasn’t built for two if one of those people was the size of Blake.

Exactly how tall are you? I mean, Christ, how many times have you hit that big, fat head just walking through a door?

Blake’s laugh shook the cushion under her and made certain parts—girly parts—of her body perk up with interest. Honestly, the guy had the deepest voice she’d ever heard. And she was a sucker for a growling bass. Added to that, the man truly was a fine specimen of male-dom. So it was understandable that, even though he annoyed the shit out of her, he starred in every one of her dirty dreams . . . and most of her daytime fantasies, too.

I meant, you’re quiet, as in not acting like a brat and bitching me out. Both things you do often. He ignored her question the same way she had ignored his comment.

Well, she couldn’t really argue his point. Bitching at him had become second nature. A natural reaction whenever he hissed his orders, or tried to stare her down with those dark, brooding eyes. And though he was trying to intimidate her, all it seemed to do was ignite a need. Instead of shivering in fear, she’d end up quivering with want. Not that it mattered anymore, he’d be out of her life completely within the next hour. Hopefully.

It’s not that I don’t like you, Blake. I just don’t enjoy having my every action controlled. And my family is more than just a little controlling.

I get that. He picked up one of the tumblers from the coffee table and drank the contents before looking back at her. And I’m six-foot-seven and a half.

Mustn’t forget that last half inch. She smiled, enjoying this less intense side of him.

Shaking away the appeal Blake held over her, she looked at the clock on the bedside table. Ten minutes had passed since she’d drugged the big guy. It shouldn’t be much longer before it was lights out.

Princess?

Why do you insist on calling me that? She focused back on him.

‘Cause you’re as pretty as one.

Becca snorted. And I think you’re drunk, mister.

The puzzled look that crossed his face was awfully cute for someone his age. From two shots? I do-don’t think s-so. His words slurred, but his actions remained lightning fast. The glass in her hand went sailing across the room when he flipped her around until she straddled his tree-trunk legs. With his face pressed so close to hers, she finally noticed that his eyes weren’t actually black, but the darkest of browns.

Why . . . Why the hell am I so sleepy, prin–princess? What have you . . . His words trailed off as he leaned closer. His lips, shrouded in a soft goatee, tickled her skin as he drew in a long breath. Fuck you smell good.

A tremble rocked her body at the feel of his tongue swiping against her mouth. Well, shit. The sedative hadn’t worked right at all. It was meant to make him pass out. Instead, she