Ruthless (Dark MC Romance) Read online

  Ruthless: Dragons MC Romance (Dark Romance)

  Published by Vanessa Waltz

  Copyright 2014 Vanessa Waltz

  * * *

  [email protected]

  My husband’s dead and I've been kidnapped.

  Years ago, I stole money from the Dragons MC club and ran. Against all odds, I picked myself up. Became sober. Got married.

  But then he found me.

  Now I belong to Cain—a ruthless, loveless man who’s intent on making me his obedient slave. He’s done unspeakable things to my body, tortured me, and broken me down so that I’ll never betray him. And I wouldn't have...

  Until Spike came along.

  He’s rough around the edges, but warm. When he kisses me, I feel alive. I’ve never been in love, but Spike is all I've ever wanted. When I’m around him, all bets are off. I’m falling for him and I can’t hide it anymore.

  If Cain finds out, he’ll kill us both.

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  PROLOGUE

  There was something about him.

  I raised myself over my man’s porcelain, carved body as my elbows dug into the bed and stared into his bloodshot eyes. The wrong look would earn me a slap across the face. I was thinking things I had no business thinking about.

  “Julia?”

  My breath caught in my throat as Cain's bland eyes scanned mine. He told me daily that he could kill me if he wanted, but Cain didn’t destroy the things he owned, the things that still gave him pleasure.

  I lowered my body over his before he could think about my hesitation and kissed him, trying to bury my thoughts of another tall, lanky man with curly hair.

  I can’t leave Cain.

  His arm curling around my waist seemed to remind me of that. My muscles relaxed and I sighed as Cain edged up behind me, his hardness digging into my ass. I went away inside when he positioned me. I commanded my senses to go numb, not to think, not to feel. From far away, I heard my sharp gasp of pain.

  The man who made my spirits lift entered my head like a dream. Spike. I thought of how happy I was the night before, when I was between his sheets and when I dug my fingers in his thick hair as he kissed my neck. But I wasn’t with Spike. I was Cain’s old lady. I didn’t choose him, but he snatched me from my perfect life in Los Angeles that was making me so miserable. And I couldn’t leave.

  He’ll kill us both.

  The realization stabbed me like a sharp whisper in the ear. I snapped out of it and returned to the present, to the cock slamming inside me and the hand clamped around my mouth. A dirty finger slipped into my mouth, leaving me with a bad taste. I bit it hard; it was difficult to breathe. He grunted, not even feeling the pain.

  When it was over, my body was flayed and my face shone with tears. Cain retreated into the bathroom to drip some more of that poison in his eyes.

  Spike’s different.

  Cain was unfeeling. He could never love me. Not really.

  Spike was nothing like Cain. He was warm where Cain was cold with his affection, if he felt anything at all.

  When he returned from the bathroom I huddled in a ball, arms wrapped around myself as if that would protect me from him. I felt his weight on the bed again and cringed.

  “Are you going to leave me?”

  Silence.

  Too afraid to speak or look at him, I shook my head.

  Can I even leave you?

  “Just in case you ever think about leaving, I want you to remember.” He leaned over suddenly and gripped my tear-stained face so that I was forced to meet his gaze. It was terrifying to look in those eyes. “I’ll hunt you down and drag you back every time, because you’re mine. The moment you become a nuisance to me, you’re dead. The moment you disobey me, you’re dead. You have no life anymore. You don’t even get to use the word, ‘I,’ because everything you do is for me.”

  I inhaled suddenly through my clenched teeth, a high gasp. “Please don’t kill me.”

  He smiled then, the rage dropping from his bloody eyes as he released my jaw to kiss me gently, for once. “I don’t want to,” he said between kisses. “I like having you around.”

  For now.

  JULIA

  My hands slid up the smooth, round wood in a slow stroke as I scanned the dingy pool hall. It was lit with cast-iron, low hanging lamps over the dozen or so pool tables, which surrounded a small island of a bar.

  The beginning of summer meant that term was over, and bars would be flooded with naïve college kids. When I saw the crowd lining out the door, I couldn’t resist. Dozens of them swarmed around the pool tables, slamming down drink after drink as they drunkenly aimed their pool cues and laughed at stupid jokes.

  I was completely lost to that world. I never went to college, never had that kind of freedom. In passing, Bryan suggested that maybe I should take classes at the community college. I laughed at him. I could never handle the rigid structure of classes and homework and rules—I never even graduated high school, choosing instead to learn in the real world. And I learned so much.

  I was a master of human behavior and manipulation.

  I scanned them, searching for the perfect mark. There were just so many of them that I couldn’t decide which one to pick. Los Angeles had an overabundance of young twenty-year-old boys, which were easy prey for me. Some of them were with their girlfriends—that wouldn’t work.

  I need to find a couple guys on their own.

  Two heavy-set boys high-fived each other as they guzzled down their beers, heading for the wall to pick up pool cues. One of them had a UCLA shirt.

  Bingo.

  I took a sip from my rum and coke, wishing that I could light up inside the bar. In Victoria, people smoked wherever the hell they wanted, but not here. When I was young, I remember being fascinated by the plumes of colorful smoke that would spill onto the street when the bar doors opened. It looked beautiful. It was only slightly marred by the tight feeling in my chest when I inhaled my first lungful of cigarette smoke. I didn’t like how my lungs burned, but I kept at it. Smoking was sexy.

  Now, it was just a habit.

  Without thinking, I removed the tight wedding band from my finger and slid it into my pocket, trying to ignore the swell of guilt.

  I’m not supposed to be here.

  One of them bent over the pool table and his waistband slid down, exposing the crack of his hammy ass. The other one drank from his beer with a straw. A straw, for God’s sake. He sucked in the beer, closed the opening with his thumb, and aimed it towards the other boy’s exposed ass. Ass-boy yelped and yanked his pants as the beer slipped down his crack.

  Nice.

  Tugging down my leopard print camisole, I fixed a small smile on my face and made a beeline for the two boys.

  They may as well have signs hanging around their necks: PLEASE HUSTLE ME!

  “Hi!” I said in a chipper voice as I approached their table.

  At first they ignored me, because why in the hell would a woman like me would want to talk to them? The boy with the UCLA shirt wheeled around in alarm as I tapped his shoulder. I beamed at him.

  “Hey.” He turned around to look at his friend, as if confirming that I wasn’t an alcohol-infused apparition.

  “I’m Julia.”

  His face burned as he took my hand and shook it, his brown eyes darting away from my gaze. “Ryan,” he mumbled.

  His friend gave me a wide grin, his eyes dipping low enough to glance at my tits, before snapping up again. “Mike. How are you doing tonight? Can I get you a drink?”

  “Actually, I was wondering if you guys wanted to play some pool with me.”

  Slipping into
the persona of a wide-eyed, dumb blonde, I giggled unnecessarily when Mike agreed enthusiastically.

  “What’s a girl like you doing here?”

  Kicking your ass.

  I twirled a strand of hair and pretended to think about his question. “Oh, I’m pretty good at pool and my boyfriend doesn’t like to come with me, because I always beat him.”

  Mike’s smile trembled for a moment at the mention of my boyfriend, but then both of their smiles became shrewd. “You beat your boyfriend at pool?” His eyes slipped down my waist to my skin-tight jeans and heels, then back up to the low-cut shirt and my face. “I don’t believe it.”

  I pursed my lips and set my hands on my hips, pouting. “I am. I’m really good!”

  “Want to make a bet? If I win, you come home with me.”

  Sleaze ball. Righteous anger churned inside me, but my smile didn’t falter. I swept my hands to my face and giggled. “I have a better idea. What about twenty dollars a game?”

  “You’re on,” he barked before his friend could utter a word.

  “Okay!” I beamed. “I’ll get us a pitcher of beer.”

  As I returned to the table with the pitcher and three glasses, Mike stood next to his friend Ryan, smirking as he whispered to him. He gave me a hot look that I returned.

  You’re so sure that you’re going to bang me tonight. I’m going to clean out your bank account, buddy.

  Mike let me break first and I made sure not to chalk my pool cue.

  “I don’t need it!”

  I pouted when the cue ball missed the solid balls, over and over again. I made all the rookie mistakes. I scratched. I didn’t chalk. Winning the first two games gave him the confidence boost he needed to start making stupid decisions.

  Ryan looked sorry for me as I handed over the money.

  “Let’s play another game!” Mike roared.

  “I don’t know what’s going on! I’m a really good player. Let’s up the ante to fifty dollars a game.”

  Ryan placed his hand on Mike’s shoulder and gave me a sympathetic look.

  Ha-ha. He feels sorry for me. Dumbass.

  “Maybe you should quit while you’re ahead,” he said in a stage whisper.

  Mike elbowed him. “No way!” He gave me a smirk. “Sure. Fifty dollars.”

  Score.

  “All right, guys, time for another round of beer.”

  Keep plying them with drinks.

  My strategy changed for the next game. I was going to win the game, but only at a slight margin. This infuriated Mike. He stomped around the table, looking like an overgrown baby as he scowled at me.

  “Beginner’s luck! Let’s play again. I want my money back.”

  “Sure!”

  It was rare, but sometimes, I felt sorry for my marks. Nagging guilt was the only thing that ever stopped me from completely cleaning out a mark’s pockets. Basically, I made a living out of manipulating men. What was the difference between what I did and stripping—or the rigged games at casinos?

  After winning three more games, Mike kept running back to the ATM machine to withdraw more money. His face purpled as I won game after game. I threw up my hands and shrugged, twittering that it was lucky that I won. The night wore on and the boys drank, their words slurring and their cheeks burning.

  I played every game the same, so that I just barely won. Keeping them from suspecting what I truly was. A hustler. In reality, I could have beaten him instantly by making the eight on the break. It was one of my best plays, but using that would give away my game. Very few people could make the eight on the break.

  The beer slipped down his throat and he bellied up to the pool table. “Double or nothing. Last game.”

  Ryan gave me an angry look and tugged his elbow. “Just give up.”

  “No,” he ripped his arm out of his grasp violently. “I can beat her!”

  I hid my face behind the glass to hide my smirk. What was it about men that made them so insecure whenever a woman beat them at anything?

  A warm buzz filled my head as I sipped the drink, making my movements slower, less coordinated. Don’t get cocky. The pile of money sat on the rack the entire game and I glanced up occasionally, excitement stirring in my chest.

  I finished the game, sinking the last three balls neatly. I gave Mike an apologetic smile and a shrug as he stood there, dumb struck, stilling holding his pool cue.

  I grabbed the stack of money and Mike’s heavy body moved in front of me. A stink of old sweat wafted from him, but I covered up my disgust with a giggle and stepped back from him.

  “Oops! I think I’m going to the bathroom.” I need to ditch them.

  His piggy eyes narrowed as I swept from his side. Then his fingers shot out and grabbed my wrist, dragging me back towards him.

  “You’re a liar.”

  His beer breath billowed over my nose. Self-righteous disgust raised inside my throat.

  You’re nothing but a fucking ant.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” I said in a completely different voice. It was my voice, not the high-pitched feminine squeal I used all afternoon, but a deep, lullaby voice.

  “You made it look like you sucked at pool—you fucking hustled me.”

  A slight twinge of excitement traveled through my limbs. Somehow, he saw through all the alcohol and the flirting and realized that I was screwing him over. Maybe they weren’t a pair of morons I was used to dealing with. Color me impressed. I stared at his hand pointedly.

  “I told you I was good.” I smirked.

  The grip tightened. “Give me my money back.”

  My heart soared as I looked at him, grinning.

  Thank you so much.

  The pool cue in my right hand shot upward, right into his solar plexus. It sank into his body like a pincushion and he let me go as he doubled over.

  “Oof!”

  I stepped around him as Ryan made threatening moves towards me and then I felt fear prickling.

  You shouldn’t fucking be here without a piece.

  I left that all behind years ago—I wasn’t even supposed to be here. My hand dove into my purse and I grabbed the switchblade, swinging it open with practiced ease as Ryan followed me outside.

  “What the fuck!” Ryan’s round eyes stared at the knife trembling in my fist. “Who are you?”

  “Fuck off.”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. The distant sound of a siren made me jump. Sprinting back to my car, I tried to ignore how alive I felt—how I had been looking forward to going to this pool hall for weeks, and it was the only thing that gave me excitement anymore. I could care less about the goddamn money.

  The wad of money rolled in my purse meant nothing to me. It was just—winning. Scamming people game after game, and watching them lose their hard earned money because they were sexist or stupid or whatever combination of the two, made me feel powerful.

  It felt like justice. Most guys were too busy thinking with their dick to see the pathetically obvious sitting in front of them.

  I glanced at my watch as I drove away from the pool hall, looking back at it sadly. I’ll never be able to come back here again.

  * * *

  I was profoundly late.

  My heels rapped like gunshots on the steps as I climbed the concrete stairs to my therapist’s office. I burst inside, my chest heaving. Fifteen minutes late.

  The receptionist, a fussy young woman, looked up from behind the glass wall and glared at me. Mary was always curt on the phone and would never take an excuse for a missed appointment. Her eyes narrowed. “Miss Brown,” she said in a rigid voice, her eyes flicking to my hands.

  Ah, fuck! I squeezed my wedding ring out of my jeans and popped it back on, smiling back at her sweetly. When Bryan came in with me, her sharp eyes softened over his boyish features. She reserved none of that sweetness for me.

  “You’re sixteen minutes late.”

  “I know,” I huffed. “Traffic—sorry.”

  It was better than not showin
g up at all. I ditched the last appointment and the office called to inform me that I would be billed a no-show fee of $79. Bryan had been pissed.

  Mary’s lips pursed. “Well, you’re lucky that the 3:30 canceled. Please have a seat, Dr. Morish will be with you in a moment.”

  “Okay.” Whatever.

  I sank into the leather sofa that Dr. Morish kept in her waiting room.

  She’s a pretty cool gal. Strange, colorful Hindu-inspired art adorned the walls. A loud water fountain splashed in the corner, reminding me of how badly I needed to take a piss. I crossed my legs tightly and my fingernails rapped on the wooden armrests.

  “Julia?”

  Dr. Morish, a slight Indian woman, peeked in from inside the office and nodded to me with a serene smile. I always admired her for how unruffled she was, even when I raged in her tiny office and told her to shut the fuck up. I tried to imagine her on the backseat of a motorcycle and smiled to myself.

  I weaved inside her tiny, intimate office and took a seat on the leather chair.

  “You look very happy today,” she commented. “Have you been using?”

  Something twisted inside me. “No!”

  The doctor smiled dryly. “Julia, none of this works unless you tell me the truth.”

  “I didn’t use, I swear.”

  Though I thought about it.

  “I—may have played a little bit of pool.”

  Dr. Morish gave me a sharp look. “You know you’re supposed to avoid triggers, Julia. Pool halls are a big trigger for you.”

  Frustrated shame billowed in my chest as her two round eyes bored into my skull. Jesus Christ, I was tired of being told what to do, but at the same time I couldn’t deny how badly I wanted a line of coke after winning those games. It was like a crisp, cold beer on a hot day—refreshing and immensely satisfying.

  It would have been the perfect ending to my day. I deserved it for winning all those games and it would take the edge off the nasty encounter in the parking lot.

  “I hustled someone. Won a few hundred.” The smile dropped when I saw her face.

  Disappointment.