Rage: Royal Bastards MC Read online

  “I’m not fucking into her, you asshole, I’d never take advantage of her. She’s broken.” I sound like a little bitch. What the hell is she doing to me? I’m so caught up in her welfare and I don’t even know her.

  “And you want to fix her?”

  “So what if I do.”

  “Gabe, damage from that kind of living may not be fixable. You sure you want to take this on?”

  He’s my best friend and I love him to death, but to say that shit about her just makes me want to punch him in the mouth, even if I know he’s right. Just the fact that I’m reacting so intensely to his words is scary as hell.

  “I’ve always got your back. If you want to pursue this…”

  “There is no pursuing. I’m going to wait for that piece of shit brother of hers to go to ground, then I’m going to put her with people who can help her.” I need her off my hands, and she needs help. She’s making me crazy, and it’s been hours. What will I be like if I spend any real time with her? At this rate, I’ll be signing over my house and become her bitch boy.

  “If it’s not done in the three days, we’ll take care of him together.”

  And this is why this motherfucker doesn’t end up getting punched in the mouth. When it comes down to the bottom line, he’s willing and ready to lock and load for me. No matter the circumstance.

  “You know I just want to protect you from yourself sometimes, right?” He frowns, pulling two beers from the fridge and handing me one.

  I nod my head, feeling lighter as I accept his peace offering. I’m so fucking grateful to have him. He’s the reason I always feel the need to pay that shit forward. Without him, I’d be a fucking mess. “I know, and that’s why I come to you first.” I’m impulsive, and that can be reckless. Jameson has always been the calm to my chaos.

  “So, you’re not into her, huh?”

  “I said I’m not,” I warn with a glare.

  “What color are her eyes?”

  Brown with hues of amber. Argh. Fuck.

  “Fuck off,” I grumble. Downing my bottle, I sling the bag of cash over my shoulder and leave my chuckling friend to it.

  Nine

  Willa

  I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep in a stranger’s place, but I slept better than I have in forever. Milo didn’t haunt my dreams, but was the first thing I thought of when I woke up. The dark pit in my stomach swirls, waiting for him to come for me and shame me some more for growing up and not having the innocence Mr. Right finds appealing. What if he goes to Mr. Right and Mr. Right tells him he has friends who are willing to pay for the use of my body? He’ll pimp me out to one of them—maybe all of them. How long will it be before he has me out on a street corner servicing anyone willing?

  A shudder rattles the bones inside my skin, forcing me to race to the toilet and expel last night’s dinner.

  I run the cold water from the tap and splash my face, taking a calming breath. This place has bathrooms attached to the rooms. This one is the size of my bedroom back home. It smells new and fresh. I want to live in here for a few days before I have to return to reality. Gabe said he’d help me, but he doesn’t know Milo. Returning home is inevitable, but I can enjoy my surroundings for now. I slip out of the oversized shirt Gabe loaned me and turn on the shower. The pressure is so strong, it feels like tiny fingers pitter-pattering all over my skin. I stay in until my hands and feet prune, then step out, wrapping a long, fluffy towel around my body, sighing from the comfort. Swiping the condensation from the mirror, I stare at my reflection, trying to match the woman before me with the person I am inside my head. A banging sounds from somewhere in the house, making me startle. I pull my dress on, feeling dirty beneath the fabric, and towel dry my hair, having no choice but to leave it to air dry into a tangled mess.

  I make my way through the house to find Gabe in one of the rooms, shirtless, in a pair of low-rise jeans. I knew he would have abs. God help me, he’s stunning. I’ve never seen a man look like that before. Tan flesh stretched over taunt muscle. sweat coats his skin, making it shine like he’s some kind of sparkling vampire. A chuckle catches in my throat as I picture Gabe as one of the characters from the books I read. He’s painting a wall and has in earbuds. I’ve never wanted to hear music more. I bet its soft rock or nu-metal. Turning suddenly, his eyes widen, and a genuine smile lifts his lips, reaching his eyes. “Oh, hey. You’re up.” He plucks his earbuds out and drops the roller brush onto a tray.

  “Yes. The bed was amazing. And the shower…” I look to the heavens, “Perfection.” His eyes roam over my dress, and he does the thing with his ear, stroking the lobe. “I was thinking we could maybe pop to the store today and grab you some things.”

  Oh God, I don’t have money. He must know that. Does he mean he’ll pay? Do I want to owe him?

  “Willa.” He comes over to me, taking my wrists and holding them ever so lightly. “I can see your mind racing. I just want you to have some things, like clothes, nightwear, woman shit. I’m a man and don’t have anything that fits you. I will pay for it and expect nothing in return. Okay?”

  “I feel bad. You’ve done enough.”

  “I’ve done nothing. Let me take a quick shower, it’s hot as hell in here and I’m all sweaty, then we can grab breakfast in town and do some shopping. Sound good?”

  “Sounds good.” I bite my lip, holding in the stupid grin that wants to spread across my face. Is he even a real person? He’s like a guardian angel. This is too good to be true. My heart begins to pound in my ears, my nerves eating away at my stomach. Time will tell.

  Ten

  Gabe

  The mall is the last place I want to be, but Willa needs clothes. She’s wearing a thin little dress that looks like something from Jameson’s baby sister’s wardrobe. Her hands clasp the material like it’s a lifeline. Head bowed, a curtain of brown hair acts as a shield. “You good?” I nudge her arm, and she startles, then lets out an awkward laugh.

  “Yes. Sorry. I’ve never been allowed to come to the mall. Everything feels loud and busy.” She moves closer to me, shrugging.

  The ball of fiery rage sitting in the pit of my stomach since the night I found her flares, flames licking at my frayed restraint. I want to peel her brother’s skin from his skeleton, carve my name into his bones, and put them on display for her.

  I coax her inside a store and gesture to some jeans, feeling way out of my depth. I’ve been wearing the same cut of Levi’s for fifteen years.

  “Anything you like?” I ask, smiling down at her, clenching my hands to keep from reaching out and un-tugging her fat bottom lip from her teeth as she looks around, blinking rapidly.

  “There’s so much.” Her tone is thick, heat spreading up her neck.

  A woman with a broad smile, waltzes over to us. “Hello. What can I help you with today?”

  I look at her name badge. “Sarah, this is Willa. She requires a new wardrobe. Underwear, PJs, socks, shoes, and anything else she decides she likes.” Willa’s mouth pops open, her gaze studying mine. I give her a gentle nod in assurance.

  “Oh, wonderful. Willa, let’s get you a changing room,” Sarah offers, hooking her arm with Willa’s and dragging her across the store like they’re best friends. Willa’s body resists. She looks back at me over her shoulder, her eyes wide in horror. Shit.

  “Hold up.” I holler, trudging to catch up with them. I hold my finger up to the woman, signaling for her to give us a minute and take Willa’s hand in mine. Her petite fingers curl around my larger ones. A sigh whooshes from her lungs as she moves in real fucking close. Brown eyes coated in a sheen of tears peer up at me. Her lip quivers. Fuck this. Cupping her cheek, I hold her gaze. “If this is too much for you?”

  Her throat bobs as she swallows her unease. “Can you stay with me?”

  The urge to pull her against my chest is so strong, my muscles twitch, flexing beneath the flesh. “Of course I can.”

  We leave the shop with only a couple pairs of jeans and a few shirts, neither
of which she tried on. After the clerk started suggesting lacy underwear, Willa began hyperventilating, so I paid for what she’d picked out and we left.

  “You want to go get some fresh air, then maybe go somewhere for dinner?” I question.

  “Like, eat inside somewhere?” She freezes, taking in her surroundings, then moves in closer to my body like she’s trying to hide within my shadow.

  “Yeah, you can pick a restaurant…” Stark fear glistens in her eyes so vividly, it steals the breath from my lungs. I rest a hand on her shoulder and lower to my knees to capture her eyes. “Hey, we don’t have to do that. We can just go back home if you want and order in.”

  Reaching forward and clasping my shirt, she says, “Maybe we can go for some groceries?” She nods her head as her fingers twist the material of my shirt. “I can cook for you again to say thank you. What’s your favorite?”

  “Maybe you should let me cook for you tonight,” I offer. The memory of her pasta will be burned on my taste buds for life.

  “You didn’t like my pasta? It’s my best dish besides steak.” She gasps, the change in conversation taking her mind off being overwhelmed by everything else.

  “Darling, if you can fuck up pasta that bad, I dread to think what your steak is like,” I tease, placing my hand on her back and guiding her to continue walking. Her gaping mouth makes me chuckle, and she jabs me in the ribs, like the scared girl from moments before evaporated from within her.

  “That’s going to leave a bruise.” I smirk at her.

  “Are you mocking my strength?”

  “And your cooking.” I wink.

  “I’m a great cook,” she defends. “I think…” She frowns, looking up at me, and I shake my head. “Really? That bad?”

  “I offered your pasta to a homeless guy down the street, and he returned the plate still full.”

  “Liar!” She laughs, all the tension and anxiety leaking free. It’s fucking beautiful.

  Willa is consuming my thoughts. It’s fucking crazy how quickly she’s woven herself into my mind, insane the idea of her leaving fills me with cold dread. The house feels different with her inside it. Warm…if that’s a fucking thing. I don’t know. What I do know is I like it, and that’s a scary reality. Nothing can ever happen between us. She has issues I have no clue how to help her overcome. She’s young and has so much to experience and learn about the world outside the confines and control of Milo. I’d be a sick bastard to make a move, to want to keep her here with me.

  “I don’t even know how to shop for myself.” Her voice carries from the doorway of the kitchen, dragging me from my thoughts. I turn toward her as she shakes her head. She’d gone upstairs to try her clothes on while I started dinner. Her jeans are unbuttoned, and her white t-shirt pulls skin-tight around her tits, flaring slightly over the stomach. A shudder of humiliation courses through her.

  “What’s wrong?” I turn the heat off on the stove to give her my full attention. She grabs the waist of the pants and attempts to fasten them, throwing her hands up when they won’t close.

  “I’m pathetic.” She paces, her hands animated as she vents her frustration. “Who doesn’t know their own waist size?”

  My mouth opens, then closes when I realize she’s not done. Her tone becomes louder, more intense. “I’ll tell you who,” each word punches the air, “someone who’s been wearing her brother’s hand-me-downs with belts because god forbid people notice I’m a girl!” She jabs a hand into the air. “Until it suits him! Until he wants them to pay for the privilege of seeing my girl parts!”

  She shimmies out of her jeans, and my fucking breath catches in my throat. Working them off, she exposes her long, toned legs and a pair of white cotton panties that does nothing to hide the outline of her pussy lips. Fuck. Stop looking. Stop fucking looking.

  “He made me think there was something wrong with me for Mr. Right not wanting to fuck me now that I’m older, like my body changing is something bad.” She throws the jeans down on the table. “I like my body.” She waves her hand down the front of her.

  Me too, but I feel like a pervert for it. Fuck, where has this Willa been hiding?

  “You know what else?”

  “Tell me,” I encourage, wanting her to get it all out. Lay it bare.

  “I had to shave off my pubic hair, and I hate it. It’s irritating when it grows back. But Mr. Right wanted it smooth, yet I was forbidden from cutting this!” She grabs a handful of her curls on her head. “He wanted it braided.” An exasperated huff deflates her chest. “Well, screw Mr. Right—and screw Milo!” she booms, moving to where I’m standing. Grabbing the carving knife from the counter, she begins slicing off chunks of hair, much to my shock. I’m sure I look like a confused dumbass standing here staring at her butchering her beautiful locks.

  Anger turns to grief as she begins to sob. “Fuck you, Mr. Right!” She hiccups. “Screw you, Milo!” she roars, dropping handfuls of hair to the kitchen floor. I calmly reach for the knife and pull her against me. Our body heat converges, her suppleness a contrast to my hard planes. Her cries echo through the house as she loses strength and falls into me. “I hate him!” she wails, her little fist pounding against my chest. Scooping her up into a bridal hold, I carry her upstairs to the bathroom, blast the shower, then step inside fully clothed and cradle her in my lap.

  Water soaks us, cleansing the pain, washing it down the drain. My arms encompass her small frame, offering myself as an anchor to bring her back when the darkness drains from her.

  When her body stops trembling, I stroke away the loose hair, pushing the wet strands from her face. Her breathing steadies, her fist curling in my damp shirt.

  “We’re in the shower with clothes on,” she murmurs, humor and sadness coating her tone.

  Smiling, I kiss her forehead. “Yes, we are.”

  “I cut my hair off.” She covers her face with her hands, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

  A gentle laugh rocks our bodies. “It looks great. A new trend.”

  Dropping her hands, she lowers her eyes. “Thank you. I know you must think I’m unstable.”

  “I think you’re perfect,” I assure her, moving her from my lap and standing. When I lower my hand to pull her up, my chest constricts. She peers up at me with raw beauty, vulnerability trembling her bottom lip. Amber flecks dance in the depths of her eyes. Her hand slips into mine, pulling herself up with my aid. The water has soaked her shirt and panties, but it’s her gaze that leaves me in awe. Curious eyes search my features. I suck in a breath when her hand touches my cheek.

  “You’re beautiful. Do you know that?” she implores.

  Covering her hand with my own, I smile into her touch. “I think you mean rough and manly,” I tease, but her expression remains intense, focused.

  “You’re beautiful.” Her other hand moves to my chest, covering my heart. “Not just outward, but inside too.”

  I fucking hate what she’s been through, that we didn’t meet under better circumstances, and I hate questioning myself for noticing how strikingly stunning she is. Funny, cute, warm, caring. I’m fucked.

  Sitting in a pair of my sweatpants and a t-shirt, Willa holds a mirror using scissors to even up her hair the best she can. “Maybe the knife was a bad idea.” She winces, looking at me over the top of the mirror.

  “I don’t know. You could be onto something.” I shrug, drinking a mouthful of beer to help wash down the steak dinner we just finished.

  The front door opening has my hackles rising. Willa freezes, her eyes expanding in panic as the floorboards creak. My grip tightens on the steak knife as I move to stand.

  “Yo,” a familiar voice calls out. Rolling my eyes, I slump back down. “Gabe, where you at?” Willa closes her eyes briefly, her hand clutching the scissors, turning her knuckles white.

  “It’s just Jameson,” I assure her. His tall frame comes into view, creating a shadow over the table. A grim expression mars his features, sending apprehension coursing through me.


  “You smell the steak from your house?” I joke, trying to cut the tension, not wanting Willa to worry. Jameson rolling up here without a call means it’s shit he can’t talk about over the phone.

  “Looks cozy.” He raises a brow. “I’ll pass.” He jerks his head, signaling for me to follow him into the other room.

  “I’ll just clean things up here.” Willa smiles, but it’s tight and uneasy. In a rush to get to her feet, she almost knocks over the mirror.

  I reach out for her arms, clasping gently. “It’s okay. Relax, okay?”

  “He makes me a little nervous,” she admits, looking to the door and back at me.

  “He’s a gentle giant. Trust me, okay? You’re safe here.”

  “I know. I’m being stupid.” She blows out a breath,

  I clasp her cheek, stopping her from pulling away. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” Her pupils dilate, and her breathing becomes heavy. Turning her cheek into my palm, craving contact. The air thickens, a surge of energy pulsing between us. There’s something happening no matter how much I know it shouldn’t be. It’s undeniable. If she keeps looking at me like she’s starving for my touch, I may fucking die trying to keep myself from her.

  “Gabe,” Jameson barks, breaking the spell she conjured. Fuck.

  “I better…” I point to the door like a fucking idiot, my other hand still against her soft skin. Taking my wrist, she pulls my hand to her lip, kissing the palm. My dick reacts, throbbing with a desperate need to be buried inside her. My heart pounds in my chest.

  “You better go.” She licks her lips and drops my hand.

  It takes me a few seconds to gain blood back into my brain. She’s staring at me like I’m a fucking dumbass. You are.

  “Right.” I shake my head to clear it. Jameson’s waiting.