FILLED: Berserkers MC Page 8

  The drug deal had seemed a little fishy to begin with—a new seller with some pretty high grade shit, set up by a guy who knew a guy several times removed from that—but I’d been willing to take a risk. At the time, I’d expected that risk to be in the form of whether or not those assholes were going to try and kill us. That I was prepared for. I never would have imagined someone on our side of the law would tip off the cops.

  Even amongst your worst enemies, you tried not to do terrible shit like that.

  “Alright. What about the sellers?” I asked Jackson.

  He shook his head. “I know they got less time than you did,” he said, and then winced, like maybe I was going to bite his head off for saying something like that.

  Not completely beyond the realm of possibilities, but pretty unlikely. I tried to direct my fury to where it was sorely deserved, not at my own guys. Especially not the ones working hard to help me out.

  I waved off his words. “I suspected as much. Figure out who set up the deal. I want to know how deep Santos’s involvement in that bust was.”

  “On it, boss.”

  “Alright. Get to it. I want an update in a few days, let me know what’s going on.” Until then, I had other things to take care of.

  ***

  I had cleaned up and put on a white button-down shirt and a decent pair of jeans. It wasn’t that Zelda really liked the clean cut type—at least, she never had before—but she’d told me once that there was something incredibly sexy about a man with tattoos in a white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up. Which mine were.

  Maybe it was a little shitty of me to try and work her like this, using her own feelings and impulses against her, but it was difficult to hold on to any sort of guilt over the whole thing when it was all said and done.

  She was sleeping with Santos. The guilt was on her.

  I hadn’t bothered with things like flowers or chocolates. I wanted to appeal to her baser instincts more than her romantic ones, though I was hoping they were still lingering there, too. It would make what I was about to do go much, much easier.

  The first thing I did was make sure there was no sign of Santos’s bike. I didn’t see it and I knew he had a car, too, so I checked for that next. Nothing. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be there before I even headed out that way—one of my guys said he usually did late nights going over “work” stuff, which ranged from the construction companies to testing the quality of drugs he was selling.

  Either way, he wasn’t going to be here. But it never hurt to check and make sure.

  Satisfied that it was only Zelda home, I ran a hand through my hair and straightened myself out one last time. The better I looked to her, the more she’d want me, and the more she wanted me, the more I’d get out of the deal.

  Forcing my body to be casual, calm, despite the zip of electricity that seemed to be surging and arcing across the top of my skin in quick zaps, I went to her door. I paused a second longer, letting out a quick but deep breath. Then I knocked.

  It took a few moments, but she came to the door after a bit.

  I half expected her to just swing it open and dive into my arms right then and there given the way things had gone yesterday, but instead she barely cracked it. Just enough that I could see her whole face and a sliver of her body.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Nester,” she told me immediately, before I had a chance to say anything.

  There was something in the wideness of her eyes and the tone of her voice—uncertain, nervous, even afraid—that set me on edge. She was afraid of me? Some part of me thought that she should be, but the rest of me wondered what the hell I’d done to deserve that.

  “That’s not what you said yesterday,” I told her, waggling my eyebrows in a way that was more cheesy than sexy. But I sensed that oozing sex this time wasn’t going to be enough. She was afraid—of me or whatever—and I’d have to break through that first if I wanted to melt the rest of her.

  “Yes, I did,” she snapped back at me, which was kind of true. Maybe not in those exact words, but pretty damn close.

  I frowned. It was unusual for her to snap at me, even when she was angry and I got the feeling that she wasn’t all that angry. No, I was right about the fear. “Zel…what’s wrong?”

  She tensed, the line of her shoulders going hard and rigid, like she was a deer and I’d just swung my headlights out across her on the road. What was going on?

  She shook her head at me and even tried closing the door, mumbling something that I couldn’t quite catch. I could make out “Santos” and “bad idea” though, and it was enough to cause two conflicting emotions to surge through me: anger and concern.

  If there were ever two that didn’t belong together.

  I shot my hand out to lay it on the door, palm flat, effectively stopping her from closing it right in my face. I wasn’t going to give up so easily. The concern…well, that was stupid on my part. Whatever she was afraid of, I was pretty sure now it wasn’t me, and I was also pretty sure that that meant it didn’t matter. She wasn’t mine anymore, which meant she wasn’t mine to take care of.

  Giving the door a good shove, I forced it open. She stepped back, only half surprised, and let out a sigh as she shook her head. “Damn it, Nester.”

  I stepped into the house and closed the door behind me. Shoving my hands into my pocket, I noted that the house was even cleaner than it had been yesterday and there was the lingering smell of bleach in the air.

  She cleaned again today, I though, and worked not to frown. I wondered if it had to do with me.

  Shoving whatever guilt I might have felt away, I turned to face her, noticing that her hair was wet and she was wrapped up in a robe. She’d just gotten out of the shower.

  “What do you want, Nester?” she asked me, not meeting my eyes and sounding just a little tired.

  Searching her, looking for my way in, I decided being direct was my best choice. I stepped closer until I could smell her lime and coconut shampoo and I could see the red splotches on her face where she must have scrubbed away the makeup she’d been wearing. When I reached out and touched the bottom of her chin, she had to let her head half fall back just to meet my eyes.

  “I want you,” I told her, transforming all the anger I felt into deep passion, because this had to be convincing. I worried it too easily would be. Then I crushed my mouth to hers and when she groaned into my mouth, I knew I’d won.

  I backed her up until her back found the wall, never breaking the searing kiss between us. Her hands were already wrapping themselves up in my hair, combing through it harshly, her nails dragging along my scalp, tugging me ever closer. My hands found her waist, then moved down to find her hips. I gripped them harshly, so tight that I hoped I left bruises on her soft, supple skin.

  Shoving her back farther, my hips ground into hers. She let out a whimper and I knew that she felt my hardness. And it was hard. I ached to pull it out, to take off my constricting jeans and to ravage her, but I couldn’t make this just about fucking. I had to be careful. I had to think about this. The only way I was going to pull her back was to make her ache for me.

  The way I’d ached when she tore out my heart.

  Anger clawed at me, but I took it and wrapped it up in passion until I couldn’t even tell the difference anymore.

  I broke the kiss, taking only half a second to admire her bruised, swollen lips and the way her pink tongue darted out to lick at them, before I had to move on. My mouth latched on to her skin, nipping and licking at it as I moved down the hollow of her neck, tasting her. I had to lean far down to reach her collarbone and quickly decided I didn’t care for that. So my hands slid around her hips to find her full ass and cupped it. Quickly giving it a squeeze, I used my hold on her to lift her up, making her groan in pleasure. I kept her pinned to the wall and her legs opened of their own accord to let me settle between them, then wrapped around my middle to pull me closer.

  I could feel her heat and remembered that she was wearing a b
athrobe. She’d just gotten out of the shower, and with glee and aching arousal alike, I realized she was already naked beneath that stretch of fabric.

  Using leverage and her legs gripping her to me to hold her up, I allowed one hand to move from her round ass to her front. I let my hand slip down between us and when I found that she was already hot and wet with need, I grinned at her, my eyes flashing dangerously.

  Her breath caught and she licked those lips again.

  I growled at her for it, leaning forward to bite at her lower lip. Between her legs, I let my fingers wander. They felt along her moist folds, teased the area around that sweet little nub that I knew would shove her up over the edge and into oblivion. She groaned and pleaded and whimpered, all but begging me for more. Gone was the woman who had tried to get me to go. Gone was the woman who had told me that I shouldn’t be here.

  Gone was the woman who belonged to Santos DeArma. This woman was all mine.

  “Oh god, please, Nester,” she begged me, her eyes half-lidded and her breathing coming in quick, sharp gasps that made her heaving breasts look delicious and enticing.

  I did as she requested and let two of my thick fingers plunge into her core. She cried out, throwing her head back until it cracked loudly against the wall—she didn’t seem to care and neither did I.

  “Fuck, Zel,” I ground out as I felt how incredibly tight she was. How could she be this tight? It was almost like she was a damn virgin, like she hadn’t had sex in years. Whatever she was doing, she needed to keep doing it, because I suddenly realized I was going to have to stretch her out before I stuck my dick inside her again.

  And as her slick wetness slipped down my fingers and my hand, I knew that I would shove it into her again. I was just going to have to be a little more cautious about it than I really thought.

  Refocusing on the here and now—as well as what I was trying to accomplish so that I didn’t do anything stupid like fuck her right there against the wall—I continued to work my fingers into her warm body. She continued to beg me, crying out in need and desire, calling out my name like it belonged to a deity, the only deity that could bring her peace and power alike.

  I worked her up into a frenzy, all the while driving myself insane. I was so hard in my pants that I wanted to drop everything and just slide inside of her, but I had to hold out. There was more to this now than just fucking and I needed her to be mine.

  As I worked her with my fingers, my mouth found every exposed piece of skin it could reach. I dragged my tongue along her and bit at her shoulders. Then I kissed at that same skin to soothe the burn I’d caused. She clutched at me and tried to buck, continued to beg until I thought she’d lose her voice.

  And then, when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, I moved my thumb up until I found that little numb and rubbed it.

  “Nester!” she screamed, and I pushed her over the edge, her body clenching and pulsing around me, her sweet release coating my hand and dripping onto the floor beneath us.

  She became limp, like nothing more than jelly in my hands, and I had to gather her up just so she didn’t fall. She let me carry her in my arms, and when I laid her out on the couch, noticing the way her robe fell open to reveal so much smooth, creamy skin, I saw her smile at me.

  I almost lost my mind, wishing that I could take care of my own needs, too, but my needs ran deeper than sex now. Much deeper.

  I winked at her and almost turned to go when her hand jerked out and grabbed mine. Surprised, I turned to look at her. Her eyes were hooded, and her smile was all contentment, but she was sweet as she said, “Can I…take care of you?”

  The raging boner in my pants wanted to let her. The anger in my chest wanted to tell her that I’d just used her. But there was another part of me, too, that felt just the tiniest twinge of guilt. I was using her, manipulating her to get what I wanted, and here she was wanting to take care of me.

  I almost had the good grace to be disgusted with myself, but then I remembered the rock on her finger and how she was going to marry Santos DeArma.

  No, I wouldn’t feel guilty over this. Not at all.

  Forcing a smile, I shook my head. It took everything I had to be tender, but I made my voice that way as I said, “Not this time, hon. I wanted this to be about you.”

  And then I left her, because I could tell she was a puddle of mush both from the orgasm and from my words.

  I’d get what I wanted from her and I’d get my revenge on Santos DeArma. There was no question about that.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day, I went back to Zelda. I brought her flowers and I made nice, watching with keen, shrewd eyes how she blushed at my attention and her lips pulled into a hesitant, but sweet smile. She tried again to tell me how I couldn’t be there, but she didn’t stop me when I brushed past her into the house. She didn’t stop me when I put the flowers in water and set them in the center of the kitchen counter. She didn’t stop me when I cupped her cheek with my hand, nor when I let that hand trail lower down over her jaw and neck and collarbone.

  She didn’t stop me because I knew that whatever she said or thought, she still wanted me. And I would take full advantage of that fact.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this, Nester,” she whispered to me, breathless as I trailed my hand down over her breast and lower along her ribs and stomach, finally stopping on her hips where her jeans hung low.

  A spark of irritation swept through me. I tried to keep it back, but she must have seen it, because her expression crumpled slightly and she turned away.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, but I wasn’t even sure what exactly she was sorry for. Wanting to fuck me? Or actually fucking Santos?

  Deciding to run with the irritation, that genuine feelings were more likely to sway her, I asked in a barely controlled voice, “What is it that you could see in a man like Santos?”

  She hesitated, almost like she was racking her brain in search of an honest, but valid answer. Like maybe she didn’t know what she saw in him. It made me frown, because I could understand if she was in it for the money or if some lingering naïve part of her was convinced he truly was a good man. But this? If she didn’t know what it was she saw in him, then what the hell happened?

  Shoving that question aside, I focused on my goal at hand. I needed dirt on Santos, and Zelda was my best shot at giving it.

  And if I maybe got her riled up again, well, I could think of a few things we could do that would make us both pretty fucking happy.

  Swallowing, Zelda finally said, “He’s a…difficult man, I know, but he’s done right by me and kept his word.” Her mouth snapped shut, like she had just told me too much, but I couldn’t figure out what was in her statement that would give me anything about Santos.

  “Are you crazy?” I asked through gritted teeth, then shut my eyes and tried to slow my breathing. Getting angry with her wouldn’t help. Not in the slightest. When I opened them again, she wasn’t looking at me. “You said you didn’t want a criminal,” I reminded her gently, hoping to get her talking about what it was Santos did for a living—I knew, but maybe there was something I was missing.

  She clenched her eyes shut at my words, looking guilty, maybe about what she’d said to me.

  Good, I thought, feeling some smidgen of satisfaction at the idea that she was upset over how she had treated me. She deserved that much at the very least.

  When she opened them again, she told me, “Santos isn’t a criminal.” She sounded only half convinced, but pressed on before I could call her on it. “He’s a businessman. And a philanthropist.”

  I couldn’t help but snort at that. Philanthropist? Sure, and I played for the New York Yankees in my free time. “Right,” was all I said out loud in response.

  Her cheeks reddened, and I saw her eyes flash. But the flash died quickly and her shoulders slumped as she sighed. Shaking her head, she said, “Really, he tries.” Now she didn’t even sound half convinced. “He invests in a lot of construction that would neve
r get done without him. Buildings that are anything from low-income housing to daycare centers.” She hesitated, looking and sounding uncertain or even a little sick at her own words, like she’d just tasted something sour.

  I sensed it more than anything else. There was something there, something that she didn’t agree with.

  “No hospitals?” I joked.

  She sent me a look, then said, “Not yet. That’s the new one, though, I think. It’s costing him a fortune, you know. And after the last collapse, well, you’d think he’d get out of the construction building.”

  I froze, doing my best to hide my sudden interest in her words. My face remained blank—I hoped—but inside, my mind was buzzing with activity. First, there was no way that Santos was a philanthropist. If he was doing something charitable, then he was getting something back for it, too. But what? Like Zelda said, it was costing him a fortune to invest in these buildings. What was the return for him?