Silas_Death Knells MC Page 3

  Fuck. He was too hot.

  She fished out the scrap of paper he’d given her and ran her thumb over the strange chicken-scratch of his numbers. She should throw it away – that would convince herself that she was serious and that her affiliation with the MC gang was truly severed, once and for all.

  Nibbling on her lower lip, Jessa stowed the number back in her purse. She should hang onto it, just in case she needed to get ahold of him once she sifted through her father’s storage unit. If Stone had held Silas in such high regard, then maybe he’d be interested in some of his extra things.

  She nodded. That seemed fair.

  It also seemed like a compromise, but she didn’t want to dwell on that.

  ***

  Silas stared out the window overlooking the cement courtyard of the clubhouse. The sun was so damn bright today. Too bright for the day of a funeral. Especially Stone’s. He squinted, peering up at the sky again. Still no answers. Still no Stone.

  The brothers were filing into the meeting room through the bulletproof and soundproof double doors. They called it HQ for a reason – this was where all the magic happened, and they couldn’t risk prying ears, eyes or visitors. Now that they’d buried Stone, it was time for Silas to take over. Their first formal meeting without Stone was about to commence.

  Silas tugged at the elastic in his hair, forcing the hair in his ponytail to tumble around his face. Most of the brothers were still in their Sunday best. Silas cleared his throat, fiddling with the rolled-up sleeve. The head of a dragon leered up at him from his forearm, the tattoo his most faithful companion.

  The mood was somber at HQ today, as he’d expected. But under the sadness, Silas sensed a tension. He’d been worried that not all the brothers would accept his appointment as president. He’d served as sergeant at arms for two years under Stone. Tequila, a squat redhead who drank one shot of tequila every evening like it was tea time, had served as VP since Silas came into the club. Why hadn’t Stone picked him?

  Tequila lumbered over to his regular spot, off to the right of the president’s seat at the head of the table. One by one, everyone settled into place. All thirty of them around the massive, wood-carved table. Silas drew a deep breath, pressing his palms against the surface.

  “So. Here we are.” He looked up at the brothers. Most everyone wore sadness on their faces or stared sullenly at the table. “I did not want to see this day come. We all loved Stone. He was a born leader.”

  Brothers murmured their agreement, nodding.

  “But now that he’s chosen me as president… I swear to all of you that I will live and breathe this job. Stone’s legacy will push me to serve at his level.” Silas paused, raking his gaze over each member. “It shouldn’t surprise any of you what my first order of business will be: taking out Wicked Spawn.”

  A few shouts of agreement.

  Tequila pumped his fist. “This shit has been going on for too long. And now that they’ve got Stone as one more notch on their fucking post, I say that this crap ends now. Tomorrow, if we can. We need to push these fuckheads out of our territory, and back to the disgusting filth pile they came from.”

  More shouts of agreement.

  Silas nodded, searching out each brother’s gaze. “We’ve got a few prospects on deck. I say we bring ‘em up to vote so we can get them on board for the attack. Our regular order of business, we’ll just let it float for a while. Viper and Hotshot, you two can keep the video biz going in the meantime. No new projects – just wrap up what we’ve got going and keep the commitments we made.”

  Viper and Hotshot nodded.

  “I won’t rest until we take these assholes out. We’ll reconfigure once we’re back on top. Now let’s take a vote.”

  Smiles flashed, and agreements rippled through the room. When it came time to vote, every brother came back with, “Aye.”

  After a few more orders of business, the meeting came to a close.

  Tequila stood up, clamping a hand on Silas’ shoulder. “You’re gonna do great, kid.” He offered a smile. “I never wanted the president gig, and Stone knew that. He always had you in mind for this spot. You should know that.”

  Silas relaxed, relief spreading through him. “Thanks, brother.”

  A couple of the brothers hung by the doors, mischievous smiles on their faces. “So, when’s the big day?”

  Silas cocked a brow. “For what?”

  “I heard there are wedding bells in the air!” Viper and Tiny hooted at him, and a couple of other guys joined in.

  “Tequila leaked it,” Viper added.

  Silas grunted, brushing past the guys. “She wasn’t into the idea of gettin’ hitched, and neither was I. Let’s just say it was mutually declined.”

  “Aw, so no wedding reception to look forward to?” Viper looked genuinely disappointed.

  Silas snorted. “Sorry, bro. But I’m gonna keep an eye on her though. I promised Stone that much.”

  Tiny cackled, pushing at Silas as they filed into the main living area of the clubhouse. A sweet breeze filled the room. Silas loved California in the springtime.

  “You sure that’s how it works though, bro?” Tiny elbowed him. “I mean, if she says no once, you’re supposed to ask again – get down on one knee and all that.”

  Silas smirked. “Not sure Stone had that in mind.”

  “Maybe. But damn, you’d look good with a ball and chain, you know?” Tiny clapped him on the shoulder. “I can see you as the marryin’ type.”

  Silas shook his head. He’d never been the marrying type, and never would be, either. His motto in life was that the fewer people he let in, the better. He’d learned early on that the more loved ones he had, the more prone he was to getting hurt. His mother was as good as dead to him, and after his brother died in a botched Wicked Spawns deal four years back, he officially had no one left in life except his club brothers. And that’s how it would stay.

  Clean. Easy.

  “You’re dreamin’, Tiny.” Silas shoved him as he headed for the back hall, which led to the bedrooms. Him being the marrying type was about as likely as him leaving the MC and going back to regular life. The next Ice Age would happen before any of those things did.

  But still… Silas would have bucked up and married Jessa for Stone.

  Silas slipped into his dark room, shutting the door quietly behind him. The smell of leather hung in the air as he slipped off his kutte and tugged at the tight black tie around his neck. Even something as absurd as marriage, he would have done for Stone. And though he was glad the whole idea was dead in the water now, there was still a part of him that was darkly curious about Jessa – curious about what she looked like under that sexy vintage dress, curious about what those creamy legs might feel like under the palm of his hand, curious about what she’d say to him when he buried himself to the hilt inside her.

  He stared at his reflection in the mirror as he unbuttoned his dress shirt, then yanked his gaze away, cutting off the fantasizing before it went much further. Even though Jessa was a babe, it seemed somehow wrong to imagine her beneath him.

  Silas ran his palm over his half-hardened cock. Even if it was wrong, there was something oddly right about it, too.

  Chapter Four

  “Wait. Wait wait wait.” Jessa pressed a finger against the back window of the cab, pinching one eye shut to get a good look at the passing neighborhood. The cab had been circling her block for what felt like an eternity. It wasn’t her fault if none of the house numbers were visible. Or if she’d gotten too drunk to properly recognize her front yard.

  “This is it.” Okay, so she was slurring a little.

  The cab driver sent a quizzical look through the rearview mirror. “You sure this time?”

  “Totally sure. Twelve fifteen Poplar.” She nodded, rummaging through her purse.

  “You said fifteen twelve the first time, lady.” The cab driver no longer sounded amused. “And thirteen twelve the next three times.”

  She cleared her th
roat, reassessing the house out the window. “Well, excuse me for living in a shape-shifting neighborhood.” God, like a girl couldn’t make a mistake these days. “Here, take this. And keep the change.” She shoved some bills at him before toppling out of the back seat. It took a few steps to find her balance again on the too-tall heels, which had seemed like an excellent idea prior to actually wearing them for any length of time.

  Her shoes tapped out an unsteady rhythm as she headed up the uneven cement of the driveway. Her beat-up Lexus sat dully in the dim driveway, her lone porchlight leaving half the driveway and front yard in darkness. She rummaged in her purse as she stumbled up to the tiny porch, pausing at the first step. She had her keys. She’d specifically checked for them while she was still at the bar. Thinking ahead and whatnot.

  She grunted, feeling around – pack of tissues, bursting wallet, coin purse, second coin purse. As she rummaged, she thought about how different her purse was from her house. Total opposites really. She swore. She needed to focus on finding the keys. With a sigh, she plopped her purse down on the ground and raked through the crap inside.

  After what felt like an hour, she finally found the wispy tassel that signaled her keychain. “God, finally.” She pushed to her feet, brushed off her skirt, and approached the door.

  Silas flashed through her mind, as he had more progressively throughout the night, the drunker she got. It seemed her brain was hell-bent on remembering how sexy the man was. Would she ever see him again?

  A hand clamped down on her shoulder. She jolted, whipping around. Her cheek smashed into the broad chest of… a man. Leather kutte. Hands held her in place. Was this Silas? She tried to pull back and see, but the person shushed her. She peered up; a black ski mask covered his face. This was wrong. This was seriously wrong.

  This can’t be Silas. She struggled against the iron grip keeping her immobile against his body.

  “Now, now. No screaming. You’re gonna let us inside the house, okay?”

  She shook her head, her response muffled against the kutte.

  “The answer is yes. You will let us inside.” The man shifted, and a moment later she heard the click of a pistol. A cold barrel was against her temple. Fear slid through her.

  “Now. Let us in.”

  Jessa couldn’t move, all of the disbelief and panic of this quiet attack frothing inside of her. She should scream. Or she should bolt. But he had a gun. What could she do? What did he even want with her?

  “Open. The. Door.” The pressure at her temple increased, reminding her of the task. She shuddered and nodded. She could lead him on for a minute… and then figure out her escape plan. There had to be one.

  Her legs felt like Jell-O as she turned slowly, the attacker gripping her so tightly by the arm that she feared it might leave a bruise. Her hand shook as she forced the key in the lock. The door clicked open. The assailant nudged her forward, and she shuffled inside her house, panic swirling in her chest.

  The biker kicked the door shut behind them and then he pushed her into the front room. She stumbled and fell, her knees skidding against the carpet. When she attempted to get up, he kicked her in the side. She shrieked, falling onto her back. The biker was on top of her in a flash, pinning her down by the wrists, a sardonic grin visible even with the ski mask on.

  “I’ve been waiting for this,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Waiting for your bastard old man to die so I could get my revenge.”

  A scream ripped through her as the reality set in. What he was here to do. What this was even all about.

  “Shut up!” He slapped her so hard her vision went spotty. Head lolled to the side, she drew deep breaths, trying to reorient herself. Come on, Jessa. You can get out of this. You can escape.

  “Your dad was a dirty cunt,” the man went on. He grabbed the front of her blouse and ripped it open, buttons flying. A sob escaped her, fear making her limbs go cold and rigid. This can’t be happening this can’t be happening. “Just like you.”

  “Fuck. You.” Her voice came out raspy and low.

  The biker shook his head and then punched her in the face. Her vision went gray and then she blacked out for a moment. When she came to, her skirt was ripped and crumpled on the ground around her. His belt clanked as he tore it off. Dark hair peeked from beneath his ski mask, the only defining feature she could see.

  A roar ripped through her, one that originated from the deepest part of her. And then she started kicking, kicking and writhing and thrashing to escape this man’s grip. There was no fucking way she was going down without a fight. The attacker stumbled forward, catching himself at the last second before he fell on top of her. He reached for his gun and pistol-whipped her across the face.

  Everything went black. Silence throbbed around her until she regained consciousness once again, but everything was hazy. She saw the front door burst open, thudding against the hallway wall.

  And then Silas was there, grabbing at her attacker like he was a rag doll. A whoosh of pure, freeing air enveloped her the second Silas pulled him off of her. She immediately curled into a ball, stricken as she watched Silas throw the man into the couch. Punches flew with swearing. Lots of swearing. Silas ripped the mask off, stringy black hair flying everywhere. Silas grabbed the guy by his collar, pummeling him with punches against the back of her living room couch.

  The guy kicked at Silas’ chest, then rolled backward. Instead of staying to continue the fight, her attacker bolted out the open front door. Silas jumped to his feet and chased after him but stopped at the doorway. Hands propped on the molding, he stared out the front door for a moment before slamming it shut and rushing back to her.

  “Are you okay?”

  The concern in his eyes was enough to undo her. Sobs gushed out of Jessa. Silas pulled her into his arms, gathering her half naked and shaking body against his.

  “You’re fine. You’re fine.” He rocked and shushed her like she was a baby having a nightmare.

  She clung to his kutte. She’d never been more grateful to see a Death Knells member in her entire life.

  After a while, the tears subsided. She looked up at him and sniffed. “How the fuck did you know?”

  “I’ve been checking up on you every night since your dad died.” His rumbly bass voice was soothing. He smelled like leather and aftershave. She could have stayed in this embrace forever. “I made him a promise to protect you.”

  “But… that guy…” She couldn’t even find the words.

  “I saw a bike in your driveway. I don’t know much about you, but I know you’re not too big on bikers. When I checked it out, I saw a Wicked Spawn sticker.” He shook his head, tutting. “They’re always bad news, and they had it out for Stone. Always will.”

  Jessa shivered, curling into his lap.

  A long silence stretched by until she finally found the words. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  Silas shook his head, shifting beneath her. “You don’t need to thank me. Those guys are some dirty fuckers. I know what they’re capable of.” His jeans scraped against her upper thigh.

  She wiped at her face, squeezing her arms around his waist. It didn’t matter that they were strangers, that only earlier that day she had laughed in his face about him giving her his number. He’d saved her. She might never be able to properly thank him.

  Another wave of emotion pummeled her, and she cried into his chest. His rough palm curved around her head, a welcome warmth and pressure. Once she’d cried as much as she could, she pulled back and looked up at him.

  “Can you stay with me tonight?”

  ***

  Silas had never been looked at like that before. With so much tenderness and fear. He didn’t even have to think about his answer before it tumbled out of him.

  “Of course.”

  She nodded and burrowed into him, another whiff of her shampoo hitting him. Something fruity and fresh, like oranges had gone for a spring walk. Her grip around his waist made him frown. He’d never been held like thi
s either. Maybe he’d never been so useful to someone else.

  Her relief radiated off of her like heat from a sidewalk in the middle of the hottest summer day. He cinched his arms around her, gathering her tighter against him. The heat of her was reassuring – felt nice in a way that was foreign to him. Like a taste of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  They stayed like that for a long time. So long Silas couldn’t even guess if it was midnight or four a.m. Finally, she shifted, drawing a deep breath.

  “You hungry?”

  Silas jerked his head into a nod, and she steadied herself with his shoulders, pushing up to a standing point. His nose brushed her thigh on her way up, sending a rush of heat to his cock.