Calm & Storm (The Night Horde SoCal Book 6) Page 13

  Each immobilized by the other, they stood in the middle of the ring, embracing like lovers. “Let this go, Con. It’s eating you up.” He practically whispered it in Connor’s ear.

  “Fuck you.” There was a frayed tone to Connor’s tired voice. Something desperate.

  It wasn’t enough to burn the energy behind his anger. Connor needed to burn the emotion itself. Ronin dropped and spun, clearing Connor’s hold. He stood and faced his brother. “Bring it.”

  He set aside his martial arts and pulled up the young underground fighter he’d once been. Connor needed a brawl.

  So Ronin gave him a brawl.

  ~oOo~

  Later, sitting side by side at the bar, both of them wearing ice packs wrapped over their hands and holding others to their faces, Ronin and Connor knocked shot glasses together and shared a drink.

  “You’re fuckin’ spry for a grey-haired old bastard, Roe.”

  Ronin smiled—carefully. His lip was split.

  Trick came and sat on Connor’s other side. “Your old lady is going to lose her shit.”

  Connor chuckled. “She’ll put me back together first.”

  “Good thing she wasn’t around for this.”

  Connor got quiet again and stared down at his empty glass at the bar. “Yeah. Not around.”

  “Con? Brother, let’s talk.” With that, Trick stood and grabbed the bottle of Jack with one hand and the back of Connor’s kutte with the other. He dragged him right off the stool. Connor let him, and the two wandered off toward the showroom corridor.

  Ronin sat where he was. Elsewhere in the Hall, Nate was basking in the attention of three club girls while several other Horde cheered him on. The mood among the brothers had rebounded after the fight was over—after Ronin had tapped.

  He’d been at the clubhouse on this night longer than was his custom. Usually, he had a few drinks after the Keep and then headed home. But he and Connor had fought continuously for almost twenty minutes, and he was tired and hurt.

  And he was lonely. Going home to his solitude felt more like isolation than sanctuary.

  A storm was brewing in the club. Petty disagreements were flowering into serious tensions, and previously rock-solid relationships were weakening. This life had given him a way forward after he’d come home from war to an empty husk of his life before. He was already losing his sense of foundation in the club. What they were doing wasn’t what he wanted. But the tightness of the bond had been enough to overcome those reservations, and now the bond was growing slack.

  Ronin thought the division lay in secrecy. The officers were meeting on their own more often, and that meant there were things that the other members didn’t know. That was his sense, and if he was right, he didn’t know how they’d survive that. Every run, they were putting their lives on the line. If they didn’t all know what it was they fought for, then how could they keep fighting together?

  He trusted Hoosier, who was an excellent man and an admirable President. Transparency had always been his way. He wanted to believe that if Hoosier were keeping secrets now, there was a very good reason. But every time they buried a brother, Ronin wondered whether their reasons for doing anything they were doing were good enough.

  Sore and tired, Ronin signaled for another drink and let his mind seek quiet. It landed quickly on Cameron. Almost a week had passed since their trip to Lake Gregory, and neither had been in touch since. He hadn’t reached out to Rainy, either. He was letting distance grow between him and both of them because he felt like the interloper in a life that had already happened. The way things were going, pretty soon he wouldn’t have the club or a family. He’d sit by and let past, present, and future disintegrate.

  What was he doing? He knew what he wanted. All he had to do was forgive. Let go of anger, let go of the past, pull the weeds of resentment before they could root. He’d built his whole worldview on exactly that. He needed to let go; it was eating him up, just as he’d told Connor, and he was losing a new chance because of it.

  With his unwrapped left hand, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his personal. He pressed Rainy’s number. Though it was after ten at night, she answered right away.

  “Roe?” He heard her wary excitement, and he felt a pang. He held such sway over her with his indecisiveness.

  “Can I come?”

  The bustle of a kitchen clanged in the background, and he realized she’d be at work. “Now?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” It would take him a while to get there, and he didn’t want to wait.

  She laughed quietly. “You do like your middle-of-the night visits. I’m at the restaurant. We’re open until midnight, but the kitchen closes at eleven. I can duck out early and be home before midnight.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Okay. But Ronin—why? It’s been three weeks. What do you want?”

  “You.”

  The deep breath she sucked in filled his ear. “You’ve worked out what you need to work out?”

  Not yet, he hadn’t. But he’d figured out something about it. “I don’t want to do it alone.”

  She was quiet for a while, so long that he would have thought she’d disconnected except that he could still hear the kitchen.

  Finally, she said, “Then come.”

  ~oOo~

  Her house glowed on the top of its hill. She was home. As he came up the stone steps, the front door opened, and she stepped out, dressed in a floral skirt and a sleeveless top. Her hair was loose and pulled over one shoulder.

  When he reached her, she gave him a skeptical look. “You’ve been fighting.”

  His lip was split, his jaw sore, and a lump had formed over his left eyebrow, big enough that his peripheral vision caught it. His torso and hands ached, too. Once he’d decided to give Connor the brawl he needed, he’d taken on some real hurt. “Sparring. Friendly.”

  “That doesn’t look friendly.”

  He smiled, lifting his mouth up on the side that wasn’t hurt. Rainy had cleaned him up a lot in the old days. It pleased him that she didn’t automatically assume now that something bad had happened to him. A woman who didn’t know him would have thought he’d been beaten up. Rainy knew he’d gone looking for it. “Got a little heated.”

  “You’d think you’d be old enough to know better by now.”

  “Guess not.” He crossed the remaining path between them and stood before her. When he reached for her, she put her hands over his arms before he could get to her.

  “I need to know that you’re here because you want to move forward together. It hurts too much to have you come and go and not know if you’ll come back.”

  He pulled the strap of his backpack off his shoulder. “I packed a bag. Thought I’d stay the weekend.”

  “Just the weekend?”

  “I live in Madrone, Rainy.” Whenever he called her Rainy, she blinked, like he’d surprised her. Or like she’d felt the name physically in some way.

  “But you want to be together. You’re sure you can, without holding the past against me?”

  “I want the past behind us. I can’t get it there without you.” He dropped his pack to the walk. This time, when he reached for her, she didn’t stop him from pulling her into an embrace. “I don’t want to talk tonight.”

  She stared up at him, and in the glow of her house, he could see her green eyes digging into him, looking for things he hadn’t said.

  “Okay. Then let’s go to bed.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lorraine opened her eyes to the sight of Ronin, lying on his side next to her, watching her sleep. If anything, his face looked worse this morning than it had last night.

  “Morning,” she murmured and lifted up to touch a light kiss to his split lip. “How are you feeling?”

  With one finger, he pulled the sheet down her chest and exposed her breasts. He circled a nipple, then circled all the fingertips of that hand around it and plucked very lightly. The touch made her quiver and close her eyes.

  “R
estless,” was his answer to her question.

  She smiled and lay back, pushing the sheet away. ‘Restless’ was the word he’d used when they were young—he meant it as ‘horny’; he’d never liked that word to represent what he was feeling.

  Thus granted access, he shifted to loom over her, continuing to pluck lightly and slowly at her breast. When she moaned and fidgeted under him, spreading her legs so that one of his was hooked over one of hers, he smiled and leaned down to flick his tongue back and forth over the bunched skin that her nipple had become.

  “Roe,” she breathed, closing her eyes as she arched her back up, needing more, a firmer touch.

  His hand moved from her breast, around between her back and the mattress; then his fingers raked down, over her ass and between her legs until he could push them into her. They slid wetly in, her juices flowing already, and he grunted.

  He moved over her, settling fully between her thighs, and his fingers moved out of her. Then she felt his cock, velvety hot and firm, sliding over her clit as he wet himself with her.

  “Open your eyes, Rainy.”

  She did. His eyes locked with hers at once, and he pushed fully into her. The sensation of it forced a long, decadent, gasping sigh from her.

  Then he grabbed her ass and rolled them over so that she was on top. Embarrassingly, she squealed; she hadn’t been expecting that at all. When they’d settled again, she was on her knees, straddling him, her hair was hanging over her face, and her hands had clawed into his shoulders. And he was so fucking deep inside her.

  His eyes hot and wild, he fed his hands into her hair and pushed it all back over her shoulders, then skimmed his sandpapery palms down her arms until he reached her hips and grabbed hold.

  She sat up tall and rested her hands on his scarred—and now bruised, too—belly. She just sat there, feeling full of him, feeling him pressing deep, knowing that even her slightest movement would bring them both pleasure. But she wanted to prolong this, make it more meaningful than a simple morning fuck.

  He’d made up his mind. He was here, and he was staying. They would have their second chance. He said he was still working it all out, but he wanted her to help him, and that was enough for her. She would help him.

  Growing impatient, he rocked under her with a groan, and she smiled. She liked that it was him and not her, this time, trying to speed things along. Deciding to give him a show, she raised her arms, catching her hair over them as the lifted them to her head and began to sway and gyrate on him.

  His expression was so greedy and intense she thought it might singe her. She hadn’t felt so young and beautiful, so desirable, in years.

  It was this moment, riding Ronin, this virile, gorgeous, powerful man, seeing him exposed to her, his need for her written all over his body, that she realized how deep and lasting the hurt had been when Douglas had left her for a woman half her age. She’d stopped seeing her own beauty, inner or otherwise. She’d lost the part of her that she was finding now, leading Ronin, her Great Lost Love found again, up to heights of ecstasy.

  She dropped her arms, letting her long hair fall all around her. Then she cupped her breasts in her own hands, and, her eyes locked with Ronin’s, pinched and pulled and twisted her nipples in all the ways she liked best. He watched avidly, his fingers digging into her hips, and she felt his legs moving behind her as he sought leverage to move with her, to speed them both up.

  “Rainy,” he gritted through clenched teeth, and she smiled. She liked him straining for control. But she was close, too; she could feel the flowering inside her as her body strove for its release.

  Suddenly, he overpowered her, lifting her up and planting his feet flat on the mattress so that he could drive into her from below. Huffing and puffing, even growling, he drove savagely. Lorraine forgot to put on a show, she forgot to keep her eyes on his, she forgot everything but the pulse and rush of need moving through her. She arched backward, over his bent legs, and keened as her climax finally crested.

  When Ronin came, he yelled her name. The sound of it made her clench around him, and he yelled again, this time incoherently.

  Lorraine collapsed forward, landing on his chest with a thump. He grunted a chuckle and enclosed her in his arms.

  She kissed his chest, which was damp, almost steamy, with sweat. “Nobody has ever made me feel like you make me feel.”

  “Same for me,” he murmured. She felt his lips in her hair.

  “Let’s go away for the weekend.”

  “Hmm?” Ronin tilted his head, and she lifted hers to face him.

  She’d uttered the thought as it had occurred to her, so she had no plan in mind. But she wanted to start what they were starting with something that would mark it. A fresh, good memory. A ride—she wanted to ride with him. Oh, God, how she’d loved that.

  She’d spent the past few weeks in a fog of loss and lament, but he was here with her now, and this morning had dawned bright. This was their new start.

  “Santa Barbara. The manager of the Four Seasons is a friend. If they have a room available, we’ll get it.”

  “Don’t you have work?”

  Getting more excited as the idea unfolded in her head, she shrugged that off. “I never take time off. Peter—my sous-chef—can run things without a hitch. I can make breakfast, we can get cleaned up, ride up and be there by noon, spend the night, have a lazy morning tomorrow, and be back in time to go in, if I want. Or I could take the whole weekend.” She grinned. “I’m the boss.”

  He grinned back, wincing when he cracked the split in his bottom lip. “Okay.”

  “Yay! I’ll make some calls!” Feeling like the girl in her twenties he’d known before, she bounced up, forgetting that he was still inside her. They both gasped, and gasped again when she raised up and let him slide free.

  ~oOo~

  As he had the first morning she’d made him breakfast, Ronin went out to the patio while she cooked, and she enjoyed the view. On this morning, he stood out there in a pair of loose black pants, like knit pajama bottoms, and did tai chi. She recognized it from years of seeing groups of older Asian men and women spending their mornings in parks throughout Southern California.

  What Ronin was doing, though, seemed as different as it was recognizable. The groups in the park were serene, their movements calm as well as slow. Ronin’s movements were as fluid and measured, but there was power—more than that, there was force—in every swing, step, and push. The muscles in his arms, across his shoulders, his back, his chest and belly all bunched with strength.

  The acrid smell of burning meat drew her attention from the window. She was burning the sausage. Reluctantly, she turned from the view of her handsome man moving with graceful power on her patio, and got back to the business of making his breakfast.

  The first time she’d cooked for him, she rather forgotten whom she’d been cooking for, and she’d made the kind of breakfast she would make for a guest in the life she led now—what he’d called fancy.

  He’d enjoyed it, and he’d appreciated it, but it hadn’t been his kind of food. This morning, she was making him a breakfast he’d really appreciate: biscuits and gravy, fried eggs over easy, and hash browns.

  She set the island for two and, before she started the eggs, she refilled her coffee and started a mug for him. When she went out onto the patio, Ronin was sitting on the flagstones, cross-legged, his back to the house.

  Not knowing whether she would be disturbing him if she spoke, Lorraine stood quietly for a few seconds, until she felt awkward, watching him—and there was breakfast waiting. “Roe?”

  His back moved with a long, deep breath, and then he stood, coming up in one agile motion.

  He turned and smiled; when she held out his mug, he came to her and took it with a nod of thanks.

  “Sorry to interrupt—were you meditating?”

  “Yeah.”

  Something she hoped to do on their little getaway: she wanted to know more about the years they’d been apart. How Eddi
e had become Ronin.

  “Breakfast is just about ready. Just have the eggs left. If you want to come in and wash up…”

  He gestured toward the door with his mug, and she turned and led him back into the house.

  ~oOo~

  When they’d been together before, Eddie’s main bike, the one he’d ridden for transportation and just to ride, had been a Ducati Streetfighter. A big red sport bike. Riding with him had been a daredevil experience—the passenger seat was small and canted forward, and there had been no sissy bar to keep her from flying off the back when he accelerated. She’d locked her arms around him and held on for dear life.