Page 4 of Ruthless Sin

"What is?"

"That you called me. That I dropped everything and came running. That I—" I cut myself off, but she's too close now, her perfume mixing with the leather and adrenaline.

"That you what?" She's right behind me now, and I can hear the challenge in her voice. "Come on, Ruthless. Say it. For once in your life, just fucking say it."

I turn around, ready to tell her to back off, to remind her why this can't happen. But she's standing there, all curves and fire, looking up at me with those eyes that have haunted my dreams for months. There's a smear of blood on her lip, and without thinking, I reach out and brush my thumb across it.

"Your father will kill me," I mutter, but I don't move my hand from her face.

"My father," she says, leaning into my touch, "doesn't get to decide this. I'm not a child anymore. And you're not as ruthless as you pretend to be."

Christ, she has no idea how wrong she is. Because right now, with her looking at me like that, I feel every bit as ruthless as my name suggests. I want to claim her, mark her, make her mine in ways that would have Hellfire putting a bullet in my head.

"Angel," I warn, but it comes out more like a growl. "Don't."

She steps even closer, eliminating what little space was left between us.

"Don't what? Don't want this? Don't want you?" Her hands come up to rest on my chest, and I can feel the heat of them through my shirt. "Because that ship sailed a long time ago, Ruthless. And I think you know it."

The last thread of my control snaps. I grab her hips, spinning us so she's pressed against the workbench.

"This is a bad idea," I say, even as I lean down, my face inches from hers.

"I'm full of those today," she whispers, and then she closes the distance, pressing her lips to mine.

The taste of her – sweet whiskey mixed with copper from her split lip – drives every rational thought from my mind. I lift her easily, and she wraps her legs around my waist as I press her against the nearest wall. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling slightly, and I growl against her mouth.

I'm reaching for the hem of her shirt when three sharp knocks echo through the garage. We freeze, our heavy breathing the only sound in the sudden silence. Angel's eyes meet mine, wide with concern.

"Did they follow us?" she whispers.

"Stay here," I murmur, letting her slide down slowly.

The loss of contact is physical pain, but instinct takes over. I grab a heavy wrench from the workbench, holding it behind my back as I approach the door.

"Who is it?" I call out, positioning myself to strike if necessary.

"Open the goddamn door, man! It's freezing out here!" Crow's familiar voice makes me exhale sharply. I glance back at Angel, who's straightening her clothes, before opening the door.

Crow bursts in, rubbing his hands together. "Jesus Christ, finally. Wrath was supposed to come with me, but his beautiful best friend needed help with something, so here I am, alone, freezing my balls off."

I lower the wrench, watching him pace around like a caffeinated squirrel.

"What do you want, Crow?"

"My bike's making this weird noise, right? Like a..." he makes a series of incomprehensible sounds that are supposed to mimic an engine. "Thought maybe you could take a look? We could grab a beer, make it a thing—" He stops abruptly, finally noticing Angel standing by the workbench. "Well, holy shit."

The silence that follows is thick with implications. Crow's eyes dart between us, taking in Angel's slightly swollen lips, my disheveled hair, the tension in the air.

"I can come back," he says slowly, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

"No," Angel steps forward, her voice steady despite the flush in her cheeks. "I need to get home anyway."

"About that," Crow's expression turns serious. "There's word going around that Outlaws jumped someone at Crossroads. You two wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"They recognized me," Angel admits. "Ruthless showed up before things got too bad."

Crow whistles low. "Hellfire's gonna lose his shit."

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