Page 23 of Hellraiser

I caught a glimpse of Dre’s weak smile through the sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains. I buried my naked body under the covers and cuddled next to him, our skin touching. Feeling the warmth of his body against mine was as comforting as a warm blanket on a cold day.

I let out a deep sigh. “I’m so glad you’re safe, Dre. I swear I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He slowly wrapped his arm around me, wincing but still holding me close despite the discomfort it caused him.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, woman. You’re mine now.”

I nodded, knowing I didn’t want to belong to anyone else. As we lay there, I was sure what I’d said back to him earlier was true. I’d fallen in love with him. The zinging intensity of my feelings surprised me—hell, it even scared me—but that was how I knew it was real. I studied him, watching his eyelids flutter closed and his tatted chest’s steady rise and fall.

Leaning in, I whispered, “I love you.”

To my shock, he mumbled a response, his voice barely audible but the three words unmistakable.

“Love you too.”

My heart froze mid-thump, shocked that he’d heard me. A warm smile spread across my face as I nestled against the pillow. For the first time in years, I was at peace.

Three weeks later.

The vibe inside the Hell’s Savages’ clubhouse was electrifying. The party had been raging since it started. We were all gathered there to celebrate Dre’s recovery and the victory over the Outlaws, thanks to the publishing of my article. The somberness of recent events—losing and burying their president—was still fresh in our minds and hearts. For the first time in what felt like forever, the clubhouse was filled with laughter, music, and the celebratory clinking of champagne glasses and beer cans alike.

My investigative journalism skills, backed by the video evidence Dre provided, exposed the Chicago Outlaws MC for what they were—creeps on wheels, making their illegal activities undeniable. My article drew immediate attention from local and federal law enforcement agencies, who had been investigating the Outlaws but lacked the concrete evidence to make arrests.

I stood by the bar, a margarita glued to my hand, watching Dre make his rounds, mingling with his crew. He looked healthier, with the bruises and cuts mostly healed, though the emotional scars of losing his father remained. I took the last sip of my drink before licking my lips, keeping my eyes on the prize—Dre. I wanted him. Maybe it was the tequila. Perhaps it was the connection we both felt, but whatever it was, I wanted him bad.

I should’ve been having fun, tossing back shots with his crew, but all I could think about was feeling him buried deep inside me. We hadn’t fucked since that night in his room, and my body was crying out for more. I’d had so many flashbacks to our sessions in the truck and on the bed, and the alcohol in mysystem only fueled my desire even more. My pussy was wet with need, and I was already five margaritas in.

Dre caught my eye from across the room. His eyes were steely gray, dark and inviting. He grinned at me, teeth white against his sweet brown skin and full of the promise of sinful pleasure. I put my margarita glass on the bar, watching him move toward me purposefully. His eyes never left mine, darkening further as he sauntered closer, heat radiating from every pore.

He stopped close enough for me to smell his smoky, masculine scent. Yet, he was far enough away not to touch but close enough to feel the heat rolling off him in waves.

“Enjoying your party?” I asked.

There was a playful grin on his handsome face. “I am now that I’m back over here with you.”

“Good.”

“Need a refill?” he queried in that velvety voice that sent chills down my spine.

“Not what I’m thirsty for,” I replied huskily, biting my lower lip.

Dre turned to face me, and the air between us thickened with desire as the seconds flew by. He tilted his head to the side, signaling we should move to a quieter space. We walked away from the group, fingers laced together, as the noise of the party faded into the background. We headed toward the other side of the clubhouse, where most of the bikes and vehicles were parked. My car was located next to a shed. Instinctively, I walked around to the front and popped the hood.

“Open it up,” he encouraged, his voice a low rumble that shot a thrill straight through me.

I flipped the latch and lifted the hood, leaning over the engine as if I knew what I was doing.Perfect.If anyone came up and saw us, they’d think we had to go into the shed to getsomething—oil, windshield wiper fluid, or something like it. I didn’t care. I was prepared to dowhateverto get his calloused hands running over my silky brown skin.

His hands came to rest on the edge of the hood, one on either side of me, as he moved in closer—so close I felt the warmth radiating from his body.

“Y’know, I never got to properly thank you for everything,” he stated, his mouth a mere breath away from my ear.

The rumble of his voice against my skin sent pulses of heat down my spine. I smiled, feeling a familiar warmth spread through me.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I’m serious,” he replied as his fingertips skated down my spine. “You stuck by me while I healed, while I buried my father. Plus, you stuck to your guns and finished your article. I’m in awe of you, Mercy. The way I feel about it has my insides all fucked up. It’s fast, and it’s twisted. It’s everything it shouldn’t be.”

“Just because it’s fast doesn’t mean it’s not right,” I interjected. “I know it’s been a crazy few weeks, but I know one thing for sure—I don’t want to lose you, Dre.”

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