PROLOGUE
CADE
Cindy Davis is hell on my dick.
Not that she knows it.
When she serves me coffee with a disinterested glance and inadvertently flashes me a set of tits that I’d be A-OK suffocating in…
When she leans up on her tiptoe to grab extra sugars from a shelf in the diner where she works and her skirt pulls taut to reveal an ass that’s begging to be spanked…
When she dips down to retrieve a spoon that’s fallen on the floor and looks over to laugh at something one of her co-workers says, I know one thing and one thing alone:
She’s running from her father, my job is to drag her back to New York, and somewhere in the middle, I have to fuck her.
I just have to.
As a career criminal, I know it’d be a crime not to dick her down and make her see heaven, hell, and everything in between.
I watch as she wanders past a booth where the brothers from the Disciples’ MC sit, a longing expression overtaking her features when she peers at one fucker—Ryder.
My hands ball into fists as she flirts with him.
Or tries to.
I don’t think she even knows she’s doing it, and he looks awkward as hell with the attention because, from weeks of stalking Cindy, I know he’s very much taken.
The funny thing about this world is that when you watch from afar, you literally see ticking time bombs before the explosion.
Cindy is that.
She’s hot and spoiled and used to getting what she wants.
Therein lies the problem.
Ryder doesn’t want her.
“Hey,” I call out, raising a hand to gain her attention.
She shoots a bored look at me, literally giggles at whatever shit Ryder says as if he’s the funniest comedian in the world before turning her attention my way.
“How can I help you?” she inquires, resting her hand on her hip.
That sass—it can’t just be me who wants to tap that.
What the fuck is wrong with these Disciples asswipes?
Deciding that their loss is my gain, I smile at her, packing on the charm. The one-hundred-megawatt Frasier charm that has gotten my brothers and me into trouble since we were ten.
She blinks.
Her breath stutters.
Her lips part.
I’ve got her.
Then Ryder chuckles at whatever bullshit his buddy is spouting and her focus fades.
She jerks as if she’s been shocked and this time, she swallows back tears of longing.
I know what it’s like to want something you can’t have.
I’ve been staking this place for three weeks now and she is officially that.
Maybe the stakes are different for me. I get the feeling this is a long-ass crush she’s fighting, but that’s the joy of being Irish—I kissed the Blarney Stone when I was born and Cindy Davis is about to be bombarded with Irish charm.
Sure, she might get my ass killed, but some women are worth burning for, and Cindy Davis is exactly that.
So I’ll make my retreat, stalk her pretty ass until I know every single one of her secrets, and when she’s ripe for the plucking, that’s when I’ll make my move.
This filthy little Disciple has no idea what she just unleashed upon herself, and I can’t goddamn wait to watch the orgasm hit her pretty eyes when she realizes that Irish checks American every.
Fucking.
Time.
1
CINDY
LOS ANGELES – CALIFORNIA
“Cindy?”
A light tap on the bathroom stall has my eyes darting to the door.
I take a deep sigh and slowly exhale.
“Coming.”
“Honey, I don’t want to be an ass, but we’re slammed. Hurry up.” Joy, my fellow waitress and good friend, taps once more on the door then leaves with a muttered, “Christ.”
“Okay, pull your shit together,” I whisper, unlocking the door so I can head over to wash my hands.
With a groan, I take in my reflection in the large mirror.
You ever have one of those days where you just shouldn’t get out of bed? Where it’d be better to crawl back under the sheets and hope tomorrow sucks less than today?
That’s my day.
One little thing after another led to me hiding in the bathroom because I. Hate. People.
“God.”
It’s a declaration, a prayer, and a curse.
I turn off the water and spin on my heel to grab a paper towel. Irritatingly enough, I even tried to fix myself up today. I straightened my hair then added beach waves and everything. What a waste of time.
Maybe I’m just hormonal? Because yesterday I was fine. I even went to a meeting, shared and everything.
Then today happened because Joy wasn’t wrong about us being slammed, and I want a Valium to take the edge off. Maybe even a Percocet for my lower back pain. Geez, I hope I’m not getting another ruptured cyst. It’s happened before, so the question is… why freakin’ not today?
I glance toward the door, straightening my shoulders and chanting, “Couple more hours.”
I swing the door open, only to have the packed diner burst upon me. There isn’t an empty seat in the place. I glance over at the Avengers table—all our tables have movie themes—and of course they need service when this is the last one I want to wait on.
Fucking Disciples.
A sharp pain pierces my heart just thinking about them… Him. Maybe that’s what’s making me funky today. It’s not like I even want him anymore. I mean, he’s happy with Julianna.