Blackout: Book One (The Leather & Lace Duet 1) Read online

  Straddling my thighs, she winds her arms around my neck and rubs her slick pussy over my cock. My hands travel up her curves, finding her breasts. Squeezing them, I rub my thumbs over her pebbled nipples. A smile ticks the corner of my mouth as she touches her forehead to mine.

  “I’m saying we should get to work, girl,” I reply.

  “Fine,” she teases, rubbing the tip of her nose against mine. “But this time you’re doing all the work.”

  Releasing a chuckle, I grab her hips and flip her onto her back. I push her legs apart, spreading them wide and as I crawl between them, I drop kisses on the insides of her thighs and over her stomach. I kiss her tits, her neck and finally her mouth.

  With our demons at our backs and love staring us in the face, I push inside my wife. Together we run from hell and chase heaven. When I come inside her, she wishes for a baby and I pray I’m enough of a man to hold us together as we dive off the cliff.

  Chapter Two

  BLACKIE

  I woke up drenched in sweat, the nightmare vividly assaulting my memory. Only it wasn’t really a nightmare. It was my subconscious reminding me of my fucking sins. Careful not to wake Lacey, I pushed the sheets off me and swung my legs over the side. As my feet touched the floor, my head dropped into my hands and I tried to tune out the sound of Vladimir Yankovich’s voice, but the dead have a way of haunting you. Especially when you’re the reaper who pried his black soul from his body and delivered it to Satan.

  I was happy to bring that motherfucker to justice and watch the acid eat away at his fucking insides. No one deserved to be tortured more than that cocksucker. Not only had he been the one responsible for blowing up our clubhouse, but he had kidnapped Cobra’s sister, Ally, at the age of fourteen. Ripping her away from her perfect life and promising future. Abused her, raped her and then sold her to the highest bidder. For fourteen years that girl was tormented. Her parents died trying to find her and Cobra would’ve probably suffered the same fate if we hadn’t found her.

  While we were able to rescue Ally, we failed at apprehending Yankovich. The man was a fucking phantom and before he hurt anyone else, Jack made it the clubs mission to bring that fucker to his knees. Call it vigilante justice or whatever you will but, for us, it was pure vengeance. Fucking payback for all the years of torture Ally endured and the death of Pipe’s wife, Oksana, who had been killed in the explosion. We didn’t know he wasn’t done with us or that he had been planning to take us down for years. We had no fucking idea he was working with Jack’s predecessor, Cain. Well, that’s not entirely true. Wolf knew that bit of information and he decided to withhold it from the club. Along with the fact that Cain had a son.

  I was still reeling from the revelation that Linc, another nomad we thought Wolf recruited, was, in fact, the spawn of Cain. The kid sat at our table for years without so much as a mention of his father. Had we known, we might’ve been able to pinpoint Yankovich’s motive sooner. We may have realized the cunt was looking to wipe us off the grid and regain the territory he had while working with Cain. Instead, all we had was carnage and Jack spinning one theory after another. It was like we were chasing a ghost.

  I still don’t know the whole story. There was never any time to uncover it because as soon as Wolf and Linc came clean, all hell broke loose. Wolf’s house was ambushed by Yankovich’s brother, Igor. He took Wolf’s niece who also happened to be Linc’s old lady and shot Wolf’s son, Nico. If it wasn’t for Wolf’s other two sons, Enzo and Frankie, Nico would’ve bled out and died but instead, they brought his bloody body to Pipe’s Garage where we were holding church.

  Jack lost his shit, tied up Wolf and Linc and had me douse them in gasoline. I don’t remember who called 9-1-1, but the paramedics arrived at the scene. Jack shot and killed one of them before demanding the other one save Nico’s life. The next thing I knew, we were riding to Yankovich’s home in Purchase, New York, Jack leading in the fucking ambulance he hi-jacked.

  Things got worse after that. Jack ordered Pipe to light Yankovich’s house up like the fourth of July with the man’s kids inside. I don’t know if he was hoping to smoke the motherfucker out of hiding or if he truly lost his mind. He could’ve killed those kids, not to mention Wolf’s niece, Kelly. Then again, he almost ordered me to kill Wolf so I shouldn’t be surprised.

  But those kids.

  I can still hear them calling for their father.

  They didn’t know he was an animal. To them, he was just their dad…their papa.

  Those kids watched their father suffer and die at our hands. Our faces will forever be branded to their innocent minds. To them, we’re nothing but a bunch of ruthless monsters who took their daddy away from them. We’re no better than their father.

  No better at all.

  Looking over my shoulder, my eyes connect with Lacey. Fast asleep with her hands tucked under her head, she’s a fucking angel. I wasn’t lying earlier when I said I wanted to give her the world. Just like I wasn’t lying about wanting to start a family with her. But what we want and what we deserve aren’t always the same. A baby is a blessing but having me as a father is a goddamn curse.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I swipe my phone from the nightstand and lift off the bed. I make my way towards the basket of clean clothes and grab the first pair of gray sweatpants I see. Pulling them up my legs, I let the elastic band snap against my abs before making my way towards the door. Pausing, I take one more look at my wife before walking out of the room.

  Downstairs, I toss my phone on the counter and glance at the clock. At five o’clock in the morning, I tell myself it’s too early to call my sobriety coach. The poor bastard doesn’t need me waking him up with my bullshit. I’m a grown fucking man who needs to start taking care of himself. I don’t need no goddamn babysitter or someone to hold my hand until the urge to get high passes.

  If only that was true.

  If only I didn’t need to escape.

  If only I didn’t want to drown.

  If only I wasn’t clenching the edge of the counter wondering if Lacey still has that prescription of Motrin 800 in the drawer of her night stand.

  Fucking Motrin.

  If only I wasn’t dreaming of grinding those pills to dust.

  If only I wasn’t imagining the feel of those particles in my nose.

  If only I wasn’t the monster those kids think I am.

  Pushing off the counter, I slide my fingers through my hair. My eyes dart around the aqua blue kitchen, desperate to find something to focus on. Something to occupy my mind and rid me of my demons. Falling short, I think about waking Lacey and burying my sorrows in her body again but that’s just another temporary high.

  The clock ticks, another minute passes and then another. The urge doesn’t diminish, and I start to pace. My bare feet wear against the tiles as my fists curl at my sides. I glance towards the dining room and recall the last gathering we had here. It was a holiday of some sort. Christmas, maybe. There was alcohol. Vodka, whiskey, you name it; we had it. Lacey is real good about getting rid of everything the minute the last guest leaves but maybe she tripped up.

  Maybe she missed a bottle.

  My mind set on raiding the liquor cabinet, I walk into the dining room and pause when I spot the massive photo of us that hangs on the wall above the buffet. It was taken on our wedding day, right after the priest pronounced us husband and wife. After, I swore to honor her all the days of my life.

  I made a lot of promises to her that day.

  I made a lot of promises to myself too.

  Hell, I made a promise to her not two hours ago when I came inside her.

  That alone makes me sick to my stomach and I find myself walking backward into the kitchen.

  The struggle is real.

  It’s fucking lethal.

  Swiping a hand over my face, I spread my fingers and peer back at the clock.

  Ten minutes.

  Ten fucking minutes is all that’s passed.

  Defeated, I reach for th
e phone and damn the early hour to hell as I pull up my sobriety coach’s number. I don’t hesitate as I hit send and quickly lift the ringing phone to my ear. Billy answers on the third ring and I swear I breathe a sigh of relief the moment the sound of his groggy voice hits my ear.

  “Blackie,” he greets. “What’s wrong?”

  Pulling out a chair, I fold myself into it and drop my head as shame engulfs me. When I finally find my voice, it sounds nothing like my own.

  “I want to get high,” I confess. “I want to fucking forget I exist, Billy.”

  “Where’s Lacey?”

  My hair falls in front of my eyes as I lift my head and glance over at the stairs.

  “She’s sleeping,” I rasp. The last thing I want is for her to wake and see me like this. She’ll get the wrong impression and automatically assume I’m doubting her and the life we’re meant to have which couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s never her I doubt. It’s always me. Always my choices, my past, my sins.

  “When was the last time you went to a meeting?”

  Trying to recall, I shake my hair away from my eyes and thread my fingers through the locks.

  “I don’t know…a week ago, maybe two…” I don’t even know what fucking day it is. Since all that shit imploded at the garage, every day has blended into the next. I don’t remember the last time I slept through the fucking night.

  “Reckon it’s time you get yourself to the community center. I’ll come with you,” he offers.

  “When does it stop, Billy? When does it go away?”

  “It doesn’t Blackie. You just gotta keep reminding yourself that you’re stronger than your addictions. You’re a capable man worthy of God’s blessings. You have a beautiful wife who loves you and brothers that respect you. They need you, Black. They need you to be your best version of yourself.”

  Billy knows I’m part of a motorcycle club, but I’ve never divulged what that entails. He might assume but doesn’t know the blood I’ve seen or the hell I’ve caused. If he did, he wouldn’t think I’m worthy of shit.

  “Blackie,” he calls.

  “I’m here,” I say hoarsely.

  “Let’s recite the serenity prayer,” he encourages.

  “Billy—”

  “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.”

  He pauses, waiting for me to join him. It’s ridiculous to think a prayer can help but I entertain the man. After all, it’s the least I can do after waking him.

  “Courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

  “You can’t change the fact that you’re an addict, but you can dig deep inside your soul and find the courage you need to change how you handle it. You did that by picking up the phone and calling me.”

  I guess I did.

  “You could’ve jumped on that bike of yours and hit up a grocery store for booze or called your dealer for a hit. Instead, you called me.”

  “I called you,” I repeat, drawing out a sigh as I look back towards the clock. “Shit, Billy, I’m fucking sorry man.”

  “You got nothing to be sorry for, Blackie. My phone is always on. You call any time, you hear me?”

  “Yeah, man, I hear you,” I say hoarsely. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve been there, man. I’ve lived it too. It doesn’t go away, but it does get easier. You gotta clear that fog from your head, open your eyes and see what life has to offer. Stop looking down at the bottom of a bottle and start looking up at the beauty that surrounds you. Got a lot of life in you to live, kid. Got a lot of memories to make with that woman of yours. Quit thinking you’re drowning and fucking hold your head high. Breathe, Blackie, just fucking breathe.”

  “Breathe,” I repeat.

  “Yeah, man, breathe. You remember how to do that, don’t you?”

  No, I don’t but from this moment forward, I’m damn well going to fucking try. If not for myself then for Lacey. For the baby that’s going to look at me like those innocent kids looked at Yankovich. For the beauty that surrounds me and the blessings God grants me.

  Breathe.

  Come Hell or high water, I’m going to learn how the fuck to breathe.

  Chapter Three

  Lacey

  Opening my eyes, I lift my arms above my head and stretch. My body aches in the most intimate places and the scent of sex lingers heavily in the air, both of which remind me of all the ways my husband made love to me last night. With a smile firmly planted on my lips, I roll onto my side and reach for my man, but my hands come up short as I stare at his empty side of the bed.

  “Lookin’ for something?”

  At the sound of his gruff voice my smile widens, and I glance over my shoulder. Fresh out of the shower, wearing a pair of sweats that ride low on his waist, he stands in the doorway of the connecting bathroom with his arms raised above his head, gripping the doorjamb. His long, wet hair frames his ruggedly handsome face and I curl my fingers into the sheets, wishing I could comb them through his locks. There are some things I’ll never get enough of and one of those things is Blackie’s hair.

  Mindlessly, I continue to stare at him as he drops his arms and pads across the room, taking in the scruff that lines his jaw and his chocolate colored eyes as they work me over. Instantly, I’m transcended back in time, to when he was in the hospital recovering from an overdose. Then, I was just a lovesick girl, battling depression, wishing and praying he would love me a fraction of the way I loved him. I lived for stolen moments and dangerously toed the line drawn between us any chance I got, never imagining I’d one day be his wife. That one day I’d be scrambling to my knees on our bed, wrapping my arms around his neck as he bends his head and touches his mouth to my shoulder.

  “Good morning,” I murmur, angling my head to give him access to my neck. His scruff brushes against my skin as he trails his mouth up the column of my neck. Planting his hands on my ass, he squeezes me and pulls me closer to him.

  “Yeah, it is,” he rasps against my skin before slowly peeling his mouth away from my neck. Leaning back, he lifts a hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “God, you’re fucking pretty in the morning. Best sight I ever saw.”

  Inching closer, I peck his lips.

  “Lies,” I tease. “I look—”

  “You look thoroughly fucked,” he interjects, giving my lips another kiss. I part my lips and wait for his tongue but it’s his turn to tease me and he pulls away before I can taste him. Humor dances in his eyes as I snap my lips together and glare at him. “What’s the matter, girl?” he taunts. “You didn’t have enough?”

  “Two can play this game, Petra,” I huff. Giving his rock-hard abs a shove, I shuffle out of the bed and push him out of my way. As I move away from him, his arm snakes around my stomach and his front presses against my back. His erection strains against the thin barrier of his sweatpants and teases my ass.

  “Like it when you’re all worked up, Lace,” he growls, touching his lips to my ear. Gently, he glides his fingers down my stomach. My breath hitches and naturally my legs part, welcoming his stroke. I don’t know who has more stamina, me or him, but I pray we’re always like this. That twenty years from now, we’re still the couple that can’t keep their hands off one another.

  He slips two fingers inside my pussy and a moan sounds from my lips. My legs start to buckle as his thumb finds my clit. Circling his wrist with my hand, I set the pace and ride his fingers until he pulls them out of me and spins me in his arms. My palms move to his chest and I push him down on the bed.

  “Quit playing me, Blackie,” I warn, climbing on top of him. Fitting my pussy to the outline of his cock, I rub myself against him and meet his hooded gaze.

  “Yeah, I definitely like it when you’re all worked up,” he grunts, lifting his hips. I close my eyes as I rock my pussy over his cock. He hooks his thumbs in the elastic band of his pants and I lift myself as he pushes them down. Freeing his cock, he lets the pants pool around his thighs, and I take
his shaft in my hand, closing my fist around the thickness. My thumb grazes the head, swiping a bead of come away from the tip.

  “Get on,” he orders, pushing his hair away from his face. Straddling his muscular thighs, I position him between my legs and move my hands to his shoulders. I steady myself and lower onto him, taking him inch by inch until I’m fully seated on top of him. He places one hand on my hip and the other cups the back of my neck. Neither of us move for a moment, both of us relishing in the feel of one another. I don’t know who makes the first move but suddenly our bodies are busy finding a rhythm. Sleek with sweat, skin slaps against skin as he pistons his hips and I ride him. I come hard and when it’s his turn, I grab his biceps and steady my languid body, taking every drop he fills me with.

  Sated, I drop my weight on top of him. My body rises and falls with every breath he takes, and his arms wrap around me.

  “At this rate you’ll be pregnant in no time,” he quips.

  Lifting my head, I meet his gaze. Blackie very rarely wears a playful expression on his face. It’s like his mind is always working, always worrying about the pressures of the club and whatever storm might be rolling in to wreak havoc on the Satan’s Knights. If it isn’t the club weighing him down, it’s his never-ending battle with addiction and my maker that’s wearing on his mind. There’s always something. It’s like he’s forever holding his breath and that’s really no way to live. So, when he looks at me like he is right now, like he’s actually happy, maybe even excited, it makes my heart soar. The fact that it’s the possibility the idea of me being pregnant that put’s that expression on his face—well, there are no words.

  None.

  A baby has been a dream of mine since I first walked down the aisle and placed my hand in his. I’ve got a list of names picked out already and I know exactly how I plan on decorating the nursery. But since we got married, we haven’t discussed starting a family. Not because we didn’t want children but mainly because the timing was never right. For a long time, it seemed like every enemy the club ever had, simultaneously decided to strike. The times when things were quiet never lasted long and even now, I’m sure there’s some douchebag lurking in the shadows, waiting to bring the mayhem. The truth is, when you’re an outlaw there is no perfect time to start a family so, when Blackie came inside me last night, the decision was kind of made for us.