All Chained Up Page 18

  Her hair was wild and free, shining as bright as a copper penny in the dim light as she danced. He suspected she was already halfway drunk. She hadn’t imbibed much since she got here, but from the glassiness in her eyes, he would stake money that she’d had a few drinks before showing up here. Maybe she had needed the liquid courage to face him again.

  Over the past week he’d felt an odd mixture of relief and disappointment that she wasn’t pregnant, and that was just all kinds of messed up. He didn’t wish her pregnant. That wasn’t right. Although as wrong as it was, he understood the disappointment. If she was pregnant, he would be a part of her life. He’d still be seeing her. What was to keep them from sleeping together more? All the time even? He could keep showing up at her apartment. Kissing her, having her, waking up tangled in her hair.

  Unhealthy thinking all around and great motivation to give her a wide berth. Which he had been doing successfully. Until tonight. Until she showed up here.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She never wore her hair down like that. The only time was when he pulled it loose so he could fist his hands in it as he fucked her. It felt like she was showing off his secret to the world. His. There was that word again.

  He poured Blue a fifth of whiskey, still keeping a careful eye on her as a pair of losers closed in on Briar and her friend like fresh meat thrown to the wolves.

  Annoyance burned hot though him. Annoyance? Hell, he was pissed. Just like that first time he saw her at the prison and he thought she didn’t belong. It was the same sensation but only worse. Now he knew her. He felt proprietary. Caveman and all that shit. She didn’t belong at the prison and she sure as hell didn’t belong here. She was as clueless now as she had been then. His chest tightened with a rumbling growl.

  “Hey, you’re spilling good whiskey,” Blue complained, and Knox quickly pulled back the bottle.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  Blue followed his gaze to Briar and Shelley on the dance floor. “Which one?”

  Knox frowned. “Which one what?”

  “Which one you fucking?”

  “Neither,” he snapped, not even bothering to feel offended by the biker’s crudeness. The guy had served time with him. He’d heard worse out of him.

  His aunt pushed up to the bar with more drink orders. “She’s the one with all that curly hair.” Apparently she had overhead Blue.

  He glared at her. As much as he loved the woman, she was a busybody that needed to mind her own business.

  “Ah. You’ve got no stake in her, then?” Blue winked knowingly at his aunt.

  “That’s right.” Knox nodded and wiped down the bar where he’d spilled the whiskey.

  “Then you don’t mind that guy all over her?”

  His gaze swung back to the dance floor to watch a long-­haired guy in a Metallica T-­shirt bump and grind behind Briar.

  Hell. No.

  “Aunt Alice?” he said, not looking away from the dance floor.

  “Yes?”

  “Tell Jack I’m taking a break.”

  “Sure thing, Knox.”

  He walked around the bar, ignoring Blue’s and Aunt Alice’s snickers. He didn’t care if he looked like a jackass. He wasn’t going to let any man put his hands on Briar. Not in front of him. It was one thing to let her go so that she could continue her life without him. A life that would naturally include her seeing other men. Touching them. Letting them touch her. Knox had just never counted on watching that unfold in front of him. And he didn’t have to watch it. Not in his bar.

  He cut a hard line across the room, stopping in front of her with a thud of his boots. She appeared to be enjoying herself. Dancing as the greasy-­haired bastard grabbed onto her hips and pushed himself against her ass.

  “Briar.” She looked up at his hard bite of her name. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  The color bled from her cheeks as she took in his face. She stopped dancing.

  Shelley crowded close, glaring at him. “You’re kicking us out? Why?”

  The guy that had been grinding behind Briar stepped forward, his chest puffing out belligerently. He threw an arm around Briar’s shoulders. “Yeah, why do they have to go? We’re not causing any trouble.”

  Knox stared at him coldly. “Trouble is about to happen to you if you don’t get your arm off her.”

  Greasy Hair looked down at Briar. “This your man?”

  Color flooded her face and she paused a moment before shaking her head swiftly.

  For some reason this only made him angrier. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

  “All right, then.” Greasy Hair met his gaze again. “Then fuck off.”

  Briar gasped. Even her friend inched back, smart enough to know that shit was about to get real and she needed to get out of the way.

  Briar shook her head, her expression twisting with embarrassment. She stepped out from under the guy’s arm. “It’s fine. I’ll just go.”

  “No,” her would-­be savior declared, grabbing her arm and tugging her back, farther from Knox. And that was his mistake. Pulling her away from Knox when the only thought pounding through his head was: mine.

  Knox reached for her. “Let’s go, Briar.”

  The bastard shoved him in the chest. Hard. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, chief, but you can’t come in here and—­”

  Knox cut him off, grabbing his hand and twisting it hard, yanking it in an unnatural angle until a sharp snap cracked the air. The guy screamed. Several of his friends stormed the dance floor, surging toward them. Only when they spotted Knox, they stopped. Unlike Greasy Hair, they recognized him and weren’t about to make a move.

  “What are you looking at?” he snarled. Knox jerked his chin, ready for them, almost wanting them to come at him. Then he could unleash some of the aggression pumping through him. Somewhere in the far back of his mind he heard his parole officer citing his numerous warnings, one of which was to avoid all altercations. No fighting, whatsoever.

  Only he didn’t give a fuck. He wanted to keep twisting the asshole’s arm until it broke. He’d break all their arms if he could right now. The punks exchanged glances with one another and backed down. “Knox! Knox! Stop.” Briar was there then, her hands on his chest, her eyes pleading with him.

  “I think all you fuckers need to consider what happens next here.” It was Blue’s voice snarling over the air. Several of Blue’s friends flanked him as he stared down Greasy Hair’s punk-­ass crew.

  Knox tightened his grip and twisted a little tighter on the guy’s wrist. Greasy Hair whimpered. “Shit! You’re breaking my arm.”

  Knox released the asshole and grabbed Briar’s hand. Holding her cool fingers in his grasp, he led her past gawking onlookers.

  A voice, a single whisper, wove through the crowd, reaching his ears. “Yeah, Knox Callaghan . . . murderer . . .”

  Grim futility flashed through him, sinking past muscle and tissue, settling deep into his bones. That’s right. He was that. He would always be that.

  Maybe it was time Briar understood as much. If she hadn’t figured it out, he’d make sure she knew now. And then he wouldn’t stop her as she walked out the door.

  HE LED HER through the swinging door with a sign above it that read EMPLOYEES ONLY. His warm, big hand enveloped hers, helping her stay upright. She practically tripped in her ridiculous heels as he dragged her after him, and she wished she had worn flats instead of letting Shelley convince her to go with these boots.

  They passed through a small kitchen with a harried-­looking man washing glasses and into another back room lined with boxes and walls of shelved liquor.

  Knox pushed her back against a wall and then dropped his hands from her. He tucked those hands behind him then, sliding them into his back jeans pockets as if he needed to do that to keep from touching her. Or maybe tha
t was just wishful thinking.

  Her blood pumped from what had just happened out on the dance floor. Her skin felt feverish. She told herself it was the alcohol and all the dancing, but she couldn’t fool herself. It brought to mind that day in the HSU when he had reacted so quickly, with such lethal skill. A viper striking with deadly precision. God. She was turned on. She could barely stop her body from leaning in toward him.

  “Are you okay?” His gaze scanned her face, searching.

  Heat crawled over her cheeks, burning all the way to her ears, and she fell back against the wall with a gulp of a breath.

  “I’m fine,” she said, trying to regain her composure . . . and some restraint.

  He angled his head, his eyes sharp and glinting in the near dark. “Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink.”

  “Maybe I have,” she agreed, holding his gaze. “But no worries. I have a designated driver.”

  He snorted. “Your designated driver doesn’t appear in much better condition than you.”

  “Is that why you dragged me back here?” she challenged. “Because you’re worried I’ve been drinking too much?”

  He glanced away then, staring somewhere into the darkness before looking back down at her. “What are you doing here, Briar?” He sounded tired, and she was the reason for that. “Why are you . . .” His voice faded, but she understood. She knew what he was asking.

  Why was she coming around him?

  It was a good question and she didn’t know the answer. She couldn’t explain why she lost all sense of pride when it came to him. There was only need.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” she whispered, her voice sounding as anguished as she felt over that fact.

  His eyes gleamed almost black in the poorly lit room, and then whatever light she saw there suddenly banked itself. A fire snuffed out. He was Callaghan again. Prison inmate. “We can’t do this, Briar.”

  She nodded jerkily, a stupid lump forming in her throat . . . emotion . . . hurt that she didn’t want to feel. “Yeah. Okay.”

  She started to move past him, but he stopped her, clasping her shoulder and putting her back against the wall. He locked his jaw, tension feathering along the tight skin, just beneath the scruff that she wanted to stroke.

  She shook her head, staring at him helplessly. “You haven’t come by my place. Not since—­” She stopped, but he knew what she meant to say. Not since she told him she wasn’t pregnant.

  His voice cut hard through the stillness of the room. “Is this what you want from me?” He seized her hand and pressed it against his cock. She gasped, feeling him swell against her fingers. She tried to pull free, but he held fast. “Because this is all I’ve got. All I can give, Briar. Sex. Meaningless fucks.” He pushed her hand harder against him, moving her up and down his erection. “Now tell me to go to hell. Tell me to fuck off.” He paused, his gaze flicking over her face. “Say it.”

  She stared at him, her heart pounding in her too tight chest.

  His head dipped, lips a hairbreadth from her mouth. “Say it,” he whispered harshly. “Say you don’t want me.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “No.”

  TWENTY

  IN THE NEAR dark, Briar’s eyes glowed amber fire. No. She had said no. The single word rocked him. He dropped her hand like it scalded him. Only she didn’t remove her hand from his cock right away. No, she kept it there, palming him before dropping away. Knox bit back a groan.

  Heat crept over her face, shadowing the apples of her cheeks, and that made his stomach clench. He’d been inside her but she still blushed like a girl on her first date. She was still so sweet and untainted. Even after him.

  She was a contrast to everything he was . . . everything he had lived through, and he wanted to pull her in and have her. Again and again until he killed that need. Until he stopped wanting her so much.

  He cleared his throat. “It’s better if you go.” Better for her. Better for him, too.

  God knows the impulse to keep her, take her, was there, pounding through him. She had become a craving, an addiction. A compulsion as necessary as food. He thought once would have been enough to break the habit. Then he could move on. But here she was and he still felt it.

  “So we’re done, then?” She looked so purposeful as she asked this. Like it took everything in her to school her features and voice into total blandness.

  He glanced away and then back to her again—­like he needed a break from looking at her with her face all made-­up and her hair wild and flowing. Like a woman ready to party. And there were a lot of men out there that would be more than willing to party with her once he set her free from this room.

  Something swift and visceral rose up in him at that possibility. He knew she hadn’t been into the greasy-­haired punk, but it wouldn’t be long before she was into someone else. Before she was with someone else. He curled his hands into fists at his sides to stop from reaching for her, to stop himself from burying his fingers in that wild hair and dragging her painted mouth to his.

  “Yeah, we’re done,” he lashed out. “I can’t make it any more clear for you.”

  She flinched before recovering. “So that’s it.” Her jaw locked and something glinted in her eyes that should have warned him. Should have told him she wasn’t done. Her hand came between them and cupped his dick again. “This has had enough of me, then?”

  A hissed breath escaped him.

  The corners of her mouth tipped up in satisfaction. “Still hard,” she mused. Her other hand popped open the button at his fly. The zipper sang down and God help him he couldn’t stop her. She delved inside and circled him with her warm, slim fingers. “You don’t feel done.”

  “What are you doing, Briar?” he growled.

  She worked her hand between them, pumping his cock in a few hard strokes.

  She didn’t say anything, just continued to glare at him, and he knew. He knew she wanted to prove him wrong. She wanted him to eat his words.

  She tugged his jeans down his hips and dropped to her knees.

  Fuck. His hands clenched at his sides. She looked up at him from beneath heavy eyelids. Her look was all cold fury. She wanted to punish him. Her tongue darted out to lick the head of him and he was lost.

  His head fell back against the wall of liquor bottles with a rattle. He moaned as she closed her lips around him, tormenting him with her tongue.

  He balled his hands into fists to keep from grabbing her head and forcing her mouth to fuck him harder. Faster.

  His hips had a mind of their own, however, thrusting into her mouth, but she still managed to tease him, taking only half his cock past her lips.

  He looked down and met her taunting eyes. She was a siren looking up at him.

  “What do you want, Knox?” she whispered, her breath fanning his wet dick.

  You. He wanted to shove deep into her mouth. Or better yet, he wanted to haul her up and seat her on his aching dick.

  “We’re two consenting adults. What’s so wrong with this?” she taunted, her tongue sneaking out to swirl around him again. Her gaze slid sideways, eyeing one of his clenched fists. She reached out and took that fist and brought it to the back of her head . . . inviting. He held his fingers locked against all those soft strands. But he couldn’t resist forever.

  His fingers unfurled, relaxing into her hair as her mouth worked over him furiously. He was so close, the small of his back tightening . . . he didn’t even register the sudden burst of music from the bar signaling the door had opened. Or the footsteps.

  He only heard the voice. “Nice, Knox.”

  His head snapped up and he looked over at Dean, one of the busboys.

  Briar squeaked and let go of him, tipping sideways and falling on her hip. Her hair was wild around her, her deep amber eyes bulging. The classic red lips were gone, lipstick smeared onto her chin.
In the near dark, color stained her cheeks like someone had just slapped her.

  He looked back at Dean. The way he leered at Briar made Knox feel like breaking his nose.

  “Get the fuck out of here!” he snarled.

  The guy held up a hand. “I’m going! I’m going!” He picked up a case of beer and hurried back out into the bar.

  Knox stuffed himself back into his jeans, turning his back on Briar. He was still aching for her. Longing for relief so much that he physically hurt.

  She made him forget about the world, and he couldn’t do that. If she wasn’t smart enough to see that, then he would have to be smart enough for both of them.

  He spun around, putting several paces between them, staying clear of her touch, but he didn’t have to say anything. Her expression stopped him.

  She looked stricken, her eyes liquid-­dark like some wounded animal as she rose to her feet. “You’re right. This is crazy. What am I doing? Someone saw us . . .” Her voice faded and she shook her head, searching his face.

  Now was the time. If he wanted her to stay, if he wanted to make things right, he needed to say something now.

  He held silent.

  “I’m out of here,” she whispered, and rushed from the room. A brief punch of Creedence Clearwater hit his ears as she passed through the swinging door.

  Well, he’d handled that like shit. But at least she was gone. It needed to be done. He reached down and adjusted himself, still aching. He sucked in a deep breath and waited for his erection to subside. A hissed breath passed through his teeth. He counted to twenty before following.

  Ignoring the hollowness in his chest, he stepped back into the bar. It was even more crowded than half an hour ago.

  He scanned the crowd, looking for her, still wanting to assure himself that she was all right after what just went down.

  He couldn’t spot her, but he found her friend parked at a table. Shelley wasn’t alone anymore. She was laughing with two other men, a row of shots in front of them. Suddenly, Briar was there, stopping before her. He watched, his stomach knotting as the laughter faded from Shelley’s face. He knew Briar was telling her that she wanted to leave. Because of him. Whether she said that last part or not, her friend could figure it out.