Page 4 of Penn

Pulling into the back parking lot of the Seven Crows, I almost laugh. I’m twenty minutes early. I’m always twenty minutes early because I leave home thirty minutes before my shift. It’s a habit I can’t shake, and I know it’s a coping mechanism. My way of taking control of a life that always felt just out of my control. But this? I can control this.

I grab my purse and step out. Locking my car, I stare at the dark sky and wish on the stars that Stephen is as over the moon as I am. That we’ll have the best night imaginable when I tell him he’s going to be a dad for the first time. Something he says he’s always wanted.

As I walk toward the back entrance, something catches my attention.

I’m about to grab the mace from my purse before I realize the sounds aren’t people fighting. No one’s in trouble. In fact, I know these sounds.

Heavy breathing. Grunting. Groaning. The unmistakable wet, rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin.

I should leave. I should run inside and pretend I didn’t hear this, but there’s something familiar about their voices. But I have to be wrong. There is no way the two people I think I’m hearing are together… carnally. It would be against every law of nature. Or, at least, law of Gravelton.

Peeking around the corner, I’m stunned to see in the dim light of the moon that I was, in fact, right. And I’m now a little concerned that hell has frozen over, the apocalypse is coming, and pigs will start flying around me. And if I think bird shit is bad, imagine flying pig shit.

Lainey Sloan presses her palms against the brick as her skirt hovers over her hips. Her long, brown hair is wrapped around a fist as none other than Wylie Ballard thrusts into her from behind, his other hand around her hip and fingers between her legs. His pants rest around his ankles, and he pounds into her with a brutal and unrelenting rhythm as he kisses her neck.

This is… not quite incest but against everything the two motorcycle clubs in this town stand for. I’m still relatively new, but I know the daughter of the dead Daredevils president should not be fucking the son of the Venom president. Add in the fact that Wylie’s half-brother is basically Lainey’s stepbrother, and it becomes a whole big family affair. One that neither side would be happy to learn about.

The Hellfire Daredevils and the Black Venom don’t just dislike each other. They flat-out hate each other. With a violent passion.

If this gets out, there won’t just be a fight. There will be a war, and blood will run through the streets of Gravelton. There may not be a victor because everyone would be dead.

Lainey lets out a sharp, needy gasp as her ass backs up to meet Wylie with every thrust, and he releases her hair to cover her mouth as she comes. Her muffled moan rivals the strangled groan Wylie gives as he pulls out and shoots his load against the wall between her legs.

They’re not even using protection? Considering Stephen and I used condoms every time, and I’m pregnant, this is not only dangerous but reckless. How the hell would she explain to Zep that she’s carrying the child of his club’s rival? And his half-brother?

I know I should leave, but I think they need to understand that they’re not being as careful as they should be. In any sense of the word. And when Lainey turns her head and locks eyes with me, I see the pure terror on her face.

“Wylie, pull up your pants,” Lainey orders. “We have an audience.”

The fact he was naked from the waist down barely hit me until now, and I have to admit, I can almost understand why Lainey would risk her entire family for what he offers. Because what dangles between his legs is rather impressive.

“Dixie,” Lainey says, adjusting her skirt and slipping on her panties.

I’m momentarily stunned at the order of events. Why not put her panties on first? Why after she’s already lowered her skirt?

“Dixie, please. You can’t say anything. No one can know about this.”

The look Wylie gives me terrifies me. Like he might lunge at me and make sure I never tell a soul because mine will be in heaven. I know how slimy his father is, and it’s hard not to believe he’d have similar traits. Butch has no issues raping and killing women. Why would Wylie be different?

“Please, Dixie,” Wylie says, his tone surprisingly soft. “Don’t tell anyone. You saw nothing, okay?”

Maybe there’s more to Wylie than most give him credit for. Perhaps the version of him we see in the bar and beyond is an act for the sake of his father. Who would definitely not approve of this.

“They’ll kill him if you tell,” Lainey says, and her brown eyes plead with me.

Holy shit. This isn’t just sex. She actually has feelings for him.

And the look Wylie wears matches hers.

What the actual fuck?

“I don’t like secrets,” I say. “I won’t say anything, but I won’t lie for you, Lainey.”

She nods. “Trust me, no one is going to ask if you saw me fucking Wylie in the alley before my shift.”

There’s a flash of something on Wylie’s face that I can catch now that he’s moved into the light from the back door. Even though it’s clear there’s more to this than what I walked up on, it clearly hurts him to hear her state it so crudely. Like that’s only about orgasms.

“Then I guess we have nothing to worry about,” I say.