Betting on Stocks (Dead Presidents MC Book 7) Read online

  “I distinctly remember working your ass over and proving that I’m not a boy. I’m the fuckin’ man.” I sounded like a cocky douchebag, but something about Monica brought out this side of me. I wanted to rise to whatever level she needed me at, and right now, she needed a challenge.

  Her eyes darkened as her gaze dropped to my lap before bouncing back up to my face. “Maybe I need a refresher course.”

  And she apparently liked me like this. Unable to believe my good fortune, I leaned closer. “Anytime you feel froggy, jump.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You’re not touching my hair.”

  Apparently, we were back on this problem. I’d liked the direction our sparring was headed, but reluctantly pivoted with her. “Why? What are you afraid of? That I’ll make it worse? Or that I’ll fix it?”

  “Okay, smartass, I’ll play, but we do this shit by my rules. If you can braid my hair and make me look presentable, I’ll call your goddamn prosthetist and make an appointment. But if you fuck up my hair, they will never find your body. Capisce?” The look in her eyes made it clear she didn’t expect me to rise to the challenge, but I was used to being underestimated.

  “You’re goin’ mob boss on me, huh? Fair enough.” I thumbed on my phone and opened a browser. “Deal. There are different kinds of braids, right? Do you have something specific in mind that I can search?”

  “You’re really gonna do this?”

  “Yeah. Of course. I told you, whatever you need, I got you.”

  She stared at me.

  I stared right back.

  “You’re something else, Stocks.”

  Deciding to take that as a compliment, I threw her words back at her. “I don’t know that flattery will work here, but you’re welcome to keep trying.”

  She cracked a real smile.

  It was all the encouragement I needed. I’d crawl to hell and back for that smile, learning how to braid hair was nothing. Offering her my phone, I said, “Show me what you want.”

  Shaking her head like she still couldn’t believe I’d go through with it, she typed something into the browser and scooted closer until our shoulders and thighs were touching. Scanning through a few videos, she finally stopped on one and handed it over.

  “Think you can do that?”

  Maybe if I had ten extra fingers. I was so fucked. “Piece of cake.”

  She laughed. “Right.”

  Arming me with multiple bottles of product and several tools, she sat on the floor and patted the bed. I scooted in behind her. Once I was in position, she leaned back, so I was straddling her shoulders.

  Running my fingers through her lustrous, thick locks was one of the most erotic acts I’d ever committed. I never expected something as simple as brushing a woman’s hair to be sexy, but with Monica, it was. I could run my fingers through her hair all day, even though that made me sound like some sort of creepy loser.

  “Tell me something about yourself,” I said, using the comb to create a part, just like the video showed.

  “What do you want to know?”

  Anything. Everything. I was desperate for more information about her. “What do you do in your spare time?”

  She shrugged. “Read. Hang out. Go shopping. The usual.”

  Nothing about her was usual, and it bugged me that she thought it was. “Tell me something out of the norm. Something different.”

  “What is this, an interrogation?”

  “Are you always this evasive? Is there something you’re trying to hide?”

  “Ohmigod, you’re relentless,” she said with a laugh. “Yes. I’m actually a spy. For Antarctica.”

  I loved her quick wit and the sound of her laughter. “Hey, penguins need intel, too. Who am I to judge? Come on. Give me somethin’ real.”

  “You sure you want this?”

  “I’m one of those weird people who finds comfort in the uncomfortable.”

  “You’re weird, for sure, but all right. You asked for it. My dad used to be a pro boxer. When I was a kid, he used to take me to this gym… it was his friend’s place. I’d put on gloves and go at it with the bag. Then once I got better, he let me spar with him. He always held back—he’s a big man and would have laid my ass out if he ever gave me more than a love tap—but I gave our matches everything I had. Being in the ring with him was… freeing. No, empowering. Dad called me ‘Champ.’ Used to tell me I could do anything I put my mind to if I just worked hard enough. I believed him.”

  “Sounds like a good guy.”

  “The best, but he was wrong. Sometimes hard work and dedication don’t get you to where you need to be. Sometimes they get you there only to snatch it all away. I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. Maybe because you were wounded in combat, too, so I know you understand on some level? Maybe because I need to talk to someone, and it’s easier with my back to you so I can’t see you judging me.”

  I started to assure her that there was no judgment coming from my end, but she kept going.

  “I had an instructor once who said that piloting a fighter was all about survival. When you’re in the air, everything is trying to kill you: the weather, the terrain, enemies, G-forces, turbulence, lack of fuel, birds, faulty equipment, you name it. Any of it can take you down. I knew all about the dangers, but I loved flying and always expected to go out doing what I loved. I think that’s the most frustrating part of this whole thing. It was just some driver who fell asleep at the wheel. All my hard work, all my dedication, and some stupid ass bullshit put an end to it.” She shook herself. “But the really fucked up part… somedays I don’t know if I’m more pissed about losing my arm, or about surviving all those flights.”

  Wrapping a rubber band at the end of a braid, I said, “I think it’s perfectly acceptable to be pissed about both.”

  “Do you ever wish you would have died?” She snorted. “I better not end up in some psych ward over this. I promise I’m not suicidal—nor do I think you are—sometimes it just seems like so much damn work to survive.”

  “I told you, I’m a vault. And you’re not alone. Death seems easier sometimes. Less painful.” And I really needed to turn this dark conversation around, because while I did want to know everything about her, the idea of her not being here today was fucking with my head. “But then I wouldn’t be here learning how to braid your hair.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you survived just for this moment.” Her voice sounded lighter.

  Encouraged, I asked, “Why does this moment get to claim exclusive rights to my survival?” I swept a few strands of hair off her neck and folded them into the braid, leaving a trail of goosebumps along her flesh. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one affected by our contact. “I can think of a few other moments we’ve shared that would have encouraged my survival had I known they were coming.”

  “Oh, really? When?” she asked coyly.

  I let my fingers brush across her neck again, reveling in her reaction. “That time you were sitting on your bedroom floor and called me a hot guy you picked up at a party.”

  “I probably meant asshole.”

  “Nope. You can’t take back compliments. Especially not while I’m fixing your hair. Of course, I also wouldn’t give up the moments after you picked me up at said party. In fact, I remember that entire night as being survival-worthy. I’d live through the zombie apocalypse for that.”

  “Slick.”

  “Honest.”

  It had taken me more than an hour, and every single one of my fingers was cramping, but I finally finished. The braids were a bit lumpy and uneven in places and the parts were crooked and jagged, but I’d done it and was proud of the results. Narrowly resisting the urge to pat my own back, I held one mirror behind Monica so she could angle the one in her hand to see the back of her head. Holding my breath, I waited for her verdict.

  I didn’t want to be murdered, after all.

  “Holy shit, you did it,” she said, grinning as she turned her head from side to side. “I mean… k
ind of. I mean, a couple of them are kinda jacked up, but… you sure you’ve never done this before?”

  “No ma’am.” Her smile was worth every cramp in my fingers and ache of my bending back. Stretching, I stood and offered her a hand. “Maybe I should hit up beauty school. I see a potential future in this shit.”

  Her attention was on my crotch, which was right in her face. I’d been hard since I first trickled my fingers through her hair, and not even the seriousness of our conversation had softened my cock. Sweeping braids to the side of her long, bare neck had only made matters worse, and my jeans weren’t doing much to hide my situation.

  Monica’s gaze drifted up to meet mine, and she slid her hand in mine. I hefted her to her feet awkwardly, as she shifted her balance to be supported by one arm. She bumped into me, pressing all that braless glory against my body, and I steadied her in my arms, pulling her even closer.

  “Thank you,” she breathed, looking up at me.

  Wondering whether she was expressing gratitude for my stellar braid job, our conversation, my helping her up and steadying her, or my painful erection that was poking her in the stomach, I nodded. “Any time.”

  Knowing I should probably release her did not cause my arms to open. Then again, she wasn’t exactly moving away either.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said. It sounded lame even in my own ears, but it was honest.

  “Don’t make this weird. Just kiss me.”

  Monica

  I’D FORGOTTEN WHAT a good kisser Stocks was. He didn’t just kiss with his mouth and his tongue, the man put his entire being into it. Strong arms encompassed me, big, warm hands roamed up and down my back, and his tongue explored my mouth while he set my body on fire. Excitement erupted in my stomach, wetting my core and making my nipples pebble. Heat blazed, threatening to ignite the clothing barrier between us.

  For the first time in months, I felt beautiful.

  In this moment, I was no longer the victim of a life-altering accident. I was sexual… wanted… desired, and damn, it felt good. After all the pain and disappointment of the past two months, his attention felt downright intoxicating. We made out until our breathing grew shallow and my lungs were burning for oxygen. Drunk with lust, I needed more. Desperate to feel him everywhere, I gripped the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward.

  He grabbed my hand, stopping me. “We shouldn’t do this.”

  His voice was breathy with need, but his words might as well have been a bucket of ice dumped over my head. He gently pushed me away, but it might as well be a hard shove. I stumbled backward, trying to make sense of what was happing.

  Stocks’s expression was unreadable, like he was trying to hide something. A minute ago, he’d been shoving his tongue down my throat. Now he wanted to stop? Of all people, he should know how badly I needed this connection… this reminder I was still alive and still a sexual being. He said he’d do whatever I needed, and now that I was opening up to him and allowing myself to feel, he was… pushing me away?

  Why?

  Come to think of it, why had he agreed to braid my hair?

  Why was he even here?

  I’d let myself get so wrapped up in the moment—in all his sweetness—that I’d missed the oddity of it. Guys didn’t do shit like this. Especially not for a one-armed, scarred up former pilot who couldn’t even strum up the motivation to leave her room. He wasn’t even after what was left of my body, so why was he pretending to care?

  Naomi.

  I felt the truth of it down to my very core. Ice filled my veins at the realization that my best friend must be involved. First, she’d dragged him down to Portland to retrieve me. Then, knowing how attracted I was to him, she’d urged him to come in and draw me out of my funk. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Stocks wasn’t attracted to me, he was doing his duty and helping another wounded vet. I was a project, and this was just another service the club provided.

  Finally understanding the situation and feeling like a damn fool for falling into his trap, I drew back and looked him over. “Well, at least you’re not one of the club whores.”

  Confusion furrowed his brow. “What?”

  “You stopped this charade before we could fuck. A whore would have gone through with it. That’s their job, right? Build the confidence of struggling vets by fucking them? Do they also fix their hair and bring them food, or are you going for extra credit? Will Link give you some kind of badge if you can convince me to see a prosthetist or go in for my fucking PT?”

  “What is that…? You’re talking crazy. Where is this coming from?”

  Anger. Frustration. I didn’t want to be Stocks’s project; I wanted to be the flame that set him on fire. I wanted him to want me like he had before life shit on me. I’d had everything taken from me and now I couldn’t even get properly laid. This was what my life had devolved into, and I hated it. “Look me in the eyes and tell me Naomi didn’t ask you to come check on me.”

  His eyes widened. “You think that’s why I’m here?”

  “Don’t play games with me. Did she ask you to check on me or not?”

  He threw his head back to curse at the ceiling. “Un-fucking-believable.”

  It wasn’t an answer, and I had to know the truth. I don’t know why. Maybe because it would justify every self-doubt I’d experienced over the past two months. Maybe because it would give me one more reason to shut down and stay away from people. Maybe because I didn’t want to be fixed. I just wanted to be left alone. Maybe because I felt fragile, and this easy connection to Stocks had the potential to shatter me. “Yes or no, Stocks.”

  “Yes.”

  I knew it. Deep down, I knew he’d been put up to this. Nobody was as nice and caring as he was pretending to be. Especially not to someone he barely knew. That shit just wasn’t possible. I’d fallen right into his pity trap, telling him all about my dad and my struggles, and he’d fed me some ridiculous bullshit about moments with me making life worth living. I’d gobbled it all up like I was starving for his stupid attention. I was such a goddamn fool. “You should leave.”

  “She asked me to help you, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  I’d heard about all I could handle. “Doesn’t matter. Please go.” As soon as he was out the door, I planned to pack up my shit and get the hell out of there. I had no idea how I’d get my suitcases down the stairs, but I’d manage. Then I’d get in my car and drive. Maybe clear to the east coast. I just needed to get away from everyone and everything and figure shit out.

  “No.”

  Shocked, I stared at him. “What do you mean, ‘No’? This is my room and I want you to leave. Go.”

  “No. I’m not going anywhere. You have some fucked-up narrative going on in your head right now, and I’m not leaving until I set you straight.”

  I met his hard stare. “It’s my room, and I don’t want you here. You don’t have a choice.”

  “What are you afraid of? That I’ll make it worse? Or that I’ll fix it?”

  Were these his go-to questions to always get his fucking way? If I had two good hands and a pair of boxing gloves, I’d lay his ass out so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him. Instead, I had to make do with one hand and two months of bottled up rage and frustration. I poured every ounce of it into my response. “Fuck you, Stocks.”

  “I’d love to fuck you, but we need to have a conversation, first. I need to make sure your back, hips, and whatever else they operated on are okay. Which is why I stopped this from escalating. I want to fuck you so damn bad that my balls ache, but I refuse to hurt you.”

  Oh, now he wanted sex? It was a little too late for that. “So, you are a club whore after all. Good to know you’ll go all the way to earn that coveted helper badge, boy scout.”

  He quirked a smile, which only managed to infuriate me more. “If that’s what you need me to be.”

  Why couldn’t he argue with me? Why did he have to turn everything around to be so fucking nice? “I hate you so much ri
ght now.”

  “No, you don’t. You don’t understand me. I’m a mystery that you can’t solve and it’s driving you crazy.”

  He was right, but if he thought I’d admit that, he was high. “Oh yeah? What’s so mysterious about you?”

  “My motivation for wanting to help you. You think it’s Naomi, or that I’m obligated to punch some sort of good deed card, but that’s not it at all.”

  “Like you’d tell me if it was.”

  “I haven’t lied to you yet. It would make no sense to start now. Yes, your friend is worried about you, because that’s what friends do, but I was already looking for an excuse to come see you when she approached me.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s your problem. All I know is that six months ago, I was lucky enough to spend the night with a queen. She could have chosen any man at that party, yet she picked me for some reason. I was at a low point in my life and she came in and rocked my fuckin’ world. She made me want to be more than some wounded Marine trying to survive this battlefield.” He stepped closer, settling his hands on my shoulders and our gazes locked. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night. When Naomi told me what happened to you… of course I want to help you. You helped me. More than you’ll ever know.”

  That took the wind out of my sails. Deflated and feeling like a total fraud, I replied, “I’m not the same woman I was back then.”

  “Bullshit.”

  His harsh tone caught me off guard. Recovering, I held up my stump of an arm. He’d set me on some sort of pedestal, and he needed to face the fact that I didn’t belong there. “Do I look like a fucking queen to you?”

  “Yes.” His expression softened. “I get that you’re hurt and your kingdom’s been taken away, but that doesn’t make your blood any less royal. I remember who the fuck you are, babe, even if you don’t. That’s why I’m here.” He raised his hands to the top of my head and gently pressed down on my braids.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Straightening your crown; the bastard’s on crooked.”

  It was too much.