Initiation (Gypsy Harts #1) Read online

  She was smiling, a quiver running through the core of her. “Okay. I’d like that.”

  “I know you will.” He gave her a quick kiss then a swat on the ass. “Take your Glock. You’ll have to clean it now. Only a real prick throws a piece in the sand like that.”

  She turned to pick it up, shaking the thing like that’d make a difference. Then she tucked it into the back of her waistband. Stone watched the whole while, grinning.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “You’re just hot, that’s all.”

  She snorted. “You’re weird.”

  “Get to the garage,” he repeated. “I’ll meet you there.”

  With a huff she set off to the building he indicated. She stepped through the door and into the dark, moving by memory to the lantern hanging just inside on a nail. She fumbled with a match to light the wick, but once it was glowing she moved deeper into the Quonset. She placed the Glock on the work bench out of the way, and made room for them to eat on the scarred plywood top.

  She heard his footsteps approaching, then a tray of food was placed next to her. Before she could look at it she was turned around by force, making her squeal, and Stone pressed her into the workbench so it bit into her back.

  “You shouldn’t have threatened Harley like that,” he was saying, but since he was also kissing her it didn’t sound like a scolding.

  “He was choking you,” she reminded him, gasping as he plunged a hand up under her shirt, unhooking her bra and rubbing her back with his rough hand.

  “He’s our leader. He wouldn’t kill me.” Stone stopped kissing her neck now, trying to show he was serious. “It’s just...territorial bullshit.”

  Oakley frowned. “You were fighting over me like property?”

  Again with that damn smile. “Just showing I meant it when I told him I wanted this one for good.”

  She just stared at him as he unbuttoned the few fasteners at the front of her shirt, then tried to pull upwards. But she wasn’t cooperating. She was too shocked. “What…what do you mean for good?”

  Stone paused then, hands returning to her hips. “As in, there’s no one else for me and no one else for you. This is it.”

  She had no recollections of past relationships, but something was telling her this was unusual. It wasn’t men who were so quick to decide something like this. “But…you’ve known me a day.”

  “A week,” he corrected. “I’ve been sleeping with you for one night.”

  “A week? All the teasing? That’s getting to know me?”

  His grin came back. “Of course it is. You were tough, you’d barely react to anything. You didn’t put on a show for attention. You kept to yourself.” He reached up and pulled the string tie that was holding her hair back from her face. “And being with you last night, talking with you…you may have no memories, but you’re the most complete person I know.”

  “What?”

  “Crazy about you, Oakley,” he whispered, lowering his face closer. “I want it to be like this, every time we come back. Just you and me, on our own until I have to go again. Having you to come back to…” He shook his head. “Can I have that?”

  Oakley pressed her hands to each side of his face. His thick beard tickled her palms. He closed his eyes and she pulled his face closer for a soft kiss. “You can have that,” she assured him. “You can have me.”

  He returned the kiss roughly, mouth mashing against hers, catching her lip between their teeth but she didn’t feel it, not really. His hands were like a wall on her back, pressing her to him, as much contact as possible. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair, letting go when he yanked her shirt off over her head, then she pulled up on the hem of his. He was quick to yank that off, too. Her bra hit the ground, then she was back in his arms, against his skin hot, soft. Their mouths met much softer this time, and when she was whimpering he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to what she was thinking of as their “bed.” Before they settled in the blankets they pulled off their clothes, clumsy in their frenzy. Under the cover of the sleeping bag they were close again, his hands so caring as they smoothed along her skin. Her stomach, her hips, her legs, her neck. He kissed her like he was trying to make it last, like he was nibbling at her. For her part Oakley explored him with her nails. She felt every bulge, every hard flat plain, squeezing and trying to goad him along. He resisted.

  She was making sounds of frustration as he kissed down between her breasts, around her bellybutton and lower. Her breath caught as his beard scraped along her inner thigh, his fingertips tickling the backs of her knees. He was pushing her legs apart and she went onto her elbows, staring down at him. “What are you doing? You don’t have to—”

  He chuckled, his tongue softly playing over her clit. Her moan took her by surprise, but not as much as the way her entire body tightened. “Relax, Little One.” Stone was mumbling, kissing her inner thigh again. “Just relax. Enjoy it. Okay?”

  Dazed, she nodded. When he closed his mouth over her, Oakley’s arms gave out and she landed flat on her back. His beard was so rough on this tender skin, but his mouth was covering the most tender part; suckling, licking, even nipping at her. There was no rhythm to it. He seemed content to torture her with exquisite sensations. Not enough to get her off, just enough to make her wild.

  And she was. She moved her hips, tried to hold his head in place by his hair, but he didn’t seem to mind that she was pulling it so hard.

  “Stone,” she eventually gasped, head thrashing side to side. “Jesus, just finish it. Please.”

  He ignored her, and she growled in frustration. That’s when she realized he was chuckling.

  “You asshole,” she gasped. “Please, finish it. Make me come. God, it’s killing me.”

  And that’s when he did as asked. His mouth sealed off, his tongue rode her clit in circles while he suckled at her gently. He slid two fingers into her, working along with his tongue, and it took no time at all for it to come to a head, bending her back and making her shriek out, releasing his hair. Her hands scrambled for something to hold onto instead, fisting in the fabric of the sleeping bag.

  When she opened her eyes again he was on his knees between her spread legs, erection proud and high, wiping his face and beard with one hand.

  Oakley smiled, one hand returning to her stomach. “That was amazing.”

  “Tell me about it.” Stone’s hands came to the ground each side of her hips. As wonderful as that orgasm had been, him lowering his hips into position had her growing warm again. Her eyes ate up the sight of him. She loved the way his arms bunched to hold that weight up. She ran both hands up his biceps, and when he joined their bodies her nails dug into the meat of his shoulders. She was sore and bruised from the previous night, and that morning, but it didn’t matter. They were leaving in the morning. After this, she might never see him again.

  His body came down to cover hers, and she brought her knees up, pinning them tight to his sides. His arms hooked under her back, holding her by the shoulders so the motion of his hips didn’t push her away from him. She loved that, the way he handled her not roughly, but firm and sure.

  His mouth closed over hers and she closed her eyes, drinking in every sensation. His weight, skin, the smell of him, the sounds he made even as he kissed her. This man needed to be memorized.

  As always, it was so easy for him; she came again quickly, trembling and crying out, sounds that he swallowed with that same kiss. After her second orgasm he ended the kiss, resting his forehead on hers as he held eye contact with her. So intimate, so close like this.

  When he came it brought her over again as well. Climaxing while staring into his eyes, feeling his body quake as it went through that wonderful crisis, cemented something in her. This wasn’t the satisfying of a need. This was something that fed her heart, her soul. This grounded, her, gave her a sense of person that she didn’t have.

  “Little One,” he grumbled, kissing her quickly before pulling free. She gasped, losing the hea
t of him. He turned them so they were on their side, her body tucked in and sheltered along his much larger one. “Fuck. How am I supposed to leave you?”

  She smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “You’re a Young Blood, Stone. You just have to make sure you come back.”

  His hand ran along her side, then he pulled the sleeping bag up over them both.

  “I’m coming back,” he whispered close to her ear, snuggling her close. “Nothing’s keeping me away.”

  Chapter Eight

  “What’d you find, Oakley?”

  She looked up the stairs to where Em was crouching down from the top step, shining her flashlight downward. “Canned goods. Lots of preserves.”

  “Awesome! Grab them. They in glass jars, too?”

  “Yep.”

  “Even better. That’s the fucking mother lode.”

  Oakley grinned and went back to stacking the glass jars into the plastic Rubbermaid bin she’d found in this dank basement. She had to be mindful of how heavy she was making it, but in the last month her strength had increased exponentially. And here she was, on her second looting run with Em, May, Coral and Brit.

  It was an old farm house. The animals were long gone, but they’d grabbed the hay bales from the barn and tied them to the roof of the van then headed for the house. The first thing they’d seen was a smashed-to-shit gun cabinet. No one assumed that meant all the food was gone. Men would grab guns; women would look for food.

  And they found plenty here in the cellar. The potatoes had sprouted, but they grabbed them anyway to plant. Then Oakley had found these loaded shelves of homemade preserves. She saw apples, raspberries, strawberries, and more. She might have to make three trips to get them all.

  Her first load ready, Oakley straightened and groaned with the weight. But she got it braced just right and headed for the stairs, grunting with each step.

  At the top stair Em was waiting to take it. “And Rubbermaid? This place is a goldmine!”

  Oakley grinned, then headed back to the cellar. It was so nice and cool down here. She flapped her arms, like that might somehow cut through the stifling heat inside the jacket she was wearing. She found another Rubbermaid, a deeper one, and reminded herself not to fill it up entirely. Again, she brought the haul upstairs for Em who carried it out to the van.

  Now she was relegated to boxes, of which she had lots to choose from. These people, bless them, never threw anything out. She found a sturdy one that had once held cans of corn. That seemed strong enough for this. She cleared out the rest of the jars and set the box down so she could take a deep breath. The exhaustion hit her out of nowhere, although it could just be all this shit they had to wear to go out. Plus, it was just really hot outside now.

  She got herself back under control and lifted the box up to her hip, now feeling every step as she made her way up to Em. As the woman took the load Oakley asked, “Is it really fucking hot, or is it just me?”

  Em shrugged, taking on the weight of the preserves easily. “Yeah, it’s a bit warmer than usual. Why? You not feeling well?”

  Oakley shook her head. “I feel fine. Just too warm.”

  “You gonna pass out?”

  Oakley snorted. “No.”

  “Then quit bitching.” But Em was smiling, turning away with the box. Oakley took another deep breath and clomped down the wooden steps to do another pass of the basement before calling the house scorched, or picked clean, of anything useful.

  It was an odd, creepy thing to walk past boxes of Christmas and Halloween decorations, knowing that when they were put away no one knew that was the last time they’d be used. She pushed aside light jackets of flimsy fabric hanging on a make-shift clothes rack, checking to see if anything useful had been stowed behind the jackets or underneath. There was a box marked clothing, so she pulled that out, setting it at her feet and pulling the top flaps open. There were some cotton pants, light shirts and socks stuffed inside, men’s and women’s, so she decided those were a good find to take along as well.

  She tucked the flaps back into place and was about to life the box up when a shifting, scratching sound made her pause. It could have been someone kicking an item, or a shoe scuffing over the concrete floor. She held her breath and waited, but the sound did not repeat.

  She straightened slowly, reaching for the Glock that was tucked at the small of her back. She evened out her breathing and took small steps around the box towards the dark corner that she had already cleared upon first descending into the basement.

  She held the flashlight up near her temple, scanning the walls and floors and then back to the walls again. The Glock was raised but only at her hip. She wanted to wait before bringing it up to firing position.

  Around the back of the hanging clothes rack she noticed a plastic bag of extension cords hanging from a nail hammered into the exposed rafters. She frowned. There was no way she had disturbed that—

  Her breath was knocked out and she sprawled out onto the floor, barely able to catch herself with her hands. She’d been knocked down with such force the Glock and the flashlight both rolled away from her. Like it had a sense of humor the flashlight landed with its beam directed right at the Glock.

  She went up on hands and knees to scramble after the pistol, but someone grabbed one of her feet and dragged her away. The skin of her palms were eroded as she fought, then realized this was the dumbest way to defend herself.

  One month of weight training and self-defense lessons with Em taught her to be smarter than this in general.

  She flipped to her back and struck out with her foot, catching someone where she guessed to be their midsection. Then she went for the Glock again as her foot was released, and someone grunted. A man.

  “Damn bitch,” a gravelly voice growled out, then a knee was shoved into her back.

  That really fucking hurt. Then she realized there was someone very strong pinning her in place. She really needed help.

  Oakley started screaming like a madwoman, only to have the back of her hair grabbed and used to smack her face against the concrete.

  Her vision swam as her nose broke, but luckily she was sure her teeth were okay. But this guy, she really wanted to hurt him now.

  “That’s a girl, play nice now. Keep it down, and you might even enjoy this.”

  Hands were shoving their way under her jacket, pulling at the waistband of her cargo pants. Really? He was going to do this right here, right now?

  Suddenly she felt a lot safer.

  All she had to do was struggle and keep him from smacking her face against the cement again. She knew the others would be coming soon.

  “Get off me, you fuckwit,” she growled, curling up on her side and striking out with one hand at her attacker’s face. She was met with a man’s throat, and she shoved a thumb into the side of it rudely. There was a satisfying grunt, and then her hand was pulled away and forced to the ground, pressing her onto her back.

  Now he’d need both hands to deal with hers, and that made it a lot harder to get at her clothes. She hit, scratched, kicked, and started shrieking again, relieved to hear the steady thump of many boots coming down the wooden stairs.

  “Get off her, asshole.”

  She could have smiled. She loved it when Brit’s disdain was directed at other people.

  The man she still couldn’t see got to his feet, stepping over her. “Now ladies, there’s enough for everyone.”

  She heard Em snort. “You’re not kidding. How’d you stay so fucking fat while everyone else was starving?”

  Oakley caught the movement as the man surged away from her. She kicked out with both feet, catching him in the side of one knee. It made a sickening, nasty sounding crunch as he went down with a wonderfully pathetic whimper.

  Oakley was up and running for her flashlight and Glock. By the time she came back to her attacker, Brit, Coral, and Em had him contained. He was on his stomach with Coral pinning his arms, the other two women sitting on each of his legs. He was furious. />
  Oakley knew they’d kill him, and she was perfectly fine with that.

  May was pulling down his filthy jeans. He started shrieking at an ear-splitting volume as the small end of an ash baseball bat was placed at his asshole.

  Oakley looked at May in surprise, but the warrior woman was stoic as she hammered the bat home with her other hand. The screaming got worse.

  Brit was laughing, Em was grinning. Coral was mimicking his screams, laughing her ass off as his arms began flailing and she fought to keep them contained.

  Then the bat was yanked free, dripping blood and shit, and he was much easier to turn to his back as his body must have gone into shock.

  “Open his mouth,” May muttered, and Brit was on it. She yanked down on his chin and Coral grabbed the top of his head to hold him in place. He was mumbling, begging forgiveness.

  “You gotta be tougher than this,” Brit was laughing. “You should have seen the shit done to me before I started screaming like a stuck pig, you fucking asshole.”

  May was shoving the filthy end of the bat into his mouth, then she proceeded to cram the bat all the way into his throat, then motioned Oakley over.

  May held the bat, Oakley slammed the butt of her Glock down onto it until the bat hit the concrete at the back of his neck.

  He was sputtering and gasping still, but he wasn’t moving. Everyone got up, dusting off their knees.

  “We taking this?” Em asked, all business again, pointing at the box Oakley had been intending to take upstairs.

  “Yeah,” she nodded, wiping at her nose. It was tough to breathe. He’d definitely broken her nose. Prick.

  “I’ll take a look at that upstairs,” Em promised, grabbing the box.

  “I’d say we’re done here?” May asked.

  Oakley went for her flashlight then fell into line with the others.

  The sun outside was blinding compared to the dim basement, and once again she felt the discomfort of wearing such a heavy jacket in this hellish level of heat.

  “Man,” she mumbled, pulling at the neck of her coat. “I’m fucking cooking out here today.”