Page 20 of Nomad: Violent Devotion

I order something strong enough to burn and try to ignore the way the waitress’s hand lingers on Walker’s shoulder. Every time she comes back, her breasts are practically in his face. She laughs too loud at his jokes, flicks her hair, and I want to fucking gut her.

Walker’s amused by the whole thing, his thumb drawing lazy circles on my bare thigh under the table. It’s a game to him, watching me seethe, watching the waitress try and fail to pull his attention away. But when I reach for one of the steak knives, my fingers wrapping around the handle so tight my knuckles go white, his amusement fades. He leans in, warm lips brushing my ear.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, voice low and dark, “You start a fight here, you’ll just get us both thrown out.”

I don’t care. She’s still there, all smiles and tits, and I want to put her teeth through the fucking floor.

Walker doesn’t give me the chance. He slides out of his side of the booth, grabs my waist, and pulls me in beside him. The world tilts. His mouth crashes onto mine—hard, possessive, claiming. The whole restaurant goes silent for a second, forks pausing midair.

He doesn’t stop. One hand is tangled in my hair, the other gripping my thigh, his tongue parting my lips like he’s reminding everyone in here exactly who I belong to. When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless and triumphant, my body pressed flush against his.

For the rest of the meal, he ignores the waitress completely. Every time her shadow falls over our table, his hands are on me—stroking the inside of my thigh, tracing circles up under my skirt, making me bite my lip to keep from moaning.

His breath ghosts along my neck, lips barely brushing my skin as he leans in, voice a dark rasp meant only for me. “After this, I’m going to spread you out on my bike seat and make you scream my name so loud the whole fucking street hears.”

His hand slides higher beneath the tablecloth, fingers pressing possessively against the heat between my thighs. My fork trembles in my grip. I stab a piece of steak, but the taste is lost. I can only taste him, the promise of what he’ll do, the slow, dangerous circles he’s drawing just out of sight.

Every time I gasp, he grins, eyes burning into mine, like he wants to devour me right here in the middle of the restaurant. The world narrows to the drag of his knuckles, the wet ache he’s teasing, the unspoken dare flickering in his stare. I’m unraveling, undone by the game he plays so well, my food forgotten, his hunger swallowing me whole.

When I finally excuse myself to go to the bathroom, the waitress tries to follow, probably to ask what it’s like to fuck the man she’s been drooling over all night. She corners me by the sinks, fake concern pasted on her face.

“Is everything all right, hon? He seems a bit ... intense.”

I don’t say a word. I slam her against the wall so hard the mirror rattles. My hand is at her throat, my words a hiss. “You look at him again, you even breathe in his fucking direction, and I’ll cut your fucking tits off. Understand?”

She nods, eyes wide with terror. I let her go, and she stumbles out, clutching her neck, mascara streaked down her cheeks.

When I return to the table, Walker glances up, eyebrow raised. I slide in beside him, a smile stretching my lips—satisfied, dangerous, and just a little bit wicked.

Chapter Six

Not My Fucking Paradise

Walker

She looks beyond perfect on the back of my bike, like she belongs there, and that’s a big problem. Poppy is too perfect. The old soldier in me says to take the win. The scarred version of me who has lived this leather crotch life for the last decade or more knows she’s too good to be true.

I understand which version of my heart to trust, but I’ll play with my toy for a little longer before I destroy her. Hell, the only thing that stops me from doing it right here on the street front are the five little dots on her arm too large to be an indicator of self-harm. Besides, if Poppy wanted to sabotage herself, I suspect she’d do it in spectacular fashion. No small cuts or bruises. Nah, she didn’t destroy my bike when she took it, and she lives in a perfectly normal house.

As though she craves a perfectly normal life.

Every version of perfect that’s nothing like it beneath the surface.

“Are you ready?” I don’t look at her as I grab my helmet, pretend not to see her finger the handle of the blade I returned to her earlier.

“Take me home.” Her voice is soft, but I don’t let her tone distract me with her sweetness. It’s a demand.

I don’t smirk, don’t show her any emotion at all. This ain’t gonna be pretty. Because we’ve played around the point long enough. I promised her dirty, and now that’s what she’s gonna get from me.

I nod and swing my leg over the bike. Her hands are gentle where they settle around my waist, though I don’t miss the way her forefinger rubs the place her blade tip pierced my skin earlier. She rubs there like she might reopen the wound. Revving the bike, I catch her hand and press it hard into my side until warmth flows over her fingers.

Even over the engine’s harsh purr, her gasp is audible. Her body flattens against my back, and finally I allow myself a smile as I pull away from the front of the restaurant and its gawking onlookers, leaving droplets of blood and rubber in our wake.

Her warmth against my back is a small consolation as I head toward her house. But as I near, I don’t slow, and her home flashes past. Nails dig into my stomach. Protest noted. She’ll have to hang on as this ride will get a whole hell of a lot rougher before it smooths over.

I take two turns away from her house for fun then head toward our true destination. A block out, there’s no denying where we’re headed. Her fingers fist in my cut and though she tries to hide her reaction, my little toy fails in spectacular fashion.

Neither of us is smiling when I glide to a halt opposite the Forsaken Saints’ compound. Her hands tremble on my cut, but not from fear. I know this woman now, know her faces. And without checking, I know it’s adrenaline that fuels her in this moment. How she reacts will be telling. Because I already have my truth.