Heart Ties (Club Ties Book 2) by Em Petrova Page A

her. The least she could do was stop being a whiney baby and get away before they were caught.
    They reached the head of the alley just as a dark van whizzed by. Jamison saluted it and yanked Delta until she ran into the street. He kicked his bike to life, and they roared off without bothering with helmets.
    She clung to his broad back, burying her face against the ridges of muscles on either side of his spine and tasting his leather. He rested a hand on her thigh, sending flames up into the last place she needed more heat.
    They drove for miles, cutting through the humid Alabama air south then west. She had no clue where they were going, but she trusted Drake. She had no choice.
    Her hair flew like a wild flag behind her. When they stopped she would have a hell of a time getting the tangles out.
    Who was she kidding? She didn’t even have a brush.
    Drake had said he’d get her everything she needed, though. Right now she didn’t give a damn about her tangles. She wanted more of his kisses.
    The hotel night manager behind the glass handed Drake a key through a small window without any money changing hands. Then Drake led her to a door with a number nine.
    “It’s not five-star, but it will do for what I have planned.”
    Shivers rushed down her spine and took up residence between her thighs. Her nipples ached for his lips and tongue again. Her hand trembled in his, and he tossed her a look that curled her hair.
    As soon as they were inside and he switched on the light, he went dead still. His gaze latched onto her face, and it took her a heartbeat to realize she wore bruises from both Micky and Houlihan.
    With extreme slowness, Drake laid the key down on the ugly laminate table, still gazing at Delta’s face.
    She began to squirm, a clawing sensation in the pit of her belly. Not knowing what to expect was worse than bracing herself for a blow.
    “Who did that to you?” His face might have been chiseled from marble for all its expression. And his eyes no longer burned—they were hollow, the lights extinguished.
    She lifted a hand to her cheek, hating that she was shaking. “It’s nothing.”
    “Nothing?” His roar made her cringe as badly as the bomb he’d detonated at the MC. “Jesus, it’s my fucking fault you’re wearing a bruise the size and shape of a goddamn knuckle ring!” He whirled and drove his fist through the cheap plaster. The striped wallpaper folded inward around the hole. He cocked his fist and produced a second hole.
    A third.
    Long ago Delta had been ingrained with the knowledge that you don’t get between a man and his fist, but she couldn’t stand the set of Drake’s shoulders and the blood on his knuckle.
    She caught his arm as he reared back, and he played statue again. His muscle was tense and warm under her grasp. Very slowly, he turned to face her.
    His throat worked, and his eyes grew warm and liquid again. Cradling her face, he gazed at her as if his look could heal her. “I’ll make them pay.”
    A small thrill went through her, but she shook her head. “It’s not important now.”
    The crease between his dark brows cleared, and he leaned in. She quivered, mouth tipped up, ready for those scorching kisses.
    But only his breath touched her skin. His lips hovered over the bruise on one cheek, then the other. When his warm, dry lips brushed her skin, she gasped, unable to fill her lungs with enough air.
    “Delta.” He crushed his mouth to hers even as his fingers dug into her ass cheeks. In three steps he hit the bed and spread her under him. The bulge in his jeans perfectly fit tightly against her pussy, and she began to pulsate in time to her heart.
    He angled his head and gave her his tongue. She yanked him down, drowning in his taste and feel. Needing so much more.
    The bite of his belt buckle against her lower belly was oh, so good. She arched under him, throwing herself into the kiss.
    His growl vibrated her chest, and her nipples peaked. She ached to touch him. Since