Cutter's Claim

Chapter 3

3

Cutter was late meeting Kingdom. He’d stayed longer than he intended, sparring with Puck at a boxing gym they were checking out as an investment for the club. His thigh muscles screamed from overworking them. A week had passed since his conversation with Puck about Prez’s condition, and he’d been working out harder than usual to burn off the irritation churning in his gut.

Normally, he wasn’t one to hurry, but he lengthened his strides on his way to his bike. Passing by the Utica Coffeehouse and Bar, he did a double take and screeched to a halt. From the other side of the windowpane, a pair of brilliant green eyes stared out at him on the busy avenue and quickly snapped away. Too late. The instant their eyes connected, a deep burn seized his muscles as if he’d caught a fever. He had to meet her.

Fuck me.

She was f*****g beautiful. Those lively eyes of hers popped out of a heart-shaped face. Straight black hair cascaded down to her rib cage, pink ends brushing a leather bustier. Better yet, the bustier showed off the tops of plump t**s. Which he appreciated since the rest of her was encased in a bulky sweater. Damn, he’d suck and bite those t**s of hers for days.

Her almond-shaped eyes swept his way again, pinning him in place. Cutter broke into a wide grin. This one looked like she was about to spit fire. After a moment’s hesitation, her lips tilted upward slightly, and that small smile of hers cinched his balls like a harness.

The pretty girl pivoted to speak to the person by her side, and his scalp pricked at her dismissal. At the edge of his vision, her friend waved in his direction, attempting to get his attention.

Sage. With an excited smile, she urged him to join them. Hell yeah, perfect timing. This was his chance to press Sage into service before Prez left for radiation. He grabbed his cell and sent off a text to postpone his meeting with Kingdom by an hour. Didn’t hurt that he’d get a closer look at the green-eyed woman with t**s that made a man quick to sin. And he was a sinner down to his core.

Once inside, he bent down to smack a kiss on Sage’s upturned cheek. Pulling back, he inspected her.

“Whattup? You look mighty fine today,” Cutter complimented smoothly.

“You’re such a flirt,” Sage chided. “We just finished up in court and ate lunch before heading back to the office.”

Sage’s eyes gleamed with purpose, as if she was giving him the go-ahead with her friend. Interesting. Not that Sage’s approval mattered, because he was on the b***h’s scent, and he sure as f**k wasn’t going to be put off by anyone.

“I don’t think you’ve met Greta. Although, I’m sure you’ve heard of her,” Sage guessed accurately.

Greta. Sage’s personal warrior b***h.

His jaws clanked like a steel trap. This was the same woman who’d hidden Sage away in some bumfuck state near Canada when she skipped town on Kingdom.

Greta eyed him, her plump red lips on the brink of a snarl, daring him to step to her. She stood up to Kingdom, toe to toe, after he’d f****d up with Sage. During their confrontation, Kingdom had come down hard on Greta. Not only did she refuse to give up Sage’s location, but she told him to f**k off along with choice words about his behavior. Truth was, she’d done her job too well, because Cutter’s efforts to find Kingdom’s woman had also failed, and he was a tracker, dammit. Pissed him off that he’d rescued soldiers held hostage in Iraq but couldn’t track down one b***h in his own damn country.

This, then, was the infamous Greta.

Cutter jiggled the long keychain attached to the wallet in his back pocket. Like a dog whistle, the jingling put this woman on full alert. Her chest rose and fell like bellows. Coincidence? Not if his life depended on it. His fingers twitched with the desire to redden her a*s. He could sniff out a subbie in Times Square on a rowdy New Year’s Eve at the stroke of midnight.

She’d caught his knowing smirk and scowled like a pit bull ready to maul him. Little did she know pit bulls were his favorite breed. He had a talent for making them straight-up docile in his hands.

He braced one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table, caging her. Fenced in, her gaze fell on the prominent veins snaking around his forearm, lined with tattoos. Feisty Greta liked what she was seeing. Bending low, until there was but a mere inch separating them, he murmured, “So. You’re Greta.”

He drew in a breath and her scent hit him like a tsunami. Caramel notes of burnt sugar, mixed with cinnamon and spice. She averted her bright eyes and nonchalantly picked at imaginary lint on her skirt. Biting down on his lower lip, he nudged her. “Aren’t you a pretty little girl?”

Her body went as taut as a leather restraint. “I’m no one’s ‘girl.’”

A challenge? He hadn’t had a test in a long-a*s time. Game. Fuckin’. On.

“Do you mind? You’re being rude,” Sage interjected, as she patted the seat beside her.

“Sure thing, babe.” Cutter dragged the chair Sage motioned to and placed it right up against Greta. He eased back in it and draped his arm around the back of hers. “I’d do anything for you. After all, you’re the Squad’s number one old lady.”

“Why bikers insist on calling their girlfriends and wives ‘old ladies,’ I will never understand. Either way, we are not having this conversation again.”

“Sweetheart, make our lives easier and just accept the fact that you’re our savior.”

“Nothing has changed,” she huffed.

“See, you’re wrong there. The writing is on the fuckin’ wall. It’s happening.”

Switching her gaze from one to the other, Greta queried, “What’s going on?”

Sage bowed her head, intently focused on her empty cappuccino cup, and fiddled with the spoon. “Cutter is leading a campaign to convince Kingdom to become president.”

Greta’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? Why haven’t you mentioned this before? That’s a huge step, you know. It will affect every aspect of your life, including the time you have for your cases.” She held her breath before adding, “And our other project.”

Sage looked up at her beseechingly. “Exactly. Kingdom hasn’t said much on the subject, so this is a Cutter pipe dream.” Muttering low, she finished, “Hopefully.” Squinting up at Cutter, Sage complained, “Since when do you get riled up about club politics, anyway? That is simply not your MO.”

Cutter gave her a s**t-eating grin. “I saw a need, and I got involved. Time to suck it up, babe.”

Sage’s mouth fell open. “Who are you? And bring back the Cutter I know.”

“Times are a changin’. You’ll end up doing it my way.” He added a wink to his smug smile.

Greta thrust the butt of her palms against Cutter’s chest. His heat clung to her fingers, and she clenched her jaws to keep from curling them over his pecs. “It’s not good for her to get embroiled in the Squad more than necessary. Old lady to the VP is one thing but being the senior female of an entire MC is a completely different scenario.”

Cutter deadpanned, “This is club business.”

“Whatever. Sage isn’t getting caught up with criminals. Not on my watch.”

His eyes bored into hers, and he chastised, “Manners, little girl. Watch them or I’ll take you over my knee. That what you want? Because that’s what you’re in for if you don’t watch the attitude.”

Clenching her fists, she banged them on the table, her voice unsteady. “You’ll do better to kill me than lift a finger to any part of me.”

※※※

Holy hell.

The biker staring her down from the street moments ago was looming over her like a grizzly bear. She was so close to blowing up. The only thing holding her back was the disapproval vibrating off him. Nervous tension pulsated in her gut. Sage reached out to place her hand over Greta’s shaking fists.

“Oh, Greta, I’m so—”

“Don’t touch her,” Cutter commanded in a cold tone.

Sage’s hand hovered in midair before returning to her lap. Stiffly, Greta focused on a spot in a far corner of the bustling shop. What the hell was happening to her? She hated bikers. Wanted nothing to do with them, but, here she was, trembling. This is dangerous. This I have to fight. A hand seized the back of her neck and pulled her sideways until she smashed against a massive chest. She jerked slightly and rubbed her cheek against the leather of his vest, better known as a cut, in a subtle movement.

He held her still until she got ahold of herself and indicated that she wanted to sit up. He slid his hand down her spine before releasing her. Mortified, she was about to leap up and run screaming from the coffee shop, but another—stronger—part of her kept her glued to her seat. A shiver went through her. The struggle between her body and mind was beginning to overwhelm her when he slipped his hand beneath her hair and massaged her nape. His calloused fingers left a trail of electricity crackling on her skin.

“Apologize.” Cutter’s baritone shuddered down Greta’s spine, and she cringed inwardly. She’d butted in and snapped at Sage.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“Good girl,” he praised. She flushed at his compliment, and pleasure surged inside her. Sage’s eyes bugged out in shock. Oh, f**k. She’d outed herself. Not that Sage doesn’t know, but still. Shoving her chair backward with a screech, Greta stood up with her spine straight as a javelin. Cutter held her wrist for a moment before deciding to let her go. Smart move.

“Excuse me.”

At the counter, she requested a glass of ice water and emptied it in one go. She was desperate for something stronger than water, preferably a shot of vodka. Her head spun, but she’d be damned before she ran away. Stomping back to the table, she heard Sage giving him a piece of her mind.

“You can’t just grab people! Especially women. Grab, grab, grabby. You’re like a caveman.”

Greta placed a hand on Sage’s shoulder. “Relax, it’s no big deal.”

Ignoring Sage’s reprimand, Cutter kicked Greta’s chair out to make space for her. He slanted his eyes toward her and then over to her seat. When she hesitated, he raised one eyebrow. Growling under her breath, she threw her shoulders back and swept into her chair.

Cutter’s open arm settled on the back of her seat. Again. Blood rushed to her head at the weight of his stare. His blue eyes were at half-mast, praise for heeding him. A frisson ran down the length of her spine, because, asshole or not, he was devastating. A satisfied grin curved his full lips, his upper lip plumper than his lower. Like a pretty boy, only nothing else about him was pretty. Certainly not his square jaw, sporting a scruff of hair so blond it was almost imperceptible, but she noticed every detail about him. Like the curls on his fair head that she wanted to weave between her fingers and tug on as it moved between her legs.

What the f**k? Ugh, he’s a biker, and not the weekend type either. Pure, unadulterated alpha biker.

She schooled her features and settled for a scathing look that ordinarily froze men as if they’d looked into the eyes of Medusa. Unfortunately, he wasn’t cowed in the least. Was “subbie” emblazoned on her forehead? Changing tactics, Greta graced him with a fake, bright smile. Although he’d won this round, she’d be ready for him next time.

And there would be a next time, because she planned to fight him for Sage’s soul. At all costs.