Breaking It All

By: Kati Wilde

A Hellfire Riders MC Romance



My brain’s about twelve hundred miles away—in some restaurant in Pine Valley or Bend, or wherever the hell that smug fucker Mark Miller is taking Anna Wall out tonight—when her brother abruptly sits up in the passenger seat of our rented Escalade and yanks me right back to a deserted highway in Arizona.

“Twenty-four goddamn hours,” Stone spits out like he’s been chewing on it for a while.

I tear my gaze from the dark road ahead. Stone’s staring out the windshield, sitting straight up though his seat is still reclined. Not a word has passed between us the past hour. I assumed he was asleep. Maybe he still is. Or maybe he took a few too many hits to the head today, because I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about.

I’ve usually got a good idea what’s going on in his thick skull. But my body’s too damn tired and the day’s been too damn long to try figuring it out. Especially when my brain’s too damn busy imagining his sexy little sister on a date with a pompous prick.

But I can’t say a word about that. Anna’s not mine. She can’t be. So I don’t say anything at all, because Christ knows what would shoot out of my mouth.

Nothing her brother wants to hear, that’s for goddamn sure.

Stone scrubs his palms over his scarred face and up over his short blond hair. Yup. Tired as fuck and trying to wake up. Roughing his hands over his swollen jaw probably does the job better than the scrubbing does. He winces and prods at the bruise blooming under his eye before shaking his head.

“Twenty-four hours,” he says again. “We come all this goddamn way. And not a fucking thing to show for it.”

Not true. “You got a busted lip to show for it.”

His eyes narrow. “Your mama got a busted lip trying to fit her mouth around my dick.”

I know he’s still half asleep if he’s pulling out the mama jokes. “My mama would bite that shit off.”

“That’s not funny, brother.” His hands drop to his lap, as if protecting his junk. “Teeth are never funny.”

Maybe not. But making him cringe is always entertaining. “You ever hear about vagina dentata?”

“Have I heard about it?” His full-body shudder is better than a cringe. “When I was sixteen, Anna tortured me by telling me all about that shit. Then she found my porn stash and drew teeth on the crotch of every centerfold. I had nightmares for a year.”

My chest tightens up when he mentions his sister. He always makes a young Anna sound like a terror. She probably was.

She still is. A terror who can reach into a man’s chest and squeeze his heart in her little fist without even trying. But even though the simple mention of her name aches like a motherfucker, I can’t stop myself from wanting to hear about every single horror she unleashed on him.

Better than the shit my family liked to unleash. “Did she do it on purpose?”

“Probably. That was back when she started reading about Freud—thirteen years old, with full access to my mom’s shelves, and my mom willing to discuss anything she read there. Jesus, those were terrifying days. You wouldn’t believe some of the things she asked. But that vagina dentata stuff, it was probably an experiment so she could play psychiatrist and analyze my fear. Or it was a subtle way of trying to make me become a dentist, I don’t know.” Digging his phone out of his pocket, he starts scrolling through messages. “But it stuck. Last year, this one chick asked me about the scars. I told her my face got chewed up by vagina teeth while my mom was giving birth to me.”

Jesus. “Were you trying to scare her off?”

“Hell no. This girl had the sweetest ass. Not the brightest bulb upstairs, but a sweet ass. I was just too wasted to think of another story and said the first shit that came to mind. Anyway, it worked. She invited me to stick my dick into her pussy and check for teeth. But I’m not stupid, man. I used my fingers first.”

Grinning, I shake my head. “Shit, you’re like the second coming of Einstein.”

“Laugh it up, pretty boy. I’ll take pussy teeth over the nothing you’ve been getting.” He pauses on a message screen. “The prez says to stop by the Den tomorrow.”