by Ann Jensen
The friendly and often ludicrous banter soon had Phoebe smiling. When the fifty pie tins were ready for the oven a half hour early, she felt like dancing a jig.
“You never told me what news you had for me.” Phoebe washed her hands at the sink.
“Well, I don’t know how much you remember of the day you got here, but Doc took some blood to run tests on. Wipe that scared look off your face. I thought you would want to know you’re clean of any diseases and not pregnant.”
Phoebe tried not to show her surprise that they had gone to the trouble. To her chagrin the idea to get tested had never occurred to her. “That is good news.”
“Means you get to start fresh. Nothing hanging over your head.”
“As long as you don’t count a psycho mobster or a murdering slaver wanting me back, sure let’s call it fresh,” Phoebe muttered under her breath.
“Honey, that ain’t nothin’ but mud on a new truck. You let your man wash that clean.”
Embarrassed and not wanting to look at Val, Phoebe straightened up the counter. “If he even wants to.”
“Now what does that mean? Is Sharp not treating you right?”
Phoebe started to answer, but she caught Kickstand out of the corner of her eye in his protective seat at the kitchen door, pretending to be looking at his phone. “Nothing. Everything is all right.”
Val tightened her lips in disapproval. “Kickstand, you take yourself out the door and stop listening to women’s talk.”
“I’m supposed to watch over Pixie.”
“And you can do that just fine from the other side of the door, or you will find out what it’s like to be called Shorty.” Val held up a meat cleaver to emphasize her point.
Kickstand blanched a bit but took himself out the door.
“Shorty?” Phoebe laughed.
“Well, if I chop off a few inches they won’t have reason to call him Kickstand anymore.”
Phoebe blushed, realizing that the prospect’s nickname had nothing to do with motorcycles. Val pulled her over to the chairs on the other side of the room.
“Now what’s going on, precious?”
“It’s nothing. I’m being silly.”
“Don’t you lie to me, sister, or you will find out why they call me Valkyrie.” Her friend made what was probably supposed to be a scary face but instead made Phoebe smile.
The new information surprised her out of her sulk. “I thought your name was Valerie.”
“No, sweetheart, it’s Sue-Anne. But after I reduced some of the Club whores to shivering little messes with nothin’ but words, the name Valkyrie stuck.”
“I’m still not seeing the name.”
Val took on a superior tone that was ridiculous with her southern accent. “I choose what women live and die in this Club based on standards I learned at my momma’s knee. I don’t let no one hurt one of Dozer’s Brothers, and they are too soft on those bitches.”
“I guess I can see that.”
“Enough stallin’. Now, what did the idiot do?”
Phoebe shook her head. “He isn’t an idiot. I had a bit of an episode when he grabbed my wrists.”
“And?”
“And now he’s treating me like spun glass.”
“That’s a bad thing?” Val raised an eyebrow.
“I am not fragile!” Phoebe was shocked by how angry her words came out.
“No one who survived what you did is weak. But, honey, you might have a few delicate places, and maybe he’s just trying to make sure not to hit any of those spots.”
“I don’t want him to pity me.” Her tone was petulant even to her own ears. “How could a man like him be happy if he has to hold himself back all the time?”
“You let him worry about what he needs. If he pampers and treats you sweet, that doesn’t mean he isn’t happy.”
She understood what Val was trying to say, but her emotions and needs were all a mess. She tried to find the right words to explain what she needed and, of course, her mouth moved before she could stop it. “But I like it rough!” Her hands flew up to her face as if trying to pull the words back in. “I’m sorry, Val, forget I said anything.”
Phoebe was afraid she was going to burst into tears as Val’s wise eyes roamed over her. How could she have blurted it out like that? Now she was going to lose a friend and a lover to the sick desires of her body.
“Now that is another color of catfish. Why do you look so ashamed? Nothing wrong with liking what you like. Not all ice cream is vanilla.”
“You don’t think that’s sick? Mitchel used to torment me with my body’s reactions to pain. I’ve always been this way. Sweet is nice, but it doesn’t do it for me. My body feeds off the pain and turns it to pleasure. Even when I don’t want it to.”
“Oh, darlin’.” Val wrapped her arms around Phoebe, holding her tight as her body shook with sobs. “I am so sorry that evil SOB twisted your mind up so bad. There is nothing wrong with you as long as you find someone who can meet those needs without it crossing into abuse.”
“You don’t think I’m a freak?”
“Girl, if you knew the sexual kinks the boys around here have, your pretty cheeks would explode. Hell, I love it when Dozer ties me up. Does that make me a freak?”
“No.”
“Well then, believe me when I say not only are you not a freak but I think you have the right man. Though be careful if you meet Hannibal. His kink is needle play, and Lord knows I don’t want those boys fighting over you.”
“You think Sharp will understand?” Phoebe had trouble believing Val no matter how much she wanted to.
“Yes. But you need to be honest with him.”
Chapter 13
No one wins in a deal with the Devil except the Devil himself.
Sharp’s anger was like a boiling force under his skin as he walked into the Clubhouse. The Dark Sons had all of the local PD on their payroll, but that little fucker had called his tip into not only the local, but also the state police and added the FBI to really spice up the day. Luckily, the locals had given them the heads up and looked the other way while Clean drove away with the few unregistered guns that were peppered throughout the building.
Whatever Clean had done it fooled the dogs and when the cops used their luminol and lights nothing looked out of the ordinary. He was sure either the Staties or feds would be back with warrants for God knew what, if Hawk didn’t pull some significant strings.
Max nodded at him from the bar gesturing to the back hall. “He’s waiting for you in his office.”
“Pixie know what went down?” The last thing he wanted was her worrying about whether she was safe or trying to leave so she wasn’t putting them in danger. Caravaggio made his shit list for attempting to shoot him and his Brothers, but the stunt with the anonymous tips was a declaration of war in Sharp’s book.
“No. Her and Val have been cooking up what smells like ambrosia for the last two hours. They say it will be served in twenty minutes, so you and Hawk better talk quick, or there will be nothing left.”
Sharp wished he could borrow some of Max’s calm. The Road Captain never let anything under his skin. Hell, the man rode in some of the wildest motocross races in the country on bikes he designed and never showed the slightest fear. It was how he got his Mad Max nickname, but since he never seemed to get mad, they just called him Max.
Hawk’s office was large but filled up with years of Dark Sons paraphernalia. On the wall, behind the desk, hung the Dark Sons flag surrounded by pictures from rallies going back decades. The shelves held mementos from different charity rides they had done as well as the Crest of every branch of the military that a Dark Son had served in.
Hawk sat back in his chair drinking a large glass of Jack. He pushed a matching glass over to Sharp. The VP sat down, taking a large swallow, letting the burn of alcohol cover the taste of bile caused by his anger.
Hawk studied the liquid in his glass. “I just had a very long conversation with Marco.”
> Marco Minetti was the head of the Minetti family and uncle to the sick piece of work that was Anthony Caravaggio. Like the majority of Mafia families, the Minettis were brutal businessmen who were often unreasonably loyal to their families. Sharp hoped they would see the need to prune this particular branch. “What did he have to say?”
“He wants us to let it go.”
“I’m not some Disney princess. That spectacular example of why cousins shouldn’t marry didn’t only try to kill me, he called the fucking FBI.”
“Marco says he’s going to take care of the federal and state cops. He’s offering the Club a major marker from the family if we don’t retaliate further. He’s also offering you and me personal markers as well. I don’t have to tell you how valuable that could be.”
Sharp hated that even in the MC world compromises were still necessary. Caravaggio was a danger to Phoebe as long as he was still breathing. But going to war was never something to be done lightly. “Is he going to make sure his nephew doesn’t pull shit like this ever again? I don’t like the idea of my woman having to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life.”
“You gonna make her your Old Lady?” Hawk’s words were more of a statement than a question.
Sharp hadn’t thought that deep or rationally since he met his little Pixie but as the question sunk in, the surer he was. “Yeah. When she’s ready.”
“Don’t know what ready has to do with it. Put your patch on her back; make her family. These conversations get a lot easier if she’s family.”
“Marco won’t guarantee his nephew is going to back off?”
“He said he’s going to inform him the woman and Dark Sons territory is off limits.” Hawk took a deep drink of his whiskey.
“You think it will work?”
“No, and I don’t think Marco does either. If his nephew steps out of line again, he promised not to look too hard at anything that happened to him. But we had better have rock solid proof before taking action. The Minettis can’t be seen as weak, but in his words the mountains are wild, and he understands accidents sometimes happen.”
“If we can prove Caravaggio made another move against us, he will look the other way as long as we keep it quiet. But until then we have to sit on our dicks for an IOU?” Sharp wanted to punch something. It had been years since anyone had made him suck up even a small insult.
“Or we can go to war with a family that has hundreds of foot soldiers and the money to hire the best mercenaries in the world.”
Hawk made a valid point, though it stuck in Sharp’s throat like a fishbone. He couldn’t say he was okay with it, so he nodded.
“I’ll keep the prospects watching out for her. National has our back if we need it.”
That was the single good thing Sharp had heard all day.
“National’s Officers are conferencing in tonight, so cancel any plans you might have had. I want plans to cover us if either Caravaggio or Mitchel Thomas decides to try and hit us.”
His plans for the night included getting to know his woman’s sweet body but her safety had to come first, and he had the rest of his life to learn every one of her curves.
Chapter 14
I give you shit because I care.
Phoebe could feel her palms getting clammy. Val had dragged her out to eat with everyone before Sharp was there. She liked Val’s husband, or old man, or whatever the term was. Dozer reminded her of a muscular Santa Claus with his big bushy beard, but he didn’t make her feel safe. All the men and the few women who had shown up to eat were friendly but being without Sharp in this crowd made her feel like bugs were crawling on her skin.
She needed to get a better grip. Sharp and his protective aura couldn’t always be there, and she knew, at least intellectually, not every man wanted to hurt her. She wished she could convince her heart.
Strong arms closed around her, and she screamed. Every head turned her way, and not a small number of guns were drawn. It took a minute for her racing heart to register Sharp’s low voice murmuring in her ear.
“It’s me, baby. I’m sorry I startled you. Everything’s okay.”
Her body eased against him. Adrenaline faded as her embarrassment grew until a flush covered her whole body. Everyone relaxed, and male chuckles filled the silence.
“Sorry, everyone,” she stuttered, wishing she could vanish into the big body behind her.
Max lifted a beer in her direction, his smile contagious. “It’s okay, little Pixie. Nothing finishes an amazing meal like a little harmless excitement.”
Sharp straddled the picnic bench between her and Val. He tilted her face up and claimed her lips in a scorching kiss that let her feel how much he wanted her. He was here and Phoebe’s whole body sunk into his embrace, heating up for all new reasons.
“I missed you and those sweet lips, darlin’.”
“I missed you, too. I saved you a plate.” She pushed over a plate piled high with chicken potpie and cornbread.
“You’re lucky she did. These boys descended like the eighth plague on Egypt.” Val gave the pair a wink.
“Well then, I’d better eat fast.”
Pride surged inside Phoebe as she watched Sharp eat. His expressions were usually hard to read, his eyes the only clue to his emotions. But when he took his first bite, his whole face softened. He let out a groan that sounded more like it belonged in the bedroom.
Val laughed. “Like coming home to a warm fire on a cold night. Wherever did you learn to cook like this, Pixie?”
“Ms. Cramer. She was a bitter old nag who took in foster kids because it was her ‘godly duty to help sweep up the dregs’.”
“That doesn’t sound very Christian.” The southern woman rolled her eyes.
“Oh, those are her own words. She wasn’t the worst foster parent I had, but there was no love. When she found out I had a photographic memory she had me memorize the bible and every recipe she knew because ‘all a woman needs is to love God and cooking’.” Thinking of her past triggered other memories and she shivered as memories of cruelty and pain quickly started swamping her thoughts.
Val snorted. “Sounds like a gem.”
With a laugh, Phoebe shook her head, clearing out the past. “Worked against her though when I started quoting scripture back at her.”
Sharp looked at her with surprise. “You have a photographic memory? That’s amazing.”
Phoebe flushed and tried to wave off the compliment. “It’s not as useful as you would think. When you know something, it’s there right at your fingertips all the time. For me, it’s like I have snapshots of everything tucked in my brain. If you ask me a question about, say, history, I can flip through my stored pictures of textbooks and probably find your answer. But that takes time and a lot of headaches.”
“Still impressive.” Sharp used his cornbread to clean up the last of his gravy.
“Even if it means I know that in the first hundred names in your phone contacts only fifteen of them are male?”
Sharp’s jaw dropped, and Dozer burst out in a belly laugh.
“I mean thirty-three women in the A’s and C’s alone. But only two B’s I wonder...”
Sharp grabbed her chin and dropped a scorching kiss onto her lips. Her thoughts shattered and she hummed happily. He pulled back and tapped her nose. “Cheeky. I like it.”
Everyone was slowly breaking up, a few carrying the pie tins back to the kitchen. Phoebe couldn’t wait to get Sharp alone. Val’s earlier words echoed in her head and maybe she might be able to tell Sharp at least some of what she wanted. Maybe if she could get him to let go as he had before her freak out last night, it would be enough. Every woman had fantasies that never got fulfilled. It was a matter of managing expectations.
“We’re taking off. Do you need help cleaning up?”
Phoebe bit back on a laugh at the look of aggravation on Dozer’s face at his wife’s words. He apparently had plans for his woman that didn’t include dishes.
“No, we got most of
the mess earlier. I just need to drop the pans in the dishwasher.”
“Call me tomorrow.” Val’s voice was a giggle as Dozer hauled her away toward his bike. Phoebe leaned up against Sharp’s warmth, enjoying the peace his presence filled her with. Her emotions had been on a roller coaster all day and knowing he chose to be next to her soothed some of her concerns he would avoid her because of all her drama.
He helped her gather up the pans and bring them inside. She was leaning over, loading the dishwasher, when warm hands ran up her thighs under her skirt.
“Have I told you how sexy you are in these pretty little dresses?”
Her body warmed to his light contact and her nipples tightened. They were alone in the kitchen. The idea that anyone could walk in at any moment had her pussy dampening. She pressed back with her hips as she placed the last pans in the dishwasher.
“No, but I’m glad you like them.” She rubbed against him, swaying her hips, loving the feel of his hardening dick against her ass. His hands slid up from her hips, tracing along the undersides of her breasts.
“I think my little Pixie is feeling horny.” His thumbs brushed over the front of her breasts, catching for a second on her hardened nipples.
She dropped her head back on his chest, arching into his touch. “Yes.”
“Are you wet for me? I bet you are. I can almost feel your tight pussy wrapping around my cock, sucking it in like a hungry little mouth.” His hands closed around her swollen breasts, sending shivers racing down her spine. People were talking right on the other side of the door. The idea of them knowing what they would be doing caused her thighs to tighten and her core to pulse in excitement.
“Fuck, I can smell your hot little pussy getting ready for me.”
Before Phoebe could figure out what was happening, she was upside down over Sharp’s shoulder and on her way into the pantry. His hands were up her skirt, resting against her ass, holding her in place. Her excitement was soaking through her panties and starting down her thigh.
Nothing was more empowering than knowing you affected the man you loved so much they gave in to their caveman urges. Loved? She had only known him for a few days, but this strong protective man had become the center of her thoughts. Could this intense attraction be more or was she deluding herself?
