JUSTICE (YOUNG OUTLAWS MC Book 2)

by T L Wainwright

  Shit, I need to get back to the cabin.

  “What the hell is he thinking?” Dana cries as she paces behind the kitchen counter. “Why would he say such lies?”

  When I got here a few minutes ago, Dana was in the kitchen cutting up chicken with a meat cleaver in her hand, which she was now brandishing around like a crazed axe man. Maybe I should have waited until she’d finished preparing the food that was laid out in front of her.

  “You don’t know that it was him, it could be just the press that’s behind this.”

  “Oh no. This has my dad’s name all over it. You wouldn’t believe some of the dirty tricks he’s played in his quest to become mayor.”

  “Well it worked. You are now not just anyone’s missing daughter; you are now Mayor Donovan’s missing daughter.”

  “This is bullshit, total and utter bullshit.” The anger and frustration are clouding her judgement and the way she’s swinging the blade about is making me anxious.

  Dana is totally oblivious to me as I walk cautiously behind her and manage to capture her wrist, halting the movement in full swing. Turning her body towards me, she looks up at me, fury, hurt and fear are all clearly present in her eyes.

  “I would never hurt Maria, you do believe me, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. But we don’t want any blood shed here either now, do we?” I add as I go to take the cleaver from her. Her shoulders slump as she exhales deeply, before handing it over without much reluctance. Her eyebrows pinch together in contemplation.

  “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” I ask when I see the expression on her face.

  “It doesn’t make sense. The fact that I’m missing should be more than enough for him to get everyone’s attention. He pays a lot of money for a team of people who know exactly how to manipulate the press, making sure that he has this image of Mr. Perfect. They will stop at nothing and will use every means possible to make sure that he is victorious. So, why would he feel the need to lie, and add violence to the situation?”

  “You think he’s up to something?”

  “I don’t think, I know. He can be a ruthless son of a bitch if it’s something he’s determined to get. How do you think he managed to get that huge house that we live in? He’s the head of the Orange County Planning department. You don’t need to be a genius to put two and two together and come up with the correct answer.”

  “The club has always thought that his dealings were a little suspect, even used it to our advantage in the past, but it was all hearsay, never had any real proof that he was corrupt.”

  “The club has had dealings with my father before?”

  “Yeah, a couple of years back now. We own a stretch of land out Tampa way and they were wanting it to build a new housing development. Our powers of persuasion to look elsewhere for their venture did get a little underhand and messy.”

  “You mean you blackmailed them. What was it that you had on my dad?” Before I even get the chance to tell her that I’m not willing to divulge that information, she holds up her hand, stopping me. “No, don’t tell me, I don’t think I want to know.”

  She comes around to the front of the couch and flops onto it. As she sits, I get up and go to stand in front of the wood burner, putting some much-needed space between us.

  “That must be it then.”

  “What?”

  “He knows exactly who I’m with. He’s after the Young Outlaws.”

  “But the club had nothing to do with this.”

  “No, but you do, and you just happen to be the President’s son.”

  “But my father wouldn’t give a fuck if they have me hanging on a cross in Disney World. Money is the only thing my father is interested in, not his fucking sons.” Its now my turn to do the pacing.

  “Maybe not, but it will, at the very least, shake the foundation of the club. It’s enough for him to gain some control over you.”

  “But he couldn’t have known that you were going to leave that day, or that it would be me that you’d reach out to for help.”

  Coming to a sudden stop, I turn and face her. My height and stature towering over her. “Unless that was the plan all along?”

  “You honestly think I’m behind this?” She jumps up, pushing up on her toes as far as she can, trying to get all in my face. She doesn’t do a bad job of it considering I’m a good foot and then some taller than her. “You saw the bruises, are you trying to say that I did that to myself? That all the shit I’ve gone through over the years was one big grand scheme to help my asshole of a father get back at your precious club?” Her whole body is shaking, not with fear, but with pure unadulterated anger. “Give me a break dickface, I might seem like a spoilt little daddy’s girl, but I sure as hell ain’t his fucking puppet.”

  As she rushes to turn away, I grab her wrist, bringing her back around to face me.

  “Dana, I… I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

  “But you did, which only means one thing. You don’t trust me.”

  “I do trust you. Otherwise, why would you tell me all this shit. Look, this is all a bit of a mind fuck, I’m sorry, okay?”

  “My father is manipulating us both Mammoth, and I’m the one that’s given him the opportunity to do it.” Her head drops forward, her shoulders slump in defeat. With the tips of my fingers I tilt her chin up towards me, forcing her to look me in the eye. Tears fall from her thick lashes and make a path down her cheek.

  “Don’t cry. It’s not your fault. We’ll work something out.”

  “There’s nothing to work out,” she sighs, her green eyes steeped with sadness. “I need to go back.”

  “Like fuck you do.”

  Chapter 14

  Mammoth

  We argue back and forth, but my determination wins through.

  “If your suspicions are right, and my gut is telling me that you are, your father is gunning for the Young Outlaws, and you going back will only delay the inevitable. He’ll find some other fucked up way to bring the club down. So, my priority for now, is keeping you safe. You get me?”

  “You’re right, of course you’re right, but I’m so sorry that I got you dragged into all this mess. If I’d have known what he was up to, I would never have called you.”

  “Despite everything, I’m glad that you did and that you trust me enough to have reached out to me.”

  “What do we do now? Maybe you should tell Cannon so at least the club members can watch their backs.”

  “Not yet, let me dig a little deeper first, see if I can find out exactly what your father is planning and who he has in his pocket. Once I have something concrete, I’ll bring it to the club’s attention.”

  “Okay, that makes sense. I could be reading the signs all wrong, watched too many crime series. My dad might be a bit of a risk taker but messing with an MC club is a dick move.”

  “Hey, don’t believe everything you read in the press or see on the TV. There’s a lot worse out there than the Young Outlaws.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know. The only Outlaw I know is you, and yeah, you’re not so bad.”

  “Not so bad?” I laugh out loud, and she laughs too. Its good, because it seems to put a crack right down the middle of the shroud of doom that’s been hanging over us for the past hour, lightening the atmosphere between us.

  “You hungry?” she asks me, as she makes her way over to the kitchen and her discarded preparations. There’s already a whole colorful array of partially chopped and diced food in bowls, laid out beside the chicken she was cutting earlier. A large bowl with some kind of dough mix, is also on the countertop.

  “Starving.” My mouth waters at the thought of home cooked food. “But I need to grab a shower first.”

  “Perfect. It will be ready in around thirty to forty minutes, so you’ve got plenty of time. I’m making chicken enchiladas; I hope that’s okay?”

  Mexican wouldn’t be my food of choice, especially after the war that’s raging between my b
rother and father over the El Perros deal. But hell, this is the first time she’s cooked anything other than pre-prepared food that you throw into the oven, and I ain’t had anyone cook for me like this since mom passed.

  “Sounds awesome.” Now I sound like a fucking seventeen-year-old. “I’ll go get cleaned up then.” I manage to mutter before taking myself off to the bathroom.

  Despite my reservations, the food is outstanding, and I inhale every morsel she puts in front of me, including a large portion of nachos with salsa and melted cheese. Even the crisp, fresh side salad with chilli dressing, tastes like it’s come straight out of some high-end restaurant. Not that I’d know, but it’s what I’d imagine it to be like.

  I insist on clearing away, and washing the dishes, while she relaxes on the couch with her third beer, not that I’m counting.

  I finish off wiping down the counter, grab myself a fresh cold one from the refrigerator and go join her.

  “Thank you for dinner. That was fucking amazing.” I relax into the vacant spot beside her. “Was that a one off, or are you in fact a secret kitchen goddess and culinary master?”

  “I wouldn’t say master, but I quite like the goddess tag,” she sniggers, as she peels the label from the side of the beer bottle. “I spent a lot of time in the house, thanks to my father’s restrictions. When I started moping around because I was so bored, getting under Maria’s feet, she put me to work. I started helping her in the kitchen. At the beginning I complained like a spoilt kindergarten brat when asked to share toys, but then I actually started to enjoy it. She’s an amazing cook herself, and a great teacher. I find it kinda therapeutic.”

  “Well, well. Ain’t you full of surprises. Dana Donovan, rebel chick and sassy ass, is just a closet homemaker. You’ll be married with two point four children before you’ve hit legal drinking age.”

  “Oh, no,” she hits back at me. “I’m as far removed from that as you are from being a…” she hesitates, while she thinks. “A salsa dancer.”

  “I might be a big motherfucker, but I can strut my stuff on the dance floor just like anyone else. If I want to, that is.”

  “The fact that you used the word ‘strut’ confirms that you are full of bullshit,” she laughs out loud.

  “No bullshit, only truth.”

  She sets the half empty beer bottle that she’s holding down on the floor and jumps to her feet.

  “Prove it,” she challenges me, holding out her hand for me to take.

  “Nice offer, but you’ll have to take my word for it, because I ain’t dancing.”

  “Chicken!”

  “What did you call me?”

  “Chicken! A full of bullshit, talks out of his ass, chicken.”

  She’s standing right in front of me, hands resting on her hips, a sneer on her face. It’s kinda cute and endearing, but a sneer none the less, as she mocks me. I scowl at her.

  “Come on, Beast,” she demands, “show me what you got.”

  I get up and there’s barely an inch of distance between us. Heat bounces amidst the small gap, but when I take her hand in mine, holding her hip with the other, I pull her into me so that her tits are flush against my lower chest, the bouncing stops and our bodies become infused with an all-consuming fire. A fire that is threatening to burn me alive. I don’t even know why I make the move, because with Salsa most of the time, only your hands touch.

  Removing my hand from her hip, I take her other hand and take a step back, putting the required space between us. With my feet together, I take one step forward with my left foot, I then shift my weight to the right. A step back on the left, pause, then step back with the right. I continue to move, and she follows me perfectly. Our hips swing along to the imaginary beat in our head, the sound of the TV in the background no longer of interest.

  Little does she know that my mom loved to dance and as a child, although I gave the outer appearance of an unwilling dance partner, it was a small price to pay to have the one on one, uninterrupted time with her. I’d grown to love those moments, until Pops walked in on us one day and put a stop to it.

  ‘No son of mine is going prance about like a fucking girl.’

  When I raise my left arm, she passes under it, her feet move effortlessly in time with my own. Each step she takes in perfect motion. It’s then that I realise that she’s not unfamiliar with Salsa dance steps.

  We dance for a while, laughing and adding our own quirky movements that would horrify any serious Salsa instructor. When I twirl her around a handful of times extremely fast, she loses her balance and falls heavily against my chest. My arms instinctively go around her, anchoring her against me. The laughter between us comes to a sudden halt at our unexpected proximity, our eyes instantly seeking out the others. We’re left panting, both of us try desperately to catch our breath. But the electric energy that’s mounted between us makes it difficult, and it’s undeniably obvious that it’s not only from the excursion of the dance.

  I remove my hands from her body like she’s on fire. I step back, instantly breaking the connection.

  I need to do this because the urge to put my mouth to hers hits me hard, and I know from our previous indiscretion that one kiss is all it would take for me to lose control. And this time, I don’t think I could ever stop.

  “I need to take a piss,” I growl out, once again escaping to the bathroom to get a grip of my shit.

  If I had a gun in the bathroom, I think I’d shoot myself. Come to think of it, I do, behind the bath panel, but that’s irrelevant.

  Why do I let myself get into these situations with her? Maybe she is a pixie with some magical, mind controlling superpowers. I berate myself a little more, then mentally slap myself halfway into reality with reasoning and truths.

  The truth being that she’s a temptation that I need to, no I must, resist.

  When I eventually leave the bathroom feeling somewhat of a pussy for letting this young, teen girl, get to me, I find her sat on the floor in front of the TV with a bottle of tequila. She must have been knocking it back pretty hard, because a good quarter of the bottle is already gone.

  She’s watching a chick film about a ticket kiosk worker, who’s pretending to be the fiancé of the guy she saved from being hit by a train. The only reason I know the story line is because I’ve watched it with her before.

  It’s one of her favorites.

  How the fuck do I know this already?

  “That’s it, kiss her. It’s you she should be with, not your brother,” she slurs at the screen then claps her hands together when they do in fact kiss. The tequila bottle is still in her hand and I’m amazed that it’s not either fallen to the floor or hasn’t spilled all over the rug beneath her. I can’t help but laugh. Even in her drunken stupor she’s adorable as fuck.

  Damn it!

  “What you laughing at?” she shouts over without turning to look at me. “Chicken!”

  I move to where she is and look down at her. Crouching to meet her, I reach out for the bottle, but she pulls it back, hugging it between her breasts.

  “This is mine, but if it will give you some balls and stop you from being a chicken shit, then I might let you have some,” she mumbles.

  “I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?” I place my big hand around the square bottle and prise it out of her hold. “It’s getting late and I think you need to sleep it off.

  “Now you want to get me into bed. Well you missed your chance motherfucker. Besides, I’m watching this.” She points towards the screen, but the credits have started to roll up. “Oh!”

  “Come on, Pixie.” When I try and get her to stand, her legs don’t seem to want to work, so I scoop her up and carry her toward the bedroom. Laying her down on the bed, I start to retreat, only to stop when she starts to mumble.

  “Why do you call me Pixie?” She looks at me with only one eye open and starts to wriggle around, trying to take off her clothing while still laid on her back.

  “The green hair. It reminds me of Tink
erbell’s green dress.”

  “She’s a fairy, not a pixie.”

  God knows how, but she’s managed to get down to her bra and panties.

  “Same thing, they both have wings.” I go to grab her wrists to try and stop her from removing her bra, but she bats my hands away and carries on regardless.

  “Is it fuck,” she slurs as she unhooks her bra with ease. “Fairies are miniature humans, where pixies are tiny and mischievous.”

  “I rest my case,” I choke back at her, my words getting stuck in my throat at the sight of the firm roundness of her tits and perfectly peeked nipples. I turn away, my intention on making a quick exit. “Go to sleep.”

  “I can’t. I don’t feel too good.”

  “Fucking A,” I growl under my breath, knowing that the last thing you should do is leave someone in this state alone. If she pukes, she could choke to death.

  “You’ll be fine,” I say as I go back to her and crawl onto the bed beside her. “Close your eyes, I’ll stay here with you.”

  She lets out a big sigh and within a matter of minutes her breathing evens out and she’s asleep.

  I glance over to the clock. Although it feels late, it’s only eight forty-five, so I resign myself into having an evening of staring at the ceiling, not wanting to risk leaving her alone.

  Chapter 15

  Mammoth

  Unless I’ve been laid awkwardly and given myself a dead arm in the process, the hand that’s wrapped around my cock, waking me up from a hot as fuck dream, is definitely not mine.

  “Dana, what the fuck are you doing?” I put my hand over hers but do nothing to stop her from sliding it up and down my hard shaft.

  “Repaying a debt. I owe you an orgasm,” she whispers in a sultry voice.

  “You don’t owe me anything.” The words come out of my mouth, but my body is telling a different story. “Dana, we shouldn’t…” As she moves on top of me, her body covering mine, her lips fall to mine and any thoughts I had of stopping this, get blown away. “Fuck,” I growl into her mouth.