Honor and Redemption

by A. C. Bextor

  This morning, Pop, in his constant irritation with my mother, took to drinking early. When he started in with shots of tequila in order to drown out his wife’s incessant nagging, the other brothers didn’t hesitate to join in. What was going to be a small gathering to see them off to the next phase of their lives, escalated out of control in record time, as most parties here do.

  I happened upon the small group of brothers when I came inside from prepping my bike for storage.

  Most of them, including Elevent and a few others, were passing around the bottle, taking shots directly from its open spout. Peer pressure ultimately ensued; each man trying my patience and testing my resolve to stay sober for my flight out tomorrow morning.

  There I was, in the center of my family and friends, being slapped on my back, toasted to and congratulated on receiving my first orders overseas. This time as an official US Army medic.

  And now here we are.

  Staring down from above, Cricket’s long blonde hair hangs down, caressing my cheeks and blocking the view around us. With her lips inching toward mine, I taste the alcohol she must’ve stolen away when no one was watching.

  Fuck, but I love her defiance.

  I love her.

  She must know that. The care I’ve always had for her was born from what should have always been a brother, at the very least a decent man who saved her from a life of sexual servitude.

  I’m amused with her crazy insistence and annoying tenacity. I’m captive to her vibrant smile, her sweet hugs, and her unwavering willingness to wear her heart on her sleeve. With each visit home, it’s been made more and more clear that for years, I’ve been falling in love with a girl who is now a woman. A woman I can never let myself have.

  Not only for the most obvious reasons, those being that Mom would be livid if I took Cricket on, making her an old lady, or Pop killing me himself for taking his sweet girl from his side.

  But those aren’t my reasons for denying this. I can’t keep Cricket, solely because our lives don’t follow the same path. They never will.

  Her life is here, with the members of this club. She knows nothing more, and Cricket’s not worldly as so many here are. She’s not experienced with a life outside of this one. She couldn’t survive without all the brothers constantly at her back.

  I’m not this way. All my life I’ve wanted out. And for the most part, I’ve dodged staying in a place I don’t consider home. Some men were born for this life, and some thrive to become leaders inside of it. Not me. Not ever.

  I want much more.

  My bond is with another brotherhood—my brothers at arms. Representing something bigger and greater than ourselves. Something I know deep within that I’d sacrifice everything for. A stability found in those united to serve this country.

  Luckily for me, I have that. My life’s plan is set in motion. This doesn’t mean I haven’t sacrificed to get it. Saint’s brothers are pissed I’ve chosen a military career over them. My parents have voiced their objections many times, citing I’ve made a dangerous choice.

  But I know myself. I know what I want, or so I thought I did. Until I walked into my room and caught a glimpse of what my future could be.

  Fuck, I’m confused.

  Cricket drops her head, leaving her bra-covered chest flush against mine. The thin scrap of lace covering her warm and welcome body sends another wave of pleasure, of carnal need, to my core. My fingers dig deeply into her waist, and a subtle growl reverberates from my chest.

  In an effort to bait me further, Cricket rolls her hips aggressively over my aching cock. The heat from her center penetrates through my worn-out jeans, and my body pulses with violence when she licks her bottom lip as her big, beautiful eyes gaze into mine.

  I’d forgotten how goddamn blue her eyes have always been. And I sure as fuck never noticed my reflection in them. As if to her, there’s nothing I couldn’t do.

  What is Cricket doing to me? What am I letting her do to me?

  Kissing the side of my mouth, Cricket uses her tongue to tease once, twice… then again. She rolls her hips as she promises, “If it’s not you, it’ll be someone else.”

  The mood of the room shifts, and I tighten my grip on her waist. Her insinuation that any other man would take this from her incites rage.

  No one else will fucking touch her. Ever. Not Elevent. Not Advay. Not Leglas. None of the other brothers would give her what she’s asking and do it with any kind of safe keeping.

  Cricket shrieks with surprise when I grab a handful of her long blonde hair, rolling us to sit up. Her small frame rocks as I tilt her head to the side, positioning us face-to-face.

  “Say that again,” I threaten, tugging her strands and ignoring the flash of pain across her face. “Tell me you’re ready to get fucked the first time you spread your legs.”

  Her mouth opens and she falters, unable to speak. Her hands brace against my shoulders, digging her fingernails into my flesh.

  “You want that?” I hiss, dropping my mouth to her neck and taking in a deep breath.

  Flowers. How does she manage to smell like fresh fucking flowers?

  “I want this with you,” she goads, running her fingers through my hair.

  Pulling back, I level my gaze with hers and give her the honest truth. “That’s what these men do, Cricket. They don’t make love. They don’t have sex. They fuck. As soon as they’re finished fuckin’ you, eatin’ you, forcing you to suck their cock while they hold your head to take ’em deeper, there will be nothing left of you.”

  Growing up at Saint’s, Cricket knows better than anyone that my mark is true. Other than a few who have lives outside of this one, none of the men would keep her as she needs to be kept. None of them would look after her, making her any kind of priority. Most of those who live here are young, with little life experience behind them. Sex, booze, parties, and pussy are all that takes precedence in their young, grossly distorted minds.

  As this revelation hits home, the recognition reeks of uncertainty. But there’s also lust. Pure. Unadulterated. Focused.

  Lust.

  “Gypsy,” she whispers. “I—”

  I should let up, ease her tension and worry. Maybe try to find a way to talk her out of this.

  I should do a lot of things except what I’m about to do.

  With Cricket weighing all but nothing, I lift her from my waist and position her beneath me. Her legs spread in invitation, giving me room to settle in between her thighs.

  I sit back on my heels and look down as she brings her knees up. Tears of worry pool in her eyes, and she bites her bottom lip. Her cheeks flush as she looks around the room.

  The waging war in my head comes to pass, only briefly. The man in me wants this.

  With my decision made, I wrap my hands around her waist, my thumbs tugging on the top hem of her panties. I pull them down her tanned and toned legs, then toss them aside.

  Cricket gasps, holding her arms over her body in an effort to hide.

  “No,” I deny. “Let me see you.”

  She clears her throat and arches her neck toward the ceiling, but drops her arms to rest at her sides.

  Taking her in, my eyes traverse all the parts of her I’ve never seen.

  So goddamn sweet. So incredibly innocent. And so fucking beautiful.

  My cock throbs with impatience, aching to take her fast and hard.

  “Take it off,” I order, nodding to the lace keeping her chest hidden.

  As a rule, I don’t fuck at random. A few one-night stands to stave the appetite, sure. But not a whore, and never at home.

  This connection with Cricket will be as much of a first for me, as a man inside her will be for her.

  Her hands tremble as she arches her back from the bed. She drags the straps down her arms and tosses the thin material to the floor.

  Her chest is heavy, moving up and down with each breath. Her nipples are hard, peaked with passion, and desperate with need. She holds her expression guarded. Timid, sh
y, and focusing anywhere but at me.

  Fuck.

  “Christ, Cricket.” She looks at me with uncertainty. “Fuck.”

  The smell of her sex tempts me further. The head of my cock weeps with the need to slide inside her tight, wet walls. To connect us completely.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  Settling all my weight to my knees, I free myself from my jeans. No longer throbbing, my cock weeps with satisfaction, anxious to fill its ache inside her.

  Leaning in, I rest my arms on either side of her face. With my hands at her jaw, I angle her head toward mine. Cricket blinks, then sighs.

  “Tell me this is what you want.” My voice is quiet, but hoarse. She bites her bottom lip as her gaze travels my neck, mouth, then up.

  “Gypsy,” she murmurs, her tongue darting out to taste my lips.

  When I slip my hand between us, she takes in a quick breath.

  “This will change you,” I insist, running my first finger through her center. She’s slick with arousal. “What we’re doing, it’ll change you. It’ll change us.”

  Stopping at her entrance, I wait. She gasps, digging her nails into my shoulders and lifting her head from the pillow.

  “I know that,” she agrees, burying her head in my neck.

  I meant what I said. She’ll be different. She’ll look at men through a woman’s eyes, with an understanding of intimacy at its most carnal.

  And I’ll be gone, lost to the world I stupidly chose over her. I’ll wander alone, tormented as I’m left to wonder who she’s with, what she’s doing, and if whoever she chooses is giving her what she needs.

  The thought sickens me.

  “Look at me,” I demand, sliding my finger inside. Cricket’s mouth opens as she gasps for breath. I utter a string of curses as her small body stretches to accept another.

  “This is what I want,” she finally assures.

  Pushing, I order, “Tell me you understand this is all I have to give.”

  “I want it to be you,” she pleads, her tone desperate. “Tonight.”

  Her face flushes as I run my finger up and down her clit. Cricket opens her eyes, her body thrashing in near panic. Her body jolts harder, her hands pushing at my shoulders. She attempts to close her legs in her refusal to release.

  “Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” I warn, pinning her body with mine. “Take this, Cricket. Let go.”

  “It’s too much,” she cries out, throwing her head back.

  “Fuck yes it is,” I breathe, dropping my mouth to her neck and sucking the flesh hard.

  Cricket goes wild beneath me. Her fingernails break through the skin of my back, her hips thrusting with ferocity as she rides my hand with a fiery passion.

  My god, where the fuck have I been? I’ve never tasted or felt something so fucking beautiful.

  “Gypsy, please,” she pleads, wrapping one leg around my thigh, her heel digging into my lower back. The other foot plants into the bed, pushing her up until she’s plastered her entire body against mine.

  My eyes slam shut. With no more hesitation, I grab hold of my cock, sliding it through her slick center. Wet, wanting, and waiting, she tilts her hips higher to find purchase.

  My mind hesitates to accept what my heart hungers so fucking badly to take.

  Cricket whispers out a breathy “Now,” and I aim for home, sliding the tip inside.

  All my life, I’ve searched for this feeling. This elevated sense of belonging to something greater, bigger, more important than myself.

  Pulling my hips back, I take a breath and stare into her eyes. I search for doubt or any signs that she’s changed her mind.

  There’s nothing.

  Cricket brings her hands to my face. “I need this to be you,” she encourages with a soft smile.

  At her sweet tone and honest promise, my waning patience slips and I thrust fully into her. She mews against the intrusion, but settles. Holding myself still, I let her body pulse around me. As I pull out, her second gasp of being truly claimed by a man for the first time forces my eyes closed.

  Finally, this is it. I’m where I want to be.

  Cricket relaxes beneath me. Her thighs spread farther as she wraps both of her legs around my waist and holds on tight.

  “Christ, baby, you feel good,” I tell her.

  She moans, resting her lips against mine. When my mouth opens, Cricket moves in. Her kiss is fierce, bold, and unforgiving.

  Sensing her impending release, my body tightens and I thrust into her over and over. With punishing, powerful strokes, our bodies collide, igniting more with each grind of our hips.

  Panting, she pulls away and whispers, “I love you.”

  Then I’m gone.

  Using both hands, I grab the top edge of the mattress and release into her with one last, powerful thrust.

  I love you.

  My breathing is uneven as she milks all I have to give.

  I love you.

  Fuck. Shit. Damn it.

  I love you.

  I want to be here, wrapped around her, keeping her safe from the very world she lives in. I want to keep her grounded to me, ruining her for all others who’d try to take her away.

  But it’s too late.

  No matter what I want, here in this life with Cricket, is not a place I’ll ever be able to stay.

  Fuck, baby. I love you, too.

  Six months earlier…

  An hour ago, Sunny, Joz, Lane, and I set up an old metal card table in the common room. With the boys busy watching Sunday night football and having a party of their own, we decided that we would also take in a lazy casual Sunday evening together.

  With classic country blaring through the speakers, what started out as painting each other’s nails led to taking turns coloring one another’s hair. Eventually, we moved our way into homemade facials. During this, we sucked back enough pitchers of Bloody Marys to carry us into the night with an endless haze of uncontrollable giggles.

  When an uninvited visitor infiltrated our party, entering through the door from the kitchen, all the happy-go-lucky smiles died. Except mine, of course, because I’d been oblivious in my uproar of jokes, lost in a crackling snort of my own.

  Once I caught what had quieted the others, my laughter died a tumultuous death. I gasped for breath as I turned to find Leglas wearing his blue Dallas Cowboys jersey, along with an irritated expression. My body stilled and my mind drew blank as our eyes locked, and they did this heatedly.

  Sty, wearing the same type jersey, entered moments later, standing at Leglas’s back. He smiled at me, but not with the boyish grin he usually does. He appeared worried. Something was on his mind.

  When my gaze moved back to Leglas’s, I caught him studying my expression with a softness I couldn’t explain. Of course, being as he’s known me for years, I’ve seen this from him before, but never with such reverence. The air in the room grew thick with it.

  Sunny felt the tension first, I knew. She cleared her throat in an effort to catch my attention. Joz groused, probably dreading which mood Leglas could be in. Lane coughed up the sip she’d just taken from her glass, and as one hand grabbed the edge of the table, the other slapped hard against her chest.

  I ignored them all.

  If someone would’ve told me a year ago that Leglas and I would be where we are, I’d have assured them they were nuts. Leglas isn’t a man I’d pick for myself, let alone a brother I’d choose for any of the other women here.

  The truth is, like so many of us, Leglas lost something, someone who once meant a great deal to him.

  He’s never told me about her, shared with me her name, her age, or why it came to be he had to let her go. I’ve only seen the picture of her he keeps hidden in his dresser. I haven’t pushed, though. I’m hoping one day he’ll trust me enough to tell me on his own.

  “Girls,” Leglas growls his greeting, nodding to each of my friends in turn.

  His long, wavy, light brown hair is down, falling casually over his muscled should
ers and onto his muscled chest. His face hasn’t seen the sharp side of a razor in two weeks. I know this because that’s when he asked my opinion about him growing out his beard.

  I adamantly explained that women like me, women who love the rugged essence of a man, encourage theirs to consider a full beard. The many benefits as to why, I left out. But Leglas’s extreme intelligence took my intended meaning in record time.

  “Cricket,” Leglas calls. “Come here.”

  Sunny leans in to whisper in my ear. In her drunken state, she misses her target, landing her lips at my temple and giggles. “Someone doesn’t look happy.”

  Surveying Leglas’s broodiness from across the room, I smile. “Is he ever happy?”

  At my response, Leglas shakes his head and his nostrils flare.

  I’m no match for his intensity. I’m no match for any man in the club. Pop says the reason is because I don’t have the ‘grit’ the others do. He claims it never takes much to make me laugh, scream, or get my feelings hurt. He’s wished a thousand times over that I would remove my heart from my sleeve and give it to him for safekeeping.

  If that were possible, I’d have given it to him during Gypsy’s last visit when he, once again, completely ignored my existence, acting as if he hadn’t taken the gift I’d given him the one and only time we were together.

  Sunny doesn’t notice Leglas’s jaw ticking in annoyance. Instead, she continues her observation. “Sty isn’t happy either.”

  “Wonder what you bitches did to piss them off this time,” Lane, Elevent’s woman, queries, shifting in her seat and grabbing her drink from the table.

  “Sunny,” Sty calls. He holds his hand up and crooks his finger, beckoning her his way.

  Sty’s hot, but in an older-ish, professional-ish, biker kind of way. He’s clean cut, direct, and as loyal as any of the others. He’s also completely, over-the-top in love with my friend. In other words, his agitation, whatever it stems from, is meaningless. When it comes to Sunny, Sty is all bark and zero bite.

  “Sty’s pissed, but at least he’s hot,” Lane decrees, raising her straw to her mouth and taking a healthy pull. Once she’s finished, she shakes her head and curls her top lip. “Leglas hot, though? Not so much.”