by Kim Jones
“Got you something,” Luke says, pulling out of my hold. He hands me my cut, and I take a moment to run my fingers over the threads before I slide it around my shoulders.
Six hundred and two.
And just like that, I’m exactly who I want to be.
Which is exactly who I am.
A Devil’s Renegade.
I haven’t forgotten how to ride. My bitch still feels exactly the same between my legs. But a hundred and forty feels a helluva lot better than I remember.
There are no buzzers. No yelling. No sounds of metal bars closing or click of the locks when they shut. The only thing I hear is the wind that whistles around me—singing and reminding me I’m free.
There’s no odor. No stench of sweat. No scent of blood. No smell of piss, vomit or rat shit. The air is clean and pure with a hint of exhaust fumes and leather—fucking perfect.
I can see the sky without anything obstructing my view. I can feel the sun on my skin and if I want, I can chase it until it sets. I don’t have to watch my back because my brothers are watching it for me. And happiness isn’t the only thing I’m feeling. The code my club lives by is swimming through my veins and hitting me straight in the heart—love, loyalty and respect.
Being on the open road is liberating. So much so that I slow down just to enjoy it for as long as I can. Two hours isn’t long enough, but my bike is running on fumes. I’m forced to pull over as a Prospect fills my tank and I share the first cigarette in five years with my brothers. No sooner am I finished, than I’m straddled across the seat of Elvira again, and headed into the wind.
An hour and a half later, I lead the pack down the driveway I’d last seen from the back of a cop car. It feels like a lifetime ago, but not much has changed. The tall pines lining the road have grown. The asphalt has been re-sealed. Further down, I notice the front of the house has new landscaping and the clubhouse is covered in a fresh coat of paint.
I coast under the carport, cutting my engine. Around me several members from other chapters have arrived. Smiles are on everyone’s faces, laughter sings around me and kids I haven’t seen in years are barely recognizable. But there is one kid that is unmistakable.
He has his mother’s eyes and sandy blonde hair. Like him, I never knew his deadbeat father who’d knocked up his mom then left her, but judging by the kid’s height—he was a tall man. Walking up to me, he holds out his hand. “Welcome home, Marty.” I smile at the tenor in his voice. Puberty has been good to this kid. With a tone like that, he’ll get all the ladies.
Standing, I walk around my bike ignoring his outstretched hand and pull him into my arms. “I missed you, Logan.”
“I missed you too,” he mumbles into my chest.
Pulling back, I hold him at arm’s length. “How old are you now?”
“Thirteen.”
“Going on twenty.”
The voice comes from behind me—sounds proud. And so damn familiar I almost need to squeeze my eyes and take a breath before I turn. I don’t though, I turn as casually as I can to see Maddie beaming proudly at her son. She looks good. She’s put on some weight, and that weight falls in all the right places. I study her features for an inkling of something … Acceptance, maybe.
Forgiveness.
For a fucking clue of what went wrong between us. One second she loved me, then she just didn’t. And I lost her.
“Good to see you, Maddie.”
I give her a warm smile, frustrated that the flame that used to ignite when I looked at her flickers back up again. Damn this girl. She wanted none of me. She wanted none of me and I want none of her.
“You too, Marty.” She offers me a one armed hug that only lasts a second.
As she steps back from me, I don’t have time to even process our awkward exchange before a body crashes against mine. Hands fly around my neck, legs wrap around my waist and I cringe as a shriek pierces my eardrum. “I can’t believe you’re finally home! And you’re so big!”
“Hey Red,” I say, awkwardly wrapping an arm around her waist.
Red is the woman you can’t help but love. The sister that is loyal to no end. She’s extreme. Loud. Sometimes obnoxious. But at the end of the day, she’ll have your back. Right or wrong. She doesn’t have to prove it. You don’t have to ask for it. It’s a given. It’s something you just … know.
“Babe…” Regg calls. “He hasn’t been laid in years. I don’t like you so close to his dick.” There’s humor in Regg’s voice, but not much. I laugh because he’s partly serious.
After prying her from around me, I spend the next fifteen minutes greeting everyone. By the time I’ve made my rounds, I’m exhausted. I haven’t had this much physical contact in my entire life. It isn’t uncomfortable, just a little overwhelming.
I escape to the bathroom, stopping to stare at my reflection in the mirror. Red was right, I am bigger. My arms are thick with muscle, cut and defined, even through my shirt—a result of years spent passing time lifting weights in the yard and working in the field.
I’m wider, stronger. My hands are calloused and rough. I have more scars on my body, and on my soul. Even my eyes seem different—distant and cold. The only thing that remains the same is my hair. It’s still dark, without any gray, and cut very short.
The door opens without warning and I immediately become defensive against the intruder. My fists are balled at my sides. I’m ready to swing and offer lights out to whoever is invading my privacy. It’s probably the new guy trying to earn his stripes by taking on the biggest and the best. I knew from the moment he got here that he was going to be trouble.
But it isn’t him. And I’m not in prison. I’m in Luke’s house, and I’m staring at a wide-eyed, frightened Maddie.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stutters, but she makes no move to leave. At the sound of her voice, my body starts to relax.
“You apologize,” I correct, then offer her a half smile that she returns.
“I guess old habits die hard. How many times have you told me that?”
“Too many to count.” You never say you’re sorry unless you are. Not in this MC anyway. Instead, you say “I apologize.” Especially Maddie Pittman, because there’s nothing sorry about her.
Her eyes drag down my body, and they sparkle in appreciation at what they see. Once again, the feeling is mutual. I was too busy earlier to really appreciate her body, but like her, I’m taking full advantage of it now.
Her blonde hair barely touches her shoulders. The shirt she wears dips low in the front, allowing me to appreciate the tits that have grown since the last time I saw them. Her jeans accentuate her hips that have thickened too, and I bet her ass is out of this fucking world. On her feet she wears heels that are at least four inches high. Still, she’s significantly shorter than me—the top of her head only coming to my chin.
I could stare at her all day. And even though the feelings of love have somewhat faded, my desire to fuck her hasn’t. It was her face, her tits, her ass … pussy … her scent and taste I beat off to for years. She’s no longer in my imagination. I’m staring straight at the star of my fantasies. And to keep from ripping off her clothes and burying myself inside her, I know I have to leave.
“It’s all yours.” I avoid her gaze as I walk out. If I see even the slightest flash of want in her eyes, I’m gonna give it to her. And right now just isn’t the time or the place.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Marty
For the first time in five years, I’m watching the sunset. With my back against the side of Luke’s house, I sit alone and out of sight. They’d given me my space and not asked questions about my time away, but still, the laughter and easy conversation was something I’d have to adjust to.
The women had gone all out preparing a feast for my arrival. Every beer and liquor on the market was at my disposal. There was enough pussy in the clubhouse to satisfy me for days. And here I am, sitting alone, sipping a bottle of water and smoking a non-filter cigarette. Like Punkin was, I’m n
ow institutionalized.
I hear the sound of footsteps nearing, and have to remind myself where I am. By the time Luke rounds the corner, there’s not a trace of anxiety on my face. “Mind if I join?” he asks, already taking a seat on the ground next to me.
“Help yourself.”
He hands me a beer and I take it out of respect, even though I have no desire to drink it. After five years of water, you’d think I’d want a cold beer. Instead I find myself craving the cloudy liquid I’d become accustomed to. “It’s good to have you home, brother.”
I nod, not bothering to remove my shades and meet his eyes. “Good to be here.”
“You know I’m here if you need to talk.”
“You giving me the speech, prez?” I smirk, figuring fuck it and taking a pull from the beer. It’s better than I remember.
“No speech, just letting you know.” He clinks his bottle to mine in a silent toast and I drink again. “Maddie looks good.”
I laugh. “Is that what this is about?” When he doesn’t answer, my suspicions are confirmed. “She’s a distant memory, Luke. One I don’t want to talk about. Ever.” I add, letting him know this topic of conversation is closed.
I’m telling my brother the same thing I told myself all those days locked up living on the fucking memory of her hair wrapped in my fist, jacking off to the thought of her around me.
Shit.
“Noted.” Standing, he reaches his hand out to me. “Everyone’s waiting in the chapel.” Taking his hand, I let him pull me to my feet. “Damn, Marty. You weigh a fucking ton.”
“Pussy,” I mumble, matching his smile with my own as we walk toward the clubhouse. By the time we make it through the door, my beer is empty. A leggy brunette hands me another and I shoot her a wink.
“I’ll see you later?” she purrs, offering me a promising look.
“Give my boy some of that pussy, girl. I know you got it on ya.” Regg smiles, revealing all of his teeth as he leans over the bar and drags his gaze up the girl’s legs all the way to her tits. “Mmm-mmm-mmm…” Shaking his head, he closes his eyes. My best guess is he’s imagining what life would be like if he didn’t have the ol’ ball and chain.
“Red will kill you,” I tell him, twisting the top off my beer.
He keeps his eyes closed as he speaks. “I know that,” he snaps. Huffing out a breath, he looks at me. “But she’s wearing those shoes…” The pain in his voice is real.
I nod. “I get it.” The skyscraper black heels she wears are studded in spikes and if they could talk, they’d be screaming, “Fuck me.” “Wasn’t Red a stripper?” Surely she had a million pairs like these.
“We’re married now, Marty.” His voice is deadpan as his eyes narrow on me. “She’s got me. There’s no point in wearing shit like this anymore.” He waves his hand toward the girl who is enjoying the attention probably a little too much. “You ever been turned on by a pair of flip flops?”
I’m laughing as I walk away, but I can still hear Regg as he promises the girl a slow and painful death if she breathes one word of this to Red. It makes me laugh harder.
Just inside the doors of the chapel, I stop to appreciate our sanctuary. Framed cuts of fallen brothers line the walls. The big wooden table sits in the center of the room surrounded by chairs. Our flag, emblazoned with our emblem, is stretched across the ceiling. It looks exactly like I remember—nothing has changed.
I take my seat, running my hands over the black leather armrests. It feels smaller, but still like mine. Regg takes his chair to the right of me, and I glance over to see him checking his phone. “You believe in karma?” he asks, showing me a picture on his phone. “That’s my wife, who I swear is watching my every move.” On the screen is a set of long, toned legs that belong to Red. And on her feet is a pair of neon orange stilettos.
“Cute flip flops.” My smart-ass comment earns me a glare as Regg stands to adjust his pants.
Luke bangs the gavel against the table and church is in session. The first fifteen minutes is business as usual—upcoming benefits, mandatory rides, CoC meetings and money. I’m not surprised to find that’s as interesting as it gets. If something bad was happening in the club, Luke would have found a way to tell me. But right now, things are pretty boring and I welcome that. Maybe I’ll have some time to get my own shit together.
“Marty you got any questions?” Luke asks, and all eyes turn to me.
While I was inside, Luke kept me informed about what happened with Madness. At the first CoC meeting after I was charged, the clubs banded together to get Madness out of the south. Since then, they’d had no problems with them. Because Snake was a cop and killing him would get me the death penalty, I’d agreed to the club’s decision to let him walk away. But if he ever showed his face again, I’d make him suffer—no matter the consequences.
“Nope,” I say, finally answering Luke’s question. “I think I’m good right now.”
“Well today is a day to celebrate. And there’s a whole room full of pussy ready to welcome you home.”
I smile, proud to give my brothers an excuse to be surrounded by women. “What the fuck you waiting for prez? Bang the gavel.” Smirking, I turn to Regg, knowing my words will get a rise out of him. “There’s a pair of orange heels calling my name.”
“Living Dead Girl” by Rob Zombie is blasting through the speakers—blocking out every other sound in the clubhouse. Hidden in the shadows, I’m cocooned in my own little world on a couch in the corner of the room. I’m floating in a haze from the large amount of alcohol I’ve consumed over the past several hours. And in my lap, Linda is dancing on my cock wearing nothing but a smile—and those fucking shoes.
I’ve considered fucking her since I sat down thirty minutes ago. My cock is at attention, ready to explode inside my jeans from just the movement of her ass that’s so thick, I could set my beer on it. Her tits are fake, big, with perfect nipples centered in the middle of them.
“I want you in my mouth,” she says, dragging her lips across my ear and down my neck. Her knees hit the floor between my legs as she reaches for my zipper.
I catch her hand in mine, and shake my head. “I want you to dance.” My voice is low, husky and somehow she hears it over the music and gives me what I want. I tell myself I don’t trust my dick when it comes to the warm confines of her mouth. I might blow the top of her head off—we wouldn’t want that.
But the truth is, I’m tired of the attention. I’ve been alone for too long. All this noise and the atmosphere is too foreign to me. I’d rather be outside where it’s quiet, the air is clear and the scent of desperate pussy isn’t invading my senses.
Grabbing her by the hips, I stand with her in my hands. She starts to wrap her legs around my waist, but I set her on her feet. “Another time, babe.” There’s no bitching or whining, she just gives me a smile before joining the two girls who are making Scratch a very happy man.
The clock above the bar reads three a.m. The only people left inside are the strippers, Scratch and Buck. Everyone else is either in bed or at home. I grab a bottle of Gatorade and a few pain relievers, in hopes of clearing the thick fog in my head. When I step outside and the noise becomes nothing more than a muffled hum, I instantly feel better.
I hear someone whistle several feet from me, and squint my eyes in the dark toward the sound. “I don’t want you going inmate crazy on me now.” I can hear the smile in Maddie’s voice, even though I can’t see her face.
“Where are you?” I ask in the direction of her voice.
“I’m hiding.”
Stepping closer, I keep my eyes wide trying to get them to adjust to the sudden darkness. “I can’t see shit,” I mumble mostly to myself.
“Strobe lights will do that to you.” She had a point. “Did you have fun?” By the way she asks, I don’t think she really wants to know.
“I prefer the quiet.” Slowly, my eyes begin to focus and I scan my surroundings, but still don’t see her. “Maddie.” Her name on my li
ps sounds more like a warning than I intend.
“Marty.” The shitty voice impression makes me smile. “You’re getting warmer.”
Then I see her, sitting cross legged on the seat of a bike—my bike. “Comfortable?” I take a seat on Buck’s bike, next to mine, and light a smoke.
“Very.” Now that my eyes have completely adjusted, I notice it’s not dark at all. The moon shines bright in the sky, illuminating everything around me—including the smirk on her face.
“Something funny?”
Holding onto the handle bar to keep from falling, she leans over and pulls the cigarette from between my fingers. “You look like a tank on that little bike.”
Buck’s bike is a small Sportster, so I’m sure I do. But instead of looking, I keep my eyes on her. She’s barefoot in flannel pajamas with what looks like wet hair. Reaching out to prove my theory, I pinch a few strands between my fingers.
“You’re gonna get pneumonia.” The temperature couldn’t be higher than the forties.
“Says the guy in a short sleeve T-shirt. And anyway,” she says, handing me back the cigarette. “That’s a myth.”
“What’s a myth?”
“You don’t get pneumonia from wet hair.” As if the universe is trying to prove something, she takes that exact moment to shiver.
“I’d offer you my jacket, but I don’t have it on me.”
She laughs. “So chivalrous, Mr. Yates.” Her voice is warm and soothing. Not like Linda’s raspy one, or the female guards’ loud and obnoxious ones. It’s a welcome sound.
“What are you doing out here anyway?” The thought hadn’t occurred to me until now. I assume she’s staying at Luke’s house, but why wasn’t she staying at her own?
