Down & Dirty: Crow: Dirty Angels MC, book 10

by St. James, Jeanne

  “We fit,” she whispered again, staring down into his eyes.

  “Yeah, baby, we fit.” But he couldn’t let that change anything.

  When he agreed with her, he expected her eyes to light up like they did when she was happy, but they didn’t. Instead, sadness crossed her face and her eyes slid down, breaking their gaze.

  She began to move again. Rolling her hips, circling them. Rising and falling at an excruciatingly slow pace.

  He blew out a breath and cursed himself as a lone tear rolled from the corner of her eye down her cheek.

  Another quickly followed, landing on his stomach. She dropped her head, covering her face with her hair and she swiped at her cheeks.

  “I... I’m sorry,” she mumbled with a sniff.

  For fuck’s sake, she might as well be stabbing him in the heart right now.

  This was one time in the last few weeks that he didn’t wait until she was ready. He rolled his body and took her with him until his weight pressed her into the mattress.

  He watched a few more tears escape and disappear into her hair.

  “We fit,” she stated softly, her voice thick.

  “Yeah, baby, we fit, but that doesn’t... It doesn’t...” He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying to keep his shit together.

  It would be easy to say... Stay.

  But life wasn’t about doing what was easy. It was about doing what was right.

  So he kept his mouth shut, he held back what he wanted to tell her and he began to move instead.

  This was their last night together and it wasn’t supposed to be about sadness and tears. It was supposed to be special. Something to remember each other by if she decided to leave the Valley.

  He hoped she did. Because he wasn’t sure if he could watch her move on to someone else. He’d be too worried they weren’t treating her right.

  And he didn’t want to think of any other man being right where he was at that very moment.

  He didn’t want to imagine her wearing any other man’s T-shirt while she made him breakfast and sipped on coffee.

  Even though her pace had been slow, he began to move just as slowly. He knew that exact moment her tears stopped and a determined look crossed her face.

  She was a fighter. A survivor.

  She wasn’t going to give up so easily.

  Whether she knew it or not, she was strong as fuck.

  “I love you, Crow.”

  His rhythm hiccuped.

  Jesus fucking Christ. She was pulling out the big guns. She knew what she was doing, and she knew how to do it well.

  But he knew what he was doing, too.

  He took slow, long, deep thrusts, each time he hit the end of her she gasped. Her set jaw went soft and her mouth went slack. As her eyelids began to lower lazily, he shook his head and grabbed her chin. “No, Kachina, look at me.”

  Her eyes widened for a split second. Then she did as was told, locking her gaze with his.

  He wanted to take her hard and fast and he would only do that when he was absolutely sure that he was the only one in the room with her, when he was sure she was concentrating on him and him alone.

  No ghosts. No hidden memories. Nothing but the two of them.

  “Baby, you ready?”

  “Yes,” hissed from between her lips and while he wanted to kiss her, he also wanted to watch her come.

  He planted his palms into the mattress, kneed her thighs wider and then drove it home, tilting his hips up at the end of each stroke. He knew she loved it because, not only had she told him so, her body rippled around him. Her heat, her wetness became almost unbearable for him and he had to fight to keep his own eyes open.

  He wanted nothing more than to get lost within her.

  He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t.

  He needed to be smart.

  But fuuuck...

  When those ripples turned into pulses and her body bowed and jerked beneath him, he watched her reaction. Her mouth working open, a long wail escaping, her nails digging sharply into his back, her heels digging into his thighs, her head rolling back, her eyes fluttering. But she did it. She did what he demanded.

  She kept them open and focused on him.

  Unfortunately, that was his complete undoing.

  He was going to unravel. Completely come apart.

  He forced her to keep his eyes on him, but he couldn’t do the same.

  This was the last time they’d ever be together and the only time without a wrap. Every wave of orgasm that swept through her, he felt.

  Her heat was like warm honey, smooth and slick surrounding him.

  So, because he wasn’t as strong as her, he dropped his face into her neck and grunted as nothing held him back from coming deep inside her, giving her a piece of him to hold onto.

  Even if temporary.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The hardest session she sat through was this morning. Her tattoo was now completed.

  They were done.

  With the tattoo. With each other.

  That’s what he wanted. That’s what she had agreed to.

  The two hours she’d sat in the tattoo chair with him working so intently over her belly, making sure everything was perfect, was pure torture.

  Not because of the pain.

  Because she had to make herself not beg. Not cry. Not plead with him.

  They fit.

  He’d agreed with that.

  But that didn’t matter.

  He wasn’t letting go of the foolish notion that she needed someone more appropriate for her. Younger, living a different lifestyle.

  She disagreed, but she couldn’t convince him.

  Bikers were nothing if not stubborn as fuck. Even Crow. He might not be the typical biker, but he was still a biker down to his roots. Down to his very soul.

  She was accepted into the sisterhood.

  But that wasn’t enough.

  She had come a long way with finding herself again and getting comfortable in her own skin.

  But that wasn’t enough.

  She had worked hard to turn his house into a home.

  But that wasn’t enough.

  She had told him she loved him.

  But still... that was not enough.

  They simply fit.

  Apparently, that wasn’t enough.

  So, there was no point in fighting it anymore.

  She came to Shadow Valley for two reasons. Hoping Crow would help her with her emotional scars and intimacy issues.

  He did.

  Hoping Crow would cover her physical scar. Her visible reminder.

  He did.

  He was done.

  And so was she.

  Lately, she had spent many sleepless nights wondering where to go from here. Should she return to Buffalo? Back to her parents and her dead-end job? Should she stay in Shadow Valley and take one of the many jobs she’d been offered?

  Or should she just move on and start fresh elsewhere? Somewhere no one knew her past.

  In the end, her decision was to stay. For now.

  She didn’t tell Crow because she wasn’t sure how he’d feel about it, but Ace had offered her the apartment above the pawn shop. She was family and he told her he only rented to family.

  She’d also accepted the job running the front office of the club’s law firm with Kiki and Jayde.

  She hadn’t told Crow that, either.

  Mostly because she’d only decided what she was going to do during her session this morning. As she watched his dark head with the long, black braid bent over her lower body, she knew she couldn’t leave. So, on her way back to his house, she’d called both Ace and Kiki and accepted their offers.

  She couldn’t give up.

  He thought they were over. She knew better.

  He might be stubborn, but so was she.

  She’d leave him alone and, like six years ago, if she had to, she’d watch him from afar. But she’d be close enough for him to reach out.

 
When he was ready.

  When he finally realized age was nothing but a number and their age difference didn’t define them.

  They fit.

  She went into his walk-in closet which was mostly empty. He wore jeans, short- and long-sleeved tees, thermals and sometimes Henleys. He had nothing to hang up. Her clothes only took up a tiny portion of the oversized space. She grabbed her overnight bag which was on the floor next to his single pair of spare boots. It took no more than a minute to pull her stuff from the hangers and tuck it into her bag.

  She dumped the hamper, dropped to her knees, and sorted through the clothes, pulling her items from the pile and throwing her dirty clothes into a plastic grocery bag. As she threw his stuff back into the hamper, she hesitated on the T-shirt he’d worn the day before. She had only thrown it in there this morning before they’d left for the shop.

  Her fingers smoothed out the worn, soft cotton, then she lifted it to her face and inhaled. When her eyes closed, she lost her balance and landed on her ass, the tee still clutched tightly in her hands.

  She dropped her head and let the tears fall. Though she tried to stop it, a sob bubbled up anyway. And once one escaped, she couldn’t fight the rest. If she was going to feel sorry for herself, she needed to just do it and get it over with.

  Then move on.

  Like he said.

  When she had no more tears and his shirt was soaked, she shoved it into her bag.

  She slowly got to her feet, sucked in a breath to bolster herself, threw the strap of her bag over her shoulder and left the closet.

  Without a backward glance, she exited his bedroom, headed down the steps, grabbed her guitar, which was leaning against the wall by the front door and walked out.

  * * *

  The hardest session he’d ever done in his career was this morning. Her tattoo was now completed.

  Her tattoo was done. They were done.

  That’s what he wanted. That’s what she had agreed to.

  Crow hit the remote and the garage door lifted, giving him a clear view of a very empty space.

  His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. This was the first time in over three months that he’d come home after a long fucking day at the shop and Jazz’s vehicle wasn’t parked on the right side of the two-car garage.

  He pulled his sled in, shut it down, and hit the remote once more. As the door rumbled to a close behind him, he stared at the oil spot left behind on the concrete floor where her piece of shit had been parked.

  She needed a better vehicle. He should have seen to that before she left. He had no idea where she went, where she was headed. How far of a drive she had ahead of her.

  He didn’t ask.

  He should’ve done that, too.

  Instead, earlier, he’d put his head down and concentrated on finishing her tattoo and making sure it was perfect. He hadn’t wanted to think about anything else while he was touching her, breathing in her scent, feeling her heat as he worked. Otherwise, he might have asked her to stay. And he had to remind himself a few times that would’ve been fucking selfish of him to do.

  He walked down the hall from the garage to the kitchen, the house quiet, the rooms dark. He knew the way, so he didn’t bother to hit the lights. Without thinking about it, he found himself standing in front of his fridge, staring into the lit interior. He eyeballed the beer she had stacked neatly on the middle shelf.

  He didn’t want a fucking beer.

  He slammed the refrigerator door shut and went to the cabinet next to it instead. He grabbed an unopened bottle of Jack that was tucked behind an almost empty bottle of Jim Beam and he cracked it open.

  Lifting it to his lips, he let the whiskey slide down his throat and warm his gut. He lifted it several more times before turning on his heel, bottle in hand.

  He stopped when he noticed something on the center island. He moved over to the switch and reluctantly turned on the recessed lights.

  On the counter were the remotes for both the compound gate and the garage door. Sitting next to them was his house key on top of a note handwritten in a feminine scrawl.

  Thanks for everything.

  His nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, but he could still see the words on that scrap of paper clearly in his head.

  You’re so fuckin’ welcome, Kachina. Thank you for trustin’ me.

  He shrugged out of his cut and slipped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, then he took himself and his buddy Jack into the living room.

  With a grunt, he dropped onto the couch, took another long swallow before putting the bottle on the floor next to him as he unlaced his boots and kicked them off.

  Then he and Jack crashed on the couch for the night.

  Because there was no fucking way he was going upstairs to sleep in his cold, empty bed.

  * * *

  Between one of his so-called customers tapping out halfway through the first hour of a sitting, because he was a fucking pussy, and then his last client of the night being a no-show, he’d closed up shop early and headed over to church.

  Drinking alone in the dark last night had completely sucked ass.

  At least if no one was drinking at church, he could head into The Iron Horse to maybe shoot a game of pool and drink with other living, breathing beings.

  The talking and the typical bar sounds would fill his brain matter, fill the emptiness, unlike his silent home that now reminded him of a tomb.

  Maybe he needed to move back into his room at church. There was no good reason one person needed a house like he had. None.

  And church was safe enough.

  Walking through the back door, he saw a couple of fresh prospects shooting pool at one of the tables. His gaze slid through them to one of the couches that lined the walls where Rig sat with one of the newer sweet butts grinding her crotch on his lap.

  Rig’s attention went from Cherry, who surprisingly still had on all her clothes—though probably not for long—to Crow as he strode across the common area. Rig gave him a grin and a chin lift. “Brother.”

  Crow returned the chin lift and answered, “Brother,” but didn’t slow his roll. With disappointment, he passed the deserted private bar and kept moving through the swinging doors, the large commercial kitchen, then ended up on the public side of the building, The Iron Horse Roadhouse.

  For a weeknight, it wasn’t real busy, but then, it was late. A couple of stragglers sat at the bar and a few more were scattered at the tables that lined the outer reinforced walls. Reinforced only after those fucking Warriors shot up the bar during their club Christmas party a few years ago.

  His gaze landed on Linc, who was moving behind the bar with a draft beer in his hand. Once the younger brother slid the pint glass in front of his customer, he headed back in Crow’s direction, his surprised expression on his face easy to read.

  Linc stopped on the other side of the bar from him and said, “What the fuck you doin’ here? You’re never in here.”

  “Need a drink.” He added “need company” silently.

  Linc cocked a brow, but after a moment, just nodded and asked, “Beer?”

  Crow shook his head. “Gimme the strong shit. Straight. Neat.”

  Linc’s brow cocked again. “Aren’t you on your sled?”

  “Yep. Still got a room upstairs, though.” He’d kept the room because on the occasions he needed pussy, that’s where he’d take them. He never brought any of them home and no one but Jazz had ever been in his bed there.

  Only her.

  Linc stared at him for another long moment, then moved away, grabbing a glass and a bottle off the top shelf. Jack Daniel’s Single Barrel. The good shit.

  Crow watched Linc pour him three fingers-worth. Then, before putting the bottle back up, he grabbed a second glass and poured another three.

  When Linc was done he moved back to Crow, who’d settled his ass onto one of the bar stools.

  Crow jerked his chin toward both glasses. Linc shrugge
d. “Said you needed a drink. I’ll join you since the crowd’s light right now. Jester’s in the back taking inventory if I need him.”

  Crow lifted his glass and took a mouthful, appreciating the heat when it hit his gut. Linc did the same but watched Crow carefully as he did so.

  “Have a feeling I know why you’re here,” Linc said, after swiping the back of his hand over his mouth and setting his glass on the bar top.

  “Yeah, why’s that?” Crow asked his whiskey.

  “’Cause you pushed your fuckin’ woman away and it’s fuckin’ killing you.”

  “She ain’t—”

  “The fuck she isn’t. Remember all those words you had for me about Jayde? All that shit you said, telling me to get my head outta my ass?”

  “I didn’t—”

  Linc shook his head. “The fuck you didn’t.” He grunted and finished swallowing the amber liquid in his glass before slamming it onto the bar. “Brother, can’t believe I’m giving you advice this time. Usually it’s the other way around.”

  “Ain’t here for advice,” Crow grumbled, then downed half his whiskey before meeting Linc’s gaze head-on. “I’m older than you—”

  Linc interrupted him again. “Yeah, no shit, you’re older. Who fuckin’ cares? But you’re also a fuckin’ fool.”

  Crow’s spine snapped straight, and he pulled back his shoulders as he glanced at the man he’d put forward as a prospect for the club what seemed like forever ago.

  “Mister I’m-older-and-wiser did something stupid,” Linc continued. He planted both palms on the bar and leaned toward Crow. “That woman fuckin’ loves you.”

  Hold up. How the fuck did Linc know that? “She told you?”

  “Brother, she told the sisterhood. You instantly went from the most loved to the most hated. They’re all royally pissed that your ass didn’t change your mind about your little deal. You go touching my woman or any of them, don’t be surprised if they knee you right in the fuckin’ nuts.”

  Crow’s hand automatically dropped to his balls, but he managed not to wince. After a second, he muttered, “Want what’s best for ‘er.”

  “Doesn’t that sound fuckin’ familiar,” Linc grumbled, grabbing the bottle from the upper shelf again and pouring himself another double and adding another couple of fingers-worth to Crow’s half-empty glass.