Down & Dirty: Diesel (Dirty Angels MC Book 4)

by Jeanne St. James

  Her smile widened. “Get your business taken care of?”

  For a long moment, she only heard his breathing. Finally, he grunted, “No.”

  “Late night for nothing, then?”

  “No. Got somethin’, just not enough,” he answered.

  “Sorry,” she whispered and reached out to touch his face. He had thick stubble along his jaw and cheeks. “Need a shave.”

  He grunted again. She wasn’t sure if he agreed or disagreed.

  He flattened his palm along her belly and moved it down until he cupped her mound. “New rule.”

  Oh shit. “Do I get a vote?”

  “Nope.” His finger slipped between her folds and he gently stroked her from one end to the other. “No shavin’.”

  “What?”

  “No shavin’. My pussy now. Hate it lookin’ like a little girl.”

  “You think I look like a little girl?”

  He grunted. That was definitely a yes grunt.

  “So, no shaving at all?” she asked, surprised.

  “Do whatcha gotta do, but not everything.”

  “Ah, got it. Just do a little decorating.”

  He shifted against her and slipped two fingers inside her, curving them as he worked her. Her eyelids lowered as he hit the spot.

  “Wet already,” he grumbled.

  “Always ready for you,” she whispered.

  His hand stopped moving for a few seconds and he said nothing, then he started moving his fingers in and out of her.

  He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Gonna fuck your ass.”

  Her body jerked. “Now?” she squeaked.

  “Not now. Soon.”

  “Do I get a vote on that?”

  “Nope.”

  “D, you’re not real... small.”

  “Yeah.”

  Yeah.

  Jesus. “Can I at least campaign on that subject first?”

  His body shook against hers. Did he think she was joking? “I’ll consider your request for campaignin’.”

  “Well, aren’t you generous for... Ah... fuck.”

  His fingers fucked her harder and faster, making her lose her thoughts, her breath, and her hips shot off the bed a few seconds later when her first orgasm of the early morning hit her.

  “You were sayin’?” he asked, his voice deep and lower than normal.

  “I... don’t remember.”

  “Right.” He moved over her. “Gettin’ my dick now.”

  “Kind of figured that.”

  “Not gonna give me lip on that.”

  Hell no, she wasn’t. She had been waiting for it all night. “About time,” she breathed as he pressed the head of his cock to her entrance.

  Before he took it any further, he took her mouth, sweeping his tongue through it once, twice, and once more while she squirmed beneath him. He had the control, though, and avoided her impaling herself on him.

  He had barely lifted his mouth from hers when he asked, “Which?”

  Anybody else wouldn’t understand what he was asking. But she knew. He wanted to know if he should bring his beast and fuck her hard, fast and furious. Or if she wanted him slow and gentle, letting them draw it out for as long as possible.

  She knew exactly what she craved. “Beast.”

  “Got it, baby.”

  Then he brought his beast.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hawk leaned over the bar and murmured to Zak, “We need to do this an’ soon. Tired of that fucker.”

  “Hear ya.” Z looked over at Diesel who sat to his right. “Didn’t wanna do shit until after the weddin’. Weddin’s over.”

  “Right,” Diesel grunted.

  “Ace on board?” Z asked Hawk.

  “Yeah.”

  “Jag an’ Dex are, too.”

  “Not up to just us, though,” Hawk started. “By-laws state we gotta write up some writ of impeachment or some such shit. Can get Kiki to do that, but need to be brought up at a church meetin’ before the whole club. Says we can’t do it in an executive meetin’.”

  “She read the by-laws?” Z asked, surprised.

  “Yeah. Asked her to. Wanna make sure when we do it, it sticks.”

  “Right,” D grunted.

  “Could do that or just wait an’ vote Z back in when Pierce’s term’s up.”

  “Shit would be less messy that way,” D suggested. “Also gotta decide if we’re strippin’ ‘im of his colors.”

  All three of them looked at each other. No one wanted to do that if it wasn’t completely necessary. But that’s what they had to figure out. Whether they needed Pierce out or just put in his place. His place being just a member and no longer the acting prez.

  “Think the membership would want ‘im kicked out?” Zak asked.

  “Dunno,” Hawk said. “Know Jag does. ‘Specially after that shit went down with sendin’ Ivy into Dirty Dick’s for intel. Wasn’t his place to decide that shit an’ then keep it from us.”

  “Right,” D grunted. He lifted his beer bottle to his lips and took a long pull.

  Hawk continued, “Just need two-thirds of us to agree to oust him.”

  “No problem gettin’ those numbers,” D informed his brother.

  “Also, gotta give ‘im a heads up,” Hawk added.

  “What the fuck, why?” D slammed his bottle down on the bar top.

  Hawk shrugged. “Keeks said he needs the chance to defend himself. In the by-laws.”

  “Lemme just say, saw him eyeballin’ Kelsea at Z’s weddin’. Didn’t like it. Wanna know what that shit’s about. Could be more ammo against the fucker in gettin’ ‘im outta the head spot.”

  Hawk stared at his brother. “Didn’t say anythin’.”

  No, D didn’t. He wanted to do a little investigating first. He just hadn’t had the chance.

  Maybe he needed one of the women to take Kelsea aside and ask her if Pierce overstepped his boundaries as president with her. He tended to be one of the brothers who thought he had every right to any woman within the club.

  “Want me or Kiki to talk to ‘er?” Hawk asked.

  D shook his head. “I’ll get Jewelee since they’re tight. Gonna talk to Annie, too.”

  Hawk nodded.

  Between Annie being Kelsea’s mother and also working part-time for Pierce at the gun shop, his aunt might have an idea if anything was going on between Pierce and Kelsea.

  No matter what, Pierce had an ol’ lady already—even though that didn’t stop him from scoring snatch whenever he damn well pleased—and he was old enough to be Kelsea’s father.

  D couldn’t imagine wanting such an immature piece of ass. But just because it wasn’t his taste, didn’t mean it wasn’t for other men. Some liked to get them young. Kelsea might be in her mid-twenties but she acted so much younger.

  “Jewelee gonna be on the back of your sled on the run Sunday?” Z asked, whacking D on the arm and smiling.

  Fuck. He forgot about Sunday’s ride that Jag, the club’s Road Captain, set up. Only ol’ ladies usually came along on the back of their man’s bike. There were exceptions, but that wasn’t the norm.

  “Ain’t my ol’ lady,” D grumbled.

  “Livin’ with her. Should make it official,” Zak suggested.

  “Ain’t livin’ with her an’ ain’t lookin’ for a ball an’ chain like you, Z.”

  “Ain’t a bad thing,” Z laughed. “Gettin’ it on the regular, always good shit to eat at our place. Gettin’ it on the regular,” Z added again with a smirk.

  “Like you ever had a problem gettin’ it on the regular,” Hawk said. “’Cept in prison. Don’t want it on the regular in there.”

  “Fuck no. My ass went in a virgin an’ made sure it came out one, too.”

  Hawk snorted.

  Jag sidled up to them. “Came out with thick callouses on his palm, though.”

  “Take a fuckin’ callous over a prison boyfriend any day,” Z said, fake punching Jag.

  “Hear you on that, brother,” Jag an
swered, lifting his fists and tossing a couple fake punches back.

  Jag then turned to D. “Bringin’ Jewelee Sunday?”

  Jesus. Not again. “Dunno.”

  “Ivy’s comin’, Kiki’s comin’, Soph’s comin’.” Jag leaned around D and shouted down to the other end of the bar. “Mama Bear’s comin’ too, right, Grizz?”

  “What?” the older man yelled back.

  “Mama Bear!” Jag shouted.

  “What about the bitch?” Grizz bellowed.

  D watched his brother’s head drop. Hawk must have found something interesting on the floor behind the bar. Z snorted.

  Jag released a groan before yelling again, “Mama comin’ on the run Sunday?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Jag. Gonna ask the old fuck questions, walk the hell down there. Probably don’t have his hearin’ aid in,” D muttered.

  “Doesn’t wear a hearin’ aid,” Jag returned.

  “He fuckin’ should, then,” Hawk said, fighting back laughter. He then lifted his face to the ceiling and yelled, “Mama Bear comin’ on the ride Sunday?”

  Grizz had no problem hearing Hawk’s booming voice. The old man swatted a gnarled hand in their direction. “Fuck no. Needs to stay in the kitchen where she belongs.”

  Jag eyeballed Hawk. “Mama in the kitchen?”

  Hawk looked over his shoulder in that direction before saying, “Yeah.”

  “She comes out swingin’ an iron skillet, I’m runnin’. Just sayin’,” Jag warned.

  “You an’ me both, brother,” Z said.

  As a door opened, they all froze and looked at each other, wondering who to sacrifice first. Then, as one, they sighed in relief when they realized it was the back door to the private parking lot.

  Slade walked in with Dex. Luckily, no one was carrying an iron skillet, instead Dex carried a black leather vest that clearly wasn’t his since he was wearing his own colors.

  “Man of the fuckin’ hour,” D grumbled.

  Z shot a look his way. “Gonna be a good thing. ‘Specially if we yank Pierce outta his seat.”

  “Get it. Not sure if I agree with the no prospectin’ thing,” D clarified.

  “Right. Still waited ‘til votin’ on him. Maybe he didn’t have to do grunt work, but he still had to wait.”

  “Didn’t think he was in a rush to patch in anyway,” Jag added.

  “Yeah, was on the fence,” Z said.

  D cocked a brow at Zak. “An’ now he’s not?”

  Z shrugged. “Kept on ‘im.”

  Hawk shrugged, too. “Need some more solid members, brother. Know that.”

  D grunted his response and turned back to his beer when Slade and Dex joined them.

  “Got ‘im set up?” Z asked Dex.

  D’s cousin nodded. “Yeah. You gonna be inside?”

  Z gave Dex a look. “Know I can’t. Ain’t on the board. Gonna wait out here. Chicken Hawk will catch me up after.”

  Dex leaned closer to the group and said in a low voice, “We doin’ a coup?”

  “A fuckin’ what?” D asked.

  “A coup. Watch the fuckin’ news, D.”

  D scowled in Dex’s direction.

  “Hell, with your crew, you should know what that is, they all probably took part in that kinda shit,” Z said. “Overthrowin’ governments an’ shit. You gotta good nose for sniffin’ out badass motherfuckers to be on your crew.”

  D ignored him. “We gonna do this?” he asked no one in particular.

  “Where’s Ace?” Dex asked.

  Hawk jerked his chin toward the meeting room. “In talkin’ with Pierce.”

  D pushed away from the bar. “Then let’s fuckin’ get this done.”

  “D’s gotta hurry up an’ get home to Jewel. Big man went down hard,” Dex said behind him.

  D stopped his roll and spun on his boot. “Facin’ you now, Dexter. Gonna repeat that?”

  Dex lifted his palms up in surrender, laughing. “No harm, no foul, cuz. Just bustin’. Never thought I’d see the day my cousin got caught.”

  “Ain’t caught,” D grumbled.

  Hawk pushed past Dex and whacked him on the back. “Good thing you’re blood, dickhead. Otherwise, D would’ve had you flat on your ass before you knew what hit you.”

  Hawk moved into the meeting room. The rest of them followed, including Slade, their about-to-be newest patched member.

  D wasn’t sure if he was one hundred percent on board with that motion. The man hadn’t been around long enough to get a good read on him. Since the Dogs & Hogs event, the guy came and went to club functions as he pleased. But Z and Hawk decided the man didn’t have to prospect and do his time like any other recruit.

  Why? Because he jumped in to save some of the women at the event when the Warriors tried to steal the donations Kiki earned for the charity. But any man who had a set of balls on him should’ve done the same. D didn’t think that should give him a pass.

  Most of the DAMC prospects were around at least a year before they’d even considered patching the guy in. During that time, they put the recruit through hell to make sure he wanted it bad enough.

  Some of them washed out, some didn’t. Like Abe aka Linc. And he figured Moose would go the distance, too.

  Rooster he wasn’t sure about and he’d been around the longest. He had gone from hang-around to prospect and that’s where he got stuck. No one wanted him as a brother as of yet. The guy could be a bit of a whiny bitch sometimes.

  Then there was Weasel. Another fuck up. Jesus. They needed better recruits.

  D took his place at the table, ignoring Pierce’s chin lift to him. He sat to the right of his pop, who sat to Pierce’s right. Jag tended to pick a spot as far from Pierce as he could during the meetings, which was usually at the other end of the table. Ever since Jag had to drag Ivy out of Dirty Dick’s and away from the Knights, he hadn’t wanted to go near Pierce or he might be tempted to take the guy out.

  They all agreed that Pierce never should’ve let Ivy go into their territory by herself. And that was the last straw with most of them. The president should’ve discussed it with the board first and brought it to a vote. He didn’t. He and Ivy went behind all of their backs. And that created even more bad blood than there was previously.

  Now, D needed to dig around to find out why the fuck the almost fifty-year-old man was staring down Kelsea at the wedding when she was dancing with a Dark Knight.

  Shit was just not right with that and it bugged the hell out of D.

  Maybe he needed to call Pierce out on it.

  But the first order of business Pierce brought up was patching in Slade. The vote went as expected and no one, even Pierce, had a problem with making the guy a member. D’s “aye” vote was done with reservation. If everyone else thought he’d be an asset then fine, he’d agree.

  But D would keep an eye on him.

  Plus, he could always dig around in the guy’s past, if needed. As long as he didn’t cause any shit, D would let him be. Once Dex handed Slade his cut with all his rockers and patches, he paid his dues to Ace, who was the treasurer, and then walked out the door to go have a drink with Zak.

  After the door closed behind the newest brother, Pierce’s gaze landed on him. “Got any news with the Warriors?”

  D wondered if he should give the info he had or keep it to himself. He worried his brother might go ballistic when he found out D had Squirrel in his control and hadn’t included him in the “questioning.”

  “Squirrel went to ground. Got a bead on him, then he just went ghost. Knows we’re lookin’ for ‘im. Think he got scared when he knew we had his location. Doubt he’s got the balls to show up ‘round here again,” D said and decided to leave it at that. He was only twisting the truth a little, because Squirrel definitely went in the ground and he had permanently disappeared. And it was certainly true he wouldn’t be showing up again.

  “Black Jack?” Hawk asked, his eyes steady on D, watching him closely.

  D kept his face as blank as
possible. “My crew heard a bit of chatter. Sniffin’ his ass out.”

  “Want in, brother, if you get ‘im. Squirrel, too,” Hawk said.

  Right. And that’s why he wasn’t sharing the truth with his brother. The less people involved in dealing with Squirrel and Black Jack, the better.

  “It’s possible Warriors took Squirrel out an’ that’s why he went ghost. Prospect’s expendable. Hard to justify it with a patched member, but Squirrel dick? Don’t need an asshole like that hangin’ ‘round when they know we’re huntin’ him down.”

  “We couldn’t be so lucky that they’d take out one of their own,” Ace grumbled next to him.

  D shrugged and looked at his pop. “Could happen. Might be a bunch of stupid fucks, but sometimes they need to clean up their trash, too.”

  “Keep on it,” Pierce ordered, which pissed D the fuck off since he did not need Pierce giving him orders. Not only on this issue but any issue. There was no way D was giving up the search for Black Jack and Pierce should know that. Hell, everyone else at the table knew better than that. That order was completely unnecessary. The fucker was just trying to get under D’s skin. Which wasn’t hard when it came to Pierce.

  So D just grunted his response, letting Pierce take that answer as he wanted.

  “Anybody else got anythin’ on the Warriors?” Pierce asked.

  Nobody else did.

  “All right then, Jag. Sunday’s run. Got that bitch all set up?”

  Jag shot Pierce a look. “Yep. All set.”

  Pierce’s gaze dropped back on D. “Wanna claim Jewel today before Sunday’s ride?”

  All eyes turned his direction.

  “Nope.”

  “Just some fender fluff, then.”

  D’s spine straightened and his eyes slid to Pierce’s and held. “Yeah, fender fluff,” he repeated in a mutter. Ace’s hand dropped to D’s arm below the table, which was the only thing stopping D from leaping across the table and throat punching the motherfucker until that smirk on his face disappeared.

  “Which of your cum buckets is ridin’ with you Sunday?”

  Pierce was on his feet in a flash, his chair shoved back, his fists planted on the table as he leaned toward D.

  Ace jumped to his feet as did Jag and Hawk.

  “Boys,” Ace warned in a low and quiet voice. “No reason to get in a tangle over pussy.”