by Jc Emery
“You better know how much I’m putting on the line for you, babe. We get a minute, we’re going to have a serious fucking talk,” he says. His voice sounds relatively calm, but I can tell by the way his shoulders are tight and his neck is tense that he probably wants to shove his head into a blender right about now rather than possibly betray the club.
“I know, D,” I say softly. “Let me just say hi to Izzy real quick and then we’ll head out.”
“Where are we going?”
“Detroit,” I say and head across the grass to disappoint Izzy by leaving after I just barely got here. Diesel doesn’t move. I feel the distance growing between us with every step I take. I’m so focused on getting to the swing set that I don’t notice the group of boys chasing each other around the park with squirt guns until one of them runs smack dab into my side.
“Whoa,” I say and look down at Stephen, my eleven-year-old half brother. His skin is a darker brown than Izzy’s but not quite as dark or golden as mine. Barbara, their mother, is a basic American mutt. Her contribution to their looks isn’t much, but it’s enough to dilute their Cheyenne heritage on our father’s side so they, too, look like basic American mutts. Stephen stops his running, lowers his big-ass squirt gun, and gives me a one-armed hug.
“Big sis,” he says gravely. His brown eyes travel across the grass where he finds his friends. One of them raises his squirt gun at him, but Stephen signals the boy to stand down. “A babe like you needs to be careful walking these parts by yourself. This is no place for a lady.”
“Please, I’m no lady. Dad taught me how to fight, kid. These little punks don’t scare me.” My mouth twists up into a smile that I can’t fight. He’s too cute for his own good.
“Will you teach me how to fight?”
“Absolutely. Somebody has to protect our little girl.”
Stephen’s eyes shoot over to Izzy who’s still singing to herself on the swings, and they roll back in his head as he says, “Now that one definitely needs male supervision.” I don’t have time to ask him what he means by that because he’s back to his game, running after his friends and taking them out one by one with impressively accurate shots to their backs and chests. These kids are going to be soaked in minutes if he keeps it up.
Izzy’s still on the swings, but she’s going much slower now, not flying through the air like a kamikaze pilot. In the swing beside her is Xavier who’s being pushed by Chel. His little hands are clutched tight around the chains of his swing as his mom gently pushes him forward. He kicks his feet in the air and squeals. His attention is focused on Izzy, who is singing to herself—practicing for an upcoming choir performance most likely—while Chel’s only got eyes for Xavier. So she’s an attentive mom and about one step above being a crack whore. Doesn’t mean I have to like her.
“Sissy!” Izzy’s squeal makes my ears ring. I swear she has the same scream she did when she was just a baby. From the time she could talk, I was “Sissy.” It warms my cold, tired heart to know that even though she’s close to hitting double digits that I’m still Sissy—even if I’m a sucky sister. The crazy kid’s picking up speed and sailing up into the air now, pumping her legs, and pushing herself to go higher. I’ll give the kid credit where credit is due—she’s damn good at the swings. A real pro at getting good height with a minimum number of pumps. Dad and I may have been basically estranged before his death, but I know he’d be proud of her swinging skills too. I look around to find Barbara still at the picnic table but with her eyes glued to the swings. It’s got to be tearing her up to watch this shit.
Izzy jumps off the swing and flies through the air with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on her face. She’s so high up and so small that I get freaked out that she’s going to hurt herself trying to land her Olympic jump, and I move in to catch her. She lands in my arms with a thud that leaves me breathless and reminding myself to stay up-to-date with my birth control. Because if sweet little Izzy does crazy shit like this, then I want no fucking part in the baby making business. No wonder all the moms I know always look so tired and ready to jump off a cliff.
“Hey! I could have landed that!” she says and squirms in my arms. I set her down and force myself to shake it off.
“It’s like you’re trying to give me a heart attack,” I mutter and brush her dark brown hair away from her eyes.
“You want to swing with me? We don’t have to swing if you don’t want to. We could play with the squirt guns. Mom said Stephen has to share, and I want you to teach me how to shoot people,” she says while bouncing on the soles of her shoes. This crazy little girl in purple shorts and a hot pink shirt with a unicorn on it who can’t sit still and loves everything feminine wants to learn how to shoot. Shit. I can’t believe I was going to stay home and miss out on this all because I was way too into feeling sorry for myself.
“Why do you want to learn how to shoot?”
“Because Daddy taught you how to shoot, and you’re really good at it, and you help people. Mom says I can’t shoot a gun, but she also says I can’t eat candy before dinner and I don’t listen to that either.”
“I’ll talk to your mom about it,” I say and plop down on the grass and pull her into my lap. “But I think Dad would want you to wait until you’re older. Guns are serious business, and he didn’t teach me until I was sixteen.” Liar. I’m such a liar. He started me off on BB guns when I was younger than she is now. By the time I was a teenager, I had my own piece—that Dad kept safe for me—and I knew all the pressure points in the human body. But there’s no way in hell I’m telling my little sister that.
“Ugh,” she whines and throws her head against my chest. “Fine.”
“I want to stay and play with you, but I have something important to do for work. I have to help someone very important, and I have to go right now, but I wanted to make sure to tell you happy birthday before I go.”
“You’re not even staying for cake? Cake is one of the major food groups!” Her jaw is practically in the grass, and her eyes are as wide as saucers. Barbara is probably displeased that I’ve taught her daughter the importance of routine cake consumption for proper health.
“Save me a slice?”
“I can’t promise anything,” she says with her cute little nose in the air. Diesel is rubbing off on me in a seriously fucked way. I love Stephen and Izzy—always have—but I’m way happier in this moment with this kid than I ever have been.
My left hand finds its way to the thick silver chain around my neck that has a single silver feather hanging from it. The necklace was a gift from my father’s mother the only time I got to meet her. I love this necklace and almost never take it off.
“Did Dad ever tell you about his childhood?”
“I don’t know,” she says and shrugs her shoulders like she doesn’t care, but her eyes are fixed on me.
“Well, did you know he was supposed to be the chief of his tribe? That’s how he got his name with the club. Our dad came from a long line of powerful Cheyenne Indians. When he left Oklahoma and joined the club he left all that behind so he could live the life he wanted.” I take a break from my little story, and with shaky hands, I undo the clasp from around my neck and take a deep breath. I can’t believe I’m doing this—giving away the only piece of my dad I have left. This is the only thing I ever cared to keep because it represents more than just him. It represents our history, our lineage.
“Every time you look at this necklace, you can remember our dad and what he stood for,” I say and slowly, almost reluctantly, place the necklace on her neck and clasp it around the back. She looks at it and then back to me with a huge smile on her face. “He was proud to be Cheyenne and proud to be Forsaken. You get to pick your own destiny. Don’t forget that, baby sister.”
My lower lip trembles which means it’s time I get the hell out of Dodge before the emotions of the day force me into a public display I’ll never live down. I say my goodbyes quickly, give Barbara a wave, and find Diesel in the same spot I le
ft him in, watching me with a knowing smile.
Chapter 4
“Babe, time to wake up,” I say. She’s out cold and doesn’t hear a word I say. The woman hasn’t slept much since we hit the road yesterday, but she hasn’t talked much either. I’m cool with her sleeping, because we still have a long way to go before we even cross the Michigan state line let alone Detroit. It’s the silence when she’s awake that eats at me. Being patient isn’t my issue. It’s the timetable we’re working off of that’s the problem, because it doesn’t allow her the time she needs to get comfortable for the conversation we need to have. I’ve been trying hard not to pull my patch on her, but with every hour that passes and each state we cross, keeping my commitment to the club at bay becomes more and more difficult.
All I know about what’s going on here is that Amber Wallace hired Elle to find Rig back in May—a good month after he went MIA—and Elle took the job for two reasons. One, Amber and Elle are tight as fuck and, despite there being no blood relation between the women, Amber’s kids think of Elle as their aunt. And two, Amber hinted that hiring Elle to take care of Rig—even though it’s club business and therefore none of either of theirs—wasn’t exactly her idea. I was able to check my shit a little better when Elle told me she thinks it was either Amber’s dad or grandfather who put her up to involving Elle—and I don’t have the rank to say shit about that considering Trip Wallace is Forsaken’s founding president, and his son, Amber’s dad, served as Detroit’s president before taking the gavel for the California Nomads. I might be dumb enough to get my nose dirty for my woman, but I’m not a fucking idiot. There’s a fuckton of history here that I don’t understand, and I don’t need to right now. I just need the basics that are going to help us bring Amber’s boy home.
Elle lets out a light little snore and shifts in her seat. She can’t be comfortable. The cab of the truck is a good size, but my woman is six foot and almost all legs. It’s dark as hell out here in the middle of nowhere with very few street lights to illuminate our path, but with every one we pass under, I give in to the compulsion to look at my sleeping girl. She doesn’t look peaceful or happy—not even in her fucking sleep—which I get because she’s hurting. I just wish she wasn’t. Losing her father was one thing, but then losing what little bit she had of Grady just made that pain go deeper. I knew she was attached to him but didn’t know how deep that shit went until they had their blowup outside of the 101 Club a few months back. I didn’t react to overhearing the shit they said to each other very well and let it eat at me until Grady and I got into it a few days later. I called him on his bullshit, and in a surprise move, he agreed he’d done her wrong and had only one thing to say—make her happy.
That fight is the whole reason Grady put me on Elle. I respect the hell out of Knuck for trusting me with something he cares about. Plus, Elle has a long-running habit of poking her nose into club business, and he can’t keep an eye on her the way he used to. Going and getting himself an old lady did more than just switching shit up at home—it’s fucked with everything else, too. Not exactly a bad thing—claiming a woman—it just turns your whole life over. Been telling myself for a damn long time now I won’t go through all that unless I know she’s solid if shit goes sideways.
Elle’s solid. Always has been. She doesn’t see it, or doesn’t want to see it, but she’s a lot like her old man in that way. A man like me needs solid. My life demands it, and fuck if I won’t flip shit upside down to get a little taste of a woman as solid as Elle. And the first step to solid with Elle is fixing this clusterfuck she’s gotten herself into. The club is gonna have a fucking field day with this shit, but it’s going to come out and the sooner the better.
“Fucking pussy,” I mutter to myself as I pull my mobile out of my front pocket, bring up my contacts, and press the big green button on the touch screen under PRES- MOBILE. I should have made this call before we even left California, but I’ve been trying to work it out in my head. At first, I told myself I’d call when we crossed the Nevada border. Then it was when we stop for the night. I haven’t found a place for us to stop yet, but I can’t keep pulling it off.
“Stone,” Pops says as he answers the call.
“I’m gonna be tied up for the next few days, Pops. Gonna have to miss Church,” I say as casually as I can. Brothers need a damn good reason for missing Church, and I have one. I just can’t tell Pres what it is right now.
“You gonna explain that?”
“When I get back. You know how life with the in-laws can get.” Talking business over the phone is a good way to end up in San Quentin, so we use a code that seems inconsistent to outsiders but makes sense to us. The in-laws is the code we use to describe club-related business that’s not directly related to one of our customers or jobs. It should be enough to keep Pops off my nuts for the time being.
“See that you do,” he says, and the call ends. Without the luxury of a face-to-face, he can’t do or say shit right now without compromising the security measures we put in place.
Elle jerks awake beside me and blinks rapidly. She stretches her long, fine-as-fuck legs out as much as she can and looks over at me with tired eyes. Her nose is screwed up, and she’s eyeing me like she’s trying to work something out in her head.
“Either you’re thinking about sucking my dick, or you got something to say I’m not gonna like.” I flash her a wide grin that I’m not certain she can even see. “If you wanna suck my dick, baby, you don’t have to ask.”
The cab fills with the sound of her laughter. She throws her head back and holds her stomach as she gasps for breath through her chuckles. In between her breath-taking laughter, she smiles and says, “I’ll let you ride me bare before you get my mouth around your dick.”
I raise an eyebrow and wait for her to explain. A minute or so passes while she gets comfortable expanding on her comment. She seems caught off guard, like she didn’t really mean to say it.
“Sucking a guy’s dick is intimate. It’s in your mouth, all up in your face, and it doesn’t do a whole lot for women. Men don’t get that. They just want women to drop to their knees and do as they’re told.”
“My dick in your pussy isn’t intimate?”
“It’s not the same,” she says quietly. Her eyes shift to the road, and she stares out into the dark, barren landscape. I want to argue with her, but I decide to hold off when a lit-up billboard comes into view advertising a budget motel with vacancies just off the next exit. If we’re going to have a conversation about her sucking my dick, I at least want to do it horizontal and naked.
She doesn’t say another word as I pull off the highway and into the motel parking lot. I got all kinds of shit running through my head that’s pissing me off. What the fuck did Grady do to her that’s fucked her up this much?
Fucking asshole.
I park the truck, unbuckle myself and then my girl. She shifts toward the door and moves to open it while muttering, “I’ll get us a room.”
“Gimme a minute first,” I say and hook a hand around her neck, pulling her face into mine. She twists in her seat and stares at me blankly. “Whatever Grady did to you was fucked, and I know you don’t want that again.”
She sucks in a deep breath and stills, like I hit her right in the gut or something.
“Since you seem to know me so well, why don’t you tell me what you think I want?”
“You want me. Because with me, you get to run your shit and I’ll run mine. Swear to Christ, babe, I’ll watch your six, but I’ll never cage you in. I’m good for you because I’m gonna keep true to what you need and not that bullshit fantasy you think you want.”
Elle nods her head and raises an eyebrow, silently asking what I mean. My eyes fall to her lips as she sucks in a deep breath and relaxes into my touch. I shouldn’t start this shit now, but I can’t help myself. I take her mouth, slowly at first, and let her lead. She responds quickly, wiggling out of her bucket seat and straddling my lap. Her tongue dominates mine, and I don’t
fight it. This excitement is what I want from her. I like knowing she’s as affected by me as I am by her. She deepens the kiss and rocks herself into my dick. I’m half-hard when she pulls away to get some air. I keep her face close to mine, refusing to let her get far. She’s given this to me three times today, and she’s got another thing coming if she thinks I’m not a greedy fuck who’s going to consume her or die trying.
“You’re not a stupid woman. You giving me your mouth means you’re mine. Your pussy, your tits, your gorgeous fucking legs. All of it belongs to me now, and I take care of what’s mine. Prepare yourself, because the second we get into that motel room, we’re getting naked, and I’m going to fuck every bad memory out of you. Getting naked for me, spreading those sweet legs for me—all of it is a goddamn gift, and I won’t ever force you into anything you don’t want.” To drive home my point, I take her hand, place it on my hard cock, cover her hand with mine, and give it a squeeze. My dick throbs under our touch, and I don’t fight the moan that slips out.
“Not gonna lie, babe. I want my dick in your mouth, your tongue all over me, making me come like a fucking teenager. I want to watch you swallow what I give you, and I want to bury my face in your pussy so deep I think I might lose oxygen. I want all of it. Every fucking thing you can give, I’m going to take, and you’re going to love it.”
“You talk a lot,” she says on a shaky breath.
“Had a lot to say. Now, go get us a room so I can make good on my promises.”
She presses her tits into my chest and kisses me. The way her lips move over mine is so fucking erotic—soft and confident and all woman—that I have to mentally pace myself, or I’m going to whip my dick out, cut her jeans off her, and bury myself in her pussy right here in the parking lot. She slows the kiss down, then pulls away and slides off me. Even when she’s out of the truck and walking to the office with those long as fuck legs, she still affects me. My chest is tight, my body tense, and my heart is fucking full.
