by M. N. Forgy
Recourse
Sin City Outlaws Christmas Novella
M.N. Forgy
Copyright © 2017 M.N. Forgy
Edited by Ellie McLove
Cover by Sara Eirew
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
Merry Christmas to all of my readers and followers!
There is no such thing as a Christmas without a little chaos.
Contents
1. Jillian
2. Jillian
3. Jillian
4. Jillian
5. Christmas Morning
The End
Acknowledgments
About the Author
1
Jillian
Sitting behind the wheel of my sheriff cruiser, I listen to Chewie go on about how his love life is lacking excitement. I’m trying to think about anything but his naked ass screwing some random girl though. The smell of his Old Spice deodorant and spearmint gum he keeps chomping on fills the small space and it’s hard to ignore him. I normally ride alone, but with it being the holidays the lieutenant ordered everyone to ride in pairs. I got Chewie as my partner. His real name is Deputy Silver, but the first time I met him at the police academy he was tased as part of our learning experience and sounded like Chewbacca when he fell to the floor.
I smile to myself. That internal image gets me every time.
My fingers strum against the steering wheel, my heart steady but ready to race at the sound of my radio going off. It’s Christmas Eve, and though things are slow, they will speed up as the night creeps along.
“I mean, I think I should find a woman who accepts my need to play Call of Duty, right?”
I sigh, pulling down the visor, I yank the ribbon from my hair, the dirty blonde strands snapping and curling around the black hair tie. We have to keep our hair up and out of our face, the last thing we need is a perpetrator trying to play dirty and pulling our hair in a scuffle.
“Look,” I sigh, staring at my own reflection in the mirror on the sun visor, my brown eyes look bored as I shove my blonde hair back into a messy ponytail. “If you want to get laid, put the games away, grab your girl by her ponytail, and fucking be a man.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, but to actually hear myself say those words out loud, I blush. That doesn’t sound like anything I’d ever suggest. I’m more modest and ‘girl power’… Or I used to be.
“Wow, someone must be getting it good at home by the Outlaws,” Chewie chuckles.
My head snaps in his direction, my eyes blazing. Chewie runs his hand over his buzzed hair, his green eyes smiling. It’s no secret I am the baby momma with the most feared outlaw in Vegas. Zeek Deluca is the president of The Sin City Outlaws, and that doesn’t go over well with some of my co-workers. He has a record and has most of the law enforcement in the area in his pocket.
He’s deadly, fierce, and loyal as fuck.
Nobody crosses him and walks away.
Chewie raises his hand, his naturally pink lips coming into a full smile. “Hey, don’t go all bitch mode on me. I don’t give a shit who you’re with.” Dropping his hands, he smacks his gum and looks out the window.
I drop my head, knowing my reaction is ridiculous, but I’ve become protective of what Zeek and I have. Nobody knows him like I do. Sure, he’s an outlaw and can be what everyone portrays him to be, but I see so much more and hate the cloak of darkness everyone shoves him in.
Thinking about him has me missing him.
I look at the clock on the dash. My shift is almost over, and I can swing by the club and see Zeek before going home and relieving the babysitter of watching the twins. Best thing Zeek and I ever did was to have those kids. Sure, they’re at that age when they’re trying to get into everything, and puke, and shit a whole lot, but it’s the little coos and giggles when they’re excited that melts my heart.
I shake my head and flip the visor back up. Turning to him with a scowl I say, “Did you know I had to scrub the word ‘Traitor Cunt’ off my locker yesterday?”
“Traitor cunt.” The words fall from his lips as if only an idiot would come up with such an insult.
“Sic your baby daddy after them,” he suggests. I roll my eyes, declaring this conversation over.
If Zeek knew what some of the other deputies said to me, Zeek and the boys would make an example out of them. What if he killed them? What if he got caught? My kids need their father.
God listen to me. I’m more worried about what life would be like without Zeek, rather than him taking innocent lives. Being with this man has put a dark streak in my pure blood.
I feel like that makes me dangerous. I can walk on either side of life. Outlaws and law enforcement.
I’d marry Zeek if it didn’t jeopardize his club and my job. We’ve worked so hard to get to where we are at, that we both agree that we don’t need a marriage certificate to flail around just to prove to others that what we have is real. I love Zeek, and I know he loves me. The way his touch can be hard but soft at the same time when we’re between the sheets does more than tell me that, it shows me. How he would burn this city to the ground just for me, an act that may seem crazy to others but a term of endearment to me. I get Zeek, and he gets me. Neither of our social circles would understand us though.
“5Paul69?”
My hand races to the radio, ready to talk to the dispatcher like they’re my best friend.
“5Paul69 copy.” Tell me there is a robbery. A high chase pursuit, anything to get my heart pumping.
“Watch it be the Santa Marathon, a Santa assaulting another,” Chewie laughs.
“We’ve got a couple reports of a man dressed like Santa staggering out into the roadway off old highway six,” dispatch informs.
Holding the walkie close to my mouth my palm begins to sweat, my brows furrow together trying to think where that is.
“Just out of town,” Chewie fills in the blank, and my brain flickers with recognition.
“5Paul69, in route,” I inform before hanging the radio up. So, maybe it’s not a high-speed pursuit, but it’s something.
Chewie sits up in his seat as if adrenaline just raced through his limbs. “Finally, some action!”
“No kidding,” I agree. I’m an adrenaline junkie, I love this job because of its unknown predictability. It’s in my blood to bleed blue, and having two kids doesn’t slow me down a bit. If anything, it makes that line of blue deeper. I want this city safe for them.
Pulling up to the scene, sure enough, there is a fat Santa dancing in the middle of the road. He’s completely oblivious to us creeping up on him.
“That’s just frightening,” Chewie whispers.
I place the car in park and flick on my lights, Chewie sounding the sirens.
Santa jumps where he dances, swinging around so fast
his big red sack hanging over his shoulder nearly slaps him in the face.
His legs spread, his face in pure panic, my heart begins to accelerate.
“He’s going to run,” I predict.
“No, he ain’t.” Chewie’s voice giving away he’s unsure.
Like a bolt of lightning, Santa takes off. His hat bouncing with every step.
“Told ya!” I jerk my door open, and we both hustle down the cracked pavement. The air cooler in the winter months, it makes my lungs burn.
Chewie begins to slow down, running out of breath.
“STOP!” I shout to the suspect, but he just keeps running. His black boots stomping onto the cold ground. For a man in a fat suit, he sure is fucking fast. “I said stop!” He’s not going to stop. Pulling my taser out, I aim and fire. The familiar zapping noise music to my ears.
Santa stiffens like a board, before falling to the ground in a fit of jerks and jumps.
Reaching him, I drop on top of him, pressing my knee into the center of his back. Maybe a little harder than necessary, but the asshole made me run.
“Why didn’t you stop?” I ask, out of breath, reaching for my cuffs.
“I didn’t know you were the cops,” he replies.
I can’t help the dumbfounded look on my face. “So, the flashing lights and sirens were no indicator that we were law enforcement?”
He looks over his shoulder, his pale skin and Santa beard coming into sight. “No,” he states meekly.
“Jesus,” I mutter. Finishing up putting his gloved hands into the cuffs.
“Oh, you got him. Good, I had to—”
“Oh please, I’m faster and you know it,” I smile, pulling Santa to his feet.
Chewie stops, out of breath, his face red and sweaty.
“Did you see him go down?” I ask. “He kind of looked like you when you were first tased,” I jab, gaining me a glare in return from Chewie. I’ll never forget the way he jerked and sounded when he was tased back in the academy.
“Why are you running? What are you hiding?” Chewie juts his head to Santa.
“Nothing, man,” Santa shrugs, avoiding eye contact.
“Do you have any form of ID on you?” I question.
“I’m fucking Santa, can’t you tell?”
Chewie loses his work ethic and begins to laugh.
“All right, Santa,” I roll my eyes. His large satchel laying on the ground grabs my attention, and I bend down and grab it. It’s light.
Pulling the drawstrings open, rancid body odor nearly has me puke.
I jerk it away from my face and hold it arm’s length away.
“Oh my God that smells.” I hold my wrist over my nose.
Turning it upside down, I dump the contents out, finding dozens of different colored panties.
“Whoa, that’s a hell of a panty stash,” Chewie observes, his boot kicking a pair of pink thongs. It hits me like a ton of bricks staring at the dirty undergarments.
“You’re the guy that has been breaking into homes and stealing women’s underwear?” I ask with disbelief. There have been reports all over the city that someone has broken into homes and wiped out only the panty drawer.
Santa smiles, no shame to our discovery of his fetish. People never stop surprising me.
“It’s for my ho ho ho’s,” he slurs in a drunken state.
“Let’s book him, and call it a night,” I sigh heavily, grasping pervert Santa, I read him his rights as I escort him and his naughty bag back to the cruiser.
Chewie had a ton of questions to ask him about raiding a girl’s drawer all the way to the station.
I, on the other hand, held my head out the window most of the time.
Zeek
Sitting at the bar, I watch the boys drink and become rowdy. It’s Christmas Eve and we’re known to have a wild two-day party every year here at the club. Marshmello ft. Khalid plays the song “Silence”. Something one of the ho’s around here put on.
“Zeek,” Dolly drawls out, holding mistletoe in her hand. She’s wearing red and white stockings and red lace panties. Her green Christmas tree pasties drawing everyone’s attention to her firm breasts. She’s a cry for attention.
I roll my eyes and turn around. I thought I got rid of that fucking mistletoe.
“Oh man, is that?” Mac nearly jumps over the counter jerking it out of Dolly’s hands.
“Yeah it is, I was the lucky girl the last time Zeek wore it,” Dolly winks. I don’t give her the attention she seeks. I look the other way.
Every year before Jillian, I would tie that to my dick and girls around the club would take turns sucking on my cock, and whoever got me to blow my load… was the girl I took back to my room for Christmas.
Dolly won last time. Worst present ever as I can’t get the bitch to take a hint and fuck off now.
“So, you going to do it this year?” Mac asks, holding the mistletoe as if it hadn’t been tied to my junk.
“He’s with Jillian now,” Machete informs the group, his brows pulled tight. His view on cheating on Jillian is amusing at best, but I don’t need him dictating what I do, especially what goes on in this club.
“Pretty sure whatever happens in this club stays, Machete,” I give him a pointed look. When our men go gossiping to the ol’ ladies, that’s when cat fights break out. Our women aren’t normal chicks either, shit will get violent and bloody. It’s the last fucking thing I need in my club.
Turning my beer bottle in place on the counter, the ring from the condensation smearing across the granite, I think about Jillian walking in on girl after girl slobbing on my knob. She’d probably have her gun, and she’d probably shoot every one of them, making sure to save two bullets just for me.
In all seriousness though, just the image playing out in my head of her hurt beautiful eyes looking at me while I broke her heart, makes my chest flare with pain. I used to be a man scared of commitment, one that didn’t need nor want it; and for good reason. The mere thought of losing Jillian makes my future look bleak and darker than ever. I’m not sure I could let her go.
I’d go to prison before ever letting her move on from me.
That alone would scare anyone away from commitment… but here I am. Deep as shit in love with the sheriff.
Just then the familiar sweet smell of Jillian swirls around me. A petite hand clasping around my shoulder. Leisurely I glance over my shoulder finding my woman smiling back at me.
Fuck, I missed her today.
Her hair is wet and pulled up into a messy bun, from her showering at the department after work. A white shirt tied in the corner causing her breast to outline perfectly, and her jeans are so tight it has me bite my bottom lip in an attempt to keep from turning her around and smacking her ass.
“What’s that?” She glances at the mistletoe in Mac’s hand.
“Nothing.” He tucks it under the bar counter, a little too quickly I might add. I give him a sharp look.
“All right, what are you guys hiding?” she laughs, but there’s a bitterness to it.
“Oh, we were just discussing when Zeek was going to start the blowie contest—”
Out of nowhere Machete wraps his arm around Dolly’s waist and hoists her away from the bar.
“Let go of me you fucking freak!” she shrieks. Her doll looking hair flailing back and forth over her bare back.
Jillian crosses her arms and cocks her head to the side. Her bitch face falling into complete form.
“Blowie contest?” The words drop from her mouth like acid.
I open my lips to explain, but really, there’s no fucking explanation.
“Every year I tie it around my cock, and see how many girls it takes to get to the center?” I shrug.
Her eyes burn like a wildfire and her jaw drops. Suddenly she shoves me, nearly knocking me from my stool.
“That’s just fucking sick!”
I glare at Mac, silently thanking him for his lack of couth.
“Were you going to do it th
is year?” she continues to rant.
“No,” I shake my head, trying to stifle my laughter. Seeing her so jealous does things to me. It makes the man in me want to come out and fuck his woman right here in front of everyone. Watch her cum on my cock and moan solely on the fact that I’m the one causing it.
Just as she goes to push me in a fit of rage, I grab her by the wrist and jerk her close to me.
Her eyes flare with recognition, she knows she’s crossed the line.
“Does that bother you, baby?” I know I’m poking the bear, but to hear her jealousy does something to my ego. What can I say?
Taking one last sip of my beer, I step away from the bar and jerk her behind me like a toddler in a store throwing a tantrum.
Once down the hall I shove her into a room and slam the door. Throwing her up against the doorframe, a little gasp spills from her lips from the hard impact.
I gently place my hand on her jaw, my face inches from hers.
“You and I both know I lived the wild life before us, and there’s nothing I can do about that, nor will I apologize for it.” She huffs at that. “You are my woman now, and you know it, Jillian. The only one I want sucking my cock tonight is you. Hell, if you want me to stand on the bar, and let you go down on my dick and balls just to prove you own me, then I’ll drop my jeans right now, baby.”
