by Ruby Dixon
Thing is, I can’t stop thinking about our truth or dare night. But for the guys, it might as well have never happened, and I don’t know if this is a Butchers thing, where fooling around just isn’t discussed openly, or a Locke-and-Epic thing, where they just don’t want to talk about the fact that they kissed.
Or the fact that I kissed both of them.
Or the fact that it all made me incredibly hot.
Nope, we just ignore all of it.
In a way, I guess it makes sense. Both guys are extremely protective of me. When we go out in public, I walk between them, and one has his hand at my waist at all times. To them, I’m a delicate flower that needs protection from all the big bads of the world. And, well, after my recent experience, I don’t know that they’re wrong. I like their overbearing protectiveness. I like the way they fuss over my every bruise and every weepy tear. They make me feel special. Important. I hadn’t realized just how badly I needed to be the center of someone’s attention until their focus turned on to me.
And…I love it.
But it’s frustrating, too. They treat me with kid gloves. They’re courteous and kind…and act a lot like I’m their misbehaving little sister. All that simmering sexual tension on the first night in the cabin? Not just between the two of them but between me and Locke, and me and Epic?
It’s like it never existed…at least, to them.
I’m painfully aware of it. I’m aware of it every time I crawl into bed and one loops his arm casually around my waist, holding me close—but not too close. I’m aware of it every time Epic crawls out of the hot tub, his skin wet and glistening. I’m aware of it every time Locke gives me one of those slow, reluctant smiles and my pulse starts pounding right between my legs.
I’m super, super aware of it because there’s not enough privacy in our tiny cabin to masturbate, and I really, really want to masturbate. I’ve got such great material…and no alone time unless I sneak a few minutes in the bathroom.
It’s all more than a little frustrating. I think that’s why I’ve been pushing the limits a bit more with every day that passes. I get more touchy-feely. I flirt. I deliberately walk around in a skimpy nightshirt. I tease. Oh boy, do I tease. And I wait. I wait for one of them to comment on the fact that I’m licking my fingers in the most exaggerated way when we eat. I wait for someone to mention the fact that I haven’t worn a bra in three days. I wait for someone to point out that last night, when we were snuggled in the heart-shaped bed together, that my hand accidentally skimmed over Locke’s groin, or that I kept my knee tucked between Epic’s thighs all night.
But nada.
Something’s got to happen, and soon. And it sounds like I’m going to have to be the one to instigate things, to push the boys back out of their comfort zones and get them to really notice me as a woman and not a victim, and certainly not as Penny and Jim’s kid sister.
I drink my coffee and consider this. Epic’s taking his sweet time in the shower this morning, so I focus on Locke. Maybe I need to work on seducing. I’ve never seduced a man, but with every day that passes, I’m getting braver…and more worried that we’re going to get the call tomorrow that everything’s clear and we can separate. I don’t want that—not yet.
I want to play first, to explore all these crazy things I’m feeling. To try out what it’s like to mess around with two guys instead of just one.
So I grab my coffee cup and get up from my seat, moving to Locke’s side. “You ever see anything good out there?” I ask, making sure to stand close enough that my bare thigh brushes against his arm.
“Nope,” he says with a drawl. “But that’s a good thing.”
He returns to his silent contemplation, and my leg is ignored. Damn it. I’m tempted to ask him what the heck it takes to get his attention, when a phone rings. Mötley Crüe’s ‘Shout at the Devil’ plays, the sound muffled under the blankets. I look over at the bed, surprised. No one ever calls. It’s always Epic and Locke making outgoing calls to check in. “That’s weird—”
Immediately the door to the bathroom opens and Epic comes flying out, a towel clutched at his hips. I stare at his wet, nearly nude body, watching his muscles flex as he rummages through the sheets on the messy bed. The towel he’s holding isn’t more than a hand towel and isn’t leaving much to the imagination. I see a flash of his dick, long and hard, as he leans over to grab the phone and then races back into the bathroom with it.
I’m a little stunned. Though it’s been a few weeks of close quarters and using the hot tub, I’ve never seen a hint of dick. And thanks to a phone call, I think I just saw the whole thing. And, well, his name sums it up: Epic.
I press my fingers to my lips, because I’m not sure how to handle this. The squirmy virgin part of me is shocked and a little concerned at the size of it. The aroused girl that’s attracted to these two bikers wants to go into the bathroom and rip that towel off to get a second look. “Who’s calling?” I ask, still a little baffled by what I just saw. I can hear the quiet mumble of Epic’s voice as he speaks, and I’m trying really hard not to think about his dick.
But I still keep thinking about it anyhow.
Locke is silent.
I glance over at him and he’s got a frown on his face, his attention riveted to the bathroom door. I wonder if he’s thinking about Epic’s dick, too.
The bathroom goes quiet, and a moment later, Epic reappears and gives Locke a meaningful look. I’m disappointed to see he’s got a full-sized towel wrapped around him now.
“That what I think it was?” Locke asks.
“Yup.” Epic tosses the phone on the bed and begins to pace, his towel perilously close to falling off. “And he has what we need.”
“Oh? Do we need to meet him?”
“Nah. He’s got the intel and passed it on.”
“So we can get our thing?”
“What thing?” I ask, glancing between the men. What are they talking about?
They both go silent. It’s clear they don’t want to discuss whatever this is in front of me. “It’s nothing,” Epic says quickly. He shoots another glance at Locke. “We’ll chat about it later. No big deal.”
“If it’s no big deal, you guys can talk about it in front of me,” I protest. “Was that my sister?”
“It wasn’t.” Locke gets to his feet and puts his hand on my shoulder. “And it’s nothing you need to worry about, Becka. It’s club business, and you shouldn’t be involved.”
His touch feels very…fatherly. And that pisses me off. The feelings I’ve been having toward him—toward both of them—are anything but familial. I shrug off his touch. “Don’t talk down to me.”
Locke’s face hardens. He looks pissed, but I stare at him defiantly, determined not to shrink away. I’m stuck here in this cabin with them. I’m grateful for their rescue, but I also don’t want to be talked over like I’m nothing. “You’re right,” he says after a moment. “We can’t talk about this here.” He looks over my head and then nods at Epic. “Put your pants on and meet me out on the porch.”
Jerks.
EPIC
I know Becka’s pouting back in the cabin, but I can’t think about that right now. My mind’s buzzing with all the news Hashtag just relayed, and I’m bursting to share it with Locke. We hustle out to the front of the cabin and walk a short distance away. I’ve got my piece tucked into the waistband of my jeans, under my shirt, and Locke has his, too. Becka’s safe in the cabin with us standing out front, but I still feel weird leaving her unattended like this. Like I’m failing her after spending three weeks glued to her side.
But this shit’s important.
I take a few more steps forward and glance at the door of the cabin, just in case Becka decides to come rushing out and tear us a new one. I love that she’s feisty around us, because it means she isn’t scared anymore. And it means that maybe someday I’ll get to kiss her again.
Right now, though, we gotta take care of other shit.
“So, my buddy Has
htag with the Hellfire Riders? He’s been hunting this Luc asshole for me. Finally dug up some dirt on him today. Seems that the Riders have been all up in this cage shit, but no one’s been mentioning girls at all. So he started asking around with a couple other friends, wanting to know where he could find a good fuck-slave on the down-low, no questions asked. A gang out of LA told him that if you wanted the good pussy, you hit up their boy, Luc. He’s always got the good score. And that he’s in Cali.”
Locke’s face hardens, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Not Nevada?”
I shake my head. We picked up the girls on a ranch in Nevada. “Seems like he works out of several different locations.”
“Go on.”
“So Hashtag acts all interested. Tells them he wants a blonde virgin. Guy says he’ll put feelers out. Comes back to Hashtag a few days later and says his man Luc’s working out of Colorado and he can meet him for some pussy there. So Hashtag goes—”
“What?” Locke’s voice is an angry growl. “This fucker’s ours—”
“I know, man.” I put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, and then it feels too…fuck, I don’t know. Personal? Good? Touchy-feely? Either way, I pull away again and concentrate on retelling Hashtag’s story. Can’t get distracted right now. “He goes and wants to buy a girl, but he never meets Luc. Asks to meet him, and they say no one sees the boss. Real paranoid fuck or something. So Hashtag buys the girl.” I scratch at my jaw. “And I gotta pay him back for that, because now I owe him. When we get home we’ll have to send the Riders a shipment of assault rifles as a thank you—”
Locke makes an impatient motion with his hand.
“Right. So Hashtag starts talking to his piece, and she says she was picked up in Texas. And after she got picked up, they cleaned her up, branded her, and brought her to some big fancy party once and she had to blow a bunch of really old dudes in tuxes. And she remembered one because he was in a wheelchair and she had to push aside his colostomy bag to get to his dick or some shit. And guess what his name was?”
“Luc?”
“Bingo. Even said he was French.” I smile smugly, rather pleased with myself.
“So where is he now?”
“One of the Riders has a hook-up with the Texas PD. He’s doing a license plate search for cars registered as handicapped vehicles and under the first name Luc. Said it might take a few days and we’ll owe the Riders a favor.”
“It’s done.” Locke’s eyes gleam with a mean glint. “Whatever they want, we’ll do it, no questions asked. If they can get us where this Luc bastard is hiding out, we can get rid of that fucking louse.”
“And once he’s gone, we can clean house at all his little stables.” I think of all those girls, scared in their horse stalls, being sold to old pervs. It gets to me. I want to save all of them, though I know these things take time and a careful approach, and I’m not particularly good at either. But Locke is, and I’m glad once again that we’re partners. “We’ll have to figure out what to do with Becka.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Sounds like it’s quieting down at home, though. Might not be too much longer now.”
I’m silent at that, because I have mixed feelings. Handlebar is back, of course. Came back not too long after we hid out in our cabin…but Crash is gone. Dead. Had to fight in the cage to the death. Those fuckers are gonna get what’s coming to them, but everyone in Butchers territory has been extra busy. The few members of the Hard Nine that were left went after Butcher property, and torched one of the stores we own, and took out a few gangbangers that we have in our payroll. We had to retaliate, of course, and things blew into an-all out Albuquerque war for a while. I wish I’d been there to get my knuckles bloodied, because it sounds exciting.
But shit’s been real quiet for the last week and a half, and the last Hard Niner the Butchers found didn’t spill any additional info, even when pressed. The club’s still got a watchful eye out, but it might be time to take Becka home soon. Just a matter of time.
And that’s the part I’m real mixed on. I like spending time with her. I like our little thing we’ve got going in the cabin, where the world’s no bigger than me, her, and Locke. It’s like we fit perfectly together. I kind of wonder if this is how Gem and Dom feel about their girlfriend, Kitty. Or Beast and Muscle with tiny, quiet Shy. It makes you feel protective of your girl, and at the same time, you feel closer to your partner. Like you’re both linked to her.
I hate the thought of messing that up.
Then again, I hate that it’s also giving me nothing but blue balls. Like I said, I’m not the most patient of men.
“When does your Hellfire Riders buddy call you back?” Locke asks.
“Said he’d check in tomorrow or the day after.” I shrug. “Which means I should head into town and buy a few more prepaid cards to make sure he can call me back.”
“Go today,” Locke agrees. “Pick up some extra food and drink while you’re at it. When they call back about Luc, we need to move fast.”
“And if we still have Becka with us at that time?”
“We figure something out,” Locke says. “But we’re going to keep her safe, no matter what. I’m not letting her get near those creeps again.”
I crack my knuckles. Now we’re talking.
BECKA
I’m hurt that the guys are talking about secrets behind my back, so I go take a long, hot shower to try to distract myself. The shower’s also the only bit of privacy we have, so luxuriating in the hot water feels a bit naughty…and a little passive aggressive. I turn down the heat so the water’s lukewarm, just in case one of the others needs to shower, and finish up. Any other day, I might linger for a few minutes more and masturbate, but right now I’m too upset at the others to even think about them while touching myself.
I climb out of the shower and wrap a towel around my torso, then swipe a hand over the fogged mirror. I stare at my reflection. My wet hair clings to my skin, but I look like the same old Becka I always have been—moderately cute face, okay figure, good skin. A nose that could be a shade smaller, but seems okay otherwise. That’s about it. With make-up, I can slide over into ‘pretty’ territory, but I don’t know that I’m ever going to cross over to ‘sexy.’
I really wish I was.
I pull up my wet hair and turn, trying to see the brand on my neck. It’s healed up and doesn’t hurt any longer, but the scar is still puffy and a dark, angry red that won’t fade for a long, long time. I can still make out the lettering. For some reason, it doesn’t bother me that LUC’S STABLE is tattooed across my neck, but the CHERRY written underneath feels like a badge of shame. Like my virginity made me an extra special horsey in his stable, and it grosses me out.
I don’t want to be a virgin anymore. I don’t want to be cherry. I’d rather give it to someone.
Or two someones in particular. Not that they’re acting interested in the slightest. I’ve flung hint after hint in their direction, but no dice. It’s frustrating, because with every day that passes, we’re that much closer to my going home and to school starting again. A few days—or weeks—from today, I’m going to be back in my cozy little dorm, talking about relative atomic mass and Avogadro’s constant and I won’t have time to be involved with a pair of bikers. I won’t even be anywhere close to New Mexico, or Arkansas. I’ll be tucked away back at Stanford.
And still a virgin.
If I want things to change, I’m going to have to be the one to push things, I decide. I let my wet hair fall back against my nape and then rub the towel briskly over my damp skin. I don’t want to go back to my old life and my safe, protective bubble. Not just because I’m tired of being a virgin, but because for the first time in my life, I’m attracted to a guy enough to want to do more than just exchange a few kisses. And the fact that it’s two guys I’m attracted to and not just one adds a naughty, exciting thrill to things.
I’d be crazy not to explore this more.
I’m attracted to Epic. Of course I am—he
’s about the right age for me, funny and brash and has never met a challenge he didn’t run to with his arms open wide. I love that about him…and it doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly built. But I’m also drawn to Locke and his protectiveness, his quiet demeanor that tells me he doesn’t trust easily, but when he does, it means something. I’m addicted to pressing my cheek against his chest before going to sleep and feeling his arms encircle me. I’m in love with Epic pressing his long body against mine from the other side, and feeling so loved and protected between them.
It’s how I imagine sex with the two of them would be like—a tangle of arms and legs leading to kisses and exploring and so many other things that it makes me breathless to imagine.
I want that. I want that so much. And I’m tired of waiting.
I dress in a tank top and shorts, ignoring a bra like I have for the last few days. I’ve got a pretty full chest and I know I’ve been jiggling all around the cabin…not that anyone is noticing. But I’m not going to give up now. I pull my wet hair into a clip, slick on a bit of lip balm, and tug the neckline of my top down a little lower. I’m going to make them notice me today.
But when I emerge from the steamy bathroom, there’s only Locke, sitting at the window with a cup of coffee in hand. Epic’s nowhere to be seen. The pair has been broken, just like my plans. “Where’s Epic?”
Locke glances over at me—no more than a flash of gaze—before turning back to the window and sipping his cup. “Went into town to pick up a few things. He’ll be back later.”
I flounce to the bed, feeling like an angry teenager, and thump down on the edge. “Are you guys going to tell me your secret?”
“What secret?”
I roll my eyes. “The one you went outside to talk about? The one where you two ignored me and talked over my head like I don’t exist?”
