Free

by Kristen Ashley

  She hung up and looked up at me.

  “Donut, coffee, Rebel, and sit down. We’ll chat later about your folks. I want to hear about this landlady of yours. Tack says she’s a stitch.”

  I stood where I was.

  Her eyes softened (a little) and she said quietly, “It’s okay, Rebel. Rush took us both by surprise. Men often think if they’re good with something, everyone is just going to toe that line. I had a moment. I’m over that moment. Get a donut and we’ll get to know each other.”

  “You’ll never lose him, you know. If it’s me or anyone. He’d lose any woman who would even try to make him lose you.”

  Her whole face softened (a lot) and she said quietly, “You give your love to a kid, every cell in your body becomes about hoping they’ll find someone to make them happy.”

  “I’m kind of a lunatic,” I admitted.

  “Then you’ll fit right in,” she replied. “Now, Rebel, get a donut.”

  I looked across the way to a little table that had a coffeepot half full of coffee and a big pink box that had two donuts in it.

  My stomach rumbled.

  So I walked across Tyra Allen’s office to get a donut.

  Rush

  “Rush?” his father called him.

  They’d shot their wad giving him shit.

  Now they were killing time wondering if Boz was gardening and waiting for Chill to show with their sandwiches (he should have thought to text for one for him and Rebel, he’d send Chill out to deal with that when he showed) and generally just blowing off steam after all the shit they’d been hit with before they had to settle in and deal with more.

  He looked to his old man.

  “Where’s Rebel?” Tack asked when he got Rush’s attention.

  “I left her in the office with Tyra.”

  All conversation ceased.

  “You what?” Shy asked, sounding tweaked.

  Rush looked at Shy.

  The man also looked tweaked.

  “I dropped her in the office with Tyra before I came here,” Rush mostly repeated.

  Tack kicked back his chair and booked toward the doors.

  Rush knew that was not a good thing.

  “Dad, what the fuck?” he called, swiveling his chair toward the doors.

  His father stopped at them, turned to his son and stated, “You left two redheads alone together, neither of them knowing each other, one of them your stepmother, one of them the woman you moved in with you after a dead body was dumped outside her house.”

  Shit.

  What was he thinking?

  “Holy fuck,” Brick muttered.

  Rush shot out of his chair and booked after his father who’d pulled open one of the double doors and moved through.

  He heard the sounds of men, a lot of them, on the move behind him but he didn’t look back. He just caught up to his father.

  They prowled through the common room of the Compound, out, hit sunshine, and his dad actually broke into a jog as he went across the forecourt.

  Fuck.

  Rush jogged with him.

  Boots hit pavement behind him.

  His father took the steps up to the office two at a time.

  Rush did too.

  Boots hit cement behind him as he did.

  Tack threw open the door and stormed in.

  Rush followed him.

  “What on earth?” Tyra asked.

  Rush was crowded as men shoved in behind him.

  But all they saw was Tyra at her desk, leaning into her elbows toward Rebel, who was in a chair opposite her, those long legs of hers in her faded jeans stretched in front of her, her cowboy boots crossed at the ankles, her elbows to the arms of her chair, both hands held up. One had a coffee mug, the other a half-eaten donut.

  Rebel glanced through the guys and settled on him.

  “Hey,” she greeted calmly. “Everything cool?”

  “You tell me,” Tack growled, but he wasn’t talking to Rebel, his eyes were on his wife.

  “Tack, I’m not going to eat her,” Tyra said.

  Rush watched his dad’s jaw grow tight.

  His eyes swung to Tyra when she spoke, but she was looking at Rebel.

  “Just FYI, I was a little distraught when Tack got home last night. We’ve been dealing with this Valenzuela thing for a while. I wasn’t happy there was another dead body. I thought you were being reckless. Just an overprotective stepmom thing. No biggie.”

  “You ranted at me for an hour,” Tack bit out.

  She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t an hour.” Again she looked at Rebel. “Maybe forty-five minutes. Though I will admit it was ranting. The boys went down to the basement to escape it. Tack cooks. He was late home. I was low blood sugar.”

  Rebel was casually chewing a bite of donut.

  She swallowed and said, “Understandable.”

  Then she took a sip of coffee.

  “I didn’t get off this easy,” Shy put in.

  Tyra looked at her stepson-in-law. “Rebel hasn’t slept with half of Denver.” She looked back at Rebel. “Have you? Not that I’d mind, of course. No judgement for the sisterhood. A woman has needs the same as a man.”

  “No judgement for Rebel, but me . . .” Shy muttered irritably.

  “I haven’t,” Rebel looked to Rush. “I haven’t, baby. It’s low threat of awkward run-ins if you ever take me out to eat somewhere other than your kitchen.”

  “Our Punk might not have that low of a threat,” Hop muttered.

  Men chuckled.

  Rush took in a calming breath so he would not lose his mind.

  “Are there any donuts left?” Big Petey asked.

  “Just one,” Brick answered.

  “Lenny’s in the building,” Joker added.

  “You really need to bring more donuts, Cherry,” Dog grunted, gazing across the office at the mostly empty bakery box.

  “Punk?” Tyra asked.

  “Rebel has a nickname,” Snapper answered.

  “Already?” Tyra asked.

  “A lot like Rush, we don’t let grass grow, woman,” Hound said.

  And now Hound was in on the act, giving him shit.

  “And it’s Punk?” Tyra asked.

  “You didn’t see her outfit yesterday,” Brick told her.

  Tyra looked to Rebel. “I thought Saliva was metal.”

  “I don’t know what they’re talking about. My outfit was rocker chic yesterday,” Rebel said.

  Tyra nodded like she was forming a mental picture.

  “It was somethin’, don’t know if it was rocker chic,” High muttered.

  “Don’t you men have important business?” Tyra asked the group, her eyes narrowing. “You know, women to keep from being killed, criminals to bring to justice?”

  “Everybody out,” Tack ordered.

  “Rush, FYI, I ordered you a sandwich. And one for Rebel. So that’s handled,” Tyra told him. “But maybe next time you might think about feeding your woman.”

  “Yeah, next time, think about feeding your woman,” Speck spoke up.

  He was now officially done with that shit.

  So, slowly, Rush turned and leveled his eyes on Speck.

  “Goin’ back to the Compound,” Speck announced, then shoved through the wall of men and out the door.

  Rush turned back and looked at Rebel.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Perfectly fine. Though later, you’re dead,” she answered and stuffed the last bite of donut in her mouth.

  She was fine.

  He looked to Ty-Ty. “Be nice.”

  Her brows went up. “When am I not nice?”

  “Don’t make now the time you start,” he ordered.

  Tyra rolled her eyes at Rebel.

  Rebel smiled at Tyra.

  Then she took another ship of coffee.

  It was all good.

  He moved to the door.

  His father fell in step beside him as they made their way across the forecourt back t
o the Compound.

  “You wanna talk about how you want a handful again?” Tack asked.

  “She really rant for an hour?”

  “Don’t believe her bullshit about forty-five minutes. It was more like an hour and a half.” His dad heaved a big sigh. “We need to get this Valenzuela shit finished.”

  Rush couldn’t agree more.

  “So I’ll run this shit down,” Tack said an hour later.

  The waste of sandwiches, chip bags, cellophane from cookies, spent bottles of beer and cans of pop littered the table as all the men around it kept their eyes locked on their president.

  “I’ll call Valenzuela. Set the meet. Hop and Shy with me. Hound, High, Snap and Rush ride with, peel off, stay close to the meet location. Everyone else on alert when that goes down,” Tack went on.

  No one said anything, which meant everyone got it.

  “Join forces with Valenzuela,” Tack continued, now talking like he had rocks in his mouth he wanted to spit out. “Find Chew. Priority one. In the meantime, we shake down anyone who might have a lead on where Chew is. Slim told me they’re haulin’ in Digger and Pacino from the club formerly known as Bounty, and they’re gonna lean on Digger to get him to give up Chew, as well as other fucked-up shit.”

  His dad’s eyes came to Rush before he kept talking.

  But all the men had been briefed.

  Digger was a suspect in Rebel’s friend’s murder and Hank and Eddie were going to further explore that option.

  And also push the man on if he knew the whereabouts of Chew.

  “It might end there, Digger gives him up,” Tack said. “I don’t have good thoughts about that. So we keep lookin’, find that asshole and shut shit down.”

  No one was gonna disagree to any of that so again, no one said anything.

  “Now, Snap’s bein’ followed,” Tack carried on. “High and him didn’t see anything, but from now on, sucks, brothers, but if you can, ride with a man at your side. Do it armed. Keep vigilant. And let someone, brother or old lady, know where you’re going and check in when you get there.”

  There was shifting at that. Not uncomfortable, ticked.

  They were who they were.

  They did what they did.

  They didn’t even have a schedule at the shop or in the garage. The only ones who had to make sure the shop was covered were the prospects. Everyone else pitched up when they felt like it and did what they felt like doing. It was commitment to the brotherhood that got their asses where they were needed to get any job done.

  Riding with a brother and checking in was not going where the wind took you.

  It was not doing whatever you wanted when the spirit moved you.

  This was not the life they’d signed on for when they’d earned their patch.

  This was not free.

  Snapper sensing a tail . . .

  It was now unavoidable.

  And not a man in that room liked it.

  But they liked it less Snap sensing a tail.

  “We all good?” Tack asked.

  There were grunts, “yeahs” and other shit indicating they were all good.

  Rush scanned the table.

  No one was good, but they were all on the same page.

  Except Joke.

  Something was bugging Joke.

  Rush studied his brother as his dad said, “Good. We’re done.”

  Men started to move, including Rush, but his gaze swung from Joker to his father when he heard Tack call his name.

  “Hang a minute,” he ordered.

  Rush nodded and settled back in his seat.

  “Joke,” Tack called. “A word.”

  Of course, his dad didn’t miss Joke not being right.

  Joker moved to Tack as the rest of the men moved out.

  Rush leaned back in his seat and kept his eyes on his dad and his brother.

  Tack stood when Joker made it to him.

  “You’re pissed,” he remarked.

  Joker laid it out.

  “Should be ridin’ with the guys to the meet.”

  “Carissa’s gonna have your baby any day now,” Tack pointed out.

  “Keely’s knocked up too and Hound is ridin’ with you.”

  “Keely’s not that far along,” Tack replied. “Carissa is due next week. If that goes down, you need to be free to get to her and your brothers don’t need to be in a position you have to take off, we’re down a man.”

  Joker looked to his boots.

  That meant he agreed.

  “This is gonna be done soon,” Tack told Joker.

  Joker lifted his head. “I fuckin’ hope so.”

  He jerked up his chin at Tack, dipped it at Rush, then he rounded the table and walked out the doors.

  Tack sat down and looked at his son.

  “Bud, I need you to phone your mother,” he stated.

  Rush sat up straight. “Why?”

  “I called her a while ago. Left a message. Told her to get down to Denver. We’d cover her, keep her safe while bodies are dropping. She didn’t call back.”

  Fuck.

  He hadn’t thought of that.

  Naomi was so not Chaos anymore that it hadn’t crossed his mind.

  “Spoke with Pope,” Tack shared. “He says she’s up in Spooks’s shit to take her back, so I know she’s still breathing. She’s not my biggest fan, but she might pick up, you phone. Get on that. Get her down here. Get her covered.”

  Rush nodded. “I’ll phone.”

  Tack nodded back.

  “Tab’s gonna be pissed as shit everyone’s met Rebel but not her,” Tack continued. “I’d get on that, I was you.”

  Rush nodded again.

  He also needed to check in with his sis. She’d gotten it together after losing Natalie, but she was still struggling. He had to keep his finger on that pulse.

  “I’ll call her too,” Rush told his dad, then said, “Heads up about Valenzuela, he’s into Rebel.”

  Tack was visibly unhappy. “Come again?”

  “Told you all about the convo with him and Rebel this morning. What I didn’t say was that he didn’t mind at all she was shutting down production. Offered to help out if there was anything she needed. He’s totally into her. The man wants in my woman’s pants and I do not have a good feeling about it, and not only how I’d naturally not have a good feeling about it.”

  Tack nodded. “I hear you.”

  “He finds out who she is, what she was up to and that she’s taken up with a brother of Chaos, he’s not gonna like it.”

  “He doesn’t have a choice. But hopefully by the time he learns all that, he’ll be outta commission to do anything about it.”

  Yeah.

  Hopefully.

  That made Rush nod.

  “Right. We done?” Tack asked.

  “We’re done,” Rush told him.

  “Later, son,” Tack said, pushed out of his chair on a sigh, came to Rush and wrapped his finger’s around his son’s shoulder for a squeeze before he strolled out.

  Rush dug out his phone.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d phoned his mother.

  He still didn’t hesitate to make the call.

  He got her voicemail.

  “Mom? Rush. I know Dad called, you didn’t call back. You need to call back, Mom. Shit is happening and I want you safe. So call me as soon as you get this. Yeah?”

  He took in a big breath as he disconnected.

  Then he moved down on his contacts and found his sister.

  A Successful Afternoon

  Valenzuela

  He was going to come.

  And he was going to do it hard.

  Interesting.

  His fingers tightened around the leather straps binding his wrists, his arms spread wide and stretched so he felt pain in his shoulders. His toes curled, digging into the bed, pulling at the straps around his ankles, furthering the pain at his inner thighs that were overextended. His breath came heavy through his nose sin
ce his mouth was gagged, his forehead digging into the mattress.

  And his hips moved uncontrollably, humping his aching cock against the silk sheet under him until everything stiffened, strained. His balls drew up so tight, he felt piercing pain before he bucked violently against his bindings, his head jerking back, and he experienced the sweet release, grunting against the silk in his mouth, warm wet suffusing the area at his stomach.

  It kept coming, that release. His body beginning to jerk, the bindings digging into his flesh, the noises from his mouth escaping around the cloth as he saturated the sheet under him, his movements almost desperate, the rubbing of his cock against that warm, sodden silk that felt almost like a pussy and getting more of all the rest.

  All of it.

  And it went on so long, in some small part of his brain that was not about his orgasm, he actually felt genuine fear it would never stop.

  It stopped and his body sunk lax into the bed.

  He set his face to the sheet, eyes closed, and drew deep at his nose.

  It took some time to register what was causing the gratifying feeling he was still experiencing.

  His eyes opened.

  “Like that?” her voice purred at him.

  He stared up close at the red sheet.

  “They always think they won’t like it,” she murmured victoriously. “But they always like it.”

  His fingers tightened again on the straps.

  “Wonder if I can make you go again that hard if I keep doing this,” she said, continuing to glide the large, rubber phallus in and out of his oiled ass. “But sad to say, your time is up. You’ll have to book me again. Double up. I’ll keep this goodness going and we’ll see.”

  He gritted his teeth on his gag as she slid the cock from him.

  He felt her move from where she was kneeling by his hip on the bed and turned his head.

  He watched her saunter into the bathroom, her short, shiny pleather skirt looking cheap, because it was. Fishnets held up by suspenders. Thigh-high, shiny red leather, spike-heeled boots. Pleather bustier with a variety of thin straps that led to a thick one around her neck, the whole garment dotted with studs. Gauntlets with more studs that ran from wrists to elbows.

  A good deal of auburn hair.

  He’d told her no ridiculous outfit.

  When he’d arrived, he’d seen that she had defied his instructions, but he’d been interested enough at what would result from their session to allow that defiance.