by Jessie Cooke
“Is that what you want?”
“Mm-hmm…”
“You want more?”
“Yes.”
Coyote pressed in another inch and she moaned. He pulled back and she whimpered. She was so wet, and he had thought about teasing her a little more, but she had him too excited. He let go of her breast and put both hands on her hips. He pushed forward, burying his cock all the way inside of her tight, soaked pussy. They both let out an ecstatic sigh as he held it there for a few seconds, savoring the way it pulsed against her tight walls. Then he started moving. He pushed forward, and she pushed back, and at first it was crazy and frenetic. It took them both a few minutes to calm down, but when they did, they fell into a sexy rhythm, not too slow, but not too crazy. Coyote held her tightly and pulled her into him with each one of his thrusts. He knew they should hurry, but he didn’t want to. Once he was inside of her the rest of the world disappeared and he wanted to stay right there, forever. He took way too long, moving slowly, and then speeding up, circling his hips and holding himself inside her. It was only when she whispered, “Baby…we should hurry,” that he remembered they had a party gearing up outside the door.
With a frustrated sigh, he began to move faster, shoving himself into her hard and fast. He reached around and found her clit with his fingers and she squealed. He could see her face in the mirror, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, sweat beading on her forehead and her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip. She looked so fucking hot. He pushed harder, almost throwing her little body into the sink. Her knuckles were white as she gripped it harder. He rubbed her clit harder and he could tell by her breathing that she was getting close to an orgasm. He held back until he felt her body tense up tightly and then he let go…and she did too, with a muffled little cry. He loved watching her face when she reached her climax. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.
They took a few minutes to come down before cleaning up. “You should go first,” he told her, kissing her on the side of the face.
She smiled. “I needed it. Thank you.” He watched her open the door and slide out. He wouldn’t have been the slightest bit bothered by walking out with her and everyone in the place knowing what they’d just done, but he wouldn’t embarrass her like that. He waited a few seconds and walked out. As soon as he did, the front door to the club opened and Badger, Rat, Tank, Trainer, and Hotwire walked in. Coyote waited for the door to swing back open, but it didn’t. He looked at Badger who, as he came toward Coyote, said:
“Sorry, man, Doc and Hawk had business in Texas. They won’t make the barbecue.”
“And Dallas?” Coyote asked.
“Doc wouldn’t let her come.”
“Motherfucker,” Coyote said, aloud. He didn’t even realize he’d said it until he took in the looks on the guys’ faces. Badger was looking over his shoulder. Coyote knew instantly what, or who, he was looking at. In the span of seconds, he’d forgotten all about Colleen…and once again, Dallas had taken over his thoughts. He didn’t want to, but he forced himself to turn and look at her. She knew who Dallas was from listening to him talk, and she’d even asked him once if he had a thing for her. He denied it…but judging by the look on her face at that moment, she wouldn’t be buying it again.
Two nails were hammered that day. The first one into the coffin that contained what was left of Coyote’s relationship with Doc, and the second one into the heart of the woman that would become the most important person in his life. Coyote would soon come to realize that the second one cut the deepest…and bled the longest.
13
Life moved on without Doc. Only a few years after his death, Coyote’s club was thriving while Doc’s was now struggling. They were at war…with the man who had been Doc’s best friend and closest confidante most of his life. Coyote was doing what he could, sending as many men as he could to help when Dax called…but he had just received a call that the second of his men had lost his life in the fight…and that was where he decided he was going to have to draw the line. It was going to be a hard line to draw, and he knew that he might even be making a decision that would sever the brotherhoods altogether. He sat in front of his crew in the room where they held church and looked out at all the faces he knew would protest what he was about to do…but someone had to make the hard decisions and as long as he wore the patch that said “Prez,” that someone would have to be him.
“Let’s quiet down!” Manson yelled over the loud voices that echoed off the walls of the room. “Prez is ready to begin.” Coyote had a gavel. The guys had presented it with him his second year as president of the club. He hadn’t used it, ever. Manson was his right hand and although most people looked at the small man with the crazy eyes and had trouble understanding it, Coyote didn’t know if he would be where he was without him. The room fell silent and Coyote’s eyes landed on his son. Wolf was twenty now and he had been practically begging his father to send him to Boston to help. Coyote had refused over and over again, causing a rift between them that they’d never had before. He’d much rather have a rift, however, then have to tell Colleen their son was never coming home. So far, the Westside crew had been lucky. The gangs had given them some shit when they first moved in, but Coyote had gone out of his way to prove to them that he wasn’t there to cut in on any of their business. He didn’t want anything to do with prostitutes or drugs. His porn business was thriving, his custom motorcycle shop was in the black year after year, and they had recently started doing security runs. He didn’t need the shit the gangs were stirring up on the streets, or the drugs and guns the white supremacists on the hill were rolling in. He didn’t need war, dead men, and men packing the local jails and prisons.
He let the silence hang in the air and picked up his Dr. Pepper and took a drink. It was about half Disaronno, but no one had to know that but him. “Fisher is dead,” he said. The room erupted again. While Manson struggled to quiet them down, he took another drink. The liquor felt warm as it ran down his throat and he could almost feel it chasing away the anxiety already. Once the room was silent again he said:
“I’m bringing the rest of them home.” Crow was on his feet immediately. He had spent six months in Boston and only came home because Crystal was giving birth to their third child.
“We’re going to abandon them?”
“Crow…” Manson started. Coyote held up his hand and Manson immediately shut up.
“We have to protect our own. We’ve lost two men now, to a war that’s not ours. This one was killed by the police. They’ve amped up their gang taskforce so now Dax is not only fighting Hawk and the Sinners, but they’re at war with the police too. You all know how much I think of that boy. I’ve known him since the day he was born…but I can’t send any more young men over there to die for a cause that’s not ours.”
“So, we sit back and do nothing?” Crow asked. Coyote wasn’t bothered by Crow’s outspokenness. He was never disrespectful, but he did always speak his mind.
“I didn’t say that. I’m going out there. I’ll be leaving as soon as the six men who are still there get back.”
“What?” That was Wolf, and now his son was on his feet. Coyote knew his men would have objections, and he knew the loudest of those would come from his son, so he wasn’t surprised.
“I’m going to Boston.” Coyote had given this a lot of thought. He didn’t believe that what Dax needed were more bodies. What he believed the young man needed was help with his leadership and his strategy. Dax was smart and tough…but he was twenty-three years old and he was trying to wage a war against a man who had spent over two decades of his life as the president of the largest and most powerful MC on the East Coast. Coyote wasn’t Doc…but he was older and more experienced and if Dax was willing to accept it, he felt like he had a lot to offer. If Dax wasn’t, well, then he had at least tried.
“Who’s going with you?” Wolf asked.
“No one. I’m going alone.” The room erupted again. Coyote tuned them out and drank the rest of what was in his Dr
. Pepper can, and then he got up, and walked out. He wasn’t surprised again, when his son followed him.
“Dad!” He turned to look at Wolf. He was so proud of him that sometimes just looking at him made his chest hurt. He spent twenty years wondering why Colleen put up with him, and if he lived that long, he’d spend another twenty wondering how he had raised such an incredible man. “Let me go with you.”
“No. I need you here.”
“For what? To make sure Nelson’s fucking deliveries get made?” Nelson was Robert Nelson, their biggest security client. Nelson’s crew drove trucks, eighteen-wheelers, to Mex-Cali, twice a month and they paid the Westside Skulls a lot of money to escort them there. Coyote didn’t know what was in the trucks, although he wasn’t stupid enough to believe it was the “fresh produce” that Nelson passed it off as. All he knew was that they made sure no one intercepted the trucks before they got where they were going. Once they were there, the rest was between Nelson and the border patrol agents he paid off to let them across the border. People always thought about all the things that were smuggled into the States up through Mexico…but no one ever really talked about all the things that Americans were smuggling back the other way. The only stipulation Coyote made to Nelson when they started working for him was that he wouldn’t be involved in human trafficking…in any way, shape, or form. Nelson allowed the escorts a look into his trucks before they left Fresno so that they could see there were no humans inside. All they had ever seen was produce. If Coyote had to chance a guess, what Nelson was probably smuggling was marijuana. Lots of high-grade drugs came out of Mexico…but marijuana was not one of them.
“Yes,” Coyote said, walking toward the bar.
“Dad, we have enough guys to do that, especially when the others come back. Why can’t I go with you?”
Coyote bent down and took a Dr. Pepper out of the refrigerator under the bar. He opened it and drank about half of it down, clearing the path for the liquor he’d pour into it when his son tired of the argument and left him alone. “Because,” he said, slowly, “I don’t need you there, I need you here.”
“I’m not a fucking kid!”
It was rare for Wolf to raise his voice to his father, but in this case, Coyote understood his frustration. He understood all of their frustrations. They wanted to help. The men of the Southside Skulls were their brothers and they were being picked off one by one by a Judas whom they would all love to be the one to take down. He had to protect his club first, his family…they would all just have to understand that, like it or not. Doc would have done the same thing but maybe Coyote was the only one left who knew that.
Coyote took a deep breath and said, “You’re not going, so suck it up. You have an early call in the morning; make sure everything is ready to go and get some sleep.” He waited. Wolf looked like he had a hell of a lot more to say, but he didn’t. After a few seconds of glaring at his father, he turned and stormed away. As soon as he was gone, Coyote grabbed the bottle of Disaronno that was under the bar where he’d left it earlier, and went out through the kitchen. He stopped to fill his Dr. Pepper can and toss the empty glass bottle in the trash and then he left out the back, finished his drink, and rode his bike home. He’d finished the 1.5-liter bottle on top of a fifth of whiskey he had nursed throughout the day. Hopefully, he’d be able to sleep tonight. He had been plagued with insomnia for years, but lately the insomnia came about thanks to nightmares that woke him up in the middle of the night and left him breathless and wide awake.
The house was dark when he got there. He had called church late and he hadn’t expected Colleen to be waiting up when he got home. She had been sick for a couple of weeks with the flu or something. He’d urged her to go to the doctor, but she kept saying it was just the flu and it would pass. But she was sleeping a lot and he expected her to be sleeping by then,—it was late.
He let himself in the front door and instead of turning left toward the bedroom once he was inside, he turned right. He had only taken one step toward the kitchen when he heard his old lady’s voice from the dark living room. “There’s no whiskey in there. If you need a drink, you’ll have to go back to the club.” Coyote spent half his life pretending like his old lady didn’t know he was an alcoholic. Colleen spent half her life pretending like she didn’t know her old man was an alcoholic. It was a ridiculous arrangement, but Coyote found it preferable to talking about it.
“Hey, baby. I was going to get a drink of water. What are you doing up and sitting in the dark?” He had whiskey in the house. No alcoholic worth their salt didn’t have a hidden bottle or two. He wasn’t worried about that. Colleen sitting up in the dark did worry him, though, He flipped on the light switch and panic actually began to rise in his throat when he saw her face. Her eyes were red and swollen. She’d been crying. He rushed to her and sat next to her on the couch. “Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?” He reached for her hand and she moved it back. It wasn’t an abrupt movement, but she got her point across. Whatever had made her cry had something to do with him. “Colleen? What’s going on?”
“It’s been a really fucked-up day.” Colleen rarely used the word fuck, outside of the bedroom, so Coyote knew it was bad. He thought back to the last time he’d seen her. She was making coffee when he left for the club. He didn’t need to go so early, but he needed a drink. She had asked him to stay and have coffee with her…and like the asshole he was, he had told her he didn’t have time.
“What happened, baby?”
“Stop that.”
“What?” He was genuinely confused. It was like an alien had taken over his old lady’s body. Colleen was tough. He could count on one hand the amount of times that he’d seen her cry…and every one of them had been because of some stupid shit he had done. But, he honestly couldn’t think of anything he had done lately to upset her, unless it was about the drinking.
“Stop calling me baby and talking to me in that patronizing tone. You don’t give a fuck about me.”
“Where in the hell is this coming from? This morning we were fine…what did I do?”
“What did you do?” She posed it like a question and he wasn’t sure if he should try to answer it or wait. She stood up. She had on one of her long nightgowns and as she began to pace in front of the light, he thought about how much weight she had lost lately. Caught up in his own bullshit as usual, he hadn’t even thought to ask her about it. Maybe she’d been stressed. Maybe whatever she was upset about tonight had been coming on for a while and that was why she was so upset. “Let’s start with Dallas.”
Coyote frowned. Dallas had been their first big fight…but in the end, Colleen had told him that she understood, and when Dallas died, she had even gone to the funeral with him and held his hand as he cried. “I don’t understand.”
“You loved her when you met me. You still loved her when you met Talia.” Fuck. This was all old news. Dallas was dead. He hadn’t seen Talia in over ten years. He had confessed that night to his wife…and it had been the worst few weeks of his life as Colleen decided if she would forgive him or not. He promised her, and God, that he’d never, ever stray again, and he hadn’t…so he was confused. What was she getting at?
“Baby, I love you. You have got to know that.”
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she walked over to the desk in the corner and reached into the compartment where she kept the mail. She picked up a white envelope. The top had been ripped open. She stared at it for a few seconds and then walked over and handed it to him. Confused, he took it from her hand. The acid in his stomach rose up in his throat when he saw the return address. It was from Talia and it was addressed to him. His first instinct was to ask his old lady why she opened it…but he was smart enough to know that might be the trigger that got him killed. Instead, he looked back up at Colleen. He was waiting for her to tell him what was in it. “Read it!”
He was getting a little pissed off at the way she was talking to him, but just by virtue of the letter he had in his hands alo
ne, he knew he didn’t have any right. With shaking hands, he took the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it. He started reading it and it wasn’t long before he knew exactly why Colleen was so upset. When he finished reading it he folded it and put it in his lap and looked back up at his old lady. She was shooting fire out of her eyes in his direction.
“Baby, I haven’t seen Talia in ten years. You know that by reading this letter even if you don’t trust me. As far as the…”
“The baby? The child you have with her? The little girl who probably looks just like the little girl you would have had with Dallas if your dreams had come true…” She was crying again.
“Colleen, please. We don’t know for sure this is my baby…”
“Calling your mistress a whore, that’s classy.”
“I didn’t call her a whore—maybe she thinks the kid is mine, but that doesn’t mean she is. And Talia was never my mistress. I made a horrible mistake, baby. I told you the truth about that and I thought we were past it. It was that one night…that was it.”
“You made a baby, Xander. You have a daughter. What is Xavier going to think? What is everyone going to think?”
“Nobody knows about Talia but you and me, baby, and no one has to know about this…”
“She wants money, Xander. You’ll give it to her…and she’ll call again, and again…”
“No. She won’t. I’ll set up an account for the kid, okay? I won’t see her, either of them. She hasn’t bothered me in all these years…”
“You think that makes me feel better? You think I’ll be able to sleep at night knowing my jealousy is what’s keeping a little girl from having a father?”
“Baby…” Coyote needed a fucking drink. He stood up and Colleen backed away again to keep him from touching her. It pissed him off. “Okay, that’s fucking enough! I’ll send her money. I won’t see her again and I won’t see the kid. That’s not your fault, it’s my choice. If money is what she wants, I’ll send it to her every month with the stipulation that she keep her mouth shut, okay? End of story.”
