by Rie Warren
I wanted to watch her devour the beignets. When she rambled on too long in between mouthfuls, I slid my finger to her lips, quieting her.
I cruised my mouth along the sensitive outer shell of her ear where a big silver skull earring winked, replacing her usual huge diamond stud. “Blaize, dahlin’, for just one minute, shut up and let yourself feel good.”
“I’m in charge.”
“Not this time. Eat. Drink. Be merry.”
“Shakespeare?”
“No fuckin’ clue.”
Her hand whispered up my forearm. She teased the hairs, traced my skin. She lifted her head but dropped her eyes until her eyelashes brushed her cheeks.
“You don’t understand. I do this job. Nothing else.”
Cupping her chin, I kissed her quickly, before she could escape. “Consider this a vacation.”
“With Venom on the books? And our lives at risk. T-Zone hanging in the wind?”
“You multitask too much, woman. How about I give you just one job for today?”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Spinning around on her knees, Blaize drove her fists against my shoulders.
I laughed, crumpling my empty cardboard cup in my fist. “’Course I would.”
With Blaize ready to launch a full body attack, I quickly maneuvered off the bed, leaving her strangling thin air.
Pivoting on her knees in the center of my bed—no complaints there—she got that determined look in her summer-sky eyes.
“Yeah I definitely would. You’re looking at the veep.” I hit the door, yanking it open. “Why don’t you clean up this room?”
“You’re dead to me, Storm!”
I chuckled all the way downstairs.
Chapter Ten
The Cat House
MIDDAY, WHEN THE REST of the MC went rise and shine, I two-stepped it upstairs, figuring I’d given Blaize about enough time to cool her heels.
Or clean the room.
Or booby-trap it so I got my head shot off as soon as I opened the door.
Surprise, surprise. A steady stream of women came and went from the bedroom on the first landing, wielding cleaning supplies.
I stood outside, fuckin’ stupefied.
When a new cat moved into the house usually the claws came out. Not the cleaning brigade.
Nikki was there. Venom’s missus, too.
Sharon dropped her bucket and bracketed my face in her two hands. “Honeychile. You look good.”
“You mean I look alive.” I pulled her into a hug.
“You know he’s not gonna take it easy on you.”
I shrugged. “He take it easy on you?”
“Protects me.”
Sharon had aged. But she’d put on weight because she wasn’t as drugged up as she’d been two years ago. Her skin was pink and healthy, her brown eyes sparkly. The wear and tear around the edges was all due to Venom, I had no doubt.
“Nik’s pissed.” She swept soft brown hair—no longer dyed brittle black—back from her face.
“Gathered that.”
“This new woman? Blaize?”
“The best.” I peeked beyond Shar, trying to survey the scene inside my room. “How’d she get y’all to take up buckets instead of clawing her eyes out?”
“She’s real pretty, Storm.”
“Yeah.” Didn’t need to tell me that.
“She gave the big middle finger to my old man.”
“She did. Last night.” I nodded.
“The women respect that.”
Sharon turned away to return to the most unlikely Merry Maids.
I grasped her hand. “And you? Considering you’re the one who has to sleep with him?”
“I have my ways of keepin’ him sweet.” Sharon tugged free, looking over her shoulder at me. “And he’s gunnin’ for you unless you do exactly as you’re told.”
“Guess I best be following orders then.”
I waited a minute before following Shar inside.
What I immediately saw was Blaize—ass-up, tipped over a bucket, with a scrub-brush in hand.
Her hair was knotted on top of her head. Her shirt loose and slipping off her shoulders. Her jean shorts were . . . short.
I felt a stare aimed at me.
Nikki.
Now, she hadn’t aged one single bit. Maybe she’d gone the plastics route—not Walker-style of plastics. Botox, maybe. In any case, her tits had never been authentic. I could attest to that.
I dipped my head in her direction. What we’d had had been about as real as her DD implants.
Two years ago.
Done.
Blaize and me?
Just beginning unless Venom dug a big dirt grave for the both of us.
Back to the matters at hand . . .
Blaize, scrubbing floors.
Bent over.
Ass in the air.
Short shorts.
Yeah. I still couldn’t get over that.
Huh. Maybe Blaize was gonna be more malleable than I thought. I wanted to go up behind her and grab two handfuls of her ass before moving on to her tits.
Instead I lounged against the opened window and ordered all the other chippies from the room with a snap of my thumb.
Blaize’s head snaked up.
“Look at you following orders.” I smirked.
Rising to her feet, Blaize squeezed a sponge in her hand like she wished it were the trigger of her sidearm. “Do not take that tone with me, Storm.”
“What tone is that now?” I scratched my chin.
“The lazy, no-good, good ol’ boy, gonna get him some, owns his woman tone.” Water dripped from the sponge onto the floor.
Split-splat-split.
I grinned, advancing on her.
Maybe not so docile after all. That’s okay. I like gettin’ under Blaize’s skin, too.
She launched the sponge like a missile at my head.
I ducked.
And suddenly remembered that instance with Justice and Tilly and the friggin’ biscuit dough in the embassy in Sana’a.
Mating rituals.
Rutting games.
Blaize cursed at me, and Christ—seeing her all sassed up and dressed way the fuck down from the usual slick suits, high collars, pinned back hair—that got right to the heart of me.
If my heart resided in my cock.
She dug into the bucket and drew up another sponge-launcher.
I’d take her sassy.
I’d take her angry.
And I couldn’t fucking wait to take her horny.
Grabbing her wrist, I boxed her against the wall. Huh. Bare feet too. Pretty little bright harlot-red toenails. I’d figured her for fancy French manicures. She usually reached my chin, wearing those head-bitch-in-charge boots and high heels she stomped around T-Zone command central in.
Barefoot, the top of her head reached my neck. Her breath washed over my skin, heating it. Water spilled over us from the sponge she clenched in her hand.
My shirt was wet. Hers almost see-through from the moisture.
Nice.
My mouth glanced against her lips. “Kiss me.”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Gimme a kiss.” I leaned back enough to give her space to run.
She didn’t.
Green light.
I took my time, turning her on. Keeping my body, my hunger, my need at bay. I whispered my tongue up her neck, memorizing her scent, listening to her quick intake of breath when I hit a sensitive spot.
I nibbled the soft lobe of her ear, moving my hand up the center of her body, angling her neck in the direction I wanted, holding her still for me.
She murmured my name. Her eyelids slid closed. Her hips swayed, seeking contact with me.
I dragged her hand down my chest until it centered on the throbbing, thrusting heat of my thick hard cock.
Bracing my hands on the wall beside her head, I rolled my neck back when her exploring fingers learned the full, rigid length of me beneath the barrier of
tight leather.
“Unhhh.” She shuddered.
“For you, Blaize. Whaddya have for me?” I didn’t venture to cup her cunt, instead tasting her at the corner of her lips.
Licking. Sucking. Lightly biting.
She slid her mouth against mine, slanting her head. The greed flashed to boiling point as soon as our tongues touched. Blaize released my cock, her fingers fisting into my shirt.
I swooped into her mouth, tasting her, taking her, bringing my body hard against hers. I lifted her by her ass until she bucked against me. One hand clenching her hair, I lunged against her twisting turning tongue.
Her moan crystallized. Her grip intensified. Her hips swung against my groin.
She lashed her lips against my seeking mouth. Jerking me to her. Taking. Giving.
Groaning. Me.
When her head dropped down and she bit and sucked the strained cords of my neck, I pumped against her.
“Wanna fuck you, Blaize.” My face had to be a mask of craven animal lust.
She used her legs, hips, and hands to push me back.
Damn if she wasn’t limber.
I stumbled a step or two, rubbing my palms down my cheeks.
She leaned against the wall, none too steady either. “You asked me what I got for you, Storm.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got an even bigger gun.” Blaize pulled her .38 caliber from the drawer of the nightstand.
I laughed from deep in my belly. “Well, that there’s a decent weapon, Blaize, but you ain’t seen mine yet, and you definitely haven’t handled my hot lead.”
I stood still as a bull’s-eye for several seconds, watching Blaize. She talked the talk, but her dilated eyes, unsteady hands, flushed cheeks, rushed breaths spoke a different story.
“Bet my weapon discharges inside you before you pull your trigger on me, cher.” I dipped my head in her direction then spun toward the door. “Keep going up here though. Doing a bang up job, beb.”
“Hey, Storm?”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck you.”
I rocketed out into the hall two seconds before her unleashed bullet curled wood and plaster from the wall where my head had been.
Sol lounged outside with a flask. “G’on need some a’dat spackle for that.”
I loped down the stairs, grin firmly in place. “Yup.”
Chapter Eleven
Proving Grounds
SITREP: ENTERING THE LION’S Den. Ain’t got nuthin’ on the Cat House.
At 20:00, I convened with Venom in his office. He hadn’t invited me. I hadn’t asked to enter. I simply strolled inside, sat in the chair across from his desk, helped myself to a drink, and propped up my feet like the past two years with me MIA hadn’t happened.
He took it in stride, stuffing a stack of cash into the safe and twirling the heavy door closed. “Heard a gunshot upstairs earlier.”
“Women. Uppity.” I appreciated Venom keeping the top shelf liquor in his office.
Better than the crap that passed as a drink in the Thunder Road barroom.
“Heard that.” Tilting back in his chair, the overhead light hit his Mr. Clean skull and all the tats inked on his shiny pate. “Shar decided to take shooting lessons at the rifle range. You know they have women’s night?”
He uncapped a tiny glass vial and lifted the spoon of white powder to his nose.
“Suffragettes with serious firepower gonna be the death of us all.”
Venom sniffed hard. Wiped his nose. Blinked at the ceiling.
Then he returned his pinpoint stare to me. “This Blaize you waltzed in with. She as good as Nikki was?”
“You talkin’ about in bed?”
“Yeah.”
“Holds her own. Got no complaints.”
Venom motioned at his glass, and I poured some of his own booze into it. “Shar’s holdin’ out on me.”
“Sex?”
“Nah. Maybe a snitch.”
I choked on the tequila. “Shar? Narking? No fuckin’ way.”
“Got ATF breathing down our neck again. Feds. RICO bullshit.” He held the glass between two meaty fists tatted all the way to his knuckles. “See how this shit makes me paranoid? And then you turn up out of the clear blue. Walk right back in.”
“I explained that.”
“No records of you anywhere, Nash.”
“I went off grid. I did not fuckin’ go WITSEC.”
“Why’d you come back now?” Standing up, Venom paced around the office.
The man was one big cokehead conundrum. Bookshelves lined with philosophers from Rousseau to Plato, Nietzsche, Marx. His desk littered with contracts for kills, gun specs sheets, white dust, and a fucking abacus.
An MC outlaw with long-term plans. And a bad habit.
My hackles rose when he ranged behind me.
I was already sitting back-to a door. That was all the threat I could take in a situation like this.
“Getting older. Want my legacy too.” I made myself relax with Venom stationed behind me.
“Which is?”
“Prez, eventually.”
“Is that a threat?” he asked.
I loosened every single muscle in my body, took a sip of tequila, and tapped a cigarette on my palm. “Nope. Hope to see you to your old age, brah, and make sure you get into the best care facility with an iron lung. Might even rename the MC Iron Lung when you’re in the nursing home.”
Lighting my cig, I expected a blow to the head and the never-ending lights out for my balls-out bravado.
I inhaled. Exhaled. My hair still raised.
“Couillon!” Venom pulled me up from the seat, bro-hugging me. “Only you got the cojones. Jesus Christ.”
He released me and moved to the doors opened to the heavily guarded courtyard. “G’on kill you before you put me away though, cous.”
That was a threat I didn’t take lightly.
Our bonding moment was cut short when the door to the office banged open.
The two of us spun, fully armed and ready to blow holes.
“Ange! Fuck. You wanna live, you gotta knock first.” Venom put his revolver on the desk.
“Easy, Cochise.” Angel sauntered inside. “Storm! Heard you were back, man.”
He broke into a big smile, and we exchanged a hearty hug.
“Well, look at you. You finally hit puberty, kid.” I drew back, inspecting him.
At the age of twenty-two, Angel had to be at least six foot three now, not quite reaching my six-four. He’d filled out in the chest and arms, but he still had the blond wavy hair, the wholesome blue eyes, and the dimples in his cheeks.
“Grew into your boots, huh?” I smirked.
He took a half-hearted swing at me. “Shut up.”
“Blondie here’s allll growed up.” Venom sat behind his desk. “Got him his own Church of Our Ladies of Open Legs.”
A faint blush spread across Angel’s cheeks, but he didn’t deny it.
I knocked him on the shoulder. “Nuthin’ wrong with sowing your wild oats as long as you wrap your cock.”
“Remember the first time we got him laid, Storm?” Venom refilled our glasses, adding one for Angel.
“Hell yeah. Didn’t think that chick was gonna be able to find his pecker.”
“Ha ha.” After taking a drink, Angel swiped his mouth. “And you’d know about STDs, Storm. Syphilis much?”
That nasty fucking rumor had somehow managed to follow me from the MC to T-Zone.
“I did not catch syphilis.”
“That’s right. Was a bad case of the crabs.” Venom chuckled.
“Fuck you. Only crabs I’ve had are the soft-shelled kind from down on the bay.”
“Hey”—Angel leaned forward, snickering—“I heard it was gonorrhea.”
“Merde,” I said. “How about we not talk about ways in which my dick could fall off even though I have never had an STD?”
“All right. Heard tell you brought a new woman with you, Storm.” Angel s
at next to me on the two-seater couch while the breeze through the open doors delivered the scent of autumn jasmine.
“Yup.”
“Blaize?” he asked.
“Hold up, Ange. He’s a might touchy where this one’s concerned. Almost tried to shoot me last night when I asked about what color her rug was on account of the red hair.” Venom set the colored beads of his abacus moving with a click-click-click.
“Huh.” The blond man scratched the side of his nose. “Never was too possessive before.”
“Was never into sharing either.” A muscle ticked in my jaw, the rhythm keeping time with the abacus.
“What I think is”—finishing his drink, Venom folded his hands down on the desk—“Storm here done fell in love.”
“She’s a squeeze for now. And she’s mine. All there is to it.” I snorted.
I wanted them to buy our cover, but I didn’t necessarily want them to think I was overly attached to Blaize in case the operation went south. If they figured out my true feelings for her—and my reason for getting back in with the Legion—she’d become nothing more than bloody leverage used against me.
Venom threw back his head with a loud laugh. “Amen to that shit. Gotta keep the bitches beggin’ for more. Why I never made it official in the church with Shar.”
That was the prez. He just oozed charm from every single pore on his body.
“Got a job for you tonight, Storm.” He angled the chair away from his desk.
“Hit me.”
“Want you to take Angel here along.”
“Aw, fuck. You know I don’t want him put into dangerous situations.”
“Well, here’s the thing. You do the job right and there shouldn’t be any danger, right?” Venom locked his cunning sights on me.
“Fuck you both. I’m sittin’ right here,” Angel grumbled. “I don’t need you lookin’ out for me, Storm. Did just fine after you disappeared. Growed up and everything.”
“What he said.” Pointing at the kid, who didn’t know what kind of shit he was stepping into, Venom added, “And take Slade too.”
Slade.
I knew no Legion member by that name.
“How ’bout not?” I said.
“Dissension already?” He snuffled a line of coke up his nose.
I glanced at Angel, checking to see if he showed any of the same druggie compulsions. He sat, clear-eyed and cool.
