He shakes his head. “Not going anywhere, son, not now, and probably not for a long fucking time.”
I want to believe him, but only time can tell. Standing, I walk over to where I set the paint can down and I pick it up. The rest of the supplies are already upstairs, and all of the furniture is gathered in the middle of the room and covered.
Today, we paint.
Tonight, we plan.
Soon, we hopefully rest easy.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GINGER
I haven’t really slept since hearing the plan. It makes me nervous, but I still want to do it. Unfortunately, Prescott informed me this morning that it wouldn’t become fully implemented for a while, but he hasn’t told me when. He said that he doesn’t want to tell me. I personally wish I could mentally prepare for the entire thing.
“Stop stressing out,” he grunts behind me, his mouth against my shoulder.
I sigh, staring into the dark room. “I can’t. I haven’t slept well since this entire thing was hatched,” I admit.
Prescott’s hand moves from my belly to my hip then down to my thigh where he bunches my nightgown and drags it up my body. I don’t need sex right now, what I need is to know what the fuck is going on.
“Tell me, Prescott,” I whisper.
His fingers drift between my legs, slipping beneath the waistband of my panties. I arch my back, pushing my ass against his hardening cock and letting out a low moan when his index finger swirls my clit. He hums, his mouth against my shoulder while he gently plays with my pussy.
I love it when he’s rough, even when he’s angry and rough, but this is something he does that causes me to completely fall apart—when he’s soft and gentle. I practically swoon with each touch of his finger and every kiss of his lips.
He shifts, and two fingers glide inside of me, his palm pressing against my clit before he speaks. “It will all go down, and church last night was to formulate a solid plan. You can’t know the details though, peaches. It has to look like a complete surprise. I want to tell you,” he rasps, his fingers pumping in and out of me. My mind is spinning as my body climbs toward my release. “But I can’t. You’ll be a good girl, won’t you?” he asks.
Fuck yes, I’ll be a good girl, but my brain is starting to turn to mush and I’m not really sure why I’m going to be a good girl. His teeth sink down into my shoulder. “You’ll be my good girl and go with the flow, won’t you? Let your man handle it all?” I groan.
Oh, yeah, the plan—that’s why I have to be good.
I whimper, my hips rolling and jerking with each pump from his delicious fingers. Then, he pulls out of me, and I cry out in frustration. “Climb up, peaches. Show me just how good you can be.”
Rolling over on my other side, I rise to my knees and see his smug assed face. I should flip him off and leave, but I really, really, want to show him how good I can be. I shimmy out of my panties, throwing them onto the floor before I crawl over him and straddle his hips.
“I’m ready to be able to have sex in different positions,” I grumble.
Prescott reaches up, cupping my cheek with his hand as he looks me straight in the eyes. “Not a hard sacrifice to watch you fuck me, peaches. Having you on top, your heavy tits swaying, it’s beautiful.”
I wrap my hand around his hard cock, and gently slide down, taking him inside of me with a moan. “I love you, Pres,” I murmur. His fingers flex on my cheek before he releases me and wraps his hand around my hips.
Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back as my hips roll, and I fuck my man. I take my time, riding him and feeling every single inch of his dick as he fills and stretches me.
“Shit, peaches,” he groans as his fingers grip my hips tighter.
I press my palms against his chest and I ride, rolling and grinding against his pelvis. His muscles are tight bunches, and he’s on the verge of snapping beneath me. I want that. I want him to lose control, he’s so indescribably sexy when he does—even when he’s angry.
Prescott snaps about a second later, his hands leave my hips. One yanks down the top of my nightgown, exposing my breast, and the other slips between us and his thumb presses against my clit. I suck in a breath, my eyes opening as I look down at him.
“Fuck me, peaches. Stop fucking around,” he growls, pinching my nipple hard and tugging on it.
My entire body breaks out into a light sheen of sweat and I give him a slow nod. I fuck him, I fuck him with all that I have, and I do it hard and fast. My breasts sway and move, my ass jiggles and I’m pretty sure I’m gritting my teeth and growling.
None of it matters though, all that I can see is the look of pure ecstasy on Pres’ face, and all I can feel is my body climbing higher and his cock stretching me over and over again. I throw back my head with a cry as I come, my pussy clamping down around him.
I freeze, unable to move a muscle.
Prescott’s hands move to my hips and he picks me up and fucks me on his cock as his hips surge up when he pulls me down. It only takes a few pumps and then he stills, his dick filling me with his release.
My legs shake in an attempt to keep my body upright. Pres must feel it because just a few seconds later, I’m on my back and he’s on top of me on his knees, his cock still filling me, and his arms extended so that he doesn’t squish me.
“Shit, peaches,” he whispers, his green eyes searching mine. I nod with a smile, my voice completely lost in the moment. “I want to stay right here, forever,” he admits.
Reaching up, I wrap my hand around the side of his neck. “I want that, too,” I admit on a whisper.
“This shit, it will all work out, peaches. I don’t want you to worry about anything. Between me, Dad, and the brothers, we got this.” He leans down slightly, pressing his lips to mine in a gentle kiss. “All I want you to worry about is finding a name for our girl and getting her room ready.”
“Oh, finding a name, so easy,” I smartly reply, rolling my eyes.
He chuckles, the move causing him to slip from my body. He flops down on his back and rearranges himself. Propping his elbow on the bed and supporting his head with his hand. Reaching out with his opposite hand, he traces the scroll of the Snake tattoo that’s on my neck.
“Name her whatever you like, that isn’t weird, like Clementine,” he winks. “Something soft and pretty,” he suggests.
“What about Evalyn?” I ask. It’s a name that’s been rolling around in my head lately. I’ve looked at it more than once and it just seems so classical, soft and pretty, just like he said.
Prescott lowers his hand, placing his palm on my belly, but doesn’t say anything. I wait, anxious to see what he thinks and then his green eyes meet mine. There’s something working behind them, but I’m not exactly sure what it is, that is until he speaks.
“Evalyn Gordon. It’s absolutely perfect, peaches,” he smiles.
We stay like that, his hand on my belly, our eyes just staring at one another for the rest of the morning. We whisper to each other here and there, but otherwise, it’s one of the quietest mornings we’ve ever had. We’re both lost in a sea of thoughts.
We’ve just named our baby, and in only a few months’ time, she’ll be here, between us.
I can’t wait.
SNAKE
Watching her sleep, I take in the soft angles of her face, her waist, and her hip. She’s absolutely beautiful, more than I could have ever imagined.
When Ginger was first pregnant, I tried to picture this moment when she would be round with my baby, but I never could.
Now, seeing it in front of me, it’s breathtaking. My phone dances on the nightstand and I roll over, grabbing it as I slide out of bed.
Quickly, I make my way out of the room and slide my thumb across the screen to answer the call. It’s my dad, so I don’t bother saying hello. Pressing the phone to my ear, I wait for him to speak. “We got a problem,” he mutters on the other end of the line.
My heart slams against my chest at his words. I pace
in front of the closed bedroom door between my room and the new nursery, waiting for him to continue. “Jones is setting up shop. Five men from his crew blew into town early this morning,” he growls.
“What does that mean for us?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
He grunts. “Means that two-week timetable we thought we had, it’s probably more like just a few days. I have a feeling he’s not in the mood to wait much longer. He’s bringing war right to your door.”
That motherfucking cocksucker. My hand starts to shake with anger and I close my eyes slowly before reopening them. “I want his head,” I announce. “You know where he’s stayin’? We’re ending this tonight.”
“Son,” my dad whispers.
I shake my head as though he can see me. “No, I’m done. I ain’t playin’ any more games. He’s already played enough and I’m not giving him more time to amass an army and hurt my club. He’s done.”
“Fair enough,” my dad mutters.
I thank him for the info and ask him to be at church in an hour. Then I call my men. Usually, I would have Free or Crooner call all of them, but this feels too big, too important. Free is the last person I call, and he answers with a heavy rasp, obviously asleep.
“Can you come over here, I need you to help me with Ginger.”
“What the fuck happened?” he demands. I spend the next five minutes telling him what my dad said, and then explaining that I’m ready to take those fuckers down.
Free grunts.
“What?” I ask.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “It’s just weird is all,” he whispers.
“What?” I ask, a little more impatience in my voice.
He clears his throat before he speaks. “Your dad appears right when all this shit is going down. I know he says he came because he heard Lucifer was on his way here, and that he’s dangerous. But how does he know so much about the Aryans and their operation? He has more information than any of us, and as much as I want to believe he’s being genuine and just happens to have a contact, it doesn’t all quite add up.”
I think about his words, about his questions and Free is not wrong. I also think about the man, my father. I haven’t seen him in well over a decade and suddenly he’s back.
He’s here and he’s doing shit like helping me paint my child’s nursery. He’s saying that he’s going to be around, and I want to believe him.
However, I’m not sure that I can. Free is right. This is all just too coincidental. I’m the president, and everything rests on my shoulders, so I can’t ignore the questions, not when my family is on the line.
“Come to the house and guard Ginger while I hold church. I don’t want us together, and she needs protection. I trust you to keep my family safe, Free,” I murmur.
He clears his throat, his voice soft when he speaks again. “I’ll protect them, both of them with my life, Snake.”
I end the call and turn to go back into the bedroom. I have about twenty minutes to shower and change before I need to make some huge fucking decisions with my men. Ginger is in bed, except she’s not asleep when I walk in, she’s sitting up, her back against the headboard.
“Talk to me,” she demands.
I shake my head once, not wanting to tell her a damn thing. Not wanting to frighten her. However, it’s too late, her eyes look wild with fear and I fucking hate it. “Something might go down today, or it might not. I ordered an emergency, mandatory church,” I explain as best as I can.
“Does this mean your plan of using me as bait is out the window?” she asks, her voice trembling and I fucking hate it.
I’m frozen to my spot, unable to walk closer to her, to console her and tell her everything will be okay because I can’t lie to her—not when I don’t know if it will all be okay or not. “Nothing is out the window, but everything is up in the air.”
“I hate it when you don’t tell me what the hell is going on and you dance around it,” she whispers. I watch as her eyes fall to her lap and her chest rises and falls with her breaths.
She wants answers and I don’t blame her, but she’s not getting them, not until I know everything. I’m sure she’s going to be pissed, but right now I don’t care. Walking away from her, I make my way into the bathroom and I hurry through my shower. After I’ve dried off and brushed my teeth then I go back into the room and grab some clothes.
Ginger is still on the bed, except now her scared expression has been replaced with one of anger. Good. Anger would do her better, make her stronger. I don’t know if she will, and I hope that she doesn’t, but she may need that.
Once I’m dressed, I walk over to her and wrap my hand around the back of her neck. Her entire body stiffens, and she looks up at me with narrowed eyes.
Dipping my chin, I press my lips against hers. She doesn’t even attempt to kiss me back; her lips have formed a straight line and her neck muscles are tight and unyielding.
She’s pissed. If I had the time to sit and hash this shit out, I still wouldn’t do it.
My hand drops from her neck and I straighten my back, turning away from her to walk out of the bedroom. “Pres,” she calls out her voice soft and frightened. Stopping in the doorway, I turn to look at her. “Be careful,” she whispers.
“Love you, peaches,” I state.
I don’t wait for her to respond. I leave her alone, and safe, in our bed. Hurrying down the stairs, I grab my shit from the kitchen counter and walk outside.
Free is standing on my front porch next to the door. He turns, and his eyes look dark. He looks fucking worried, and for a man I’ve known almost my entire life, I can pretty much read any look that crosses his face—except this one.
“I got them. Handle this shit, Snake,” he rumbles.
Lifting my chin, I don’t say anything else. I turn away and walk over to my bike. Once I’ve straddled the seat, I look up. Free is standing in the doorway, assuredly going to walk inside as soon as I leave. Lifting my eyes upstairs, I see Ginger through the window watching me, her hand on the glass. My entire life is inside of that house. I’m going to protect her, keep her safe, and bring these monsters to their knees.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GINGER
I bite the corner of my thumbnail, staring at Free from across my living room. Prescott has been gone for the entire day, and now it’s well into the evening.
The sun set hours ago and I’m starting to get nervous. Free has looked at his phone over a dozen times and sent text messages to someone, but he won’t tell me shit. I want to know what’s happening but he’s being quiet—too quiet, I think.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I stare at him. Eventually, he looks up at me and tips his head to the side in question. “I need to know what’s happening,” I ask, keeping my voice low and even.
He shakes his head once, then looks down at his shoes before he looks back up at me. “I don’t know much, Ging. He’s only texted me once, every other text has been from his dad, and…”
“You don’t trust Orville,” I finish.
Free jerks his head, his gaze meeting mine. “I don’t know if I do or not,” he murmurs.
There’s a sadness in his eyes, and I can tell that he doesn’t want to distrust him, but he can’t let it go, it’s eating away at him.
I don’t blame him at all, and I know that Prescott won’t either. If it’s all a coincidence, it’s a huge one. It seems like shit started going down right around the time Orville showed up.
“What do we know about Orville Gordon?” I ask, deciding this is something I can do to possibly help. Researching him will also keep my mind off of where my husband is, and if he’s safe.
Free runs his hand over his face. “Not much. His road name is Iron. He’s been a Nomad since he walked out on Snake. Far as I know, he’s just done odd jobs for Devils’ clubhouses throughout the country. Transported shit, sold dope, bounced at club owned bars and strip joints. Never staying in one place too long.”
“Have you tried Googlin
g his name, seeing what comes up?” I ask.
I’m all about the Google identity, and I think you can find out a lot about a person based off of their internet stamp.
Hell, I Googled Hayden to see if I could dig anything up on her, anything that would be useful in getting the poor girl to open up. Unfortunately, there was nothing.
Sometimes I get a hit when I do it though, like when I found out that Motorhead’s mom was sick. He’d been estranged from his family for years, when I came back here, I was a little more recluse, especially at night so I would just look up the guys online. He went back to his family and made amends before it was too late, and she passed.
“There’s nothin’ here, babe,” Free mumbles.
I stand up, making my way to his side and I take his phone from him. I can’t trust him to do a detective’s job, not really. This is something I have to research myself.
I scroll through the pages, seeing hits on Orville’s residences, and other miscellaneous things, then I search images to see if there’s anything interesting happening there.
The first image is Orville, but the man standing next to him, that’s what makes me gasp. “Who’s that?” Free asks.
“It’s Drifter, from the Idaho group, the one who orchestrated all of the kidnappings,” I explain.
Drifter was the vice president of the Idaho chapter of the Notorious Devils. He was undercover, pretending for years, decades even, to be an ally to the Devils.
In reality, he was born into the Aryans. He would get insider information, news that an Old Man scraped off his Old Lady, or news that an Old Man died. Then he would send in an Aryan crew to take her. It was sick as shit, and he was fucking evil.
“This wasn’t that long ago, Free,” I whisper.
Clicking on the photograph, it takes me to a Facebook page of a man I don’t recognize. There hasn’t been any activity on the page in over a year, and I assume it’s because he was killed by Prescott or another Devil.
Laced with Fear (Cash Bar Book 1) Page 14
