I started.
Then I shut my mouth.
“Seems he is a Saskatchewan,” Hound kept whispering.
I elbowed him in the side.
“Tad, right?” Dutch asked, moving forward, hand up. “I’m Dutch, Aunt Bev’s nephew-not-by-blood.”
“Dutch, nice t’meet you.” His rolling, silky, deep voice slithered through the room.
I bit back a moan.
Okay, all he would need to do was talk dirty to me.
“Tad,” he introduced, taking Dutch’s hand. “Probably figured I’m Beverly’s fiancé.”
“Yeah, man, happy for Aunt Bev, happy for you,” Dutch murmured, shaking his hand.
They broke off and his eyes came to me. “You must be Keely. Beverly talks a lot about you.”
He walked my way, hand up, and I was so mesmerized by his jade-green eyes, I didn’t put the tongs down at first. In the end, I transferred them to my left hand and felt my right engulfed in the strength of his.
Oh yes, he could be taught to use those hands.
“Yes, uh . . . Keely,” I murmured. “Really great to meet you, Tad.”
He gave me a movie star smile.
I bit my lip.
He let me go to turn to Hound. “And you’re Hound.”
“Hound. Shepherd,” Hound said, taking his offered hand. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, friend.”
“Right,” Tad said on a less megawatt smile, but even less megawatt and not aimed at me, I appreciated it.
“Hey, girl.” Bev moved into me.
I gave her a hug and whispered in her ear, “Why didn’t you tell me he was gorgeous?”
She shifted back but didn’t let me go and gave me a confused look. “I thought I did.”
Maybe she did. Maybe the penis size information just shoved it out.
“We gotta talk,” she said low.
I looked in her eyes.
Then I declared to the room. “I’m done with my boys stealing chicken so you’re all kicked out. Tad, sorry, you too. Shep, honey, get Tad a beer or . . .” I verbally stumbled. “Sorry, Tad, do you drink beer?”
Another movie star smile. “I drink beer, Keely.”
“Great,” I replied, then looked to Hound. “Pop one open for our guest, babe. And wrangle these boys out before I flour and fry the next hand that reaches for a tender.”
Hound shot me a grin, got Tad a beer, the boys grabbed theirs and they took off.
I watched until they disappeared into the living room, leaning back from the stove to do it, and when they were out of earshot, I whirled on Bev.
“He likes AC/DC?”
She again looked perplexed. “Keely, girl, he’s not a dud. He likes rock ’n’ roll. He likes beer. It’s not like he curses every other word but he doesn’t have a stick up his butt. He’s got a bike. Actually, he has two.”
I gave her another slow blink.
I’d thought he was a wimp.
That might also have to do with the penis size information, but probably more had to do with the insurance salesman information.
Well, it just went to show you, no matter which way you rushed to judgment—bikers shoved into stereotypes, biker babes shoved into stereotypes, insurance salesmen shoved into stereotypes, etcetera—you just shouldn’t.
“Neither are Harleys,” she shared. “One’s a BMW, and I know it’s practically blasphemy to say this, but it’s seriously hot. The other is an off-road Ducati. Before me, he was gone a lot on the weekends he didn’t have his kids because he was off-roading. He’s a total adrenaline junkie.”
I should not be surprised about this. Bev was a biker babe.
She’d just switched brands.
I felt my shoulders droop because all that was that man, and the more that I’d learned that was all good for Beverly, was not all he could be.
“Sister, look at me,” Bev called.
I turned to her.
She got close. “Okay, well, the teddy worked.”
I stared at her, hope bubbling up inside me.
“Or, maybe it wasn’t the teddy,” she carried on. “Maybe it was my newfound knowledge I was falling in love with him. We, uh . . . this last week, we uh . . . kinda . . . sorted shit out.”
“How?” I breathed.
“Well, after the first time it went stratospheric . . .” she began.
Stratospheric?
Oh my God!
She kept going, “He had a chat with me and told me how relieved he was that I, um . . . well, showed him I knew what I was doing in that department.”
She knew what she was doing?
Now I was perplexed.
“What?”
“The bad sex, babe, it was on me.”
I said nothing.
“I was so wound up, hung up on Boz, had my head all messed up. He was gentle about it but he said he was meaning to talk to me about it for a long time, he just didn’t know how to bring it up. But when I came out of the bathroom in that teddy, all glittered up in a way he could lick it off, things got going.” She grinned. “It heated up great and it was amazing. He knows where a clit is,” she rolled her eyes in ecstasy, “girl, does he ever. And he might not be well endowed but he likes when I suck him off and doesn’t mind fucking me with my vibrator while he’s eating me while I’m doin’ it. And we’ll just say there’s something good about being able to take all of a man in my mouth and how hot it is when he shows his appreciation. And get this.”
“What?” I asked breathlessly when she didn’t go on, however, I was kinda wondering if Hound might get into doing the eating me/vibrator gig.
“He was totally into the vibrator thing. And the glitter thing. And the edible massage stuff thing. So he says the next basket he’s bringing, his secretary is not putting it together. He’s gonna make me a sex basket, and he said if I want, he’ll pick me out a huge dildo. He says when I’m in the mood for that, he can use it and otherwise multitask.”
“Oh my freaking God!” I cried softly.
“I know, right?” she agreed.
“I’ve known him for all of about ten seconds and I already know there’s so much more to that man than having a small dick. I’m glad you’re learning it,” I shared.
“Me too. It’s weird to go average, but I’m sure getting used to it. I think he guessed that Boz was packing, and I was missing that, but for Tad, seein’ as I was used to taking as much as I could get of twelve inches down my throat, his seven isn’t an issue whatsoever. So he gets the good part of that kinda training.”
And that got her another slow blink.
Tad’s seven?
Seven?
That wasn’t small. It wasn’t even average!
“Tad doesn’t have a tiny dick?” I asked.
“Well, relative to Boz’s giganto one, he does. And relative to Tad’s giganto size, he does.”
Another slow blink as something else she said sunk in. “Boz has twelve inches?”
“Girl, why you think it took me so long to get over him?” she asked.
Things were beginning to come very clear.
And one of those things was that I might not be able to look Boz in the eye ever again.
“And . . . and . . . you can deep throat seven inches?” I asked.
“Sister, I think Tad nearly took my ring off my finger to return it so he could get a bigger one after I got into the swing of things and took him all the way to the root.”
Well, one thing was for certain, unless my definition of the girl next door was way off, that vision I had about Bev for decades was gone forever.
Though, cheerleaders might have that talent, I wouldn’t know. I was never a cheerleader.
“So Tad . . . he’s . . . he’s just . . . just . . . all-around perfect?” I stammered.
She grinned a small but exceptionally happy grin and whispered, “Yeah.”
“That is so awesome,” I whispered back, grinning my also small but exceptionally happy grin right back at her.
“You know what’s more awesome?” she asked.
I couldn’t think of anything more awesome than Bev having a new biker guy that hot who liked AC/DC, loved her, had a more-than-healthy-sized dick and knew how to give it to her that good in the bedroom.
“What’s more awesome?” I asked.
“He loves me. Not my blowjobs. Not my pussy. Me. He had no doubts we’d get there. He fell in love with the woman I was and the promise of what we could have if I gave all of myself to him. He never gave up on me, and that, babe, that is definitely more awesome.”
I found her hand and squeezed it.
“You’re right, Beverly, that is way more awesome,” I replied. I got closer to her and asked, “So, how you doin’ on that road to happy?”
“Uh, did you see my man?”
I gave her a big smile. “I saw him. Don’t be mad at me because I also had a mini-orgasm when I saw him.”
“I’m not mad, sister, I’m proud. Because that’s my man.”
I giggled so I wouldn’t cry.
She squeezed my hand and giggled with me.
“Men!” Jagger shouted from the doorway. “Warning, the estrogen has been let loose in the kitchen. Enter at your own risk. I’ll get us a good supply of beer so we don’t have to expose ourselves too often.”
“Shut it, Jagger,” I threw over my shoulder at my son.
He shot me a grin but went right up to his aunt.
He then kissed the side of her head before he said, “He’s the shit, Aunt Bev. You have my approval.”
“Thanks, Jag, that seals the deal. I was holding back but I’ll start looking for wedding venues now,” she teased.
He saluted her walking away, heading to the fridge.
“Now,” she rubbed her hands together, “Keely’s Buttermilk Goodness Chicken Tenders. I told Tad I hoped that was what you were making. He’s gonna love ’em. Now I just gotta hope you made your potato salad too.”
I did.
It was Hound’s favorite.
“I wish you women wouldn’t call Ma’s chicken that. It makes me think I’ll turn into a girl if I eat it,” Jag put in, heading back out of the kitchen with four beers, even though Tad’s was just opened so they only maybe needed three.
“You might wanna check your junk, sweetheart, since you’ve had your share already,” I called to his back.
He walked out, shaking his head.
I turned to my girl.
She had that hot guy.
At long last, Brick had some woman who did him right.
High and Millie found their way back to each other.
Little Tabby Allen was all grown up and making babies with a man who loved her so much, he’d pick her over his Club.
Tack finally had a woman in his life that he wanted right there.
And I had Hound.
So Chew was back.
The likes of Chew couldn’t bring down this goodness.
No way.
No how.
It burned bright and it was going to burn him right up.
Men like Chew didn’t win.
Men like Hound and High and Tack and Hop and Dog and Brick . . .
They were winners.
“You wore a purple bandanna.”
“I didn’t wear a purple bandanna.”
“You totally wore a purple bandanna. Ma’s purple bandanna.”
“I didn’t wear a purple bandanna.”
“You wore your mother’s purple bandanna, son.”
We were at the dining room table. We’d pulled away the chairs we weren’t using and there was a lot of room but it still felt nice and intimate and I loved that it wasn’t just Dutch and Jag and me at Christmas or Thanksgiving, most of that long table empty. I loved that instead it was filled with people I adored and the detritus of a meal I’d made them that they’d devoured.
It was after dinner but before dessert. We were giving Jagger shit. It was annoying him but he’d always been a good sport, not one who could dish it out and not take it.
I loved that too.
“Aunt Bev, will you and Tad adopt me?” Jagger asked Beverly.
“Tad’s daughter is sixteen and she’s a knockout and you’re a dawg, so . . . no,” Beverly answered.
Jag looked to Tad. “Your daughter is a knockout?”
“Son,” Hound murmured warningly.
“Yeah, Jag, she’s also gonna remain untouched until she’s thirty-nine so your best bet is to put her outta your mind,” Tad answered.
“I hear you, man,” Jag replied on a knowing nod. “I hope I don’t have girls. With my superior genetics and taste, which means I’m gonna score me a hot babe, I’ll have to buy, like, ten guns.”
Hound caught my eyes across the table and shook his head, his lips twitching.
“Speaking of that,” Tad began, “Thursday good for you boys to go to the range?”
“Good for me,” Hound said.
“I’m in,” Dutch said.
“Totally,” Jagger said.
“Are women not invited to this outing?” Bev asked.
“Baby,” Tad said sweetly, and I felt gooey for Beverly just listening to how he said it. “Bonding over bullets is a brotherhood type of thing. And anyway, last time we went to the range, you got a case down your shirt.”
Spent shells burned like hell.
“Ouch,” I said in sympathy.
“Leave it to me to wear cleavage to the firing range,” Bev replied to me.
“It wasn’t the shirt I had a problem with,” Tad muttered.
Hound and Dutch chuckled.
Jag guffawed.
A knock came at the door.
All my happy, gooey goodness of food and family and friends and love in the air flew right out the window when my panicked eyes hit Hound.
All the people I knew who would show at my door were at this table.
Except people that belonged to Chaos.
Hound was scowling toward the door.
“Shit, fuck, shit,” Jagger mumbled.
“I’ll get it,” Dutch said, pushing back his chair.
“No, honey, no,” Bev put in, moving faster than my boy. “I’ll get it.”
Her gaze darted to me and then she scurried to the door.
“Do I need to follow her?” Tad asked, his silky voice alert to the vibe.
“Should you hide in the kitchen, Hound?” Jagger asked.
“I’m not hidin’ in the fuckin’ kitchen,” Hound growled.
“Right, I get something is going on,” Tad also growled. “So do I need to follow my woman?”
“She’ll be good, Tad,” I said softly.
Tad had no chance to relax.
None of us did.
“No! You don’t get to do that!” Beverly shouted angrily.
Tad was out of his chair like a shot.
So were Hound, Dutch and Jag.
I came a lot more slowly so I was still climbing down when my eyes fell on the six people that stormed into my dining room and I felt the entire room freeze, including me.
I had not seen a single one of them in years.
And I wished I was not seeing them then.
“What the fuck?” Jagger muttered, having come to a stop behind me.
“They pushed in, Keely, I couldn’t—” Bev was saying, rounding them as she came into the room.
“That,” Graham’s father spat, pointing at Jagger. “That right there. That language. That’s why we’re here.”
“Simon,” Graham’s mother whispered, reaching out a hand to his forearm to pull it down.
I stood immobile, not believing on one of the handful of good nights that I’d had in eighteen years, good nights that would be remembered as one of life’s best, that these people were in my living room.
Graham’s parents and sister.
My parents and sister.
“So, Keely, your mother talked to Dutch last week and he shared that Jagger, too, has joined this gang,” my father stated accusingly.
I should never have allowed them into my sons’ lives.
After what they’d done to Graham and me, I should have never done that.
“Get out,” I said.
It was strangled, barely above a whisper, which was not the only reason why not a one of them listened to me.
“So now we’re here to do an intervention because we cannot believe that you married a man who was messed up in something like that, learned your lesson the hardest way that could be learned, and now you’re allowing your sons, my grandsons, to make that same mistake,” my father went on.
“Dutch, Jag, you don’t want this to get ugly, you get these people outta this house,” Hound warned.
Tad waded in, moving toward them. “I think that—”
“You get another step closer, we’re calling the police!” Graham’s mother shouted, panic in her voice, clearly mistaking Tad’s AC/DC tee, taking it as indication he was a spawn of Satan member of a motorcycle gang.
“You can’t call the police when you are the ones not welcome in a home,” Beverly snapped.
“Our grandsons are here,” my mother snapped back, swinging an arm toward my boys.
And, I noted, but was not surprised that she did not make mention of the fact that her daughter was also right there.
“God, Keely,” my sister Tierney said disgustedly. “When are you gonna get yourself together? This is insane. You’re so disturbingly messed up. Both your boys in that gang? I swear, Mom nearly had a heart attack when she learned. She wasn’t even over Dutch getting into that insanity. Now you allow Jagger to get involved too?”
“Like we said, this is an intervention,” Sarah, Graham’s sister put in. “We’ve left it too long. We should have gotten involved long ago, before we lost Graham to that mess. But now, we can’t allow this to carry on.”
“Keely—” Hound growled, and he said more.
I just didn’t hear him.
“You can’t allow?” I asked quietly over him speaking.
“Can’t allow, won’t allow, take your pick. But I’m not losing my grandchildren like I lost my son,” Simon declared.
“You lost your son before his throat was slit, Simon,” I spat.
Graham’s mom, Blair’s face drained of color as her hand inched up to her throat and she stared at me like I’d connected a punch to her face.
I should feel that. As a mother, I should feel that.
But since that woman missed her son’s wedding, was not there when either of her grandchildren were born, and didn’t show at Black’s funeral, for Blair, I felt nothing.
Wild Like the Wind (Chaos Book 6) Page 30
