Still Standing

by Kristen Ashley

  This was not about Buck being the king of our castle.

  This was because I liked having my mouth around his cock.

  And his between my legs.

  And…other.

  “I’m nearing the 101,” I told him, informing him I was in Phoenix proper and nowhere near turning back.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “I’ll make it up to you tonight,” I offered.

  “No, you’ll make it up to me when I get to work, blinds closed, doors locked, babe.”

  Oh my.

  Adventurous.

  We weren’t exactly in a rut.

  But it was always good to take preventative measures on that kind of thing.

  “Okay,” I whispered, then changed the subject. “Tatiana just called me. She’s already been into it with her mom this morning.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered again, annoyed gone, frustrated in its place.

  One could say Buck felt for his children’s plight.

  Like, a whole lot.

  And as such, he felt hemmed in that he was powerless to do much about it.

  “Buck,” I started, pulled in breath, gathered courage, and stated, “honey, you need to do something about that.”

  “Right. You got any bright ideas?”

  “Hire an attorney and get custody of your kids.”

  “Tried that,” he replied.

  “Try again,” I suggested.

  “Puts them through the wringer, Toots. They get their hopes up, I get fucked, then they get fucked. I don’t like them to experience that and I don’t like bein’ fucked.”

  “Okay, then hire an investigator and then hire an attorney. I’ll talk to Tatie. She can start taking notes. They’re old enough to talk to a judge and tell them where they want to be. She shares how Kristy is, Gear corroborates it, your investigator gets dirt on Kristy or Knuckles, maybe the result will be different.”

  “Two can play that game, Toots, and I ain’t dirty, but the MC hasn’t always been clean. We do not wanna go there.”

  We probably didn’t.

  “Try anyway, just not the investigator.”

  “Clara—”

  “She’s in a bad way, Buck. You know it, but she trusts me, she shares, and as bad as you know it is, I’m telling you, it’s worse. Try anyway.”

  “As bad as I know it is, it’s worse?” he asked, the toxin threading through his tone.

  Oh boy.

  “If it was that bad, honey, I’d tell you,” I said soothingly. “But yes, it’s worse.”

  He was silent for long seconds before he muttered, “I’ll call the Club’s attorney.”

  I let out a breath.

  Then I said, “You need to call Tat, later, after school. She needs to rest in the knowledge that you’re doing something to help out.”

  “I’ll call her, babe.”

  “Thanks, Buck,” I whispered.

  He was silent again for long seconds, before I heard him say, “Love that you look after my girl, gorgeous.”

  And I loved doing it.

  And I really liked him calling me “gorgeous.”

  “I’m glad,” I said softly.

  “You didn’t bake last night. You swingin’ by to get the staff donuts?”

  “No. Cookies from Safeway. That’s why I left early, it’s out of my way.”

  “Save me some.”

  “I’ll try, but Jimbo’s been hungrier than normal.”

  “Jimbo eats more a’ your shit, Toots, Jimbo will stop bein’ useful ’cause he won’t fit in the aisles of the store.”

  This was unfortunately true.

  Jimbo was a big man when I met him, and he was growing.

  “I’m uncertain of my desire to discuss diet and nutrition with Jimbo and equally uncertain of my willingness to wrest a cookie from him.”

  Buck’s chuckle came at me from the phone.

  That made me feel warm and sweet too.

  “Remember, babe,” he finally said, still chuckling, “your man’s got your back.”

  Without saying good-bye or letting me do it, he disconnected.

  I dropped my phone on the passenger seat and headed to Safeway.

  I did this thinking of my phone calls that morning.

  I also did it thinking of the post-sex conversation Buck and I had the night Tatie and Gear went back to Flag last weekend.

  I was on top of him, draped down his body, where I had noted he liked me to be, especially post-sex.

  I had also noted I liked to be there too, post-sex or whenever.

  He had his arm around my waist, where it normally was, his other hand, though, usually wandered.

  But that night, he’d cupped it to the back of my head, holding my cheek to his chest.

  He’d then asked, “Do you miss it?”

  I stared at his shoulder, but I felt my body tense.

  “Sorry?” I asked.

  Buck rolled me to my back, positioning his long, hard frame body down my side, but his chest was pressed to mine, his face close.

  This position change, I felt, was important, denoting this conversation was important, and I felt my breath get funny.

  “Do you miss it?” he repeated.

  “No,” I said quickly.

  I then kept talking.

  And I also did this quickly.

  “No, Buck. Never. The house was big, and we had a nice pool and the pulls in the drawers in the bathroom had Swarovski crystals in them. Rogan did it all up just so, meticulous, top-of-the-line everything. I had a big soaking tub I could spend ages in. And I loved doing that. Unwinding with a good book and a glass of wine in the tub. But I don’t miss it. I don’t miss any of it. I prefer your deck. And your room, which is all warm colors and filled with Buck smells. And the quiet. And the peace. And knowing, during the week, we’ll have the kids back on the weekend so the house will seem busy and full. But I also like it, just you and me for Pop-Tarts in the morning and at night in front of the TV. I’ve never slept as good in my life as I have in this bed. So, no. I don’t miss it.”

  For a second, he said nothing.

  For that second, I couldn’t read his face.

  And then he said, “Buck smells?”

  It wasn’t teasing.

  I looked to his beard and mumbled, “You smell good.”

  “Baby?” he called.

  I looked to him.

  “I was talkin’ about your job.”

  His tone was serious. Questioning and warm, but serious. Not playful or amused.

  “Oh,” I muttered, feeling like an idiot.

  “I don’t even know what they do there,” he said. “But everyone knows the Hunter Institute. I reckon, for a librarian, that’s a big score.”

  “It was,” I said quietly. “We…a library usually has as much stuff on every subject as they can afford to have in as much room as they can get to house it. A research library has a depth of things on one or two subjects. Hunter is rare books and papers. We had things like scratch paper John Lennon and Paul McCartney wrote lyrics on. Or letters written by famous people to other famous people, like we had a letter written by Abraham Lincoln to the mother of a fallen soldier. Or letters written by non-famous people to non-famous people but about famous things. Or early or first editions of books. We had all of Hemingway. Copies of the Pickwick Papers. Things like that.”

  “The Pickwick Papers?”

  “Serial publications by Dickens.”

  “That’s pretty impressive,” he muttered.

  “I loved it,” I told him. “I was training to restore when they got rid of me.”

  Buck had nothing to say to that.

  “But they got rid of me, Buck,” I reminded him.

  “You should look for a job as a librarian,” he murmured.

  “They got rid of me, Buck,” I repeated.

  He again said nothing, but now he kept his silence as he studied me intently.

  “I did nothing. I was never even charged. And they got rid of me,” I stated. �
��You were right when we were fighting. I know the other world, and I don’t belong there. I don’t belong with the snobby, snooty women who lived in my neighborhood. Or their men who drive BMWs mean and aggressively, like where they have to go is more important than you, or anyone. The generation of the entitled whose parents gave them everything they wanted for reasons I don’t understand. It seems to me the best thing a parent can give, outside of love, is good lessons. And learning you need to work for what you want, and that you are just one of many in this world, we’re all living in it together and we all have to work together, are two of the most important lessons you can get.”

  “Yeah,” he whispered.

  His tone on that one word was one I couldn’t read either.

  Though it was heavy.

  But I was on a roll, and I had a point to make, so I kept explaining.

  “They know nothing of foster care or the system or living paycheck to paycheck or struggling to make ends meet. But I do. And I didn’t belong there. I never felt comfortable there, even before it all happened and my place was taken away.”

  I took in a big breath and kept going.

  “So, to answer your question, no. No, I don’t miss it. There are things about it I miss, especially at the library, but they showed no loyalty to me. I was good at what I did, and I was an exceptional employee because I know how important it is to have a good job and further know to take care of it. None of that mattered. Reputation mattered. And they didn’t like theirs dragged through the mud whenever I was mentioned in a paper along with where I worked. No one there had the guts to say, ‘We know Clara Delaney, she’s an exceptional librarian who has given years of service to our Institute. She’s a good person and she had nothing to do with this. So we stand by her.’”

  I shook my head.

  And yes, continued explaining.

  “But now, I have my own domain. My own system. Responsibilities. People count on me. Good people who get it. Who work hard, like I do, and who appreciate having a great place to work because they know that is a rare thing to find.”

  “Is it enough for you?” he asked.

  And it was my turn to stare intently.

  Then I shared, “West, the most fun I’ve had since my life turned inside out, besides being with you and the kids, or Lorie and Minnie and the girls, and maybe even more fun than being with the girls, is when I got to make that office my own. Do I want to work admin for Ace in the Hole for the rest of my life? I don’t know. But I’m not coasting now. I love going to work. And not just because I’m glad to have work. I love the work. It’s about detail and organization, and there is no other who’s better at either of those than a librarian. Not to mention, your people are good people.”

  “My people are your people,” he replied.

  Yes.

  I’d struggled with it.

  But really, there was no denying it.

  They were.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  That got me a very different intense look before it got me a kiss and Buck rolling me, so I was again on top.

  And then it got me more.

  The next day, Driver was my ride home, because Buck texted me to say he was busy.

  I thought he was off doing president of an MC stuff.

  I thought wrong.

  Because when Driver dropped me off, I saw three things at Buck’s house.

  Ink’s bike parked by Buck’s.

  Chap’s old, faded-red Ford truck parked by Ink’s bike.

  And the bathtub in the master bath was outside on the deck.

  I wandered into the house, my extremities tingling, and I didn’t even put my purse down before I wandered straight to the master bath.

  All three men were in it.

  Buck and Ink were re-tiling the bathtub/shower space in a tile that was different, but complementary, to the tile around the vanity.

  Chap was doing something in the floor with plumbing.

  And taking up most of the rest of the room where they weren’t working was a huge, oval, vessel-shaped, freestanding, gorgeous soaking tub.

  “Hey, babe,” Buck greeted, like I came home to him doing something so insanely wonderful every day.

  “Hey,” I forced out.

  “Give me a kiss then get us all a beer, would you?” he asked.

  I said nothing.

  I gave him a kiss then got them a beer.

  They’d had to let the tile dry. They’d had to grout it and let that dry. Then they’d had to pull out and then put in an entirely new floor (penny tile, it was going to be fabulous) because the tile Buck had before was discontinued, and the new tub would expose more floor.

  So we were showering in Tatie’s bathroom because it’d take another day or two to get the tub in and the new showerheads installed.

  Buck did not make a big deal of this.

  Any of it.

  But it was a big deal to me.

  Huge.

  Because I had been right way back in the beginning. Buck was not the kind of guy who took baths.

  But I told him I did, and I loved doing it.

  And soon, I was going to have a fabulous bathtub to do it in.

  These thoughts on my mind, I hit Safeway and bought enough cookies to feed the shop people, the contractor men, the Aces members, the delivery men, Lorie, Minnie, Pinky, Debbie (if they popped around) and myself.

  In other words, I cleaned Safeway clear out of cookies.

  I also took the opportunity to grab two big tins of coffee, fresh half and half, some flavored half and half (vanilla, which was Minnie’s and my favorite) and I headed out to my super-cool car.

  I did this thinking I could do this.

  That “this” being, I was in a place in my life where I bought cookies (or made them, or cakes, or cupcakes or other) for people I liked. People who took care of me. People who cared about me.

  Genuinely.

  People who had my back.

  Friends (in Minnie, Lorie, Pinky and now Debbie’s case).

  Real ones who’d never cut me out unless it was me, personally, who did something nasty.

  Real ones who’d accept me just as I was, if I wore my biker babe clothes, or if I stayed in my librarian blouses.

  I did this also thinking that I couldn’t leave my house without my man phoning, irritated I left it without connecting with him in some way.

  Sure, Buck talked about having sex. He was a guy, a guy just woken up, and men tended to be in a certain mood when they woke up.

  He was also my man and he’d woken up without me.

  So I was sensing he was more ticked about the fact I left without saying good-bye.

  And I did all this and walked out to my super-cool car that I’d driven down from the nice house in the tranquil setting where I lived.

  It wasn’t grand.

  It wasn’t phony.

  It was full of food and love (and on the weekends) people.

  More people who cared about me.

  And eventually (in fact, very soon), it would be perfection because it would have a soaking tub.

  But even when it was just me and Buck, the only other person in that house cared about me.

  He gave me a car, yes, and a job, that too (and if I did say so myself, after a rocky start, I did it well). He gave me money to buy a cell and clothes.

  But he did not shower me with riches, a fancy home, an expensive vehicle, in order to meet some need he decided I had that he had to do awful things to assuage (and let’s be real, what Rogan did was not all about me, and I wasn’t going to shoulder that blame).

  That said, I gave in return.

  As far as I could tell (and evidence mounted daily when I discovered more stuff I had to sort, this was true), I was the best office manager Ace in the Hole ever had. There were tons of employees with employee issues. Constant deliveries. Orders that had to be submitted, and accurately. Quotes to prepare. A variety of jobs being worked all the time that had to be monitored, progressed and kept straight.
Clients to communicate with and keep happy.

  I got paid for this, but it was one less headache for the brothers. I didn’t know if they had a lot of headaches, but everyone could use one less. And I knew for a fact at least Chap was glad I was around so he didn’t have to deal with the office.

  And Buck and I gave a happy home to the kids when they were there.

  It wasn’t like we were fake and tried too hard and forced them to do happy things all the time or took them shopping to spoil them (well, I did that with Tatie, but the time was nigh for her room and the situation prior was extreme).

  It was hanging out in front of the TV, on the deck, eating breakfast together in the mornings, dinner at night if the kids weren’t off doing something.

  But they came home to two people who wanted above all else for them to have fun when they were gone and come home safe and sound.

  And when Buck wasn’t being King of the Castle BIKER! he was sweet and loving, affectionate, funny. All of this in a rough, no-nonsense way, but it worked for me.

  He thought I was “gorgeous,” but he didn’t feel the need to tell me every day and make it weird or seem false.

  He was just real with me. He was just himself, yes, even the bad parts, and he gave me that, and I could be myself (for the most part), and he made no bones he liked me just as I was.

  And he went out of his way to give me a beautiful soaking tub.

  So I bought cookies and took them to my super-cool car, thinking that maybe, all this biker babe stuff, and the biker babe’s place in the biker lifestyle, really wasn’t all that bad.

  In fact, most of it was really super good.

  I’d stowed the bags in the trunk, slammed it down, and suddenly, I felt someone in my space.

  Too in my space.

  I cried out because I felt something unpleasant in my side, sending something equally unpleasant zinging through every inch of my frame.

  After that, I went down.

  I was tossed, kicking and struggling, on a bed.

  Seconds later, the bonds securing my wrists and ankles were snipped.

  My hair was in my face.

  I shook it out, and my body stilled.

  Standing beside the bed was Imran Babić, Bosnian lunatic.

  Oh no.

  He sat on the bed, and I scooted up it, shoulders to the headboard, remembering to be terrified.