Taming Bull: A Friends to Lovers Military MC Romance (Dead Presidents MC Book 9)

by Harley Stone

  Lily also didn’t have money to blow on shit like doughnuts for the crew. But she was a giver. That’s just who she was, and no number of well-meaning objections from me could change that fact.

  Damn, I missed her.

  I’d always meant to keep her at an arm’s length, but over the past two years, she’d weaseled past my defenses and became my best friend. I missed hanging out with her, playing darts, explaining football, shooting pool, and talking for hours about nothing at all. Lily usually talked; I listened.

  I missed the sound of her laughter.

  Tavonte didn’t get it; I wasn’t wasting what we had, I was trying to protect us both from what we could never have.

  Lost in my thoughts, I almost missed my freeway exit.

  By the time I realized it, the off-ramp was ending. I braked, swerved, and barely made the exit. Tavonte watched me with a shit-eating grin, no doubt enjoying the way he’d gotten into my head. Ignoring him, I focused on finding my tow.

  In the Big Lots parking lot, sat a baby blue 1994 Buick LeSabre. The disabled vehicle was parked a good three feet away from the parking block, like it petered out just shy of the finish line. I pulled up behind it, slid the tow truck into park, and got out. Tavonte fell into step behind me. An elderly woman with tight, gray curls sat in the driver’s seat with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Worried that two strange guys approaching might do her in, I gestured for Tavonte to hang back. He’d already read the situation, though, and was moving away.

  Her driver’s side window was down about a quarter of an inch, so instead of knocking and potentially startling her, I stepped loudly and cleared my throat. Keeping her hands on the wheel and her gaze locked ahead, she showed no signs of hearing me.

  “Ms. Moore?” I asked.

  She jumped.

  I’d done everything I could think of to avoid startling her, but I still felt like an asshole. Giving her the same disarming smile I grew up using on the elderly folks at my parents’ church, I pointed to the nametag on my uniform. “Hi. I’m Bull, I’m with Formation Auto Repair. Heard you had a little car trouble and I’m here to give you a tow.”

  She studied me, surprise filling her grey eyes. “You’re with the tow company?”

  Unsure of why she was having trouble accepting my employment, I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, ma’am.” I pointed to truck parked behind her. “Got my truck ready and everything. If you want to step out of your vehicle, I’ll get this ol’ beauty hooked up, take her back to the shop, and see if we can’t get her workin’ again.”

  She lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose and looked me over. I was young for a tow truck driver, but I was certified, and despite my distracted, late exit from the freeway, I was a damn good driver. I was preparing to defend my age when her gaze drifted down my body.

  The mischievous gleam in her eyes made it clear she sure as hell wasn’t verifying my employment. “By this ol’ beauty, you talkin’ about me or my car, young man?”

  She was flirting. Shocked, I stared at her. I needed to reply, but didn’t know how to answer. Sure, I’d had customers flirt with me before, but none that were my grandma’s age. Flirting back seemed inappropriate, but leaving her hanging was just plain rude.

  While I struggled to come up with a response, she struck again. “What’s a woman gotta do to get the full service around here?” Just in case I’d missed the inuendo, she waggled her thin gray eyebrows at me suggestively.

  I’d been trying to make her feel safe and comfortable, and she’d fucking knocked me on my ass. Unable to help myself, I belted out a laugh. “We’re not that kind of a service station, ma’am, but let’s see what we can do about your car.”

  “Damn,” she said with a huff. “It was worth a try.”

  As I helped her out of her vehicle, Ms. Moore copped a feel of my bicep, obviously preferring that to the forearm I’d presented her with, even though she had to reach over her head to hold on. I pretended not to notice her diabolical grin or the way her fingers probed the contours of my muscles. Even as we reached the safety of the curb, she kept a death grip on me, like I was a new toy she was afraid someone would take away.

  “Is there someone you can call to pick you up?” I asked, wondering how I was going to remove her from my arm.

  “I suppose I could call my daughter, but she’s working. Can’t I just ride with you to the shop and have her pick me up on her lunch break?”

  “Sure.” I gestured Tavonte over. “Ms. Moore, this is Tay. He’s helping me out today.”

  She gave Tavonte the same half-starved appraisal she’d given me. A small pink tongue whipped out to wet her lips. “Oh my. There’s two of you. Vanilla and chocolate. It’s like one of those swirl ice cream cones with the best of both worlds.”

  The fairy tale Little Red Riding Hood came to mind, and I couldn’t help but think Charles Perrault had gotten his story wrong, because this little old lady was the wolf. She wasn’t big or bad, but she was definitely hungry. Her eyes took on a glazed-over look, and I didn’t even want to know what kind of fantasies she was conjuring up.

  “Hello Ms. Moore. Pleasure to meet you,” Tavonte said. His gaze cut to me and silently screamed what the fuck?

  I shrugged. Her smile widened as she released my arm and clung onto his. He was closer to thirty and fresh out of the service, and the gleam in her eyes said she wasn’t opposed to giving dark meat a try.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” she replied.

  Chuckling under my breath, I made my escape and hitched her Buick up to be towed.

  6

  Lily

  IT HAD BEEN a long time since I’d owned a dog, and I’d forgotten how much shit the furry little beasts required. Shelly opened the back of her minivan to reveal a fluffy, round dog bed; a flattened, medium-sized kennel; a Costco-sized bag of dog food; a variety of chew toys; a box of peanut butter flavored treats; food and water dishes; a pooper scooper; a manilla envelope full of important papers; and a roll of plastic poop bags. The lot of it must have cost her a fortune, and although I didn’t have the funds to replace it, I recommended she sell it to recoup some of her investment. I mean, her life and marriage were crashing down around her, so I figured she could use the money.

  “Nope.” She gave me a watery-eyed smile. “It goes with BB. It’ll make his transition easier, and it’s our way of saying thank you for being willing to work with us on visits.”

  So, there I stood, mentally calculating the number of blocks between the grocery store and the shelter and wondering how the hell I was going to get all this shit home.

  “If you want to swing your car around, we can help you load it up,” Shelly offered.

  But as my grandma would say, I didn’t even have a pot to piss in, much less a car. “I walked today.” And every day, but she didn’t need to know I was a transportation-impaired loser. Owning a dependable ride was stage three of my ten-stage plan to become a real fucking adult, and I was currently teetering between stages one and two. Wheels would come, eventually, but I needed to get down the whole kick-ass electrician apprentice gig, first. I couldn’t even consider a monthly car payment until steady paychecks were rolling in.

  Shelly offered to take me home, but no matter how kind and friendly she seemed, she was still a stranger. The shelter served as a safe haven for homeless young women between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, a lot of whom were hiding from something or someone. When Stocks and Monica had taken over, they’d called in the club’s tech guys, Morse and Tap, to scrub Sacred Heart Women’s Shelter from digital existence. Stocks had removed the sign, and for all intents and purposes, the old shelter was no more. To the outside world, the recently renovated building was now a huge house occupied by a big, mixed family.

  Looks could be deceiving.

  Ladies First, the non-profit run by the ladies of the Dead Presidents, had purchased the shelter, and was steadily improving the way it operated. We no longer accepted walk-ins. Even if homeless women mana
ged to miraculously find us, they sure as hell weren’t allowed entry until Ladies First screened them. It was harsh, but a necessary evil since the philanthropic ol’ ladies insisted on helping women get out of bad situations. Abusive exes didn’t always respect things like restraining orders, and risking the safety of the shelter’s tenants was not an option.

  After all the precautions everyone had taken to protect our safe haven, leading a stranger to the doorstep would be a dick move.

  And I was no dick.

  Instead, I did what I always did when I needed help; I used a lifeline and phoned a friend.

  “Hey, Lil, what’s up?” Stocks asked by way of greeting. The road noises in the background clued me in on the fact he was driving. Since he’d never even hear the phone ring on his bike, he had to be in his truck, which was perfect for my purposes.

  “Are you out running errands?” I asked.

  “Yep. Just picked up the new moldings for the upstairs hallway. Why? You need something while I’m out and about?”

  “Yeah. A lift. I’m at the Safeway by the house and I… uh…” I didn’t know if Monica had told him about Brahma yet, and I didn’t want to drop the bomb over the phone. I also didn’t want to lie. “I over-shopped.” There. That was honest. Mostly. “Can you pick me up?”

  “Sure. I’m only a few blocks away. Hold tight. I’ll be there in five.”

  Thanking him, I hung up and waited with Shelly. When Stocks arrived, he did a double take at my “over-shopping,” but didn’t say a word as he loaded Brahma’s stuff into the back of his truck beside the molding. Stocks drove an early 90’s Chevy 1500, that had been covered with more rust than paint when he’d purchased it. With the help of the club’s auto shop, he’d managed to breathe life into it, but no amount of money could resurrect it completely. It was basically a zombie truck, moving, but not necessarily alive. He only used it when he needed to haul stuff for the shelter.

  The door creaked as I opened it and settled my bag of groceries on the bench seat. I turned and watched—trying not to bawl like a baby—as both Shelly and Johnny said tearful goodbyes to the dog. We’d already set up our first visit for the following weekend, which, I suspected, was the only reason Shelly was able to pry Johnny’s fingers from Brahma’s leash.

  “You’ll see him again soon,” she promised, handing the leash off to me.

  Johnny was barely holding on to his emotions, so I hurriedly coaxed the dog into the truck before the boy could lose his shit. I climbed in the truck, and Brahma settled his butt by my feet, putting his head on my knees and staring up at me like I had just become the center of his universe. His pure, unbridled adoration did wonders for my recently stomped on heart.

  Bull might not love me, but the new guy in my life sure as hell did.

  Stocks settled in behind the wheel and studied the dog. “I have so many questions.”

  He looked more curious than upset, so I gave him my widest smile. “Surprise! It’s a boy. Congratulations, you now have an ally.”

  “Oh, so this is for me?”

  I nodded wildly. “Absolutely. Stocks, meet Brahma. Or BB for short. And he’s a lot of dog for one person, so we should probably share him.”

  Chuckling, Stocks bent to pat Brahma on the head. The dog let out a contented sigh, and turned to lick Stocks’s hand in thanks. “Aww. What a good boy.”

  “Don’t let the sweet face and gratuitous kisses fool you. He’s a ferocious pit bull mix that will help you guard the castle and keep the residents safe.”

  Stocks gave Brahma a skeptical eyebrow raise. “Ferocious, huh? You don’t say?”

  Brahma blinked at me, also seemingly unconvinced. If there was a ferocious cell in his body, it had either slipped into a coma or been sacrificed to the doggy god of cuteness.

  “Does Monica know you’re bringing home a dysfunctional guard dog?”

  I covered Brahma’s ears against the insult. “Don’t worry, BB, dysfunctional is a requirement. You’ll fit right in.” To Stocks, I added, “Do you think I’m suicidal? Of course she knows. If I don’t clean up after him, she intends to kill me. Creatively.”

  “That sounds about right. Well, I’m not mad about him. Growing up, I always wanted a dog, but my parents weren’t animal people. They still aren’t.” Stocks gave Brahma one last scratch behind the ears before starting up the truck.

  I had the support of the man of the house. Now we just had to win over Monica. On the way home, I gave Brahma a quick pep-talk, filling him in about the lay of the land. He didn’t exactly promise not to poop in the house, but he did nudge my hand every time I stopped petting him. “You’ll get all the loves in the world as long as you kiss up to Monica when we get home,” I told him. I shouldn’t have worried. As soon as I led him inside, he wandered straight to the queen of our castle, sat at her feet, and gave her the same worshipful devotion he’d given me.

  He was a smart little traitor.

  “How am I supposed to be mad about that?” she asked, her expression softening as she gestured at the dog. He rolled over and showed her his belly in a surefire show of his pit bull viciousness. “Oh, God, he’s just a big teddy bear, isn’t he?” She bent and scratched his underside until his leg kicked so hard against the floor he sounded like a rabbit. “That’s the spot? Aww. You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?”

  Introductions made, I turned my attention to my bag of groceries. The ice cream was suspiciously soft, but it didn’t quite slosh when I shook the container. I threw it in the freezer and hoped for the best. Depositing the rest of the goods on the counter, I washed my hands while scanning the ingredients Monica had set out.

  Stocks kissed Monica on the forehead, and snorted at his pathetic excuse for a male ally. “Come on, Brahma, you’re embarrassing me. We need to work on those vicious guard dog skills.”

  The dog reluctantly stood and followed Stocks out the door while Monica joined me at the sink. As we prepared breakfast sandwiches, we watched Stocks and Brahma through the windows. Stocks collected the molding from the truck and took it into the shop as Brahma teetered along behind him, stopping occasionally to sniff and pee on his new territory.

  Stocks picked up a small stick and tossed it. Brahma unhurriedly trotted after the stick, and then brought it back, depositing it at Stocks’s feet. The resulting grin Stocks flashed us practically split his face in two.

  “Just when I think that man can’t get any hotter…” Monica fanned herself. “Him playing with a dog shouldn’t be sexy, but it is.”

  “If you want to see the true measure of a man, watch how he treats his inferiors, not his equals,” I quoted.

  “I like that. Who said it?”

  “J. K. Rowling.” At the blank stare she gave me, I added, “The creator of Hogwarts?”

  Still no recognition in her expression.

  “The unbelievably talented and amazing author of Harry Potter. How do you not know who J.K. Rowling is? She’s basically a literary god.” And, as a child abandoned by my parents, I’d often disappeared from my own shitty reality and into the magical fantasy of witches and wizards, pretending I was a chosen hero, too. Harry Potter and Grandma were probably the only things that kept me going for a while there.

  “You’re so weird.”

  She wasn’t wrong, so I didn’t argue.

  Later that evening, we had guests. Havoc, the club’s sergeant at arms, was a big black man with arms that had to be twice the diameter of my thighs. His temper was legendary, and like Bull, he drove a tow truck for the club’s auto shop. He also ran the club’s security. He looked big and scary—always dressed in the club uniform of jeans, T-shirt, and cut—but he was one of the best people I’d ever met. Of course, I was biased since he’d risked himself to save me from Noah Kinlan, and always made me feel welcome and important when I visited the fire station. His wife, Julia, was a gorgeous redhead who owned a small bookstore and dressed like someone who’d never seen a clearance rack in her life. Classy, but never snobby. The two of them couldn�
��t be more different, but the way they looked at each other shattered all stereotypes and preconceived notions about couples.

  They brought their baby, Marcus Jr., whose chubby cheeks and dark eyes captivated me from the moment Julia let me pull him out of his carrier. The four other shelter girls who were home crowded me, begging to hold the baby, but I refused to give him up. Turned out Brahma was also selfish. He followed me and Marcus to the rocking chair, sat at my feet, and gave the stink-eye to anyone who dared approach us.

  Okay, he really just wagged his tail at them, but I imagined him growling and spitting protectively.

  “You sure he’s okay around babies?” Havoc asked, watching Brahma like he might have to tackle the dog at any moment.

  Brahma laid his head down demurely and kept right on wagging his tail.

  I chuckled. “Yeah. He likes kids. His previous owner was a little boy.”

  Havoc let the matter drop, but he kept one eye on us as he peeled off to talk to Stocks.

  During dinner, Stocks and Havoc discussed some home improvement project Havoc was working on while Monica and Julia shared recipes and reviewed newly released novels. Cari, a tall blonde who stayed in the room next to mine, called me out on my hoarder ways and forced me to give up the baby. Marcus spent the meal being passed around the table under Havoc’s watchful gaze.

  Every time someone shifted the baby, Havoc would call out instructions like, “Watch his head,” and, “Be careful of his neck.”

  “They’ve got it, baby,” Julia kept insisting, patting his hand. Judging by her smile, she didn’t mind his protective streak one bit.

  After dinner, Havoc rubbed the back of Julia’s neck. “How are you feelin’? You tired yet?” Birth complications had forced her into a c-section delivery. It had been six weeks, and she was mostly healed, but Havoc was still in what she referred to as helicopter husband mode.