“Damn. Just … damn,” she whispered, then broke into giggles. Which had a very interesting effect on her chest, as well as where she still had his cock tightly clenched.
“We’re not done yet,” he pointed out, weight on his arms as he brought his knees right up to her ass. Her knees clenched at his sides, and her eyes grew wide as he shoved into her forcefully.
“Oh, ohhh …” she groaned, mouth falling open, eyes locked with his.
He grinned, then kept going. With her hips rolled under him he didn’t have to pull out far, just work against the momentum of her body reacting to each thrust. That slick grip she had began to tighten and he knew damn well she’d take him with her this time. He had to close his eyes, and that was when the noises started.
Tank was loud when he was getting close to finishing. He grunted. Groaned. Damn near howled when he came. It had always been that way. If he tried to stay quiet it never felt as good. Some broads had thought it funny, and a few had been right freaked out by it. He never knew what a girl’s reaction would be to that.
When the last of his barbaric yelling was gone, released with a delicious flood of sensation that ran from the back of his neck right through to the end of his cock, he opened his eyes, preparing himself for what Rose’s reaction to that production would be.
She was breathing hard, so he hoped she’d gotten through that last orgasm completely, and she was staring at him, her face blank. He had no idea what her opinion was of him now.
“Sorry,” he grunted, easing out of her with a wince, dropping his head so their foreheads touched. “I’m loud. I should have warned you.”
To his surprise she broke out in laughter, slinging both arms around his neck. He opened his eyes to see she was indeed smiling. “Are you kidding?” she muttered through the giggles. “That’s fucking hot.”
He laughed now, too. “You’re a weird one,” he mumbled, rising up to his arms and backing off of her, pulling his shorts upward. She sat up, pushing her skirt down, looking gorgeous, disheveled and sweaty.
“Maybe I am,” she agreed with a smile. “Do you wanna stay over?”
Chapter Six
Rose rolled over, groaning as she stretched the sleep out of her muscles. There was also a wonderful ache in her back and lower extremities, bringing back the activities of the night before and making her smile despite the early hour.
Cracking one eye open, Rose immediately noticed the mountain of a man next to her, sandwiching her between his bulk and the wall behind her. He was facing the opposite way, on his side as well.
She let her eyes roam over his wide back, the bumps and plains of his musculature obvious even when sleeping. Not a show-off physique, but she could feel the strength in that body. The mark of the Red Rebels, just like the vest he wore, was large across his whole back. His hair was spread across the other pillow, and she nestled in close, inhaling the smell of him.
After the round in the living room, they’d had another go here in the bedroom, just as enthusiastic. She’d rarely felt so free when making love to someone, but with Tank, if she wanted to just ride him to get off he’d happily let her, watching with that quirky smile on his lips and reverence in his eyes. No judgments. Just enjoyment. Appreciation.
But when he wanted to be the one running the show she’d been all too happy to hand it all over to him. Jesus, the man had power and stamina.
It was unexpected to be this comfortable with someone who so easily turned her on. Rose didn’t want to overanalyze it, make it into something it wasn’t. But if this was all they’d ever be to each other, she was perfectly fine with it.
She pushed the sheets off herself, preparing to squeeze down to the foot of the bed to head to the bathroom. She wanted to rinse her face and at least brush her teeth before he saw her like—
In a wink she was on her back, pressed into place by Tank’s weight as he rolled onto her. “Morning,” he grumbled, kissing her.
Well, too late to worry about morning breath she supposed. A giggle escaped, then she wound an arm around his neck. When he pulled away she was still giggling.
“What’s so funny, English?”
“I was worried about morning breath,” she said, turning her head to the side since she was sure she must smell terrible.
“Is mine bad?” he asked, frowning and easing away.
“No!” she cried out, pulling him back. “Not at all.”
“You don’t have morning breath,” he assured her with another kiss.
It was a sweet kiss, but it still made her curl her toes and clutch at him with all ten fingernails. Just as his hands were starting to explore there was an unfamiliar ringing sound which brought him back to reality quickly—unfortunately.
She gave a grunt of frustration as he left the bed, crouching down to his jeans and pulling an ancient-looking flip phone out of his pocket. He straightened while answered it with a sharp “Yeah?” Rose appreciated the view of him, naked and tall, fully erect and impressive, standing there with a hand on his hip and that ridiculous phone to his ear.
It took her a minute to register that it sounded as though he was being called in to attend to business of some sort, and her disappointment was also surprising. A full day in bed with his undivided attention would have been bliss.
The phone snapped shut and he set it on her tallboy dresser. “Shit,” he muttered, reaching down and grabbing his jeans. “Sorry, English. I gotta go, duty calls.”
“Rain check?” she suggested, keeping it light.
He pulled his jeans on, grinning, then sat on the edge of the bed. “You wanna do this again?”
She nodded, then felt trepidation. “Don’t … don’t you?”
His response was quick. “Absolutely.”
Rose grinned as he leaned over to kiss her. “Now just stay right there,” he instructed as he stood, heading for his shirt. He was facing her as he dressed, that smile in place the whole time.
“What are you up to?” she asked, not moving, liking his gaze on her.
“Memorizing this,” he answered, zipping up his jeans and buckling his belt.
“You smooth talker,” she chided, making him grin and cross the room again to kiss her.
“Lock me out,” he advised. “When I’m gone lock the chain and the deadbolt.”
With a sigh, she got up, pulling on her short bathrobe and following him out into the living room. He pulled his flannel on over his undershirt before sliding the vest up his arms. As it settled onto his shoulders she felt something change. Tank in her bed was sweet, charming, damn near cuddly. Tank standing her with that leather on was Tank with a completely different edge, no less enticing, but … a bit more to consider, actually.
He kissed her cheek, hand on her hip while he did it. “Lock it all up when I leave,” he repeated, and she was already nodding.
“I know. I will.”
“You work tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“I can see you after that?”
Rose grinned at the hope in that question. “Of course.”
“Good.”
Then he was gone, leaving her to put into place every security precaution her apartment had. She turned back to her sitting room, noting the two half-finished beers on the coffee table and her underwear on the far side. Rose had to grin again, picking up the beers and dumping them out in the kitchen sink. Then she collected the camisole she’d been wearing and the panties that had been so deliciously torn off of her, tossing them both in the hamper with the skirt that had sported a hell of a wet spot when she tossed it in the night before.
As she was heading back to bed, the phone on the wall rang in her kitchenette. She crossed to answer it, covering a yawn with one hand as she asked “Hello?”
“Rosie! Guess who!”
She frowned, knowing she should know this voice but completely at a loss. “Help me out here, I just woke up.”
The laugh gave it away. Gloria Trestle had a very distinctive cackle, more often than not roun
ded off with a snort, and that always gave her away.
“Gloria?!” she exclaimed with a laugh, plopping onto a kitchen chair. “Where the hell are you?”
“I’m working a week in Vegas. The place is kind of a dive, but we’re making cash like crazy.”
“Who’s we?”
“Oh! I’m with Brandi and Jennifer. We’re sticking together, safety in numbers, all that.”
Rose smiled, feeling nostalgic just from Gloria’s voice over the phone. “Well that’s very responsible of you. But what’s going on? What makes you dial up my number?”
“Wondering if you want to come join us! We miss you, Rosie.”
Rose shook her head, biting her thumbnail. “You know what? I’m doing really good here. I’m … I’m thinking of buying a house here, actually.”
There was a pause, then Gloria let her know exactly what she was thinking. “Holy shit, Rosie. You growing up on us or what?”
That made her laugh. “I am growing up. Only a few more years in this sad old ass, honey.”
“Bullshit! Unless you aged twenty years in the past half year you still look great, I know it. So, what’s this town? What’s got you so ingrained?”
Rose shrugged a shoulder while she tried to explain Markham to someone who’d never been here. “I don’t know. It’s kind of a hole, really. But that’s just the top layer, I think. It’s a tight community. You always feel like someone’s looking out for you, somehow.”
“You still at the same club? That biker joint?”
She laughed again. “Yes, there’s only one strip club in this town. But yes, that’s where I am right now.”
There was a long pause. “Well, good,” Gloria finally relented, sounding pleased. “I’m glad you’re happy. If we’re ever nearby, can we come check out your hole of a town?”
Rose wrapped the phone cord around her finger. “Yeah, you should, actually. I’d like to see you guys.”
“Okay, we’ll try to do that.”
Rose held no hope that they’d make it to Markham, but she appreciated the sentiment anyway. “Good. Take care, Gloria.”
“You too, Rosie. We’ll look you up.”
“Bye, babe,” Rose replied, hanging the phone back in its cradle. Then with a smile she went to go shower.
Chapter Seven
Money didn’t make Tank uncomfortable. Rich people had more to lose and protect¸ so if they came across as pretentious assholes he could somewhat understand and cut a guy some slack. When he was in a rich guy’s house all he could wonder was what the guy would do if he had to get out of town fast.
Different lives, obviously.
Michael Sachetti was the first “made” man Tank had ever seen in person, and the reality was kinda disappointing. He didn’t have a hairy chest with gold chains and fifteen pounds of pinky rings. He was a fit man with a good tan, a thick head of dark hair that Tank suspected was a dye job, and absolutely no accent whatsoever. He was wearing leather loafers with no socks, though, so Tank felt somewhat vindicated by that.
His goons were movie appropriate. Dark-haired with steely stares, three guys the size of houses were standing with their backs to Jayce and Michael Sachetti, facing the rest of the Red Rebels in attendance.
They were at a restaurant in Bakersfield, the nice part of town. The sun beat down on the patio with its glass dividers and white adobe-style partitions. Not a single table was taken, it was just them even though the place had a line out the front door, people waiting that long for fucking lunch.
If Sachetti didn’t own this place, he knew who did, and they owed him. That was for sure.
Knuckles was cracking his finger joints, then his jaw. It seemed to bother the body builders but they didn’t tell him to stop. Tank was used to it, as were Buck, Tiny and Fritter. The call had come for this meeting quickly without a lot of warning, which they’d expected. Jayce predicted that they’d be tasked with a small, simple job first, to see how they handled it. The short notice was another test. It might have made Knuckles fidgety, but he usually was.
There had been no razzing from the guys yet as to why he’d disappeared before his birthday bash really got started. There hadn’t been time. As soon as he’d gotten back to the clubhouse, they were heading for the city, speeding the entire way.
The stone-faced look came naturally, so when his mind wandered back to his evening he knew he wasn’t giving anything away. But it did feel like he should be grinning.
There was no way in hell that Rose Clairborne should want anything to do with him. With that accent and grace and wit she was miles beyond what he deserved. But she seemed to like him. At least, he thought she did. And the high school worry about how serious she was about him would likely start to get old.
But for the moment he just found it exciting.
When the Don and Jayce headed back their way, they were smiling, stopped to clasp hands, a back slap, then Jayce passed through the man-wall to his crew. “Let’s go,” he said, and they fell into step behind him in an orchestrated formation.
They let Jayce lead them to a site to debrief. It was a food stand off the freeway, with a sadly neglected playground. They ordered something to eat and a few sodas, then took over the concrete round patio tables that were right off the parking lot.
Even here they fell into their standard positions. Tank to Jayce’s left, Fritter on his right, the rest of them unknowingly taking the spot that would be closest to where they sat at the boardroom table.
“So,” Jayce began, sliding his sunglasses up into his unkempt-looking hair and setting both elbows on the table. “Standard delivery. We pick up a shipment at the port in Hazeldale. Gypsys have been told to leave us the hell alone. We deliver it up through Bakersfield, Markham, right into LA. We’re in possession the entire time.”
Tank was nodding, Fritter was chewing his lip. “What about law enforcement? They have any help on that front?”
“Only in LA. The rest of the time we’re on our own.”
“What are we carrying?” Buck asked.
Jayce nodded. “It’s basic delivery, not really run of the mill cargo.”
“Shit,” Tank groaned, recognizing deflection when he saw it. “What is it?”
“RPGs.”
His mouth dropped open and Knuckles started coughing. “RPGs?” Buck echoed under his breath. “What the hell for?”
Jayce shrugged. “Don’t know, didn’t ask. All I know is where we’re taking them.”
“Do we know how many?”
“Two dozen. It’s worth a couple hundred grand to them. We get a fifth,” Jayce explained.
Now Fritter whistled low. “Holy shit. Fifty grand for a day trip?”
Knuckles smacked him upside the back of his head. “Where’d you learn math?”
“Close enough,” Jayce assured Fritter as he delivered a hard jab to Knuckles’ arm.
Knuckles made a sound of protest and returned the favor to Fritter, both of them grabbing and smacking each other as the poor girl arrived with their lunches. “Cut it out!” Jayce shouted, so they didn’t freak her out.
“Sorry, honey,” Knuckles apologized smoothly, shoving Fritter right off the bench. “You know how it is when the guys get together.”
The girl, a strawberry blonde, blushed right down to raspberry and set down the laden tray before scurrying back to the safety of the food booth.
“Jesus,” Tank muttered, grabbing the basket with his burger and fries. “She’s probably only sixteen.”
“Are you insane? Eighteen, tops,” Knuckles insisted.
“How fucking old are you?” Fritter snapped back, climbing back into his seat and giving another jab to Knuckles’ bicep.
“Old enough to be her father,” Knuckles replied around a mouthful of fries.
“You better start asking for ID,” Jayce said, reaching for his own lunch. “Your eyesight is failing at your age. That’d be a shitty thing to be locked up for.”
Tank surveyed to see if any over-reaching ears
were nearby but couldn’t see anything to be concerned about. “But seriously, Jayce. RPGs? Who are these guys selling to?”
Jayce washed down his burger with a gulp of soda. “I didn’t ask.”
Tank set his jaw and focused on lunch. To him, the people receiving military weapons absolutely did make a difference. Selling that shit to known terrorist cells was what got the Gypsys on the Feds’ radar in the first place. Whatever the fuck Jayce was thinking, Tank didn’t like it.
The reckless behavior could be depression, Jayce not giving a shit about anything anymore. Tank had to watch out for that. If their president was compromised and making stupid decisions, it was on him to nip that in the bud. But not in front of the guys. He’d have that talk with Jayce alone in Markham.
“I bet it’s Russians,” Fritter mused, mouthful of deep-fried potato. “Those fuckers are nuts.”
“Not our worry,” Jayce said. “We deliver a package. That’s what they want us to do.”
Across the table Tiny cleared his throat to take a sip, but his ice-blue eyes hit Tank’s, and right then he knew his brother had the same thought he did. He didn’t like the plan; he wanted Tank to figure this out.
They finished up their greasy lunch quickly, without much more talk other than Fritter and Knuckles behaving like fucking toddlers, right down to throwing French fries at each other, leaving Jayce and Tank to play Mom and Dad, even if Tiny was the oldest bastard at the table. He just watched and chuckled. So maybe he was Uncle Didn’t-Give-A-Shit.
Within half an hour they were roaring back along the blacktop to Markham, the sun at their backs as it started the downward slope of its daily trajectory. It was still plenty warm when they pulled up to the Rebels’ clubhouse. When his feet hit the asphalt, Tank groaned, arching his back. He knew he was getting old when he couldn’t handle a four-hour trek in one day. Then again, maybe it was his extracurricular the night before in addition to the ride.
When everyone had removed helmets and left their bikes, Gertie Dénise appeared in the clubhouse doorway, hand shielding her eyes from the slant of the sun. Her hair was lit like fire, and Tank couldn’t help but notice that Buck’s pace doubled so that he overtook every other Rebels to get to her, wrapping her up in his arms with a smile, which she returned in wattage.
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