by Addison Jane
“I swear to God, you little shi—”
“Avery,” Holly warned, pushing me further and further back. “Just leave it.”
There was something wrong.
“I can help,” I pleaded, my anger quickly dissipating, and that piece of my heart I thought was broken suddenly beating again, screaming at me to protect her.
“You can’t,” she hissed, shaking her head and turning on her heel then making a run for it.
I watched Cooper bundle her into some fancy BMW, the tires screeching as they pulled out of the parking lot, leaving me standing there.
Confused.
Heartbroken.
Angry.
But positive about one fucking thing—my Holly was in there somewhere, and I wasn’t ready to give up on her.
Not just yet.
AVERY
“You look like someone kicked your puppy,” Slate teased as he took a seat at the bar while I stacked the shelves with fresh sparkling glasses from the dishwasher. He wiped at his hands, though the towel he was using was so dirty and greasy I wasn’t sure if he was cleaning them or merely wiping more grease on.
I let out a huff of laughter and shook my head. “You were right, you know,” I told him, pushing one glass after another up onto the shelf. “I don’t want to put Shotgun in a position where he has to make that choice again.”
The choice to kill someone he knows, someone with who he, at one point, had something of a friendship with because he needed to protect the people he loves.
He didn’t have to ask who I was talking about.
“And yet, you won’t give up on her.”
The words weren’t spoken with malice or judgment, they were simply a statement, one it sounded like he understood.
I paused, placed the glass in my hand down on the counter and turned to Slate. “Holly had my back when I had no one. When I needed her, I could call, and she was there. No judgments. No questions. Just my best friend, ready to fight for me, ready to try and make me laugh, or do whatever it took to help me through the quicksand I felt was slowly drowning me.” I swallowed past the hard lump that had formed in my throat, fighting to get these words out before I broke down completely. “I know her. I know there is something else going on. And the last thing I want to do is turn my back on her when she needs me the most.”
The smirk on his face was unexpected. “As much as I want to just tell you that girl has problems you should not get involved in,” he started, shaking his head. “When your gut is sure about something, it’s sure.”
It was.
My gut told me the Holly I knew just a few months ago before the Beta Beta brotherhood got their claws into her—she was still there. I was somehow missing a part of the puzzle, and for some reason, Holly wasn’t about to let me find it.
“All right, people,” Adrian called, marching down the stairs with Gage under one arm and his playmat rolled up and tucked under the other. “Come, come, come!”
Slate rolled his eyes, spinning on the barstool toward the dramatics.
Gage’s little legs were kicking furiously, his hands clenched into fists. He was excited, and I was instantly drawn in, unable to keep myself from grinning as I hurried around the bar to the small living area on the other side of the room.
“Shotgun!” Adrian’s voice echoed loudly through the clubhouse and out into the connecting garage. It was all hands on deck at the moment, every single patch member out there helping Crush with a wave of modified street cars that came in yesterday.
Crush was a talented mechanic. He knew his shit when it came to engines, any kind at all, but his specialty was modifications and upgrades of older cars as opposed to working with the newer models. It meant he was the go-to man for the young guys and girls in the street racing scene. And this weekend just so happened to be some kind of boy racer meet-up in Phoenix.
Cars from all over the damn country. Many of them just trying to get some time with Crush. Some to get work done, others for advice or where to take their mechanical babies next.
And they paid big dollars for just that.
Which was why the boys—though most of them with some experience but not more than average—were busy trying to get all the minor jobs done. Like changing oil, putting on new brake pads and tires and just general touch-ups, so Crush is freed up to do the major mechanical upgrades and chat with these young people about where they should head next with their projects. It was a team effort, and great money and publicity for the club’s business.
“Shotgun!” Adrian called again, this time a lot louder and a little more high-pitched, followed by a wide grin. “Shotg—”
“I swear someone better be fucking dying,” Shotgun grumbled, walking through the adjoining door with a heavy frown, a handful of brothers trudging along behind him just out of curiosity. “Because if you are not dying, you will be fucking soon for screeching inside my fucking clubhouse.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Adrian waves him off, and I let out a snort, unable to stop the laugh that was bubbling in my throat. Every eye in the room staring at me with a mix of looks. “Anyway… I need everyone to watch this.”
With Gage’s soft mat already laid out on the floor, Adrian placed the excited little boy down on his back before crouching down to his left. “Come on, Gage,” he urged, pulling Gage’s attention to him.
He started kicking again, getting excited, and a second later, he was pushing his little body to the side. My mouth fell open, and I looked over to Shotgun, who was completely and utterly encompassed by his son as he kicked and battled and pushed for probably a good few minutes before finally tipping onto his belly.
“Yes!” Adrian crowed with laughter, startling Gage for a second.
“Holy shit, kid.” Slate laughed, clapping his hands—the brothers and other people in the room doing the same.
Shotgun still hadn’t said anything or even moved. His eyes still focused on his son with the corner of his mouth turned up just slightly into a smile.
“But wait, the show’s not over yet!” Adrian announced. Getting up off the floor, he reached for a small bag on the chair. He stuck his hand inside and pulled out an outfit. Though it took me a second to figure out just what it was, Shotgun was already striding across the room.
“Nope. Hell, no,” he announced, shaking his head at what I was now making out. It was a onesie with a fake leather vest printed on it, bottoms that looked like ripped jeans, and feet that looked like boots. All topped off with a fake mustache and beard on the top.
Adrian frowned, but it was fake.
He was hiding a smile because he knew Shotgun was going to hate the fucking outfit.
“Not on my kid, dickhead,” Shotgun growled, bending down and picking up Gage off the floor. The kid’s eyes widened as Shotgun tucked him into his elbow, so he was sitting up and looking forward as he carried him away.
My mouth hung open.
I couldn’t do anything but watch him go.
It was so damn sexy, there really was nothing else to say or do.
Not just that, though, it was the first time Shotgun had taken charge with his son. The first time he’d picked him up on his own accord and not been handed him to hold. And not just that, but the first time I’d seen confidence in his eyes. In the way he just propped Gage up in his arm and walked off with him as if he never had any damn fears about raising this baby boy to begin with.
It made my heart soar and tears line my lashes. This was the man I knew he could be. The father I knew he wanted to be.
“Only leathers this kid is going to be wearing are real ones,” he called back as he headed for the garage.
“Oh, come on!” Adrian laughed, stomping after him for a few feet and throwing his hands in the air. “Can we at least put the mustache on?”
“Get fucked, manny!” Shotgun stepped through the garage doors, kicking them shut behind him.
The rest of the boys moved back to their jobs while Slate just sat there, a wide grin on his face as he w
atched Adrian pack up the mat again and stuff the ugly outfit back into the bag.
“Nice play, man,” Slate complimented, forcing Adrian to look up.
“What?” He raised his brow, though it was subtle, he was not as confused by the question like he was trying to play it off as.
“You figured out how Shotgun works. You don’t tell that asshole what to do. You don’t force him into shit.” I could see it now, where Slate was going. “It’s the little shit you do. Pretending to forget you left shit upstairs, so Shotgun has to watch Gage for a few moments on his own. Talking shit to Gage about Shotgun, in front of him, so Shotgun copies and talks shit to Gage about you just to get you back.”
Adrian cared.
He really did care so freaking much.
He and Shotgun smashed heads at times, nothing ever too serious, but I knew it was because Adrian saw in Shotgun what we all saw. That ability to be the most amazing father, but that was smothered by fear. And while I didn’t see it before, it seemed obvious now Slate had pointed it out.
“Like buying the ugliest biker baby outfit you could find,” I added with a gentle laugh. “And knowing Shotgun would rather take his baby the hell away from you before he let you put him in that.”
Adrian had his ways. They were sneaky and borderline manipulative, but they were working.
When Adrian just laughed, Slate walked over and slapped him on the back. “Thanks.”
“He’s gonna be a great dad,” Adrian said, clearing his voice as it broke just a little. “He just needs the odd push.”
SHOTGUN
“Ten minutes until we close,” I announced loudly, stepping into The Green Room—what we called our gentlemen’s club and letting the doors swing closed behind me.
The Green Room was a small, private bar at the front of Dynasty—one of the club’s popular nightclubs. It had more of a classy atmosphere, dancing girls who performed more of a burlesque type show. To no one’s surprise, the visitors were mostly men, and anyone who came to The Green Room had to be invited by someone else on our list.
If the person you invited fucks it up, touches one of the girls, gets too drunk and rowdy, not only are they uninvited, but so are you. So our patrons are warned to be cautious of the people they called friends.
The four or five men sitting at a handful of different tables sipped at their drinks, the girls already done dancing, and Avery the only bar staff left. I slipped behind the bar. It was small and cozy with not much space. My hand reached for her ass, and she swatted it away, laughing softly as she attempted to wipe the bar top down and make sure all the liquor was back on the shelves in the right place. “Stop it,” she warned in a hushed whisper, but her smile gave her away. “I need to finish packing up.”
She paused to wash her cloth in the sink, and I stepped up behind her, boxing her in with my hands flat on the counter on either side of her. “Your boss is a pretty nice guy. I’m sure he won’t mind if it takes a few extra minutes to close,” I murmured, my lips brushing her earlobe as I spoke. “Because right now, all I want is for you to open.”
My hands moved to her hips, tracing the waistband of her shorts until I found the button and zipper, making quick work of them, and letting the scrap of fabric that barely covered anything anyway, fall to the floor.
She dropped the cleaning cloth into the sink and gripped the front of it with both hands. “Shotgun,” she whispered, her voice a little shaky and not with fear.
No fucking way.
The way she pushed her ass back against me was a sure sign her voice was shaking in desire. “There are still people here,” she reminded me like I didn’t fucking know.
The bar, though, came up extra high in The Green Room, plenty of protection so anyone sitting in the bar at the tables couldn’t see below Avery’s waist unless they came and purposely looked which, when I slipped my hand inside her lacy panties and dipped my finger through her folds, I wondered whether she would actually object to.
My fucking woman.
The exhibitionist.
Her hips wiggled against my hand as I took another pass over her clit, teasing it for just a second before pulling away completely. “You better be quiet then,” I ordered, sinking to my knees and reveling in the way she looked back, her eyes wide and her mouth falling open with a gentle gasp of air.
She kicked her shorts to the side, and I guided her legs open further, taking a moment to admire her perfectly peach-shaped ass staring fucking right at me. She arched her back, her subtle way of telling me she was desperate for more, making me chuckle.
Pulling the lacy scrap of fabric covering her to the side and grabbing the round globes in my hands, I pinched at her cheeks and pulled her open, so she was completely on show. Brushing my lips against one cheek and then the other, I teased her, my cock hardening at the way she whimpered and gasped with each kiss or touch.
I needed to move fucking fast because the second I tasted her, it was going to be fucking hard to keep from just slamming my dick inside her and getting us both off. The idea of making her come while these assholes were still here in the room was too much of an opportunity to not take advantage of. It was fucking hot.
Starting at her clit, I tickled at it for a moment, drawing a full-body shudder from her before I dragged my tongue up over her wet hole.
I dipped my tongue inside.
Once.
Twice.
Over and over until she was forcing herself back on my face.
Her wetness covered my mouth, and I dragged it up even further to her tight little hole, it was just a passing brush, but the curse that left her pouty lips was so fucking worth it. “Fuck.”
I chuckled, moving swiftly back to her clit, burying my face in her pussy as I attacked the tiny bud with my tongue.
Her legs shook, her skin warming as her blood pumped faster, her heart rating growing as she inched toward her orgasm. She gripped the edge of the sink, grinding her hips against my face while trying not to look like she was about to come so fucking hard every asshole in his place would know. “Shotgun! Holy shit,” she hissed, her head hanging down. “Oh God.”
She lifted up on her toes, and I chased her, not about to let her escape so I couldn’t draw her pleasure out for as long as fucking possible.
Because that was what I loved. Pushing her further and further to places she’d never been, never even thought of going before.
The whole-body shudder that traveled through her when she came was one of the hardest I’d ever seen, the tremble working its way like a rolling wave up her body as it built to its peak, then falling back through her as the relief finally gave way, and the pleasure hit her like a freight train.
Only, there was no sound.
Kissing across the back of her thighs, I made my way over the curve of her ass, undoing my jeans and letting them fall as I worked my way up. I placed my hands on either side of her again, smirking at the sight of her bent over the sink, hiding beneath the tall bar, her shirt pulled right up to her mouth so she could bite down on the scrunched-up fabric.
“Stay just like that,” I ordered, standing a little taller. “All right, everyone get the fuck out. Now.”
The couple of guys left in the bar moved quickly, their chairs scraping the wooden floors as they hurried to the door.
Crush peeked through, looking around. “That everyone?”
“Yeah,” I answered, my hand moving beneath the bar, out of his vision. I pulled her breasts from the cups of her bra, letting them tumble out, my fingers tugging at each nipple, earning me a quiet groan. “Lock the door.”
Crush raised his brow. “Did Avery leave?”
“No.”
The confused look turned into laughter, and he stepped out with no more questions, closing the door and locking it behind him. And knowing my brother, he’d hang around, not too close, but close enough to keep anyone from hearing anything they shouldn’t.
Though, right now, I was happy to run with this theme, finding it fucking
hot the way Avery was fighting to keep silent. Gagging herself because she so badly wanted the pleasure but wasn’t ready to let the world hear her take it.
“You want to be fucked, baby?” I asked her, pressing my cock forward, so it slipped through her folds from behind, the head bumping against her already sensitive clit.
She gasped and pushed her hips back, moving in time with me as I pulled back and did the same again. When her hips started moving more enthusiastically, I stood there, watching as she let my dick tease her, no doubt hoping that the friction on her clit wouldn’t take much to send her over that edge a second time.
She spat the shirt from her mouth, and the whisper-soft moan that fell from those fucking perfect lips had me instantly changing speed. I fisted my cock in my hands, lifting it slightly so the next time she pushed back…
“Goddd… yes,” she murmured, gasping as I jerked my hips forward just a little and hit home. “Please.”
I didn’t move, holding it there. “I dunno, you did a pretty good fucking job just now, trying to get yourself off, so let’s see if you really can. Ride me.” My hand came down hard across her ass cheek, and she threw her head back, no longer trying to stifle her moans.
I shuffled back and braced myself against the bar behind me, my fingers digging into those curved hips. They chased me, refusing to let my cock go.
With her ass out, she used the edge of the sink now as leverage instead of something to keep her on her feet.
She pulled and pushed against it.
Fucking me.
Hard.
The girl could fucking ride when she knew what she wanted. “Fuck, yes,” I growled, slapping her ass, one sharp smack on either side. That sting of pain heightening all her nerves, making her move faster, want it more. “You want it, you gotta fucking take it.”
“I want it,” she rasped, one hand slipping down between her legs. The second she touched her clit, her whole pussy tightened. Whether it was still delicate from her last orgasm, or the build of her next was already so fucking close, I didn’t care. It was like having a vice tighten around me, tugging hard, pulling at my dick.
