by Jaci J.
“Jesus, King, you say the craziest shit.”
“Well fuck, pretty sure I saw you fold up two dresses and shove them in that fucking bag. The fuck you need two dresses for at a weekend rally?”
I won’t pretend I understand Samantha and the shit she does, but I’m pretty goddamn sure she won’t be needing two dresses, twelve pairs of shoes, an ass load of tees, three pairs of jeans, and whatever else she’s got in that big ass bag of hers.
“What are you trying to say?” she asks me, her perfectly sculpted brow arched in challenge. She’s giving me a look that says if I answer wrong, she’ll kill me. “Callin’ me high maintenance?”
“Baby, you know goddamn well you’re high fucking maintenance.”
“Speaking of…I need to paint my toenails before we go.” She gets off the floor and sashays her ass into the bathroom.
“Jesus fuck.”
“Paint them for me?” she asks, holding out the pink bottle of paint.
“Lot of shit I’d do for you, but that’s not one of them.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll remember that next time you ask for a blowjob.”
Thirty minutes later, I find the princess in the kitchen, sitting on a barstool at the island— her ass on one stool and her foot on the other, nail polish in her hand. “Pink, huh?”
“Pink. They were black.”
“Black I can do.”
She just rolls her eyes at me, again. “You’ve been rollin’ your eyes a lot here lately.”
“And…”
“And it makes me wanna spank your ass.”
Princess laughs. “Oh yeah? That a threat or a promise?”
“A little bit of both.”
This shit we’ve got going, when it’s good, it’s fucking good, and when it’s bad, it’s fucking bad. Right now, it’s good. A day ago? It was bad. The bitch is like having a fever. Up one second and down the fucking next.
“What’s for dinner?” she asks me, looking at her toes.
The question hits me in the chest, how goddamn basic and domestic it is. Right now, we’re doing this domestic thing, living together bullshit. I fucking like it and it scares me how much I do because I know goddamn well it won’t last. It never does.
“Pizza? We’re leavin’ early and it’s late.”
“It’s late?” She looks over at the stove, at the time on the little digital clock. “It’s ten, but then again, I forget you’re an old guy. You need your sleep.”
Little shit. “Pushin’ your luck tonight, Princess,” I tell her, getting in her face. “Rollin’ your eyes and now callin’ me old?”
Grabbing my cut, she jerks me in even closer, smirking. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“Order you a pizza and put your ass to bed.”
Samantha laughs, again, loudly. “Okay, Grandpa.”
Grabbing my phone from the island, I call a pizza place. “Yeah, can I get a large pep—” Samantha stops me, mouthing something and waving her hands around frantically. “Hang on,” I tell the guy on the phone.
Pulling the phone away from my face, I look at the crazy bitch, arms flapping around. “The fuck you freaking out about?”
“I want a meatless pizza.”
“A meatless pizza?”
“Yes.”
“So just cheese?”
Her eyes roll for the millionth time tonight, and it makes my hands itchy. “Roll your eyes again,” I warn her, pointing my phone at her.
“Veggies,” she says, smirking.
“Fuck no.”
“Yes.”
Jesus Christ, I cannot believe I’m here, having this fucking argument with a female. Fighting over pizza toppings and rolled eyes.
Putting the phone back to my ear, staring at the princess, I tell the dude, “One large all meat pizza, and a large veggie.”
I give him an address and he gives me a timeframe. Hanging up, I ask Samantha, “Good?”
“All veggie? What if they put corn on my pizza?” She’s smirking, but trying desperately to hide it behind some bullshit fake pout.
Done. So fucking done. Grabbing her ass off the stool, I toss her over my shoulder and smack her ass hard, my hand connecting with a solid pop.
“What the hell!” she screeches, laughing. “No jalapeños, pineapple, or corn on my pizza, asshole.” She laughs as she hangs upside down.
“You’re lucky you’re sexy.”
“Or what?” she teases.
“Or I’d leave your ass here to fend for yourself.”
I’ve lived a long, rough life, fucked since birth. No blood family, no one. Just me. But the princess has always been a good thing in my life. As dysfunctional as we are, the woman’s the only goddamn thing I’ve ever looked forward to, those few days a year I got to be with her. But having her this past week has put this shit on a whole other level. Not sure we’re coming back from this.
“That’s cold, King.”
“’Bout as cold as your pizza’s gonna be after I spend the next hour fucking you six ways to Sunday,” I tell her, putting her down slowly, letting her body slide down mine.
Mouth hanging open, she blinks slowly, and I’m sure she’s gonna have something to say about my threat, but instead, she says, “I can’t cold pizza. It’s gross.”
“I’m done with you.” Picking her ass back up, I hit the stairs.
“What about the pizza?”
“I’m fucking you and then putting your ass to bed.”
She giggles, but doesn’t argue.
Fuck the pizza. I take her ass upstairs and remind her of who’s in charge.
Being on the back of King’s bike, my arms around his solid middle, I know what it’s truly like to be free and I love it. I always have. But I love it even more with King.
Nothing behind you and nothing ahead of you, just an open nothingness. No rules. No crowds. No noise. Nothing. Just you, your bike, and the road.
I’ve been on the back of plenty bikes, and even at sixteen, I tried to ride my own, but there’s nothing like being with King. Nothing like trusting him enough not to dump us. Nothing like having my hands on him. Nothing like feeling every muscle. In this moment, he owns me and the road.
I hate how much I like being on the back of King’s bike.
Heading North on the 101, through dense forest and miles of Oceanside cliffs, we just ride, free and open.
Touching my hand, the one wrapped around him and resting somewhere between his waist and chest, he asks, “Okay?” without saying anything.
As much as I don’t want to stop, I need to go to the bathroom. I give his hand three taps, something my dad always taught me. One tap is emergency, two is a problem, and three is bathroom or a break. King gets it, they all do.
We go a few more miles until King finds a place to stop.
In the middle of the dense woods, King pulls to the side of the road and takes a small exit that has a rest stop sign.
“Everything good?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at me when he pulls into a space next to a tiny little bathroom building.
“I have to pee,” I whine, jumpy.
He chuckles. “I can tell. You’ve been a little wiggly.”
“Sorry.”
He lifts a cut-covered shoulder. “I liked it. Your tits were rubbing on my back.”
Jesus. “You’re awful.”
“Born and raised,” he calls after me, watching me walk away and into the small brick building.
I use the small and dingy bathroom quickly and walk out to find King on his phone, pacing back and forth in front of his bike on the sidewalk.
He doesn’t look happy.
I watch him for a moment, watch his body language. The way his shoulders tense and his fists clench and unclench. His face is hard, eyes narrowed and lips in a straight line. Something or someone’s ruined his mood, and I’m going to kill that something or someone.
Shoving his phone into his pocket, he stops and looks up, his eyes finding mine.
“E
verything okay?” I ask him, walking up slowly.
“Yeah,” he answers, his voice deceivingly even. “Perfect.” I don’t believe him, but I also don’t push it.
Getting on his bike, throwing one powerful leg over it, he sits down and waits for me. “Comin’?”
“Yes,” I sigh, enjoying the view of him on his beautiful matte black Harley.
“Good, then hurry up and get the fuck over here.”
Laughing softly to myself, I walk up to him and wait.
“The fuck’s so funny?” Now he’s getting irritated with me. It’s kind of funny.
“Nothin’.” I smirk, egging him on.
“Bullshit.” Grabbing my hand, he hauls me toward the bike and into him, kissing me roughly. His tongue invades my mouth. “Now shut up,” he growls against my lips. “And get on the goddamn bike.”
“Getting on the damn bike,” I mutter, using his offered hand to crawl on and get comfortable.
“Wrap ’em,” he tells me, pulling my hands around his middle. “And hang on.”
“Yes, sir.”
I feel King laugh against my front. “Like that?”
“Yes, sir,” I say again, my cheek on his shoulder.
King doesn’t say anything, but he keeps laughing as he pulls back onto the highway and takes off.
He drives me crazy, and I’m sure I hate him, but right now, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
There’s nothing like a rally. Nothing quite as electric. They run on gasoline, hard alcohol, and loyalty. Family and friends, all together in one space for a good cause and a good time. Miles of bikes and a sea of Disciple colors. It’s an extended party, and a way to give back all rolled into one epic weekend.
I’ve been to a ton, but none quite like the Annual Children’s Charity Run. It’s the big one. The go all-out, full of family one.
It’s my favorite.
“How many people are here?” Lala asks me, her eyes wide, taking in the open field filled with people and bikes. “I’ve been to a few of these, but damn, this one is big.”
I don’t know the numbers, and I probably never will because on top of the club members, there are support clubs, friends, family, hang arounds—a little bit of everyone mixed in with the Disciples and their allies. People coming and going all weekend.
“A couple thousand, if I had to guess.”
“Shit.” She laughs, head shaking. “That’s nuts.”
“This one seems bigger than the one I came with Tank to,” Lilly surmises, shrugging. “But who knows? Last one was spent holed up in a room with Tank,” she adds, smirking.
“Dirty whore,” Ellison snorts.
With the girls, in the parking lot across from the field, we wait for the guys to check us in. We’re on tribal land in the middle of nowhere, at the end of the damn world. Where the land meets the ocean, we’re untouchable out here, just how the club likes it.
“So, this is a casino?” Lennon asks, looking at the large building behind us.
“An Indian casino,” Cali answers, eyes bright. “We’ve got the place to ourselves as long as we need it.”
“Good,” I breathe, happy to hear it. That means the pool is ours. The empty field that’s usually crammed full of campers and tourists is ours. The blackjack tables, the restaurant, and the beach? All of them are Disciple territory until we pack up and head home.
We have free rein.
“What’s the charity this time?” Peaches asks, tossing her bag over her shoulder and heading toward the sliding doors, all the girls following after her.
“For local foster care and displaced youth.” Things close to King’s heart, not that he’d ever admit it or acknowledge it. I’ve heard the stories, but that’s all they ever are—stories. King grew up on the streets. He was given up as an infant and put into foster care until he was old enough to run, and that’s exactly what he did—he ran. Ran away from his foster parents and the system at twelve. As far as I know, he’s lived on the streets since. Not that he’s told me any of this. All of it’s from word of mouth and hearsay. All part of the club’s rumor mill.
“Now you’re thinkin’ about King, aren’t you?” Lil asks close to my ear, walking shoulder to shoulder next to me. She knows, she’s heard the stories.
“Shut up,” I hiss, even though she’s not wrong.
She laughs. “You’ve always been so secretive about the two of you.”
“You’ve always been so nosey,” I fire back, eyes rolling.
“You can’t blame a girl. King’s always been a mystery. A really sexy mystery.” The sad part is, she probably knows just as much about him as I do.
Speaking of the sexy mystery man, I haven’t seen him since I crawled off the back of his bike about an hour ago, which is strange since I haven’t been without him in the last week. Always around, always watching, and suddenly he’s gone.
Just thinking the word gone in correlation with King makes my heart ache. Gone. Leaving. Something he’s good at, something he’s always done, and something that hurts every fucking time. And I’m sure when he leaves this time because he will, it’ll hurt like it always does.
“When are we getting drinks?” I ask the group, done thinking or worrying about King. “Now?” I suggest, ready to be pleasantly belligerent.
Everyone laughs, but no one disagrees.
I need a drink…or twelve.
“How many of those have you had?” Stitch asks, leaning into my back and looking over my shoulder at the drink I’m holding.
He smells good, like spicy cologne and sweet weed. Stitch, always grinning and always deadly.
“Twenty-nine,” I quip, looking at my half-empty cup.
I got my room a few hours ago. Dropped my shit off, and I’ve been down here since. Walked the booths and bought some goodies. Had some good fair style food and watched a couple street bike shows. Now I’m where I should be—at a bar.
He chuckles. “Well fuck. That’s a skill, drinkin’ that much without dyin’.”
I’m sitting at a pop-up bar, constructed out of old shipping containers, where half of every drink purchased goes to charity, so this sixth drink is for the kids. I drink like the drunk I’m not while doing it for a good cause.
“You’re not drinkin’?” I ask him, looking at his empty hand.
“Had a couple beers.”
I nod, looking over my shoulder to Stitches, and see King a few feet away, watching me. Staring. His eyes boring into my chest and into my soul, ripping it to pieces.
“We’re brothers, but I think he’d kill me if I touched you.”
“So no making out?” I tease, watching King, his eyes narrowed, almost like he can hear me.
“Might be worth dyin’ for.”
“You’re cute, but I like Cali more.” It’s the truth. If Stitch were single and Cali wasn’t a good friend, I might give him a try and she knows it, but I love the girl too much to do any of that shit.
Stitch snorts. “Chicks before dicks. I get it.” He raises his hands in surrender, smirking. “Maybe one little kiss?” he teases back, looking at Cali for permission. She just laughs and leans in. “Three-way kiss?” she suggests.
Too drunk to think better of it, I lean and kiss both of them, our faces smashed together. I laugh and Cali giggles.
“What the fuck?” Sam screeches, arms flailing, trying to hit me with enough force to stop me or get me to set her down. It doesn’t fuckin’ work.
“I don’t give a fuck if Stitch and his old lady are into that sorta shit, you kiss only me. Those lips are mine. Same goes for the rest of your fucking body.”
Hauling Samantha over my shoulder through the crowded field, I give any motherfucker looking at us sideways a look that dares them to interfere. I won’t kill Stitch because that asshole is a good guy, a good brother, and too stupid to know better, but any other motherfucker wants to stop me from hauling Sam’s ass out of here, we’re going to have a problem.
“Put me down!” she demands.
&n
bsp; “Nope.”
Samantha growls. She’s mad. “Fuck you.”
“That’s the plan. You fuck me and only me.”
That makes her growl again. It’s cute. “My dad will see you, and then what are you gonna do?” she throws out smartly, like she’s got it all figured out. Too bad I’m a couple steps ahead of her. Always am.
“He took Twinks back to his room ’bout an hour ago.” That doesn’t bode well because she reaches around and socks me in the kidney. The bitch packs a punch, but not enough to stop me.
“Calm the fuck down,” I tell her, smacking her ass hard.
“Put me down!”
“Nah.”
She huffs. “All you bikers think you’re cute, hauling around your females like you own them,” she rants, her voice low and deadly. “Fucking caveman. Set me down, damn it.”
I chuckle, still walking. “Can’t. You might jump on the nearest cock.” I know it’s not true, but she’s already riled and looking for a fight. Might as well make it fun.
“I hate you,” she hisses.
Walking through the field and across the small street, I set Sam on her feet in the parking lot a few feet from the hotel door. “You gonna calm down? Stop screamin’?”
“I don’t know,” she growls, trying to pull away from my hold. “You gonna throw me over your shoulder again and kidnap me?”
That makes me laugh. “Kidnap, huh? You a child now?”
The princess rolls her eyes. “You know what the fuck I meant.”
There are naked bitches mud wrestling a few yards away, endless amounts of booze, my brothers bullshitting by a fire, and a giant fucking party happening over my shoulder, but here I am, fighting with Samantha, and I could give a fuck about the party.
“You just gonna stand there starin’ at me?” Sam huffs, hands on her hips.
“Yeah, I fuckin’ am.” I could stare at her all goddamn day, not that I’d ever admit it. When I’m not around, I miss her. Miss seeing her face and her body, but that shit isn’t enough to keep me around.
“I wanna swim,” she says out of nowhere, a little slur in her words.
“You’re drunk.”
“And you’re an asshole. Why are we tradin’ facts? I just wanna swim.”
