GARRETT (Southside Skulls MC Romance Book 8)

by Jessie Cooke

  Paige smiled and kept stroking, even as she leaned down and put out her tongue. Now with each stroke the head of his cock ended up pressed into her tongue, and the sounds of pleasure he was making were so sexy that she could have come again just listening to him. He stopped her, though, reaching down and grabbing her hands and using them to guide her back on the bed.

  The next thing she knew he was on top of her and he had his cock in his own hand. He put it up to her pussy and ran it up and down her slit before dipping in just the tip and using his hand to move it around in circles. She’d never felt anything like it before. It was fucking amazing. Paige was once again gripping onto his big arms while he drove her crazy in ways she wasn’t aware existed. Without saying a word, or giving any warning, he suddenly slid up inside of her, all the way to the hilt. She gasped out as the waves of pleasure tingled up her spine and Garrett held himself there for a few seconds before saying, in a raspy voice, “Wrap me up with those sexy legs, baby.” Paige put her legs up and around his back, hooking them at the ankles and then she pushed her hips up against his. He grinned. “In a hurry?”

  “Always, with you,” she breathed out, “but only because I know you can get hard again in five minutes.” He grinned again and started moving, and as he thrust down, Paige pushed with the muscles in her legs. When he pulled back, she brought up her hips, trying to keep him inside of her longer. Her legs trembled against the heat of his body as he fucked her; eventually he dropped his forehead down to hers and rested them together, sliding his hands underneath her ass to lift her up and give her legs a break. He held her at an angle where his hard cock struck her clit with each plunge inside of her, and by the time she had her second orgasm, her body was covered in sweat and she was panting for oxygen and screaming out his name. Garrett followed shortly behind with sounds of his own that sent jolts of electricity through her...but her favorite part was the look of ecstasy on his face...and knowing that she was the one that put it there.

  30

  “See how that chick looked at me? I’ve still got it.” Garrett rolled his eyes at Trigger. They had been sitting together on a rooftop for ten minutes and it already felt like ten hours. The stupid kid had gone on about the extensive work the dentist had to do to repair his front teeth the whole time except when he was talking about the tits on the waitress at the coffee shop. Garrett apologized again, hoping he’d let it go, but that was the last one he was getting. If he didn’t find a new subject, he might get the teeth knocked out again.

  Garrett picked up his phone and sent a text to Munchkin. “Any sign of them yet?” Munchkin was two blocks away with a guy they called Gassy, for obvious reasons. Garrett looked at Trigger and supposed it could be worse. There were another two brothers posted two blocks before that and another all along two of the routes between the jail and the hospital. The planning had been difficult. It took a week for the judge to pore over Saint’s medical records and decide to let him serve out the time he had left in an undisclosed nursing/rehab facility. Garrett had gone to see him this past Sunday, and he was shocked and disturbed by how quickly he’d gone downhill...of course a lot of it was due to his lack of alcohol while he was locked up. His face was as white as a sheet except for the dark circles underneath his sunken eyes. His hands shook as he held onto the phone and his mood had severely plummeted in a week’s time. But when Garrett asked him again if he wanted him to go to the police and tell them the truth, he’d been adamant that he didn’t.

  The staff at the jail never let a prisoner know exactly when they were being transported and they never took a direct route to where they were going. Darwin was able to find out they were taking him that day, almost a week after his sentencing. The Flames thought about taking him at the rehab, but Monkey found out that the security there was tighter than the jail’s. Their only option was taking him off the street, and they only had one chance. If they failed, the judge might even revoke rehab and send Saint to prison anyways.

  The club had met and mapped out every route possible and finally settled on covering two of them. There were five possibilities, but the two they were covering were the most likely based on traffic in all the areas. The jail wasn’t keen on taking people down the Strip or anywhere near Fremont Street, so those two ways were eliminated right off the bat. The two routes most likely included a lot of freeway, but there were only two ways they could go once they exited the freeway, and the MC had those covered. Garrett had his fingers crossed that he was one of the guys on the right route. He’d rendezvous with them either way, but he knew that he and Trigger were both better shots than the other men, perched on the other rooftops. But he had to trust them and maybe even pray a little, if Saint was right and the big guy was listening.

  “Hey, Bear!” The voice over the radio put every fiber of Garrett’s body on alert.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “They just passed us, but turned right—there was no way we could hit it from here. They’re headed your way. I estimate about three minutes.”

  “Okay, will the guys down on the street be in position by then?”

  “They’re headed that way now on foot. No traffic, they’ll be there in two.”

  “Got it.” He hoped. He looked at Trigger and said, “You ready? It’s go time.”

  One thing about Trigger, he was a Casanova and mostly an asshole, but when it was time to saddle up, he was always ready. He nodded and lay down on his belly with his rifle resting on the lip of the building. Garrett did the same, next to him. He sighted his scope on the taxi that was currently sitting at the stop sign down below, and then he moved it around until he counted three of his brothers, dressed all in black and hiding in various places along the strip mall across the street. They wore hoodies, baggy jeans, and backpacks and looked nothing like the bikers they were. A couple of them had skateboards shoved in their packs. If the police came calling with surveillance video from the mall, they’d have nothing but stills of a bunch of skaters.

  “See them,” Trigger said, “approaching from the north.” Garrett saw them too. They were transporting him in a white, unmarked van. The Flames knew that too, thanks to Darwin. Garrett often wondered if the lawyer’d had scruples at any point in his life. He certainly didn’t now, thank goodness.

  “Got them,” he told Trigger.

  They watched as the van approached the stop sign and began to roll to a stop. One of the “skaters” came out of nowhere and stopped right in front of it. The van honked and when he didn’t move, the driver rolled down the window a few inches and yelled, “Move the fuck out of the way.” Garrett fired and the driver went down. The cop in the passenger seat was pushing him out of the way to move over to the driver’s seat when Trigger got him. The bullets they were shooting were rubber; the cops were going to have one hell of a headache and maybe a concussion, but the shots wouldn’t kill them. The skater went for the door of the van and two more came out and went for the back.

  Garrett picked up the other gun, the one that was filled with compressed air, and as soon as they were in place, he aimed it at the back door of the van and pulled the trigger. They were using a technique Garrett learned in the Navy known as “abrasive blasting.” As soon as the air hit the door, it fell off its hinges and the cop inside started shooting. Garrett couldn’t see him, but Trigger was already up on his feet and moving. Garrett saw him crouch and fire, and the two guys watching from the back moved in. A black van screeched up behind them, backwards. It was a move the prospect would be bragging about for years, no doubt. Garrett saw the gurney carrying Saint being pulled out of the van and put into the other one as soon as he heard the sirens and Munchkin’s voice simultaneously.

  “Two minutes until the cops are there.” The black van was already moving and so were the “skateboarders.”

  “We’re already out,” Garrett told him. Trigger already had his rifle broken down. Garrett shoved his into the duffel bag along with the abrasive blaster and said, “Move, let’s go!” Trigger scrambled over
the side of the building and was already halfway down by the time Garrett tossed his bag down to the waiting prospect and climbed over himself. The fire escape went down to the second floor and they had to drop from there. He watched Trigger drop, roll, and get to his feet before doing the same and then they both tumbled into the back of another van already in motion.

  The next five minutes were the most crucial. They would have no idea if anyone saw them until they were out of the area without a police car on their tail. Garrett disassembled the rifle and tried not to think about it as the van screeched through alleys that would take them to a main road that would lead to the freeway. When they entered the I-15, he finally took a breath. They’d done it. Saint was on his way to Massachusetts. He looked up at Trigger and the pretty boy grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

  “Good work,” he said. Trigger looked shocked, but recovered quickly.

  “Yeah, you too, Bear.”

  Garrett stood in the doorway of the room, watching as the two pretty women fawned all over Saint. One of them was combing his hair and the other was setting up a tray of food that he probably wouldn’t eat. He’d been at the ranch for three days and he already looked a hundred percent better. Of course it could be the bottle of whiskey that was perpetually at his bedside. The guy was dying, so who were they to deny him?

  “Jesus, man, you’re working this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?” Garrett smiled at Saint when he looked up over the nice, big pair of boobs in his face. Saint had a smile on his face as well.

  “Bear! I was wondering if your big ass was going to come see me. Did you drive out?”

  “Nah, we flew.”

  “We? Paige came with you?”

  “Yeah. Had to arrange for a few days off from her job or we would have been here sooner.”

  “How many seats did your big ass have to buy?”

  Garrett laughed and flipped him off. The girls moved away and let Garrett sit down. “I see they’re treating you good.”

  Saint looked over at the girls and said, “Better than good, brother. This is the best fucking hospital I’ve ever been in. Girls, why don’t you take a break? Bear and I have some talking to do.”

  The women smiled and left the room. Garrett shook his head and said, “I have to give it to you, you know how to go out.”

  Saint picked up the glass of whiskey on his tray and held it up. “You know it, brother.”

  “In all seriousness, how are you feeling?”

  Saint drained the glass and sat it down. “Honestly, not too bad. I mean, I’m not up for any marathons and I’m not sure the little man down there could get up enough for a round of fucking...but I’m not dead just yet. Your buddy Dax is cool and so is his wife and everyone else I’ve met here. Their kid, the little redhead...she read me a bedtime story last night. It was the first time anyone ever read a bedtime story to me.”

  Garrett smiled, but his chest hurt. He remembered vividly the last time anyone read a bedtime story to him before Jessie came along. It was his mother and only a couple of months before she died. “That’s nice. I haven’t met her yet.”

  “She’s a cool kid. Went through some shit, I guess, but seems like she’s hit the parent lottery this time around.”

  “Yeah, Dax has made it his life’s work to make sure kids on this ranch never go through the kind of shit a lot of us did growing up.”

  “Wish I would have met him sooner. I would have liked to help.”

  “Aren’t you the guy that just said, ‘I’m not dead yet’?”

  Saint laughed. “Touché. So, where’s Paige?”

  “Angel is showing her around the ranch. Hey, I was wondering...what did you do with the letter I wrote to Beau?” Garrett knew it was stupid when he wrote it. He felt even stupider when he found out that Saint had read it. He’d spent days drafting a letter to a nine-year-old boy who had been dead for twenty years...but it was at least cathartic.

  Saint pointed to an overnight bag in the corner. “They’re both in there.”

  “Both?”

  “Yep. Beau’s and Ivan’s. Dude...who the hell do you think you are, confessing to a crime in writing—me?” With all that had been going on, Garrett had forgotten that his point in writing that letter to Ivan was to tell him that he was the one who put him in that chair seventeen years earlier. He figured he’d be dead before Ivan read it, so it didn’t really matter. Garrett laughed now.

  “Hell if I know, Saint, this brain of mine hasn’t worked well in a while.” He went over and took the two now-crumpled envelopes out of the bag. “Thank you for not sending that one.”

  “Have you forgiven me for sending the others?”

  “Yeah. I saw my Pops and I talked to Vivian. I might have to reassure Leanne a few more times, but I think we’re good too. I introduced Jessie to Paige last weekend.”

  “Oh yeah? How’d that go?”

  “Good, I think. We took her to the zoo; she loves animals. She was a little suspicious of Paige at first and she asked a lot of questions...”

  “Another woman moving in on her main man.”

  Garrett smiled. “Yeah, I think she was trying to figure out if Paige being in my life was going to affect our relationship or not. By the end of the day she seemed okay with it. But I know from experience that I’ll have to keep reminding her that she’s always going to come first. My old man was far from perfect, but when I think back on my life, the only complaint I have about him is that. I know that Vivian needed him after Beau died, but I think he forgot that I did too. Anyways, that’s all in the past. I’m concentrating on looking forward and not back.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea, but sometimes you have to put the past to rest to be able to move on.”

  “Speaking of...Did you want someone to get in touch with your parents before you...” Garrett hated saying it.

  Saint smiled. “Nah, just do me a favor and let them know after. But don’t let the old man preach at my services, please.”

  “You got it. Damn, I hate this shit. But...what kind of ‘services’ do you want?”

  “Big party,” he said with a wink. “Get drunker than shit, smoke a lot of weed, and when you sober up, take my ashes in a mason jar and sprinkle ’em from the dam.”

  “Really? Cremation?” The idea of burning in hell for all eternity already ate at Garrett. He wasn’t sure he wanted his earthly body burning too.

  “Really. Have ’em cremate me, talk about what a stud I was, and leave it at that.”

  “Okay, you got it.” Garrett stood up and said, “You look tired. I’ll be here for a couple of days. I’ll let you rest, and be back later.”

  “Thanks, Bear. Is the club okay—after the break, did they come busting in?”

  Garrett chuckled. “Nah, they came around asking questions and Darwin told ’em to get a warrant or stop harassing everyone. They came back with a warrant and by that time Monkey had the prospects haul anything that might have given them reason to hang around, come back, or arrest anyone up to the warehouse in Carson City. The lead detective was a pissy old bastard. He kept saying he knew we’d done it and he was gonna prove it. As soon as they left, we drank a toast to you.”

  “Hell yeah!” Garrett put his hand on Saint’s shoulder. Saint must have read the look on his face. “You got something you need to say?”

  “Are you scared?”

  “Shitless,” Saint said. “But what choice do I have? They weren’t gonna put a guy that’s been drinking daily since he was ten and had no desire to stop on any transplant lists. So, I gotta just hope for the best. Maybe all that praying the old man made me do wasn’t for naught after all.”

  “I’m so fucking sorry, man. I wish I’d seen it earlier...”

  “Stop that shit. I wouldn’t have stopped drinking, Bear. I know it’s hard for you to understand, since it killed me; but it was all I had for so long, I don’t think I would have recognized myself without it. So, don’t go blaming yourself for this. This is on me. I take full responsibility and
I’ll man up at the gate and tell ’em every shitty thing I ever did in my life when I get there too. Like I said, what choice do I have?”

  The lump in Garrett’s throat threatened to cut off his air supply. He had to swallow repeatedly before he was able to say, “You saved me, Saint. When you get there, tell them that, okay? Tell them if it wasn’t for you, I’d’a been up there years ago, causing trouble.”

  “Ah, fuck me!” Saint said, reaching up to wipe a tear off his face. “Known about this dying shit for almost a year now and all of a sudden my eyes want to start leaking. Get out of here, will you?”

  “Alright. I love you, man.”

  “Fuck me,” he said again. “I love you too.”

  31

  Garrett sat at the bar, staring at the mason jar. One of the girls had painted it. On one side was a white Bible and on the other, a gold cross. Inside was the best friend he ever had and although he’d been expecting it for months, he didn’t quite know what to do with it. Garrett was no stranger to death to be sure, but Saint was the first person close to him that he’d been on good terms with when he lost them. He knew that should make it easier, but it didn’t. There was a party going on around him, because that’s what Saint wanted...but he couldn’t bring himself to join in.

  He felt Paige’s hand on his shoulder, and he reached up and covered her hand with his. “Hey, you okay?”