by J. L. Leslie
I retrieve a condom from my back pocket then shift so that I can jerk my jeans down to my knees, unwilling to let this end with a fucking hand job. She doesn’t let up, and I know that although I haven’t promised her anything, I’ll be fucking her in a matter of seconds. I slow her hand long enough to sheathe myself.
She stands, and for a split second, I worry that she’s going to fucking bolt. She always has that look in her eyes that she’ll do just that any second. That she’s living in some nightmare and can’t wait to wake up. Instead, she shimmies her panties down her thighs and steps out of them. Pink. Pink cotton panties. Not a thong. Not some sexy lace. Pink cotton panties. And I’m fucking throbbing here.
Katy lowers herself down, straddling my waist again, and stares into my eyes as she takes me in. She winces just a little as every last inch of my cock is seated deep within her. I ache to move, to thrust, to fuck her hard and fast, but I stay still, allowing her to get accustomed to me.
She wraps her arms around my shoulders, and I can feel her trembling. It occurs to me that I might be the first man she’s been with since she left the Sinners. That what she’s doing with me is a big deal to her. It’s not a drunken one-night stand. It’s not just some fuck. It’s important to her. And she chose me.
I move my rough hands up her sides and over her skin, teasing her nipple before leaning forward and flicking my tongue over it. I glide her over me as I trail my lips up to her neck, kissing her soft flesh. Her hands skate over my shoulders, resting on my head as I move my mouth over her skin until I reach her mouth.
Our lips stay locked as Katy sets a steady rhythm, her body rocking and bouncing on my dick. Her perfect tits sway with her every move. She moans and cries out against my mouth each time I pinch her taut nipples.
We say nothing while we fuck. No dirty talk. No promises. I’ll save all that for later. For now, I just want to hear her breathing. Hear our movements as we grind together. Know that it’s me making her whimper. Making her moan.
Katy arches her back as I piston my hips. Her fingernails dig into my shoulders as her pussy clamps down on me, milking me with her orgasm. I grip her hips and pull her down while I thrust into her, releasing my load into the rubber sheathing me. She falls forward, holding on to me while kissing my cheek and neck.
I hold her to me and shift us until we’re lying down, the blanket half covering us. I tell her to give me a second and I dispose of the rubber, tossing it beside her bra until I can trash it later. I pull my jeans back up and then pull her to me, ignoring the look of fear on her face. No doubt, she worried I was leaving.
I’ll admit, it crossed my mind. I’m not a man who snuggles, but when it comes to Katy, I’ve done a lot of things I wouldn’t normally do. A trip to Wal-Mart being one of them.
“Tell me about these,” she whispers, running a hand over my head.
“We fuck, and you want to talk about my tattoos?”
She giggles and scoots in closer to me, tucking her head under my chin. “I want to know.”
“I used to live in New York when I was a kid. I got caught up in a gang there. The initiation was to get a tattoo, and I did it. Simple story.”
I don’t tell her that the members shaved my head and held me down. That I was fucking branded. That my sister nearly died because of my choices. I don’t need sympathy. It is what it fucking is.
“You were just a kid?” she questions, and I nod.
“Sixteen.”
Her fingers trace lines over my chest, almost absentmindedly. “Why’d you do it? Where were your parents?”
I haven’t thought about them in a long time. It’s been just Brandy and me for as long as I can remember. My memories of my mom and dad are few. The foster parents who raised us weren’t worth a shit. After Brandy was shot, I went back to our foster parents and told them she died. A doctor at the hospital took pity on us and forged a death certificate for us. That’s how Belinda became Brandy. That’s how we came to California. Our foster parents never even cared that I left.
“They died when I was seven. I had a sister to take care of, so I did what needed to be done.”
“My parents were alive when I left Tennessee, but we always struggled. We were dirt poor. When I left, I thought I could help them. I did for a while too. Then things changed.”
“Your parents still in Tennessee?” I ask her and feel her head nod. “Do you want to go back and see them?”
“Maybe.”
She’s quiet after this, and it doesn’t take me long to realize she’s asleep. I kiss her forehead and ease out from beneath the blanket, feeling her body shift. I look down at Katy and see that she’s rolled onto her stomach, still sleeping soundly. In the light from the flashlight, I can just make out faint scars over her back. Some are small, and some are thin and long, almost. They are scattered all over her back.
She sighs, and I cover her with the blanket. I’ll ask her about the scars later. We can’t sleep out here tonight, as much as I’d like to. We’re too exposed.
I pull my shirt on and shove the used rubber into the pocket of my jeans. I pick up the gun and extend my arm, aiming it at the asshole intruding on our moment.
“Isn’t this sweet?” Ashley whispers, a smile on her face. “You fucked her so slowly I thought she was a fucking virgin. You’ve never been that gentle with me. You didn’t even dirty talk for her! What the hell was that about?”
“Shut the fuck up and mind your own damn business.” I lower the gun and shove it in the back of my jeans.
“I haven’t been fucked tonight though,” she whines. “I’ve sucked two dicks, but I haven’t been fucked. I wanna fuck!”
I rush over to her and snatch her by the arm. “I will deal with you later! Get the fuck out of here.” She trips over her own feet and slams to the ground. I grumble a curse and move to help her up, feeling like shit for shoving her. “Ashley, I–”
“Fuck you, Kane!” she hisses, not bothering to wipe her knees off as she stands. “You’ll get tired of that prude, and you’ll be running back to me!”
I roll my eyes, ignoring her as she stumbles away. I turn back to Katy, surprised to see that she’s still asleep. I scoop her up into my arms, covering her naked body with the blanket.
“Everything okay?” she mumbles.
“Yes, I’m just taking you home.”
Chapter Sixteen
~Griffin~
I usher my way through the crowd gathered in front of the courthouse. People are talking amongst themselves, and I can hear the police chief asking them to back off. Phones are out, everyone doing everything they can to capture this moment on video. Vultures. Whatever it is they’re trying to see must be good.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, shouldering through as best as I can.
My head is down, ignoring whatever spectacle has the crowd enthralled, but I come to an abrupt stop at the sight of leather-covered legs. Shapely legs. I follow them up to a set of pursed lips and fiery, green eyes.
The woman before me leans forward and whispers, “Tell Katy to burn it.”
That’s all she says. She gives no explanation, no further instructions, before strutting away. It’s then that I see the man nailed to the courthouse column. The word “snitch” is carved into his chest. He’s barely recognizable, but I know exactly who he is.
I stand there, pretending as though Ollie Weaver wasn’t my CI. That he didn’t just recently come to me begging for a way out. Telling me that he was going to be killed if I didn’t let him out of our arrangement.
Chief Halloway continues to yell for the crowd to disperse while officers do what they can to close off the crime scene. He instructs all employees to use the back entrance to the courthouse. I slip around the side, looking over my shoulder for any sign of the redhead. I see her strapping a helmet on, then she drives off on a Harley.
Tell Katy to burn it. Burn what? I’d put money on it, that this is the friend who came to warn her. The friend that she told no one about.
; I make it to my office without any further interruptions. Beverly, my receptionist, is obviously shaken up, handing me my messages with a shaky hand.
“There’s a ge..ge..gentleman waiting in your office,” she informs me. “He insisted.”
I have never seen Beverly upset like this. She’s dealt with Ravens, Rykers, and Drycos with ease. Handling them like a fucking pro. Whoever is in my office has her spooked.
“It’s fine, Beverly,” I promise her with a tight smile.
I open the door to my office and narrow my eyes at the prick sitting in my chair. I’ve seen his photo, so I know it’s Ford Taylor, president of the L.A. Sinners. He leans his head to the side and gives me a cocky grin.
“Doesn’t it just piss you off when you find someone in your chair?” he asks. “It’s almost as bad is finding a snitch in your club.” He taps his fingers on my desk, shifting my chair from side to side.
“It’s not my favorite thing to walk into,” I admit.
“I brought your dog back home.”
“I appreciate that. He liked to roam a little too much.”
“Only way to handle a dog that doesn’t listen is to put him down. Take him out of his fucking misery,” he says.
“I agree.”
“Some dogs don’t just like to roam. Some like to hide things. Important things.” Ford stands from my chair. He walks over to my bookshelf, glancing over the many books lining the shelves. He runs his fingers over them and then looks back to me. “What do you suggest doing to a dog that does that shit?”
Tell Katy to burn it.
“Just a dog’s nature sometimes,” I reply with a shrug. I walk over to my desk and put my briefcase down.
“Dogs like to run from their owners sometimes too. You know, after they’ve done something bad, but they always come back home. Always.” He goes to my door. “When they do come home, I suppose it’s only human nature to beat the shit out of the dog until it learns its lesson.”
The door clicks behind him, and I fight the urge to call Katy and demand to know what she has. I don’t know how long he’s been in my office. It’s possible he bugged it. I’ve learned those club fuckers can be high-tech as shit.
I had Raiden’s phone synced with mine for almost two years, and I never caught on that she was working with her dad. Not even once. She was always a step ahead of me somehow.
I’ll have to get Eddie to come in and do a sweep before I say anything to Katy. She has something they want, that’s for damn sure. Ford Taylor is determined to get it.
~Katy~
I wake up alone. I suppose that’s for the best after hearing what that Ashley woman had to say last night. Even worse, hearing what Kane had to say to her. I will deal with you later.
What does that even mean? That he would fuck me, then go to her? I know she was the one giving him head on the sofa. I know she’s a Ravens regular. Why would I be stupid enough to think for even a second that I would stop him from doing what he’s always done? I’m no one special to him, no matter how special it felt to me.
Last night can simply be one more thing to add to my list of regrets. I knew better. Maybe I’m trying to redeem the relationship I had with Mack, and I’m using Kane to do it. I’m insane for thinking the outcome will be different.
I climb out of the bed and get dressed, grateful that Kane somehow found me a pair of pants. It occurs to me that he probably saw my scars last night, although he didn’t ask me about them. I’ve gotten so used to them that I don’t even see them anymore. I do remember how I obtained each and every one of them though. I remember exactly how the sting of a razor blade feels when it makes contact with flesh.
My scars aren’t only from a razor. I have scars from a knife blade too. Burn scars from a cigarette. Internal scars that will never disappear. Almost five years of abuse from a man I thought loved me.
I push thoughts of Mack out of my head and leave Kane’s room. The clubhouse is quiet, and I guess that’s because it’s still fairly early. I’m halfway down the hall and planning my escape when I hear Dax’s door opening. Raiden walks out, dressed in scrubs. She yawns, then smiles when she sees me.
“Long night, huh?” Her eyes note that I’ve come out of Kane’s room. I start to stammer, and she stops me. “I mean, with Lloyd missing.”
“Oh, yes,” I answer, blushing.
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Katy,” she tells me.
“I appreciate that,” I laugh, nervously. “But can I ask you for a favor? If you can help me, that is. I should ask Sully, but I just can’t.”
Raiden shrugs. “Absolutely, as long as it doesn’t involve playing mediator between you, Griffin, and Kane.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” I assure her. “Last night, Sully gave me a gun, and I didn’t know how to use it. I honestly felt like an idiot. These people are coming here, coming for me, and I don’t even know how to protect myself. Aiming it at them is not going to stop them.”
Raiden nods knowingly. “Come with me,” she replies, then looks down at my bare feet.
She steps out of her Crocs and slides them over to me. I watch her grab a pair of oversized boots from behind the bar and pull those on. She also retrieves a gun from underneath the bar.
I follow her out the back door. She’s about as silent as Kane normally is. Maybe it’s a Ravens thing.
It doesn’t take us long to reach what appears to be a target range. The Sinners have something similar in L.A. Gave them a place to practice shooting without going to an actual range. Legal ranges ask too many questions.
Raiden sets up some targets, then comes back to me, placing the gun in my hand. “This Glock holds ten rounds. I’m only giving you three chances to hit the target,” she says. “You need to get comfortable with your stance. Feet shoulder-width apart and lean forward just a touch so you can be prepared for a recoil. Don’t be scared to have a firm grip and don’t grip low. You don’t want to drop the damn thing.”
I follow her instructions, standing and gripping the Glock like she says to do. She stands behind me and lowers my arm a little.
“You want your forearm lined up with the gun. Now, your other hand goes here, again, gripping tightly.” I close one eye, focusing on the target and Raiden stops me. “When you’re shooting a Glock, keep both eyes open. It’ll help you focus better. Typically, your targets are going to be close and looming in front of you. You’re not a sniper. Pull the trigger slowly until you’re comfortable.”
“What happens if I don’t shoot one of the targets in the first three shots?” I ask her, looking at her over my shoulder.
“I’ll treat you like a Raven and give you some motivation.”
I have no idea what that means, but it doesn’t sound good. I don’t need Raven motivation. I have Mack Jacobson motivation.
I breathe out as I pull the trigger. I miss the first target and mumble a curse.
“That’s okay. Try it again,” Raiden encourages.
I shoot again and miss again. I shake my head, lowering the gun. My hands are shaking. I can’t do this. I was stupid to think I could.
“Find your motivation, Katy. Think of why you asked me to teach you this. Why do you feel the need to protect yourself instead of letting some man do it for you?” she prods. “You can be a weak woman if you want. You can let someone else take care of you. There’s plenty of men around here to do that.”
I raise the gun and aim it at the third target. I remind myself of my motivation as I pull the trigger. I have thirteen scars on my back for motivation. Mack loved taking the razor and drawing it over my skin when I fucked up. Target one hit. Again.
I have four cigarette burn scars for motivation. Target two hit. Again. I have six knife blade scars for motivation. Target three hit. Again. Five broken bones. Again. Two concussions. I scream out as I fire the last two shots in the chamber. There aren’t enough bullets in the chamber for everything he took from me.
Raiden pats my shoulder. “Good for you, Katy. Now, let me
show you some other things.”
Chapter Seventeen
~Kane~
I feed Eli another bite of cereal while Brandy rushes through the kitchen. I stifle a laugh at her hair, which clearly hasn’t been brushed yet this morning. I make a face at Eli and he giggles.
“Do not laugh at me, Kane!” Brandy warns. “I overslept, and I still have to get Eli dressed and dropped off at the preschool! My shift at the diner starts at ten! I really like this job!”
“Eli laughed, not me,” I grin.
It’s been a hell of a fucking morning already. I left Katy lying in my bed for a second time. At least this time, she was good and fucked. Dax called and said there was a body found nailed to a post at the courthouse. On top of that, the pretty boy DA had a visitor in his office. Eddie is heading over to do a sweep now. It’s not even ten o’clock.
“You do realize that you don’t have to work, Brandy,” I deadpan. I know that Trevor makes a decent living as an electrician and I provide well for my son.
“More!” Eli yells, pointing to his bowl of cereal. I oblige him, laughing as milk pours down his chin.
“If you’re going to make a mess with him, you can get him cleaned up and take him. You are his father.”
I give Brandy a look. I don’t lie to my son about who I am. I see him almost every single day. I honestly don’t know that he even understands that I’m his dad. He’s only three. Brandy assures me that he does, but he doesn’t call me daddy. He calls me Kane. She tells me this is just a stage he’s going through since he calls her Brandy.
The thing is, I don’t drive around the happy town of Garnerville advertising that I’m here. I come to her home, visit with my kid, and leave town.
“Kane, I need you to do this for me.”
“You know how I am with diapers,” I reply.
“You also know that he’s potty trained,” she quips, heading out of the kitchen. “You’re out of excuses! Grow a set and get him ready!”
