Crush

by J. C. Emery

  “Enjoy my leftovers, bitch,” Clint shouts. Both Cheyenne and I turn around and glare at Clint as he turns and heads back toward the field where the coach has already returned.

  “Do me a favor,” Cheyenne says as she places a hand on my back. I look down at her to find her lips have formed into a devious smile. A glint of vengeance shines in her eyes. It’s hot. Like, really fucking hot.

  “Anything,” I say like the pussy-whipped asshole I am.

  Her smile gets impossibly wider. “Make him suffer.”

  I’m unable to hold back the laugh as I give her a wink and take off in a sprint. He doesn’t see me coming as I throw myself onto his back and shove his face in the mud. My left hand pinches at the back of his neck with all my strength. My knee digs viciously into the small of his back. I’ve seen men tortured and abused for far less—and for far less important people than Cheyenne. This bitch is lucky he’s getting off with a warning.

  “I know where your dad works, and I know where you live. I know your sister and how good her pussy tastes,” I hiss into his ear as he struggles to breathe through the mud he’s inhaling. “I could have your mother, but that bitch is fucking nasty. Just remember this—I represent Forsaken. Cheyenne is Forsaken. You don’t want on Daddy’s bad side, and you sure don’t want to piss off any of us. As far as you’re concerned, she doesn’t exist. And if I hear any different, I’ll make sure her father knows every bit of this conversation.”

  I shove his face farther into the mud, dig my knee harder into his back, and then stand. My boot slams into his side before I walk off. Every bit of what I told him is the truth, with the exception of the part about his sister. I’m not picky, but she’s as fucking gross as her mother is. No way I’d stick my dick in that.

  Cheyenne is waiting for me at the edge of the field. When I reach her, she says nothing and just turns to walk toward the parking lot once more. We make it to the concrete before she speaks.

  “You’re kind of dirty,” she says with a wrinkle of her nose.

  “Word around the clubhouse is they call you Miss Priss because you’re kind of a pain in the ass,” I retort.

  “I’m so not.” She doesn’t even sound like she believes her own lies. “But can I ask you something?”

  “Depends.”

  “Who is that guy who showed up at school?”

  “What guy?” I know damn well who she’s talking about, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. It’s club business, which means it’s none of hers.

  “I’m not an idiot. That creepy guy shows up at school, and now I have an escort everywhere I go? So who is he?”

  “Your escort? It’s Diesel,” I say with a nod of my head across the lot to the motherfucker with the buzz cut who’s resting on his bike.

  She shakes her head. “Nice try. I have questions, and I know you have answers.”

  There’s absolutely nothing I can tell her that won’t cost me my top rocker. So I swipe some mud from the knee of my jeans and wipe it across her cheek.

  She swats my hand away with a surprised laugh and steps back with a screech. “Ew, gross!”

  “You’re so fucking high maintenance,” I say, keeping my tone sounding bored. Just as she looks offended, I swipe another dollop of mud from my jeans and go straight for her nose, but she swipes it off my finger and takes a step closer to me.

  In a quiet voice, she says, “Are you trying to distract me?”

  I clear my throat. “No, I’m trying to get you dirty, baby.”

  Shit. I sound like a moron.

  A thick cold goo clogs up my ear, and it’s only then that I feel her removing her finger and realize she’s shoved the mud in my ear. My fucking ear. I narrow my eyes at her as she steps back, waves her finger to direct me to stay put, and grins wildly.

  “You’re in for it,” I say as I take off after her. She screams and takes off running through the parked cars. I could outrun her, but I want to let her think she has a chance.

  “D, help! D! Help!” she screams. I look up to find her hiding behind Diesel, who is in the corner of the lot, perched on his bike. His helmet rests on his handlebars, and his tanned muscles are exposed by the black wife-beater he wears under his cut.

  “Back off, prospect. The lady wants to be left alone,” Diesel says through a smile. He stands from the bike and ushers her over to him where he tosses an arm around her shoulders and then walks her to her car. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m standing in the middle of the parking lot, smiling like an idiot. Alone.

  Cheyenne climbs into her Bug that’s parked in the center of the lot. Once she’s securely inside, Diesel makes his way back to his bike. I parked the bike Grady gave me just a few feet from his, so I follow his path.

  “Grady is going to chop your dick off and eat it for breakfast,” Diesel says. He’s way too smiley right now. It’s creeping me out.

  “Probably.” We grab our helmets and climb on our bikes. Before I start my engine, I say, “But it’ll be worth it.”

  CHAPTER 2

  November

  17 months to Mancuso’s downfall

  Diesel starts up his bike and takes off after Cheyenne, who’s turning out of the lot. I follow suit and spend the short ride home thinking about ways to get her to talk to me again. She’s cute to look at but better to actually talk to. Maybe I need to beat up more football players. Or I could tease her some more. Maybe I could just talk to her, but that might be too weird.

  When I pull up to the house and walk in, I’m met with my sister, Nic, and her old man, Duke. They’re hogging up the couch as per usual. He’s wearing a pair of old jeans and nothing else, and she’s in one of his shirts and I hope something else. Their legs are entwined, and one of his arms is stretched over her shoulders, tucking her into his side. His other arm is stretched out with his hand palming her stomach. Her small frame is dwarfed by his large one in all areas except for her growing belly.

  Despite the constant half nudity in the house, he’s good for us. He’s going to be good for my niece or nephew, too. I just like having a guy around here. For one, we out-vote Nic on almost everything, and for two, I’ve finally learned how to ride. It’s the only thing I ever wanted to do—ride a Harley just like my dad and his brothers. But none of that means he can’t be a serious fucking prick to live with. In my house. He’s like a bossy squatter that can rip my dick off if he so chooses.

  Duke had offered to teach me a few years back, but Jim put the gavel down on that. Nic didn’t even know I was showing up at the clubhouse as often as I could get away with. If one of the guys had taught me to ride, she would have had a fucking fit, and if there’s anything my sister is a pro at, it’s throwing a fit.

  “You’re all muddy,” Nic says with a raised eyebrow. She points her index finger in my direction as if to tell me to stay in the hardwood entry.

  Duke lifts his chin in greeting. He catches sight of the mud on my jeans and the bottom of my cut. I just shrug my shoulders and shake my head. I’m not about to shoot the shit about Cheyenne to these two assholes. The second I tell Nic I got my eye on a girl, and not just my dick interested in her, she won’t fucking let it go. Ever. Nic’s like that—she nags endlessly—and somehow I just know if I refuse to give her what she wants, she’s going to pester the fuck out of Duke until he makes me. So yeah, I ain’t saying shit about the mud or the girl, and I hope that Diesel doesn’t find the little scene he witnessed earlier newsworthy.

  “Yeah.” I leave it at that.

  “Hey, since you’re up, grab me some food. Eileen called me in since Mindy didn’t show, so I have to get to the shop soon,” she says.

  “Fuck no. Do I look like your bitch?”

  The words fly out of my mouth before I can think about what I’m saying. When it was just me and Nic, we had an understanding. She kept food in the house, and I kept out of her way. She stepped on my toes, and I’d step on hers. It was just sibling shit mostly, but sometimes it got pretty fucking heated. She may be a foot sh
orter than me, but when she’s pissed, she fucking loses it. She would get to bitching about the dumbest shit. It bugged the crap out of me, but she never stayed mad long. It worked for us. But now that Duke’s here, everything is different. I can’t say a single fucking thing that he doesn’t approve of without getting my ass reamed for it. I raise an eyebrow at her. She and I get into a fight where she makes me yell at her, and I get hit for it.

  We have good times. It’s not all hitting and fighting, and Duke always takes time later to explain his bullshit reasons for doing what he does. He’s taking this whole daddy-practice thing too far, but it’s not like I can say that to him. I don’t want to go back to having to call him “sir” every time I see him.

  “If you’re not going to show your sister some respect, at least show that cut some respect and get the fucking mud off it,” Duke says as he untangles himself from my sister.

  It’s not the response I was expecting. Instead of questioning him like I’m prone to do, I just nod my head and back into the kitchen. Duke stands from the couch and follows behind me.

  I’ve never cleaned my cut before, so I don’t really know what I’m doing. I eye the dish soap before deciding to just use water. I don’t know why he’s bitching about my leather. I mean, Dad always says that a man’s cut tells his story. He never cleaned his cut, really. Maybe once or twice—for a wedding or a funeral—but other than that, he let it get dirty and gross. He said he earned the dirt and the wearing of the leather on behalf of his patch. It’s a source of pride. But if Duke wants my cut clean, I guess I’ll clean it.

  He strides in the room a minute later with his boots on. He’s pulling on a dark blue V-neck as he shakes his head at me. I turn the water on and reach for the nearest dish towel, but he points to the kitchen table. Instead of cleaning off the mud, I head where he’s pointing and sit down. He plops down across from me and rests his elbows on the table.

  His voice is low as he says, “Got a job for you.”

  “A job?” Not that I’m not grateful he’s not threatening to kick my ass for smarting off to my sister or anything, but he’s acting weird as all hell right now.

  “I need you to facilitate a meeting between Princess and Junior.”

  Shit. Alex gave me a brief rundown on the shit she caused during one of her visits to the house. She’s cute but not my type—not my type being the kind of pussy that comes with a hundred and eighty pounds of asshole attached at her side. I asked her what was with all the drama about her and Trigger hooking up. It was a short and weird conversation. I mean, what the fuck do you say when someone tells you they accidentally ratted their dad out, now their cousin wants to kill them, and they inadvertently started a war between Forsaken and the Italian mafia? I mean, fuck. Nic is clumsy, and she tends to break shit, but she’s never destroyed an informal, decades-old peace treaty between two outlaw entities. That kind of power is both terrifying and impressive—and I want none of it. So facilitating anything for Alex is above my pay grade, I’ve decided.

  “Why is something this important being passed down to me?”

  “Princess requested it. Trigger won’t even hear of letting her near him, and if I set the meeting up and he finds out, he’ll ride my ass like I’m a Lost Girl.”

  “And what the fuck do you think he’s going to do to me!” I mean, goddamn it. Even Duke doesn’t want to piss Trigger off about this shit, so why the fuck does he think it’s a good idea to send me in?

  “As far as Trigger knows, you don’t know shit. You’re just doing a favor for Ruby’s kid, so it’s like doing a favor for the Pres.”

  “You think he’s going to let me slide on that excuse?”

  “Probably not,” Duke says.

  “He’s going to fuck me up,” I whine. I’m not proud of whining, but facing off against Trigger when it comes to Princess—or Cub or whatever the fuck I’m supposed to call her—is a goddamn death wish.

  “So don’t get caught,” Nic says, startling me. She’s leaning against the doorjamb. Her arms are folded over her chest, pulling up her shirt and—thankfully—revealing a small pair of cotton shorts. Decency—I guess she has some of it. “Look, Jer, this is important to Alex. She asked me to talk to Duke.”

  And suddenly it all makes sense. My sister is the mastermind behind this little plan. If it was Duke’s idea, he’d just do it himself and fuck Trigger if he didn’t like it. But this is Nic being Nic and trying to protect the people she loves—and she loves Alex like the sister she never had. Apparently she loves Duke enough to spare him Trigger’s wrath. I’m her fucking brother, and she can’t spare me? If I sent Christmas cards, my bitch sister would be off my list.

  Duke silently watches Nic push off the doorjamb and shuffle over to the fridge. I watch his eyes travel from hers down to her protruding stomach and then slide down her legs to her bare feet. Duke looks at Nic in a way I’ve never seen a man look at a woman before. I mean, people say they’re in love all the time. They say they care about people, but then shit happens. They leave, or they get sent away. But none of them ever look at the person they say they love the way Duke looks at Nic. It’s like he’s making sure she’s okay and she’s got all her limbs.

  Duke told me the last time we were changing the oil in her car that he needs help painting the spare bedroom for the baby. He doesn’t need help, and I called him on that, but then he told me that being a man means being involved. It means sometimes doing lame shit like painting a room and putting together baby furniture, and that as the kid’s uncle, I have a responsibility to make sure he or she is taken care of. It kind of freaked me out—made the whole baby thing that much more real. Everything is changing, and I don’t know how to deal with half of it. Like now, being told to set up a meet between Alex and her brother. It’s heavy shit that I worry I’m going to seriously fuck up.

  “Neither of you want to take the heat,” I mumble.

  “No,” Nic says. She opens the fridge and pulls out the peanut butter and jelly, then sets them on the counter and turns back toward me. She turns her attention to Duke and nods her head. “Tell him, baby.”

  “What you’re about to hear stays between us, got it?” he says, and I nod my head. I know better than to run my mouth—usually—about shit a member tells me. It’s been months, and I haven’t told anyone about the bitch Ian had me get rid of. I can keep my mouth shut when it matters.

  “We put it to a vote—moving Junior to a more permanent location—and Trigger lost his shit. As far as the club’s concerned, whether or not Princess and Junior see each other again is up to her old man. She’s not voted in and likely won’t be unless she can win Grady over, so it’s not a club problem. But it becomes a club problem if a member interferes with another member’s personal life. We can’t have tension among the brothers.”

  “Yeah, that policy is bullshit. You all are always up each other’s asses. This is going to cost me my patch.”

  “Not if you didn’t know you weren’t supposed to do it,” Duke says.

  Bullshit. These assholes talk about their policies and codes, and they never fucking follow them. It’s just a convenient excuse to avoid getting their hands dirty.

  Nic sighs loudly from her spot and taps her foot on the floor. She opens her mouth but waits a moment before speaking.

  “The club can’t handle any more stress, Jer. We lost Chief, and with this Italian in town, everybody is on edge. The guys are all on security detail every single day, and Ian is still looking for Darren’s parents. Duke isn’t going to be able to focus and keep us safe if he’s distracted with thinking that Ryan is going to go off on him at any moment.” Nic puts a hand on her stomach, and it’s fucking unfair because she knows using my niece or nephew against me works every time. The way I see it, motherhood doesn’t really run in her genes, and I don’t want to do anything to make being a mom more difficult on her. Growing up without a mom sucks, and I don’t want that for my niece or nephew.

  “Fine. Fucking fine,” I say. Pushing back f
rom the table, I glare at Duke whose expression is as flat as it has been for the last several minutes. He doesn’t like to talk about all the shit that’s fucked in our world right now, and I don’t blame him, but hell. Why couldn’t either of them tell Alex that she’s just going to have to deal with Trigger over this shit? Pussies, the both of them.

  “By the way,” I say, “Miss Priss was asking about the Italian.”

  “Don’t tell her shit,” Duke says. “Club business.”

  “I know that. Just letting you know. She was pushy.”

  Nic’s back is to me as she works at making her sandwich. She turns around mid-bite and says, “Tell her it’s being taken care of and she doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Club business, Nic,” Duke says with a harsh tone. “He doesn’t have to tell her a fucking thing.”

  “Yeah, because that line has worked so well for you boys in the past,” she mumbles and takes another bite of her sandwich. She has a point. The guys are all about living by the code, but the second their old lady denies them some pussy, they become a bunch of chatty bitches. Doesn’t matter, though. Duke gave me my orders.

  “Speaking of club business,” I say a little quieter and lean in, “Ian still doesn’t have a lead on where Darren’s parents went?”

  “Nothing,” he says and eyes Nic, who isn’t even trying to pretend she’s not paying attention. “It’s like they’ve fucking disappeared off the face of the earth.” I do the same, and while she doesn’t appear terribly concerned, that doesn’t mean shit. She’s fucking tough as nails. She got that from our dad.

  A chirping noise sounds from across the table. Turning my head back to Duke, I see him pull his cell out of his jeans pocket and read the screen. A few seconds later and he’s staring at me with narrowed eyes. “Safe house—now.”