by Dixon, Ruby
I feel her stiffen under me.
Okay, yeah. I’ve had enough of this shit. I slide from between her legs, kiss her soft mouth, and tell her, “I’m gonna fix this.”
Then, I peel the condom off and go to tear a piece out of Muscle’s hide.
• • •
MUSCLE
Shy’s taste is on my lips. If I lick them, I can taste the sweetness between her legs. I hope it lasts for hours. Fuck that, I hope it lasts all night. My cock aches, a reminder that it didn’t get its turn to sink into her. I ignore it, because right now I don’t deserve more. As long as I get to pleasure her, that’s enough for me.
I head to my room. Before I can open the door, though, a hand grabs my arm and spins me around. I barely have time to realize it’s Beast before a meaty fist slams into my mouth, cleaning my clock.
I stagger against the door, my hand going to my split lip. I probably deserved that.
“What the fuck,” Beast hisses at me. “Why are you determined to fuck with her head?”
I blink in surprise. Shy? I fucking love Shy. Why would I hurt her? “What do you mean?”
“I mean just that,” Beast says. “Get your head out of your own ass. She’s under a lot of stress right now and you constantly rejecting her isn’t helping things.”
She’s under stress? Me rejecting her? I’m not. It’s the last thing I want. I’d love to crawl into her arms and lose myself for days, but I’m not worthy. The bruise she’s sporting on her sweet face tells me that. “Fuck. It’s not her. It’s me.”
“I know,” Beast growls. “She doesn’t know that, though. She thinks it’s her.”
“What’s wrong? Someone giving her shit?”
“Just a few bitches that hang around the club. They give her crap because she’s not tough and she’s taking it to heart.”
I scrub a hand down my face and lick my lips again. Still taste her sweetness. “Goddamn it.”
“So right now she needs you. Get your shit fucking together.”
God, I wish I fucking could. “Sorry, man.” Because that’s all I can say, really. I know I’m all kinds of fucked up. Normally I just hide it better than this. Kayfabe, Muscle. Kayfabe. Except I can’t around Beast, because he knows the real me.
“Now, you gonna tell me what’s going on in your goddamn head? You’ve been fucked up all week. Spit it out.” His big arms cross over his chest, and he looks intimidating as hell despite the fact that we’re both buck-ass naked.
Everything in me locks up. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t. But my throbbing lip reminds me that I can’t - and shouldn’t - retreat from my partners. Not without an explanation of some kind.
“Is it the job that Gemini and Domino gave us?”
I nod tightly.
Why’s there a kid in camp?
It’s just a fucking kid. Who the fuck cares. Deal already.
Holy shit.
Sad brown eyes.
Explosions. Screams.
My hands clench into fists. My jaw locks. I have to force the nightmare away. “Prezlewski,” I grit out. “Bernie Prezlewski. I served with him. We were…together when some bad shit happened.”
His eyes widen. “Like…together together?”
“Fuck, no, man. Just like buddies. Same area.” I’m not explaining myself well. To do so would mean I’d have to open up that nest of memories that I keep trying to bury and keeps trying to resurface. “He’s just an old friend.”
“He’s also an enemy of the club.”
“I know.” Fuck, do I know. And I know he’s up to no good, just from my brief meeting with him. I know that, and yet everything in me balks at getting rid of him. We’ve both suffered from the war and the aftermath. I wonder if he wakes up at night in a cold sweat like I do. I wonder if he tenses up every time he sees a kid in a jacket, like I do.
“You picking him over your colors?” Beast asks, and the question’s a loaded one. The answer should be hell no. A don’t be fucking ridiculous.
But I don’t know. I just don’t know. He and I, we both got lucky in A-stan. We lived when so many others died. Does he deserve to be taken out because of a shitty business decision? I say nothing, but I’m sweating hard. My stomach clenches, like I’m gonna be sick. “Fuck.”
“You sure as shit better figure this out,” Beast says, and he jabs a finger in my chest. “I’m leaving this one up to you. Because you’re my ride partner and my buddy, and I trust you.” The finger jabs again. “You decide. Either kill him or run him out of the territory, but you take care of him. Because if it’s not done, we’re both gonna have to answer for it.”
I nod, mouth dry.
One way or another, I’ve got to figure something out.
• • •
The next day, I take a long, solo drive. It doesn’t surprise me that I end up on that seedy side of ABQ. That I find myself pulling in to the pawn shop’s parking lot. Because really, I always knew I was going to come back here. I park my purring Switchback and sit for a moment. There’s two other bikes in the otherwise empty parking lot. I don’t recognize them or the plates, which are Arizona. I’m going in with my colors on, and if Bernie puts a bullet between my brows, well, it wouldn’t be the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever done.
For some reason, that makes me think of Shy. Sweet Shy-girl, who I’ve hurt over and over again and still looks at me with sad eyes, like she wishes she could help me. She’d probably cry at my funeral. Hell, she’d be devastated.
Guess I’d better not fuck this up. For her.
Summoning my internal mask, I force a no-fucks-being-given look on my face and saunter into the pawn shop. The bell clangs, and my already stretched nerves want to put a fist through a wall.
Bernie’s there behind the counter. He’s got a gun propped on his lap, and he’s discussing it with a pair of guys in leathers. I check their colors, because I don’t recognize them. Hard Nine MC. Logo looks like a skeleton shooting pool with a machine gun instead of a stick. Classy. I make a mental note of the sight, and notice that they both back away from the counter as I enter.
I nod at Bernie. “Need to talk to you.” I stick my thumbs in my belt loops and wait.
The two guys - both younger than me, no more than fucking babies, really - exchange a look. One taps the counter. “We’ll come back and discuss business later.”
“See you boys soon, then,” Bernie drawls.
Neither of us moves until both men leave, and the sound of their bikes purring up the road fills the silence. Then, Bernie looks at me. Looks at my cut. “This Halloween or some shit?”
“Nope,” I say, sauntering forward. I plant my hands on the counter and look him in the eye. “This a fucking joke, Bernie? You selling arms to those fucks in Butchers territory?”
“Way I see it, this isn’t anyone’s territory,” he says, spitting the words at me. “You think you thugs can own a few streets because you declare it? Shake me down for a few grand every time I turn around? Fuck that.” He eyes my colors with distaste. “Thought you were better than this, Anderson.”
For some reason, my stomach bottoms out when he says my real name. My body breaks out in a cold sweat.
Why’s there a kid in camp?
It’s just a fucking kid. Who the fuck cares. Deal already.
Maybe we should see if he wants something. Give him a candy bar or some shit.
Holy shit.
Sad brown eyes.
Explosions. Screams.
I take a shuddering breath. “I’m warning you,” I say tightly. “This is Bedlam Butchers territory. You pay the fee and you can deal unmolested. We handle everything, right down to the cops.”
He chews on a toothpick and gives me an ugly sneer. “Long as I deal to the boys you approve of, right?”
“That’s right. You gotta play by our rules, and that includes not arming our enemies.”
He tilts his head. “And what if they want to pay me more than you do?”
I don’t see why t
his is so fucking hard for him to understand. I’m offering him a lifeline here, as an old friend. I’m giving him a chance. So I simply stare at him, sweating profusely.
Bernie’s smile is thin. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You tell your buddies they can shove it up their asses. I ain’t changing for them.”
“I’m giving you a chance, man. Next time I come in here, things won’t be so nice.” Next time I come in here, I’m going to have to put a bullet in your head.
He puts his hands to his chest. Taps it, then spreads his arms wide. “Here I fucking am. Come on at me, then.”
I stare at him. Sweat. My stomach feels like a ball of acid.
I can’t do it.
I push away from the counter and storm out of the pawn shop. The sound of his laughter echoes in my ears. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Not only have I lost face for my club, but I’m letting the past get away from me.
I can’t keep fucking doing this. I can’t. I can’t.
Chapter Five
SHY
My thighs purr and vibrate from the bike’s motion as we coast down the highway. I press my cheek to Beast’s back and yawn. I’m getting so sleepy, and we’re still riding, mile after endless mile. Topeka seems a long way away to me, but I didn’t want to stay behind, either. I’ve got nothing going on at home. The house is clean, no one’s answering my resumes, and the few friends I had sort of disappeared the moment I started hanging with the Butchers.
So, I might as well head with my men to Topeka for a day or two. It’s ten hours of nothing but road. Normally I’d switch back and forth between Muscle and Beast’s bikes, but Muscle seems content to let me stay with Beast the entire time.
And that hurts my feelings a little. He’s been so distant lately. Super troubled. I wish I could help. I wish I knew how to offer. But all I can offer is myself, and it seems he rejects even that lately.
I’m in a sleepy daze when we pull into a 24-hour diner and park our bikes up front. A quick check of my phone shows it’s past midnight, and I’m half dozing as I slide off the bike and automatically remove my helmet.
“Not too much longer, babe,” Beast says, putting an arm around my waist as I step to the curb. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” I tell him brightly. “I’ll order some coffee or something.” Maybe pancakes. I love pancakes. My stomach growls at the thought.
Muscle goes to my other side, and we walk into the diner together. The guys scan the place, then nod at a booth in the corner. “Over there,” Muscle says.
We head over and there’s two guys, maybe a bit younger than my men. They’re both good looking, which makes me blush hard, especially when they’re looking at me. One’s tall with light brown hair, and the other has extra short hair. Both are wearing patch-covered vests, and I feel uncomfortable as they gaze in my direction. They didn’t bring their girls and Beast and Muscle brought me.
I shrink back a bit as Beast moves forward to shake hands.
To my surprise, Muscle puts a hand on the back of my neck. Calm. Possessive. He pulls me against him and tucks me against his side in a show of possession that makes me feel warm and utterly pleased. I give him a small smile and his hand slides down my back, rubbing it.
“Beast,” my buddy says, introducing himself. Then he points at his ride partner. “That’s Muscle. Rotten and Sixty-two couldn’t make it.” He gestures at me. “We brought our girl, Shy.”
“Easy,” says the tall one with a raise of his hand. He points at his buddy. “Michigan. And you shoulda told us we could bring old ladies. We’d have brought Annie.”
We? Annie? My brows draw together.
“You boys doing it Butchers style?” Muscle teases, rubbing my back. “Think you’re in the wrong colors, bro.”
“Fuck that.” Easy grins, but Michigan doesn’t find it nearly as funny.
“Ignore him,” Beast says, a hint of a smile on his face. “He thinks he’s hilarious.”
“That I do,” Muscle agrees, and he sounds like himself for the first time in a while. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Shy-girl, you want my jacket? You can lay down in the booth next to ours if you’re tired.”
I nod and pull out my ear buds. They don’t like me listening in on club business. Say it’s for my own good. I’m used to it, so I carry ear buds with me everywhere. “Okay if I order some pancakes?” I ask with another yawn.
“Baby, you can order whatever you want,” he says and pulls out his wallet. “Get me a side of bacon and a coffee, will ya?”
“I want bacon too,” Beast says. I give him a wink, snatch Muscle’s wallet, and head to the diner counter, where there’s a lone, frazzled waitress working. Muscle swats me on the ass as I saunter away, and I hear the men chuckle. I’m feeling pretty light despite the late hour. Muscle seems a bit like his old self and it makes me happy.
I sit at the counter for a bit and eat my pancakes while the guys talk in the booth behind us. Since the waitress seems to be running behind, I ferry coffee refills to my guys and the two Death Lords at the table. For the most part, they ignore me, which suits me fine. I’m property, but I don’t really deal with club stuff. Things look pretty intense for a bit, and I take my time finishing my own coffee before I start getting too sleepy again. I cash out and decide I’ll maybe take Muscle up on his offer of his jacket. I pop my ear buds in, start a new Aerosmith playlist, and then head over to the table, yawning.
Instead of Muscle offering me his jacket, though, he grabs me and pulls me into his lap. He and Beast scoot over in the long booth, and Muscle indicates that I should put my head down in his lap instead. Take a nap on him. The booth is circular and so there’s room for me to curl my legs up and I do so, too tired to argue or point out that I probably shouldn’t be here. Right now they could be discussing recipes and I wouldn’t hear a thing. I press my head against Muscle’s thigh and close my eyes.
I can’t sleep, though.
It’s not the music blaring in my ears, old metal and wailing lyrics. It’s not the fact that I’m curled up on three feet of bench with my feet hanging off the side. It’s not even the two cups of coffee that I sucked down minutes ago.
It’s that as I lie there, Muscle’s hands play with my hair. Soft, tender absent touches that are such reverent, delicious caresses that they make my heart ache. His fingers trace my jaw, move over my skin, or caress my arm. Nothing sexy. Nothing that screams he wants to fuck me in the middle of this restaurant. Nothing wild and crazy like I’m used to with these guys.
Just tender touching. Letting me know he likes the feel of me even when he’s busy. I can hear the conversation get intense at certain points, and feel his body tense from time to time, but his fingers remain gentle and I feel utterly adored.
Loved.
Cherished.
And whatever it takes to bring Muscle back to his happy place, I want to do it. Because I love this complicated man. I love both my men.
And I’m going to fight for them if I have to, I decide. No one’s going to push me away from what’s mine or where I belong. If that means putting a few pushy sweetbutts into their place? Then that’s what I’ll do.
• • •
I doze off at some point, and a gentle hand taps my cheek. My playlist is repeating a song that’s been reverberating in my dreams, and I sit up, blinking.
There’s dawn peeking through the diner windows. Empty cups of coffee are scattered all over the table. The men all have hollow eyes that denote a lack of sleep, but they’re grinning and joking around, so I take it that the meet was good. I yawn while they pay the tab and then toss a bunch of fives on the table for the waitress. My ears ring from the quiet when I pull my ear buds out, and I yawn again as Muscle pulls me against him. “Not too much longer, Shy-girl. There’s a hotel down the road and then we can all get some shut eye. Sound good?”
I smile up at him. “Sounds like heaven.”
His thumb plays against the corner of my mouth, and he tilts my head up and examines my face. “Your bruise
is almost gone.”
“Yeah,” I say softly.
“I’m glad. I hate that I hurt you.” There’s a wealth of unspoken emotion in his throat.
“You didn’t mean to.”
“Doesn’t excuse it.” He gives his head a little shake. “I’m gonna try and fix it, though. Become a better man for you.”
I look at him, curious. Beast is still talking to the other guys a short distance away, and the moment feels private. Impulsively, I reach up and put my arms around Muscle’s neck and pull his face down to mine so I can kiss him. Just a quick kiss, but then I whisper, “I think you’re a wonderful man already.”
“But I can be better,” he says. “And I will be.”
I want to ask him about it, but Beast hands a small, brown-wrapped package to the other guys. As I watch, Easy tucks it under his jacket and exchanges a look with Michigan. Then, they clasp hands and smack each other on the back as if all business is done.
And I wonder what’s in the package, but I’m too tired to ask and it’s none of my business anyhow.
• • •
MUSCLE
I almost feel like myself again for a few days. The nightmares disappear for a night or two, and the HVAC business is keeping us hopping. At night, I tackle Shy and make her come so hard that she can’t see straight. Sometimes she can’t even walk straight once Beast is done with her. I love making her crazy, hearing her cries as she comes over and over from me licking her sweet pussy.
I haven’t fucked her, though. I don’t feel like I’m worthy. Instead, I carry around that “S” necklace like it’s some sort of goddamn ball and chain. Chaining me to my past, when all of me wants to be in the present with Shy and Beast. I don’t know why I can’t move forward. I don’t know why I can’t just say ‘fuck it’ and put a bullet between Bernie’s brows and go on with my life.
I don’t know why I seem to be stuck in 2010, back at that camp, playing cards just before shit went down. Seeing the sad eyes of the child before he blew up a tent with thirteen soldiers. Ten of them died. Three lived. Me, Bernie, and some guy named Chuck who went home and found God. Chuck became a pastor. I became a one percenter, and Bernie, well, Bernie became an asshole and an illegal arms dealer.
