Indulge

by C. D. Breadner

  She stepped back as though she’d actually been struck. “G-Town shot Skip?” She’d heard the club talk about him, but she didn’t know specifics of who exactly had killed him. That was a detail, and she wasn’t getting details.

  He paused as though he was realizing the same thing she just had. He looked like he might be suffering from guilt, but Gertie was going into freak out mode.

  G-Town killed a member of Buck’s club. She let that sink in. These were the people she was helping. These were the people she was considering telling Buck about, how she was helping them. But they killed people, it wasn’t just an empty threat.

  “I’m sorry I said that,” she repeated, tears in her eyes again. “But you embarrassed me, Buck. In front of your friends. So please understand that I was already pissed off before you unloaded all this overbearing, overprotective bullshit.”

  He was calming down, so she waited. Waited for either the realization they weren’t going to work out, or that they were both in the wrong somewhat. When he circled the high counter she approached him, and he held his arms out so she stepped into them. When he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her to the hard wall of his chest she sighed, eyes closing in relief.

  “One thing I’ll never accuse you of is being boring,” he suddenly grumbled, making her giggle.

  She stepped back to peer up at him. “Stop wrecking shit. You’re scaring me.”

  He grinned back, hand on the side of her neck as he ducked his head to touch his mouth to hers. As he made that delicious contact her hands went to his hips, clutching the waistband of his jeans. Now as her heart raced it was from something other than a loud argument.

  He must have had the same racing pulse she did. His other hand clamped around her back, pulling her hips into his and bridging his shoulders over her, bending her back, taking her over in that powerful way he had that made her absolutely limp.

  Gertie let her hands reach up into his hair, fisting, and she moaned as his hand dropped to her ass. He squeezed hard, growling in his throat as he did it.

  Well, one thing could be said for fighting. Making up was pretty much awesome.

  He spun her to the sofa, hands going for the fly of her jeans, pushing the halves apart and driving his hand between her legs, rubbing at her over her panties. Gertie whimpered, hands tightening in his wild, tangled hair. Her hips moved against his hand until he pushed her onto the cushions, bridging over her as she tumbled onto her back. He was resting his weight on the back of the sofa with one hand, the other on the armrest over her head. She waited, catching her breath, eyes on his face as he made a meal of just looking at her.

  Suddenly he stood, whipped his T-shirt off over his head and undid the fly of his jeans. Gertie took the chance to push her jeans off and pull off her own shirt. With a quick reach behind her back she undid her bra, flung it to the ground and leaned back to push down on her panties. Before she got there Buck was on it, yanking the scrap of lace off her ankles and throwing her ankles over his shoulders. Before his mouth was on her she was moaning and whimpering.

  She was impatient. She held his hair in one hand, the other over her head to grasp the armrest. Her hips ground against his mouth, and he knew that meant she wasn’t in the mood to go slow. He worked two fingers into her right away. Buck never teased her, he always made sure she finished. And like every other time the orgasm was magnificent, quenching the heat he built in a sublime rush. Before she could recuperate Buck was on his feet, pushing his jeans off and rolling on a condom in the time it took her to uncross her eyes.

  “On your knees baby,” he growled, and she was on it immediately. She rested her elbows on the sofa back, ass on display for him. He took the opportunity, slamming into her deep and hard, making her throw her head back to grunt. “Gertie,” he moaned.

  “Buck,” she whimpered in return, meeting the thrust of his hips by pushing back.

  “Fuck Gertie,” he groaned, taking a handful of her hair and pulling. It brought her head up, her neck back, and his hand on her hip was clenched so tight she couldn’t move. Couldn’t pull away, couldn’t really participate. He used her hair to slide her onto him over and over, every push bringing out wonderfully male grunts. She might have been under his control but he was barely holding on himself.

  Gertie closed her eyes, bit her lip and let him do what he always did to her. Use her completely, thoroughly, fantastically. On her second orgasm she hollered, hips bucking, collapsing onto her chest on the back sofa cushions, smiling as Buck let loose with a long groan of his own, planting his cock deep and jerking in time with his panting breath.

  The skin of Buck’s chest was damp as he leaned down to nip at her shoulder, whispering close to her ear, “Only way I’m putting up with your temper is if we make up like this.”

  She giggled, turning to peer at him over her shoulder. “That’s a deal.”

  “Get to bed,” he instructed with a smack on the hip, pulling free of her. “Unless you feel like picking another argument.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Buck checked his watch for the thirtieth time in the last ten minutes. It was getting close; the meeting between the Gypsys and whoever was dropping off their new shipment of Thebaine.

  Guido had called from the road after meeting with an undisclosed source, saying that this source had just been asked to help with security on a transport of some kind of chemical from the south end of Bakersfield up to the border. Guido had been asked to do it, he said sure, then got the info and backed out by just saying that something “came up.”

  This test should show two things; who else the Gypsys were working with and just how desperate they were to make the shipment happen. If it were the Rebels and someone took a job then cancelled on short notice there would be no way they’d follow through on the plan, even if they could find someone else to work with. But if the Gypsys were desperate it meant they were dealing with some bad dudes who wouldn’t take kindly to changes in plans no matter what the excuses were.

  Next to him Jayce elbowed his arm, jerking his head towards the highway, about three-quarters of a mile away. Buck followed his signal, seeing headlights heading their way. Without a word the crew fell silent, Jayce and Tank bringing binoculars up while the rest of them stayed still.

  After a pause it was Tank who muttered “Well, that’s interesting.”

  Buck squinted like that might make his eyesight better. “What’s going on?”

  “Minivans,” Tank answered oddly, handing over his specs.

  Buck brought them up to his eyes, catching sight of two unmarked family-wagons of differing styles and colors, seemingly completely random. The vehicles parked and no one got out. Buck handed the binoculars back.

  After about ten more silent minutes the rumble of bikes could be heard, shaking the ground and filling the desert air. Buck could feel the way the Rebels around him tensed, leather creaking as postures went from stand-by to on alert. It was the Gypsys, had to be. Neither Tank nor Jayce said another word so at least that was going according to plan.

  Even from about five hundred yards Buck could see that there was a transfer taking place. Gypsys were milling from the bikes to the vans, which now had their rolling side doors open. “Can you see who’s driving those vans?” Buck whispered.

  “Soccer moms,” Tank muttered.

  “What?”

  “Thirty-something women wearing jeans and sweatshirts. And running shoes.”

  “Nah, the one’s got those stupid Crocs on,” Jayce broke in, handing his binoculars to Tank.

  “How the fuck do you know what they’re called?”

  “Trinny hates them. Makes fun of them all the time.”

  Buck was focusing on the activity, and Tank wasn’t lying. They looked like they were at the grocery store. Although, the Gypsys were in the process of handing over bags that were certainly of the grocery variety. And their load was heavy, stretching the plastic.

  “They got suburban-looking broads to drive their shit over the
border in mini-vans,” Tank summed it up for those without binoculars.

  As he spoke Buck watched one of the women open the passenger door. The opening revealed the second row of seats behind the driver, and he could see a car seat strapped to the bench. The woman tucked her head inside then pulled back again, and the blob in the seat moved, an arm stretching out. The woman took the toddler’s hand in hers and kissed it.

  “There’s a kid in the blue van,” Buck muttered. “Christ. They’re using kids too.”

  “I guess we now know how desperate the situation is for our friends,” Tank added.

  “British Columbia plates, too,” Jayce added, accepting his binoculars back. “Late at night, picking up groceries for the return trip home, kids get loud and fussy at the border crossing. Fucking smart. Assuming not all the bags are full of one product.”

  “Looks like a bunch of different stuff,” Tank answered. “One has lettuce or some shit sticking out the top.”

  “So what can we do?” Knuckles asked, cracking his knuckles as he leaned against a rock face, jaw set. He looked a bit cranked, ready for something to happen. “We go after the Gypsys or take the shit from the Mommy Parade?”

  “I don’t want to take a chance with kids in those vehicles,” Jayce answered. “I’d like to phone in a tip to border patrol. Can you make out the plates?”

  Tank rattled off the letters and numbers and Spaz was typing them in his phone. “How many spots can you cross in BC?” Spaz wanted to know.

  Jayce shrugged. “Just alert Canadian customs, tell them it’s headed for BC.”

  Spaz nodded, hands flying over the little keypad on his phone. Buck turned back to Jayce. “What about the Gypsys?”

  Jayce shook his head. “I want to see what happens when their shipment gets busted. I want to see who comes down on them.”

  Buck nodded. This was good. Jayce was thinking straight.

  “Let them clear out, then everyone head back to the clubhouse,” Jayce continued. “I’ll head back to Trinny and share this with the Nomads and Banshees.”

  “You want me with you?” Buck offered.

  Jayce shook his head. “Nah. Head back to your woman.”

  Buck nodded, feeling his stomach tighten just a bit. He was crazy about his woman, he really was. But she was testing his patience and some part of him was sure this wasn’t how she usually was. Something was going on, and it was making her act strange.

  And she drank too much. Way too much. Actually, at that moment, she was likely finishing a bottle of wine on her own. And she never wanted to go anywhere anymore. She told him she was shy and anti-social, but for a while there she’d at least come to club functions. And now when he went without her, he came back to his house to find her sleeping, knocked out due to wine or beer or whisky.

  He should boot her, he knew that. This was the kind of messy complication that none of his brothers would put up with. And it was a distraction for him. He had to put her out of his mind while they were on task as a club. And now here she was, pulling focus again.

  The Gypsys were pulling away, vans following them. When the sound of straight pipes had completely faded the Rebels fired up their engines, heading the opposite direction back to Markham.

  In the past month Gertie was all but living with Buck from Friday to Monday morning. Sometimes during the week he’d come to her, and the odd night she’d spend at his place like she had the first while they’d been together. It was less common now. She had asked for a bit more time on her own.

  Buck had never been this fucked up by a woman before. She drove him nuts, but for the life of him he couldn’t make that decision to cut her loose. He cared about her. He wanted to be there for her when she got her shit together and realized she deserved to be happy and not … Well, whatever this was. He never knew what he was walking into when he went home. The good days were amazing. He loved those, and those were the days he lived for. They outnumbered the bad, actually.

  The bad days took all he had not to walk away from her. But Gertie needed him. And on a deep-set caveman level he liked being needed like that. He could make her realize she could overcome whatever was bothering her. And if she did it for him that would feel like even-Stevens.

  His house was dark, the light was on over the front stoop. He unlocked the inside door, stepped inside and knew this wasn’t a good day.

  He could smell it, first off. The smell of someone heavily drinking in a usual household was a noticeable smell. The TV was on, the volume low. He noted that the couch was vacant, so she’d gone to bed. He flicked the set off with a sigh and went to this kitchen to grab a beer. Standing there with the overhead light on, downing a Miller he wondered why the fuck he was putting up with this. She wasn’t his old lady. His name wasn’t on her. They’d barely been together three months.

  He caught sight of his painting over the sofa and felt guilt over those thoughts. He loved that fucking painting and it was purely beautiful because Gertie had put paint to canvas to make it just for him.

  He put up with it because he believed the beauty of her was worth helping her realize it again. She couldn’t see it right now, and maybe it was her own family shit bringing her down. But he’d bring it out, he wanted to.

  And he wanted Gertie, that was the truth. So he left his empty beer bottle under the sink, locked the doors, checked the windows, and climbed into bed next to her as quietly as he could so as not to wake her.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Walking up to the doors of the clubhouse Buck’s hand found her ass for one more squeeze, which made her giggle and try, not very hard, to get away. “Buck,” she gasped before opening the door. “Behave yourself.”

  He followed her through the door with hands on her hips, holding her tight to his front so he could speak right into her ear. “Me behave myself? That’s funny coming from you.”

  She grinned, cheeks warming. True, when he’d come to pick her up to bring her to the clubhouse she was ready to go but she’d been unable to keep her hands off him, jumping him right in the entry of her condo. Luckily she’d been wearing a loose skirt so all he’d had to do was lift it to get full access. She’d let him fuck her face against the wall right next to her door. Her legs were still shaky from holding her weight on her toes like that. But oh, it had been worth it.

  “Don’t get sloppy tonight, okay?” he told her, mouth still close to her ear. “I wanna few more rounds before you go to sleep.”

  Her stomach tingled happily even as a slight bit of annoyance rose. Sloppy he called it. When she was alone and wanted a few drinks to take the edge off her day it was her choice to do it. And if that meant a whole bottle of wine so the fuck what? She was an adult, and his need to play father was getting pretty damn tiresome. No matter how good he was in the sack.

  “Hey,” he said softly in her ear with a kiss to her neck. “I’m just teasing you, honey. But I mean it. I’m not done with you yet.”

  Gertie’s smile returned, and she shook her head as Jolene and Mickey approached them. The Rebels’ secretary had his arm slung around his “old lady’s” neck and had clearly imbibed with a few cocktails already. “Hey, look who’s late,” Mickey slurred, pointing knowingly. “And I know what that face means. You two fucked.”

  Jolene slapped his stomach as Gertie burst out laughing. “Jesus. You’re like a high school kid when you drink whisky.”

  “Look at them. She’s glowing. And he looks way too fucking satisfied.”

  Gertie shook her head. “Okay, fine. You busted us, Mickey. Good job.”

  With a boyish smile he tossed both arms in the air like he was celebrating. Jolene rolled her eyes. “Sorry,” she smiled. “He started at three this afternoon.”

  Mickey’s arms stayed in the air like he was still somehow winning.

  “Come on, champ,” Buck muttered, circling Gertie and pulling down on one of his arms. “Get me one too, hey?”

  Mickey’s arm dropped right around Buck’s shoulder but before they turned awa
y Mickey made a pistol with one hand and with a wink he shot at Gertie, complete with cartoony sound effect. She shook her head, frowning while laughing.

  “What the hell?” she asked Jolene, and the other woman shrugged, linking her arm into Gertie’s and pulling her to the bar past women showing more skin than fabric. They parted in front of them and that gave Gertie a slight shiver.

  “You know, it’s stressful in the club. The guys have been worried, busy, and I told him he could go ahead and get tanked. We’d stay in the dorms.” Jolene smiled, almost to herself. “Sometimes I miss those dorms.”

  Gertie pulled a face. “Really? It’s so loud and … open.”

  Jolene’s grin turned a bit wicked. “Exactly.”

  Gertie was shocked. “What? You guys don’t … entertain company when you’re …” she couldn’t even finish.

  Jolene shrugged. “We met in high school. I gave it up to him.” There was no doubt on what it was. “Sometimes … well, look around.” Her arm swept the room and the debauchery that had already begun. “I know what these guys are around all the time. If I’m here, part of it, I know what he’s up to.”

  Gertie stopped next to the bar with Jolene, her eyes still likely wide and unbelieving. “What?”

  Jolene’s smile was now indulgent as she motioned for the bartender. “Don’t knock it, baby,” she teased. “It’s not all the time. But hey, every now and then even I get a little curious about new things.”

  The bartender, the same wench Gertie had seen kissing Buck, set two beers on the counter for them, not even meeting Gertie’s glance. “What … what kind of things?” Okay, so now she was curious.

  Jolene took a sip then let her eyes sweep the room. “I was always curious about women. And talking Mickey into that isn’t too difficult. So sometimes we invite one to spend the night with us.”