by Bijou Hunter
“I care because the assholes act like sneaky bitches lately. I hear them whispering at the bar. I even caught them giving everyone those looks women get when they’re up to something. So, yeah, I want to know where they are and what they’re doing.”
“How do we know Devo is really with a dying aunt?” I ask, deciding to throw a little kerosene on the fire. “If he wanted to get out of town for a meetup with someone, he’d probably use the dying relative lie.”
Oz grumbles under his breath. “I know he has a dying aunt because I listened to him talk about the bitch for the last two years. Don’t you people ever listen to anyone besides yourself talk?”
“No,” Camo says. “So are we having a meeting or not?”
“You have somewhere to be, princess?” Oz growls.
“Always.”
“Then let’s get to it,” Oz says and returns to carving “GJ” into the table. “With more legit businesses moving into Rawlins, we need to make sure our junkie clients don’t do their junkie bullshit in the public parts of town.”
Blackjack nods before leaning back to take a swipe at Camo who ducks. “So we keep the parks prim and proper for the civilians.”
“Is that it?”
“Yeah, basically,” Oz lies.
“Why couldn’t you text us that message?”
“What if your phones were bugged?”
“Text in code,” Camo says, again dodging Blackjack’s slaps.
“Will you two knock it the fuck off?” Oz growls.
A scowling Blackjack looks pained. “You were the one who told me to beat him into submission.”
“Well do it on your own time.”
Blackjack glances at Camo, and the men share a disgruntled frown. Oz is acting like a lying bitch, but what can I do? He won’t talk until he wants to talk. Besides, I don’t need to be a genius to know he doesn’t trust us like he does Ginger. Whatever he wants to air out, he’ll do with her. Until he stops treating the club like five guys he barely tolerates, our downward slide is bound to continue.
Chapter Three
Russian Variation of Louisa: Lutza
➸ Clove ☆
My Harley idles in front of the address Oz’s mother, Tana, gave me. The freakishly narrow, two-story home sticks out of the hillside like a half-considered child’s tree house. I don’t believe Glitch—a man taller than six feet—would live somewhere so cramp. This is the home of a crazy cat lady, not a twenty-eight-year-old biker.
Before I drive away, I notice under the half-open garage door the back wheel of Glitch’s Harley. I lean forward and catch sight of the bike’s distinctive battered saddlebags. Somehow, this weird little house is where the stud crashes every night after I’m finished tiring out his cock.
I drive my Harley down the dirt driveway and park in front of the garage. After searching for a front door, I spot the entrance up a long staircase on the side of the house.
At the top landing, I find an unfastened screen door with the inside door standing wide open. There’s no doorbell, so I knock on the wooden frame. I hear what sounds like an elephant crashing forward but only Glitch appears.
Even after all these months, I’m still momentarily stunned by his good looks. The gods granted Glitch a gorgeous thick brown mane that he’s grown out to just past his shoulders. His smoky eyes betray his every thought. His full lips are perfect for kissing and sucking...
My thoughts wander too easily around him. It doesn’t help that his lean muscles ripple with his every breath. My gaze takes in the sight of his wide shoulders, hard chest with a patch of brown hair, and a tight waist perfect for wrapping my legs around. The man begs to be fucked, but I’m here on business. Well, that’s my plan, right?
“Clove,” he says, sounding surprised and maybe terrified. Then he remembers how he likes fucking me and his voice swings to a lower, more pleased tone when he says, “Clove.”
“I wanted to see where you lived.”
Glitch gestures for me to enter. Walking past the shirtless hunk, I make no effort to kiss him. I’m not sure why I’m here. Forever restless, I can’t keep myself busy. So what was my goal for this visit—to chat, fuck, or something completely unknown to even me?
“Am I interrupting?” I ask, looking around the narrow living room complete with a sofa and big TV resting on a painfully tiny stand. The walls are painted red, and the wood floors are likely refinished. “Why do you live here?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s tiny, and you’re not.”
“My grandma left it to me when she died.”
The earnest expression in his big brown eyes is so damn sincere that I nearly laugh, but I know his sensitive man-feelings will act up. Glitch is too tenderhearted to be a criminal. I can imagine him crying after killing a fucker.
“That was nice of her,” I say when he only watches me.
“She didn’t have a lot, but she had the house, and she left it to me and not my cousins. They hate me for that.”
“Fuck them.”
Glitch gives me the same smile he uses to signal he wants to work out my pussy on his dick. “That’s why I live here even though it’s small. I want to piss them off.”
“Your pettiness turns me on.”
“Is that why you came here?”
“Perhaps.”
“Or were you curious about your love slave?”
“Are you my slave, Glitch?” I ask and give his ass a solid pat.
“Sometimes.”
“Always.”
“So far, but I have my limit,” he says in a grim tone I don’t expect.
“Oh, do you?”
“Yes.”
“What is this mysterious limit you speak of?”
“I don’t know, but it’s there.”
A bitchy grin warms my face. “Now I’m dying to push you over that limit just to see what happens.”
“I’ll tell you what happens. I will be done with you, Clove Jones. I’ll turn as cold as ice on your beautiful ass.”
“Now I’m on my deathbed wanting to see you pull off that move.”
Glitch doesn’t smile, and I have to wonder if he could blow me off as coldly as he claims. Until today, I thought my gorgeous teddy bear was de-clawed. Clearly, I underestimated the pretty boy.
“Ginger has a job for me,” I say, leaning against the wall, “and she said I could bring someone with me. Are you interested?”
“Is this a real job or are you messing with me?”
“How much does it really matter? You’ll be working with me, and you like me, right?”
“True.”
“So are you in?”
Glitch studies me for about thirty seconds too long, leaving me worried he’ll say no. Instead, he finally shrugs. “Sure.”
“Okay, then pack up some of your sexiest jeans and a few very tight shirts because we’re driving up to Little Memphis. I need to have a chat with Joker, and Ginger said I could bring backup. Your job is to stand behind me and look tough. Fucking me during our off time is optional.”
“Do I need to call Oz to get his okay?”
“Call whoever you want.”
Glitch glances at his cell on the counter and then shrugs. “He’s probably busy anyway.”
“Oh, I’m sure he is.”
“Was me coming along your idea?” he asks, hitting me up for a compliment.
“No. Ginger suggested it,” I say, and he frowns. “Actually, she gave me a choice of bringing one of the crew or bringing you. I picked you, so there’s that.”
“Yeah, there’s that.”
“I know I bust your balls,” I say and reach out to slide my fingers through the thick, dark hairs on his bare chest, “but that’s just because they’re such amazing damn balls.”
“A man needs to know his balls are admired,” he says as his thumb caresses my bottom lip.
Grinning, I lift my lips and inhale his raw musk. Glitch kisses me so completely that we soon breathe together. The man’s
tongue owns mine, and I can’t imagine where in this Podunk town he learned such skill. If I ever meet the woman who trained him to melt panties with a simple kiss, I will shake her hand and maybe even buy her a damn medal.
➸ Glitch ★
I’ve had my eye on Clove since day one. Gorgeous exotic women like her don’t waltz into Rawlins often. When I found out she was single and tough as nails, I knew I had to have her. So I hung around, offering to help with her townhome redo. I even offered to run errands for her. Yep, I turned myself into Clove’s bitch. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised she still treats me like one.
I think back to the first time we fucked. All day while I worked on installing the beams she wanted in the living room, Clove showed no interest in me. To this day, I’m not sure if she invited me over that day to fuck or if she took advantage of my existence to help scratch her itch.
I was standing in her kitchen, near a Crockpot cooking black beans. My mind was on how to get Clove to invite me to stay for dinner. Then she walked into the kitchen and flicked a condom at me.
“If you’re serious about fucking me, get upstairs before I change my mind.”
Clove never looked at me when she said the words. Not that I hesitated or complained about her treating me like a walking-talking-breathing dildo. Access to her incredible body kept me from worrying about what would happen afterward.
Nothing. That’s what happened.
Clove wanted to get laid, and I was the easiest bet to make that happen. She didn’t want me to stay over or even invite me to stay for her pot of beans. Months later, we still hook up a few times a week. Clove refuses to let me know anything about her besides surface level—usually sexual—shit about her.
Clove’s offer to join her in Little Memphis gives me an opportunity to see the real her. I also want her to know the real Glitch under the hunk that makes her come so effortlessly. I have big plans for our trip.
Except that something about Clove stuns my brain cells. The second she touches me, I lose the ability to tell her no.
Sooner or later, though, I will stand up for myself. I have a breaking point despite my stubbornness, and one day, she’ll push me too far.
Today is not that day.
I wrap her body in my arms, keeping her trapped against my bare chest. Shuffling down the hall to my tiny bedroom in my tiny house, I only let go of her when her knees reach my mattress. Clove flops onto my bed and smiles up at me.
“I’d been thinking about moving back to Little Memphis,” she murmurs, immediately killing my erection. “This trip will likely ruin my nostalgia since Little Memphis is a butthole of a town.”
“Why leave?” I ask, stepping away from her.
Clove shrugs before rolling back onto the bed. “I miss the danger of my old life. The quiet here doesn’t suit me. I can’t settle down.”
“Settle down how?” I press on, now leaning against the wall and crossing my arms.
Clove cocks an eyebrow. A moment passes before she smiles and rolls into a standing position. “I don’t want to think about the past, so I focus on the present. Problem is the present is a fucking snorefest. Then I find myself thinking about shit I shouldn’t think about.”
“What kind of shit?”
“Glitch, I know you look like a stupid pretty boy, but I’ve always thought you weren’t. Can’t you take a fucking guess about what kind of shit might bother me? Or did you think I got into hooking and then killing because I had a sugarplum childhood?”
Clove rarely reveals the anger I feel boiling under the surface of her cool demeanor. Rage simmers in her eyes now. She quickly blinks the anger away and stares at me with an emotionless gaze.
“I’ll leave you to pack,” Clove says, no longer in the mood to play. “I better get ready too. We’ll leave in the morning and save the fucking for later.”
I suspect Clove hopes I’ll ask her to fuck now. We’re always playing this game, and I routinely lose. Clove’s upper hand fails her this time. My arms remained crossed, and I make no effort to talk her into staying.
Rather than irritation, Clove smiles slightly and gives me a wink. I walk her to the door and say I’ll be at her place at eight. She tells me ten would be better. After we settle on nine, Clove leaves me with a mild erection, a surprise win in our reoccurring battle, and a plan to make her stay in Rawlins.
➸ Clove ☆
I dump clothes into a small bag, making sure to add extra T-shirts since assholes are always spilling shit on me in Little Memphis. I don’t know why, but my hometown ruined more of my shirts than seems possible.
Carrying the bag downstairs, I see my kitten running across the living room and away from the back door where someone is entering. I find Ginger waiting for me in the kitchen. She pours us two cups of coffee and sets them on the small table.
“Don’t let Joker take advantage of Glitch,” she says, sitting down.
“Is that the real reason you’re here? I can’t imagine Glitch will agree to anything before running it by Oz first.”
“No, I wanted to see where your head was about moving back to Little Memphis.”
“Seems like a waste to have done all this,” I say and gesture to the living room décor I chose for its Filipino and Mexican influences, “only to leave it behind.”
“I don’t want you to leave, and Yarrow is really worried you’ll go.”
“I thought I convinced her that things were cool.”
“You did, but then she woke up today convinced you were leaving. She texted me four times to ask if everyone was leaving now? I suspect she doesn’t really get why we came to Rawlins, so she doesn’t understand why we’d leave.”
Imagining I upset Yarrow, I sigh. “I’ll talk to her before I go.”
“But you are coming back, right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” the blonde bitch asks with more force.
“I already said yes.”
“You’re not selling that yes, though.”
Dumping sugar in my coffee cup, I try to find the words to explain to Ginger where my head is at. “Do you ever feel like this boring life in Rawlins isn’t for us?”
“Sure,” Ginger says and shrugs. “But there’s always tension. By the time I started feeling at home in Rawlins, I was dealing with new stress with Oz and his kids and Tana. Then Yarrow hooked up with Blackjack, and that freaked me out. It’s better than the tension of dealing with the scum in Little Memphis, but it’s still stress.”
Ginger’s tension doesn’t sound like the kind of action I crave. “I get angry a lot. I find myself thinking too much about the past and my parents and how I got to this point. Back in Little Memphis, I focused my anger on our enemies. Now our enemies are licensing paperwork and dumb cops. I have no outlet for the violence I got brewing.”
“What do you want in life besides the crew?”
“Not a clue.”
“Once you find something to fill that restless part of you, you’ll get a handle on your anger. It’ll still show up occasionally like when I tried to talk Oz into killing Blackjack so I could have Yarrow to myself,” Ginger says and gives me an awkward smile. “That crazy thinking showed up, and I dealt with it. When it comes back in another way, I’ll deal with it again. That’s all we can do since we don’t have the power to fix the past.”
Nodding, I rest my head against my folded arms on the table. “I feel like I have a hole inside me. I thought having a house that reflected who I wanted to be would help, but it’s just pretty fucking things,” I mutter and close my eyes. “Then I thought fucking was what I needed. It’d been so long since I’d been with a guy, and I hadn’t even missed it. Glitch is sexy, though, and he kept flirting, so I thought it would be nice to feel that excitement again.”
When I stop talking, Ginger leans in closer. “And was it?”
“Sure, but there’s something wrong with it.”
“Is it his hair?” she asks, and I try not to laugh. “I don’t know if I could be with a
man who has better hair than me.”
Losing my smile, I ask, “Wait, you think he has better hair than me?”
“Of course. He has better hair than those chicks in shampoo commercials.”
“I don’t watch commercials.”
“Well, the kids insist I learn patience, so we can’t forward through commercials.”
“Sounds hellish.”
“You can’t know how much,” she says, sighing. “They do help me through the commercials by holding my hands and promising the show will be right back. It’s super cute but still hell.”
“I wonder if I could do the mom thing.”
“Of course, you could. Now tell me what’s missing between you and Glitch?”
My mind returns to a shirtless Glitch standing in the tiny house his grandma left him. The man is painfully hot, but I can’t connect with him. “I don’t know. He’s sweet.”
“Sweet?”
“Yeah.”
We share an eye roll. “There’s your problem. He’s soft, and you’re not. Even your hugs come with hard edges and headbutts.”
“Thanks a lot,” I say, flipping her off.
“How did you not know these things? First, Glitch’s hair being way better than yours, and now you claim you don’t know about your bad hugs. I swear you don’t pay enough attention to shit.”
“Probably.”
“We’ve barely settled into this life. Just give yourself time to find your footing,” Ginger says and pats my hand like I assume the kids do with hers when she’s upset. “If your heart tells you that Little Memphis is where you need to be, even if only half of the time, you do what you need to do. We make our own rules.”
Sharing her smile, I only nod because I don’t know what I need. I suspect the answer likely isn’t waiting for me in Little Memphis any more than it’s in Rawlins.
Chapter Four
