“I have a meeting with the boys at ten. I should get ready. I’m gonna take a shower.”
Quain snorted and got up off the floor as I stood, and then he snuggled in close, giving me another kiss, which had the tension in my body draining away. He tasted like caffeine and sugar, sweet as always, and I couldn’t get enough. I deepened the kiss until the sound of KC making gagging noises had me laughing.
“Manners, Luke. May I have a shower?” Quain said.
I rolled my eyes. “I never ask. I just do things.”
“I can see that.” His gaze slid to the empty glass of juice beside my chair before he chuckled. Patting my chest, he nodded. “Go shower. I’ll find some better clothes for you that’ll fit.”
“Maybe I should bring some of mine over to store in that massive closet of yours?” I lowered my voice so KC couldn’t hear me. “Because I plan on fucking you a lot. Your ass is mine now.”
His tongue swiped over his lips, wetting them, and I followed the movement with my gaze as I thought about having them on my cock last night. I wanted to come down that tight throat of his next time. “If you say so. Maybe I can house-train you.”
I grunted out a laugh. “Good luck with that.”
He shook his head and took a step back. I gave him another short kiss, and together, with the empty and half-full mugs, we walked into the house. He showed me to the bathroom connected to his room, even though I’d already used it to piss, before he went to find clothes for me.
His bathroom was made for a prince, with a shower big enough to fit ten people. The nozzles and fixtures were gold, the glass walls surrounded brown porcelain tiles with pretty swirl patterns that reminded me of Venice Beach. The showerhead was fixed to the ceiling, and when I switched it on it was like rain sprinkling down on top of me. I’d never seen or been in anything like it, not even when I lived at home with my parents.
Quain came back and I heard him messing around in the bathroom outside the shower, but I had the water so hot the glass had fogged up. I turned when he opened the door and reached in to slap my ass.
“It’s criminal to have cheeks like that on you,” he said with a wink.
I laughed and grabbed the base of my half-hard dick, waving it at him. “How about this? Wanna come in and suck it?”
Hesitation passed over his face, and he finally shook his head. “Tempting, but no. I have things to do today, and apparently so do you. You’re lucky it’s the weekend. Who’s running the show at your shop?”
“Eh. Watson. He’s all right, but Oli’s there to keep him in line.”
He frowned. “Why does he work there so much? He should be concentrating on school, not your shop. What does his mother say?”
I seized his wrist, hauling him into the shower clothes and all. He yelled, but it was too late; the water had already drenched him. Cuddling his body against me, he sighed and glared.
“You’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever met. Why did I cave to you?”
“Because I’m irresistible, baby.” I popped a kiss on his lips. “Are you sure you don’t want to get on your knees and suck my dick?”
He pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, mouth open in thought, before he finally shook his head again. “Can’t. I have things to do, and I only have time on the weekends to get them done. I need to drop into the salon to make sure Jorge is doing okay and do some bookwork. This is the only time I get to help KC with things, too. I want to spend time with him.”
I nodded in understanding and cupped his face, kissing him. The water sprinkled around us and the feeling of being happy weaved a bizarre sensation through me, like a shooting star ablaze. Quain and I had been at each other’s asses for so long that being content with him was strange, but in a good way. I’d finally fucked him, and now that the need had been met I wanted more. I wanted to take this annoying fucker out on dates.
“You know, the Kings usually have a party on Saturday nights. You should come.”
“To a Kings’ party?” He laughed. “I’ve seen the biker shows on television. Those sorts of parties are all about sex and drinking, right?”
“What party isn’t?” I pressed my forehead to his and closed my eyes, inhaling his scent, which came up with nothing but the smell of wet clothes. Not even the dull throb of the injury on my head and the bruises on my ribs and face could ruin this moment. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a biker party or not, everyone at parties are either drinking or fucking.”
He hummed and curled his arms around my neck. “Fine, but listen to me good, biker boy. If you fuck anyone at that party, I’ll cut off your dick and shove it down the slut you were fucking’s throat, okay? I finally let you have me, and the sex was great, but I don’t want to see you fuck anyone else.”
I raised my eyebrows, amusement mixed with desire warming my insides. My dick jerked and his gaze shot down to it.
“Are you turned on by the idea of me cutting off your dick?” he asked with a grin.
I grabbed his shoulders and shoved him backward against the tiled wall of the shower. Crowding in on him, I gave my dick a firm tug. “Nah, I like the possessiveness. You want me all to yourself.”
He snorted. “This isn’t a relationship, Luke. We’re fucking.”
“Maybe,” I whispered, laying gentle, teasing kisses up his jaw. He shivered against me. “And maybe you don’t want anyone else touching my dick. All you had to do was ask, humbug. You know you make me wild.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and relaxed against the wall. “It’s sex, Luke. And yes, I happen to enjoy your dick. I just don’t want to see you fucking anyone else after you invited me to the party.”
“Liar,” I singsonged. Licking a stripe up his neck, I smiled when he inhaled sharply. “But don’t worry, I feel the same way. If anyone touches you sexually, I’ll drive my knife through their chest.” I straightened and stared into his heated eyes. “I’ve had you, Quain. You’re mine now.”
He licked his lips and slammed his mouth against mine. I shoved him harder against the wall and placed my knee between his thighs, rubbing it against his clothed dick, both of us moaning.
“You’re so fucking hot,” I murmured against his lips. “I want to fuck you again.”
“You have a meeting,” he said, creeping his hand up into my short hair and scraping his fingernails over my scalp, careful to avoid the stitches. “I’m not going to have sex in front of your friends tonight, Luke, but if you find a private room, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Fuck you, fuck me. I don’t care what we do.”
I grinned. “I’m gonna rock your world, baby. All my brothers will hear how much.”
He rolled his eyes. “If you say so. Now finish showering, I have things to do.”
Slapping my ass again on the way out of the shower, he shut the door with a wink.
I walked into the dark clubhouse, already filled with drinking brothers and whores and groupies who had shown up really early for the party tonight. They’d be shitfaced by the time the rest of the club showed up. I saluted Josh behind the bar and walked toward him and Rogue, who sat on one of the stools, which probably had a permanent outline of his ass because he sat in it so often. Whenever Josh manned the bar, Rogue stayed right there, keeping him company.
“Hey, guys, what’s up?”
Josh dumped a glass on the bar top and filled it halfway with rum before he grabbed a can of Coke, too. He knew my preference well by now. His hair was pink today, but every time I saw him it was a different color. I couldn’t keep up with his style changes. The only thing that stayed the same was his clothing choices, which were a little more transparent than before. His shirts were always mesh and half the time black. His pants switched between jeans or leather, depending on how he was feeling that day.
Rogue, on the other hand, stayed exactly the same—jeans, boots, flannel shirt with rolled-up sleeves and his leather cut over the top, our patch slapped on the back. Our insignia was a skull with a crown, wings spreading
out from behind the boned head. When I asked King how he’d come up with it once, he’d just shrugged and said, “No idea, I was drunker than an Irishman on St. Paddy’s Day.”
Killough was there at the time, and he’d snorted and downed his whiskey, ignoring the jab. His pet, however, had raised his glass and said, “Better drinkers and better at fucking, too.”
That’d been a helluva day. I’d had the fun of watching Killough pound his pet over one of the couches, not caring who watched, as long as they didn’t touch.
Josh winked at me. “You look freshly fucked.”
Rogue glanced in my direction and smirked. “You gettin’ laid, Barber?”
I shrugged, not denying it as I took the stool next to Rogue. “Maybe. You invited to church?”
Rogue shook his head. “It’s all yours, buddy. Just you and the board.”
“Probably about the fucker that attacked me, huh?” I thanked Josh for the drink with a smile and took a big slug of it. The alcohol did a better job at waking me than the coffee had this morning, but even ten was early for me.
“Who’d you piss off?” Rogue raised his blond eyebrows at me. He hadn’t been there yesterday because he was working, but my brothers were like a bunch of gossiping teenagers. Someone would have told him about what went down.
Josh walked away to the other end of the bar, leaving me and Rogue to talk.
“No idea, bro. I did fucking nothing to the Reyes Cartel.”
“Didn’t sleep with his guy, did you?” Rogue asked. “I wouldn’t put it past you to sleep with someone who already has a partner, and I heard some of those Reyes Cartel boys are into cock, too. Rumors are the top dog, Thiago Reyes, has a boy toy he’s gonna make his husband.” He glanced in Josh’s direction and winced. “Heard some of the Reyes’ boys might have visited the Courtesan.”
“Wait.” I held up my palm to him. “Are you saying there were Reyes boys there?”
He shrugged with a frown. “Rumors. That’s all.”
That was a fucking lie. Josh was friends with the whores and whatever he heard through dangerous gossip, went straight back to Rogue. “Did you tell King that?” I finished the rest of my drink and slammed the glass on the bar, which earned me a glare from Josh. He treated the piece of wood like it was made of gold, and he was trying to teach us to respect it. I didn’t think the lesson would ever penetrate our alcohol-soaked brains. Josh came back with a refill before he left again.
“King knows,” Rogue said. “Not that it matters.” He spun his stool toward me, leaning on the bar with his elbow, a glass in his hand. “You know what the Harlots are like with the Courtesan. What the Madam is like. The reason people go there is because it’s a safe zone. Protected by the Madam and her guard dogs.”
“She’s one scary lady. She makes my nuts shrivel up and want to hide in my body.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Rogue laughed and held up his beer to me.
I raised my glass and clinked it against his bottle. Standing, I said my goodbyes before I walked across the main barroom toward the board room where King usually held church. I knocked and the door opened, Jester appearing on the other side. He nodded sharply and held out his hand.
Reaching into my jacket, I yanked my gun from my holster and passed it to him. He walked it over to the heavy box at the side of the room as I stepped into the smoky atmosphere. Undertaker, King, and a few of the other men in charge were already here, but we were obviously waiting for more, like Reaper, who was absent. King was puffing on a cigar, a bottle of beer in his hand. I nodded at the bottle when I got closer, and he shook his head.
“Don’t fucking tell Grant or Dallas. I’m trying here.”
I shrugged. “None of my business, pres.”
Undertaker smiled and it fucking creeped me out. He was one of those dudes who scared even the most dangerous men, and if he wasn’t on my side, I might have pissed my pants every time I saw him. He gestured to a seat on the other side of the thick wooden table where they conducted business, and I strode around and sat down, Jester beside me.
The guys chatted between themselves until the rest of the group turned up. While they took their time handing over their guns, I stared around the room, taking in the décor and the photo behind King’s chair of the original members, Scar included. I hadn’t been in this room often—it was mostly for board members holding church, and other than that, there was never a reason to be in here. Occasionally King called a club-wide meeting, but it didn’t happen often.
The table was a thick cherrywood with our insignia carved into the middle, and the chairs spread out around it were black leather. All the furniture in here was probably the nicest in the entire clubhouse, not including King’s bedroom. The lime walls were surprisingly brighter than any other paint in this place and it had these fancy built in lights that lit the entire space.
King slammed his hardwood gavel on the sound block and everyone shut the hell up and turned their attention on him.
“Let it be noted that this meeting has officially begun,” he said, giving Micah a specific stare. As secretary, it was his job to keep track of the notes and lock them somewhere safe afterward, where no cops would find them—if they ever grew some balls. Micah was a quiet kind of guy who mostly kept to himself. He was nearly as quiet as Jester. Formerly from an Amish community, he didn’t grow up in the world like the rest of us.
King grabbed his cigar and took another puff, blowing smoke out into the air before he took a sip of his beer. “We all know why we’re here.”
A few nods and voiced acknowledgements sounded through the room. I’d only been to meetings where the whole club had to come to a decision together, so being in here with just the board members was strange.
“Barber’s attack. What do we know?”
Undertaker tapped his fingers on the table, and I glanced curiously at him. “Reyes Cartel tattoo. Little Benito was a long way from home. I burned his body to cinders and bone shards, but I don’t think he was here alone.”
“Why do you say that?” Reaper asked. He sat on Undertaker’s other side, arms crossed over his massive chest. The skull tattoo on his neck was vibrant against the paleness of his skin. He was another scary motherfucker. He didn’t just kill guys like I did, he beat the living daylights out of them with the heel of his boot until their faces were unrecognizable.
“Someone’s been calling his phone and leaving text messages. They’re in Spanish, but my cousin’s learning it in college. He said they asked why he didn’t meet them at the spot. I’m assuming they mean somewhere in New Gothenburg,” Undertaker said.
“Fuck.” King squeezed the bridge of his nose. “All right. So we probably have other fucking cartel guys to deal with.”
“I think Undertaker’s right,” Jester said in his deep voice, surprising me. The guy was as silent as a grave most days, and after a while I forgot what he sounded like. “B-B-Bliss told me that there’s been a few Spanish cartel members sleeping at the Courtesan.”
I frowned at his stutter. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, his words were slow and calculated.
“Well we can’t touch them there,” King grumbled. “Even if we talked to Sapphira and she wanted to help, and I’d cut off my left nut if that happened, the Madam’s the boss of the hotel, and she won’t break the rules by giving out information. The Courtesan is hers, and people go there because it’s fucking safe. I’m surprised your pretty whore said anything to you about it. Madam Winters could throw him on the streets for that.”
“She wouldn’t,” Jester grunted out. “S-She loves him.”
“Love or not, the Courtesan is her pride and joy,” Reaper said. “But King’s right. Sapphira and the Madam won’t tell us jack shit.”
King’s gaze switched to me and he narrowed his eyes. “You piss off the cartel, Barber?”
I slapped my hand to my chest, my jaw dropping open. “Me? Look at this face. I don’t piss off anyone.”
Snorts and grunted chuckles filled the
room and King glared harder. “Now’s not the time to jerk us off, Barber. I fucking mean it. Did you fucking do anything?”
I sighed and shook my head. The picture of the founding members of the Kings hung big on the wall behind pres’s head, a reminder of everything King had given up to get us where we were now. He’d bled for this club, and if I annoyed him enough he could easily kick me out on my ass. “I didn’t piss anyone off. I have nothing to do with the Reyes Cartel, or any fucking drug cartels. I don’t touch the shit, only the stuff you get me to hand out to customers.”
“You’ve got to have some idea,” King grumbled, anger flaring up on his face. He slammed his fist down on the table and it creaked under the hit. “Fuck. We can’t keep you safe if we don’t know what the problem is. You’re our brother. Your safety is our responsibility.”
I held up my hands to him. “I swear, King, I didn’t piss anyone off. Unless I fucked his guy at some point without knowing, I didn’t do anything.”
“Is that a possibility?” Reaper grunted out, leaning forward to get our attention. “Could one of the whores from the Courtesan have this drug fucker jizzing his pants? Maybe he didn’t like another man touching what he thinks is his?”
“Who, though?” I shook my head. “I haven’t fucked a whore since pretty little Bambi a few months ago. The last fuck I had in the clubhouse was one of those cute groupies who wanted a ride on the bad side.”
“Is that the only person you’ve fucked recently?” King clasped his hands together in front of him and threw his leg over his knee. There was something in his eyes, a knowing glint that had me shifting uncomfortably.
“If you must know, I fucked Quain last night, too, but he’s a hairstylist.” I snorted. “You think Benito was in love with his hairstylist or something? Anyway, Quain would have said something if he knew the guy.”
King stroked his chin. “Would he have, though?”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it and making the gray roots more visible. “For a hairstylist, Quain Beaumont knew how to use a gun well.”
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