by Cat Mason
Not anymore.
The moment I tasted her lips, I knew things had changed between us. Now all I can think about is the sexy way she moaned my name and how fucking good her body felt pressed into mine. I have never been as goddamn turned on as I was watching her shoot my AR. Everything about the way her body moved, to the excitement in her face, had me hard enough to pound nails.
Then she shut me down.
“You did what you set out to do, fuckhead,” I mutter to myself. “She smiled for all of ten seconds, ‘til you sucked the damn thing right off her face.” Now I have to figure out how the fuck I am going to put it back. I have every intention of making sure once I do, it damn well stays there.
“Does the beer talk back?” Huck asks, climbing onto the stool beside me.
“Nah.” Huffing out a laugh, I shake my head. “It’s still early though.”
“Heard Shy got into it with a mom in the school lane this mornin’,” he says, sounding amused as hell.
“Yeah,” Lifting my beer to my lips, I swallow a mouthful. “Apparently, the drop off lane is serious business.”
“No shit?” Leaning up, he reaches behind the bar and snatches a bottle of whiskey. “Sounds like I missed one hell of a show.” Spinning off the cap, takes a long drink.
Tipping my bottle toward Shy, as she talks to Ro, I look at Huck and grin. “It’s been an interesting mornin’.”
Stepping through the door, Stone makes his way toward us, followed by Jet and Blip, two members of the Road Warriors MC. “Huck, Schrader,” Stone nods. “You know Merc’s boys, Jet and Blip.”
Jet is ex-Marines and built like a goddamn box truck. Scariest motherfucker I have ever met in my life. The guy had his leg blown off in Iraq and still managed to get himself and another guy from the burning vehicle. When death came calling for this prick, the Reaper got one look at this bastard, hung the phone up, and changed his number.
Dropping his duffel to his feet, Jet crosses his tree trunk sized, ink covered arms over his chest and grunts a greeting. Standing beside Jet, Blip looks like one of the seven dwarfs. He may be small, but the little bald bastard will fillet your ass without batting an eye, then ship you home to momma like a side of beef.
“How’s it hangin’, fellas?” Huck asks before taking a chug from his bottle.
“Large and in charge,” Blip says, clapping him on the back.
“Don’t know how long they’re gonna be helpin’ out,” Stone adds, while scanning the room. “I’ll get Shy on findin’ some beds.”
“Room next to hers is empty,” Huck blurts.
“No it’s not,” I correct him, wanting to punch him in the throat. If anyone is sleeping in the room next to her, it is going to be me. “Not anymore.” Stone’s eyes snap to mine, widening in silent question. I shrug, downing the last of my beer. “Already started movin’ my shit.”
“You’re movin’ back to your old room?” Huck asks in disbelief. “Why the fuck for?”
I glance at Shy, catching her watching me. Swallowing hard, she turns her back to me and hauls ass down the hallway. “Girl’s unpredictable, Brother.” Pushing off the stool, I slap him on the back. “Gotta keep her close.”
“Makes sense,” Stone nods, thoughtfully. “Good thinking.”
“Yeah, I thought so too.” I tap my chin. “Hoss’s room and my old room downstairs should work.”
“Yeah. I’ll handle it.” His face turns serious. “Find me once you’re done moving your shit. Need you to handle an errand.”
“You got it.”
Taking the steps two at a time, I jog downstairs and start shoving shit in a duffel. Living at the clubhouse most of my life, I haven’t accumulated a lot. Nearly everything I do have is replaceable. Mostly my clothes, weapons, some Harley manuals and the shit Vic left behind when he died. Most of which are all boxed up in the closet anyway.
Passing Jace on my way back up, I recruit him to bring up the rest of my stuff before heading to get settled in my new digs. Opening the door, it is like stepping into a time warp. The room looks almost exactly the same as it did when I left it years ago. Except for several pink swatches of paint on the wall, beside the window.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Shy bites out from behind me.
Tossing my bag onto the bed, I face her. “Movin’ in.” I flash her a smile.
Dropping her hands to her hips, she narrows her beautiful blues at me. “Like hell you are.” Storming toward me, she knocks my bag onto the floor. “Take your shit back downstairs, Schrader.”
“Already a done deal, babe.” Reaching out, I run my hands up her arms, pulling her closer. “Jace is grabbin’ the rest of my shit now.”
“He can take it right back,” she grounds out angrily, but doesn’t move away.
“Can’t,” I inform her, smug as fuck. “Got Blip and Jet up from Mercury’s crew. One gets Hoss’s old room to crash in, the other’s takin’ mine.” Sliding an arm around her waist, I haul her against me. “Looks like we’re gonna be neighbors again. Fair warning,” I grin wickedly. “I’m gonna ask for sugar. A lot.”
“Would you stop?” she gasps, trying to shove me away. “This isn’t going to happen, Schrader.”
“I think you and I both know that’s bullshit.” Shifting our bodies, I press her back to the wall. “Come on, Cheyenne,” I breathe, leaning in close. “Kiss me. One more time.”
“No,” she sighs, her eyes fluttering closed. Her words lack conviction. If I thought for one second that she really didn’t want me touching her, I would never push. Shy wants this as much as I do, and I am damned determined to prove it.
“Cheyenne?”
“Hmm?”
“Kiss. Me.” Sliding my nose along hers, I tug her bottom lip between my teeth.
Shy whimpers softly, the sound going straight to my cock. Sliding her hands up into my hair, she pushes up on her toes and takes my mouth. Her body presses into mine, every luscious fucking curve fitting against me like a missing puzzle piece. My hands roam her body, taking advantage of the moment to explore. Her tongue tangles with mine, slow and soft. Nothing like I expected from the fierce woman in my arms.
I fucking like it.
“Schrader!” Jace’s voice echoes from out in the hall.
Breaking the kiss, Shy’s eyes fly open wide, her entire body tensing. I tighten my hold on her, wanting her lips back. “No,” she says, shaking her head.
“We’ll talk about this later.” Releasing my hold on her, I take a step back. “I won’t let you run away from what’s happening here, Shy.”
Storming through the door, she nearly bumps into Jace, who is carrying a stack of boxes. “Asshole!” she snaps, throwing up her hands. “Would you watch where the hell you’re going?”
Making his way over to the bed, Jace dumps the boxes onto the mattress. “What crawled up her ass?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the doorway.
Yanking my hands through my hair, I head for the door. “Just put the goddamn boxes in the closet. I’ve got shit to do.”
After adjusting my aching cock, before the monster rips through my jeans, I catch up with Stone and find out that he is sending Colt and me to check out the warehouse where Connor picked up the Allure Bath and Body crates, a couple towns over, in Milford. We need to get a look at what we are dealing with. Drugs being pushed this close to Legion Falls means trouble. There is no way that shit wouldn’t bleed into our town.
If it hasn’t already.
I watched my mother hustle every penny she could, no matter the risk, all so she could piss it away on a temporary fix of happiness in a plastic baggie. It never made her problems go away. Never made her any happier. As soon as the high wore off, and it always did, she was the same miserably desperate woman, working the angles and chasing her next fix.
I could never understand why she craved the numbness that comes along with being lost in the haze. Life is meant to be lived. Felt. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the fucking outrageous, every one of the
m, all parts of the greatest fucking ride of them all. I want to feel every curve and bump. Drink in the experience. I refuse to have one second of my life go by that I may not remember later.
Stashing our bikes in an alley, Colt and I sneak up on the warehouse, not wanting to make ourselves known to anyone hanging around. At least not yet. “Looks pretty damn empty to me,” Colt mutters, checking out the building. “You sure this is the place, Brother?”
“Mhm,” I nod, pulling my gun from the holster. “Hard to tell though. Maybe the drug runners should get a sign or some shit.”
“Very funny, dickhead,” he deadpans. “The fuck are we supposed to tell Stone? This was a waste.”
“Dry your tears, honey,” I chuckle, nudging him with my elbow when one of the big steel bay doors begins to rise. “See. They’ve just moved the party indoors.”
Not waiting for him to respond, I shift around the corner of the building, my blood pumping as I watch the silver Mercedes pull out, followed by a white passenger van. “Goin’ in half-cocked again, huh, Schrader?” he asks from behind me.
Stopping outside the door, I look at him and shake my head. “Hope you’re wearin’ your big girl panties.” Twisting the knob, I smirk when it opens. “It’s party time.”
Stepping inside, I move through the entryway, the sound of a male voice immediately grabbing my attention. Quickly glancing to Colt, I am not surprised when he nods his head and pulls his gun, ready to have my back. I check the rooms as I make my way up the hallway, finding nothing more than some empty crates and some trash. The voice I heard turns out to be coming from an old television. The place is empty, causing me to wonder if they didn’t get word of what went down with Connor and bolted to save their own asses.
The thought is disappointing.
Colt pushes open the last door on the right, shooting me a look, he nods. “This is the place.”
Following him into the large room, my eyes lock on the white bricks stacked on the metal table in the center of the room. Plastic tubs on the floor, beneath the table, are filled with bags of crank and blow, all ready to be sold on the street. The load is nearly three times what we found yesterday on the truck. “Yo, Schrader, this is some serious shit,” Colt says, holstering his gun. “We’ve gotta let Stone know.”
“I say we torch the whole fuckin’ place and send him a goddamn smoke signal.” Anger rages through me, the need to destroy every ounce of this shit is all I can think about. Though, little good it would do. I am willing to bet this is only the tip of the iceberg.
“I’d rethink that,” a male voice says from behind me, followed by the all too familiar clicking sound of a gun. Colt spins around, his eyes widening as I feel the cool metal of a barrel press to the back of my head. “Drop the gun, motherfucker.”
“Well,” I huff, tossing my gun to the table. Looking at Colt, narrowing my eyes at him. “Didn’t plan on this shit. Did you, V.P.?”
“I’m not the one who broke in,” he bites out, his eyes sizing up the guy behind me.
“I didn’t break shit,” I argue. “Asshole here needs to learn to lock the goddamn doors if he doesn’t want visitors.”
“On your knees,” Asshole barks, pushing his piece into the back of my head again.
“Hey,” I chuckle, unable to help myself. “That’s usually my line.”
“You think I’m kidding?” he asks impatiently, clearly unimpressed with my joke. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Okay, okay. Damn,” I say holding up my hands. Dropping down to one knee, I wink at Colt. His blue eyes are filled with rage, fists balling at his sides. He is pissed, but without his gun in his hand, getting us out of here alive is all on me. Lucky for me, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Grabbing the knife I keep sheathed inside a hidden panel in my cut, I roll my shoulders and breathe. Shifting my body, I bring my elbow back hard into the side of the fucker’s knee.
“Goddammit!” he growls, dropping the gun as he staggers into the wall.
“Fuckin’ pussy.” Without hesitation, I ram my blade it into his hip, yanking upward. He screams, fumbling for the wound protectively with one hand, while trying to fight me off with the other. Idiot.
Pushing to my feet, I shove his hand away and yank the blade free, ready to tear into this piece of shit. “Shoulda pulled that trigger.” Slamming a hand to his chest, I rip the blade across his throat, then let his body fall to the floor. “Well that was fun,” I add, spitting on him as I clean the knife on the front of my jeans. Putting it away, I look to Colt with a satisfied grin. “Now, about those smoke signals.”
Chapter Nine
Shy
Tension is thick inside the clubhouse. Everyone has been on edge since the explosion, but this feels different. Shortly after dinner, Stone stormed through the doors, calling all the guys to the table. All except Schrader and Colt, who, according to my brother, took off earlier this afternoon on club business.
With Nita offering to clean up the kitchen, I manage to grab a shower, then escape outside for some fresh air. Sitting on the picnic table, I let my legs dangle over the side and stare up at the night sky. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Schrader, or how good it felt kissing him, all afternoon. I don’t know what to make of it. Except that, against my better judgment and every ounce of common sense I have in me, I want to do it again. Desperately. For God’s sake, most of my life, I have wondered what it would be like to kiss Schrader. I also won’t lie and say that I haven’t thought about what his hands and mouth would feel like on my body.
If it’s possible, it is so much worse now that I know.
Up until recently, my crush on Schrader was this innocent thing that remained locked away in my head. No one knew. Or so I thought, until Ivy shattered my delusional bubble. Whatever she and Troy believed, I never acted on it, never even said the words out loud because I knew the weight they would carry if I did. Though, most importantly, I loved my husband and meant every word of the vows I took.
I kept them to the very end, even if he didn’t.
What Schrader and I had, before this morning fucked everything up, was steady and tangible. I clung to it, especially these last few weeks while the ground has felt like it has been crumbling beneath my feet. I counted on it to be there to get me through all the bullshit.
And it has, every time, without fail.
Now, things have begun to shift and I can’t stop the tailspin no matter how hard I try. The unthinkable has happened. Schrader has opened his eyes and now sees me differently. Changing the dynamic between us scares the shit out of me. If I am being perfectly honest, he scares me. Not physically. I know all too well that emotional scars are the ones that will shred you to the bone. He has the power to destroy me and he doesn’t even know it. Still, I want him more than I ever thought possible. The problem is, instead of him sensing fear as the reason for my hesitation, he thinks I am playing hard to get. This only fuels him. I have done the worst possible thing I could do when it comes to Jason Schrader.
I’ve given him something to chase.
I will never be able to outrun him, even if I wanted to.
Looking down, I smile, finding comfort in my old gray t-shirt. The writing on the front is so faded you can barely make out the logo for the shop where I got my first tattoo for my sixteenth birthday. Being that you have to be eighteen in the state of Tennessee, I managed to talk Schrader and Jinks into driving over the state line into Virginia.
Tiny’s Tatts was exactly two miles over the state line, sandwiched between a karate studio and a coffee shop. Tiny, who’s name was actually Willy, smelled like stale beer and burned popcorn, but I have to admit the guy had skills. He was also a man with huge moral character who agreed to do my ink without a signed parental consent form after Schrader and Jinks tossed the asshole an extra hundred bucks.
Along with threatening to break his legs for being an extortionist piece of shit. Leave it to my brother and Schrader to negotiate with finesse.
By the time I f
inally got in the damn chair, I was so worked up that I thought I was going to faint. While Jinks laughed and teased me for being a baby, Schrader sat beside me the entire time, holding my hand. Afterward, he paid Tiny twenty bucks for the shirt.
A shirt that I stole from his laundry two weeks later and never gave back.
The sound of motorcycle pipes in the distance pull me from my happy memory, dragging me back to the here and now that is filled with uncertainty and worry. Dropping to my feet, I head for the front of the clubhouse in time to see Schrader and Colt pull through the front gates. Relief washes over me at the realization that they are both back here safe after whatever dangerous shit they had to handle.
However, my relief is short lived. Climbing off his bike, Schrader stretches his arms above his head. My eyes instantly go to the blood staining his chest and jeans. My heart squeezes painfully. “Hey,” he calls out, his eyes finding mine almost immediately.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, rushing to him. My eyes scan every inch of his body, my fingers trembling as I grip onto the edges of his cut. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”
Tucking my hair behind my ear, he stares down at me, his eyes softening. “Not my blood, Shy baby.” Taking my hand, he presses it to the center of his chest. “I’m whole.”
“You’re sure?” I ask, laughing at myself the moment the words leave my lips. I sigh. “Right. Sorry. You’d know if you were hurt.”
“I’m good,” he assures me, his lips curling into a small smile. “But,” he continues, his thumb circling the pulse point on my wrist. “If you wanna strip me down and see for yourself, who am I to say no?”
My eyes narrow. “Are you trying to be funny?” I ask, slapping him with my other hand.
“Don’t have to try.” His lips twitch. “That shit comes naturally, baby.”
“Especially with a gun pointed at his head,” Colt deadpans, passing by us as he heads inside. “Motherfucker’s a goddamn stand-up comic.”
