by Cat Mason
My eyes water at his words. Damn hormones. As if sensing my unease, Schrader drops his hand to my thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before returning it to the throttle. The engine rumbles to life, the vibrations sending a rush of adrenaline through my body. Everyone else follows suit, engines revving all around us while the last few guys get on their bikes and line up in formation. Wrapping my arms around him, I start to second guess my decision of riding today, instead of arguing to follow behind in my car.
It has been a week since I found out that I am pregnant and I have yet to tell anyone. Not that I haven’t tried. I have started to tell Roanne, as well as Schrader, several times. Every single time, the words lodge in my chest. As if saying them makes this all the more real. More terrifying. The only thing I have done, at this point, is make an appointment to be seen by the doctor Dr. Geiss recommended.
There are two roads before me, everything in me screaming to make a decision. If I keep the baby, I would end up disappointing the only family I have ever known. My child would be a constant reminder of the one person they all hate. If I terminate my pregnancy, I have to be able to find a way to get through giving up something that I have always wanted. Involving anyone else in this decision wouldn’t be fair.
This is all on me.
I know how lucky I am to have been raised within the club. If Doc weren’t my father, I know, without a doubt, the club would’ve turned their back on me. They never would have believed I had nothing to do with what happened; or didn’t, at least, know something about what Troy had been up to. Though I know they all love me and would never say it to me directly, I worry that none of them would be able to see this baby as anything other than the bastard of a traitor.
No child should have to carry that burden.
People line the streets to the cemetery, all leading up to a larger crowd waiting at the gravesite. Against the Mayor’s hopes of having a large service for the public inside the Catholic church in town, Chief McKelvy’s wife planned a large memorial dinner after the graveside service.
Schrader stays at my side the entire time at the gravesite, his eyes carefully scanning our surroundings. Jet and Blip, the two visiting members from the Road Warriors, hang back, keeping their eyes on everything. Feeling uneasy, I rub my hands up and down my arms, hoping to shake the unwelcome nerves. Looking to Schrader, I catch him and Stone deep in a hushed conversation.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Schrader’s arm comes around me. “Let’s go.”
“What?” I ask, my eyes shifting between them. “If nothing’s wrong, why are we leaving?”
“I’ll explain later,” he assures me. “Need you to trust me, okay?” Stone and Schrader exchange a look that sends chills down my spine. Once Stone gives him a nod, Schrader steers me toward where Blip and Jet are already waiting beside the bikes. “Just like we planned,” he says, earning him a nod from both guys.
Not wasting any time, Schrader starts the engine and peels out of the lot the moment I settle in behind him. Passing the road we would need to take to go back to the clubhouse, Schrader takes us toward the center of town, then makes a large, pointless circle that only causes me more unease. I glance around, taking in every car and person I spot, but nothing stands out. At the elementary school, he turns into the parking lot, heading straight to the far end where the playground is.
Parking behind a large steel storage shed, he kills the engine. “Get off.”
“What the hell is going on?” I ask, climbing from behind him.
“Had eyes on us,” he says, standing to his feet. “Need to be sure. Didn’t want it happenin’ there.” Tucking me between him and the building, he glances around the corner. “We’ve got company. Stay here and be quiet.”
“As opposed to what?” I ask, arching a brow. “Practicing bird calls?”
“This is serious, Cheyenne.” Gripping my chin with one hand, he stares down at me, nostrils flaring in frustration. “Stay put.”
I nod my head. Seeming satisfied, Schrader releases me, pulls his gun, and disappears around the corner. Pressing my back to the building, I hear a vehicle approaching, followed soon after by doors slamming. Then all hell breaks loose.
Several male voices begin shouting and a gun goes off. Fumbling with my bag, I yank out my pistol, ready to use it if needed. Then just as quickly, it all stops, and everything is quiet. The lack of knowing has me on edge. It takes everything in me not to go and look for myself to see what is going on. Closing my eyes, I breathe deep, willing myself to stay put and wait.
Something slams into the side of the building, rattling the entire thing. I yelp. My eyes fly open, my stomach leaping into my throat, causing me to drop my gun to the dirt. Scrambling, I grab it, straightening just in time to see legs charging around the corner.
“Shit!” I scream, pointing the gun.
“Whoa! Whoa!” Schrader shouts, holding up his hands. “Just me. Everything’s good.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” I scream, shoving my gun back in my bag. “I almost fucking shot you!”
“Glad you didn’t,” he says, making me want to pistol whip the carefree look on his face. “I prefer to be on the other side of the bullet. Being shot hurts like a bitch.”
“You have no idea how bad I want to slap you right now,” I mutter, shoving at his chest.
“Oh, I do.” Snatching my wrist, he steps closer, sandwiching me between his hard body and the building. “And, Babe, I’ve got no problem with you gettin’ your hands on me,” he replies, waggling his brows suggestively. “But I’d prefer you work me over when I don’t have Jet and BIip loadin’ up the two guys we tackled and tied up into the van.”
“You’re an idiot,” I mutter, glancing over his shoulder to avoid eye contact.
His thumb moves in slow circles over my wrist, stopping on my pulse point. Leaning in, he presses his lips to my neck. “Nothin’ like that adrenaline roaring through your body to get you all worked up, huh, Cheyenne?” he asks, smiling against my skin. “Come on. Let’s get outta here.”
“Yo!”
Schrader releases his hold on me. When he steps back, I see Blip standing behind him, arms crossed over his chest, his normal scowl perfectly plastered on his face. “Scanner’s goin’ off. Sounds like someone called in the gunshots.”
“Get the van outta here,” Schrader replies, completely calm. “Get your asses hidden, then wait for the call from Stone. We’ll handle the law.”
Nodding his head, Blip heads off, leaving us alone again. “What the hell do you mean we’ll handle the law?” I ask as he leads me over to his bike. Throwing his leg over, he quickly tugs me onto the seat so that I am facing him. One arm bands around my waist, pulling me into him, while the other disappears into my hair. “What are you doing?” I ask, searching his eyes.
“Killin’ two birds with one stone,” he replies, slamming his lips to mine.
I gasp, but Schrader takes full advantage and plunges his tongue into my mouth. I want to stop him, to argue how we need to get the hell out of here before the cops show up, but my thoughts are quickly fogged over by everything that this man’s touch does to me. I fist his shirt, wanting nothing more than to rip the buttons free and run my fingers over every inch of skin. Instead, I settle for yanking my hands through his hair, messing it up exactly like I have been dying to do for hours. Over our mingling pants and moans, I faintly hear gravel crunching in the distance.
“What the hell’s going on back here!” a voice shouts, followed by the quick chirping of a police siren.
“Here we go,” Schrader chuckles against my lips. Pulling back, Schrader looks over to where the squad car is pulling up on our left. I immediately cringe when I see Mike Daggo’s smug fucking face. “Well, if it isn’t Officer Daggo,” he smirks. “You got some of that Craigslist Pussy meetin’ you out here.”
“Got reports someone was firing a weapon,” Daggo says, his eyes shifting suspiciously between the two of us before scanning the r
est of the area; though, to my surprise, he makes no move to get out of his car. “Just the two of you out here, Schrader?”
“You better believe my weapon’s cocked and loaded,” Schrader’s tone comes off cocky, yet sounding frustrated. “I’m bettin’ my girl isn’t gonna let me fire off a round with someone watchin’. It’s not her kink.” Reaching out, I pinch the inside of his arm. “Ow!” he yelps, shoving my hand away. “Apparently, pain is.”
Officer Daggo’s eyes lock on me immediately. I feel my face heating with embarrassment under his scrutiny. “Hey, is that Cheyenne?”
“Yeah,” Schrader answers, tightening his arm around me, possessively. “Can’t keep my hands off this one.”
“Hi, Mike,” I blurt, throwing up my hand in greeting. In a small town like Legion Falls, everybody pretty much knows everybody. Whether you want to or not. Mike Daggo was captain of the football team, along with the biggest douche of my entire senior class. When he asked me to prom, Pop threatened to break his legs and Jinks and Schrader slashed all four tires on his Camaro.
Needless to say, he didn’t ask twice.
“Next time keep it behind closed doors,” he says, his mouth pressing into a hard line. “Anyone else on the force would write you up for indecent exposure.”
“Will do,” Schrader replies, giving the guy a mock salute. “Have a nice afternoon. And you be safe out there. We live in a goddamn dangerous world.”
Officer Daggo shakes his head and pulls out, heading back the way he came. Schrader’s hands slide down to my thighs, where mine immediately cover them, stopping their intended path. “What the hell was that?”
“Only one cop wasn’t at the service,” he informs me, showing that he paid way more attention to our surroundings than I ever thought to. “When Blip said we had company comin’, I knew more than likely who it would be.” Laughing, he shakes his head. “The moment he realized what he interrupted,” he purrs, kneading my thighs through my black dress pants. “He forgot all about that reported gunfire.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, skeptically, tightening my grip on his hands. “Why’s that?”
“Because.” Leaning in, he brushes his lips over mine softly. “He’s too busy findin’ himself a nice spot in the woods, hopin’ to watch me round the bases since he never got a chance to swing.”
“Daggo the Douche is gonna be disappointed,” I mutter, shifting my body and climbing off the bike. “I’m not about to become one of the countless pieces of ass you’ve bent over your bike for the world of pervy onlookers to see.”
“No one sees what you give me. That’s mine,” he growls. Grabbing my wrist, his face turns hard and serious. “Up until you, this bike’s been the only thing I’ve ridden more than once. None of those ‘countless pieces of ass’ have ever touched her, let alone ridden on her. Those parts of me are yours, Cheyenne, along with the space on the seat behind me.” His arms come around me, pulling me into his body. “I didn’t see this comin’, Babe. Now, my eyes are wide the fuck open. Need you on the same page. The one where you stop questionin’ my reasons for wantin’ to be with you, and you own the fuck up to wantin’ me too.”
My heart flutters in my chest, every single part of me wanting to believe him, to put faith in him because I know he would be there for me. I need the supportive shoulder that he has always given when I needed it, without question. I want more than anything to lay out everything rattling around inside my head, so that he can tell me it is going to be okay, even if he couldn’t possibly guarantee me that. The words I need to say are on the tip of my tongue. Except, once again, they are lodged in my chest, weighted down by the fear that he will never see me the same way once he knows what I am hiding.
Chapter Seventeen
Schrader
Not five minutes after we get back to the clubhouse, Stone, Jinks, Colt, and Torch are pulling up outside. Huck’s black Labrador, Bullet, runs through the lot, tail wagging and barking up a storm. When he doesn’t see Huck, he stops in his tracks and drops to the ground in a disappointed heap.
“Need a minute,” Stone says, already heading toward the back of the lot.
“You hungry, Bullet?” Shy coos, bending down and giving him a scratch between the ears. “There’s leftover spiral ham in the refrigerator from dinner last night.” Perking up immediately, the dog pushes to his feet and heads inside with Shy and the rest of the ladies.
“Not anymore,” Colt mumbles, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “Bullet will have to settle for Dog Chow in-between licking his balls and howling every time the wind blows.”
“Bottomless pit,” Torch laughs.
“What’s the story on the two guys we grabbed at the school?” I ask Stone once we reach the back building, not wanting to fuck around with the small talk.
“Jet says they’re not talkin’,” he replies, sounding severely pissed off. “Yet.”
“I want first shot at them,” I announce. “They came after me with Shy on the back of my bike. This is mine.”
“You just expect that?” Colt asks, looking at me. “Gonna be questions about your intentions.”
“My intentions for those assholes should be pretty damn clear at this point, don’t ya think, V.P.? Did Stone wait for a club vote before roastin’ Laswell like a fuckin’ s’more? Fuck no.”
“I don’t give a shit what you do with those assholes,” Jinks grounds out. “I’m more interested in what your doin’ with my sister.”
“I think we all know what they’re doin’,” Colt blurts, a smug smile nearly splitting his face. “They’re—” Dropping my hand to the piece in my waistband, I silently challenge him to finish his sentence. Clearing his throat, he laughs. “He sleeps in her bed every night. Got her ridin’ bitch on his bike. I’d say our boy here’s all but stamped his name on her ass.”
Jinks’s stare lands on Colt, his eyes filling with rage. “You knew about this shit before today, didn’t you?”
“Of course I fuckin’ knew,” Colt laughs. “Only one shocked about it is you, Brother.”
“My relationship with Cheyenne isn’t club business,” I interrupt, knowing that she would blow a gasket if she heard the turn this conversation has taken. “It’s between her and me.”
“Oh yeah?” Jinks turns his rage-filled eyes to me. “What if I said you’re not good enough for her?”
“You know a motherfucker who is?” Squaring my shoulders, I take a step closer to him, wanting to make sure he gets the goddamn point I am about to make. “Difference between me and every other shithead is I know Shy’s not a woman any man’s good enough for. Nevertheless, I damn sure know she deserves for her man to spend every day tryin’ to be.”
“You expectin’ me to buy that Hallmark card bullshit?” he asks, getting up in my face.
“I don’t give a fuck if you believe it,” I ground out, not backing down. “Only care that she knows I mean it.”
“Alright.” Holding up his hands, Jinks takes a step back, his scowl turning into a satisfied smile. “That’s good enough for me,” he says, shocking the shit out of me. “For now.”
“What the fuck?” I look between Colt, Torch, and Stone, who are enjoying the shit out of this.
“You expect me to find out you’re fuckin’ my sister and not call you out?” Jinks asks, punching me in the arm. “It’s not like I pulled my gun.”
“If it makes ya feel better,” I chuckle, shoving him. “Your sister did that earlier. Nearly fuckin’ shot me.”
“’Atta girl.” Bracing himself on the corner of the building, Colt laughs long and hard.
“Yeah,” Jinks nods thoughtfully. “Sounds like she’s holdin’ her own.”
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” Stone begins, changing the subject. “We’ve got some business to handle.”
Swinging open the door, Stone gestures for me to take the lead. Stepping through the door, I unbutton the cuffs on my shirt, rolling my sleeves up to my elbows. “Fellas, great to see you again.”
�
��Bob and Tim,” Jet says, gesturing to two men tied to chairs in the center of the room. “You’ve met Schrader.”
“You think we’re scared of you?” Bob asks, baring his teeth. “You’re nothing but biker trash. You and that whore.”
“That whore?” I ask, my voice menacingly calm. My eyes move to Stone, standing against the far wall. “You wouldn’t be referrin’ to my girl, would you, Bobbo?”
“Oh, I think he was,” Torch says. “Whatcha think, Prez?”
“Sounds like it to me.” Rubbing his hand over his jaw and chin, Stone’s eyes fill with silent rage as he stares down Bob. “Schrader?” he asks, his sinister tone making me giddy like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Yeah, Prez?”
A smile spreads across his face. “Make it last.”
Those words are like pouring gasoline on an open flame. Grabbing him by the shirt, my other fist connects with his face. “My fuckin’ pleasure.”
Rage is an emotion that I enjoy feeding from. The blood pumps through my veins, blood roaring in my ears, everything around me instantly fades into a haze of background filler. All I see is this piece of shit. And all I want to do is rip is goddamn head off and piss down his fucking throat.
Giving pleasure and administering pain both have a similar result in the end. No matter which one I am handing out, my main goal is to always walk away satisfied. In one way or another, both are a build up to a release, and two of my favorite ways to work off pent up frustration and tension.
“You’re lucky I’m tied to this chair, pussy,” Bob bites out, blood running down his lip.
“Oh yeah?” Walking over to the workbench, I strip off my leather, gun holsters, and my shirt. Bob’s eyes stay on me. “Let him loose,” I say, rolling my shoulders.
“What?” Jet asks, pushing off the wall.
“Let him loose,” I repeat. “If this motherfucker’s got somethin’ to prove, I’ll sure as shit let him try.” I shrug my shoulders. Stone nods in understanding, clearly getting where my head is at on this. “Bobbo, if you can put me on the concrete, you can walk your ass right outta here.”
