Instigation: A Twisted Mayhem MC Novel

by Cat Mason

  “You,” I answer, pushing back into him again.

  His hand slides down between my thighs, his fingers finding my clit. I moan, every cell of my body aching for his touch. He circles slowly, causing my hips to rock in time with his fingers as he applies enough pressure to make me crazy with need, but not enough to give me release. “Now.” His teeth graze my ear. “Turn around and show me.”

  “Don’t stop,” I plead, covering his hand with my own. All the pent-up tension and frustration I have been holding back and trying to pretend isn’t there, is boiling beneath the surface, begging for somewhere to go. Reaching back, I fist his cock in my hand, lining him up with my entrance.

  “Goddamn,” he growls, rolling his hips into my ass. “Babe, you’re killin’ me.”

  “I want all of you,” I tell him, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Every inch. Hard and fast. Now.”

  “Sorry, Babe.” Yanking his hands from my body, Schrader shuts off the water and flings open the curtain. Spinning me around, he meets my eyes, the deep whiskey browns burning with unquenchable fire. “I’ll take you however the fuck you need my cock. Whenever you need it. Tonight, though, it happens at my pace.”

  Fisting my hair, he yanks me into him, slamming his lips to mine. Our mingled pants echo off the walls, teeth and lips clashing as we both fight for control of the kiss. Gripping my ass with his other hand, Schrader hoists me from the ground and charges from the bathroom. Moving through the room, everything is a blur, but I couldn’t give a shit about anything else.

  Turning, Schrader falls back onto the bed, the hand on my ass urging me to move my hips. When I do, he groans into my mouth, his fingers flexing so hard I know I will have marks tomorrow. I love it. I want his hands on me, his mouth, his marks. I need to know, without a doubt, that I am his and that this is real.

  Rolling me to my back, Schrader’s hand finds its way between my thighs again. “I can’t wait to be inside this fuckin’ pussy,” he growls into my mouth, his fingers sliding in and out of me slowly.

  “Please,” I whisper, wanting that as much as he does.

  “First time I slid into you, I knew your cunt was ruinin’ me for anyone else.” His palm presses into my clit. My body burns, desperate for more.

  “Schrader,” I moan, his filthy mouth and fingers too much for me to take. His lips wrap around my nipple, sucking and biting greedily. “I’m coming!” I cry, my hips bucking into his hand.

  Having barely come down from my climax, I feel Schrader settling between my legs, the head of his cock brushing over my still-sensitive clit. I whimper, my entire body trembling. “You want every inch, Baby?” he asks, rubbing my clit again. Dragging my bottom lip between my teeth, I manage to nod as I moan. “Hard?” He pushes only the tip inside me, the look in his eyes says it is torturing him as much as it is me. I nod again, my fingers fisting in the sheets, wishing like hell he would move. Leaning down, he runs his nose along mine. When he pulls back, a wicked grin spreads across his face and he thrusts into me hard.

  Each pump of Schrader’s hips rattles my entire body. The pain and pleasure mix, giving way to an entirely new, more intense, sensation that has me hanging on by a thread. It’s incredible. Fisting my hands in his shaggy blonde hair, I take his mouth with mine. He tastes like tobacco, whiskey, and everything that is simply Schrader. Hungrily, I devour him, unable to help myself, incapable of holding back, and not caring one bit that I don’t even want to try.

  Our bodies slap and slide against each other, my hips moving in sync with each thrust of his own. “You feel so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, grabbing my hips and hosting my ass off the mattress. “Fuckin’ love the way your cunt grips my cock. Like you never wanna let me go.”

  “Ah!” I cry out. “Yes!” Throwing my head back, I am lost to my climax. My release slams into me so hard it rips the air from my lungs.

  Dropping my ass to the mattress, Schrader buries his face in my neck, kissing and sucking at my skin. His thrusts become frenzied, each panting breath that leaves his lips rushes over my skin like a wave. “Love you,” he says on a rush of air, his body stilling. “Every time I’ve ever said those words to you, I’ve meant it, Babe. Even if I didn’t know how much.”

  “I love you, too,” I reply, the words rushing out of me without hesitation.

  Rolling us to our sides, he kisses me softly. “Thank fuck, because I’ve made it pretty fuckin’ clear I’m not givin’ you up without a fight, Babe.”

  “I’m fighting for us,” I murmur against his lips, my fingers running over the coarse hair lining his jaw. “Not against us.” Pulling back, his lips twist into a satisfied smile, his brows disappearing beneath the damp strands of hair hanging in his face. I stare up at him, taking in the face of the man who has always been such a vital part of my life, the man who owns me body and soul in ways that no one else ever could. Schrader has saved my life and guarded my heart, even when it belonged to another man. He has always had my back. Without me having to ask. Without judgment.

  If that isn’t love I don’t know what the fuck is.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Shy

  Two Weeks Later

  In the weeks that have passed since everything went down at the warehouse, Legion Falls has begun to change while trying to adjust to a new sort of normal. Once it was announced that Teague was the man behind the death of Chief McKelvy, Jackie Ashmead was named a hero for taking him down after he singlehandedly organized the murder of Antonio Lorzano and his men, along with killing his own son in a power play for control of the drug trade Lorzano was pushing out of Milford. The moment the news started running with the story, the word ‘acting’ was removed from her title as Chief of Police.

  None of us were the least bit surprised by that at all.

  Nita and Roanne have gone into full-on baby fever mode. I could not have been more wrong about how they would react to the baby. The entire compound is buzzing with an excitement that is greatly needed after all the shit we have had hit us in the last few months. For days now it has been non-stop talk about gender reveal parties, shower registries, and diaper cakes. To say it is all overwhelming is an understatement. For the most part, I smile and nod though, silently, I am counting down the days until I outgrow my jeans and am unable to see my feet without a full-length mirror.

  Things are changing. Which is exactly what happens when people heal and put the past behind them. The club is repairing the damage caused by Teague’s vengeance, starting with the construction of a new auto parts shop, which begins in the next week or so. Once it is complete, Torch will run it with Jace working alongside him.

  Though business may be back to running as usual, for the most part, Pop isn’t. Instead of running the stills with Huck out in Shadow Ridge, he is stuck here with me, cooling his heels due to his injury. Being on the bench, so to speak, and unable to ride, has filled the old man with enough piss and vinegar to fill the Grand Canyon. Most days, I want to kick him in the ass, but then I remember how close we came to losing him. That generally has me rethinking the violence.

  “Would you look at this horseshit, Cheyenne?” Pop grumbles, shaking the jar of watermelon liquor in his hand. Sliding it onto the table, he blows out a frustrated breath. “Color’s off. Bet it tastes like shit too.”

  Today, is definitely one of those days where my foot is itching to adjust his attitude.

  “Here’s your pills, Pop.” Placing them in his hand, I hold out a bottle of water to take them with.

  “You can keep that shit.” He scrunches up his nose in disgust. “I haven’t drunk water since before my balls dropped.” Putting the bottle down on the table, he grabs the jar again. Removing the lid, he tosses it to the table before sniffing its contents. “I’m gonna give this a whirl.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter, gagging at the idea of his balls. Grabbing the jar, I scoop up the lid, fastening it tightly before putting it on the counter behind me. “You know you can’t mix those with alcohol,” I snap, pointing to the pil
ls in his hand.

  His brow furrows, lips pressing into a hard line. “Moonshine is the mountain man’s cure-all, Baby girl. Those doctors are all brainwashed idiots who have bought into the bureaucratic bullshit they’re taught in their overpriced medical schools. Goddamn money racket by the pharmaceutical companies, if you ask me.” He starts to push from his chair, but stops the second I shoot him a threatening glare.

  “You try it,” I warn, squaring my shoulders. “I’ll beat you to death with my wooden spoon.”

  “Christ,” Schrader mutters, walking into the kitchen, carrying a brown paper bag from the Chinese restaurant in town. “She’s not kiddin’ about that spoon. Hurts like a motherfucker.”

  “Pussy,” Pop mutters. “Not a one of ya can handle a goddamn ounce of pain.”

  Laughing, Schrader sits the bag down on the counter. Wrapping his arms around me from behind, he presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Was I this much of a whiny bitch when I got shot?”

  “Pretty sure you cried,” I breathe, running my hands up his forearms.

  “One time.” Releasing me, he takes a step back as I turn. Rubbing his ass with his palm, he narrows his brows, his mind no doubt going back to that day. “I swear to fuck Henley hit a goddamn kidney with that needle.”

  “More like your vagina,” Pop snorts, causing me to bite back a laugh. Reaching around me, Schrader snags the jar from the counter and arches a brow at Pop in challenge. “Don’t drink that,” Pop bites out, shaking his head. “It’s a bad batch. Not near sweet enough to sell.”

  “Nah.” Unscrewing the lid, Schrader takes a swig from the jar, then smacks his lips together loudly like Huck always does, knowing it pisses off Pop. “Everything tastes sweeter when you’re not a grouchy old bastard.”

  “You know, smartass,” Pop starts, nodding his head. Pulling the gun free of his holster inside his cut, he slams it down on the table, a smirk spreading across his face. “They took my booze away, not my gun.”

  “No bullet wounds in the kitchen,” I bite out, my eyes moving between them. Opening the bag, I close my eyes and inhale the heavenly smell of Shanghai Angus Steak and Vegetable Fried Rice, my mouth watering immediately. “I want this Chinese food way too much for you two assholes to ruin my appetite by bleeding all over my clean tile floor.”

  Pop’s mood lightens, his eyes shifting to the bag. “I could go for an eggroll.”

  Checking the containers, I hand Pop the one Schrader brought back for him and a fork. Taking it, he plops it on the table, rips the lid off, grinning like a fool when he sees his favorite Black Pepper Chicken, along with two eggrolls. Grabbing his gun, he tucks it back into his holster before grabbing the bottle of water and taking his medicine. “Torch get that Shawn kid outta my goddamn bunker?” Pop asks, shoveling in a mouthful of food.

  “Yep,” Schrader sighs. “Gave him fifty bucks and put the fucker on a bus for Mississippi. Also told him what’ll happen if he ever crosses the state line again.”

  “Good man.” Pop nods his head. “Kinda hopin’ he does.”

  Schrader chuckles. “Me too.”

  “Looks like Nita was right,” I giggle, grabbing a fork from the drainer of dishes I finished washing up before Pop came in here bitching about jacked up moonshine. “The key to dealin’ with any man’s pissy mood is through his stomach.”

  Schrader’s arms come around me again, his lips brushing against my ear. “Not this man,” he purrs, his voice laced with heat. “Gotta aim lower to put a smile on my face.”

  “Better be talkin’ ‘bout your goddamn toes, shithead,” Pop warns, not taking his eyes off his food.

  “Yo!” Jinks shouts from the doorway. I jump, almost spilling my rice container in the floor. “Smells like lunchtime.” Walking over, he snatches an eggroll from Pop. “Thanks, Old Man.”

  “What the hell do you want, shithead,” Pop barks. “Other than to steal my lunch and piss me off.”

  “Gotta keep you on your toes, Pop,” he chuckles, looking to me. “Jace got the truck all tuned up. Ready for me to put that fucker on a site and sell it?”

  “Fuck yes,” I sigh, wanting that damn thing gone. Setting down the rice tub, I begin scooping steak and veggies onto my plate. “I always hated that ugly fucking thing. Make sure Jace checks that reserve tank. Troy replaced it months ago, but said the damn pump still wouldn’t work and for me not to use it. I don’t think he ever did get it switched out.” I stop. Looking over at Pop, I meet his eyes, the same blue eyes as mine, seeming to be working over the same idea I have going through my head.

  “We need to get that tank off,” Pop says, nodding his head.

  Forgetting all about my food, I storm out of the kitchen, heading straight for the backdoor. Though I know Pop, Schrader, and my brother are all following behind me, I don’t slow down. I am a woman on a mission. “Jace!” I call out the second I see him spraying off the truck with the hose. “We need to get the reserve fuel tank off.”

  Releasing his grip on the sprayer, he tosses the hose to the ground. “Right now?” he asks, looking confused.

  “Yes,” I nod. “Right now.”

  “Ain’t your goddamn job to ask fuckin’ questions, Prospect,” Pop snaps, coming up behind me. “Do as your told.”

  Schrader rounds the truck. Dropping to his knees, he slides the jack back underneath the truck and starts to raise it. “My guess is we won’t need any.” Sliding beneath the frame, he barks at Jace to get under and help him. “Just like I thought,” he says, after what feels like hours. Something clicks, followed by what sounds like a latch releasing. “Get the fuck over here and help us, Jinks.”

  “Holy shit!” Jace mutters.

  “You didn’t see a fuckin’ thing, Grunt,” Schrader barks at Jace.

  “What is it?” I ask, dropping to my knees.

  “We found it,” Schrader says, shoving two envelopes filled with cash at me. “The fucker made a hatch door on the side of this thing. Whole thing’s filled with cash.”

  “Are you serious?” I ask, unable to believe that it’s been sitting here on the lot this whole time. In the ugly piece of shit truck I was about to list online for next to nothing just to get rid of it. “I can’t believe it’s been right here under our noses.”

  After all is said and done, there was close to five hundred thousand dollars hidden inside the tank. The idea that there was this much cash sitting inside there is mind blowing. “What the hell are we going to do with it all?” I ask, knowing that Teague and Lorzano are both dead. “I sure as hell don’t fuckin’ want it. Too much shit happened because of that money. Whatever’s done with it should help even the slate.”

  “I like that,” Doc nods thoughtfully. “It’d get my vote.”

  “I’m sure that’s how Stone may wanna play it too,” Schrader agrees.

  Climbing out from beneath the truck, Jace gapes at me. “I don’t give a shit if it came out of a hairy dude’s thong after a double shift at the strip club. That’s a lot of fuckin’ money to piss away like that.”

  “Plenty of shit in this world more valuable than money,” Pop says, reaching over to squeeze my shoulder. “Clear conscience is one of ‘em.”

  “Where’s Stone?” Schrader asks, climbing to his feet. “He should know what’s going on.”

  “Up at the house with Ro,” Doc says, yanking his phone from his pocket. “I’ll get him down here.”

  “What about this?” Jace holds up a small envelope from a photo prints kiosk at the pharmacy in town. “It’s not money. Just a bunch of photos and shit.”

  Taking it from him, I open it and yank out the photos. “Jesus,” I mutter. There are dozens of images of the bunker and stills out at Shadow Ridge, the clubhouse, moonshine deliveries and daily business dealings, along with photos of Twisted Mayhem members and a bunch of people I have never seen before. Their names and a bunch of info scribbled on the back of each one. “What the hell is this? A contingency plan?”

  Taking the stack from me, Schrader’s mouth pre
sses into a hard line as he looks the first few in the stack over. “Motherfucker.” Handing them to Jinks, he shakes his head, anger raging in his dark eyes. “It’s a get outta jail free card. The bastard was prepared to sell us all out to save himself if shit went bad.”

  “Yep,” Jinks agrees. “He’s had shit on us, Merc’s crew, the Hywood Brotherhood, Teague and Lorzano. Fucker was a Fed’s wet dream.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Pop says, shaking his head. “Stack of dirt like this is worth a lot more to those pictured than it is to the Feds. Somethin’ tells me, ol’ Dumbass was a lot smarter than we gave him credit for.”

  “Not too smart,” Schrader argues, wrapping his arm around me. “All this shit didn’t save his ass in the end. Fucker still wound up eatin’ a bullet.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Schrader

  Twenty-Seven Weeks Later

  “She’s so beautiful,” Ro sighs, looking down at the seven pound, three-ounce baby girl Cheyenne gave birth to earlier this morning, sleeping soundly in her arms. Leaning down Ro breathes her in before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Why do babies smell so perfect?”

  “Watch out, Stone,” Shy laughs. “Ro’s caught baby fever.”

  “Not happenin’,” he mutters, but grins at her. “The kid’s cute, but I’m not ready to be anyone’s Dad.”

  The baby begins to cry, her chubby little arms and legs thrashing. Ro sways and bounces, but it doesn’t help. The crying turns into a full-on wail. Ro’s eyes widen, her entire body tensing. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothin’,” I laugh. Scooping the baby out of Roanne’s arms, I hold her to my chest. “Hey, Vic. What’s all that screamin’ about, beautiful girl?” Her crying stops immediately, her bright blue eyes looking up at me.

  “How the hell did he do that?” Ro asks, looking to Shy.