Blood & Bones: Trip (Blood Fury MC Book 1)

by Jeanne St. James

  “Maybe she was worried you’d end up dead.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So, you don’t talk to her at all?” God, just like her mother, who stopped talking to her after Kade’s death since she blamed Stella.

  “Ended up dead to her anyway.”

  Stella’s heart squeezed and so did her fingers around his. “Is bringing back the club worth it?”

  He answered without a hesitation. “It’s gonna be.”

  She hoped he was right.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Trip knew the second she saw it because of her body going stiff and her sharp intake of breath. Now he was kicking himself for not parking the wrecker in the shed yesterday. He had left it at the house because he’d been anxious to shower, change, and pick up dinner before heading to Crazy Pete’s and Stella.

  He hadn’t thought with his head, but with his dick.

  Now he was going to pay for it.

  Last night when he brought Stella home, it had been dark, so she’d missed it. This morning, the light didn’t hide anything.

  “Jesus, Trip. That was the cat?”

  He didn’t answer, because apparently, none was needed. He gritted his teeth as she rushed over to the tow truck, inspecting the blown out back window and the bullet holes.

  She spun toward him, her face pale, her eyes holding worry. “How the fuck did that happen?”

  They promised not to lie to each other, so he wasn’t going to lie. “Tryin’ to repo a car.”

  “Someone fucking shot at you?” she shouted.

  Her getting upset wasn’t going to help him remain calm. But he needed to. He sucked in a deep breath and released it after a slow count of five. When he was done, he answered, “Bunch of hillbillies.”

  She froze in place, her eyes wide. “You didn’t.”

  Fuck. “Didn’t what?”

  “Go up that mountain trying to repo one of the Shirley’s cars.”

  Christ. “A job’s a job.”

  “Is the money worth dying for?”

  Good point. Yeah, he needed the money, they both did. But it wouldn’t do either of them any good if he was dead. “Would you miss me if I was dead?”

  While he made it sound like he was teasing, he wasn’t. He really wanted to know.

  “Shut up, Trip! That’s not even funny!” She strode back to him, her body tight, her lips curled into a frown, her fists clenched and pinned to her thighs.

  “Think you would. Damn.” The corners of his mouth tipped up slightly at the thought of her actually missing him. Maybe he was making headway with her.

  “Don’t you fucking smile! You forget what I already lost. I can’t do it again.”

  His smile dropped. Now he felt like a complete ass. He didn’t forget. He could never forget. “Fuck, baby,” he whispered, reaching out for her.

  She stepped back out of his reach. “That just proves why this,” she waved her hand between the two of them, “is a bad idea.”

  Okay, now she was going too far. “Not a bad idea.”

  “You think it was funny you were shot at.”

  “Wasn’t laughin’ at the time.”

  “You’d be happy if I missed you. To do that I’d have to fucking mourn you, asshole.”

  “Baby...”

  She threw her hands up. “Take me home.”

  He bit back the urge to tell her she was home. His house, his farm, was her goddamn home.

  He needed to get her out of that apartment and fill it with someone else so she couldn’t use it as an escape.

  They needed to deal with this kind of shit head on. Not run from it. “Stella...”

  “You could’ve died.”

  “Coulda, but I didn’t.”

  “Was that job worth it?”

  Not yet since he didn’t get the car. But he would. It was just a matter of time. However, what he made on that job wouldn’t cover the cost of the damage. But he was getting that motherfucking car no matter what.

  “You don’t fuck with the Shirleys unless you’re giving them something like cash for their moonshine. You can barter with them, buy stuff from them, but taking something from them, like their wheels, will get you killed.”

  “Learned that the hard way, babe.”

  “Tell me you won’t fuck with them.”

  He couldn’t tell her that, but he also couldn’t lie. “Will be more careful in the future.”

  She shook her head and moved toward his sled. “I have to go open the bar.”

  She was dismissing him, and he didn’t like it, but he’d let it go for now. He needed to get her dropped off and go meet up with Judge at Justice Bail Bonds.

  He had work to do, a club to keep building and businesses to run. He’d deal with her later tonight when she was back in his bed.

  Because tonight she would be back in his bed.

  And every other fucking night from now on.

  She might be pissed off, but it was because she was worried about him.

  And that right there proved to him that she cared about him as much as he did about her.

  That was a good thing.

  Trip’s skin crawled as they went through the metal detectors at Lycoming County Prison. They had left their guns, as well as Judge’s big-ass knife back in the safe at the bail bonds shop.

  He had sworn to himself he’d never go back to prison and there he was, standing in a goddamn prison.

  He hated the smell, the atmosphere and, most of all, hated the fucking screws who guarded the unwilling occupants.

  His upper lip curled as they were escorted by one of the out-of-shape screws down the hall towards the visiting area. The buzzing of the doors and the noisy prisoners who could be heard in the distance put his nerves on edge. He felt naked and vulnerable not having his gun, or even a shank, with him.

  His chest was tight, and his breathing strained as he followed the pale, wheezing screw, as well as Judge, deeper into the prison.

  Fuck this shit. It was a good reminder to keep his ass out of there.

  Never fucking again.

  In truth, he’d rather die than go back behind bars.

  He’d survived his time in the Marines, he survived his time in prison.

  Now he was living for himself. No one else was going to tell him what to do. He wouldn’t constantly be on the offensive, worried he might get stabbed, shot at or beaten.

  Or even fucked up the ass by a man twice his size.

  He’d spent thirty days in the hole after making sure that didn’t happen one day in the showers. Those thirty days were worth keeping his asshole a virgin.

  He and Judge hadn’t talked the whole way to Williamsport since they were on their sleds. But as they settled at one of the tables, and after the screw reminded them not to touch Rook or try to give him anything, the man waddled away to stand along the wall with a few more of those uniformed motherfuckers.

  Fuck, he hated this place and he hadn’t even been incarcerated here.

  “What do you know about the Shirleys?”

  Judge’s head pivoted toward him and he cocked a brow. “More than I wanna. Did you—” His booming laugh filled the large room where a shitload of family and friends waited at round tables with hard plastic chairs for the prisoners to arrive. “D’you hafta change your fuckin’ pants after dealin’ with ‘em?

  “No, but it was damn close. They shot up my wrecker.”

  “That’ll teach ya.”

  “Wasn’t a lesson I wanted to learn. ‘Specially since I had one of the local pigs waitin’ for me at the bottom of the mountain, also waitin’ to teach me a lesson.”

  Judge shook his head. “The current herd of pigs won’t fuck with you unless you fuck with them.”

  “Not plannin’ on fuckin’ with ‘em.”

  “You are if you’re goin’ up that damn mountain.”

  “One of those Brysons gave me a tip ‘bout snaggin’ the car at Walmart.”

  “Yeah. They come down that mountain every once in a while. When i
t suits them. And when they gotta visit me.”

  Trip’s ears perked. “You?”

  “Deke and me deal with ‘em on a regular basis. Every time they get pinched and need bail money.”

  “They pay their bond?”

  “Yeah, but with them, I only deal in the green shit and I check to make sure it’s real. They’re good at fakin’ checks and money orders.”

  “The reason they get their vehicles repo’d.”

  “Right. One of the many reasons they end up arrested, too. They also love to sue and tie up the courts. They sue everyone. The town, the PD, whoever and whenever. Just to be a pain in the fuckin’ ass.”

  “They sue you?”

  “Fuck no. Nobody else will bond their inbred asses out.” Judge tapped his temple. “Learned my lesson about ‘em real quick and now know how to handle ‘em. They make me a fuckton of scratch.” He sat back in the plastic chair, causing it to complain as he crossed his thick, tattooed arms over his chest and stretched out his long legs under the table. “We all call them the Shirley Clan. Clan should probably start with a K instead of a C, but doubt they got a sheet up in that compound white enough to make a hood out of. But you can’t always tell the supremacists anymore since some are no longer hidin’. Bold motherfuckers. Those fools call themselves the Guardians of Freedom.” Judge snorted and shook his head. “Guardians of fuckin’ freedom. Guardians of their sister-cousins and brother-uncles more like it. Surprised some of ‘em don’t have three legs and one eye. Though, maybe some of ‘em do and they just don’t let ‘em off the mountain. Probably keep ‘em in cages and feed ‘em raw meat.”

  “Are you fuckin’ serious?”

  Judge’s booming laughter filled the room again and everyone’s head swiveled toward him, including the screws who wore frowns. Fuck ‘em.

  “Hope not. But anything’s possible with those fuckers. Plan on ‘em suin’ your ass if you successfully repo any of their wheels. Might wanna think about puttin’ a lawyer on retainer. Couldn’t hurt between the Fury and the repo business.”

  “And the bar.”

  Judge tipped his head and his green eyes narrowed. “Yeah. And the bar. Speakin’ of, what’s goin’ on with you and Stella?”

  A buzz sounded, the door opened, and a line of inmates walked in, interrupting their conversation. He had no idea what Rook looked like since he hadn’t seen him since the guy was about twelve. He was three years younger than Trip, but he’d still hung around Sig, Judge and him whenever he got a chance.

  It didn’t take long to identify him, though, since he was the last man standing. All the other inmates had found their family or friends and had settled into seats.

  “Jesus fuck,” Rook muttered, shaking his head, as he moved towards them. “Was hoping to see some pretty pussy sittin’ at my table, not your ugly mugs. How’s that gonna help my wet dreams?”

  Trip watched Rook carefully as he settled in the chair across from him and Judge. He took the same stance as Judge. Leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed and his legs stretched out.

  “It’s been a while,” Rook said to Judge. “I’d shake your fuckin’ hand but don’t wanna get my knuckles rapped with a ruler by the line of ugly nuns against the wall. They frown when it comes to contact. Even when you try to hug it out with ‘em.”

  Trip dropped his head and laughed. When he lifted it, he said, “Never tried to hug it out with any of those assholes. If I did, they wouldn’t have been breathin’ afterward.”

  Rook grinned. “Besides fantasizin’ about pussy in here, I dream about chokin’ some of those rude motherfuckers out, too. Gettin’ out soon, so need to be an angel ‘til that happens.” He turned to Judge. “So, what’s up with you, fucker? Don’t owe you shit on my bond, right?”

  “No,” Judge answered. “We’re square.”

  Rook nodded. “Good. Then why you here?”

  “You know why we’re here,” Trip answered him. Rook had to add him and Judge to his visitor’s list, so he knew exactly why they were there.

  Rook scraped a hand down his bearded jaw. “Yeah. Talked to Cage. He mentioned you were back in town and raisin’ the Fury. Also said Dad’s takin’ the VP spot ‘til Sig rolls back into town.”

  Judge snorted and shook his head. “Trip might be waitin’ a while for that and doubt Dutch wants to wait that long.”

  Rook tipped his head to the side and met Trip’s eyes. “Right. So, you’re here to offer it to me.”

  Fuck. “Here to offer you a place to land when you get out.”

  Rook cocked an eyebrow. “Got a place with Dutch. Job, roof over my head, my sled. What more do I need besides booze and babes?”

  “Got a room for you if you want it. And a cut.”

  “Yeah, heard you moved the Fury’s church to the barn on your granddad’s place. But when I said babes, didn’t mean the pig named Babe in the barnyard. I don’t fuck animals. I mean real pussy.”

  “We’ll order you one of those fake pussies. Feels like the real thing,” Judge said.

  “Speakin’ from experience, big guy?” Rook asked with a smirk.

  Judge’s heavy shoulders lifted and dropped. “Lot less hassle, less bitchin’ and cheaper in the end.”

  “A-fuckin-men,” Rook said, then turned to Trip. “Ended up here after tryin’ to buy some bitch weed just to get down her fuckin’ pants. No pussy’s worth prison.”

  A-fuckin-men to that, too.

  “Got time because you fled, made those fat fuckers run, and then fought ‘em, Rook,” Judge reminded him. “Shoulda taken the slap on the wrist instead of creatin’ a cluster-fuck. Then you wouldn’t have been here for months with no pussy, fake or real. Though, an asshole might do in a pinch.”

  “Not if it’s fuckin’ hairy,” Rook muttered.

  “All right,” Trip interrupted. He was not there to talk about fucking another man’s ass. He wasn’t there to talk about pussy, either. “So, you in?”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “Like I said, a cheap place to lay your head that’s not under your pop’s roof, stocked kitchen, stocked bar. Most importantly, a brotherhood.”

  “Yeah, I remember how that all worked out. Also remember my mother up and fuckin’ leavin’ us after all that shit went down. Not enough good memories to wanna be a part of somethin’ like that.”

  “Buildin’ somethin’ worthwhile.”

  “For who? You? Or for all of us?”

  Rook saying “us” was a step in the right direction. It meant he’d been considering it. Especially since Dutch and Cage were now wearing BFMC cuts.

  “Know you got blood to watch your back. Some of us don’t. How the Fury was before that whole disaster... while it wasn’t perfect, we were all family, blood or not.”

  “Buck was a bastard.”

  Trip wasn’t going to argue that fact about his own father. “Yeah.”

  “You gonna preside at the head of the table like he did?”

  “Might be prez now but that doesn’t mean I’ll still be prez next year. You know how it works; the patched members vote. My ass could be voted out if I suck as prez.”

  “Cage said he’s not prospectin’ and I wouldn’t have to, either. That right?”

  “Right. Fury blood is Blood Fury. Now and always. You’d get your rockers, your cut and a vote the second you walk out these fuckin’ doors. Fact, we’ll even give you a fuckin’ escort on the way home.”

  Rook twisted some of the wiry hairs of his beard between two fingers as he considered everything Trip said. And Trip let him work it out on his own.

  “Sig out?” Rook finally asked.

  Last he checked. One stupid move and that could change. “Yeah.”

  “But he’s not in.”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “All I can ask.”

  “What’s the pussy situation? ‘Cause if there are no club whores, who’s gonna suck my dick?” His hand dropped below the table to grab his crotch.<
br />
  “Word spreads the Fury has risen again, sure it’ll be no time before the sweet butts are swarmin’,” Trip assured him.

  “Yeah,” Rook said on a sigh. “Need ‘em to take care of me and my shit. One thing I always envied about the patched members when we were kids. You wanna fuck, you fuck. They never said no. They’d bring your ass a beer, suck your cock, then go do your fuckin’ laundry.”

  Trip remembered one female hang-around, not even a sweet butt yet, told to strip naked, get on her hands and knees and lick the brother’s boots clean. She did.

  Nothing like seeing a naked woman willingly licking a man’s dirty fucking boots. Trip had to have been six or seven at the time and he never forgot it. First time he recalled seeing pussy, too. In fact, Trip remembered the brother’s road name was Tin Man, or Tinny. Tinny had called him, Sig and Judge over and...

  Fuck.

  Trip squeezed his eyes shut trying to wipe out not only that scene, but one where if Pete’s ol’ lady had stayed, kept Stella as part of the club...

  His temperature began to rise as he couldn’t stop his mind from replacing Stella with that woman.

  If any of his brothers did that shit, he’d end up back in prison for sure. He was going to have to draw a line and make that line clear when it came to any hang-arounds and sweet butts.

  He could see Stella squeezing his nuts until they popped if he encouraged that shit or even allowed it.

  “Long as they keep clean—meanin’ not bringin’ in drugs, not sellin’ themselves, anything that’ll bring the law down on us—they’re welcome. But the moment one of ‘em brings trouble, she’s out.”

  “Fair enough. You want ‘em sweet and innocent.”

  Judge snorted again. “Even if they walked in sweet and innocent, they certainly wouldn’t be walkin’ out that way. There’s a certain type of woman who can deal with a bunch of bikers. From what I remember, it ain’t easy and I got no fuckin’ clue why they’d want to put up with all that bullshit in the first place.”

  Judge was right. Trip remembered the sweet butts not only getting fucked whenever and wherever by whoever, he remembered them getting knocked around and knocked up. Though if the last happened, that problem was swiftly taken care of or the woman was never seen again.