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

by Jeanne St. James

  If she insisted on keeping a baby that a brother didn’t want or didn’t know who the baby daddy was? She was banned from the club. And she was going to raise that kid all on her own. She knew that coming in and knew that when she was kicked back out.

  None of those brothers wanted to claim a kid by a patch whore.

  Fuck.

  That brought back a memory Trip had tried hard to forget. He might have been about five at the time.

  A sweet butt had lied about being on the Pill and got knocked up on purpose, trying to become an ol’ lady. Three brothers cornered her inside the warehouse and kicked the shit out of her until she miscarried.

  Trip remembered her screaming, crying, begging and then afterward, the fucking blood... All that fucking blood...

  Jesus fuck.

  Yeah, he was drawing that line and nobody—none of them—better cross it. He would not tolerate that shit.

  Trip rapped his knuckles on the table and stood. He needed to get the fuck out of there. His throat was closing, and his heart was beginning to race. “Think about it,” he told Rook again.

  Judge was slower getting up. When the tall man was on his feet, he planted both fists on the table and leaned toward Rook. “Like he said, think about it. But you’re either in or out, Rook. We ain’t doin’ shit half-assed.”

  We.

  Damn, that sounded good.

  “When you gettin’ sprung?” Trip asked Rook as he rose to his feet, too.

  “Got another twenty-eight days.”

  “Let Cage or Dutch know ASAP. Only gonna hold a room for you so long.”

  Rook nodded, then said, “Might have a prospect for you.”

  “More the better,” Judge said.

  Not necessarily. Trip was hoping for quality over quantity, but he wanted to hear Rook out first. “Who?”

  “One of my cellies, Dodge. Gettin’ out a few days before me.”

  “How’d he get the name Dodge?”

  “Born in the back seat of one.”

  Made sense. “What’s he in for?”

  “It matter?”

  “Depends. Think he can keep his shit clean or at least under the radar? Need members who aren’t spendin’ months or years at a shot in shitholes like these. Need bodies, need hands, need numbers, but all of those need to be worthwhile. Get me?”

  “Yeah, I get you. Thinkin’ he’ll fit good. Got a sled, needs a bit of work, but that’s all he’s got. Nothin’ else. No place to land. If he got that, he should be able to stay outta places like this. Father and uncle were Shadow Warriors. They disappeared a couple years ago. He hasn’t heard from either since. Two years ago, his mother was found raped, beaten and dead in a crack house. He’s got no one.”

  “He got issues?” Trip asked.

  “We all got issues,” Rook muttered.

  That was too damn true.

  Rook continued, “He had my back in here, would like to return the favor. You give ‘im a place to belong and I’ll fix up his sled as soon as I get out. Think he’ll be loyal and he’s a good one to have at your back.”

  “If he’s willin’ to prospect for six months, then let me know when he’s out. I’ll get someone to come pick up his ass and get ‘im settled.”

  Rook nodded. “You take him in, you got me.”

  Trip nodded. “Deal, brother.”

  Trip held out his palm and Rook slapped his in it and they bumped shoulders over the table making the screws shit their pants.

  Trip and Rook quickly parted before one of the guards manhandled them. If one of them touched him, it might make Trip flip the fuck out, turning a productive meeting into a shit show.

  Grinning, Rook turned to Judge. “I’d give you a kiss, big boy, but pepper spray makes me cry. So, I’ll blow you one instead.” He made kissy faces at Judge then laughed when Judge gave him the bird. “See you on the outside,” he yelled as he got escorted out of the visitor center.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Trip’s nose nuzzled the hair by her ear. “Baby?”

  She pretty much knew what was coming next. Every morning for the last three weeks, this was how he woke her up.

  With sex. Then he followed it up by making her breakfast.

  She had to admit, the breakfast was great. But the sex was even better.

  Also, every night for the past three weeks, except for Sundays, he brought dinner to Crazy Pete’s and he stayed with her until they closed the bar.

  He promised to get her help soon. He also had the Amish working on the bar during the early morning hours. It was slow but it was steady.

  So was the money. She had put flyers around town about the new pool and dart leagues and that alone had caused business to pick up. They also scrounged enough cash to get a used professional Karaoke machine. Once the Amish built a small stage in one corner of the bar, they’d get that up and running, too. Maybe even invite some local bands once the bar was renovated.

  Also, once they got some help, he was planning on opening the bar on Sundays, getting a few large screen TVs and signing up for the sports packages. She didn’t give a fuck about sports, but apparently other people did.

  Imagine that.

  He had some good ideas.

  But she shouldn’t be surprised since he’d already done so much to raise the Fury again. The man had vision and drive. No doubt about it.

  “Baby?”

  However, Trip waking her up this early on a Sunday, her only day off, was not one of his good ideas. “Yeah?”

  “Know what today is?”

  “Sunday,” she moaned into the pillow. She just wanted a little more sleep. They hadn’t crawled into bed until three.

  Though, once she hit the mattress and his arms, she was out.

  “Not just Sunday. It’s Sunday Run Day.”

  What?

  “Baby?”

  He really wanted to be smothered with a pillow. “Yeah,” she groaned.

  “You hear me?”

  “How can I not? You’re talking right into my ear.”

  “Then you heard me.”

  She flopped onto her back with a sigh. “I heard you, Trip. It’s Run Day Fun Day.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Mmm ‘kay.” She yawned and ran a hand over her bare breasts—he insisted they both sleep naked, not a hardship with him by her side—and down her belly. Her ribs didn’t show anymore, nor did her hip bones, but she was still thinner than he wanted.

  She was fine with her weight. He was not. She had reminded him a thousand and one times, it wasn’t up to him.

  He disagreed.

  They did not agree to disagree.

  As she stretched and yawned a second time, he tugged the sheet off her. “Wanna fuck you.”

  She blinked and murmured, “Nothing new.”

  “Don’t have time, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Need to get you fed and get ready for the run.”

  The run.

  The haze in her brain cleared and she shot up to a seated position in bed. “The run?”

  He was on his side, his hand propped up in his hand. “Yeah. Said you heard me.”

  “You’re doing a club run today?”

  “We’re doin’ a club run today.”

  She’d been on a run twice in her life. Both times as a kid with her father. Usually he had ridden alone, not even wanting Stella’s mother with him.

  When none of the ol’ ladies were allowed on a run, that usually meant trouble. They were either going to get into it or make it. And the type of trouble just depended on where they were headed.

  She couldn’t imagine her father had been faithful to her mother. Stella pretty much figured out none of them had been.

  But still...

  Those two rides...

  She could still feel the wind on her face, the air whipping her hair, the freedom she felt on the back of Pete’s bike. She’d put her arms straight out on either side of her and pretend she was a bird with outstretched wing
s, gliding on an air stream.

  Sometimes one of the other brothers would ride up next to them really close and tease her by grabbing her fingers or tickling her palms, making her giggle.

  Any problems and stress in the club seemed to disappear during those runs. Or at least it seemed that way on the two she’d been on.

  “You with me?”

  She turned to meet his brown eyes. “Yeah. I’m with you.”

  “Not just right now in bed, Stel, on my sled.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I’m with you.”

  “You got a brain bucket?”

  “No.”

  “You want one?”

  She only thought about it for a split second. “No.”

  Trip grinned. “Got an extra bandanna or two if you need it. Cover your hair, your mouth. Whatever.”

  She had her own bandanas, just back at her apartment. “Do we have time for you to drop me off at Pete’s so I can get ready? I’ll head back here for breakfast as soon as I am. That’ll give you time to make it and also get ready.”

  Most of the times, he hauled her back and forth on his sled as long as the weather was good. He didn’t want her driving her Jeep.

  Stella was beginning to think it was so he had control of her coming and going. If she didn’t have her vehicle, she couldn’t leave the farm until he decided it was time. She didn’t like it and told him so.

  This was the perfect excuse to bring her Jeep back with her.

  “Don’t like you drivin’ that piece of shit.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “When I can, will get you somethin’ better.”

  “I won’t need anything better if you insist on hauling my ass around all the time.”

  “You belong on the back of my sled, and I like haulin’ your ass around.”

  “I don’t.” She lifted her palm when he began to argue. “I like being your backpack. I don’t like relying on you to get me around. There’s a difference. I’m not helpless.”

  “No one said you’re helpless, baby.”

  “Then don’t treat me like I am.”

  He told her time after time he wanted her in his bed every night and by picking her up at the bar and bringing her back to the farm, he got his way. If he didn’t do that, he was afraid she wouldn’t come out to the farm on her own. He didn’t voice that, but she heard it by his actions.

  He was right to worry.

  She loved being in his bed, and she was beginning to love being with him, but there were times she needed to be alone. Sometimes the only alone time she got was in the middle of the day when the bar was empty.

  Using the tip of his finger, he circled one of her nipples then the other, waking them up. “Still wanna fuck you, though,” he whispered.

  “Do we have time?” she asked, knowing they didn’t.

  He twisted his head to look at the ancient clock radio on his side of the bed. “Fuck.”

  “The sooner you drop me off, the sooner I can get back here.”

  “I can wait for you.”

  She froze mid-roll as she was getting out of bed. “I told you the plan, let’s stick to it. When is everyone meeting?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s nine-thirty now. It’ll give me enough time to shower, pack a bag and then head back over here so we can eat before the run.” She added the next to sweeten the deal. “And I’ll be able to pack a bigger bag if I have my Jeep. Clothes to change into after the run. More stuff to stash in the bathroom.”

  She finished getting out of bed, slipped on the clothes she had discarded in the middle of the night and faced him. He was now out of bed, completely naked and staring at her with his hands on his bare hips. And his jaw was working.

  She waited for him to argue, but he didn’t. He bent over, swiped his jeans off the floor and tugged them on.

  He was not liking her plan. In fact, he was struggling with it.

  She was not his property to control and this was a good reminder for him.

  It was one thing to sleep with him, or spend time together, it was another for him to try to rule her life.

  She wasn’t going to have it. And if he insisted on it, this wasn’t going to work.

  “Trip,” she said as she sat on the edge of the bed and yanked on her boots. When she was done, she glanced over her shoulder. He was still just standing there only wearing jeans. “You’ve got something to say?”

  It probably took everything he had for him to say, “No.”

  Even though they promised not to lie to each other, he just told her one. Because she was damn sure he had plenty to say.

  Her cheeks were wind burned, maybe even a little red by the early June sun, and her ass even hurt, but she didn’t care. It was to be expected after a four-hour long ride when she hadn’t been on a club run in a couple of decades.

  As they rode through the mountains and countryside of northern PA, that wind, that sun, the vibration of the Harley, holding onto Trip, being in a formation of roaring bikes, had lifted the weight of the world off her shoulders.

  The only word for it was freeing. Totally fucking freeing.

  Just like she remembered when she had ridden with her father.

  She didn’t catch one of the club brothers not wearing a smile or a grin. Not Dutch, who whooped and hollered for the first hour of the run. Cage. Ozzy. Judge. Deacon. Even Whip, who everyone was calling Sparky now that he wore a cut with a “prospect” rocker on the back. Mouse, aka Mickey, was another one of Dutch’s mechanics sporting a prospect cut. And Dodge, a new prospect, who Deacon had picked up at prison just a couple days ago, wore the biggest smile of all.

  She didn’t blame him.

  She also hoped Rook’s release from County wasn’t delayed and he got to join them on the next one. She knew of one old man who was riding at the front of the pack who would be damn happy about having his son home.

  Now Rook just needed to stay out of trouble and so did Dodge. Hell, all of them did. Trip was right when he told her late one night that having members behind bars weakened the whole club.

  With the way Trip was, Stella was sure he’d be giving his brothers a constant reminder of that. Especially if they were being stupid. That man was working too hard to have everything come crashing down around him.

  But the club wasn’t the only thing he was working hard on, he was working hard on her.

  And he was winning.

  They just needed to get some things settled between them. If they did, they’d be good.

  After the last month or so, she was reminded time and time again of why she had been drawn to him in the first place when they were younger. It had been not only his confidence but the way he carried himself.

  And it didn’t hurt he had always been hot as fuck. Even a young Stella had recognized it and had become totally enamored with Trip as a boy.

  He was no longer a boy, though. He was definitely all man. And that confidence had only grown and matured.

  Though, he fought to keep his temper under control.

  It didn’t worry her as much as maybe it should. He’d promised not to hurt her, and his promise was sincere. Even when he was rough with her in bed, he still constantly checked to make sure she was okay.

  She always would be and encouraged him to continue because she never felt more alive than when they connected during sex.

  Except for today. On the back of his bike. On this ride.

  That deep, dark hole inside her was filling quickly.

  And all it took was one man walking into her bar one night.

  The boy who never wanted her turned into a man who did.

  The formation of sleds pulled off the road into a lot in town designated for public parking. One by one, the bikes were crab-walked back into a long line, filling up multiple spots, and their rumbling engines silenced.

  Trip did the same with his, backing in next to Dutch. Then Cage, as Road Captain, was the last, so he parked o
n the end, first in the long line.

  It was a beautiful sight to see in the early evening sun. The sleds, the men, and the colors they all wore proudly.

  Suddenly, Stella was overwhelmed with a sense of home. She had forgotten what this felt like. And it wasn’t because the MC was back up and running, it was because of who was in that MC. The only one she didn’t know was Dodge. The rest? She knew them growing up or, more recently, from around town.

  Trip was relaxed and loose as he surveyed the lineup and was turning his head to say something to her or Dutch when he went tight.

  He wasn’t the only one when a Ford Explorer pulled up to the end of the line where Dutch, Cage and Trip were parked, blocking them. Even though it wasn’t marked like a typical police vehicle, it was easy to recognize what it was. Especially when the tinted window powered down and Chief Max Bryson’s head became visible, as well as his elbow as he propped his arm on the bottom edge of the opening.

  The man wasn’t in uniform but his demeanor and his dark sunglasses, which hid his beautiful crystal blue eyes, had cop written all over both.

  This did not make any of the guys smile.

  “Max,” Dutch greeted gruffly with a chin lift.

  “Dutch.” Max gave him an answering nod. “What’s going on?”

  “Just out for a ride to enjoy the beautiful spring weather.”

  Max’s head turned, taking in the line of bikes, which Stella noted would only get longer in the future as the club grew. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Dutch answered, still sitting on his fully-dressed Road King. “Ain’t doin’ nothin’ that needs your attention.”

  “Hope not.” Max aimed his sunglasses at Trip. “You’re the one who decided to start all this shit up again?”

  Stella was pretty sure the Chief knew that info already. She didn’t know Max to be a dick, even though he policed Manning Grove with a pretty tight fist.

  Since she was still plastered to Trip’s back—now on purpose to help keep his temper in check—she knew the second he went from tense to wired. “Not illegal.”

  “Didn’t say it was. Knew your granddaddy well. Good man. But my grandfather and my pop both had to deal with your father and his kind. They passed down some stories—”