Clutch

by Drew Elyse

  Cami screamed out, and in the instant before I felt her clamping down on me, I could have fucking cheered for myself. I’d gotten her clit where it needed to be, the vibrations of the engine sending her over the edge. She soaked me, squeezed me, screamed out my name, and made me fucking blow inside her.

  It took a bit for the sound of blood pounding in my ears to fade. It was a damn good thing balancing on a bike was second nature to me. Even with the kickstand, we could have leaned too far to the right and gone over. Staying upright while coming that hard was a probably more a stroke of luck than anything.

  “Holy…shit…” Cami panted out on repeat.

  She started to twitch a bit, lifting herself away from the bike, pulling on my oversensitive cock. I reached around her, shutting off the bike to spare us both. She collapsed against the bike as I held her around her hips to keep her steady. I heard her speak again, but how she was laying muffled the sound.

  “What’s that?”

  Her head came up a few inches. “I said, I think you killed me.”

  I laughed, wrapping my arms around her middle to pull her up. Always being difficult, she held on to the front of the bike to stay where she was. “You don’t want to come to me?”

  “Dead,” she answered.

  “The dead don’t talk, babe.”

  She stayed quiet in response. I decided to up the ante. Trying to move as carefully as I could so she wouldn’t feel it, I lifted one hand and brought it down with a solid smack on her plump ass.

  “Ow! What the hell, Gauge?” she snapped as she turned to glare at me.

  “Just making sure you’re still with me.”

  “You’re a monster.”

  Finally managing to pull her mostly-limp body up against mine, I said, “I’m your monster.”

  She giggled. The sound still surprised me. Camille, the woman I met that first day, wasn’t a woman who giggled. She was so trapped by her own life, I wasn’t sure she could have found that kind of humor in the world, let alone loosen up enough to enjoy it. Cami, though, she giggled, drank beer, let me fuck her like a madman on my bike in the middle of nowhere—she took life by the balls.

  After a while, the night air started to get to us both. Cami shivered a bit, so I eased her off me to her feet. We dressed, and I pulled a jacket from my saddlebags—never knew when the weather was going to change on you and freezing on a bike in the rain was no picnic. I’d learned that the hard way one too many times. Now, the leather stayed with the bike, just in case.

  Cami was swimming in the leather, looking cute as hell, but that wasn’t what caused me to stare at her. Seeing it on her struck something in me. I wanted her in leather all the time. Not just any leather, but Disciples leather. I wanted her to walk around with “Property of Gauge” stitched on her back.

  “What?” she asked when I continued to stare at her.

  “Nothin’, just admiring the view,” I evaded.

  She smirked and started to look around her. “I haven’t been out here in ages.”

  “Not the view I was talkin’ about.”

  She gave me a look that was all sass and then went on like I’d said nothing. “Stone used to take me fishing down here. Dad never came along. He couldn’t sit still long enough. I didn’t mind it. Being around the clubhouse all the time, it was nice to get some quiet. Of course, I did not touch the worms.” She gave a little shudder.

  “Then how’d you catch anything?”

  “He baited the hooks for me. He always gave me a hard time about it, but he never made me do it.”

  “Never known Pres to be a softy.”

  “I guess I’m just special,” she teased.

  “Yeah, darlin’,” I said. She had no idea how much. I shook that off. It wasn’t the time or place. “Come on. Let’s get going before you freeze on me.”

  We road back to the club with her wrapped around my back. Being on my Harley had always felt like it was where I was supposed to be. I always figured if I had a woman to put on the back of it, it would take some getting used to. But wouldn’t you know it, Cami being there felt as natural as could be.

  “Time for church, you fuckin’ heathens!” Daz yelled as he moved through the clubhouse.

  “Who the hell made you Paul Revere?” Ham asked.

  “Shut up, asshole,” Daz shot back, moving to bang on the doors down the hall.

  The guys made their way toward the set of double doors that were locked aside from when the Pres called us all in for a meeting. Beside the doors stood Doc with the basket we were all made to drop our phones into. Doc was the Disciples’ secretary and treasurer, so he kept track of us all as we went in, to be sure everyone was there.

  I fished my phone out, irritated as I saw another damn call from Stacey, and handed it off to the old man with a nod. At 52, Doc was the oldest active member. Of course, not one of us would call him an old man to his face. The belly and the beard that grew whiter by the year might have had some similarity to Santa Claus, but the man had a lethal knowledge of the human body and a special hand for sharp objects. He could knock you out with a single swing and dismember you before you came to.

  Inside, everyone settled around the big oak table. The whole room was a homage to the Disciples’ history. Photos of the club members past and present covered the walls. The wall behind the head of the table where the president sat had the Disciples’ patch painted on it: crossed sickles and pistons, the tools of the reaper and the heart of the engines in our bikes.

  Stone came in, flanked by Doc who shut the doors. Pres stood in front of the mural, took the beat to hell gavel from the table, and slammed that fucker down to shut us all up. “Time to get to it,” he announced. “Tank, you’re up.”

  Tank stood from near the front of the table. “Got an issue, boys,” he started. “Spoke to good ol’ Officer Andrews. He’s heard rumors about a couple of feds in town, but they haven’t been to the station. Been a few sightings of a black sedan chilling near club grounds. Can’t say if it’s related, but we gotta keep an eye on things. We ain’t got a lot to hide, but we don’t need those fuckers getting too interested either.”

  Sounds of agreement rang out around the table. The Disciples had left the really hardcore shit behind. Once upon a time, the club dealt in smack, weed, blow, and guns. It had nearly broken the Disciples apart. Federal investigations, drug problems, turf wars—brothers were getting shot and locked up left and right.

  Slowly but surely, we pulled out of the game. The club ceased all distribution business. We also tried to keep the area clean of that shit. Small-time dealers weren’t much of a concern, but we weren’t letting some other organization take over our territory. We may not have needed the customer base anymore, but it was still our land. That shift had also allied us with certain players around town, like Officer Andrews. Of course, we kept the good officer naïve to most of our goings on.

  Just because we didn’t move product ourselves didn’t mean we were completely clean of it. When we’d stepped out of the gun trade, we’d made the decision to stay in good graces with our supplier by running them on occasion. We liked to stay stocked for our own purposes, and that took connections. A handful of runs every year wasn’t a big price to pay, particularly when it came with a fat payday.

  “Andrews is keeping his ear to the ground, gonna ask around as best he can without drawing attention,” Tank continued. “Everyone keep your eyes open. We’re gonna have to step up watches for the fights next month. Don’t need to get busted for that shit while we’ve got permits on the table for the new shop.”

  Oh, yeah. The fights, too. Running the periodic underground boxing ring was not particularly legal.

  Stone spoke up. “Jager, fights are your deal. You work out what extra bodies you need and let people know.” He looked around to the rest of us. “All hands on deck for it. Jager approaches you, you’re in.” More murmurs of agreement met him.

  That was how most of the meeting went. Random bits of news, a couple of votes,
and then Slick took the floor. “I’ve decided to step down as road captain.” A few surprised noises moved through the room, but I’d known this was something he had been considering. “Love this club and the cut, but I’ve got a daughter on the way. Deni’s taking time off for a while, but she wants to get back to work once she can. Nothing about my commitment to the club is changing, but I can’t guarantee I can be on every ride out. Can’t do that, can’t hold this title. It’s time for me to pass it on.”

  No one would give him shit for that. We may all be willing to bleed for the club, but family was fucking important. Not an ounce of respect the brother had earned would be lost for wanting to do right by his woman and kid.

  “Gauge,” Stone called. I turned my eyes to Pres along with the rest of my brothers. “You’re taking that patch.”

  That was it. Five words, and I was the new Road Captain for the Savage Disciples. Shit. How about that?

  “Thanks, Pres,” I said. Some of the brothers clapped a little, but it was otherwise a simple transaction. Of course, there was sure to be some celebrating later.

  “Alright, any last business?”

  I stood. There was one thing I needed to take care of. “I’ve got something.”

  Pres gave me a “go ahead” gesture.

  I looked to Tank before I spoke. We’d already talked, but I wanted to give him one final chance to shut me down. He nodded.

  “I’m giving Cami my patch, officially laying claim to her as my old lady,” I announced. The formal statement to the club was required before I could get her a property patch. It was a respect thing for the brothers. It gave them an opportunity to speak up if there was a real problem with bringing someone into the fold. No one said a thing.

  “Fair enough,” Stone said before he banged the gavel, ending the meeting.

  The minute we were out of the room, Ham threw his arm around my shoulders. We kept walking into the main room as he hollered to the prospect, “We need beers!”

  Without question, Jack jumped to pulling out brews and popping off the tops. They knew the brother’s preferences, including pouring a glass of Jägermeister for Jager since the fucker rarely drank anything else.

  Cami, who’d been chilling at the bar talking to the boys, jumped up at Ham’s shouting and came over to me. “What’s going on?”

  Before I could get a word in, the boisterous motherfucker said, “You’re lookin’ at the Disciples’ new Road Captain!”

  My girl’s stunning face broke into a huge smile and she threw herself at me. I took her hug a step further, lifting her up so she’d wrap those legs around me. It gave me the perfect damn excuse to get my hands on them. She really was a test in restraint wearing those cut-off shorts all the time.

  “Congratulations.” She kissed me—no, she fucking teased me. Her lips barely made contact before she pulled back a bit to trace mine with her tongue. I growled and slammed my lips against hers. If she wanted to play with that tongue of hers, I could find her some other options.

  “Alright, children,” Ham interrupted as I was considering carrying her out of the room and getting us more horizontal. Cami, much to my chagrin, pulled back and looked at him. He held out two beers for us, so I let her slide back down to the floor. We each took one of the proffered bottles and Ham turned to face the room at large. “To the new Road Captain!” he toasted on a yell.

  “Road Captain!” the boys answered.

  Hours later, I had a solid buzz and Cami was barely shy of three sheets to the wind. Getting the spot as road captain meant my brothers hadn’t let my hand be empty of a drink all evening—hell, I’d been double fisting several times when new beers were appearing before the old one was empty.

  “And then,” Ham was half-shouting the story he was telling, “Gauge comes out and is like ‘I can’t do it!’ So, I look at him and ask, ‘Do you not know which hole it is? It’s okay to be unsure if you’re new at it.’”

  “You asshole,” I interjected, “I knew which fuckin’ hole I was looking for.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He took a long pull of her beer, finishing off another bottle. “So, anyway, he looks at me like he’s seen a fucking ghost and says, ‘She’s got a demon tattoo.’ And I’m like, ‘So what?’ He looks like he’s gonna be sick or some shit, and he says, ‘No, man. She’s got a demon tattoo down there.’ I’m not even following at that point so I ask what he means, and he’s like, ‘Her fuckin’ pussy, man! Her vagina is the mouth of a fuckin’ demon! Teeth and everything!’”

  Thank God, Cami actually laughed at that. Why the hell Ham thought the best way to entertain her was to tell some jacked up story about a girl I tried to fuck one time, I didn’t know. At least it hadn’t gone south.

  “So, did you do it?” she asked through her laughter.

  Ham laughed harder. “I told him to. Told him to flip her over or something, but he came back out after a minute and was like ‘I can’t. That fuckin’ thing has fangs and everything. Can’t do it.’”

  Cami’s laughter came so hard, she started to tip backwards off my knee. Luckily, the arm of the couch was behind her. I wasn’t all there enough to be sure I’d catch her.

  “So, what about you, Cami girl?” Ham asked.

  “What about me, what?”

  “Got any embarrassing sex stories to share?”

  Cami didn’t look remotely uncomfortable at the question, but she was the only one. “Fuck no, dude. We aren’t fucking going there,” I snapped. I didn’t want to hear anything about other guys she’d fucked. I knew it was messed up since I had a history there was no way she could compete with and we’d all just been laughing it up over it, but I couldn’t listen to that.

  “It’s okay,” Cami assured me, as if I was saying that to protect her honor or something. No, I was a selfish fuck. “I’ve only been with two guys, so not really,” she answered Ham’s question before I could correct her assumption.

  “What?” Ham sounded shocked, but he had nothing on me.

  “Wait. Are you serious?” I asked, pulling her chin so she was looking right in my eyes.

  Well, that did the trick of making her look uncomfortable. “Um…yeah. Nathaniel was the first, and now there’s you.”

  Shit. Fuck. Shit.

  What did I do with that?

  On the one hand, I was thrilled to know there weren’t any other assholes who had had my woman walking around out there. I didn’t have to worry about the faceless names of her past.

  On the other hand, the crazy possessive side of me wanted to take down that ex of hers even more knowing he was the only living soul that had been with her besides me. The irrational need to bury that motherfucker so I could be the only one alive who knew what it was like to have her consumed me.

  Christ, I was a mess.

  “Gauge, are you okay?” Cami asked hesitantly.

  What was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to tell her I was having messed up fantasies of killing her ex because he’d taken her virginity, something I know damn well would have scared me to take if she’d still had it when we met, something I seemed to want mostly because someone else had it?

  Yeah, that’d go over real well.

  “Yeah,” I lied. “Just a little surprised, and I’m feelin’ that last beer.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m good, darlin’.”

  Alright, maybe that wasn’t true, but I’d get over it. Cami was mine, after all. History aside, I was the one who had her now—hell, I’d all but stolen her from that prick. She left him and ran right into my arms. Plus, I knew for a fact he hadn’t been taking proper care of her in bed. I knew it that first day when she led me to the guest room to change. I knew it without a doubt when I backed her against the wall at that country club. He might have had her, but he didn’t satisfy her. I did.