by Kim Jones
“I’m coming inside you,” I growl. I have to do this. I want her pussy to smell like me. To taste like me. And every time she moves, I want her to feel me inside her, even when my cock is not.
“You’re fucking right you are,” she growls back.
Driving into her harder, I tilt my hips until I’m hitting that spot that has her eyes rolling back in her head. Her legs are locked around me. Her back is against the wall. And without breaking stride, I move my hand up her stomach and across her chest until my fingers are wrapped around her throat.
With a small squeeze, her voice catches as she comes all over my cock. I can feel the walls of her pussy throbbing with every beat of her heart. Then I’m filling her—burying my face in her neck to soften my roar. My cock pulsates as I release all my doubt, frustration, and tension inside her.
Relaxing my grip on her throat, she lets out a loud breath, panting in my ear, and her fingers knot in my hair. I lean into her, letting the wall support both our weight. When her ankles unlock at my back, I have to catch her to keep from falling. Slowly, I pull my face from her neck and meet her eyes. They’re watery, red, heavy, and full of satisfaction.
She’s panting in my face. I’m panting in hers. We’d just said everything we needed to without saying anything at all. This is our connection. This is our relationship. It’s crazy, unpredictable, and totally fucked up. But it works for us.
“I have a meeting,” she tells me, but I know it’s hard for her to think about anything with my dick still inside her.
“I don’t give a shit about your meeting,” I say, my voice low and very, very serious.
“Tell me you’ll see me tonight.” Her demand isn’t negotiable. And it’s my pleasure.
“I’ll see you tonight.” I keep my eyes on hers as I pull out of her, then set her on her feet. I pull a bandana from my back pocket and slide it between her legs. The intimate gesture has her eyes softening as she lets out a small sigh. I take longer than I should, and wait until her breathing picks up before I pull away—stuffing the bandana back in my pocket along with what’s left of the panties laying at her feet. Straightening, she starts to collect herself—adjusting her dress and taming her just-fucked hair. Walking to the dresser, I rummage around until I find some eye drops and a comb and hand them to her. Zipping up my jeans, I watch her in silence as she transforms from a sexy vixen back into the distant woman she was at the warehouse.
Looking devilishly fine, like she wasn’t up against a wall getting her brains fucked out only minutes ago, she squares her shoulders. Pausing at the door, she turns and looks straight through me. “Wait ten minutes before you come out. No need to confirm everyone’s suspicions.”
There are plenty of things I want to say. But she’s gone before I can answer. So to the closed door, I give a smirk and with amusement say, “Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
Because I’m a piece of shit and I want to defy her, I only wait five minutes before I walk back to the bar. Rookie is still seated, and I scan the room but don’t see Diem. “She’s out back,” he informs me, sliding a beer down the bar.
I take a long pull then light a cigarette—smelling Diem’s pussy on my hand as I do. My dick stirs to life again and I have to remind him to behave. “Well,” I start, turning to look at Rookie. “Go ahead and give me the gossip.”
He shrugs. “No gossip. Either people are too scared to say anything or too stupid to notice.” Well that’s good news. “How’d it go?” I give him a crooked smile and he nods. “I thought as much.”
“She’s staying with me tonight. Not sure what’s gonna go down with me and her,” I say, feeling my mood darken at the reminder.
“I’ll keep my phone on,” Rookie promises, sliding me another shot.
Holding up the glass, I offer him a toast. “To brothers.”
Clinking his glass to mine, he gives me his signature shrug. “And the fucked-up women who love us.”
* * *
A pleased smile crosses Diem’s face when she walks in from the patio to find every woman fully dressed. I roll my eyes as she celebrates her small victory. I get her a Seven and Seven, and ask Monica to leave the bottle on the bar for me. Diem cuts me with a look but I ignore it.
Nationals followed her inside, probably wondering what in the hell is going on between us. Nosy fuckers. Diem’s goons still stand at the door looking out of place and more like feds instead of Mafia guys.
“What’s the deal with them?” I ask her, nodding my chin in their direction.
Diem follows my gaze and shrugs. “I’m kind of a package deal now.” I shake my head. “What?” she asks, loud enough to draw the attention of several people nearby. Soon, the whole bar is quiet and listening to our conversation.
“You don’t need them.” I try to keep my voice low, but I’m sure everyone heard me.
She laughs. “So, all I need is you?” I look up to find Nationals watching us. Fuck it. I don’t care who hears what I have to say.
“You know I’ll take care of you,” I say, reaching out to rub my thumb across her wrist.
She keeps her face impassive, appearing unaffected by my touch. To avoid me, she looks over at Rookie. “Hey, Joe.”
“Diem,” he says with a nod. “And it’s Rookie, by the way.” She quirks an eyebrow. “My name isn’t Joe. It’s Rookie.”
“Ah,” she says, finally catching on. “Rookie. Right.”
I’m itching with anxiety—burning her with the intensity of my gaze until she finally sheds a little mercy on my sorry ass and turns to look at me. “I think we need to talk.”
She appraises me a moment before looking at her goons. Just like her father, she uses the power of a chin tip to dismiss them. Turning back to me, she nods. “I’m ready when you are.” Well, it’s about fucking time.
I lead Diem out, throwing my hand up to Nationals on the way. I ignore their curious stares. If they want to know something, they’ll ask. And knowing them, my phone will be blowing up by noon.
Dawn is breaking in the Nevada sky and it’s the nicest time of day here in the west. It’s my favorite time for riding too, and I can’t help but feel a little excited at the thought of Diem riding with me. I’m smiling by the time I get to my bike, but it quickly fades when I notice she’s stopped several feet away.
“I’m not riding that fucking thing,” she says, looking at my bike like it’s a camel.
“Those shoes comfortable?” I ask, jerking my chin toward her six-inch stilettos.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not riding it, shoes or no shoes.”
“It does matter. Because if you don’t ride, you walk.”
She crosses her arms, glaring at me. “I could make you take me in a vehicle.”
I laugh. So this was her game? Sucked for her. “Babe, I don’t give a shit who you are. You want to kill me? Kill me. I figured I was going to die this morning, so I feel like every minute is a bonus. And I don’t plan to spend one minute of it kissing your ass.”
Her eyes widen a little at my words, but she covers it quick. “Still . . . I don’t want to ride that thing. Especially in a dress.”
“Look,” I say, pulling her closer to the bike. “I’ll go slow. Nobody will see what’s beneath that little red dress. Trust me,” I growl, already wanting to kill at just the thought of someone trying to sneak a peek. “You’ll like it. I promise. And if it makes you feel better, this is Dirk’s bike.”
Hearing that, she observes the bike a little more closely. Her eyes move reverently over the recently rebuilt handlebars, motor, seat, and tires. Finally she nods. “Okay. I’ll give it a try.” I get on, then hold her hand while she clambers on the bike in a not-so-ladylike way. “I already feel like I’m going to fall off.”
“Well, if you don’t hold on, you will.” She says something, but the sound of the pipes drowns her out as her arms tighten around me.
23
KEEPING GOOD ON my word, I ride slow, letting her take everything in. I feel her relax a little behind me, but she tenses every time I take a curve. I feel like I’m sitting still at fifty, but I slow down to forty just to ease her mind. The tension seems to leave her body the moment we turn down Dirk’s driveway. The white, wood-frame house sits a good way back, but is still visible from the road. It really is a beautiful place, especially now that it’s cleaned up.
I cut the engine and help her off. Her smile is big when she looks at me. She doesn’t even know where we are, but it makes her happy. I smile back because this place makes me happy too. “This was Dirk’s house,” I say, watching her smile fade as the realization starts to sink in. I almost feel guilty that I didn’t tell her it was mine now. Especially since she was so happy only moments ago.
We walk to the front of the house, both of us looking up at it and letting everything sink in. It seems different without Dirk and Saylor around. But still charming and welcoming. I walk up the stairs and take a seat on the porch.
“Who lives here now?” Diem asks, running her hand over the railing. She stays on the steps, almost like she’s afraid to come any closer.
I light a cigarette, blowing out a large cloud of smoke before answering. “I do.”
Her head jerks up and that smile she wore earlier returns. “Really? It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah it is. Dirk would have wanted you to feel at home here,” I say, my voice thick. I clear my throat and take another drag, wishing I had something a little stronger.
Diem climbs the steps, taking a seat next to me. Reaching over, she grabs my cigarette. Her hand is shaky as she pulls it to her lips, taking a drag before handing it back to me. “I didn’t know about Dirk until two days ago,” she starts, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. She tries to fight through the emotion, but I can tell she’s struggling.
“When Dorian told me, the first thing I felt was hate. I wanted to kill him for keeping my brother from me. But I knew I couldn’t, so I saved my anger for Cyrus. I stayed up all day and night going over every detail of Dirk and Saylor’s story, well, what I had of it. I didn’t think I’d make it through that meeting. But then . . .” She looks at me, her eyes shining. “I saw you.”
“Did you know about me?” I ask when she doesn’t continue.
She shakes her head. “No. Not until I got there. And when I found out you were the infamous Shady, I didn’t know what I was going to do.” The flash of horror on her face at the reminder confuses me.
“What do you mean?” I ask, already knowing I’m not going to like the answer.
Unable to look at me, she stares out across the yard. “Because I was supposed to kill you.”
Even though it’s not funny, I can’t help but laugh at the irony. She cuts her eyes, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “That’s funny to you?”
“A little.” I smirk, lighting another cigarette. For some reason, my adrenaline spikes and I feel anxious. “I woke up knowing I was going to die. But I didn’t care. All I could think about was leaving you. So don’t you find it the least bit humorous that you were actually the one who was going to kill me?”
“No. I don’t find it humorous at all,” she answers, deadpan. “Lucky for you, you don’t know when to keep your mouth shut. The only thing that saved you was telling Dorian what nobody else had the guts to say. He appreciates a man with steel in his spine.”
I’m still smiling, but then I realize what she’s really saying. “So you would have killed me?”
“Oh like you haven’t ever thought of killing me,” she says, avoiding the question altogether. I decide I don’t really want to know the answer. We all have to die sometime anyway. I guess yesterday just wasn’t my day.
The silence drags on, both Diem and I lost in our own deep thoughts. We’re both tired, but too anxious to sleep. There’s something comforting about sitting on this porch with her by my side. I look over at her, for the first time really taking notice of the similarities between her and Dirk—the black hair, dark hazel eyes, olive complexion, and not to mention the shitty attitude. If he knew he had a sister, I’m sure he’d forbid me to even look at her. But I can’t help but feel like he’s looking down on both of us, proud that we found each other. In the most fucked-up kind of way, we worked.
“Would you like to see his grave?” I ask Diem, reaching out to take her hand and bring it to my lips. She nods, and I lead her to the backyard where the grass is beginning to grow over the two mounds of dirt. I watch her as she reads the hand-carved wooden crosses that mark the heads of Dirk’s and Saylor’s graves.
“I’ve never felt more joy than when I watched Cyrus take his last breath,” she whispers. “I wanted him to suffer, but I couldn’t stand the thought of him still being here, alive, when my brother was dead and gone. I never hesitated. Is something wrong with me?”
Her eyes search mine for some kind of understanding or truth. But I don’t have it to tell. “I ask myself that question every day. You just have to find your own solution. It’s the only way to keep you from going insane.”
“What’s your solution?” she asks, staring up at me with wide, patient eyes full of empathy.
“I love hard. Too hard. I tell myself I do it because I care. I wrong those who have wronged the ones I love. My club, my brothers, and my girl. I’ll kill any and every motherfucker that hurts them. And I don’t feel regret because in my fucked-up brain, I believe they deserve it.” Looking down at Dirk’s grave, I feel the same joy Diem does. I’m glad Cyrus is dead. I’m glad Death Mob is too. And if I had to do it all over again, I would.
Diem blows out a breath, moving her neck from side to side. “Okay,” she says, slapping me on the arm. “Enough of this sappy shit. I’m hungry. And we’re getting along too well. It’s weird and you’re getting boring.” She walks toward the house, and I watch her ass sway from side to side, leaving me feeling guilty considering I’m standing at the foot of her brother’s grave.
“Yeah,” I call after her. “You need to change too. You look like a slut in that dress.”
“Yeah?” she yells over her shoulder. “Well your breath smells like dog shit.”
Damn it feels good to get back to normal.
* * *
The normalcy lasts all of one minute, which is the amount of time it takes to get back to the house. Now we’re standing at the threshold waiting to walk in and our emotions are crashing through us like waves once again.
“Maybe a cigarette before we go in?” Diem suggests. I agree and light us a smoke. She doesn’t ask, but I know she wants to know everything about her brother, so I start from the beginning.
“Your dad put Dirk in the care of a man who raised him until he was seven. He then called Roach, who was once Nationals president for Sinner’s Creed. The man who owned this house and raised Dirk as his grandson owed a favor to Roach, so he took Dirk in. Roach thought it would help change him. It didn’t.” I take a seat in one of the chairs, and she sits in the other, fully invested in the story.
“What do you mean change him?”
“He was a real asshole. Treated Dirk like shit, but it made him strong. Black made him the man he was.”
“Black?” she asks, confused.
“Yeah. Like death. Like nothing.” I take a drag from my cigarette, hoping the nicotine will help calm my own emotions when I think about a life that might have been better for Dirk if his daddy wasn’t such a chickenshit.
We sit and I know she’s looking at me, but she isn’t pushing, so I take my time. When I feel like I’m as ready as I’m gonna get, I stand and lead her inside. I watch her face as she takes it all in. By the surprised look, I’m guessing it’s not what she expected. “Saylor knew Dirk had a lot of bad memories here, so she remodeled the house and they made new ones here together.”
“What’s all this?” she
asks, pointing to all the covers and pillows on the floor.
“The Friday before Saylor died, she wanted to have a sleepover with her closest friends. Me, Rookie, Carrie, and two of Saylor’s other friends stayed. We all slept here together.” I don’t look at her. I just stare at the spot I laid in and remembered the last time I looked at Saylor. She’d shot me a wink and told me she loved me.
“That’s pretty amazing. I’m glad she had such good friends,” Diem whispers, but her voice still sounds loud in the silence.
Moving on, I show her around the small kitchen and dining room, then down the hall to their bedroom. She walks in, but I stay outside the door. “I haven’t moved anything. I’ve only been here a few times since it all happened. This is their sanctuary, you know? I feel like an intruder.”
Nodding, she smiles. “I get it.”
I point across the hall. “This is where I stay. It was Black’s room, but Saylor gave it to me. For some reason, this place felt like home. She always made me feel welcome.”
“Well, it’s a lot better than your room at the cabin, that’s for damn sure.” She smirks and a little bit of the weight on my shoulders seems to lift.
I look at our reflection in the mirror, standing side by side in Dirk’s house. I don’t feel ashamed for being here with her. It feels right. Like this is truly what Dirk would have wanted. Even if he didn’t, I know Saylor would’ve approved and Dirk would’ve done whatever in the hell she told him to.
“I’ll tell you everything I know about him,” I say, meeting her eyes in the mirror.
“I think I have enough to reflect on right now. I just need some time to let it all sink in.” She pulls my duffel bag from the floor and digs around until she finds one of my shirts. “Mind if I shower?”
