CHOPPER: Southside Skulls Motorcycle Club (Southside Skulls MC Romance Book 11)

by Jessie Cooke

  29

  Two Weeks Later

  Chopper watched the election results on television with Chelsea sitting on the couch next to him. He’d finally told her about the video about a week prior, but not until Cody’s friend had finished editing it. She’d asked to see it, and he told her he wouldn’t refuse to let her, but he did strongly suggest that she didn’t. Finally, after one entire night of talking about it, and tears, she conceded that he was right, and it wasn’t something she wanted burned into her memory forever. As a matter of fact, Chopper was even grateful that she had taken so many drugs in those days. He wasn’t sure that her psyche could take the weight of those types of memories if they were clear.

  He had watched the video, the edited one. There were more, but those would be kept in the safe at the ranch, just in case any of the other “high rollers” ever crawled out from whatever rock they were lying under. For now, Chelsea would be recognizable in those, and there was no way he could handle watching that. The edited one had nearly killed him, and it had almost sent him into an uncontrollable, homicidal rage. He’d watched it at the ranch and if Dax hadn’t been there to talk him down, the party for the little bitch they were watching on television at the moment would be a funeral. He had only watched it so that he could be absolutely sure that there was nothing left on the video to identify her, but fuck, it had been hard to get through the entire thing.

  Thankfully though, only the film needed to be edited and not the sound. The less editing, the better, so the prick wouldn’t be able to deny it was him at all. Chopper listened closely for her name, which was never said. He called her a lot of things…dirty, disgusting things…but never her name. The walls in the room they were in were bare, so there was nothing to identify where the video had been taken. Chelsea’s face and tattoos had been blurred out and she was a lot thinner then too, thanks to her lifestyle no doubt. He had to keep telling himself as he watched that those were all good things. The video was perfect for what they needed it for. Visible throughout the video and clear as a bell was the ugly, overly Botoxed face of the evangelist. His soft, white body was clear too, along with what was most definitely a distinguishing birthmark on his ass. And then there was the other man. That one came as a surprise to them all. It seemed that one of Walton’s bodyguards was as kinky as that old bastard was, and he could clearly be seen and heard in the video as well.

  There was a point in the video where the bodyguard left the room for a while and when he returned he had baggie of something white. He watched Walton and Chelsea with a sick little smile on his face while he melted the powder with a lighter and a glass pipe. Then the two men smoked it and blew the smoke into Chelsea’s face until she choked and gagged on it. Chopper didn’t even realize that he was capable of the kind of hate he felt for them both by the time it was over, and he ached for the moment that he could use it to bring Walton and his bodyguard to their knees in front of millions of people. It wouldn’t be the last time Walton was on his knees, but Chopper planned on being there for that one too.

  Now Chelsea sat quietly watching the screen while Walton smiled from ear to ear and posed for photos with his wife, daughter, and his daughter’s family. He had just won the Republican Congressional seat and as expected, he was giving all the credit to being a child of God. As sickening as it was, Chelsea’s face was impassive as she watched. Chopper couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking, but he wouldn’t dare ask. If she wanted to talk about it, she would. If not, she wouldn’t. Either way, he just wanted to be there for her. Finally, thirty minutes into the nauseating show, after listening to Bart Walton preach and talk about how “blessed” he was that the citizens of Boston trusted him to represent their needs in Washington, Chopper couldn’t take it any longer. “Can I change this, baby?”

  “Armed with God,” Chelsea said. Motherfucker. It was his campaign slogan, “Armed with God.” The crowds around him were chanting it. Chopper wished so badly they could have carried out their plan there, tonight, in front of the entire world. But security in the hotel where the rally was being held would be of the Secret Service variety, and there was no way they could crack it. It did make him feel better to know that as Walton and his family celebrated tonight, things were being set up for his big sermon at his big church, the very next morning. By the time Chelsea went to court on Monday morning, all she would have to worry about was her son. Suddenly, as if waking from a trance, she said, “Yes, change it.” And then, “I have vague memories of him being at the house, but none of…you know.”

  Chopper found a sitcom and put the remote down. He wrapped her up in his arms and pulled her into him for a hug. He was glad that he’d talked her out of watching the videos. “Vague” memories were so much better than what she would have if she saw them. He wished that he only had “vague” memories himself. He had nightmares about what that bastard and his bodyguard did to her. He could hear her crying out in pain and begging them to stop, while they laughed. He could see Walton’s face looking down at her, telling her that she was a “vile, worthless whore” and that he was “taking her sin away” just by virtue of his touch. He touted himself as her savior and even preached to her while he was getting off. Chopper hoped the evangelist really did believe in sin and heaven and hell, because right before he died, Chopper was going to remind him where he was headed.

  “Will you tell me something, honestly?” she asked him all of a sudden. He switched off the television and said:

  “Of course, I’m always honest with you.”

  “When we…make love, do you think about those videos and the things I used to do?”

  Chopper sat up straight and held her back at arm’s length. “Oh, baby…Jesus, I hate this shit. I hate that you have things like that in your head. I only watched one video, but even if I had watched them all…none of them would put a dent in how I feel about you. You weren’t yourself then. You weren’t the woman that I met a couple of months ago and fell in love with yet. You’re sober, you’re strong, you’re confident enough to stand up to these bastards that abused you…”

  “But, I’m not standing up to them, you are.”

  “Baby…”

  “Don’t ‘baby’ me, please, Chopper. Look, I realize that you’re trying to keep me far from this because of my court date on Monday, and I appreciate the hell out of that, I really do. But I look at that man’s smug face and lose my mind. I have come a long way, and I don’t remember a lot of what happened to me. But I don’t believe I can go any further unless I face it.”

  “So, what do you want to do? You want to watch the video?”

  “No. I want to be there when he watches it.”

  “Oh, no…baby…”

  “The place will be packed, right? Not only will his regular flock be there, but everyone on his campaign bandwagon. He’ll never notice me there in the crowd. Please, I need to be there.”

  Chopper sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He wanted so badly to protect her but maybe protection wasn’t what she needed. “Okay.”

  She sat up and looked at his face. “Okay? Just like that? I expected an argument.”

  He chuckled. “Was an argument going to do me any good?”

  She smiled. “No. I had already made up my mind. I was going to be there.”

  “I got that. I didn’t want to waste all that time trying to change your mind when I knew I couldn’t.”

  “I love you, Justice Crowley.”

  “I love you so much, Chelsea Roberts. I love you so much that one of these days, when all of this is over, and you have custody of your boy, I would very much like to change your last name.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Well, I’ve always liked Roberts but if you don’t like it, I suppose we can change it. What do you think? Like something blander…maybe Smith? Or—oh! I know! Rockefeller, I’ve always wanted to be…” She didn’t get to finish. He cut her words off by tickling her. He had her squealing and laughing and in minutes, t
he tickling and wrestling turned into a passionate kiss. Their lips and bodies were crushed together so tightly that when Chopper heard the growl, he wasn’t sure which one of them it came from. She was pulling at his shirt, stretching it out of shape, trying to pull it off him. He would have helped her, but his hands were busy exploring the warm, soft skin of her back. He was stroking and kneading it lightly when she finally pulled out of the kiss and said, “Take this shirt off now or I’m going to rip it into shreds.”

  He laughed. “That’s kind of hot.”

  “Take it off!” she demanded. With another chuckle, he pulled it over his head. She reached for him again and he pulled back and said:

  “Uh-huh, you do the same.”

  She pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it over the back of the couch and then she went back for his lips. While his tongue played with hers, his hands got busy unhooking her bra. As soon as he got it unhooked, he broke the kiss again and let her slide it off. Her hands were on the button of his jeans then, so he stood up and unbuttoned and unzipped them while she watched like she’d never seen what was underneath before. “You going to take yours off too?”

  “In a second. I want to look at you first.”

  He reached down and tweaked one of her hard nipples. “I can’t understand why you want to look at me. If I were you I’d never get anything done. I’d just stare at myself in the mirror all day long.”

  Chelsea cracked up at that. “You’re crazy.”

  “Serious, baby,” he said as he slipped off his jeans. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

  She reached for the waist of his boxers and yanked them down. “You are the gorgeous one. Mm…” She leaned forward and licked the tip of his cock. He groaned and reluctantly pulled back.

  “It’s all in your perception, I suppose,” he said in a strangled voice. “Stand up and take off those jeans.”

  Chelsea stood up, unbuttoned her jeans, and pushed them down. He loved watching her take off her tight jeans. She had to wiggle out of them. It was fucking hot. Once her jeans were on the floor she was left in a little red thong and nothing else. She put her hands to her waist and started to pull it down too, but he said, “No. Leave it.” He pulled her against him and up on her toes for another kiss. He loved kissing her. He loved the way her lips felt on his and the way her tongue explored the inside of his mouth like it was looking for something. He loved how she sighed into him and occasionally he caught one of her moans.

  He reached down while they kissed and slipped two fingers underneath the slip of fabric between her legs. She was soaked, and he rubbed her pussy lips up and down as far as he could reach, pulling her up against him even closer while he played in her warm moisture. She was writhing against him and moaning into his mouth. He found her clit with his thumb and began rubbing that too. It was hard, and he could tell how sensitive it was by the sounds she was making. Her heavy breathing and the tightening of her muscles told him she was getting close to orgasm. Sometimes he liked to make her come first and other times he ached to feel her come all over him. Tonight was one of those nights. He wanted them to come together. He had to force himself to stop touching her long enough to turn her around so she was facing away from him and he said:

  “Grab onto the back of the couch, baby.”

  Chelsea put her hands on the back of the couch and arched her back. She was so hot that just looking at her like that sent a chill through him that ended in a surge of blood to his already engorged cock. He took hold of the red string that rested between her round cheeks and moved it aside while he found the entrance he was looking for. He held onto her with one hand and thrust into her. She made a sexy sound and he shuddered again. He let go of the thong and put that hand on one of her breasts. He massaged and kneaded, sliding his fingers up to take hold of her nipple. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, making her moan while he continued to move in and out of her. He felt like his body was on fire from the inside out every time he was inside of her. Before he met her, he thought he knew what great sex was, but being inside of her wasn’t just physical; he felt it in places that he didn’t know existed before. He felt it in his soul.

  Chelsea cried out suddenly and pushed her hips back into him, hard. He reached around and slid his fingers across her clit. She cried out again, this time saying his name in a deep, sexy voice that sent a wild thrill racing through him. He pressed harder and moved faster, using his other hand to reach up and grab a handful of her hair.

  “Say my name, baby.”

  “Justice…fuck! Oh god…fuck me, Justice! I’m going to come all over your hard cock.” Her long, almost tortured cry alerted him that she was coming before he felt the sticky, warm fluid coat his throbbing cock. It was all he needed to cross his own threshold. He pulled back hard on her hair and with the hand that had just been rubbing her clit came up and slapped her ass. She cried out his name again, and one more slap to that beautiful ass had him coming like a fourteen-year-old virgin under the bleachers after the football game. It was fucking fabulous, and the best part was that the video and the evangelist were the furthest thing from his mind that night when he fell asleep with his beautiful woman in his arms.

  30

  Chelsea had been past the church at least a thousand times. She remembered when it was being built; she had honestly thought it was going to be a sports stadium of some kind. It was huge, ridiculously so. It was made of metal and on the outside resembled a large spaceship that had settled down right in the center of the city. On the inside, it looked more like a church…a huge one. The pews were set up like stadium seats so that wherever you sat, you had a bird’s-eye view of the stage, or “altar” as he called it. There were white candles on five-foot-tall candelabras set up on both sides and in the center was a huge white and gold organ. There was a podium, and of course a microphone so everyone could hear what the dear preacher had to say. The wall behind the altar, though, that’s where Chelsea’s eyes wanted to stay focused. It was a large, white screen that he used to scroll hymnal lyrics or show pictures of happy, sin-free Christians. She only knew those things because she’d seen him on television. She hadn’t told Chopper, but sometimes she would walk into the day room at rehab and his show would be on the big seventy-inch television. Something about his face and the sound of his voice always gave her the creeps, and she’d have to turn around and walk back out of the room.

  She finally took her eyes from the blank, white screen and looked over at the pew across the aisle. Zack and Garrett sat there, dressed in street clothes. If Chopper hadn’t told her they would be there, she wouldn’t have recognized either of them. Of course, there were very few other men walking around that were as big as Garrett. Even in plain clothes it was hard not to notice him. Zack smiled and winked at her and she smiled back. She wished that Chopper was here with her, but he said that Dax needed him out back. She suspected that translated into wherever they planned on taking Walton when all of this was over. She wasn’t privy to the entire plan, but she saw the look in Chopper’s eyes when he talked about this guy. She knew that the utter disgrace and humiliation he was about to experience wasn’t going to be nearly enough.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce our organist Susan Woodrow.” The crowd erupted in applause as an elderly woman sat down on the bench in front of the organ. Once the noise died down, she began to play. Chelsea thought it was an odd choice for a Sunday service. The song was in no way a hymn. It sounded more like carnival music, but she understood quickly when the crowd erupted once again, and a spotlight appeared celestially from the ceiling. The pastor, or as he would be referred to from then on, however short the rest of his time on earth might be, as the congressman, appeared as if out of nowhere. He was dressed in a white suit and other than his shoe-polish-black hair, everything was white from head to toe. The crowd was on their feet. People were clapping and cheering and some were even crying. One woman was dancing in the aisle and praising the Lord. Chelsea sat in her seat and looked around,
wondering how one evil man, could convince so many people that he was the second coming of Christ.

  Once he reached the center of the stage where the podium and the microphone were, he held up his arms and another light came on above him, like he was opening up the heavens. She rolled her eyes, and then she caught sight of Zack out of the corner of one. He had his thumb and forefinger in the shape of a gun and with one eye closed, he was aiming it at the evangelist. Chelsea chuckled to herself and returned her attention back to the stage. The evangelist picked up the microphone and tapped it and the huge crowd fell silent. Once again, he held up his arms and he yelled out, “Praise the Lord!” The audience parroted him, and he did it again, louder. The crowd returned the yell, even louder, practically shaking the steel walls of the building.

  Walton’s dramatic show of praising the Lord, thanking God for life, and saying amen went on for a good fifteen minutes before he calmed down, the audience quietened, and he began to speak. “What is this place?” he yelled.

  “Church!” people yelled back, in different variations of the word.

  “Yes! This is a church. This is a building made of steel and glass. This is a cage!”

  They all yelled, “A cage!”

  “That’s right!” he said. “This beautiful, wonderful church is nothing but a cage because wherever I go…He is in me!” They repeated that, and he did too. Then he went on to say, “He is inside of me. He is in the air and mountains and the animals… He is love!” They all screamed that out and a few of them fell to their knees in tears. Then he moved on to his win in Congress and his move to DC. “Next week I won’t be here because it’s time for me to move on!” That was met with both cheers, applause, and “No!” from the audience. “But you don’t need me, because like me, you have Him inside of you! God is with you, and you don’t need this old pastor to preach to you! You need to listen to the message that he is sending from inside of you! He’s sending a message of love and light. He’s guiding you toward safety, and away from sin.”