“It’s still morning,” she finally spoke up, getting to her feet. “She’ll be at work. She’s only working mornings now that she’s pregnant.”
“She’s ... she’s pregnant?” Townsend said, smiling as his hand went to his own stomach.
Sharon studied him before nodding. “Yeah, she’s due in about two months.”
He nodded, still smiling, and pulled her office door open. “That’s good. That’s really good.”
Her DEA guests followed her cruiser to the far end of Main Street where Ink Junkie was located. The tattoo shop was one of the newer ventures in town, and Sharon knew they were already enjoying great success. The owner, Brady Clark, was already setting up a reputation for himself for the quality of his artwork, and his visiting artist friends drew people from as far away as Denver just to get a custom design. He’d also earned the right to do club ink for the Red Rebels.
The big windows on the front were wide and inviting, making the mural on the back wall completely visible from the street. That was aided by a bar of directional lights in the ceiling that shone down, making it glow all on its own. The artwork was Gertie’s. She had some real talent.
The cherry-red acrylic counter at the front door was a half-circle, and sitting right in front of them was Gertie. She was reading a book and when she looked up she turned it over, setting it down. It was a book of baby names.
Sharon offered her a wide smile, which was returned. Gertie was one of those red-head stunners that didn’t have to be tall to be formidable. She was curvy and pretty with wide hazel eyes, an open and friendly expression at all times.
“Sheriff,” she greeted their group warmly, eyes flicking over to the other two men warily but the smile never faded. “Anything I can help you with?”
Sharon swallowed, eyes going to the back of the space. Brady Clark was already getting up from his stool where he’d been working, peeling off latex gloves as he did so. “Is there somewhere we could talk, Gertie?”
Now the smile slipped and her hands went instinctively to her impressive tummy. “Is everything okay? Is it Buck?”
Shit, she should have led with something else. “No, no. I’m sure Buck is fine, Gertie. I just want somewhere quiet to talk.”
Brady was now behind Gertie, hand on her shoulder. “Come on back to the office, Sheriff.”
Sharon nodded. Yeah, this was good. Brady was a good friend, they’d met in rehab. He was the perfect person to be there if Buck couldn’t be.
Brady’s office was more of a storage room with a desk shoved along one wall. Gertie sat in the chair, Brady behind her, perched on the edge of his desk. Sharon stood just inside the door, the DEA agents behind her. They left the door open.
“Gertie, I’m just going to say it, okay?” The redhead swallowed and nodded. Brady’s hand returned to her shoulder. “A body was found outside of Bakersfield, and it’s your father. I’m sorry Gertie, but he’s dead.”
She blinked about four times. “Oh.”
“I’m so sorry. It will be investigated, so I want you to be ready for detectives asking you questions, okay?”
She nodded again, then Sharon shared a look with Brady. He nodded in return.
“Do you have any questions these gentlemen might be able to answer?”
Now Gertie looked up as though she hadn’t even noticed the men before. “No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “I don’t ... I don’t think so ...” she trailed off, staring behind Sharon.
She had to turn to see what had drawn Gertie’s attention. It was Bark, of course. He nodded to her, taking off the ball cap.
“Bark?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’m ... I’m leaving California. I just wanted to say goodbye before I did.” He smiled again, hand gesturing to her. “You’re pregnant. That’s great, Gertie. It looks really good on you.”
Gertie was staring, mouth hanging open. Sharon didn’t know if it was shock or what, but she was getting ready to ask them to leave when Gertie got up and walked past her to the door.
Townsend, for his part, was also waiting to see what her reaction would be. He was tense, as though he expected a slap or some other assault.
“Bark,” Gertie repeated.
“Gertie,” he returned, voice soft. “I’m so sorry.”
In a flash she was hugging him, and after a pause he hugged her back.
Sharon averted her gaze, feeling a weird prickling in her nose like she might tear up. That brought her attention to Brady who was outright crying, hand over his mouth.
Great. Emotion was always uncomfortable for her to be around. She never knew what to do.
“Just had to see you, make sure you were okay,” Bark was saying, stepping back and holding her shoulders. “I can tell you’re going to be just fine.”
Gertie grinned, tears on her cheeks, too. “I am. I really am. Thank you.”
Bark grinned, terribly handsome when he did it. “Take care of that little bean,” he instructed, and Gertie laughed, hands returning to her stomach. “I will,” she promised.
Hogan, off to the side during all this and undoubtedly as uneasy as Sharon was with all this, cleared his throat. “We need to get to LA to catch your flight,” he said.
Townsend nodded, then let go of Gertie and put his ball cap back on. “Okay, let’s go.”
Sharon waited a minute as they left the shop, then she cleared her throat. “Did you want me to call the clubhouse for you?”
Gertie came out of her reverie watching the agents depart, and she gave an uneasy smile. “Oh, no thank you. I can call Buck. I’m fine. Thank you, Sheriff.”
Now she was an outsider. Knowing her cue, she nodded, gave a wave to Brady, and headed back outside into the sunshine on the sidewalk. She made her way back to the department on her own.
Chapter Two
His shoulders felt tight, his lower back was stiff, but this was when he was happiest. Another Sachetti run down, a few more grand in his pocket, and this one would pay off his mom’s mortgage. The run had gone beautifully, it was a gorgeous day to be riding, and now they were pulling into a truck stop motel where he could rest his head and pay for a bit of female company if he so desired.
But first, food.
They checked into side-by-side-by-side rooms, then headed to the attached diner. These places all had, with few exceptions, one large corner booth, and it was the perfect size to accommodate their group.
Everyone ordered their meals, then their waitress left them to grab their beers.
“That was an interesting run,” Tank rumbled in his slow, halting way. They were already used to the fact he didn’t speak as quickly as he once had.
“It was perfect, everything went as planned,” Tiny insisted.
Tank shot him an unimpressed look. “Road construction. Truck full of sensitive cargo. Sitting in one place for two hours.”
Tiny grinned. “I know. What road captain in his right mind would send us into construction?”
Tank was laughing now, too. “You’re fucking nuts.” It was funny; when he swore he had no trouble talking at all.
“I like to think of it as the perfect cover. Like no one had any plan to be there, but nowhere to be that was all that important. So fucked up it had to be a pleasure ride for all us.”
“Would have been nice to know that was actually the plan,” Fritter had to agree. “I was sweating bullets, too.”
“The reaction had to be authentic.” Tiny was still grinning as the waitress set down their beers.
“Panic had to be authentic?” Buck mumbled before taking a sip off his bottle.
“When you get off, honey?” Knuckles asked the waitress before she could leave their table. For his part, Fritter let his eyes linger on the neck of her uniform. Her breasts were high and pushed together in a way that defied gravity. She caught him but he kept his face stoic, letting her know he was looking.
Her return glance was just as indifferent, then she shot Knuckles a sunny-California smile. “I get off when I
get home to my boyfriend, thanks for asking.”
The table collapsed into laughter as she sauntered away, and Knuckles had to give her a small salute as she turned back to chuckle at his cheesy pick-up attempt.
“You’re getting too old for that shit,” Fritter told him, taking a pull on his beer.
“Is that right, youngin’? You’re getting past your prime, too.”
Fritter shook his head. “Nah. Still got plenty in me.”
“Bullshit. Over thirty is supposed to be the downward slope.”
“I’ll take your word for that.”
Now Knuckles stare was a downright challenge. “What are you saying?”
“Cut this out,” Tank warned.
“You know what I’m saying, old man,” Fritter goaded, leaning across the table towards Knuckles. “Let me eat my dinner, then I’ll show you how you get a woman like that.” He jerked his head towards the lunch counter where the waitress was now serving coffee to the long-haul truckers.
Knuckles’ grin was maniacal. “There’s no fucking way.”
“Oh, it’s already started.”
“Fuck,” Mickey sighed, like the fight had already happened.
“Bull. Shit.”
Fritter’s grin was slow, because he knew that was the best way to piss off Knuckles; show him his quiet rage had no effect. “I’m hitting that. Fuck dinner. I’m hitting it before the food gets here.”
Knuckles hand went out. “Fifty bucks says there’s no way.”
“A hundred says yes.”
“Fine, a hundred.”
Fritter nodded to their Vice President, handshake done. “You in, Tank?”
The huge bear of a man chuckled. “No way. I’m too grown up for school yard bets.”
“Hundred bucks on Fritter,” Mickey threw in, sounding resigned. “Sorry Knuckles, but he was getting the eye even after you hit on her.”
“Hundred on Knuckles,” Tiny said, setting his beer down.
“You guys are so fucked up,” Buck muttered.
“Who’s your money on?”
Buck leveled an unimpressed look at Knuckles. “I have no fucking idea. I ain’t betting on this shit.” Then his look of disdain softened. “Fine. Hundred on Fritter.”
“What the hell, man?” Knuckles actually sounded hurt, but Fritter was already getting to his feet and heading for the front door of the diner. On the way he caught the waitresses’ eye. He stopped, blatantly gave her the up and down, and her cheeks went pink. He bit his lip and raised his eyebrows. She nodded, head tilting towards the kitchen. He nodded and went out the front doors, circling around the building to the back. There were a few of those plastic crates on the ground positioned around a coffee can, overstuffed with cigarette butts. Ah, staff room for the smokers.
He toed the coffee can as the door to his left opened. It was their waitress, and the second she saw him she was all business. “I only have fifteen.”
He nodded, cock hard, undoing his belt already. “Plenty of time, darlin’.”
She nodded, backing up to the wall and letting him into her personal space. She tasted like coffee as he kissed her, fast and hot, her hands pulling at his hoodie, getting underneath it and sliding up his ribs, all nails and scratching. His hand pushed up the little skirt of her uniform, reaching behind to squeeze her ass. Nice and hard, on her feet all day.
“Fifteen minutes,” she breathed, breaking the kiss and unbuttoning his jeans.
Fritter pulled a condom out of his pocket, tore it open while she watched, her hands on his zipper forgotten, panting. “Get me ready there, darlin’,” he teased, and she was on it, fast. Her hands were fucking cold but it didn’t matter. He rolled the rubber on, and then in a fast move that made her gasp she was face-first against the stucco wall. One hand was between her legs, pulling her underwear out of the way, the other went up to brace himself against the wall.
Lowering his hips he got in position then thrust up, straightening as he did so. She cried out, head going back to rest on his shoulder. She was tight, wet, and perfectly warm. A few experimental thrusts and she was whimpering around a bit lip. He kept one hand on the wall, hips snapping into her faster now that he knew what she wanted. His free hand slid down the front of her underwear, pressing onto her clit and circling hard.
Just like that she came, screaming through it while he shoved his face into her hair and bellowed out himself, coming hard. Fast, rough, dirty, and in public. Five minutes tops. Hell, she even had time to clean up.
Stepping back he pulled free, tore the condom off and tossed it onto the pile of cigarette butts. A few scattered on impact. He tucked himself away, his aching back forgotten as the waitress smoothed her skirt back down, adjusting her panties again.
She turned back, face flushed, a bit fucked-drunk. He had to smile.
“Holy shit,” she gasped, hand on her chest, eyes falling closed.
“Thanks darlin’,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I gotta go wash my hands. You good?”
“I’m great,” she answered with a smile, eyes still shut.
“You absolutely are,” he agreed with a wink, then headed around the diner the way he’d come. Throw in that hillbilly accent and panties literally fell to ankles. Knuckles was fucking insane taking that bet.
Before he headed to the men’s room he approached their table, Buck and Mickey already grinning and shaking their heads. Knuckles looked pissed, and before he was even at the table within polite distance he was snapping, “No fucking way. That smile doesn’t mean shit.”
Fritter grinned and shoved his hand in Knuckles’ face. “Smell that?”
Knuckles hit his arm away. “Fuck off. Fine. Hope you got crabs from her.”
With a chuckle Fritter went to wash up, a few bucks richer and much more relaxed.
-oOo-
There was a knock at his motel room door, but he was already up. In his jeans and bare feet he pulled the knob inward, scratching his chest and yawning. “What’s up? Thought we were leaving at ten?”
Buck’s eyes went from Fritter to the motel bed. Yeah, he’d let two of the working girls stay the night. They seemed tired. And they were still out, although that might have been the bottle of Jack they killed without any help from him.
Word to the wise: don’t get blackout drunk with whores in your room. They will steal your shit.
“We gotta go,” Buck said softly, apparently feeling sympathy for the women in his bed. “Got a text from Gertie. Cops found her dad’s body.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Ready in twenty?”
Fritter was already pulling on a T-shirt. “Absolutely. Make it ten.”
“Thanks.”
He left the door open and headed to Mickey’s room next. Fritter did up his belt, pulled on socks and boots then shrugged on his kutte. As an afterthought he pulled out his wallet and dropped two more fifties on the nightstand. They’d been fun girls.
He balled his hoodie up under his arm and hit the walkway, closing and locking the door behind himself. Mickey was out of his room already too, and they both fell in step behind Buck.
The Red Rebels had handed Gertie’s dad over to Sachetti knowing they were just going to ice him. It was the least the guy deserved; he’d run when his daughter was being beaten and raped on a regular schedule by a bunch of bikers. Which he’d known because those pricks sent video proof. Fritter would have killed the guy himself, but handing him over and turning down the reward meant they had a lucrative contract with Don Sachetti, and if they played this right it would add up to much more than a one-time payment of a million bucks.
Since then Gertie had somewhat of a little sister status with the club. Other than Buck, they all viewed her as someone to be protected and cared for. Plus, she’d busted out of a biker clubhouse to save their president’s wife, so really she’d earned their devotion from that as much as from being Buck’s old lady.
Fritter liked her. She had been a bit wild for a while, but now she was swee
t. And she was going to be a mother, which was awesome. Her tits were getting bigger, and while he worked hard not to appear as though he’d noticed them he had to appreciate them. Her rack had always been awesome. He thought about her inappropriately a few times before the baby announcement, though now he fought those imaginings to the back of his mind. It seemed extra seedy since her and Buck had officially gotten hitched.
Still, she was hot.
Tiny’s rig was already gone from the lot so he’d gotten a head start now that their load had been delivered. With loud yawns and scratched heads they all approached their bikes. In doing so Fritter knocked Mickey’s shoulder. “Sorry if I kept you up.”
Mickey shook his head. “You didn’t. I travel with ear plugs now just so I can get some fucking sleep. You had the two Chinese girls in there?”
Fritter grinned. “Yeah, man. None of us spoke any English for a while there.”
“Yeah, I heard,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Sorry, man.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
Fritter kept his comments to himself. The number of times Mickey and Jolene could be heard in the clubhouse enjoying some alone time with an enthusiastic third party numbered in the hundreds, so Mickey taking real issue with loud sex would have been hypocritical.
Hell, Mickey going to bed alone was still a stunner to Fritter. Yeah, the guy was married. And he’d been married for a long time. It must have been his unusual arrangement with his wife that kept him faithful to Jolene, even on the road. Not a lot of women wanted to watch their men fucking other women, but that was how the Graingers kept it fresh. So all the power to them. Mickey was a good looking guy with charm that women really responded to. Still, when Jolene wasn’t around his dick stayed in his shorts. It was impressive.
Actually, Jayce had been the same when Trinny was in the picture. And Buck kept it tied in a knot for Gertie, too. And Tank? Forget it. Fritter was impressed and saddened by the state of men in, apparently, love. It made no sense, but there it was all the same.
The ride back to Markham was uneventful. It wasn’t as sunny as it had been the day before. Instead the clouds hung low and close, making the humidity uncomfortable. But at least on the return trip they could just wear their kuttes without hoodies.
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