The lineup for the run was Samuel, Paul, Dean, Sinatra and Morse. Two of the Prospects had been called up because Tag’s bike had developed an exhaust problem that had taken it off the road. That Tag still hadn’t discovered the fault and fixed it was the source of no small amount of irritation. The underlying current of tension in the clubhouse was just one more difficulty to Paul’s already uneasy state of mind.
Paul couldn’t decide where Ashleigh figured on that list, at least in terms of the next twelve hours or so. It had been a week since the night at the creek. That evening had left him simultaneously hornier and more satisfied that he’d ever been, two states he had never thought could possibly coexist side by side. He’d been avoiding her physical presence, knowing that being near her was only going to end one way, but they’d spoken on the phone every night. So far she was showing no signs of backing away, quite the opposite. Paul didn’t think he could hold out much longer. He wasn’t sure how it was going to happen, but he was going to get that woman naked and under him and it was going to happen soon. That she would be at the clubhouse tonight helping her mother and Dolly as usual was testing enough, but that the Rabids would be there was a complication. There was no way on this green earth that any of them wouldn’t try and hit on someone that looked like Ashleigh did. He wasn’t sure what his reaction was going to be to seeing that, probably over the top.
Morse, Sinatra and Geoff were all readying the clubhouse, specifically the bar, for the imminent arrivals. Everybody else was relaxing, taking the time to enjoy a quiet beer. When they heard the sound of Harley engines and tires crunching over gravel, they all either finished their drinks or left them where they were and went outside to greet the arrivals.
Five bikes rolled to a halt, the riders parking them at the end of the line of the Priests’ bikes. Paul recognized everyone even before they dismounted and removed their helmets. Along with Jimmy, Garfield, Travis and Rabbit was Sloth, now bearing full club colors. He tried to relax as the new arrivals approached. He didn’t want anyone asking why he was so on edge when he should have been anything but.
Jimmy and Samuel greeted each other first with a firm handshake. “Jimmy. Good to see you. Smooth run?”
“Yeah. It’s always good to get a long ride in.” Jimmy replied, rolling the knots out of his shoulders.
As the presidents finished greeting each other, the other patches stepped forward and there was friendly chaos for several minutes as handshakes and backslaps were exchanged.
As Rabbit was recovering from a particularly vigorous slap on the back from Paul, Paul hiked his thumb at Sloth. “I see he made the vote.”
“Indeed. The kid’s proved himself. Think he’s the only prospect we’ve had that Garfield only took in the ring to find out what he was made of and not ‘cause he wanted to kill him. Can’t say that ‘bout the ones we left back home.” Rabbit didn’t look pleased to be thinking about their current crop of Prospects.
Samuel raised his voice over the chatter. “The beer’s on ice inside. We’ll have a sit first, catch up. Then you boys can kick back and relax. Our house is your house.”
Jimmy turned to his group. “Unhook the merch, boys. Let’s not leave it out here in the sun.”
As the five riders from the Rabid Dogs unhitched the saddlebags from their bikes Samuel called over. “Like we planned, we got spares for you boys to carry your own gear back in.”
Jimmy nodded. “Appreciate it, brother. We’ll get squared away after Chapel.”
They headed into the cool shade of the clubhouse. Samuel led the way into the Chapel. The members of the Rabid Dogs, following Samuel’s indication, dropped the bags in the corner of the room where the empty sets of spare bags were already waiting. Samuel waved to the Prospects. Morse, Geoff and Sinatra came in carrying trays full of bottles of beer, which they handed around, serving the presidents and the dusty travelers first.
Jimmy took the seat at the foot of the table, facing Samuel at the head. Terry took his usual seat at Samuel’s right hand. Travis, standing in for Giles, took the seat to Jimmy’s right. Dizzy and Garfield as SAAs took the seats to their presidents’ left. In the interests of equality for both clubs and because not all the Priests could take their usual seats, everyone else found a seat on the chairs that had been brought in and lined up against the walls. It was an informal arrangement, and no one not at the table bothered much about who they sat next to.
Samuel slammed the gavel once to cut through the idle chatter that had continued into the room. The quiet that followed was almost instantaneous.
“I spoke with Eduardo this mornin’. The Rojas are still a happy bunch of bunnies, with us at least. The aggravation they’re havin’ with the Mexicans, a group callin’ themselves Los Perdidos, is powerin’ up, though. He sent a warnin’ that we all need to keep an extra set of eyes out.”
“Did he say anythin’ about helpin’ us stay whole?” Jimmy asked.
“No, you know he expects us to mind our own backs.” Samuel replied. “But of course they’re doin’ what they can to put the upstarts back in their rightful place. When they succeed, and I have every faith they will, things will quiet down again for us.”
Paul didn’t think it would be as visible to those in the room that weren’t patched to the Priests, but he had heard, and he was sure some of the others had, too, the impatience in Samuel’s tone.
He knew Dizzy was alert to it when he spoke next. “It don’t matter what the Rojas are gonna do to help us. Fact is you need to take care on your way home tomorrow. We’re short or we’d put an extra body on our end of the run.”
Paul realized that Dizzy’s statement explained the current of irritation with Tag. They were a man down at a difficult time and that man was not doing enough to make sure he was a fully functioning member.
Samuel opened his arms expansively. “Anyway. I think that covers it all, boys. Go on out there and enjoy yourselves. The food should be out by now, and the girls will be here. Have at it.”
Dean was nearest the double doors and he threw them open wide to allow the members of both clubs to stream into the main room. As Samuel had promised, food had been set out and the club girls were milling around, dressed to impress. As far as Paul could see, that meant they were wearing a hell of a lot less than usual, and what they did have on was tight and shiny. They barely caught his eye, though. He spotted Ashleigh heading back into the kitchen as he made his way to the bar. He winked at her and she grinned back before she disappeared. Someone had put music on. Fucking Bon Jovi again. It had to have been one of the girls. If it was one of the boys he was going to find out who and beat the shit out of them.
Paul called for whisky and shot glasses at the bar and handed a brimmed glass to Sloth. “Congratulations, brother. I knew you’d make it.”
Sloth slammed back the shot and smiled wide. “Thanks, bro. Shame you weren’t home. That party was epic.”
“Sorry I missed it. You held your own?” Paul really did regret missing the party a little. Sloth was a good guy.
“Oh I was talkin’ to God on the great white telephone by the end, but I did alright.”
“Good boy.” Paul slapped him on the shoulder and leaned in close. “Word to the wise, Katie’s got a mouth like a vacuum. Leave Leah alone, she’ll keep Kong busy and you don’t wanna get in his way. If Katie’s taken, Annabelle or Tricia are worth your time.”
“Thanks, Shark.” Sloth said gratefully.
“No problem. Just try and get in there before Rabbit or you’ve got no chance all night.”
“True dat.” Sloth said sagely and nodded his head in agreement.
Looking around, Paul realized Ashleigh hadn’t re-emerged from the kitchen. Seeing that Moira and Dolly were standing with their men, he decided to go looking for the woman who was keeping him awake at night. He found her still in the kitchen. She was leaning over the counter on her forearms, her legs crossed at the ankle, reading a magazine with a bottle of beer at her elbow. He tried to sneak up on h
er, but he knew she’d heard the door open and that she knew who was behind her by the way she stretched and arched her spine. Playing along he stood behind her, leaning down to cover her, resting his hands on the edge of the counter, so that he could kiss her shoulder. Regardless of the rowdy crowd of people just beyond the unlocked door, Paul couldn’t help the way his hips reflexively thrust against Ashleigh’s ass, but he managed to catch himself before he pulled her jeans down and fucked her up against the counter.
“Who you avoidin’, beauty?” He murmured at her ear, breathing deeply of the smell of her skin. If she was avoiding him, if she had changed her mind, he wasn’t going to guarantee that he wouldn’t go a little crazy, but from the way she was flexing back against him he didn’t think that she had.
“Not you.” Ashleigh murmured in reply and turned her head. Accepting the opportunity she’d presented, Paul kissed her, and groaned into her mouth when she flexed again.
“Then why’re you hidin’ out in here?” He asked, confused and a little angry as to why she didn’t feel safe in this clubhouse, of all places.
“I’ve never really met the Rabids before, and I’ve got to say, those guys make me nervous. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen their patch before. I’m gonna have nightmares about that.”
Paul pulled her up with him and turned her around to face him. She was pressed against the counter and framed in his arms, but no longer so close to making him come in his pants. He knew what she meant; the patch of the Rabid Dogs resembled a shaggy hell hound with jagged teeth in a slavering mouth and blank holes where the eyes should have been. It was appropriate for the members of the club, who all looked pretty rough around the edges one way or another.
“You don’t need to worry about those apes.” He said seriously.
“Is this your idea of giving me room?” He didn’t mind her changing the subject. He was happy to see the cheeky, coy smile lighting her face up and more than happy with the way she was grinding her hips against his obvious hard-on.
“You need room?” He wondered if the kitchen door had a lock on it.
“No. Didn’t before. Don’t now.”
“Good. I like to hear that.” He all but growled. She had been expecting a kiss, but he caught her lower lip between his teeth first and pulled slightly. Her response was electric. She looped her arms around his neck and pulled herself up and as close to his body as she could, as their contact turned into a rampant kiss. He could feel every inch of her down to her knees, and he knew that if he put his hands on her ass she would hop up and wrap those long legs of hers around his hips; then they wouldn’t care if the door was fucking locked or not.
Ashleigh was the one to pull back. “You should probably at least mention somethin’ to my dad before you fuck me in front of the microwave.” Her voice, throaty with lust, caused Paul’s cock to twitch. Given her extremely close proximity, that involuntary spasm brought a moan from Ashleigh.
“Hmmm. I suppose so.” Paul was nuzzling her neck, thoroughly enjoying the way it made her writhe. He had been preparing to talk to Samuel anyway if this was going to move forward. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I’ll make time while were on the run.”
Any response she might have made was lost as his mouth descended on hers again. It was only when Paul came to the conclusion that if they didn’t stop that he really would be fucking her in front of the microwave, and that she wasn’t showing any signs of calling time, that he broke the kiss and stepped back.
He stole a swallow of beer from the bottle on the counter before he could speak. “See you back out there?”
“Or not.” Ashleigh hitched her shoulders and turned back to her magazine. He didn’t miss the way she waved her ass for his benefit as he left the kitchen. He shook his head. That woman was every inch her mother’s daughter and was probably going to be the death of him.
Paul went straight to the bar to get another beer. He may as well toast his imminent demise. Sinatra handed him a bottle almost before he’d reached the counter. Jimmy was perched on a stool, a glass in his hand and a bottle of Jamieson in front of him.
“Paul. Son. How’re you gettin’ along here?”
There was a slight slur to Jimmy’s words that worried Paul some, especially as he detected the double meaning behind them. Whether it was the whiskey or not that gave Jimmy the courage to broach such a subject in a room thick with Priest patches Paul didn’t know, but such carelessness made him think even less of the man.
Paul glanced around surreptitiously. There was no one nearby from either club. “No progress. No opportunities that I can see yet.” He had no idea if Jimmy recognized that he was stalling.
“Okay, son. Keep looking. Maybe work the Mexican angle. But I’d like to hear something soon.”
Paul’s blood had turned to ice at the seemingly drunken brazenness of Jimmy’s approach. It showed in the terseness of his tone. “I thought there was no time limit in this?”
“There isn’t, but my patience isn’t endless.”
Paul nodded and walked away, swiftly. Those were not Jimmy’s words that had just come out of his mouth. Paul knew for certain now that someone else was pulling Jimmy’s strings. Something was even more deeply wrong with this whole situation than he’d even understood to begin with. He was shaken. That man, whom he’d once pledged his loyalty to, was out to get him killed. He was more than happy to sacrifice Paul to whatever purpose he was serving. Paul badly needed to spend some time with people he could trust, but he wasn’t all that sure who he could point to in the room at the moment and know that for a truth. He headed in the direction of the pool table, aiming to join Chiz, Dizzy, Crash and Rabbit. Rabbit looked like he was getting on with everyone just fine, but then that man could have made friends with a brick wall.
As Paul approached, Rabbit called out. “Come on, then. Let’s see your ink. These fellas’ve been tellin’ me it’s somethin’ pretty special.”
Right at this moment Paul felt pretty good about showing that sign of commitment and dedication to the Priests. He slipped his kutte off and laid it over the cushion of the pool table. Rather than just lift up his t-shirt, which would have been awkward given the placement of the ink, he pulled it up over his head and off.
“Go hard or go home, eh brother?” was Rabbit’s laconic response to the large piece of artwork.
Paul was grinning in response, an expression which only grew when he saw Ashleigh walk out of the kitchen. He figured she’d come out to leave. The night was turning raucous. Kong already had his dick out; Leah had her mouth around it, her head bobbing away between the big man’s thighs. That girl was so skinny compared to Kong’s bulk that it was a wonder she didn’t break after a night with him. The Priests were showing their hospitality by deferring to their visitors when it came to the girls and most of them had taken advantage of that generosity and had hooked up.
The only one who hadn’t yet was Garfield. He’s set himself up at the bar with a bottle of Jack D and appeared to be chatting with Tag. As Ashleigh passed him, Garfield hooked his arm out and around her waist. Whatever he said to her caused her expression to turn furious.
Ashleigh wasn’t dressed like the sweetbutts. They were all in shiny spandex that barely covered their crotches or their tits, easy access all round. Ashleigh was wearing jeans and some sort of long sleeve, floaty white top that she had tied in at her waist with a wide leather belt. She looked classy, and the very opposite of anyone that Garfield should have laid hands on. But all that barely registered in Paul’s mind, he was already half way across the room. What did register was that Tag should be putting Garfield straight and he was sitting there with his fucking mouth shut, letting his president’s daughter get manhandled.
“Let her go.” Paul knew his voice had dropped to low and dangerous, the tone that no one wanted to be on the receiving end of, especially if he had a weapon handy.
“Finders keepers, Shark.” Garfield leered.
Paul had seen the bourbon in Garfield’s eyes.
He had no problem taking him to the ring right the fuck now, and he would claim this night back in blood at some point, but he didn’t want to frighten Ashleigh if he could help it. “No, brother. She’s Sam’s daughter. She ain’t pussy.”
Garfield cocked his head and looked at Ashleigh, then Paul, then back again. “She your pussy?” He asked, still scrutinizing Ashleigh.
“She’s not yours.” Paul grated.
“I asked if she was yours, brother.” Garfield replied without looking away from Ashleigh.
Paul looked at Ashleigh. He could see in her face that she was angry, but in the set of her body that she was scared. She raised an eyebrow at him; she was waiting on his response, too. Fuck it, he was all in anyway. He wasn’t going to be a pussy about it. She was his fucking woman.
Blood in the Water (Kairos) Page 18
