by Nicole Snow
Time froze. I stared at them, forgetting to even breathe.
Jordan spun with his fists outstretched, moving like a wild gorilla. I thought he was about to punch me in the face, but he made a sharp right for the little table next to the door. He snatched it up and hurled it against the wall.
We shook when it broke apart, sending wooden pieces flying everywhere.
“You'll both regret this!” he roared, pushing me aside to get to the door. “My own fucking family. Irons was right...it's just goddamned unbelievable!”
Just like that, he was gone.
The door slamming shut sent an earthquake through the apartment. I stood like an idiot for a full minute while Mom sunk to her knees and wept on the ground.
Slowly, I picked her cane up from the floor and went over, holding her tight.
“It's okay. We're okay,” I whispered. Over and over.
Say it enough times, and you'll believe it, I hoped.
Hot tears stung at my eyes, but I refused to let them out. I stared at the broken wood, the oily footprints in the rug left by Jordan's boots, the little carton that rolled out the plastic bag and landed next to an old bookshelf.
Shit. I knew my fucking ice cream was completely melted.
IV: Jealousy's a Bitch (Blaze)
Other girls?
What a bunch of bullshit. Having that cute little thing at the bar turn me down pissed me off like nothing else.
I treated it like a shot to the gut. The last thing a man does when he gets stung is show weakness.
The truth? I had exactly one woman I fucked regularly, and that was the club's best whore, Marianne. Woman had a mouth like a fucking vacuum cleaner lined with velvet. Great rack, great ass, a pussy that stayed tight no matter how many times all the brothers used her...
And I would've traded her away forever just for one night with Saffron.
Fuck, I couldn't even think straight anymore. I wanted to lay my hands on her from the first night we met at the old strip club. The urge hadn't simmered down one iota since we dumped that piece of shit she killed and I was fool enough to hire her to fill Miner's place.
After she went home that night, I found Marianne freshening up in Tank's room. I was all ready to use her sweet cunt to forget all about Saffron. Least until the next morning when I had to see her again.
But the whore was with Tank.
Fucking Tank.
Bastard probably split her in two and loosened her up if whatever he had between his legs was just as big as the rest of him. Sloppy seconds never appealed to me.
“It's not what you think,” she said, seeing the sour look on my face. “Tanky just wanted a massage, so I gave him one.”
She lifted her hands and flashed me a sexy smile. I didn't feel a thing, upstairs or down, even when I smelled the seductive oil and perfume on her skin.
Marianne tried to rub my neck, but I turned away with a growl. Tank came plodding out of her small bathroom, dripping wet with a towel around his waist. He took one look at me and smiled.
“You need her, boss? I'm all done.”
“I'm always ready for you, Blaze. Always.” Her hot breath purred in my head reassuringly.
“Massage?” I pushed her hands off me and turned to Tank. “What the fuck? Since when are you more interested in getting lubed up and pampered than getting your dick wet?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Ought to try it sometime, boss. It's great for the muscles. Keeps a man limber after a workout.”
Marianne leaned in and whispered. She cupped my ear in one hand and rubbed the other across my thigh. What a fucking Siren.
“He never touched me. Ever since he started crushing on that pretty little nurse, Tank's the only boy here who won't fuck me, but that's okay. More for you, Blaze. So much more.”
She shuddered with delight and pushed her tits into my back, tempting me. My cock jerked, begging to get down and dirty with her, but my brain wouldn't let go of Saffron.
No way was I fucking the whore with somebody else burning up my brain, the gal I really wanted. Wasn't fair to me, wasn't fair to Marianne, and it sure as shit wasn't fair to Saffron.
I growled again, stumbling a little as I pushed her away. Took real strength to overrule by traitorous cock.
Tank stared on in amusement.
“Blaze?” The whore looked surprised. I ignored her.
“Don't you have shit to set up in the armory? The new gear Throttle sent us isn't gonna test itself.”
“You know it, boss. I'll head out there right now,” he said with a mock salute. “Stinger says he hopes you'll leave something for him when you're done with her tonight.”
I heard Tank grab his clothes and cross the hall to the nearest bathroom to change. He took his work seriously, at least, and the bastard knew when to scram.
Too fucking bad I couldn't get my VP to do his job without mouthing off through proxies. Marianne's long nails were on my neck again, sexy and unstoppable, vying for attention.
What the hell's going on here? Really?
I should've been uncontrollable, hard and raging with lust. My dick was steel, all right, but I couldn't stop seeing her, couldn't blot her out long enough to turn and take the willing blonde pussy begging to purr.
Something had changed since Saffron started hanging around, something I didn't like one bit.
“Not tonight,” I muttered, putting some real distance between us as I neared the door. “Can't give my asshole VP the satisfaction. Go hang with somebody who needs you, girl.”
She looked genuinely disappointed. Probably wasn't just an act either. Wearing the PRESIDENT patch did amazing things with the ladies. I could've rotated girls every damned night if I'd wanted to.
Of course, it wasn't as fucking exciting as it sounded. Marianne was the best of the bunch, and if she couldn't get Saffron out of my head tonight, nobody else would.
I stalked over to the empty bar and took a snort of Jack. My third shot in just a couple hours, just the right amount to make my brain buzz numb.
Maybe I could fuck Marianne if I shut that fucker up and let my dick do the talking. Still, something gnawed deep inside me, a heavy, irksome disappointment that told me again and again I wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than Saffron.
I heard my asshole brother laughing in my head. I'd scoffed pretty hard when Maverick started to get pussy whipped. If he could see me now, the shit Stinger gave me would've been like a fucking joke.
Shit, at least my bro was nailing June not long after he started crushing on her.
I couldn't say that. Something was always in the damned way and I hadn't taken her. I just thought about Saffron and jerked off to her sweet memory like a goddamned kid.
Frustrated, I slid my hand over the bar, and reached for more Jack. Hoped to hell there wouldn't be any urgent business tonight. If there was, I'd be too blasted to move like I needed to.
Hang on, baby, I thought to myself. You don't get off that easy.
Maverick never took no for an answer, and neither will I. Sturm blood doesn't cool when it knows what it wants. Not until you're wedged between me and the wall and I'm pumping between your long legs.
You're teasing a volcano, and you don't even know it.
You're gonna end up under me, Saffron, one way or another. Won't fucking stop until I'm coming deep inside you, bleaching every other woman I've ever lusted for out of my skull.
Tonight, woman, you're mine.
“It's deserted.” Stinger came back to us as we waited by the parked bikes, shoving his handgun back into his pants. “But they've been there. Come see for yourself.”
The run-down building looked like an old drive-in diner. It wasn't suitable for a petty dope dealing racket, let alone an MC's clubhouse. Not even an MC that shat where it slept and ate like the Grizzlies.
I followed my VP through the break in the fence, toward the rickety old building. Tank was right behind me, with Reb and Roller at the rear.
Scoping out the si
te where we'd tracked them should've been a welcome distraction. It got me away from the clubhouse when she started her shift, plus I didn't have to sit around in the office with Moose and Miner, listening to them drone on about boring accounting stuff.
I could handle money laundering and legit business receipts, sure. Did I want to fuck with them a second longer than necessary when our legit businesses were only a small part of our earnings out here? Hell no.
“Watch out. Stinks like a sewer once you get inside,” Stinger said.
My VP wasn't kidding. I had to throw my head outside the battered door for fresh air as soon as we were in.
“Holy shit. Forget the stench. Look at this place, boss!” Tank gawked and pointed.
For a club that styled themselves after grizzly bears, these assholes lived like rats. Old food containers were strewn everywhere, mixed with empty overturned ammo boxes. Half the floor was ripped up and dirty.
In the corner, used needles sprinkled beat up mattresses. If these guys were shooting up themselves, then it was a miracle they could ride without wrecking their bikes.
Reb leaned over an old mattress and carefully reached for one of the old syringes. The smell hit him in the face and he coughed, spitting tobacco everywhere.
“Fucking shit. These guys are blasted out of their gourds. Look at this, Prez.” He dangled the syringe between two fingers.
Damned thing was more dirty and stained than most I'd seen. I grunted. We found enough stubbed out roaches, melted spoons, and dirty needles to choke an elephant heard.
The only telltale sign the Grizzlies had been there at all, besides the lingering stink of motor oil outside, were the big black letters graffitied on the wall.
D.D.I.G.C.
“Fuckers knew we'd show up sooner or later,” I said.
Everybody's faces turned when they took a good look. Anger flashed through Reb's face. Roller was so pissed he had to go out for a cigarette, his face turning bright red beneath his spiky hair. The rest of us were older, more sober, but we knew damned well it meant trouble.
“Devils Die In Grizzlies Country,” I said quietly, spelling out the full phrase.
Tank stepped past me and crouched toward the ground. The lazy fucks had left their spray paint right beneath their war motto. Either these guys were really disorganized, or they'd hauled ass away from here pretty damned fast and did a hack job leaving us a calling card.
Tank stood, shaking the can. He pushed his big finger down on the nozzle and black paint oozed onto the wall.
“Still some left, boss. You want it?”
Without a word, I snatched it away, and then aimed it over their bullshit letters. I wasn't in the mood for anything fancy. Tank watched with approval glowing in his eyes as I covered their shit in a thick dark layer, warping each letter until it was unintelligible.
“Let's go,” I said, waving him to follow.
“What do you make of that? Haven't seen such a shithole since me and Throttle's boys wiped out the Raging Skulls.”
“It means something's really fucked up here, brother,” I said, grateful to be outside with the fresh mountain air. “These assholes were hunkered down hardcore. Calling that cesspool Grizzlies' territory is a fucking joke, and I think they know it.”
Stinger stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You're telling me this is a recon job then? Just some bullshit to test our defenses?”
“No.” I looked at Tank and the other men gathered in a small circle, one at a time. “I think somebody's on their own personal crusade, doing this shit under Fang's nose. This isn't a run up to another invasion so those bastards can reclaim Montana. This is the invasion, and there won't be any reinforcements for these guys. We're dealing with renegade bears on the loose.”
Stinger's eyes widened. For once, I'd actually gotten my VP by the balls. All the guys looked at me like I was Sherlock Fucking Holmes.
Right about then, I guess I was.
Another church meeting led us to beef up our defenses. If the fuckers creeping in on us really were renegades, it made them even more dangerous and unpredictable than a war with the whole Grizzlies MC.
Sure, they didn't have the huge numbers a proper Grizzlies threat would've brought. But these fuckers were bound to strike sooner or later, and fight harder because they were desperate. They didn't care what it took or who got in the way, as long as they gave the Prairie Devils a black eye, or else cranked up the heat so high in Missoula we couldn't do business.
We'd taken a gamble during our last battle. Blowing up our old clubhouse in Python and killing off their old Missoula charter nearly brought the Feds down on us. Took some really sharp lawyers and a lot of fucking money from national to put the brakes on.
We wouldn't get any do-overs. No more fireworks.
One shootout or bombing in a town as big as this was bound to bring in all the alphabet soup organizations, and then the whole club would be under the gun. When the Feds decided to squeeze a club's balls, they held on tight and didn't let go until they were crushed forever.
I couldn't let that happen. Not on my watch.
I played dumb when I called up Throttle to talk about the latest shipments. Fortunately, the renegade Grizzlies hadn't done shit except flip us the finger and threaten Saffron. That was bad enough, but it could've been a whole lot worse if they'd tried to bomb the clubhouse or hit our boys on the road during a run.
Filling him in when I didn't need to would only invite more trouble. The man who headed mother charter had his fill of fun out West. If he caught wind of what was happening, I knew he'd have Fang on the line, and the Grizzlies President would want to come after anybody using his club's name and colors without his authorization.
No MC took kindly to posers, rogues, or false flags. Ever.
Then there was the little problem of Saffron's fucking brother. I'd promised not to kill him, and I meant to keep my word. The kid was as good as dead if he had a hit put on him by either the Prairie Devils or the Grizzlies. No different than the crazy bastards above him who'd obviously roped her big bro into something he was too young and too stupid to understand.
“What is it, Prez?” Moose came into the office for some files. Running a black market business was no different than a legit one. The limbo we danced for Uncle Sam was never ending.
“Trying to put my finger on who's stupid and motivated enough to go behind Fang's back and fuck with us. We wiped out Vulture's whole Missoula crew except for the old President above him. Can't believe that fucker would chance it. My brother said he was Fang's bitch through and through, more like a figurehead than an active President.”
“Those boys must've been some nasty motherfuckers,” Moose said.
I nodded. Thinking about how we'd nearly got our asses pillaged and killed by Vulture and his guys while they raped Maverick's old lady still kept me up at night. I didn't need to relive that fucking story again.
“You in the mood to take your mind off this shit? We've got the big bash tomorrow night. Shelly's gonna be working late to serve up drinks. Can't wait for the fucking hog.” He patted his gut, and then his eyebrows went up in surprise. “I'm talking about the pig...not her.”
Good times and pig roasts were indistinguishable.
“Be nice to blow off some steam,” I agreed. “You bringing your old lady?”
“You know Connie! That lady won't miss it, and neither would I. She gets hot as the day I married her after these things. Must be something about all the partyin' and smiling guys in their cuts that makes a girl feel young.”
I grunted a reply, and he took the signal to leave me alone.
I hadn't so much as seen Saffron up close for about a week. Going home to my new apartment most nights made it easier to avoid her, especially when there was plenty of club business to tend to.
Far too long since the night at the bar when I vowed to claim her ass.
On the few afternoons when I watched her from a distance, it looked like something was eating her up inside. Didn'
t worry about it, though. I'd ordered Miner to tell me if anything was going on with her bro, and he hadn't breathed a word.
I kicked back in my chair, cradling the back of my head in my hands. Dammit, this was one of those times when being President meant a dozen brush fires popping up at once, and I was short on limbs to stomp 'em all out.
Maybe I couldn't put them all out on my terms. The one Saffron left blazing between my legs was the biggest by far.
This fire, I could control. I had to.
Tomorrow, at the pig roast, I planned to have words with her, serious fucking words that would stomp the love-hate cinders between us for good. And if those words didn't lead to me throwing her on my bike and flinging her pretty ass into my bed, then I deserved to have those renegade fuckers eat me alive.
I managed a whole fucking charter in dangerous territory. Why the hell couldn't I manage this stubborn, sharp tongued, irresistible woman?
Everybody was deep in their drinks except Tank. Him and the prospects stayed sober to bang the alarm if any of our fucked up friends decided to hit us in the nuts while we were all tipsy.
I seriously double they'd try to raid our clubhouse during a party. And what a fucking party!
Every brother without an old lady seemed to have two or three whores hanging on his arm, in his lap, or around his neck. The first hog got eaten up so fast we had to roast a second, and its rich sizzling scent filled the air, mingling with booze and sex and leather.
These were the times when a man remembers what this lifestyle was really all about: freedom, good times, and living to the goddamned limit.
Some Jack and chit-chat with my brothers plus a couple Dakota boys who'd been passing through and joined our bash had me feeling pretty fucking revved up. I circled the bar every so often, catching Saffron's dark eyes through the throngs of supporters and loose women.
I caught her eyes a few times. She always glanced away when she saw me looking, or else somebody walked by, blocking my view.
Wasn't until a couple hours in that there was enough of a break in the crowd to get a good look at her. When I saw what she was wearing, my fucking eyes nearly popped out of my head. Meanwhile, my cock pulsed hard in my jeans.
