by Jc Emery
“You’re unfocused—you’re missing shit. You’re going to get yourself killed over pussy you won’t want in a week anyway. Your brothers can’t trust you if they can’t trust your woman. This family has worked too long and too hard, and sacrificed too much, to let this cunt destroy that.”
Something in me snaps. Maybe it’s the word cunt. Maybe it’s my own fucking father calling Alex a bitch one too many times. Maybe I’m just pissed off that he’s right, and I’m looking for a fight. Maybe he’s just frustrated and looking to piss me off so I can start a fight. Fuck if I know what it is, but I lose focus for a brief second before his face becomes crystal clear.
Like a missile, my right hand clenches into a fist, rears back, and slams into the side of his jaw. His right arm grabs me by the back of my neck while my left grasps at his throat. Toe to toe, nose to nose, we’re locked in place. Neither of us is going to give before we’re ready.
“Call her a cunt again,” I sneer, tightening my grip. His hand on my neck clamps down, violently pushing in on my nerves in a painful way. I welcome the pain. This needs to happen, and I need to feel it.
“This is what I’m talking about,” he rasps out, sucking in as much air as he can. “I love Alex like she was my own, but this is about the club.” Pop’s a tough mother fucker, I’ll give him that. I’ve seen men’s necks snap under less pressure than I’m giving. His words register, but they don’t faze me. For all his talk and bluster, he’s no different than I am. He’s no less immune to feeling shit he doesn’t want, no matter how fucked up he gets.
“You want to put it to a vote, put it to a fucking vote,” I scream. With one last squeeze of his throat, I shove him off, watching him stumble half a step. The brothers have gathered around us in silence. Each one takes a fighting stance, ready to throw down or break it up. I avoid meeting their eyes as I walk to my bike, strap on my helmet, and pop up her kick-stand. Walking her backward, I find they’re all focused on me. Part of me feels like I should tell them all to go fuck themselves. Since when do we give a shit where a brother sticks his dick? It’s fucking juvenile. The other part of me wants to get off my bike and throw my fist into the nearest fucking face. But I don’t, because I’ve got shit to do. Instead, I start her up and peel away once Tall opens the gate.
Making a quick stop by my place to grab a few changes of clothes and some other personal things, I debate on whether or not I should be packing the condoms. For a strange moment I find myself in an unfamiliar place, worried that I might somehow offend a chick just because I brought condoms with me. Like it fucking matters what she thinks and if she’s worried all I want to do is fuck her. There’s nothing wrong with fucking and not feeling shit after. Angrily, I shoved a few rows in the bag before zipping it up and getting back on my bike.
The ride is simultaneously way too short and way too long. I need to clear my head of some of this shit, but I don’t have time for that. Every minute I waste trying to sort my shit is a minute that Alex is missing part of her security detail. As fucked as it is, I just don’t trust my brothers are going to pay enough attention that Mancuso Jr. isn’t going to get to her.
Pulling up to the dirt road that leads to the house, everything is near black. I slow the bike, remove the .38 from the waistband of my jeans, unclick the safety, and place my hand back on the handlebar. My head pounds and my mouth goes dry. The house is never this quiet. Junior and crew probably wouldn’t be here this quick unless they flew in. I don’t know how stupid they are, though. Flying commercially leaves too many records.
Suddenly, I’m basked in a blinding white light. The intensity of it kills my vision, and I’m left blinking relentlessly as I bring the bike to a stop. The hand with the gun in it itches with the need to do something, but with zero visibility, there’s nothing I can do.
The lights dulls to a warm yellow, loud popping rings out, and the only light left are the lights from the front deck and the side of the garage. My eyes take a moment to adjust, but when they do, I see Chief less than thirty feet in front of me, his homemade assault rifle pointed at my chest. Chief and I have never had a problem before, and typically lean the same way on club matters, but in this second, I’m not so sure we’re on good terms. That’s the thing about club life. No patched members say it aloud, and outsiders don’t usually bear witness to it, but violence between brothers is a very real fucking thing.
Then he lowers the gun, turns around, and walks to the house. I breathe a sigh of relief that I had forgotten about the flood lights Ma insisted Pop install before we headed out to Brooklyn. Behind him, standing on the side of the garage, is my father. Shaking away my paranoia, I rev the bike and roll up to the garage, where I park her and climb off. I pull the duffle out of one of my saddle bags and head for the front door. The shuffling of rocks and dirt sound behind me. I turn around to find Pop catching up to me.
“You planning on staying?” he asks. My muscles tense at the question.
“Junior’s on his way. Not gonna fuck around.”
The front door swings open, and Ma stands in the doorway. She looks lighter than she has in a long time. I walk up to her and give her a kiss on the cheek. Craning her neck, she smiles.
“She’s in her room, baby,” Ma says. Moving around her, I see the glare she gives Pop. Fighting off the laugh that threatens to escape, I make my way into the house and through the kitchen, down the hallway to see Cub. Stopping at her open doorway, I take a moment to see how she’s fucked up my old room.
The once-white walls are still the light beige Ma painted them right after Gloria called, worried for her niece’s life. It’s the rest of the room that she’s put her feminine stamp on. Her bedspread and throw pillows are a dusty purple, and so are the frames of the reproductions of the paintings she has hanging up. The bed frame is a solid oak and cost a fucking fortune, according to Pop. I poke my head in, seeing her in the closet, hanging up a jacket.
“You fucked up my room,” I say. She jumps in place and spins around, scowling.
“No,” she says slowly, “I fixed up my room.” I grin at her attitude and slowly enter the room, tossing my duffle down on her bed. Her eyes slide to the duffle on the bed, and she crosses her arms. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting comfortable,” I say, walking to the bed, sitting down, and kicking off my boots. I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. Her nerves are on edge, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself, being invaded like this. Shaking her up is becoming a favorite of mine. It almost gets me off as much as getting off does.
She swings around the bed, grabs the duffle, and tosses it on the ground. Her dark brown hair is down now, falling over her shoulders. I let my eyes travel from her bare feet up to her yoga pants and the pink T-shirt she’s wearing. Just as my eyes reach her tits, her arms lifts in the air and her hand comes down hard on the side of my head. Reflexively, I stand, towering over her, and back her into the corner. Her arms reach behind her, finding purchase of the wall. Her lower lip trembles, and her eyes are wide.
“Now you did it,” I grit out, trying to control my temper. My chest vibrates with a mixture of rage and desire. I run my index finger down her neck and ghost my lips along her hairline. She stays very still as I place my hands on the wall, boxing her in. My head is swarming with a hundred things at once, but the only thing I can focus on is Cub.
Chapter 24
Falling in love is the best way to kill your heart because then it's not yours anymore. It's laid in a coffin, waiting to be cremated.
Ville Valo
I LIFT HER chin and crash my lips down against hers. She’s stiff beneath my touch. I let my lips glide down her temple to her cheek where I place a gentle kiss. I’m so fucking out of my element, so far into my own head, with this tunnel vision, that won’t let the fuck up. I could keep lying to myself, saying I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But I know damn well what my problem is.
My problem is standing right in front of me, stiff as a
board and seemingly terrified. Angry, quiet, dismissive, flirty. None of it matters. She’s a fucking temptress no matter what mask she’s wearing. Pulling back from her lips and whispering in her ear, I say, “Relax, Cub.”
“Cub?” she says, lifting her head. Fuck. I could rip my own goddamn balls off for letting that one slip. Something about her knowing the name I call her makes me feel oddly exposed. It’s uncomfortable and disarming. I can’t really make out why. And instead of letting her make it into a big deal, I push her up flat against the wall. Just thinking about fucking her gives me half a chubby.
“Why did you call me that?”
“It’s just a nick name. We all have them, remember?” I say. It’s lame, but it’s all I’ve got. It’s the same lame excuse I gave Pop and the club when I said it in front of them for the first time.
“What does it mean?”
“You’re really fucking pushy tonight, you know that?” I say, backing off, irritated by the inquisition. Sure, it’s a simple question, but it has one hell of a complicated answer. Her jaw locks, and her eyes narrow in anger.
“You’re a fucking bastard,” she hisses. Something’s pissed her off damn good, but fuck if I know what it is. All I did was come in here to spend a little time with her, maybe make her come a few times, and here she is losing her fucking shit over it. She’s fucking lucky it gets me hard when she gets pissed like this. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have this complication in my life.
“What is your fucking problem, huh?”
“You keep doing this. You just can’t keep doing this,” she whimpers, crossing her arms over her midsection as tears spring to her eyes. She lifts her chin, refusing to crumble completely, despite the tears on her cheeks. “You’re hot and cold. You want me and you don’t. What are you, bipolar?” She’s screaming now. Her arms fly up in the air as her shouts break up, half in Italian and half in English. I hear certain words that tip me off that she’s pissed at me, but for what, I’m still not sure. I have a feeling if she were screaming at me entirely in English, I still wouldn’t fucking know.
My entire body feels hard and tight, and I just need to pound something—preferably Cub. I’ve always been a go-getter. So fuck it.
I close the distance between us and cup her face in my hands. She lowers her voice, but keeps chewing me out in two different languages simultaneously. As hot as she is when she’s cursing in English, she’s fucking smokin’ when she’s pissed and cursing at me in Italian. I can’t make out the words, but I know better than to assume she’s praying for my soul. I lost that a long fucking time ago. When she finally calms down and stops crying, I kiss her on the forehead. When Ma’s pissed, Pop does it to calm her down. Sure enough, she stops bitching and lets out a heavy sigh. With her eyes focused on mine, she looks so defeated; consumed, even.
“Tell me you want me,” she says. For a brief moment, it’s a reminder of how fucked up our first time was, but I play along anyway. I’m too tired, too needy to get into this with her.
“I want you,” I blurt out and bring my hands to her hips. A shy smile breaks out on her face.
“You said it,” she says so quietly I almost believe I’m hearing things. I don’t even know what the fuck she’s talking about now, which seems to be today’s theme.
“What are you going on about?”
“You said you want me. Earlier, when I—” she says, but I cut her off by kissing her. This time she’s responsive and eager. Her lips slide against mine. She’s so soft in every way, and if I remember correctly, every fucking place. If I just focus on the physical, I can block out this shit that’s running through my head.
“Tell me you want me,” she says.
“I want to fuck you,” I say.
With frantic movements, her hands claw at my shirt. Never one to disrespect a lady’s wants, I reach down and peel the shirt over my head, breaking contact in the process. The smile on her face is blinding as I toss the shirt across the room. She’s so young and so innocent in ways I can’t ever remember being. Not virginal, and maybe not as naïve as I thought, but when it comes to this shit, she lets it matter. And it doesn’t have to fucking matter. But I guess to her it does. And even if it doesn’t matter to me, I don’t stop myself anyway. Because I’m a selfish fucking bastard, and I want her.
Leaning down, I swoop one of my arms beneath her legs. She yelps as I stand erect—in more ways than one—and she wraps her legs around my waist. With one arm around my neck for support, she uses the other to cup my chin. I walk us to the bedroom door, closing is quietly. I don’t give a fuck if Pop knows what we’re doing in here; I just don’t want a goddamn audience, and I don’t want any fucking interruptions. I lock the door then walk us to the bed. We don’t break eye contact, and even though I know this is the worst goddamn idea imaginable, I let it happen. There’s honesty in her brown eyes I wish I didn’t see. She’s not a Lost Girl. She’s not jaded like the rest of them. Chel knows the score. She knows exactly what we are to one another. As long as we keep shelling out the cash, she’ll keep being pliable. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. But this is different.
Bringing us to the bed, I bend at the waist, laying her down. Her eyes dance in anticipation as I lie down on top of her, my dick uncomfortably bound by my jeans and her paper-thin yoga pants. I rock into her, and she bites her lip trying to stifle a moan. She lets me lead. I begin by running a hand up her shirt, over her rubs, and sneak a finger underneath her bra. I didn’t allow myself the pleasure of exploring her body the first time we were together. This time, I’m going to make damn sure I memorize every fucking curve of her flesh.
I try to give myself time and undress her slowly, but I’m anxious. She keeps looking at me and touching me in ways that no woman does—without expectation. It’s fucking me up. I tear her shirt off then wrestle with her yoga pants. I get down to my underwear, and she’s in her panties when I unsnap her bra. She gulps, her hands shake slightly, but she doesn’t say a word. I’ve been here a hundred fucking times with as many broads, and none of them act nervous like this. At least, not since high school when virgins still existed—at least they did until they met me.
Using one hand, I bring her arms above her head and run my nose down her neck, kissing along the way. She purrs under my touch, shivering as I remove her bra. Her tits are fucking perfect—teardrops forming a mound. She can’t be more than a B-cup at most. My hand closes around it, fingers pinching at her nipple. It’s enough to make my dick twitch. As an apology for last time, I bring my other hand down to her panties, dragging a finger up the center. Her back arches; she moans under my touch. We’re just fucking around, but there’s no reason I can’t make this enjoyable for her.
Tensing for a brief second, her body goes lax when I dip my hand inside her panties, finding her slit. She’s not shaved, but she is manicured. It’s been a while since I’ve been with a chick who didn’t wax her pussy. It’s pretty much a requirement of the Lost Girls. Sliding in and out of her wet lips, the tip of my finger is coated in her juices.
“You like that, baby?” I ask. She murmurs an incoherent yes, tossing her head back as I slide two fingers into her. She’s so slick and wet. I lick my lips in anticipation.
“Yes,” she chokes out as I slam my fingers into her wet pussy and hold them there, watching the shivers that take over her entire body. She sucks in a deep breath and says, “Again.”
I pull my fingers out and push them back in between her folds. She gasps, her eyes turn into saucers, and her lips part.
“Again,” she mouths, unable to speak. I’m only too fucking happy to oblige, pulling out and ramming back into her. A strangled whimper escapes her mouth as it parts, and she tosses her head back in a beautiful fucking arch. Her pussy clamps down on my fingers like it’s a fucking vice. My dick is immediately fucking jealous, and I pull my fingers out. Slowly, her spasm ceases, and she looks down at me, breathing heavily. Her eyebrows pull together in question.
Reaching over and grabbing a condom
from my duffle, I shove my boxers to the floor and strap on the rubber. Sliding back up her legs, I kiss her inner thigh and then her hip bone, traveling up her stomach to her ribs. Covering her naked frame, and looking into her nervous eyes, I reach down with one hand and part her legs even further. She bites her lip as I guide myself to her entrance. Very slowly, I enter her, and the feeling is fucking amazing. Hot and tight and slick.
I move out slowly, then draw back in. Her body quivers under mine. Gooseflesh springs up across her tits and her thighs. My muscles tense, and I can feel it fucking coming soon. She reaches up, cupping my chin, her eyes fixated so intently on mine. The way she looks at me just fucks me up—so trusting, so caring, so fucking stupid. It’s like she’s seeing someone who’s not here, someone who died the day he earned his cut. Lifting her head, she brings her lips to mine and kisses me with just as much care. I’ve never been one for kissing while fucking, but I let her do it anyway. I guess I owe her this for that shit from the other night.
She slips her tongue into my mouth, and I eagerly welcome it. Just as I consume her mouth with my own, her body tenses beneath me, her pussy clamps down, and I can’t stop myself from coming with her. She pulsates around me in a frantic rhythm, never breaking our kiss. I fight through my own orgasm, as the warmth envelopes me, sweat drips onto her forehead, and my eyes fly back into my head.
When I finally come down from the best fucking orgasm I’ve ever had, I open my eyes and study her. Her brown eyes are wide, and she’s panting heavily. She opens her mouth and, with a breathy whisper, says, “Holy shit.”
Moving off of her, I slide out of fucking wonderland and roll off the condom, tossing it into a nearby trash can. My lips turn up into a smile at her appreciation of my dick and his skills. He is pretty fucking impressive, if I do say so myself. Standing in her room, watching her scamper under her covers, I’m struck by a sudden awkwardness. This is why I don’t normally fuck chicks at their place. It’s too awkward when I give their ass a pat and walk out the door. Especially because the last thing I want to do right now is walk out the fucking door.
