by Jc Emery
"Stay here," I say. She is an adult and responsible for own fate, but I can't help the bad feeling that I get from the idea of letting her walk. She hasn't told me what exactly went down between her and Mancuso's guy, but from the way she avoids the topic altogether, I'm starting to worry that it was more than she's letting on. And if he has taken an interest in her, then she’s screwed.
"No," she says. She gives me a small shake of her head, and then her shoulders rise in the air, stay for a beat, and fall. "I was an idiot for thinking that it could be a good idea to let Cheyenne think that were sleeping together. Now my boss is asking questions and even Mindy thinks I'm hiding something from her. If I stay here, it's only going to make everything worse."
"You won't stay here because people are asking questions, so you would rather be murdered to avoid a few uncomfortable conversations?" I don't even know what the fuck to say about this shit anymore. I've tried my best to get it through her thick skull that getting dead is a very real possibility here. She shifts in place and looks down at her lap. Her fingers work at the hem of her blouse.
"The more time I spend with you, the more that guy is going to think I matter. It's better for you and Cheyenne that I stay away. If he thinks we know each other then he can use me as leverage. You have enough to worry about with Cheyenne and your club. You don't need to worry about me as well."
“Stay,” I say again, quieter this time.
“I don’t fit in here.”
“Yes, you do,” I whisper.
“But, I don’t.”
“You’re insane, and ballsy, and you handle your shit. You fit in here alright.”
I sound like a pussy.
Her silence is unnerving. She doesn’t react to my fucked-up attempts at getting her to stay for a long moment, then she says, “But I don’t want to be those things.”
I don't give her anything for a good minute or so. I've nothing to give. She doesn’t want this and I won’t force it. On one hand, she makes sense. Her staying here could make it look like she means something to me, which she doesn't. Well, more than I want her to, anyway. Still, that doesn't address the fact that she's already had words with this guy and apparently the asshole pulled a gun on her. But she's made her choice, and I'm not the kind of man who begs.
I can walk away from this.
"Fine. You've made your choice. I just hope it doesn't come back to bite you in the ass,” I grit out.
She stands to leave and says a few words on her way toward the door. Things like thank you and other bullshit pleasantries tumble from her mouth as she closes the door behind her. The air in the room changes, no longer charged and now kind of empty. I hate that she's even partially right about Mancuso's guy seeing her as a bigger threat if she stays here. On the other hand, it doesn't sit right with me to let her go and not know what she's up to. It's fucking insane, and what she does with her time is none of my goddamn business. But for the last few weeks Squat has kept me up to date on her comings and goings. Everything from what kind of takeout she orders to where she shops and how often has been logged, in code, in a palm-sized notebook that he carries around in his back pocket.
Innocuous little details like knowing that she and her cousin Mindy eat at Sea Salt Pizza about twice a week, and that she's stopped by Early Bird Hardware twice in the last two weeks, but has only purchased something once, have left me wondering about all of the other dumb shit she does that I don't know about. Squat hasn't been able to figure out what kind of pizza she orders at Sea Salt yet, but he did get her coffee order for me. I should have paid attention when I ran into her there, but I was much too focused on pissing her off. I would be a liar if I said I had no idea why I want to know what kind of pizza she likes or what kind of coffee she drinks.
The last few minutes I spent with Holly Mercer make me realize something that I'd rather not admit: I like her. But it’s more than that. It’s deeper. She’s infuriating and pushy, and she doesn’t give a shit that I wear this cut. She is who she is, and fuck if that ain’t some kind of beautiful stupidity.
I don't want to like her, and I don't want the complication of trying to insert her into my life. But it's there, and I don't think it's going to go away anytime soon.
The door creaks as it opens, and there stands Elle. Her long black hair cascades over her shoulders and falls the top her old, worn brown leather jacket. Like always, she's wearing white jeans and a fitted top that stretches at her perfect fucking tits. She sees me notice the curves of her body, and a smirk appears at her lips. It’s easy between us. We both know what we’re after, and neither one is interested in fucking that up, and right now my dick couldn’t be more thankful.
After her father's death, it took me some time to shake the feeling of guilt that crept in because I'd been fucking my best friend's little girl for years and lying to him about it. I don't know that he would be pissed because one of his brothers did him like that as much as he'd be pissed that the asshole hadn't made Elle his Old Lady.
"You look tired," she says. As she walks into the room, she lets the door close behind her and twists the lock into place. There is only one reason she would lock the door. She doesn't move fast or anything, but it feels like one moment she's across the room and then she's right on top of me. First, she shrugs off her jacket and tosses it on top of the washer and dryer nearby. Then it's her top, and then her shoes. Her jeans slip down her long legs slowly, and finally she's just in her bra and panties. I crook my finger, and she drops to her knees. Her gorgeous fucking rack is in my face and her hot pussy just a foot away, I let out a heavy breath. My muscles tighten as I lean forward and move onto my knees. She places her hands on my shoulders and presses her tits into my chest. Her nipples are hard as they press into my cut. It's always good between us, and I'm more than up for a guaranteed orgasm, but tonight I just don't feel like doing any work.
"Long day," I say. I don't give her anything else—if I do, she'll ask too many questions. She and Chief didn't have the best relationship for a few reasons. Him leaving her mother for her stepmother, Barbara, left a tear in their father-daughter bond. But what created the furthest distance between them was that Elle never understood that club business wasn't any of her business. It's only been a few times that I've had to remind her that I don't shoot the shit about my brothers. Period. But even a few times is a few too many. So instead, I reach around to her ass and give it a squeeze. She's soft and supple, and the purr that escapes her lips is enough to get my dick hard. There's nothing better than a nice quick fuck at the end of the rough day.
When I slide my hand into the leg hole of her panties and assault her clit with my thumb, she grips my shoulders tighter. With my free hand, I undo my belt, pop open the button of my jeans, and slide down the zipper. She's quick to grab my dick through my boxers and slide her hand from the base to the tip and back again. It's a matter of minutes until we are both grunting and moaning. Just before she falls over the edge, she uses my shoulders as leverage and lifts herself up. And then slowly slides down my needy cock. I hold her at the waist to guide her movements. I let the day and all its bullshit wash away with the blissful fucking feeling of hot, wet pussy.
Nothing else on this planet can make all of the bad shit disappear like pussy can. And pussy like Elle is hard to come by. Gorgeous fucking light brown skin, dark eyes, dark hair, and a whole mess of attitude. But no drama, no expectations, no commitments. Perfect fucking pussy. I'm not as young as I used to be and the exertion of holding her up like this begins to wear on me. All the booze and bud through the years has taken its toll despite my time in the gym. I suck in a deep breath and, even though I wasn't all that close to coming, it's like my orgasm is fast tracked and I'm losing myself in the soapy, sweet air around me.
Only, it's not Elle. It's Holly that I’m picturing in all her perfect fucking infuriating glory.
Chapter 16
THE FLOOR CREAKS beneath my feet as I make my way into the small cabin that we use as a safe-house. Junior’s
been here for weeks, and at some point we’re going to have to see about moving him, but a few of the guys won’t sign off on it yet. It’s moved on from being a safety issue to a personal vendetta. I’m all for righting wrongs, but eventually something’s got to give. This is just one more thing that’s splintering the club from the inside out, and if I were the worrying kind, I’d fear for our future. We’re a brotherhood. If we don’t have each other’s backs, then we don’t got shit and these patches that I’d lay down my life for don’t mean a goddamn thing.
The cabin is long and narrow, reminiscent of a shotgun style house. The kitchen was long ago gutted, and the bathroom is nothing more than a half-working sink and toilet. Junior’s lucky that he’s family—even though we haven’t let him out of this shithole, he’s enjoyed daily home-cooked meals from Ruby. Like the one I have in my hands right now—fried chicken with mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob all wrapped up in aluminum foil and put inside a plastic Tupperware container that fits nicely in my saddlebags. I don’t usually play Meals-On-Wheels, but Duke’s been bugging me to give the kid a chance. He seems to think the intel the kid has is legit and that he really is interested in helping us.
In the corner of the room, Junior sits on the old stained mattress that we’ve used for interrogation more times than I can count. His legs are bent, and his arms are slung over his knees. His body jumps slightly at the sound of my entrance, but he keeps his head steady. After he recovered from the shit-kicking that Ian gave him, his entire demeanor changed. When I first caught sight of Ruby’s boy, he was fucking manic. He kept screaming, “He’ll kill her!” and fighting us at every turn. He wasn’t very cooperative during his recoup, either. But since then my brothers haven’t reported anything but cooperation. This could mean he either wants to help us, or, despite his declarations, he really does want his sister dead.
“Dinner,” I say and toss the closed Tupperware container at him. He responds quickly and catches it with little issue. His large hands tear away at the lid, and he dives right in. With the cob of corn in his hands and a mouth full of corn, he swallows then looks up at me. I grab the chair near the mattress and sit down.
“Who’s been making these meals?” he asks. To the best of my knowledge, he’s never asked where his food was coming from, so this is progress.
“Ruby,” I say and leave it at that. He doesn’t press. He just nods and goes back to eating. It’s not my place to tell him that she’s his mother—not that he’d even believe me anyway. Shit, if I hadn’t known about this kid from the beginning, I might be doubting it, too. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the day Jim told me about his woman’s fucked-up past and the babies she had to leave behind. Ruby had only been in town a few months and hadn’t let Jim in yet. He’d said his promise to protect her kids was the only reason she gave him a chance. That was back when Layla had just started fucking up again, and Chey was barely two years old. That night when I got home, I woke Chey up and held her for what seemed like hours. I had to remind myself of how fragile she was at that age so that I didn’t squish her.
“Heard you got some theories,” I say. He finishes off the corn and tosses the cob into the bag.
“Does this mean you’re willing to listen?”
“I’m listening, dude. Whether or not I think you’re full of shit is another thing. Start from the beginning,” I say.
“My dad didn’t send me out here, my cousin did. Tony’s taking this shit personally. I don’t think my dad even knows what’s going on,” he says. I’m more than a little surprised to hear that Mancuso is probably not involved yet. All Duke told me was that the kid has some intel that I need to hear and that he’s getting the vibe that it’s legit.
“Tony’s still recovering. He took a shot to the stomach that had him in the hospital for a few weeks. That’s his bullshit excuse for not dealing with this himself. So anyway, I’d been hit in the shoulder, so when they arrested me, I went to the hospital. Some dick from the feds came in and told me that my dad and uncle were going away for life. He said my cousin was half-dead and my father’s organization was done for.”
“Name?” I ask.
“Agent Wilks,” he says. “He was with a scumbag pig who’d pretended to play dirty and butted up to my dad. Officer Adam Davis. That’s when they told me how they’d found the warehouse they arrested me in.”
“What warehouse?”
“A warehouse full of meth. Tony had a beef with the guy who ran it. That’s how he ended up with a bullet hole in his stomach. He was giving the guy shit about missing product or something. I’d been trying to control the situation when Al came from out of nowhere. Davis was smug as fuck when he told me that Alex gave up the warehouse. I didn’t believe it until I got out on bond.” His words are definitive, not like he’s confused or trying to make shit up on the spot. It’s also consistent with the little bits we got from Gloria, Mancuso’s sister, when she called about Alex. Gloria didn’t give us much. It was little more than telling us that Alex had ratted her dad out to the feds and that Tony, Gloria’s son, knew. So, obviously, Alex wasn’t safe there.
She shouldn’t be safe here, either—on principle alone—but she’s Ruby’s kid. No matter how much I hate it, she and Ryan are together right now, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to end any time soon. The asshole was raised better than to bed a rat.
“You were surprised?” I ask. Now that he’s mentioned it, the opportunity has presented itself to get a little intel on Alex. Ruby’s kid or not, she’s living in Jim’s house, and she’s got my brother under her thumb. She’s too close to this club and, until a few months ago, none of us had even met her. They all think she’s just a scared kid who’s making the best of a bad situation, but I’m not sure that’s true.
“About my sister?” he asks. His eyebrows raise like he didn’t expect the question. I nod and wait for an answer. I can’t say that his vouching for her means shit to me, but if he confirms my fears then that’s reason enough to urge Ryan to back off.
“Your friends tell me she’s happy here,” he says. “Tell me she’s okay, that she’s being taken care of.” For some reason, we’re breaking ground today. We might be able to use him to get a leg up on Mancuso’s plans. Still, his questions unsettle me. I want to ask him why he’s so concerned for a bitch who got him arrested, and how he can do a total one-eighty, going from beating the crap out of her to playing the concerned brother.
“Didn’t think you’d care,” I say honestly. Maybe I can get some insight into what I’m working with. He shakes his head and looks at the plastic container in his lap. When he lifts his head and meets my eyes again, there’s an emotion behind his face that he’s fighting to mask. It can’t be easy, whatever it is that he’s feeling.
“I lost my temper,” he says quietly. “I totally lost it. I put so much on the line, and she wouldn’t let me help her. I still don’t get it. She should want to get away from you people.” I choose not to take offense to the comment. He looks lost in thought and like he’s given up every ounce of fight he ever had.
“And where would she go, if not with us?” I ask. “Because from where I’m sitting, she’s a rat who fell into a pretty good situation.”
“She’s not a rat,” he hisses. His words come out cold as ice, and his eyes are narrowed. The apathy is gone, and in its place is what looks to be flat-out hatred. “You don’t know shit about my sister.”
“Enlighten me,” I say. His anger doesn’t vex me, nor does it put me on edge. If anything, it comforts me. It’s something, but it’s not quite enough. I want more before we get back to Mancuso.
“First, tell me if she’s happy. Tell me that she’s okay,” he demands. Maybe I overplayed my hand, because he looks confident now, like he’s convinced I’m going to give him what he wants.
“She’s settling in,” I say. The first thing that pops into my head is that Alex is with Ryan. And while I’m half-tempted to put that shit out there, it’s none of his business. I’m pretty certain t
hat Ryan loves her, and I don’t doubt that she loves him. When Junior kidnapped her and she wouldn’t give the club up, he beat the shit out of her. Blow after blow, she refused to tell him where the club house is. It didn’t matter where he hit her or how hard. She didn’t back down. I don’t worry about her opening her big fucking mouth as long as she and Ryan are doing well. It’s when he fucks up and she gets pissed that I worry about. If she could send her own father away, then what’s to stop her from doing the same to me and my brothers? Nothing, that’s what. “You don’t need to worry about her. Your sister ever do anything like that before?" I ask. I got shit to do, and it's starting to get late. Despite the fact that he's being chatty, I don't want to be here all night.
"The running in to break up a fight? Nah, not since we were little. The talking the cops? Never," he says. "She thought she was saving me, you know? She's always had this thing about the family. There is no gray area with my sister. For her, I'm either a part of her family or I'm part of my father's family. One of the last good days we had together, we talked about where she wanted to go with her life. She had all these big dreams of college and stuff. It was like she was in total denial or something. When I told her that I was going to get my gold gun before the end of the year, she freaked out on me. She knows, having grown up in the life, that once I take my oath, that's it. There's no turning back. So whatever she did, she did it to save me."
