by Jc Emery
“Tracie and I want to go to the movies,” she says.
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“I need my allowance for the week.”
“I gave it to you already,” Grady says.
“What am I supposed to do, then?” she asks. Her bottom lip pops out, and she blinks up at him with her big green eyes. “I don’t have any cash left.”
“I don’t know. Sneak in or stay home. Either way, it’s not really my problem, is it? Told you before—I’m not a fucking bank.”
“But, Daddy,” she whispers. She bats her eyes at him. She’s goddamn dangerous. She bats her eyes like that at me and I’d probably just hand her my fucking wallet. But Grady doesn’t react.
“Oh, come on, Grady,” Chief says. He smiles down at his goddaughter and waves her over. She moves immediately into his arms. Once there, he wraps one large arm around her and uses the other to dig into his pocket where he pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and goes to hand it to her.
She shakes her head and sighs. “No, Uncle Chief. I can’t take the money from you. It’s okay. I can stay home.” Her voice sounds so small, and she looks so defeated.
I redirect my attention to Grady, who is glaring at Chief. The two men exchange a look, with Chief nodding toward Cheyenne and Grady shaking his head. It goes on until Diesel and Wyatt—who I almost forgot are in the room—are casually urging Grady to give Cheyenne money for the movies. Soon enough, Grady loses his patience and pulls out two twenties. He shoves them at her with narrowed eyes.
“Con artist,” Grady gripes. “You two are a couple of fucking con artists.”
Cheyenne gives Chief a squeeze before practically skipping toward her dad. She grabs the money and wraps her arms around Grady’s midsection. He pats her back reluctantly and then shoos her away.
With Grady’s attention diverted, Chief takes the opportunity to shake his head at me as he mouths, “Grady will kill you.”
I stare at him in confusion and shrug my shoulders, trying to pull off this whole I-don’t-have-a-crush-on-Cheyenne-Grady thing. He doesn’t buy it. He just chuckles and smirks, then says, “Pussy.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” Cheyenne says and rushes out of the room excitedly. Now that she’s gone, I’m reminded that I’m still in a good amount of trouble with the guys around me.
CHAPTER 1
November
17 months to Mancuso’s downfall
THE SOGGY GRASS squishes beneath my heavy black boots as I stomp my way across the football field. I’ve been out here standing in the shadows of the bleachers for the last hour, and only now am I able to show myself to Cheyenne and that douche bag she’s flirting with.
I have orders. I’m to keep an eye on her but not to interfere unless the situation warrants it. I’ve always respected Grady as the sergeant at arms, but I’m starting to like the guy on a personal level now. His instructions were clear: watch Cheyenne and make sure there’s no inappropriate touching or anybody suspicious in her vicinity. As far as I’m concerned, Clinton Bruce, quarterback for the Wolverines, having his hands on Cheyenne anywhere is inappropriate, and the uptight, pretty-boy asshole is definitely suspicious. Grady would sanction this.
“Hey!” I shout and shove an index finger in Clinton’s direction. Clinton. Who the fuck names their kid that, anyway? My mom’s one fucked up bitch, and even she had the decency of giving me a legit name. I shake my head. Clinton.
Good old Clint jumps in place as his hands still on Cheyenne’s hips. His eyes narrow as he slowly realizes I got a bone to pick with him. He’s fucking slow, but Cheyenne isn’t. She steps back, swatting Clint’s hands away, and shakes her head at me. Her eyes are focused on the black leather that rests on my shoulders.
This is the first time she’s seen me in my cut.
“You got a problem?” Clint asks loudly. His gray-and-purple practice uniform is spotted with mud here and there, but he doesn’t look like he’s been really sacked yet. Maybe I should change that.
“Hands off Miss Priss.”
“Miss Priss?” he questions. Yeah, slow.
Cheyenne folds her arms over her chest and gives Clint a quick look that reeks of an apology. She ain’t got shit to apologize for, but that she thinks she has to pisses me off even further. She’s always trying to fit in with other people. For as long as I can remember, she’s gone for the jocks. Occasionally she’ll pay attention to a band geek, but not often. She’s always stayed away from the loser druggies and anybody who never really fit into a particular crowd—like me.
“My dad and his friends call me that,” she says to him barely loud enough for me to hear.
“Is Whelan one of your dad’s friends?” Clint asks.
Cheyenne levels him with a frustrated gaze. “You don’t see the cut?”
“I mean, yeah,” he mutters only half-coherently. Then his voice rises in irritation. “Don’t get bitchy with me.”
I stride up into his personal space and bump my chest against his gear. “Do we have a problem here?”
I’ve been working on keeping my expression flat when I need it to be, so I hope I’m able to pull it off. Duke is kind of a hard-ass, but I’m thankful for it. Without having him breathing down my neck every other minute, I wouldn’t be wearing this cut. And, God, do I love this cut. I wouldn’t exactly give up my dick for it, but I’d consider hacking off a few toes if I had to.
“I don’t know, do we?” Clint the Dick says.
“Step off, or all the body armor in the world isn’t going to save you.” My chest constricts with the desire to hit something. Anything. My skin heats at the thought of making this asshole bleed. My lungs strain for air my body doesn’t want to accept. If he pushes me much further, I’m going to snap. It’s always been like this, my temper. I get so pissed off over the littlest shit that I have to break something before I feel better. His jaw looks like a decent enough target.
“You got in my face, asshole.”
My heart beats frantically in my chest as I tighten my fists at my sides to keep from swinging at him too early. If I get busted for hitting this prick, I want to make sure it’s a good shot. But I don’t have the chance, because just as the tension in my body gets too much to bear, I hear Cheyenne’s voice.
“Jeremy, please stop,” she says quietly. “Please.” She’s pretty much begging at this point. It’s like she’s been silently asking me to back off, and when it came out loud enough for me to hear, it’s nearly a cry.
I open my fists and take in deep breath after deep breath until I can see clearly. He was touching her in a way I don’t like—at all—but he wasn’t hurting her. Grady didn’t task me with this so I could control every little thing she does. I’m not supposed to interfere. I’m only supposed to keep her safe. And she’s safe.
I take one step back slowly and then another. When I look to my side, I find that Cheyenne’s face is beet red and her green eyes are large. She doesn’t look embarrassed. She looks fucking mortified. Shit. That is so not a way to get a girl to suck your dick. I would know because that is one of Duke’s most important tips about women—don’t upset them, or they won’t blow you. They probably won’t do any other nice stuff for you either.
I probably should have learned not to piss off women from being raised by my batshit-crazy sister, but I’m what Duke calls a slow learner. He’s such a fucking asshole sometimes, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t want to make him proud that he vouched for me.
“You wanna tell Daddy’s lapdog to get lost now, Chey?” Clint says. My attention snaps to his face so fast that I’m practically dizzy when I catch the smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. “Run along, bitch boy. I’m busy with my girl.”
I open my mouth to cuss the guy out, but two things distract me. The first is the football coach trotting over, and the second is the bony elbow digging into my side as Cheyenne passes me and strides up to Clint. For a brief second, I think she’s going to wrap her arms around him and tell me to fuck off. But she d
oesn’t.
“You talk big out here on the field, but you damn sure wouldn’t be saying that in front of my daddy,” she says in the same mocking tone he used a moment prior. “Go ahead and talk shit about Jeremy, but leave his cut out of it.”
And I’m in love. This chick is Forsaken through and through, even if she wants to pretend like she’s some preppy bitch. She’s got the club written all over her, from the way she keeps her chin up to the bite in her tone. I see so much of her father in her right now that it’s going to make my shower jerk-off session a little awkward.
“Know what? I’m done with your fucking tantrums, Cheyenne.”
“And I’m done with you being such an asshole!” she yells. The calm angry girl from a moment ago has been replaced by a crazy little screamer.
“Oh—oh no—” he says with his mouth turned down in a faux pout. Jesus Christ, she’s into some assholes. It’s a wonder she never hooked up with me. “Bitch.”
I take a deep breath to keep from shoving Cheyenne to the side in an effort to reach this guy and break every bone in his body. On the first deep breath, Cheyenne calls him an asshole. On the second deep breath, she kicks him in the shin. Neither effort has any effect on him. He just looks down at her with a bored expression.
“Bruce, back on the field,” the coach shouts from several feet away. He’s an older guy in his fifties with gray hair and a pot belly. I should probably know the guy’s name since he taught my history class last year, but I don’t. I failed that fucking class.
“We’re not done here, Coach,” I shout without taking my eyes off Clint. I know I’m on the verge of getting expelled, but I don’t really give a shit. Holly, Grady’s girlfriend, is trying to keep me in school for as long as she can. But word on the street is she’s got a temper on her, too. I don’t think she’d be too mad at me if she found out I got expelled because this little pussy thinks he can run his mouth whenever he wants.
“Son, what is that you’re wearing?” the coach asks. Grady gave me the rundown—no wearing the cut during school hours or on school property. But it’s after school, and Coach Whoeverthefuck can suck my right ball. Of course he would want to know what I’m wearing. Some pigs think this cut is a gang symbol. They have no idea.
“Jeremy,” Cheyenne says. Her voice is much stronger now. She seems frustrated and a little guilty all at the same time. “Let’s just go.”
I nod my head to keep from saying or doing anything that’s going to cause a scene. We turn away and walk side by side toward the parking lot. Diesel is bound to be waiting for her there, like he does every day. I don’t know the lowdown on everything that went down, but someone showed up on campus and scared the crap out of her, so Grady asked me to make sure she’s safe during school hours. Maybe I’ll earn some bonus points by keeping an eye on her after school.
“Enjoy my leftovers, bitch,” Clint shouts. Both Cheyenne and I turn around and glare at Clint as he turns and heads back toward the field where the coach has already returned.
“Do me a favor,” Cheyenne says as she places a hand on my back. I look down at her to find her lips have formed into a devious smile. A glint of vengeance shines in her eyes. It’s hot. Like, really fucking hot.
“Anything,” I say like the pussy-whipped asshole I am.
Her smile gets impossibly wider. “Make him suffer.”
I’m unable to hold back the laugh as I give her a wink and take off in a sprint. He doesn’t see me coming as I throw myself onto his back and shove his face in the mud. My left hand pinches at the back of his neck with all my strength. My knee digs viciously into the small of his back. I’ve seen men tortured and abused for far less—and for far less important people than Cheyenne. This bitch is lucky he’s getting off with a warning.
“I know where your dad works, and I know where you live. I know your sister and how good her pussy tastes,” I hiss into his ear as he struggles to breathe through the mud he’s inhaling. “I could have your mother, but that bitch is fucking nasty. Just remember this—I represent Forsaken. Cheyenne is Forsaken. You don’t want on Daddy’s bad side, and you sure don’t want to piss off any of us. As far as you’re concerned, she doesn’t exist. And if I hear any different, I’ll make sure her father knows every bit of this conversation.”
I shove his face farther into the mud, dig my knee harder into his back, and then stand. My boot slams into his side before I walk off. Every bit of what I told him is the truth, with the exception of the part about his sister. I’m not picky, but she’s as fucking gross as her mother is. No way I’d stick my dick in that.
Cheyenne is waiting for me at the edge of the field. When I reach her, she says nothing and just turns to walk toward the parking lot once more. We make it to the concrete before she speaks.
“You’re kind of dirty,” she says with a wrinkle of her nose.
“Word around the clubhouse is they call you Miss Priss because you’re kind of a pain in the ass,” I retort.
“I’m so not.” She doesn’t even sound like she believes her own lies. “But can I ask you something?”
“Depends.”
“Who is that guy who showed up at school?”
“What guy?” I know damn well who she’s talking about, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. It’s club business, which means it’s none of hers.
“I’m not an idiot. That creepy guy shows up at school, and now I have an escort everywhere I go? So who is he?”
“Your escort? It’s Diesel,” I say with a nod of my head across the lot to the motherfucker with the buzz cut who’s resting on his bike.
She shakes her head. “Nice try. I have questions, and I know you have answers.”
There’s absolutely nothing I can tell her that won’t cost me my top rocker. So I swipe some mud from the knee of my jeans and wipe it across her cheek.
She swats my hand away with a surprised laugh and steps back with a screech. “Ew, gross!”
“You’re so fucking high maintenance,” I say, keeping my tone sounding bored. Just as she looks offended, I swipe another dollop of mud from my jeans and go straight for her nose, but she swipes it off my finger and takes a step closer to me.
In a quiet voice, she says, “Are you trying to distract me?”
I clear my throat. “No, I’m trying to get you dirty, baby.”
Shit. I sound like a moron.
A thick cold goo clogs up my ear, and it’s only then that I feel her removing her finger and realize she’s shoved the mud in my ear. My fucking ear. I narrow my eyes at her as she steps back, waves her finger to direct me to stay put, and grins wildly.
“You’re in for it,” I say as I take off after her. She screams and takes off running through the parked cars. I could outrun her, but I want to let her think she has a chance.
“D, help! D! Help!” she screams. I look up to find her hiding behind Diesel, who is in the corner of the lot, perched on his bike. His helmet rests on his handlebars, and his tanned muscles are exposed by the black wife-beater he wears under his cut.
“Back off, prospect. The lady wants to be left alone,” Diesel says through a smile. He stands from the bike and ushers her over to him where he tosses an arm around her shoulders and then walks her to her car. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m standing in the middle of the parking lot, smiling like an idiot. Alone.
Cheyenne climbs into her Bug that’s parked in the center of the lot. Once she’s securely inside, Diesel makes his way back to his bike. I parked the bike Grady gave me just a few feet from his, so I follow his path.
“Grady is going to chop your dick off and eat it for breakfast,” Diesel says. He’s way too smiley right now. It’s creeping me out.
“Probably.” We grab our helmets and climb on our bikes. Before I start my engine, I say, “But it’ll be worth it.”
CHAPTER 2
November
17 months to Mancuso’s downfall
Diesel starts up his bike and takes off after Cheyenn
e, who’s turning out of the lot. I follow suit and spend the short ride home thinking about ways to get her to talk to me again. She’s cute to look at but better to actually talk to. Maybe I need to beat up more football players. Or I could tease her some more. Maybe I could just talk to her, but that might be too weird.
When I pull up to the house and walk in, I’m met with my sister, Nic, and her old man, Duke. They’re hogging up the couch as per usual. He’s wearing a pair of old jeans and nothing else, and she’s in one of his shirts and I hope something else. Their legs are entwined, and one of his arms is stretched over her shoulders, tucking her into his side. His other arm is stretched out with his hand palming her stomach. Her small frame is dwarfed by his large one in all areas except for her growing belly.
Despite the constant half nudity in the house, he’s good for us. He’s going to be good for my niece or nephew, too. I just like having a guy around here. For one, we out-vote Nic on almost everything, and for two, I’ve finally learned how to ride. It’s the only thing I ever wanted to do—ride a Harley just like my dad and his brothers. But none of that means he can’t be a serious fucking prick to live with. In my house. He’s like a bossy squatter that can rip my dick off if he so chooses.
Duke had offered to teach me a few years back, but Jim put the gavel down on that. Nic didn’t even know I was showing up at the clubhouse as often as I could get away with. If one of the guys had taught me to ride, she would have had a fucking fit, and if there’s anything my sister is a pro at, it’s throwing a fit.
“You’re all muddy,” Nic says with a raised eyebrow. She points her index finger in my direction as if to tell me to stay in the hardwood entry.
Duke lifts his chin in greeting. He catches sight of the mud on my jeans and the bottom of my cut. I just shrug my shoulders and shake my head. I’m not about to shoot the shit about Cheyenne to these two assholes. The second I tell Nic I got my eye on a girl, and not just my dick interested in her, she won’t fucking let it go. Ever. Nic’s like that—she nags endlessly—and somehow I just know if I refuse to give her what she wants, she’s going to pester the fuck out of Duke until he makes me. So yeah, I ain’t saying shit about the mud or the girl, and I hope that Diesel doesn’t find the little scene he witnessed earlier newsworthy.
