John Reader poured a shot of bourbon for each of them. They clinked and each took a swig, then Ryder said, “How about the price?”
“I offered him a number, he said, ‘perfect’.”
Ryder’s eyes were still. “He took the first number you put out?”
“Mmm. I told him we’d think it over.”
The two men rolled their whiskey around and sipped some more. The Blades’ president asked Ryder, “Will you take it?”
“I pick my own team, make the trade on my terms?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll do it. The risk will be on me, but I think you and I both know what’s happening here.”
John Reader raised his glass, “Let’s hope so.”
Ryder clinked with him again, “So let’s keep all the details between you and me.” Both men nodded. Ryder said, “This thing smells worse than a rat’s ass.”
“Agreed. There’s enough subter-fucking-fuge in this mix already.”
Chapter 9
Jess wondered whether Ryder would actually remember asking her to come back to the clubhouse. He had admitted that he had a ‘game plan.’ She refused to admit that his plan was probably targeted at the exact thing that she wanted herself. She knew almost nothing about him. What little she did know all told her, stay away.
The feelings he had stirred up were deep and they were real, but she knew they were wrong, or at least that they were liable to bring her a lot of trouble and probably not much else. That was all she could ever count on from her emotions.
As she stepped through the door of the Blades clubhouse that second night, Jesska had a strange sensation in her stomach, a feeling somewhere between fear and elation. A feeling that she didn’t trust.
Several of the bikers acknowledged her with a look, a nod or a raised hand as she waded through the clubhouse fog. She didn’t see Bear or Ryder. At the bar, Gyro said, “Hey, Jess. What can I get you?”
She asked for a beer and then, as he handed her a cold bottle, just casually she asked him if he knew where Ryder was. He said that he wasn’t sure but he’d ask someone to take a look for her.
Mary Ann stepped up from behind her with a breezy smile. “Oh, I think he’s in the rumpus room, back there,” and her grin widened as she linked Jess’s arm, “C’mon, honey, I’ll show you through.”
Mary Ann steered Jess through to the back of the bar and down a long corridor. She opened a door ahead of them. In the room, Bear, Ryder and another biker sat on couches. The biker Jess didn’t know had the two dancers from last night in his lap
Ryder sat on a couch building a spliff on a coffee table. He looked up with a ‘Who, me?’ little boy grin on that Jess could have knocked off with her beer bottle.
The biker with all the girls on him waved to her and Mary Ann, “Hey, the more the merrier. Come on and get a line, girls.”
A beautiful Mexican-looking girl danced in the middle of the room. A couple of the girls wore torn hold-up stockings, and all but one of them had on heels.
Other than that, none of the girls wore any clothes. The girls’ skin all shone with a wet sheen. The room reeked of pot and sex.
The brown-haired girl who had being working so hard under the tables last night was crawling up from below the table in front of Ryder. Her head appeared between his thighs and she looked around to the door.
A painful knot twisted in Jess’ stomach when Ryder said, “You want to come in and play?” with that damned grin on.
“Nah, looks like you already got your hands full, Ryder.”
The biker she didn’t know had an evil gleam in his eye. “You can chow down on Ryder’s cock while the rest of us bros pump you up. How about that?”
She didn’t look at him, but at Ryder. “Any one of these girls will do that for you, Ryder.”
He grinned and took a pull on his beer. “Damned straight.”
“Maybe I will, too.” She studied his eyes, “Not tonight though.”
As she turned to go, Bear blocked her path. Ryder said, “Bear, let her go, okay?”
Bear didn’t move. Ryder just said, “Bear,” and Bear backed away.
Jesska strutted all the way through the club with her hips swaying and her head high, and straight out the door. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t risk making eye contact with anyone.
The idea seemed to creep around the tops of her thighs, making her nipples kinda sore. She imagined a pile of hot, hectic bodies, all over each other. The hot bikers, peeling the denim off their hard torsos as the dancers casually shrugging out of what little remained of their clothing, before the orgy really got started.
But she didn’t want it to be like that. Not with Ryder, not with anyone, not now. It wasn’t like she was just a beer that could go warm any second and be replaced by another one.
Chapter 10
Jess made her way across the dusty lot to the shadows where she had parked. She swung her legs over her beloved bike, but she didn’t start it up straight away. She sat and thought about what had happened.
She had wanted to come and get a peek at the MC world and she had certainly gotten that.
She hadn’t been looking for an emotional attachment, and she wasn’t out in pursuit of the powerful feelings that had churned her insides. As she reached for her keys, she heard boots scrape quickly on the ground behind her.
Ryder couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. “Woah! You sneak off around the corner, and you’re leaving on a motorcycle? I didn’t even know you could ride, girl.”
She glared at him. “I keep quiet about it because I didn’t want you—didn’t want anyone in the club to see my damned bike.”
“Why? You ashamed of it?”
“Of a pristine nineteen fifty eight, four-forty-one BSA Shooting Star? Ashamed, are you nuts? I fucking love it.”
“So?”
“So I know you club guys and your ‘only American built motorcycles.’ I can’t ride a Harley, I’m too small. An eight-eighty-three Sportster is five hundred and fifty pounds. I can’t ride that.”
She scowled. “If I showed up in front of the clubhouse on this, it might just as well be a damn Honda as far as you bikers are concerned. I’d get nothing but shit for it, so I kept it to myself.”
The light was bad and she must have imagined it, but there was a glow of respect in Ryder’s eyes. Quietly he asked her, “This your only mount?”
“No.” She sighed. He grinned. His grin just about melted her pants.
“Come on, spill. You have got a Honda, right?”
“No, but, like I said, it could just as well be. I’ve got a T120.”
“A Triumph Bonneville? No good for club business, like you say, and you couldn’t follow with one either, but as a ride there ain’t much wrong with a Bonneville. What year?”
“Sixty-six.” She watched his eyebrows briefly lift.
“You look after them yourself?”
“Of course.”
The light in his eyes burned hotter.
Through her teeth she said, “Don’t let anyone at the club know, okay? Promise me.”
“Honestly, ain’t nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Promise me.”
He had on a little boyish grin again but he gave in and said it, “Okay, okay. I promise.”
There. He had said it before she realized the implications. He had made an oath to her. He had given her a promise. She knew, even if he was wishing right now that he could suck the words back in, that was a serious matter for him. He made a promise, and he would keep it.
The one thing, maybe the only thing, these bikers took as seriously as their bikes was their honor.
Ryder had made a promise to her. That was huge. Maybe it wasn’t only about her bike. But maybe it was. Keep your head straight, Jess, she told herself.
She looked up into his eyes and she was sure the significance wasn’t lost on him. His nostrils flared and his dark, golden eyes gleamed. Jesska’s mouth was dry and she moistened her lips with
her tongue.
He seized her.
One hand behind her head and the other under her ass, he swept her to him. She gasped as his hard body pulsed against her.
Her soft flesh formed against his as he crushed her against him. His hot breath fanned her face and his eyes searched hers with an urgent need.
Her lips parted and they were together. Her body vibrated and sang as he squeezed her ass and clamped her face to his own. His strong lips made a seal that blew the world away. Their hot, short breaths danced in a column and entwined as a force.
She clawed him to her, felt his need and hers clamor for union. Her nipples stung as her breasts pressed against his hard, beating chest. Her fingers raked and clawed at his shirt, his jeans and his neck.
Her head filled with his scent and hers, mingled together. Their breaths joined in fierce, animal snorts. They fed on each other and devoured each other. Their bodies together made one—one heaving engine of pent-up fire.
She held his face in her hands and gently he let her feet back to the ground. Still they kissed, but deeply, tenderly, intimately. His fingers brushed her cheeks, andstroked her neck. She felt the hard cage of his ribs, traced the lines of his stomach, breathed in his scent.
Kaleidoscope flashes of every emotion she knew went through her, from fear to soft safety, from calm to nerve-crackling thrill. She lived a lifetime in his hot, wet kiss.
He held her with her head on his shoulder. She wanted more. The excitement in her body, in her breasts, and her groin was screaming for more. She could smell the heat in her panties as well as feel how wet they were. She wanted to claw at him and rip their clothes off, right there, right then. She wanted to feel all of him, and feel him on all of her.
The bulge in the front of his pants swelled hot and hard against her. Her hips rocked along and against it. As she pressed her tingling mound along the stiffening ridge that stretched his hard denim, her thighs shook and sensation welled up and rose like waves within her. Her breasts heaved against him.
His breath was hot, sweet and dark. His eyes melted her. She held herself back. She wanted him, wanted to open up, to let him in, to trust him and to be safe in his arms. She let him hold her as she trembled.
She moaned as he squeezed her breast and pushed her sore nipple to rub harder against the fabric inside her bra. She wanted to be out of her clothes so much.
She took his breath in and his tongue touched hers for the first time. Her arms flung themselves around his sturdy, thick, strong neck to pull herself closer against his rippling, firm body. His thick, supple lips fastened on her, held and possessed her. He took her as his own, as her soft, eager mouth opened to let him in so she could give herself up to him.
Her breasts pressed against the firm rise and fall of his hard, wide chest. Her hands raked over his back as it rolled like thick, molten iron. Her buttocks clenched as she wound her legs tighter on his thigh.
Pressing in front of her skirt, a large, heavy beast straightened and slowly rose to stand. Fat and hard, it pulsed in the front of his jeans, thrumming insistently against the top of her quivering thigh, agonizingly near to her own swelling heat.
Her hip pushed back against his stiffening pride. Still locked in the depth of the kiss, she felt his smile, his strength. His heart thumped against her chest.
His hand meanwhile strayed down to the front of her skirt. Then it slipped inside. Her mind wanted to resist,but her body moved towards him. As he pressed on the top of her mound, her thighs clamped his, every muscle in her body clenched, and she sighed.
He pushed down on her pelvic bone and it made her wild for the touch of his fingers, his skin, on her, both there and below.
Ryder slid his fingers into her panties. Her hips jerked at the touch of his skin on hers. She meant for her body to push him away, but somehow it drew him tighter. Closer. As his fingers roamed lower, her hips strained up to him.
She ached for his touch. Thrummed at the strength and the skill of his fingers. He pressed down to feel where she was moist and then pulled his fingers back to rub higher up, slowly.
She moaned and clung to him and his finger slid up and then around. Her buttocks clenched and her thighs shook as the rising waves of sensation began to overtake her. She should make him stop. Yes. YES. But not yet.
She pulled back. She managed to say his name, “Ryder?”.
“Jesska?”
“I’m…” she tried to say, ‘I’m not ready’ but her voice choked off. She pressed her hand on his chest. She tried to push him away, but she wanted to feel his strength. With her hand on the back of his head, her fingers entwined in his hair. She pulled him to her and their mouths met again.
She stroked his hard neck as they kissed. Her breath quaked in his mouth. She had only ever kissed one other man with a mustache, and he was much, much older, a professor. It wasn’t like this. Not at all like this.
She thought he would press her to go further. Her insides wrenched between wanting him to and wanting to resist. In a dizzying flash she knew that what she wanted most was for him to press her, so that she could resist, and for him then to overcome her.
She shuddered and shook. She kissed him and clung to him and her emotions churned through her body. He held her waited.
When her shaking subsided, he asked her, “Come back into the clubhouse?”
“No. I should go. Let’s stay out here a little longer though. Stay with me?”
His eyes flashed and at his soft smile, her knees threatened to buckle.
Ryder told her that Mace was from the Skulls and he had come with a deal. As he was a guest from another club, Blades had obligations to offer hospitality. Remembering him in that back room Jess thought, That went a lot further than any kind of hospitality I know about, but she kept it to herself.
She wanted to know more about what was happening in the ‘rumpus room,’ but she didn’t want to ask. She had a strong sense too that if she found out she’d regret it. She wanted to take him on trust,even against the odds, the evidence of her eyes, and the storm of emotion that brewed up inside her as she clung to him.
Chapter 11
Haughey, Red Skulls VP, was the acting president while Iron was on his enforced leave of absence. The big, red-headed Irishman came to the clubhouse door to greet Ryder and Bear. He gave both of them wide smiles, firm bro-hugs, put an arm on each of their shoulders and steered them to the bar.
It seemed every man in the club clapped their shoulders. Whiskey flowed and Haughey said he would take them into a back room, “To nail the details.”
Bear whispered to Ryder, “Details? I didn’t think we’d agreed yet.”
The Red Skulls had a setback, something of a disruption of service, when Iron, their President, and his Sergeant-at-Arms, Jam, both had been hauled into the cells forselling, or allegedly attempting to sell, a pound and a half of ninety-six percent pure coke, according to Bear’s contact in the PD.
Bear spoke quietly into Ryder’s ear, “Never mind that nobody sells coke that pure, nobody can even get coke that pure. It’s been stepped on harder than that before it ever gets near a US border.”
Ryder nodded. “Damn right. That isn’t a commodity, that’s a goddamned collectors item.”
Three Hitmen: A Triple Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 2) Page 32
