by Rie Warren
She clung to me as I hammered into her. No subtlety. Just sheer forceful need.
A pure physical fuck.
Animal pleasure.
Beast-like.
My muscles bunching, flexing.
My cock fucking.
Holding her up, dropping her down, pistoning my entire weight against her softer body.
Getting good and hot and sweaty.
I flung the hair off my forehead and set my lips at Shy’s arched neck. I bit her silky skin. Listened to her wail. Licked her neck. Felt her convulse around me.
With both hands at her ass to get a better grip, I brought her with me, pulled her onto me with every cunt-deep thrust.
A thumping hard voracious fuck.
Bracing my feet, I pounded into Shy, our slapping flesh and my harsh grunts the only sounds because she was so far gone it was like one continuous orgasm wracked her body.
And squeezed my cock in a wet velvety fist.
My stomach clenched.
My features contorted.
My body pulled into a tight knot that drew hard . . . and harder . . . tauter . . . and tauter . . .
With a sonic boom of a roar, I flexed and froze. I pumped and came. I curled around Shy, turning inside out inside of her.
She moaned a final time, her hands sweeping from my shoulders to my ass.
The last inch of my cock buried inside her, I breathed out against her neck.
I tried to make my muscles work. My voice strong. My body anything but a complete slave to her taste, her feel, her beauty.
But, fuck it.
She had shredded me in the best way possible.
Drawing out of Shy, I shook again.
She looked down at my hard wet cock.
And cleared her throat delicately. “Now what are you planning to do with that? Since you’ve decided we’re exclusive, are probably wanting a family with me, and you’re making me your wife?”
I laughed roughly. “Baby, I’m not planning anything right now but getting you into bed so we can keep this up all . . . night . . . long.”
Hours later, the blankets on the floor, pillows flung across the bedroom, the sheet pulled up from the corners and the room sweltering in the smell of our hot raunchy sex, I reached across Shy to flick off the light.
I pushed my arm under her head and drew her leg across my thigh. “You okay?”
I brushed my lips against hers, and she lazily kissed me back.
With a great intake of breath, she fell into my embrace, supine, satisfied.
Completely done over.
“I feel”—her smile grew—“better than I ever thought I would again. Because of you.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
What a Rush
WHEN I WASN’T BALLS deep in Shy, I was with her at her ongoing doctor appointments, busy planning for the grand-freakin’-opening of Retribrewtion, and thinking about how quickly I could get my girl down the aisle.
Two months after the kidnapping and attack, I’d officially given notice at Chrome and Steele.
Not like that changed my life a whole lot because Shy and I still spent a few nights a week at the MC, and the dudes got free cases of my beer just because.
Cheap assholes.
I also lent a hand at Chrome and Steele whenever they were in a fix. ’Cause that was what family did—blood or not.
I’d moved into Shy’s condo, now officially ours, just like my house was in Mt. Pleasant. We kept the property across the river, renting it out for that little bit of extra cash to help with both our ventures.
And the dudes had plenty to say about upward mobility and sugar momma and jumped on a good thing right quick.
Jealous assholes.
Shy was finally in her prosthetics again just in time for the mega-party to announce the beginning of our new life and my brand new business.
Everything was sweet.
Shy was sweeter.
And a little dirtier, thanks to my bad influence.
Still hadn’t fucked in public, though.
For my opening, Shy took the same care as usual with her appearance, but this time she dirtied herself up a little. The wig had gone bye-bye now that her hair was longer. The curls looser ringlets I loved to wrap around my fingers. For the event, she’d darkened her eyes somehow, put on deep red shiny lipstick, wore tight black jeans and some biker-bitch boots I’d bought her.
In one word?
Hot.
By the time we arrived at the brewery to check final details for the kickass premiere party, the MC dudes and their women filled the parking lot, revving their engines and hitting their horns when we rolled up.
Yeah, we’d gone with the location near the Wando River. We refused to let Diablo’s dark shadow hang over our future.
That fuck and his gang of cunts were behind bars.
Retribrewtion was ready for public consumption in part bankrolled by the Bank of Retribution, AKA Boomer Steele, for a minor five percent share and the option to buy him out.
I wouldn’t accept a single dime from Shy.
I already owed her everything.
I hung my brain bucket on the handlebar of my ride and helped Shy off.
Folks went hog wild with shouts splintering the air when we rolled back the huge metal double doors, turning to welcome friends, family, and complete strangers inside where the yeast fermented, huge vats of my special IPAs brewed, and the filled bottles came off the line.
The space goddamn sparkled—so clean it looked like Cole and Kinkaid had taken on Probie duty at the brewery.
They wished.
I’d hired a skeleton crew to start out, but if I started earning bank I was ready to expand.
Hundreds of people entered the massive brewery where everything happened. My head started spinning, and I hadn’t even had a drink yet. Shy and I accepted hugs and congrats and back slaps and fist bumps from everyone who’d shown, whether we knew them or not.
It was easy to pick out those considered our family, though. Brodie with Ashe, Cara, and baby Roxy carried in Brodie’s arms—wearing her own specially ordered Retribrewtion onesie. Boomer and his wife, Rayce. Kinkaid and Sadie. Tucker, on the hunt for the beers. Doc Ronnie showed with Bo, and Nicky Loveland happily escorted Cat and little Danny. Josh Stone with his small family attended along with his garage crew.
Fuck.
I’d never seen so many people in one place before.
I almost went total pussy and started shedding tears.
“You okay, Max?” Shy stroked her fingers down my arm.
“A little overwhelmed.”
“Get used to it,” she whispered against my ear. “There’s a lot more to come.”
I hugged her around the waist. “Only if you’re by my side, babe.”
“No place else I’m going to be.”
We welcomed Coletrane, who—unbelievably—had hooked up with one Sinclair Chatham, the woman both Shy and I had grown up with. The vivacious blonde looked somehow perfect on his arm.
And Hunter turned up with JB. Baby fever had caught fire in the MC. She was the next one expecting.
Thomas and Justine Lockhart appeared, and they had nothing but smiles for Shy and me.
“Proud of you for getting this off the ground, Max.” Thomas shook my hand.
“Of course we are.” Justine hugged me softly. “Now, where are the refreshments?”
I’d laugh my ass off if Shy’s parents got totally soused today.
Folks from Shy’s shop swooped in, a ton of her customers I even recognized.
The noise volume rose—people hitting the complementary drinks, kids racing around, the brewery operational and working full steam ahead.
Tail swaggered in, for once without a honey—or the usual two or three—on his arm.
“Flying solo?” I asked, knuckle bumping him.
“Keeping all options open, my man.” He grabbed me around the neck. “This is fucking mega, Handsome.”
“Yeah. All right. Don’t go getting all emo
on me.”
He snorted. “I don’t do emo for anyone.” He bowed at the waist after he turned to Shy. “Except maybe for your lady here.”
“Okay. Now you better move it along, bud.”
He ambled inside, chuckling loudly.
Asshole.
Shy bit her lip, blushing.
I scowled at her. “Just you remember what I said about flirting with Tail, woman.”
“Woman?” Her eyebrows arched.
I snaked her to me for a long, smoldering kiss.
When she drew back, she fanned her cheeks. “What was I saying again?”
“Back up, bitches. Frankie’s here.”
I tore my eyes off Shy long enough to watch Frankie Burelli strut up to us—loud, brash, gay, and proud about it.
Shy almost launched herself into his arms.
They were new best buddies.
“Did you hook up with that guy at Sinclair’s office? Preston?” she asked the huge Italian heartthrob.
“Did better than hook up with him.” He gave her a lascivious wink. “Never did a twink before, but I think I’ll hit that again. He’s limber.”
Frankie slid his cane under his arm to shake my hand.
Everyone knew his cane was nothing more than a scabbard sheathing one hell of a seriously badass blade he wasn’t afraid to use when push came to shove. Or cut.
The Tailor had more than one connotation.
“I heard you got beer here, Handsome.” He pumped my hand. “Show me the way to the Promised Land.”
After his colorful entrance, Shy and I greeted what seemed like hundreds more people, folks I’d never even laid eyes on before, due to the massive publicity push spearheaded by Shy and me.
We had a jam-packed house—and samples, postcards, beer coasters were snatched up left and right.
Everyone liked a freebie.
And I needed a drink.
Good thing I didn’t have to go far.
I grabbed an ice cold IPA for Shy and one for me, my arm laid proprietarily across her shoulders.
She glanced at me with a hot look.
“What?” I took a deep drink of beer.
“You have success written all over you, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so damn sexy.” Her fingers tripped to my waist and lingered just slightly lower than advisable.
Groan.
“You are evil. You know this day’s never gonna end, and you say something like that to me now?”
“You can take it. You’re a big man.”
“And you’re gonna know it real hard later, wench.”
Shy spun away from me, finally completely stable on her refitted prosthetic. Only those in the know would cotton onto the real deal.
My girl would never be an invalid. Never a victim. No matter what happened to her.
The afternoon progressed without a hitch. Activities and refreshments for the kids—face painting, henna tats, heavily supervised rides on bikes from the MC.
Retribrewtion beverages for the adults, and swag for all. I wore my MC cut on top of a black T-shirt sporting the brewery emblem with the new logo: Drink like you ride. Retribution-dude approved. We handed out the distressed shirts—chosen by Shy—by the dozens.
Orders had come in from local grocery chains, and I’d lined up out of state tastings to start in another month.
During the festivities, I met with businessmen, brewhards, and a few significant customers who supplied bars up and down the Eastern seaboard.
Before everything got completely out of control, my best buddy, new dad Brodie, stepped to the forefront. He handed Roxy over to Ashe before letting loose an earsplitting whistle.
“I frickin’ hate speeches, don’t you?” he shouted.
He got a round of applause in return.
“So, I’ll keep it real short, since Handsome doesn’t wanna do the whole public figure thing.”
I tucked my arms around Shy as mega-mouth continued.
“Known Max, who we like to call Handsome, for a long time. He’s always been the guy you could count on no matter what broadsided you. Turns out he’s not just a stand-up dude, but he’s got damn good taste too—in beer and women.” He lifted his bottle in Shy’s direction.
“Not sure what Shiloh sees in him though,” he muttered, winking, and everyone laughed along. “Before I get all verklempt and shit I just wanna say I’m not sure what we’ll do without him at the shop, but here’s to Handsome, the success of Retribrewtion, and to a happy future!
“Oh, and one other thing. Congrats on getting engaged to Shiloh!” Brodie stepped down, loudly grumbling, “Asshole. Stole my thunder again. Stop marrying up, you fucks.”
“No swearing in front of Cara and Roxy,” Ashe hissed, but her rebuke was drowned out by applause all around.
Maddy breezed in a few minutes later, bringing fresh energy. She worked the room, totally born to it.
I’d had no choice but to include her in the event. Yeah, she hadn’t let it rest. I’d hired her as my new Vice President of Operations.
And, unbeknownst to Shy, I’d blasted out a couple extra invites.
My eyes flipped wide when my parents walked in.
“I told you they’d come, Max.” Maddy waltzed up to me.
I turned to stone, watching them approach, wishing I hadn’t decided to do this in public. But then Shy—of course—and her folks—miraculously—stood beside me, fortifying me.
Our two families had so much history, were so close, that the Lockharts made a stand with me put paid to any lingering bad blood between us.
“Maxwell.” My dad had aged. Not too much. His hair was now completely silver, but his bearing still firm. Still proud.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Happy Freakin’ Ending
“FATHER.”
“Thank you for inviting us, Max.” My mom smiled.
“I just wanted to give this back to you.” I slipped an envelope out of my pocket.
The white package bulged with cash.
“I never wanted it.” I passed it to my dad, who accepted the envelope after hesitating. “I’m sorry I brought shame on you.”
Patting the fat packet against his palm, my dad peered around, taking in the oddball gathering. “And I’m sorry we ever forced you out.”
“May I hug you, Maxie? It’s been so long. I almost didn’t recognize you.” My mom timidly approached, opening her arms.
I swooped her into my hug, remembering her Chanel scent, her swishy dresses, my dad’s old battered Panama hat she used to wear when she gardened.
Releasing her, I squinted at Dad.
His jaw was just as hard-edged as mine.
He didn’t have the tats, though, or the badass reputation.
He looked from me to Shy. “This is a good thing, you and Shiloh. She’s always been part of the family.”
“I’m not with her to make you happy.” I looped an arm around Shy’s waist. “I’m with her because I fell in love with her.”
He laughed, a harsh sound. “I didn’t expect you to make this easy—”
“Damn right I won’t!”
“Max, just . . . just listen for a second,” Shy urged.
“I think this money would do a lot more good if we donated it to the children’s cancer unit, don’t you?” Dad offered the envelope to Shy. “Could you take care of that? Put it in Max’s name?”
For the first time, my hardliner dad softened, just a bit, as he walked closer to me.
He laid his hands on my shoulders.
I didn’t flinch.
“I’ll tell you one thing, son.” His mustache twitched when he half-smiled. “Pride is a terrible thing. I should’ve learned that a long time ago. And family trumps all.”
I nodded, holding my hand out to him. He glanced at it briefly then pulled me against him, taking me in a hard hug that meant more than any of the rash words we’d ever exchanged before.
I’d reached out.
They’d come.
Maybe that wa
s enough for now.
Separating from my dad, I showed them around the brewery. Whether it was beer or bourbon, they knew this business inside and out.
I wasn’t ready for Sunday dinner with them, but perhaps there was a chance for us.
A chance that seemed more likely when my mom tipped a beer in my direction with a wide wink, saying, “And no hard feelings about poaching your sister.”
“Speaking of your sister . . .” Shy nodded her head in Tail’s direction
Where the long-haired dude of Retribution MC, who gold-medaled at pussy, gave his trademark wanna fuck smirk to Maddy.
“Oh. Hell. No.” I started stomping across the floor.
Shy hauled back on my arm. “Just wait.”
I gritted my teeth.
Maddy laughed, a trilling sound I’d heard through years of her getting her own way.
Suddenly Shy and I were surrounded by dozens of Retribution men.
Their comments flew from loose-lips:
“That’s Handsome’s little sis.”
“Tail’s trying it on with her?”
“Not for nothing, but she is pretty damn hot.”
My fists balled. “I can hear you, assholes.”
Shy pursed her lips on a giggle.
“Enough with the drama already.” Tucker palmed a fat cigar and snipped off the end.
Frankie joined him, handing out his hard-to-find Cubans to everyone. “Soap opera. Love it.”
“I still think we’re more suited for porn.” Boomer tucked Rayce against him, his eyes glued to the goings-on.
“Ask Kinkaid about that. Bom chicca wah wah.” Brodie walked up just in time, wearing a baby pouch with little Roxy asleep inside.
“I was a stripper. Not a porn star, you fucks.”
“Whatever,” we gave our usual gruff-voiced comeback.
“Shhh.” Cole leaned forward. “Wait for it . . .”
“Wait for what?” I snarled. “Tail to make another midnight bedroom bunny out of my sister?”
Tucker puffed out a smoke ring and held up one finger.
“Nice try, Tail.” Maddy eased away from the big bruiser of a dude. She swished her hips—something I didn’t really need to see—and swept her long brown hair over her shoulder. “Let me guess. You’re called Tail because you get a lot of it?”
