by Rie Warren
“Why the butterflies?”
“Because I used to be painfully shy, unlike Qwynn. But I came out my cocoon.”
“You’re my rebellious good girl, huh?” My palms traveled down to her thighs and the bottom of her dress. I started inching it up.
“You brought me out of my shell too.” She leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder.
My fingers reached the warm wetness of her pussy, hot and slippery beneath a pair of lacy panties. “Mmm. This shell here?”
I slid a finger inside of her.
She rolled her hips onto my hand, and I added another finger. “Yes, Hunter.”
“Shh,” I whispered. I withdrew my fingers and dropped her onto the squeaky bed.
I laughed quietly, but she smothered my amusement with deep mind-melting, skin-tingling kisses.
Slipping back inside her with two fingers, I braced up on my elbow to watch her. Her hair fanned out in a luxurious dark curtain. Her neck arched. Her tits strained against the dress. She pulled up one knee and held onto my wrist, working herself harder on my hand.
She’d just thrust up with a quiet cry in orgasm when . . .
“JESSICA!” her dad hollered.
Peals of laughter eclipsed her soft moans as she relaxed onto the bed.
I sucked my fingers clean. “Was he always like this?”
“Stern but fair. And loving.”
“How did you ever get into any trouble?”
With a sexy pout aimed at me, she crawled onto my lap. “I didn’t, before you.”
“So I’m your bad boy, am I?” I gripped her hips and bucked against her.
“Maybe.” She slipped off my lap. The look she gave me before turning to the door was a little wicked, a lot wanton. “I’ll buy you some time so you can cool off before coming down.”
I’d need more than a little time. I flopped back on the bed with a groan, glaring at the punishingly hard shape of my cock inside my pants.
When I rejoined the Barnes downstairs for coffee and dessert, I held Jack on my lap, laughing along with the rest of them as he stuffed one more piece of heavily frosted, turkey-shaped sugar cookie into his mouth.
A normal family?
Maybe not.
But that made it even better, more real. And maybe this would be my last good memory.
Fifteen
A COUPLE NIGHTS LATER I got a summons to Retribution MC. Walker, my own personal guard dog, tried to stop me once again, especially unhappy he hadn’t been invited along to the party. Brodie had specifically mentioned he was not to show, that it was brotherhood business.
“I need to be worried?” I asked Brodie over the phone.
He chuckled. “You ever been worried in your life?”
He had a fair point, but he didn’t know the fact of the matter was I had plenty to worry about. Nerves about Jessica and Jack’s safety were eating a hole through my stomach.
“Just keep your eyes open, and maybe do a run-by Jessica and Mel’s houses?” I told Walker as I jumped into the Tahoe.
He passed me the earpiece as I buckled in. “Just in case, Kemosabe. I’ll be listening.”
A Saturday night, Retribution was rocking on its foundations. I moved through the crowd, catching Cole’s eye as he manned the bar. He waved me over and clunked down a neat whiskey for me. The thick metal industrial chains around his neck and wrist shined in the low light, and he’d recently moved up to dime-sized gauges in his earlobes.
“They’re waiting in the chapel for you. I’ll be along in a minute.”
I gathered my whiskey and headed into the back hall where boxes of booze were stacked in an orderly fashion against the wall. Those raw nerves came back full force. I’d never been invited to “church” at Retribution before, when the club officers conducted business in the hallowed meeting room. Maybe I’d done something to get my patch removed. Or maybe they’d found out who Hunter Sexton/Angelo/Saucedo really was.
I rapped my knuckles on the closed door and waited until I heard Boomer’s deep voice call out, “Enter.”
I walked inside and immediately scanned the faces in the room.
“Shut the door,” Boomer said from his seat at the head of the household, his hands pressed palms down on the tabletop.
Brodie sat similarly to him, although his chair was kicked askew.
The walls of the room closed in on me, dark blue and decorated only with black and white photographs depicting scenes from Retribution outings, the clubhouse, and the Chrome and Steele auto parts business next door. I chugged my whiskey in one long burning drink.
The MC men were arranged by office around the table. I noted they all had hands above the table. Tucker—the rotund cheery treasurer with the handlebar mustache—lounged at Boomer’s left across from Brodie. Tail, the road captain, sat beside Brodie. He threw me a gleaming smile as thin twin black braids hung across his slanted cheeks. Beside Tucker? Handsome. Unkempt brown hair covered the face of the club’s secretary.
Then there was Frankie. I wasn’t the only new person in the room tonight. The muscled Italian leaned against the opposite wall.
He tapped his silver handled cane on the floor, grumbling, “I only showed up because you promised me Stone would be here. Madon.”
In this small circle, it was a well-known fact Frankie had the hots for Mt. Pleasant’s favorite mechanic, Josh Stone, who was married off with a pretty wife and two kids.
Brodie leaned back. “And you fell for it. Just like the time I left you to take care of all Nick Love’s fanatics when Josh got married.”
Cole cracked the door open, stuck his head inside, and then entered. With the door quietly shut behind him, he sat beside Tail. He too placed his hands on top of the table. Cole wasn’t an officer of the club, a mere member like me, so I had to wonder just what the fucking fuck was going on.
“Take a seat, Hunter.” Brodie motioned to the last empty chair diagonally across from him.
I pulled out the seat, turning it back to front. I placed my Glock and Ka-Bar on the table then leaned my elbows onto it. “Looks like the gang’s all here. What’s the occasion?” I made an effort to slow my respiration.
“Ashe told me an interesting story a couple weeks ago. Something about a big bust-up at your son’s school.” The blond dude’s expression was flat. “Same place JB works as little Jack’s teacher, right?”
“Jesus Christ.” I bent my forehead to my hands.
“Well now, this is the chapel and church, but you don’t need to pray on our account, my man.” At Brodie’s words, Cole reached over to tap me on the shoulder.
I lifted my head. “How much did she tell you?”
“She didn’t know everything, because apparently you told my woman to back off.” Brodie scowled at me. “Your man Walker was involved. You both wanted to kill the guy. And he mentioned something about a Vicente Valderas that made you react like a maniac.”
“Fuck me.” I pushed back from the table and rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “What else?” I blew out a long breath.
“I mighta mentioned everything I’ve dug up about Vicente. Something about that late night meeting at the Cigar Factory downtown.” Frankie’s thick hair quivered over his forehead. “And some shit I know about you too.”
The Singer Sewer Machine snitch had sung like a fucking canary.
I looked at my gun, but Handsome was there first, tucking it under his hands.
Every brother in the room bristled until I sat back.
“I got your best interests at heart, Hunter. Maybe my own too. The world could do with a few more stallones like you.” Frankie walked around the table. “You’ll need backup if you intend to bring Vicente to his knees.”
“I have backup. Walker.”
“But do you trust the man?” Brodie asked.
Did I? No matter how much we aggravated each other, he’d been by my side through every shitstorm I’d ever survived.
I nodded.
Boomer knocked his big knuckles on the
table. “Vote?”
“Wait. Vote on what exactly?” I asked, squirreling with cold anxiety.
“Oh, did you miss that part, Hunter?” Brodie nodded to Handsome, and the slighter man beside me slid my Glock back. “This is your Come to Jesus intervention at the Church of Retribution.”
With the most dedicated, most unholy brothers.
Oh, shit.
“You told me something was going down earlier in the month. You said Retribution wasn’t involved. But this is how I see it, how we see it.” Brodie rubbed his goatee, pale blue eyes on me. “You’re a brother, so Retribution is involved all the way. After the vote, if everyone’s got your back. And the only person going down is the cunt who’s after you.”
Boomer might be Prez, but sometimes Brodie called the shots.
I shook my head. I inhaled sharply and let it blow out. “I’ve got huge respect for you all. But this is my fight, and the only lives I’ll risk are Walker’s and mine because we’ve done this before.”
“Yeah, I think it’s out of your hands now.” Boomer called order, asking, “Votes?”
Hands shot to the air, up and down the table. Unanimous. My fight was now theirs.
I looked at Frankie.
He drew his head up in a regal attitude then ruined it all with his words. “Hey, I was just here in the hopes of boning Stone.”
Brodie reached back and knocked the cane from his hands.
They wrestled for a moment, but I was hauled from my chair and into hard hugs and fist bumps.
Brodie rolled up in front of me, blond hair hanging in his eyes.
“I never would’ve come to you, but I’m damn honored to have your help.” I held out my hand to him.
Ignoring my hand, he hugged me fast. “We’ll end this threat. It’s the least I can do after Ashe.”
Relief hit me like a blow to the chest, staggering me. The powwow with the MC gave me hope. Seemed like my suicidal plan had been shattered. And thank fuck for that. Backup? Call it a lifeline with only two days left. With these men by my side, we could take Vicente down. I could live like I wanted to. I could have Jessica. Fuck me. I could love her like I wanted to.
An almighty commotion from the barroom ended the free and easy moment.
“What the fuck?” Boomer yelled.
“Hunter!” Jessica’s frightened voice hit my ears, rising above all the other shouts swelling down the corridor from the main room.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. She’d promised to stay home. Keep safe.
Palming my gun, I sheathed my knife and raced through the hall, a stampede of men pounding right after me.
The music still played over the speakers, but all else was still in the barroom.
Vicente stood in the middle of a wide ring of Retribution MC men who had their guns drawn, but none of them made a move on him. They didn’t fucking dare.
My rage roared.
Vicente held Jessica in front of him. He had a lethal FN-57 at her temple, a hand clasped across her waist, the tendons in his forearm taut with tension.
His Cuban gangsters entered through the door and fanned out beside him. Wearing their vests and colors, they looked like the outlaws the original MC was named for.
It was a standoff with Jessica smack dab in the middle of it.
“Hola, Cazador.” Vicente graced me with a curt nod.
Sixteen
“SO MANY NEW FACES, si? And this fine lady here. You sure you want to endanger all their lives, jefe?” Vicente forced Jessica farther into the room in front of him. “Only one person missing. Where’s my old amigo Walker?”
“Had to go visit a dying relative. Last minute,” I snarled, the muscles in my shoulders and neck standing out like steel cables.
“Leave you without backup, hmm?” His mustache twitched with a sneer-like smile. “Maybe not good partner for you.”
No shit. His words got me wondering what Walker really had to do with all this. He’d been the one to first contact me. He’d been at Jack’s school—taking down the perp before I had a chance to question him first. Walker had arranged the meeting at the Cigar Factory.
Whatever. None of that mattered now. Thoughts of violence consumed me as Vicente released Jessica’s waist only to snatch her head back by a fist in her hair. My fingers tightened on the Glock I kept lowered by my side.
Vicente’s wiry body tensed with leashed power. The muzzle of his cop-killer gun slid down the side of Jessica’s face, resting below her raised jaw. “But thees. Thees is a prize. No wonder you tried keeping her to yourself.”
Jessica’s face paled, but she stood still and stiff and she didn’t make a sound.
Retribution men tensed beside me, prepared to take action.
“Stand down. He wants me.” Rage jacked me up at the sight of the oily little shit manhandling Jessica. Only Frankie’s hand clamping down on my wrist stopped me from going full metal jacket on him.
“May have reconsidered, Cazador.” Vicente sent a devious grin to me while he cupped Jessica’s breast. “Might like to try this sweet morsel instead.”
Now I knew how Brodie had felt with Ashe. Like a bull ready to charge. Coldly seething inside, I cautiously advanced. No less than twelve guns were trained on me.
“In case you get any funny ideas about heroic moves”—Vicente holstered the FN-57 in a play nice move, and I took a deep breath. That breath froze in my throat a second later when he pulled a knife from behind him. He slid the sharp blade along Jessica’s throbbing jugular—“I planted a bomb next door at Chrome and Steele. Eye for an eye. True retribution, si? Kill this club like you destroyed mine. Maybe we’ll all go down.” He turned the knife the tiniest fraction, and a drop of red blood welled on Jessica’s neck. “So unless you want the bomb to go off while we’re standing here, you’ll stay away from su mujer dulce.”
“No. No fucking way.” There were way too many people in the mix. “Everyone else goes.” Especially the civilians. Especially Jessica. “Just you and me, Vicente. You wanted me? You got me. I’ll go wherever you want. Do whatever you want. You have my word.”
He tightened his hold on Jessica. “No. Your grace period’s run out.”
“It hasn’t been ten days yet, puta cabrón.”
“I grow bored of waiting.” He shrugged.
“You don’t want to kill innocent people.”
“Like Quintessa?”
“I did not kill her,” I fired back. “I killed for her. FOR YOU!”
“You proved yourself until your true colors showed. Red, white, and blue, viva La Yuma. You were never Cubano material.”
“Let Jessica go.” My hands raised, I stepped back. “Let them go. Let them all go. You know I don’t care what happens to me.”
When Jessica gave a strangled cry, Vicente looked down at her, frowning. “Too sharp? Discúlpeme.” He lifted the blade slightly from her skin.
Then he measured me for a moment before nodding to old Elon. The aged gangster opened the door, ushering the bar crawlers from the club.
Brodie stood next to me, Boomer on the other side. “We’re staying.”
Cole, Frankie, Handsome, Tuck, and Tail spread out beside us, making their intentions clear.
Now we were more or less even, except for Rayce. She took her place beside Boomer with a ripshit look on her face. “That’s my girl he’s got.”
“Rayce, please.” Boomer tried to push her away.
“I’m not leaving a sister.” Her chin notched up.
I had no time to play relationship interference because Jessica head-butted Vicente with a loud crack of skull on skull. When he recoiled, she wrenched around and spat in his face.
“Puta.” He swiftly backhanded her across the face.
I cranked forward, the blow landed on Jessica hitting me harder than any I’d ever been dealt. “You fucking hurt her again and I will feed you your intestines for dinner. You remember Servando?”
Vicente’s lips curled in response.
“If you don
’t get her back in one piece, I will legit kill you.” Rayce hissed at me.
My jaw stony hard and my eyes flinty cold, I kept my sights on the scene unfolding in front of me. “Getting her back in one piece is the only option. Now shut the hell up.”
Walker’s voice crackled before coming in loud and clear in the hidden earpiece I’d put in before heading to Retribution. “Bomb did I hear Vicente say?” His voice was so close it was like he stood right next to me although no one else could hear him.
“’Bout damn time,” I muttered.
“You got something to add, Cazador?” Vicente turned cunning eyes on me.
“Yeah. I said if you lay another finger on what’s mine, I’m gonna feed your fucking cock to the alligators, forget about the guts stuffed down your throat.” I stepped forward, straining to stay in check.
“Nice save, Kemosabe.” I heard Walker’s guttural voice.
I growled softly in warning to the man, watching helplessly as Vicente dragged Jessica even farther away from me. He pushed her into a chair with such force she almost fell off it, then he traced the gleaming blade softly along the side of her jaw.
Her nostrils flared, and her eyes grew sparkly—bright, not with terror but with barely controlled anger, the same kind charging through me. I shook my head minutely, hoping she’d keep quiet. Vicente didn’t need to be provoked further.
“Now, now, Kemosabe, no need to go feral on me. Got here just as soon as I could. I’m next door.”
I almost swayed in relief.
At another of Vicente’s nods, his gangbangers worked along our line, efficiently disarming us.
The pile of hidden and not so hidden weapons from our bodies was an awe-inspiring assemblage of guns and metal. I wondered if all the brothers carried legally but really couldn’t give a fuck at that point. As soon as I could make a break for it, I was going to grab one of the knives and slash Vicente’s face to ribbons.
When Elon stopped in front of me, he peered up with a lopsided smile. “Lo siento.”
