Benelli's Elle: Unfortunate Souls MC Book One

by Debbie Mitchell

  “Long night of drinking there princess?” he raises an eyebrow and asks.

  “I feel like dog shit!” I say and sound as if I’m holding my nose while talking.

  “Oh crap babe, you sound like shit! I’m going to make you some hot tea and call doc Karen,” he hurries out the bedroom door, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he goes. He doesn’t even give me time to protest and say I’ll be fine.

  In no time at all he’s back upstairs with my tall coffee mug that says, “Witch better have my coffee” on it with a picture of a witch on broom, full to the brim with hot tea and a jar of honey with a spoon. I hold the steaming mug up to my face and the steam of the warm liquid feels good on my face. I take a drink and wonder how he made it so fast, but then it hits me. He microwaved the sweet tea out of the fridge. He gets a big heaping tablespoon of honey and I look at him like he’s lost his mind. The tea is already sweet. “Open up,” he says and I do but it’s more like my mouth dropping open wondering what he’s doing and he does it, he shoves that spoon right in my mouth.

  I make a face and swallow it down with a chaser of the hot tea, “what was that for?”

  “Doesn’t honey help when your sick?” he asks, now worried he’s done something wrong. He runs to the bathroom and wets a washcloth and brings it back, putting it on my forehead, “Doc Karen is on her way.”

  I adjust the cloth so it’s not covering my eyes and stop him, “Slow your roll cowboy, I’m not dying, well yet, I’m allergic to honey.” The horrified look on his face, man I felt so bad for doing that, “I’m just joking Benelli, you need to calm down, here take a seat,” and I pat the bed.

  “Woman! I’m gonna kill you! Don’t do that shit to me!” he says, with his one hand over his heart and the other covering my entire face, but then he gets serious, “You are hotter than a firecracker! Where’s the thermometer?”

  “Middle shelf of the medicine cabinet,” there is no use fighting him on this.

  He comes back and turns it on and shoves the dang thing in my mouth. I’m trying to talk and he’s hushing me, holding it in place. “102.1! That’s bad, right?”

  “Really? It’s that high?” I mean I knew I felt bad but geez, that’s pretty high. When he looks at me like I’m a dead man walking I ask, “Have you never been around anyone sick before?”

  “No, not really. Remington and I haven’t been sick since we were kids,” he says.

  “Lucky you,” I grumble all moody now. Even living in Arizona, I think I’ve gotten sick almost every winter. Freaking sinuses! Come to think of it, it usually hits when I go up north to visit my Uncle Josh for the holidays.

  A few minutes later the doorbell rings, and Benelli has led Karen up the stairs. As soon as she walks in the room, she takes one look at me, “Yep, you’re sick.” Benelli looks at her aggravated but I accidentally snort a laugh which sounds horrendous with a stuffed-up nose and then I start the coughing fit.

  She checks me out and sure enough it’s a sinus infection moving swiftly towards bronchitis. Apparently all the puking I’ve been doing has been mucous attractive, I know. She gives Benelli a list of the OTC meds I need and a script for antibiotics. “But I don’t have time to be sick!!! Next week is Thanksgiving and I have Christmas shopping, a dress fitting, photo shoots, the list goes on for MILES!”

  “Well, now you don’t,” Benelli says flatly, “I’ll cover Thanksgiving dinner,” I snort again and start coughing, “Okay, so your mom does the dinner, I’ll get your new assistant to reschedule the shoots, Zen can reschedule the dress appointment, I will do the Christmas shopping, and don’t give me that look Missy. I can shop and do lots of things, I do run a motorcycle club and a lot of businesses.”

  “Okay, okay, I will just lay here in bed and do nothing but sleep,” I say throwing my hands up.

  “Resting and recovering,” Karen says, and when she sees my glare is at her this time, she clasps her bag closed and turns, “and with that I’m off. I mean it though, rest girlie!”

  I have come to realize that Benelli is definitely a keeper. He’s taken care of me, his work, cooking and cleaning, taking care of a worried Brenna. Who once she realized that her mom’s sick and my sick will NEVER be the same was fine. I am feeling better and trying to get up and do things, but I get shooed back into bed. “But babe, it’s a woman cold, not a man cold,” I try to protest but I guess since the ass never gets sick, he’s not buying it. I mean, I did milk it for a couple days but come on!

  By Thanksgiving morning, I’m feeling like a million bucks and ready to cook. I shower, dress and head downstairs and walk straight to Grandma Neroni’s apron that Ruger was sweet enough to gift me along with a shoebox of her handwritten recipes. I guess Sheila and Pistol didn’t want it, but Ruger said I was the first woman in the family worthy of the honor. As I’m sliding it over my head Benelli starts to protest but I point my finger at him, give him a death glare and then wiggle my finger no. He throws his hands up in surrender and grumbles something about acting just like his grandma, grabs Brenna and hustles out of the kitchen.

  I click open my phone to Pandora and put on hits from the 50s and 60s. Nothing like a little do-wop to get you moving in the kitchen. Brenna has snuck back in and I’m twirling her around the kitchen. Once her little hands are clean, I have her help me make sage dressing and let her mush the bread, eggs and other ingredients all up together. Mom snuck me a list of who’s making what and how many we are expecting yesterday when she stopped by. I decided to make the dressing, I’ll do the mashed potatoes there, the turkey and pies are covered along with all the other essential Thanksgiving stuff so I also make a “better than sex cake,” yeah right, I think and luckily, I stop myself before calling it that in front of the girl child. I tell her it’s a “better than playing in mud cake” so she is expecting it to be the best thing she’s ever ate. I flip through some of the recipes in the box and decide what the hell and make Grandma Neroni’s lasagna, even down to the homemade lasagna noodles. When I say that Benelli kicked butt at doing all the chores, I wasn’t kidding. He bought enough groceries to last a good month and a half. As soon as the oven door opened for me to take it out Benelli comes into the kitchen with Remington, their noses leading the way.

  “That smells just like Grandma’s lasagna. Please tell me that’s Grandma’s lasagna!” Remington walks behind me, planting his head on my shoulder.

  “Hey bro, get off my woman, go find your own,” Benelli tells him and takes the enormously heavy pan from me and sits it on the giant island with the other goodies.

  “If she cooks as well as Granny, I’m stealing her away,” he says and gives me a peck on the cheek and winks.

  “Wow, Rem, I’ve never seen you this happy,” I tell him.

  “It’s my favorite holiday and now with my favorite food, what’s not to be happy about?”

  “It’s one of my faves too,” I admit.

  “Okay, quit sucking up to my wife and let’s get this stuff loaded,” Benelli tells him and shoves some pot holders into his chest.

  “She’s not your wife yet there brother, there’s still time,” Remington says and winks again at me and Benelli pushes his booted foot into his brother’s butt.

  While Remington is outside loading the SUV, I grab my man from behind and squeeze, “You’re still my favorite Neroni, baby.”

  “I better be,” and he whips me to the front of him and dips me and plants a big kiss on me.

  “Oh Benelli, you make me swoon,” I laugh and put the back of my hand to my forehead and pretend to faint. He lifts me back to a standing position and I add, “But seriously, what’s up with your brother? I have never seen him so, so, I don’t know, happy and social.”

  Benelli laughs, “He’s social,” I raise my eyebrow at him, “Okay, he’s sort of social… at times. What can I say, he’s a different person from Thanksgiving to Christmas.”

  “Well, I like it. Now we know what kind of time frame we have to find him a woman that’s going to knock his socks
off.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, he hasn’t even been visiting Goldie, Breezy or Jinx lately,” and he realizes his mistake as soon as it came out of his mouth, “now baby, do not look at me like that, you know I haven’t either. In fact, they haven’t been seeing much action from anyone lately except for maybe Lucky.”

  “I get it, single, hot men and club girls, but damn, the part I just don’t get is why a girl would just decide to be that. Don’t they want, I don’t know, more?”

  “Yeah, I mean some girls do, but some don’t. Some just like the thrill of it. To be devoted to a small group of men and not out getting it from random strangers. They know who they are with and stay faithful to the club.”

  “I never really thought of it like that.”

  “I thought we were loading the car, not having a deep discussion about the life of club girls,” Remington says, “Come on you guys, I’m ready to get my grub on and I’ve already got Brenna buckled in.”

  “I thought it was a little too quiet in here,” Benelli says and picks up the now covered lasagna, careful not to smash the foil onto the gooey cheese.”

  When we get to the clubhouse, Fireball, Scott, MacGyver and Toxey all shuffle out and have everything unloaded before we are out of the car. Now this is service.

  As soon as we walk in we are greeted by my Uncle Josh, my Aunt Cathy and their families. Josh and Cathy are my mom’s older brother and sister. “Oh, my God! I didn’t know you guys were coming to us this year!” I exclaim, giving enormous hugs to one and all.

  “We had to come see for ourselves what made both the Burrow women pack up and leave Arizona,” Aunt Cathy says.

  We spend the entire rest of the day stuffing our faces with the giant smorgasbord, catching up with family and friends. Aunt Cathy sees me with Benelli and Brenna and yes, she kept catching mom and Ruger constantly looking at each other, she leans over to me, “now I can see why,” and just smiles from ear to ear, “It’s about time… for both of you. You’ve both made a glorious life here and these people are amazing.”

  I look at her, a little puzzled. How does she already know they are amazing, I mean they are, but? “I’ve been here visiting since Tuesday,” she says like she’s reading my mind.

  “And why am I just hearing about this?” I ask.

  “Because I didn’t want your funk,” she cackles. Yep, that’s my Aunt Cathy.

  The guys, for the most part, are all spread out in front of the enormous television getting ready to watch the game. I bring over a bottle of beer for Benelli just as a news segment comes on:

  Several missing females from the Tri-state area are giving thanks today due to local detective, Sara Cagney. Detective Cagney discovered files from a home of a deceased man who we now know to be in the Vengeful Demons Motorcycle gang. You will probably remember our story on the meth lab explosion on an abandoned farm containing the remains of many, if not all, of the illegal group. Also, found at the scene was crime boss, Zhang Xui Ying. We now believe had connections to the club involving trafficking, not drugs, as originally thought. Detective Cagney refused an interview and states that she was glad to see the females were home. The investigation is ongoing. We leave you back to your regularly scheduled pre-game programming.

  Everyone was silent during the whole broadcast, many had filtered into the room to hear it. Everyone looked at one another, some of the men letting out a deep breath that as far as the media and police were concerned the Unfortunate Souls were still thought to have no involvement. The women began exiting the room (except for the die hard females) and as I am about to leave, Benelli pulls me down to his lap and kisses me. He whispers in my ear all the wicked things he’s going to do to me tonight and my cheeks flame. I look around to see if anyone heard, which, luckily, everyone is too engrossed in the game to notice us, that is except Lucky, who puts the lip of his beer to his mouth, licks his tongue around the edge and then flicks it across the top before sticking it inside. I lean over to slap his chest and fall off of Benelli’s lap into the floor when I pull Benelli down with me. Lucky, who was about to die laughing but can’t because he got his tongue stuck in the bottle. I laugh, Benelli laughs, we are gaining the attention of everyone when Lucky is struggling to release his tongue. He jumps up and is running around trying to pull it off but can’t because he’s too freaked out and won’t calm down. Mom and Aunt Cathy come to the rescue and lead poor Lucky to the kitchen and away from the laughter. I decide to follow behind; I have to see how they are going to fix this.

  Once they have him settled in a chair, away from prying eyes, except mine of course, who is hiding off to the side, mom gets in front of him and stares into his eyes. “Okay Lucky, calm down, it’s going to be okay, I promise,” she almost coos in the calmest of motherly voices. Lucky takes a slow, deep breath and lets it out. “Good, you’re doing good,” another slow breath and she nods to Aunt Cathy. Lucky turns his eyes to her, and she picks up a bottle of olive oil and drizzles it down her fingers and slowly drips small drops from her fingertips down to the top of his tongue, using her fingers to coat it. She puts her hand on his neck and pushes his head downward so that the oil runs down his tongue and into the edge of the bottle. Lucky gulps, because lets be honest, if it wasn’t for it being my aunt, this would seem more sexy than a rescue effort. Granted, my aunt is 51, but she owns it and rocks it. My aunt leans over and whispers something into Lucky’s ear. His eyes go wide and he starts to choke. Mom yanks the bottle and there is a loud POP from its release.

  Lucky is now free and hugs my mother and kisses Cathy straight on the mouth. No tongue, of course, and heads out of the kitchen. I have to know, I just have to. I catch up to Lucky and bump his body with mine, “Soooo, what did my aunt say to you?”

  He looks over his shoulder where they still are, then back to me and leans down towards me, “she said, what else does that thing do?”

  My hand flies up to my open mouth and I turn to look back at the kitchen where my aunt is standing in the doorway and winks at me and shrugs her shoulders, “It worked didn’t it.”

  Brenna decides to stay the night with her Noni so we are pretty stoked about a kid free night. We decide to take his bike that he had at the clubhouse and go for a ride. I wrap my arms tightly around him and slide up close. It’s been a weird season, most days we don’t even need a jacket which Benelli tells me isn’t normal this time of year. Being from Arizona, I didn’t know what to expect here. “Let’s ride down by the river,” Benelli says over his shoulder.

  “Good thinking,” I say, and place my palm on the now growing bulge in his jeans. We barely made it all the way down to the deserted boat dock. We pulled over and parked, far enough off that no one can see us. We took the blanket he kept wrapped and tied to the bike and spread it out on the wooden dock over the water. It moving as we did. We feasted on each other and relished this alone time. We stayed there making love and then staring up at the bright moon and stars, you could even see Mars from where we lay. Once the chill of the night started filling the air, we decided to pack up and continue this night at home. He swung back by the clubhouse so I could follow him in the SUV, where I had stashed the bottle of redi-whip and desserts. We continued to have fun half the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Benelli

  That woman has me up at 4am in the damn morning, after I sexed her up good and proper too! We are out the door by 4:30am and standing in line at a store by 5am. What is this madness? She calls it Black Friday shopping and I call it my own personal hell. I now know why Michelle volunteered so easily to keep Brenna all night. I know she’s not and I’ll regret thinking it later, but right now, the only thing in my head is, “THAT BITCH!” I could have just had my little one at home, both of us still asleep and the two of them out in this madness, but nooooo, I’m here because it’s some sort of tradition or rite of passage or some shit. I beg, I plead, while I push this damn cart as she whizzes all around chucking stuff into it. I try to tell her I will buy it all at full
price if she gets me out of here. I promise her all the tongue lashing she can handle, hell, I promise her a new car AND a honeymoon in Europe if she lets me leave. Nope, not happening, ugh. We go from store to store until I’m becoming a complete grumpy asshole and then it’s somehow magically lunchtime, and it’s over. I survived. We can’t fit one more thing in the SUV, and I plop down in the booth at the club’s mom and pop restaurant like I’ve been wounded in a war. I lay my head on the table and groan. The waitress comes to the table and asks what we want to drink and I don’t even lift my head, I tilt it to the side and say “Coffee, make it a double.”

  While my head is turned to the side, I notice the other men in there looking as pitiful as me. Elle pats my head and tells me laughing, “But Baby, you were such a good sport today.”

  “Grrrrrr,” is all that comes out of me. The waitress is back and sets down my coffee and Elle’s sweet tea and I manage to sit up to drink it. By the time the girl comes back to take our order, I’m ready for a refill. Sip by delicious sip, I start to come back to life. “You know, I thought football players were tough, but I have to hand it to you ladies, you can fake, spin and make a touchdown better than any running back in the NFL.”

  She blows on her fingers and brushes them across her, “Yeah, I’m a seasoned pro at this. But look at all the money we saved. By the way, other than your present, I’m done shopping for Christmas.”

  “Really? Like done, done?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I mean, I will double check my list when we are wrapping them up, but yep, I think we are done.”

  “Please tell me when you say ‘we’ you mean you and your mom, right? The new car is still on the table, just throwing that out there.”

  “The car I have is fine, buuuuuttt, say you throw New Orleans in for a honeymoon and we move the date up a day to the 30th so we are in New Orleans watching the fireworks on our honeymoon you have a deal.”

  I shake that woman’s hand faster than she can blink an eye, “Deal!”