by Mia Malone
It felt just as inadequate now as it had back then.
“You get over it,” he said. “The hurt fades until it’s just a part of who you are. Then you dig in and keep walking.”
“I’m so sorry, Gibson,” I repeated. “What happened?”
I meant after, and he understood.
“We released a shit-storm of epic proportions.”
Since I had no clue what releasing a shit-storm of any proportion meant, I squeaked out a confused, “What?”
“We got together, the five of us, a few days after Corinne and Robbie’s funeral. They wanna fuck with us then we fuck back, Paddy said, and by God we did. Took them all out. Pushed back so hard they left, and they left running. Then we announced high and wide that we were the top dogs here. Told them we had our own club and they’d better not mess with us.”
“Club?” I asked.
And what did he mean, took them all out? As in out?
“Best we could come up with.”
“You’re a motorcycle gang?”
He chuckled and wiggled his brows.
“What?” I asked because I didn’t understand.
Were they like those outlaw bikers? The… what were they called? But Mac was a cop so they couldn’t be?
“They prefer the term club over gang, babe, and no we’re not. We’re not a motorcycle club, babe, although we all ride. Made it out as something like it, though.”
“So it’s not… illegal?”
“We’re not one percenters, Lee, if that’s what you’re asking. And we don’t do paraphernalia.”
“Paraphernalia?”
“Don’t have any of the vests or patches or shit like that. Told them Paddy was president, though. Gave us all roles just so they’d know who to talk to about what, so yeah. We’re a club, but not exactly.”
“Okay,” I said weakly.
“It’s not a big deal. Shit’s calm for the most these days. No one farts in our county unless we’ve served the beans.”
His calm explanation was funny, albeit somewhat gross, but I didn’t feel like laughing when there was so much I just didn’t understand.
“Do you have, like, a club name?”
“No. The MC’s call us the Brothers. Don’t know what the cartels and others call us. Don’t much care.”
“Okay.”
I was silent for a good long while, thinking about what he’d just sprung on me.
“It’s not a big deal,” he said quietly.
It was actually a pretty big deal to find out that the man I was contemplating sleeping with was some kind of vigilante, taking care of shit by taking people out, which I still didn’t know what it meant. I wondered if staying at his dinner table was crazy, and if running for the hills whilst screaming loudly wouldn’t be a better decision.
“What are you?” I heard myself asking.
“What?”
“You said you have roles, so what are you?”
He winced and gave me a crooked grin.
“Babe.”
“What?”
He looked calmly back at me and I thought I heard a sigh, but the way his face had turned soft was more reassurance than any of his words had been, so I relaxed a little.
“Sergeant at Arms.”
“Sar… what does that even mean?”
“Muscles.”
“Huh?”
“Someone wants a fight, I give it to them.”
I blinked.
“You’re fifty-five,” I told him.
“Trained martial arts, boxing, you name it, all my life. Got a temper. I’m also an above decent shot.”
“That’s what they mean when they say you’re a badass.”
“Probably.”
“You have a bike?”
“Yup.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Our eyes held for a while, but I couldn’t interpret the look in his silvery gray ones. He seemed to wait calmly for me to say something and I didn’t know what.
“This gonna be a problem for you?” he asked when I stayed silent.
“Why would it be?” I frowned, still a little confused, and trying to remember what I’ve read about the kind of organizations he’d just described. “I’d really prefer it if you don’t kill anyone.”
“Okay,” he said calmly.
He hadn’t confirmed if he had or denied that he possibly would, which I found a little disturbing but decided to ignore because the four men I’d met had seemed like regular guys. Ridiculously hot, very cool alpha-male type guys, but not maniacal killers. Mac was the chief of police for crying out loud, and Gib was, in essence, a carpenter. Then a thought hit me.
“I will tell you this, Gibson Ward, if either of you ever call me an old lady, I’d better be on the other side of ninety.”
I hadn’t meant it as a joke, exactly, but he burst out laughing.
“We’re not an MC, babe.”
“You’re Sergeant at Arms in a group of men who drive motorcycles together? You’re totally in a biker gang.”
“Jesus. Motorcycle Club or MC, babe. They don’t joke around with that shit in the clubs. And I’m not in one.”
“You totally are,” I said primly and got up to clear the table. “Do you have any tattoos?”
I knew he did because I’d seen them when he pulled off his shirt after I stitched him up.
“Uh, what?” he stalled.
“See!” I squealed and pointed at him. “Motorcycle Club.”
I drawled the last part out and fought to hold my grin back at the look on his face, but I suspected he caught on because the lines around his eyes deepened. We kept squabbling about this while we loaded the dishwasher, and while we did, a familiar ache started to build low in my belly. Damned jeans. They did wonders for my butt, but I should have gone for soft yoga pants instead.
“Wanna go for a ride on the bike?”
I’d been about to go and change into something comfy but figured yoga pants would not be the best attire for being on a bike, so I didn’t.
“Okay,” I said instead. “Although, I’ve never been on one.”
“You’ve never been on a motorcycle?”
“No.”
I’d just said as much, hadn’t I?
His grin turned wicked in a way I didn’t understand, and then he pulled me outside, got a helmet on my head and rolled out a big motorcycle. It wasn’t black, which would have been my guess. It was army green and very, very cool.
He put a helmet on the seat and started to point out stuff on the bike, but I didn’t listen. The helmet was a matte black. It had his name in simple, white, army-type letters on the back and underneath, it said, “SAA.”
I could guess what that was an abbreviation of.
“Gib?”
“Yeah, babe.”
“You not in an MC?”
“Nope.”
I grinned and knocked my knuckles on his helmet.
“This shouts biker-gang so loudly I’d not be surprised if they hear it down on the plains, babe.”
He started laughing, grabbed the helmet and swung a leg over the bike. Then he motioned for me to climb on, so I did, immediately wishing I’d gone for the yoga pants after all. The seam pressed even harder into my crotch and the way I’d spread my legs around his hips felt… yum. He turned to say something, caught the look on my face and grinned knowingly.
“I know what those jeans of yours does to you, babe,” he said. I felt the rumble of his voice in my chest when he spoke and tried to move back, but he grabbed my hands and pulled until I was pressed against him. “The bike will add to it. Hold on to me if you come, can’t have you falling off.”
What?
“Gibson!” I squeaked. “I’m not going to… have an orgasm from riding a motorcycle.”
Would I?
“Perhaps not,” he rumbled and turned forward. I still heard his next words clearly. “But you would have one if you
were riding me.”
The bike roared before I could say anything, which was good because what on earth was I supposed to say to that? When we drove down the gravel road leading up to his home the vibrations between my legs increased.
Wow.
Maybe I would have an orgasm from riding a bike after all.
Chapter Eight
Gibson
Lee hadn’t come at the back of his bike, but if the way she’d been breathing was any indication, it had been close. They cruised around for an hour, and he took them on small roads around the mountains. The roar of the pipes and the wind in his face had given him the peace it always did, but he’d forgotten how good it felt to have someone curled into his back. No - that wasn’t it. It was having Lee curled into him.
It had started out being all about his dick and the thought of fucking her, and it still was. Jesus, how much it still was, but something had changed. He’d shared pieces of himself he never talked about, and she’d taken it all in, processed it, and moved on. That’s how she worked, he realized. She just took what came at her and went with it.
So of course, when that couch-snoring fool of a husband was what she had, she’d go with that too. Would she have left even if the dumbass hadn’t stepped out on her? She probably would have, he thought. It would have taken a lot longer, and she wouldn’t have ended up right where she was, curled into his back, wrapping her slim arms around his midriff and breathing like she did right then. Small puffs of air that went straight to his crotch.
His spur of the moment idea to get her a little bit frustrated was clearly working, but the whole thing had backfired, and when they’d each gone to their separate bedrooms, he spent a good fifteen minutes staring at his rock-hard cock. Then he cursed and went to take another cold shower.
***
When he walked into Oak the next evening, the place was crowded, like it usually was on a Saturday night. He saw both Joke and Tug working the bar, and three waitresses were on the floor. By the grins on the girls’ faces, he figured they were getting great tips. Lee was over by one of the pool tables with Jenny, a couple of the Alvarez ladies and Edna’s niece. At the other table, four men from a motorcycle club in a town just outside the county limits were pretending to play, but their intentions were clear.
Well, crap. It wasn’t going to be the quiet evening he’d planned, apparently.
He walked over to stand next to Paddy by the bar and surveyed the scene with a scowl.
“Fucking shit,” he grunted.
“Yeah,” Paddy said, knowing exactly what Gibson had meant by his greeting.
Joke handed them beer and Gibson met the tall, blonde man’s eyes briefly.
“I’ll give it a few minutes. Might be nothing,” Gibson said.
“Yeah,” Joke said with a nod and another glance at his sister.
The women were perfectly capable of saying no thanks to a couple of randy men all on their own, so running over like a fucking moron wasn’t going to be Gibson’s first choice of action. The three men knew that nothing might come from the situation, but it could escalate quickly so as the women laughed and cheered, they kept their eyes on the pool tables.
The bikers were getting ready to make their move roughly at the same time as Gibson lost his patience, but before he could march over there and let it be known that they should back off, one of them placed himself so he’d put the back of his cue in Lee’s side. It hadn’t been a hard hit, and she moved out of the way with a sweet smile. It had been enough to give them an in, though, and Gibson sighed when the biker said something which probably was an offer to buy Lee a drink to make up for pushing her.
Lee shook her head and moved further away. The biker followed her, which made the women close ranks immediately, and Jenny stepped forward.
The last man had his back toward them, but he turned and accidentally pushed Jenny into a table. A beer was knocked over, and she raised her chin and said something which probably was both crude and rude. This was not appreciated by the tall man who moved toward Jenny with a scowl and took a firm hold of her arm. Jenny tugged at her arm, but the man wasn’t letting go.
“Shit,” Gibson said, but Paddy moved first, and he did it so fast he was halfway across the bar before Gibson had put his beer down. “Shit,” he repeated.
Paddy was talking quietly when he reached the group, but one look at the bikers told Gibson that diplomacy wouldn’t work in this situation. The four men had come to get them some, and if they didn’t get it from the women, they’d take it out on the men.
“Fuck off,” one of the men said and took a step toward Paddy.
Gibson felt his temper rise because this was not acceptable. They did not get to walk into Joke’s place, put their hands on their women and mouth off at Paddy who they knew damned well was equal to their own president.
“Pad,” he said calmly. “You gotta let me handle this.” Paddy made a frustrated sound, but Gibson held his eyes for a second, grinned and murmured, “It’s what I do, buddy.”
Then he turned and slammed his fist into the closest biker’s face.
Five minutes later, the two men still standing were pulling the other two with them toward the exit, watching Gibson warily.
“Didn’t know they were anything to you, Gibson,” one of them said.
“Fuck off,” Gibson snarled, adrenaline still running through him and making his voice a little hoarse. “Everyone in this fucking town is something to me. You know this for a fact so don’t give me that shit.”
“I’ll be calling your Prez,” Paddy added.
“There’s no need. We’re leaving,” another man said.
“Oh, but I think there’s a need,” Paddy said in a voice that with its silken smoothness was just as scary as Gibson’s fists. “I think there’s a definite need to tell Doug how you came here to cause trouble, started hitting on Gib’s woman which seriously pissed him off, put your hands on Jenny Tucker and acted like morons in general which pissed me off. Then I’ll let Doug deal with it all however he sees fit.”
They paled but wisely didn’t say anything else and disappeared through the door. The sounds picked up in the bar as if nothing had happened, but there were grins of approval around the place.
“You’re bleeding,” Lee said.
Gibson looked down on her, trying to gauge her mood. Had he scared her? She hadn’t seen him fight before, and it was brutal when he let loose.
“At least it isn’t on your face this time,” she sighed. “I guess I should count my blessings.”
Then she marched off, making some kind of hand-gesture toward Joke who was suddenly grinning and reaching for the first aid kit. Gibson stared at her back with his brows high on his forehead, until she turned and snapped over her shoulder, “Gib. Get over here so I can clean you up.” Then she turned and put one hand on her hip and raised one of her own brows. “And let me tell you; If you need stitches again, I’ll be seriously miffed.”
He barked out a short laugh, and followed her, not seeing how the grins of approval had widened, and in some cases turned into chuckles.
“Miffed?” he murmured as she wiped off his knuckles.
“You won’t need stitches,” she said instead of taking his bait. “They’re just grazed. Those biker boys have a lot of decorative items hanging on their vests. You really should try to avoid hitting them there.”
Was she trying to instruct him on how to take down four men, from a motorcycle club, in a crowded bar?
“Didn’t have much choice, baby,” he heard himself saying, and winced when he heard Paddy bark out laughter next to him.
“Next time, you could perhaps ask them to step outside. Or even take the vests off.” Lee said and patted the band-aids she’d just put on his left hand. “There. Done.”
He blinked at her suggestion, but she ignored him and walked the few steps to where a still laughing Joke was standing behind the bar, and snapped, “I need tequila.”
“Decorative items,” Gibson snorted to himself and wondered what the few friends he had in the clubs would say if they ever met her.
“She’s very cool about what just happened,” Mac murmured, and pulled his leather jacket off.
He hadn’t been there during the fight and had probably waited outside, mostly so he wouldn’t have to arrest Gibson.
“Hey,” Gibson said. “She did fifteen years as a nurse in an inner-city ER, man.”
“Ouch,” Mac said. “Tougher than she looks then.”
“Yeah,” Gibson agreed, but didn’t elaborate.
Lee finished her pool game, and by the look of it, she lost miserably but laughed with the women all the way through it nevertheless. Then she came up to stand next to him by the bar.
“More tequila, babe?” Gibson asked.
Someone pushed her a little closer to him, and she stumbled into his chest, so he put an arm around her waist to steady her. Slowly she looked up at him.
“The word,” she suddenly said quietly.
“What?” he asked, thinking that he must have missed half her sentence somehow.
She turned until she was mostly leaning her back against him. This he liked because he could tighten his arm around her under the pretense to steady her again. Then she twisted her head around, got up on tip-toes and spoke into his ear.
“You said, all I had to do was say the word. So that’s what I’m saying.” She tilted her head back and mouthed, “The word.”
Everything in the bar became a gray, blurry haze. Did she say what he thought she’d said? And did that –
He cut his thoughts off and shook his head a little.
“You’re saying you want to go home and fuck me?” he asked hoarsely, and added, “Right now?”
She made a small face and said quietly, “I’m not very good at it.”
He stared at her for a beat, and then he started laughing, right in her face.
“I’m not,” she insisted.
The ridiculousness of her statement mingled with relief and the sharp edge of anticipation rolled through his body, and he straightened, leaned his head back and kept laughing, holding her small body pressed to his and ignoring the surprised faces turning their way.
