by Carolina Mac
“Nope. I’m not afraid of her. I can take her.”
“Shoot her.” George chuckled as he lumbered back to his pool game. When he won, he picked up the money from the corner of the table, stuffed it into his jeans, hung the cue in the rack and came back to eat with me. The cheeseburgers were heavenly. I’d probably gain a pound from the smell of the grease alone.
After George pushed his plate away, I pointed to the table where my little visitor had settled. “What’s that girl’s name?”
“That’s not a girl. That’s a fuckin’ disease,” he said with a scowl, “She’s a crack head—calls herself Barbwire, but she ain’t no Pamela Anderson. If she gives you trouble, I want to know. Most of the guys have had a run at her and won’t give her the time of day. Kenny was about the end of the line for that one.”
“Barbwire? Good one. I wonder what they call me.”
“Nothin’ . . . if they fuckin’ want to live.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Uh-huh.”
George and I finished off our conversation and called it a night. Driving home alone in the dark gave me time to think—I wondered where and when Barbwire might make a try for me.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
EVEN though the house was secure and Angel was on guard duty beside my bed, knowing Barbwire was out there waiting and watching made me antsy. I reached under my pillow and felt the weight of the Beretta in my hand. Touching the cold steel of the barrel and flipping the safety off gave me solace. I showered and dressed for the day, donned my shoulder holster, checked the magazine to make sure it was fully loaded and put the gun in place under my denim jacket.
After my initial cup of coffee at the kitchen table, I gathered my thoughts and walked to the back of the garden. The lily of the valley had finished blooming, but the leaves still looked shiny, green and fresh. I picked a few and took them into the house.
It wouldn’t hurt to have a syringe ready if I needed it. And what’s another needle mark?
I ground up the leaves on plastic wrap and sucked the resulting liquid into the needle. I sealed the syringe in a Ziploc bag and tossed it into my purse.
I took two travel mugs out of the cupboard and filled them with coffee. Extra cream and no sugar in one, just the way George liked it.
Angel jumped into the passenger seat, panting and drooling, but happy to be going with me. I secured the coffee mugs in the cup holders, rolled down the windows and headed for the store. There was no way in hell I was going to sit at home all day waiting for that bitch to sneak up on me. I had tried to help her, and this is what I got in return?
The little bell jingled merrily as I blasted through the door of the gun shop.
‘Whoa, little girl. What the fuck is up?” George raised his eyebrows as I set the coffee mugs on the counter. “Those gray eyes are looking mighty cold and stormy this morning. Who’s on the hit-list?”
“I didn’t tell you last night, but that bitch, Barbwire, said she was coming for me. This morning, I was thinking about what I should do, and decided that I wouldn’t wait. I would track her down and deal with her myself. Man, she pissed me off.”
“That I can see,” George said with a smirk. “What do you want me to do, little girl?”
“You can give me a clue where she hangs out, and I’ll take it from there.”
George grinned and lit up a smoke. “She hangs with a crowd of fuckin’ addicts in a sleazy basement rat hole. She’s always with a couple of ‘em, and if you think I’m gonna send you alone into that den of losers, you are dead wrong, baby girl. Not happening.”
The bell jingled again, and two men came in, heading directly to the counter to talk to George. I bided my time looking in the glass case that held the knives. Maybe I needed a boot knife. Everyone seemed to have one—just in case.
George wrote up his sale and bagged the ammo that the dudes were buying.
“How long is your sale on?” One of them asked as he reached the door.
“End of next week,” George answered giving them a wave.
“George, I want to buy one of these boot knives,” I said.”
“You don’t know how to use a knife, honey.”
“Could you show me?”
“Never bring a knife to a gun fight,” he stared at me with a stone cold look in his eye.
“Okay, maybe not. So… you won’t tell me where Barbwire hangs out?”
“Can’t. I’d be sending you there to get hurt or fuckin’ worse. We’ll think of another plan after I close up.”
“Come over after work. I’ll fix us up some supper.” Before I could chicken out, I leaned over the counter, put one arm around his neck and pulled him towards me. I kissed him hard on the mouth and gave him a lot of tongue. He tasted like smoke and beer and Saturday night. At first his lips were tense, but the surprise wore off and he caught up with me. Damn, this man could kiss. “Don’t take too long,” I whispered hoarsely and let my intentions show.
A look of surprise flickered across his tanned face, before being replaced by a brilliant grin. “How can I work now? Look what you done to me.”
I blew him a kiss and winked as I went out the door, kicking a little extra into my hips as I went.
Angel wagged her tail as I hopped back into the Jeep. I had rolled the window down for her, and parked in the shade, but the temperature was climbing, and she was panting.
Driving home, I sucked in a few deep breaths and reveled in the effect George had on me. When I turned on the CD player, my hands were steady, and I had a sense of security I had never known before. He was a little stockier and gruffer than what I had pictured in my head as my ideal soul mate, but Mother Nature was a tricky bitch. If she sent me an overweight biker, who was I to argue? My heart told me he was the one.
I pulled the Wrangler into the driveway and let Angel in through the front door. I scooped up the mail from the floor and it landed on the Duncan Phyfe Sewing table in the foyer. Matthew’s mother had always fussed over that table, but it was just an old table.
Angel was pawing at the patio door when I walked into the kitchen and I slid the door open for her. The thermostat read seventy, and I turned it down to sixty-five. If I was going to seduce George, I didn’t want the house to be too hot. He hated the heat.
I raced upstairs and changed into a pair of super short cut offs and a red tube top, sprayed myself all over with Light Blue and redid my makeup. After years of second guessing myself with Matthew, I was ready to give in to the chemistry with George. I yahooed out loud as I ran down the staircase.
Steaks were soaking in marinade in the fridge while I made a salad and wrapped the potatoes and veggies in foil for the barbeque. I shoved four bottles into the freezer to cool them down quickly, hoping that I wouldn’t forget they were there.
Ding-dong.
Oh my God. He’s early.
As I stopped for a quick check in the mirror, Angel charged past me into the foyer, knocking me into a table, and upending a five foot potted philodendron. I screamed as dirt and leaves scattered all over the shiny marble tiles.
George burst through the front door. “I heard you scream,” he said.
Doubled over with laughter, I pointed to the mess and squeaked out, “Angel.”
“Good one, girl,” he said grabbing her by the neck and roughing her fur.
“I’ll get a broom.”
“Got a shovel?”
“In the garage.”
After the dirt had been cleaned up and dumped back into the pot, I sighed. “Beer break.” I remembered the bottles in the freezer and jerked them out. “Are you early?” I asked, pouring. “I lost track of time in all the confusion.”
“Closed up early, couldn’t wait,” he said wrapping his arms around me. “Do you know how crazy I am for you, baby girl?”
“I was wondering if we were on the same page.” I kissed him fervently and held him close, savoring the scent of him . . . leather, gun oil and sweat. I exhaled a big breath.
He grinned. “I d
idn’t know what page you were on—but if this is it—I am so fuckin’ on it.”
He picked me up as if he was picking up a feather and carried me up the staircase.
“Your arm,” I said.
“Don’t talk.”
George laid me on the bed and gazed down on my body. I smiled and he smiled back, his black eyes sparkling. Sitting on the side of the bed made it awkward for him to unzip my cut offs, but he managed. I moaned as he ran his hands over my thighs, and gently pulled my shorts down. He unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them, then lay down on the bed beside me.
I wanted to rip the rest of my clothes off, but George was setting the pace and taking it slow. He pulled my top over my head and sucked in a breath when he saw my breasts overflowing my purple lace bra. I helped him remove his Harley shirt being mindful of his stitches. His breathing was rapid as I traced the razor wire tat across his chest and kissed the pink mark nearly healed on his neck. Heat radiated from his large, callused hands as he unclasped my bra, cupped my breasts and his mouth claimed my nipple. It was electrifying.
My hand found its’ way across his belly to the heat of his groin and caressed his God-given equipment. He shivered, growing thicker in my hand and groaned when I guided him inside me. He thrust long and lazy inside me, filling me over and over, and content to take his time and absorb every sensation. I was so okay with that.
When my orgasm hit, the surge of sensation brought him home too. He roared a throaty cry, his shoulders pitching forward before he lay motionless on top of me, enfolded tightly in my arms. I buried my face in his neck as the tears flowed and I was reborn.
I must have dozed off, because the sound of the shower woke me with a start. I let out a big breath and smiled. George was with me and I was safe. I walked naked into the bathroom and joined George in the shower.
“Hey, beautiful girl, come on in.” He grinned and held his arms out for me.
We kissed under the running water, then laughed like kids on prom night while we soaped and rinsed each other.
My stomach was growling as I dried my hair. I was ravenous. I hopped into sweat pants and a t-shirt and ran outside to start the barbeque.
By the time George wended his way downstairs, dinner was underway. He stepped into the kitchen and encircled me with his massive arms. “You’re fuckin’ amazing, you know that?”
“No, not me, I’ve never done anything amazing,” I said.
“You just did,” he said with a laugh. “Let’s go outside. I haven’t smoked for hours. I think I’m goin’ into fuckin’ withdrawal.”
“Oh, I thought maybe you quit,” I said picking up the bottles and the glasses.
“That’ll happen the day they bury me.”
“I hope that’s not soon. I kind of like having you around.”
“I don’t know how in hell I got so lucky.”
“I’m the lucky one,” I said, checking the barbeque.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
THE bedroom was in semi-darkness when I opened my eyes. The face of the clock was obscured from where I lay, and not wanting to disturb George, I stared at the ceiling and pondered the Barbwire problem.
She wouldn’t make a move with George here and I didn’t want her to. I wanted that bitch all to myself.
I cuddled up closer to the giant of a man in my bed and felt invincible for the time being. Things could change. They probably would, but I was savoring the moment.
George stirred as I pressed my breasts up against him and he rolled onto his back. I gave the duvet a healthy shove making his body shiver when the cool air touched it. I kissed the inside of his thighs and gently coaxed him awake. He lay still, but his breathing was rapid as he waited and anticipated my intentions.
“Ready, big guy?” I whispered the question and ignored the answer as I straddled him. I reveled as the bulk of him slid inside me, filled me. I moaned, creating a rhythm with each downward thrust harder than the last.
“Jesus, Annie,” he panted as he gave it up and gasped for air. I lay limp on top of his sweating body until I could breathe, then rolled off onto my back.
“That’s one way to wake a guy up, little girl,” he chuckled. “I need a smoke.”
I jumped into the shower while George smoked on the patio and let Angel run in the yard. After I dressed, I brewed a pot of coffee and whipped up a lumber jack’s breakfast for him. He polished off eggs, bacon and a stack of pancakes and syrup without skipping a beat.
“Are we shooting today?” I wasn’t relishing the idea of going back to the range, but I had to face it sooner or later. Might as well be sooner.
“Guess so. Have to talk to a few of the boys.”
George was always talking to the boys.
“I’m going to ride my own bike. I can’t wait to try her out.”
“I hear ya.” George chuckled. “Before we leave, I want you to do something for me, honey girl.” He headed out to the garage and I followed on his heels wondering what he was up to. He released the kick stand on my bike and gingerly laid it on its’ side on the garage floor. “Pick it up for me.”
It was awkward and heavy, and it took every ounce of strength I possessed, but I managed to right it. When it was back on its stand, I heaved a big sigh, and sat on the leather seat for a few moments, catching my breath. “My weight training must be paying off. I don’t think I could have done that a month ago.”
“Good girl,” was all he said.
We packed our guns and ammo into the saddle bags, secured the house and roared up Hawthorne Lane towards the highway.
The day was gray and overcast with a threat of rain, but hazy humidity was all that was in evidence when we left the city. As we travelled farther north the wind picked up and cleared some of the cloud cover. My bike drove like a dream—so much easier to maneuver than George’s Screamin’ Eagle. I was no expert on the gears, and I ground a pound now and then, but I managed. At one set of traffic lights, the bike wobbled a bit, but I kept my balance and didn’t tip. By the time we arrived at the range, I was in control and exhilarated from the ride.
We parked the Harleys and ambled down to the target area. Everyone spoke to George and seemed anxious to discuss something or other with him. I couldn’t say that I had noticed it before, but he was respected by the other bikers. He set up the targets while I loaded the magazines and we practiced diligently for an hour. Since my arm had healed, I practiced equal time with left and right hands.
“Now that you have your Beretta mastered, we should get in some shotgun and rifle practice.” George said as we walked up to the shack. “Make you more well-rounded,” he said and winked. “Not that you’re not well rounded in other fuckin’ areas.”
“I’m up for that. This is the only gun I’ve used, so it would be a challenge.”
“Maybe next week,” he said.
After another half-hour George packed up to leave. I had avoided looking at the spot where Kenny died last Sunday. The picture was indelible in my mind, and probably forever. I didn’t need any refreshers. No sign of Barbwire and her friends here today, but that was no surprise. She must be raising hell somewhere else.
Halfway into our ride home it sprinkled. I was following George and he didn’t stop until we came to an overpass on highway twelve. We parked underneath and hung out until the shower passed.
“Smoke break,” he said. “Didn’t want you riding your first day on slick pavement and scraping up your pretty little ass.” He patted me on the behind.
“Thanks. Are you sure you didn’t just stop for a smoke?” I pushed him up against the abutment and kissed him—with lots of tongue—until I felt him harden.
“Time to go.”
“I’ll get you for that.”
“I’m counting on it.”
AN hour later we pulled into the driveway on Hawthorne Lane and parked the bikes.
“You look tired, George. Why don’t you nap and rest your arm until dinner is ready?”
“I am tired. Don’t know wha
t it could be, do you?” He winked at me.
“No clue,” I said with a grin.
George ambled into the kitchen an hour later. “Must have dozed off,” he said with a chuckle. “You can tire a man out.”
I laughed. “That’s my new job, and I’m liking it a lot.”
“You’re fuckin’ good at your job, Annie.”
“Thanks. Dinner will be ready in an hour or so.”
“After dinner, I’m gonna’ head out. I have some stuff to take care of, and I have an early day at the store tomorrow. Some guys takin’ a boar hunting trip to Alabama. They’ll be picking up their guns at eight.”
George finished his second cup of coffee and got to his feet. He favored his left leg, but never mentioned it. “Another good meal, baby doll. How’d you learn to cook so good?”
“Matthew made me take lessons. Said he wasn’t eating any of the shit I cooked, when we first married. Wanted me to cook like his mother.” I laughed. “When I burnt stuff on the stove or in the oven, he would beat me up.” I sighed. “It was definitely safer to take lessons.”
“Shit.” George shook his head and gave me a long hug.
“I’ll walk you out.” I followed him into the foyer and gave him a lingering goodbye kiss.
“Lock everything up tight and set the alarm. I don’t like leavin’ you here alone with that fuckin’ nut bar running loose.”
“I’ll be fine. You have your own life.”
“Not no more, I don’t. You’re my life now, Annie.”
“I love you, George,” I whispered as he disappeared out the door.
ANGEL barked sharply, and I woke with a start. I shivered as I fumbled under my pillow for my Beretta and flipped the safety off. I felt for George beside me with a shaky hand, and when I touched the cold sheets I remembered he hadn’t stayed the night.
Angel bolted down the stairs growling low and dangerous. I grabbed my robe, left the lights off and felt my way down the stairway using the banister. The hair on the back of my neck was standing up giving me icy chills. Angel’s growling led me to the foyer. She was scratching on the front door. I peeked through the lace curtain on the sidelight and saw nothing. No movement. I cocked my gun, opened the door a crack and peered out into the pitch black void. I sucked in a big breath.
