Neither This Nor That Box Set 1

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Jesus. Fiddler?” Retro’s question fell to silence as Twisted answered his ringing phone.

  “Point is done.” That was Chip, and he was glad to hear the report because that meant things could be wrapped up today.

  “Downed?” Same shorthand, same answer.

  “Nada. There?”

  “Nada. Fiddler?” Next to knowing if his boys were good, this was the most important question.

  “I said Point was done, didn’t I?” Chip took a breath, the length and raggedness telling Twisted that the fight hadn’t been easy, and while they might not have dead to deal with, they surely had injuries. “Gollum?”

  Twisted’s gaze swept to the field again, landing on the body not twenty feet away. From here, he could see that half of the man’s face was gone, the bullet having found its mark beside his nose, blasting its way through bone and flesh. “Way done.”

  “Good deal.”

  “Very good.” His phone buzzed, and he looked at the display. “Got Catfish. See you at the house.” Without waiting for a response, he disconnected, picking up the call. “Downed?”

  And that set the tone for the next hour as the club checked in, touching base to let him know their part in the operation was complete, and telling him how things progressed, using as few words as possible on the electronic devices. Their full debrief would happen tonight, over beer in the back lot, stories growing with each telling until every man had to have taken out a dozen enemies alone. Legends in the making.

  Twisted was standing in nearly the same spot an hour later, feet wide apart, stretching his back with hands to hips when he heard footsteps again approaching. “Yeah?” He didn’t open his eyes, rolling his head side-to-side. One of the prospects had just left in a pickup, the bed full of pissed-off Shield survivors, their bikes and cuts left behind as spoils of war. Po’Boy had gleefully taken on the task of stripping each warm body of their vests, enjoying it most when they fought him, giving him a chance to go all out to bust knuckles on their heads in a way usually denied him. The outcome was preordained, but it was always hard to watch grown men fiercely defending their colors, still fighting on even after seeing their brothers brought low. That’s what we need in a member, he thought, belatedly realizing he hadn’t heard a response.

  Lifting his head, he saw Retro standing there, staring at him. “Yeah?” he repeated. They might not have needed the Bastards fists or iron today, but it was good for his boys to see the support, good for the disbanded Shields to see it, too. “Respect, man. Know I already said it, but you showing means a lot.”

  Head to one side, Retro nodded. He stood in this position for a moment, then straightened and asked, “Who’s your daddy?”

  Twisted blinked. He hadn’t been asked that since school. When he told the teacher the truth, he’d been kicked out for three days for using “inappropriate language.” “My old lady was a whore. Don’t know whose jizz broke the barrier and knocked Mama up. Jimbo was my granddad, only daddy I really had.”

  Retro looked down at something he held in his hands. A wallet, chain dangling from the worn leather rectangle. “Was goin’ through shit. Strippin’.” Twisted nodded. It was something they’d all done at one point or another, removing IDs and pictures from bodies to slow down the identification process if graves weren’t hidden well enough. “Found something I think you need to see.” He didn’t hold it out, just looked from his hands up to Twisted’s face, then back down. “I don’t know what it means.” His glance traveled the same path, up and then down. “Might not mean anything.” His gaze fixed on Twisted’s face, locking on with an intensity that was uncomfortable. “Might mean everything.” He took a breath, lifting the wallet an inch. “This is Gollum’s.” He hesitated, then held a folded piece of paper. “Found this inside.”

  Twisted took the thick paper, knowing before he unfolded it that it was a picture. When he saw the image, he couldn’t stop the startled laughter that burst from him. “What the hell is this?”

  “Don’t know.” Retro’s voice sounded like it was coming from inside a barrel. “Look at the date.”

  Twisted flipped the paper over, seeing a processing date stamp along the edge. “Year before I was born.” He flipped the picture back over, staring at the image. “That’s my old lady. My mom.” He heard Retro grunt in surprise. “You didn’t know, did you?” Another grunt that he took for agreement. “That’s my mama, so who’s the man?”

  “Twisted,” Retro’s voice was soft, searching, “look at him.”

  “Looks like me.” He did. The man in the picture looked like him. Full beard, longish hair, curling around his shirt collar. The man stood, arm around a very young Coralie Bell. Hadn’t even turned fifteen when she had me. She was leaning into the man, one hand resting on top of her belly. “Got more pics?”

  Twisted didn’t look up, just held out his hand, accepting the trivial weight of the pictures when they were pressed into his palm. Flipping through the images, they were organized oldest to most recent, and in them, he saw the progression of age on the man. Saw his hair long, then short, then long again. Saw sleeves of tattoos creeping up his arms; saw those arms cord and thin as the flush of youth left the man. Saw finally the face he most feared would be at the end of things. “You look at alla these?” A noncommittal sound, but he knew Retro had seen it all. “You show anyone?”

  “No, man. Not mine to share.” Retro’s response was fast, and he took it at face value, believing in the integrity of the man.

  “Don’t.” He shoved the pictures back to Retro, wanting free of them. He saw the man tuck the images into a pocket inside his cut, pressing the snap into place to fasten it shut. Ignoring what had just happened, he said, “Bring your boys to the clubhouse. We’ll have a cold one waitin’.” Twisted turned on his heel and stalked away, taking in the state of the field at a glance. Bodies all carried away, bikes being loaded into a cattle trailer, men standing around with nothing left to do. “Incoherent,” he shouted to get everyone’s attention. “Bastards are our guests tonight. Put on a good show. See y’all there. Done good, brothers.”

  He heard Po’Boy’s voice in the distance, calling something but lost it in the roar of his engine. His ass was already on the seat, hands to the grips, and then he was out of the ditch and onto the gravel road, feeling the whip and grind of the loose surface underneath his wheels, controlling with some effort as the bike tried to slide out from under him. A moment later and he was straight again, rolling faster than was prudent to the highway that lay twenty miles away.

  Three bikes pulled out behind him, the reflections in his mirrors showing unidentifiable men.

  Another twenty past that highway and he’d be home, where he’d left Penny sleeping last night. He'd only texted her a quick message before he left his phone in the tech bucket at the clubhouse this morning.

  Now he was on his way to her, need boiling through him. Not to fuck her. He needed her to know. Know she was safe. Know she was forever safe. Know what he’d done today, the events he’d orchestrated to bring about the death of one man, uncaring if another dozen lost theirs, so she’d be safe. Not what he’d found out. He wouldn’t taint her with that knowledge. He'd take it to his grave. Twisted was filled with an almost overwhelming urge to ask Retro to destroy the pictures, filled with a premonition that they’d surface in a way that would tear away at him.

  ***

  An insistent buzzing from his jeans pocket made him scowl. Gaze fixed on the road, the rider dug the thing out, his hand holding it level with his eyes. Fuck. Too many words to scan, but with what went down today, he couldn’t go incommunicado, not now. The next bend in the road had a pull-off, a place where locals dumped bags of trash, and the parish came along once a month and cleaned them up, leaving trash scattered all along the ditch. A truck sat smack in the way, right where he needed to be, right where his planned trajectory would take him. Fuck.

  Into the dirt, too fast, automatically correcting the slide. Tree coming up fast. He saw it
and accommodated, another split-second adjustment had him pushing the handlebars, leaning to steer around it. Easy.

  What he didn’t see was the stone. Slate gray rock, earth’s ancient backbone, once part of a Kentucky mountainside, ripped out of its place in the dirt with blasting powder and exhaust-belching machinery. Cold and gray, broad and squatty, table-sized to fit seven, if they were dwarves. Fallen to the side of the road in Louisiana, it had come to rest in a slant, wedged against a tree, entirely obscured by the trunk. Invisible until someone might be right on top of it. Too late.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Penny

  Penny sat in Bell’s darkened kitchen staring out the window with unseeing eyes. Thinking. Turning things over in her mind. Coming to the same conclusions.

  Three days.

  He’d been gone three days. She’d woken to find him gone, not uncommon; a text told her he might be late, something she assumed had to do with club business. Something she knew a lot about, given Bagger’s position, and her long-term association with the CoBos. She had laundry to do and needed to clean out the truck. There was lots to keep her busy in this place where she was still settling. While it was a change she hadn’t expected, she found herself enjoying the sense of domesticity gained by moving in with Bell. It was nice to come home to a place inhabited by another person and even better when that person was Bell.

  “Baby,” he whispered, “just bring your shit here.” She arched her neck, inviting an extension of the line of kisses he was pressing to her skin and he took her up on that offer, his beard scratching and dragging up her throat. “Then you won’t hafta haul your ass outta my bed.” Hand to her breast, he began the soft rolling movements she loved so much. She’d gotten in about an hour earlier, first swinging by the truck yard to dump off the trailer, then to her house to pick up her bike and a change of clothes, leaving the bobtail sitting in front of her garage. The look on his face when she rolled into his driveway on her bobber was priceless, and she had barely gotten the kickstand down before he was on her, lifting her from the saddle and holding her tight. “Feed my baby,” he’d whispered into her neck, the feel of him making her shiver. Now, they were lying in his bed, bellies full of the biscuits and gravy he’d made for supper.

  His back arched as he pressed his hips against her, letting her feel the hardness of his cock against her thigh. She liked that, knowing he wanted her. Had wanted her since the first moment he saw her, staring down at him from the seat. He’d worked to get her, too. Not just that first night when he turned every fearful thought into dust, leaving it by the wayside as he taught her what passion felt like, but every time they’d been intimate since.

  Bell nuzzled into her neck, beard rasping across her skin as his hand dipped to her waist, the chill of the room raising goose bumps on her skin when he dragged the hem of her shirt high. Fingertips trailing across her exposed belly, he adjusted in the bed beside her, scooting down slightly. Penny’s breath sped up, knowing what this signaled, because as much as he liked touching her, he seemed to enjoy playing with her breasts nearly as much as the act of fucking itself. He could spend what felt like hours licking and sucking, teasing her until she was so wet, he could slide inside on a single thrust.

  “Gonna be my good girl?”

  With his murmured question against her belly, his head angled up so he could look at her. She met his heated gaze and nodded, knowing what he wanted, what she wanted to give him. Surrender. She lifted her hands, fingers trailing through his hair from where she’d been cupping the back of his head, and tucked them underneath the pillow, threading her fingers together. Binding her hands together tightly, even if he couldn’t see, compliant and suddenly on the edge of an orgasm, the anticipation building in her belly faster than he could bring it, clenching and tight. Knowing what he’d be giving her in time, knowing he’d let her touch him when he was moving inside her. She was still riding that wave of need when he moved to cover her, hearing his chuckle rattle through her as he arched into her, pressed tight…and she came.

  Head turned to the side, eyes closed against the sensations, lips holding back the cries bubbling up her throat, she quivered and knew that gave it away when he said, “One.” That voice, that word, his weight holding her pelvis immobile when she wanted to thrust up against him, his hands on either side of her ribcage, pushing her shirt high up under her arms. Then his mouth was on her, covering her breast, pulling hard, the suction an unbearable sensation, unbelievable that it connected to so much inside her, threads drawn taut. His beard was an entity to itself, trailing wickedly low on her belly, commanding a response as it swept across her sensitive nipples. Rubbing and scrubbing like a bristle brush one moment, it was soft as a kitten’s fur the next. Teasing and pleasing, then gone. Her groan of dismay rang through the room, mourning the absence, even knowing he would bring it back, give her that again, gasping as she acutely anticipated the return.

  “Good girls get what they need.” His voice was hoarse with what she’d come to know was desire, and she licked her lips, feeling him tensing as he moved up, rocking against her. “My shiny Penny.” His words were enough to pull another shiver from her because he exposed himself with every sound. Truth rang through the possessive words. “Mine.” With his mouth to her breast, he drew deep again, and those threads lifted her spine, stringing her like a marionette doll, shoulders pressing deep, elbows as wide as her thighs, accepting him, taking everything he had to offer.

  “Naked.” His weight lifted, settled to the mattress at her side and she opened her eyes. “Now, Penny.” Ass to the bed, Bell stripped. His eyes settled on her, and she scrambled to do as he demanded. I like that, she thought as her fingers wrestled with her jeans, him knowing exactly what he wants from me. It made her comfortable in ways that should have been uncomfortable instead, but he never took her power away. In giving her a framework within which to work, he actually gave her the freedom to fill the space completely. He wanted her naked, which meant she didn’t have to worry about what panties she had on, or if she’d shaved her legs last night. She didn’t have to think about makeup, or hair, or anything except giving him what he wanted. But if she balked, if she had a reason to say no, he listened. Sometimes not even listening, but more like knowing. Mind reader. My magic man.

  “Knees.” The softly growled command gave her a shiver she felt inside, thighs slick with results from the orgasm she’d already been given supplemented by a renewed flood. “Swap ends, baby.” She adjusted on the mattress, putting her head down towards the foot of the bed. “Hands, darlin’.” Adjusting again, she slid her arms out, pressing her chest into the mattress as she stretched. Her last movement to bring her hands together, palm-to-palm, fingers threaded together. Holding firm.

  Heat radiated against her backside, but no touch yet. With closed eyes, she mapped his movements by that heat. Bell became a furnace when they were in bed as if his blood ran hotter than hers by a fair measure. Up the outside of her thighs—that would be his hands—he glided through the air above her skin. Knowing he was so close, but not having that touch to anchor her, she trembled without knowing it, realizing only when he spoke. “Gone too long. Needy tonight.” Cheek to the sheet, she nodded, feeling the barbell in her eyebrow rasp across the fabric, that momentary reminder of her history nearly enough to pull her out of the moment.

  He noticed. Of course, he did, dammit. When did he ever not see my smallest reaction? “Penny? Tell me.” Demanding, as he was in every aspect of their encounters, he wanted to know her thoughts. She knew him well enough to know he might not give up on it but hoped she could derail the inquisition. A headshake earned her a swat on one ass cheek, light but stinging. “Give me that, darlin’.” He’d take it, take it all on for her. Had taken it, nearly all of it, only a few things left that she’d held back. This was one of them. Every time he’d asked about the piercing, she’d been able to deflect. “Penny.” Gruff, his gravel-filled voice came from over her, and she knew he’d moved while she was distracted
. She felt his heat all across her back now. Covering her. Protecting her. He’d promised to keep her safe. Kept that promise with everything he’d done so far. “Give it to me.”

  Fear had weight. She’d learned this through the months since dragging herself to her car, leaving behind so much more than her virginity. Fear and dread could take you down, suffocating you under a growing swell of emotions and reactions. And shame? Shame could flatten you in an instant, grinding you to a pulp underneath the mountainous, ponderous burden it brought to bear. This was him offering to take it from her. He was stronger than she was, had lived through so much where he had to be. I could give it to him. Without meaning to, her mouth opened and the words spilled out.

  “He said he liked me unmarked. Liked that I was a blank canvas. Said he had plans for my skin. Like my skin was separate from me somehow. He said that and all I could taste was the fear that had lodged itself in my throat. Bitter and biting, I was so afraid he’d follow through. Afraid that after everything, he wouldn’t let me go, he wouldn’t let me be. I left there, got in my car and drove to the nearest tattoo shop. I didn’t think, just did. Didn’t think that it would be a reminder that I’d come to hate. Didn’t think anything except hearing his voice, lips to my ear, the stench of him in my mouth. All around me. He liked me being a blank canvas. So, I took that away. It’s not much.”

  A touch on her shoulders caused her eyes to flash open. Bell’s tattoos rippled in front of her. He was stretched out beside her, his hand on her back. “But, it’s what I could do. So I did it,” she continued. Propped on one elbow, he reached out, fingers working at the barbell. A click she felt as much as heard, it was nothing like the ratchet of the piercing gun. He then pulled back, thumb smoothing across her eyebrow. Staring into his eyes, she read the promise there. He had to know it wasn’t enough. “Taking it away doesn’t mean I won’t still feel it.” He tilted his head, and she read that promise, too. “I know I’m safe with you. But I did what I did, Bell.” He wrinkled his nose, and she sniffed. “How do you do that?”