Neither This Nor That Box Set 1

by MariaLisa deMora

  Crissy stumbled sideways, tripping over the curb, coming up short of falling when an iron band gripped her upper arm. “Easy, honey. I didn’t mean to scare ya.” She twisted and pulled, yanking her arm out of his grip, turning to face whoever this was. Her gaze hit him midchest, and without thinking she took another step backwards as her chin lifted, raising her eyes to his face. He lunged forwards and gripped her arm again just as she stumbled over the curb, again. “Jesus.” He was frowning down at her, and Crissy instinctively lifted her arms between them, the grocery bags swinging and thumping him right in the crotch. The man released her and bent over with a grunt, one hand covering his groin, the other pressing hard on the edge of the car’s frame. “Fuck.” The expletive was a second grunt, forcefully pushed from between what she had seen were full lips, curved just the right amount to make a cupid’s bow. She was only seeing the top of his head now, since he was staring at the ground.

  “Oh, Jesus. I’m so—” Moving abruptly, Crissy became aware of the bags still dangling from her arms, so she turned to put them down, straightening up just as he began to unbend.

  Both hands on her car now, he was leaning forwards, elbows locked. Eyes closed, he licked his lips and then grunted again. “Umm. Fuck.”

  “—sorry,” she finished. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Nope.” His voice was hoarse now, not gravelly, and he definitely sounded in pain. “Take a hit like that, just gotta wait it out.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she repeated and was rewarded by glittering eyes that opened a slit as he glared at her. “I don’t even know what happened.”

  “You clocked me in the dick with your groceries,” he said helpfully, his voice losing a little of its hoarseness. “Pretty fuckin’ hard. What’d you buy, rolls of quarters?”

  “No.” Crissy shook her head, hating how high-pitched her voice sounded. “Just food. Bags and boxes, some butter.” She lifted her hand, waving it towards the car he was still leaning against. “Thanks for offering to help with the thing.”

  “Trunk.” The guy stood straight. “You get everything out of there? Got any other dangerous groceries to retrieve?” When she shook her head again, he gently closed the lid. “You nutted me with butter? Fuck. Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone that part, yeah?”

  “Oh,” she cried, whirling to dig into the bags, pulling out a package. “I bought batteries, too. They’re heavy.” They were, too. It was a large package of AA batteries; she’d bought the economy pack.

  “Jesus, honey. That’s a lotta batteries.” The corners of his mouth curved up, cheeks losing their angular planes as he smiled. “You need a boyfriend.”

  “What?” She stared at him, confused by his statement.

  “Never mind, gorgeous. And you’re welcome for the—” he waved a hand towards the car, “—help. Are you the new tenant?”

  Crissy looked over her shoulder at the single-story condo, nodding. “Yeah. I moved in last week.” It felt stupid to keep staring at her home, but anything was easier than looking at this man and imagining where she’d hit him with her batteries. “It’s a nice neighborhood. Quiet.”

  He laughed, and she glanced back at him. “Yeah, quiet.” He shoved a hand towards her, palm perpendicular. “I’m Ty, your neighbor.” Crissy lifted her hand, placing her palm against his, feeling a thrill as his large hand engulfed hers. “And you are?”

  “Crissy, um Christine Emmerson. I just moved in.” Entranced at how the muscles in his forearm moved, she didn’t notice at first when he didn’t release her hand, only realizing his hold hadn’t relaxed when she had to tug a third time, trying to escape.

  “Yeah, last week. Saw the car. Did not see you.” Ty tipped his head to one side. “I’d have remembered seeing you.”

  “Wrench,” the shout came from across the cul-de-sac, and Crissy looked to see a big man walking towards them. “Need a chat, brother.”

  “No worries, Pony.” Ty dug into a pocket with his free hand, coming out with keys he tossed towards the man. “I’ll be inside in a minute.”

  “Ma’am,” Pony said as he strode past them and to the front door of the condo next to hers. She stared at him for a moment, noting he wore a black leather vest like Ty’s.

  “Ty Wrench?” She finally succeeded in squirming her hand free of his and Crissy bent to pick up the bags of groceries, more than ready to bring this awkward encounter to an end. “It’s good to meet—”

  The deep peals of laughter startled her, and she scarcely stopped herself from retreating, remembering about the curb in time to avoid a reenactment of the previous near spill.

  “Ty Sawyer. That’s me—” He jerked a thumb towards his chest, then pointed to a motorcycle parked nearby, backed into a narrowly lined spot which seemed designed for that kind of vehicle. “—but when I’m on the bike, I’m Wrench.” He took a step towards Crissy, and she again barely suppressed the instinct to retreat. “And I’m very glad to meet you, Crissy Christine Emmerson.”

  His playful misunderstanding made her smile as she corrected him, “Christine Rene, but my family and friends call me Crissy.”

  “And you already count me in that group? I’m honored, Crissy.” He gestured towards the condo, then reached out and efficiently stripped most of the bags from her hands. “Unlock the door, honey.”

  “I can do this, Ty. Thank you.” She tried to take the bags back, but he lifted them to the sides, arching his hips back exaggeratedly.

  “Unlock the door, honey.” Arms outstretched, he took a step towards her, forcing her to take a step back and up onto the sidewalk. “I got a guest to get to. Lemme get your butter in out of the sun.” He pushed at something on the cement, and she looked down, seeing the battery box lying on its side. “Don’t forget your weapon.”

  “Oh, shoot.” She stooped and grabbed them, then juggled everything in her hands to swap things around to put the key into the lock. It stuck, and she pushed the door open, still struggling to extract the key, startled when Ty walked past her as if he lived here, making his way directly to the kitchen. His condo’s the same layout, idiot, she told herself, and then found him back in her space, deftly withdrawing the key from the lock to hand it to her, and then quickly divesting her of the other bags. She was left with the keys in one hand, cradling the batteries in her other as he walked back towards her from the kitchen. “Thank you,” she said, feeling strange as his eyes blatantly traveled down and then back up her frame. “It was kind of you to help.”

  “I’m the neighborly sort,” he explained, coming to a halt a bit too close, but her only path of retreat was back outside, which would leave him in her condo. “Good to meet you, Crissy. I—” He shifted to squeeze past her through the doorway, his groin brushing against her belly, her breasts grazing his stomach. “—will definitely be seeing you around.”

  ***

  Wrench

  He stood for a moment after the door clicked into place behind him, listening for and not hearing the sounds of Crissy applying the deadbolt or chain locks on the inside of her door. He shook his head, knowing it probably meant she hadn’t engaged the alarm, either. Baby chick just leaving the nest, he thought. He’d known he was getting a new neighbor. Owning the complex gave him a head start on making certain his neighbors would be palatable. Crissy was wholly palatable, delicious looking, in fact. Curved in every place he liked, she’d been cute and sweet, with a mouth entirely made for kissing.

  Until now, he hadn’t felt a need to know more about this particular neighbor, but he would be making his way to the network of company servers the first chance he got and looking up all the info he could on this Christine “Crissy” Emmerson. Cute, and a little helpless, all wrapped up in a version of pretty he liked. Woman needs a keeper, she’s a danger to herself. He grinned and reached down, gingerly adjusting his still-aching dick in his jeans. And others.

  Inside his condo, he found Pony lounging on the couch, beer in hand, game on the large TV mounted on the wall. They’d known each
other a long time. The CoBos, Wrench’s club, and Pony’s previous club, the Vicar’s Wrath, hadn’t been enemies as such. That meant they’d seen each other around rallies and parties, finding a cautious friendship before all the shit went down. Pony was one of several VW who had admitted it was a relief to drop his patch from Vicar’s and take up the center for Incoherent. Leswayne had been a bastard, and not just to those he claimed to despise.

  “You get me a beer?” Pony shook his head in response, not looking away from the TV. “You need something in particular, neighbor?” Pony lived in the condo opposite Wrench’s. In fact, there were a number of CoBo and Incoherent members who lived in the complex, one of the reasons Wrench had the parking spaces re-lined, ensuring there was always parking for the bikes.

  “You look like shit. Like you’re running on about zero sleep,” Pony said as he glanced up as Wrench walked back from the kitchen, three beers in his hands. Setting two of them on the coffee table, he flopped down onto the other end of the couch. “You bailed on the party early. Penny was looking for you.”

  “Yeah, had breakfast with her and Twisted this morning. She had her chance to chew on me already. I told her to get over herself.” Wrench twisted the lid off his beer, tossed it to the table and looked up at the TV. “Who’s playing?”

  “No clue. Least it’s football.”

  Wrench angled his head, tipping his chin to one side. “Football?” It looked more like rugby than football, but he wasn’t certain. The uniforms didn’t look at all like football. The sound was turned low so he couldn’t hear the commentary, but the names displayed on the screen weren’t familiar. “You sure it’s football?”

  “Jesus, you’re picky.” Pony huffed out a laugh. “Okay, how’s this. Least it ain’t golf.”

  Laughing loudly, Wrench agreed with his brother, “True that.”

  The second beers were polished off, and Pony had gone to the kitchen for more before he spoke again. Wrench had been letting him approach the topic at his own pace, knowing from experience trying to push or rush Pony would result in both of them being frustrated.

  “What do you think his deal is?” Pony lifted his beer and took a long pull of the cold liquid. “Po’Boy, I mean. What do you think his deal is?”

  “Deal with what? You gotta elaborate a bit, brother.” Wrench took a breath. “And you already know I ain’t gonna say shit about anything IMC. Ain’t my way to trash talk a member of another MC, much less a fuckin’ officer. Shit for IMC to deal with ain’t my business. Be wary with your questions, yeah?”

  “Oh, I’ll be wary with ‘em. I’ll fuckin’ hold ‘em in until I can’t anymore. Which is why I’m on your couch right now, instead of bustin’ down Po’Boy’s door. Twisted is all about IMC and Penny, and I get that. I dig it. Brother has a family in the club and then found himself a righteous ole lady. Cannot go wrong in such a scenario. What I’m asking is what’s Po’Boy’s deal with hatin’ on Twisted these days. Those brothers were tight. Saw that before I patched in. Hell, I saw that years ago, the night all the shit went down at Trudette’s, my first taste of the duo I’d heard of for so long. Ride or dies, no doubt. See one, see the other. Tight and right, honor-bound closer than blood. I dig that.” Pony reached out and grabbed the remote, muting the TV. “Penny changed the equation.” He cocked his head, shaking it side to side. “And it ain’t in a good way. Boys are talkin’ about it. Used to be Po’Boy spoke with Twisted’s voice and wrought change with Twisted’s hands. Now, half the time he’s bailing on fuckin’ church, and he’s not nearly the first to know any-fuckin-thing. He seems half surprised about shit. Boys are talkin’.”

  “What are they sayin’? Exactly what are they sayin’? You got specifics in mind with this shit? Huh?” He could almost hear Po’Boy in his words, the quick-to-attack version of the man, at least, and he attempted to dial back his irritation. “Tell me what you want to know, Pony, but Christ on a stick, man—this, all of this? Not my beeswax. IMC biz to the core.”

  “When we first rolled into IMC, back then, the leadership seemed solid. So tight you could see the ship sway with every shift. One mind, one voice, one direction.” Pony grimaced when he took a drink, then tipped the bottle up to finish off the lukewarm beer. “Now they seem as splintered as an old paddle. Nothing smooth about anything. I’m an officer, and if I do shit, I for sure don’t get called on any of my shit. I’ve been callin’ guys out from other chapters for doing shit that should get called out. I get looks but ain’t no one telling me not to. And they fuckin’ should. I shouldn’t be up in their shit, that’s a national job, but national seems to have stepped back. Seems like each chapter is runnin’ their own gig, and except Ragman, ain’t nobody tryin’ to hold shit together. Po’Boy pullin’ back has left a wake, man. Huge waves still rollin’ around, and I’m not seein’ how things are going to settle without him coming back to the fold. You spent some time with him last night, how do you see things shakin’ out?”

  Fuck.

  Everything in what Pony said was concerning. IMC had grown fast, so fast Twisted had known he had to lock shit down. He’d stepped down from local, focusing on national, and Po’Boy had done the same. That meant the two men were in different places more often than they were together. If the members were feeling the change, it meant it had to be significant. Weak leadership led to weak clubs, where things could go sideways faster than anyone had a right to expect. Weak leadership at any level was bad. Weak leadership at the national level of a large, influential club? Disastrous.

  Considering for a moment, he decided to lay it out there, expecting Twisted to bring it to his chapter officers shortly anyway. “What went down last night, not my beeswax either. I was there, Po’Boy needed a hand. Discreet assistance, ya know? Reformed VWMC were at Twisted’s blowout. They were talking shit, and Po’Boy overheard, decided he needed to know the extent of what they had. Turns out, they didn’t have anything. They didn’t have anything and only gave a little. You heard of a dude named Deuces?” Pony nodded. “Kin to Leswayne somehow, don’t know, don’t care. Inbred motherfuckers. But he’s the relaunch point. The thing is, he’s not the one driving things forwards.” Pony’s expression grew more alert, and Wrench watched as his lips thinned when he suppressed a response. “Uh, uh. Not gonna cut it, you want me to talk, but you put a clamp on your tongue? Fuck that. Spit it, man.”

  “Deuces has someone flogging him forwards? Know who?”

  “Diego. That’s all we got.” Wrench shook his head. “A name and some pipe bombs the assholes didn’t realize weren’t toss-and-go models.” He snorted. “They thought the sticks were like Molotov cocktails, I guess. No detonators, no boomie. But they brought them to Penny and Twisted’s house.”

  “Fuck. I’m betting Po’Boy didn’t much care for that shit.” Pony made a clucking noise with his tongue. “Man’s still got a short fuse where Twisted’s concerned. I suspect the shit hit the fan.”

  “You’d suspect correctly. They were dealt with, though, so there’s comfort. This Diego shit? I got no fucking clue.” Wrench drained his beer, leaning forwards to place it on the coffee table near the forest of empties they’d left there today. “As far as what’s going on with Twisted and the rest of it, you need to take your concerns about leadership to the leadership you’re concerned with. Talking around things won’t fix shit. You’re smart enough to know that, brother.” He gestured towards the TV where the previous game had ended, a new show starting. “Unmute, brother. I like this show.”

  Pony glanced at the TV and laughed, thumbing the button on the remote. “Fuck, yeah. Gator huntin’ for the fuckin’ win.” Without looking at Wrench, he said, “Opinion noted. I’m guessing you’re gonna call Twisted and let him know you told me about the shitfest from last night?”

  “Yeah. I’m not IMC, but CoBos and IMC been friendly for a lot longer than I’ve been around. I won’t be the one fucking shit up.” He yawned. “You said I look like shit, I feel worse. Fuck.” He adjusted his cock, wincing at the twing
e of soreness remaining. “Bitch next door bagged me, man. Fuckin’ hit me in the dick with her bag of groceries.”

  “Groceries? The fuck?” Pony chuckled. “She’s hot as hell, though. You see the rack on her? The little bitty thing, still got those great big tits. Hell of an ass, too. Round and begging to be bitten.”

  “Oh, yeah. I got an eyeful of that. She seems sweet, in a confused sorta way.”

  “Dick punched you with groceries.”

  “Yeah, guess she had a big tub of butter or some shit.” He leaned back, adjusting himself again because at the thought of Crissy’s breasts brushing across his belly he’d started to harden.

  “Fuck.” Laughing loudly, Pony bent forwards and tossed the remote back to the table. “Nutted you with butter? Priceless. Butternut.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Po’Boy

  Idling the boat the last few feet to the dock, Po’Boy wasn’t watching for danger. Didn’t expect to find anyone or anything waiting on him. It had been nearly sunrise when he jumped over the gunwale from terra firma to head out, and it was full dark now. He’d run with muted lights, navigating by instinct as much as anything else. Raised on these bayous, he’d had grown up knowing them like the back of his hand. Still, things changed. The Gulf and Mississippi were in constant battle over these grounds, and sediment or storms could swap familiar with unfamiliar in a matter of hours. Didn’t pay to take the skiff too fast, not with a load like he’d gone out with, so it had been slow going to the channel he had been aiming towards.

  On the way back, he’d opened the engine up in the clear spots, going a bit quicker while staying alert for debris floating on the surface. Watchful, because at night a boat going even hardly faster than an idle still carried a distinct sense of danger. He knew hitting a submerged log or a gator could flip the boat in a heartbeat and wasn’t always something you could spot, even in ideal conditions.