Neither This Nor That Box Set 1

by MariaLisa deMora

  Wrench stalked around the corner, headed straight towards her, and she was surprised at the anger on his face. He looked furious. At her.

  “What in the fuck do you think you were doing out there, Crissy? I don’t know you, and you sure as fuck don’t know me. What made you want to put yourself into that situation?” He was aggressively crowding her, coming close, so she backed up until her butt hit the counter behind her and she stared up into his face. Nostrils flaring, he was glaring down at her. “You have any fucking idea what you just did?”

  “Um. I…uh.” Crissy rolled her lips nervously, then whispered, “I’m thinking maybe…no?”

  Lifting his hands, he covered his face, fingertips pressing against his closed eyes. Muffled by his hands, his words still came through loud and clear. “I do not need this shit.” That didn’t feel good, and she tried to draw back farther. Dropping his hands, he stared at her again. “Look, honey. I get you were trying to help. I appreciate it, more than you know. I didn’t have anyone close enough to call when they rolled up, and while I doubt you’re carrying, it was good to know someone was watching in case I got my ass kicked. That’s sweet.”

  His tone didn’t sound like he thought it was sweet, and she flinched at the bitterness coating his words. “I’m sorry.” Her instinctive response to so much, the need to immediately apologize was something Rhoda had tried to rid her of. Unsuccessfully, clearly.

  “No, you are what you are. Sweet and so fucking innocent it burns.” He shook his head, taking a half step towards her, his legs brushing against hers. “That setdown you just gave Sam? She isn’t the forgiving sort. Means on top of every other fucking thing I got going down, now I need to keep an eye on her and you. I’ll do that. You won’t have to worry, honey. I’d have done it anyway, just to make sure my shit didn’t leak your way, but since you opened the faucet by setting yourself at my side like you just did, I’ll just have to work harder.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I get that, Crissy.” He swallowed, and his eyes dipped closed in a slow blink. “Oh, baby, do I ever get you don’t have a fucking clue.” Leaning backwards, he glanced down her torso and back up, blinked again, and then abruptly changed topics. “Where’s that beer?”

  Startled, she stared up at him, trying to read his expression. He’d closed down, shutters drawn so tightly across his features she couldn’t get anything from him. “I don’t have any beer.”

  Shaking his head, he chuckled. “Of course not. Are you always one to make promises you can’t keep, honey?”

  “Um. No?” Crissy stayed still, frozen in place as he lifted a hand to cup the back of her neck. “I don’t think so.”

  “Seems to me you might be guilty, honey.” His fingers squeezed her neck and tugged her an inch closer to him. “Might have made another promise outside. Gonna pony up and pay the piper on that one?”

  Crissy rolled her lips again and watched as his expression grew heated when his gaze dropped to her mouth, lips pursing while he stared at her. They were frozen in time for a moment, and it felt like she was on the brink of something.

  “Fuck it,” he muttered, then pulled her close again, covering her mouth with his, lips working, pressing and caressing. “Open for me, honey,” he murmured, lips grazing against hers, his mint-scented breath heated as it coasted across her lips. The rough pad of his thumb moved up to her chin and brushed across her skin, urging her mouth open. His tongue swept in, slicking alongside hers, pushing and thrusting as his head moved and his hips pressed against her belly.

  She responded, couldn’t have stopped the instinctive reaction if she’d tried, his mouth felt so good on hers. Abandoning reason, forgetting he was a virtual stranger, she relaxed into the kiss, into his caressing strokes along her skin. Every nerve ending tingling, it felt as if she were awake for the first time in eons, and she never wanted it to end.

  The heat from his hand on her neck was nothing to the heat from his erection against her belly, and he groaned, thrusting gently when her hands rose to rest on the hard wall of his chest. The kiss seemed to go on forever, and Crissy was focused on the sensuality of Ty’s hands and mouth on her. She was gone, lost in a world of heat and soft noises, hard hands cupping her ass to pull her close.

  Then she was left standing alone, back against the counter, elbows bent as her hands propped her up. The chill she felt was intensified when she realized Ty was five feet away, turning to the side as he ground out a harsh, “Fuck.”

  He pulled in a hard breath, and then without looking at her muttered, “I gotta go.” Eyes to the floor, she didn’t watch him walk away. The chain and lock rattled and clicked, and then the door closed quietly, leaving her standing alone in her condo.

  “I…what?”

  ***

  Wrench

  Slinging a leg over his bike, Wrench shoved his helmet into place and took a short moment to breathe before he started the engine, punching the transmission into gear and roaring out of the cul-de-sac, climbing gears before he even hit the road. Kissing Crissy had never been part of his plan. Not that he’d had a plan when he went into the woman’s condo, but she’d left her goddamned door standing wide open. If Thorne had taken him down, she’d have been defenseless against Sam. That’s what had been running through his head when he stalked through her door, locking it to make a point.

  Then he’d rounded the corner and seen her looking at him, happy to see him, red lips glistening with a gloss he’d found tasted as good as it looked. Blonde hair tucked behind her ear, she’d looked pleased as punch with herself for the play she’d just made outside—there hadn’t been much thinking going on at all. Not with his big head, at least.

  Out on the highway, he cranked the throttle and thumbed the knob for his cruise, propping his wrist on the handlebar. He’d checked into her. Checked and found nearly nothing on the surface. Just enough of something to be sure she was who she claimed, but not enough to get a read on her. Graduated from university with honors in three years, went on to graduate school and finished that in record time, too. Then she’d dropped out of sight. It bugged him, so he’d left the surface behind and dug until he found something, an online posting listed her in the survived-by section of an obituary. This gave him a new location and another set of names, and from there he’d found out more than he wanted.

  No wonder she seemed a little fragile. Her parents died early, she’d barely been a teen. Then her sister, the only family she had left, passed only weeks ago. The last thing Crissy needed was a horny bastard of a neighbor barging in and kissing her so thoroughly her lips would be bruised for a week. “I’m an asshole.” His words were torn from his lips by the wind, scattered in the wake of his speeding bike.

  She wouldn’t have to deal with him for a week or so. Before Thorne had rolled up with Sam riding bitch, Wrench had gotten a dispatch text from his president. He’d been headed out to strap his bag on the back of his bike, ready to roll north to Kentucky when he’d heard the motorcycles incoming. CoBos had been dealing with assholes trying to horn in on their pot business for years, typically handling it by sending in a member to find the source of the trouble and bargain face-to-face. This was different. The report was another storage unit had been hit last night, and expectation suggested it had been the same stupid set of brothers as the last time. CoBos tried hard to keep the peace, but they’d finally had enough. Enter Wrench, who was their ultimate solution.

  At least I have a ton of shit to think about on my ride. Between Po’Boy and whatever it was Wrench had fucking with his head there, and now knowing how sweet Crissy tasted, he had ample subject matter to cover the hours before he would park the bike and hop in a cage for the last stretch of miles, running incognito.

  Po’Boy, as he seemed down in New Orleans, appeared to have turned into a different beast. Even in the apartment, the man had been far different than Wrench had ever seen him. Still confident, but less of an ass. Attitude, speech patterns, laughter, posture—all changed from the nor
m for him. A good look on the man. Wrench frowned, reaching down to press on his dick with the heel of a hand. Fuck. It didn’t matter what story he’d tried to spin to Wrench, what was happening in that space wasn’t dealing drugs. Po’Boy and the IMC might be as dirty as Wrench or any of the CoBos when it came to pot and recreational drugs, but whatever his lies might be, the use of that apartment was for dirty of a far different sort.

  Wrench liked what he knew about the man. After he’d got past his initial issues, he’d liked what he’d seen, every time there’d been an opportunity to be around him. Po’Boy was a good brother to his club. He was ride or die when he had your back, and he held that position unwavering once he’d staked his place there. Now if Wrench could just wrap his head around what he thought he’d seen…and what he’d felt.

  Nope. Time for another topic. He checked his mirrors and then the speedo, looking to verify the miles remaining on this tank of gas. Too many.

  IMC was in a tough place if what Pony inferred was true. If what he’d come right out and said was true, too. In addition to the pressures from outside, in the normal forms of LE and Feds, they had the outside pressure of the fake club pushing at their borders. Twisted needed to get a handle on that like yesterday and deal with whoever was behind it all. In some ways, it seemed as tough a spot as the clubs had been back in the 80s when the drug cartels started their plays for territory. Wrench knew Jimbo and Bagger had partnered on more than one campaign to rid the area of the threats. Maybe it was time to renew that kind of bond and bring IMC and CoBos to the table again.

  They’d virtually done that during the short-lived war between IMC and VWMC, fighting alongside Retro’s ‘Bama Bastards to ensure the right club came out on top. Bloody work, but worth it, in Wrench’s opinion. Maybe I needa drop a line to Ace. Ace was the president for the CoBos and had been for decades. He had lived through the fight against the cartel, and knew the cost as well as the benefit. Time I bring him up to speed, anyway.

  Ace was another topic Wrench knew he couldn’t shy away from forever. The man had made no bones about whose name he intended to put in the hat next year when it came time to vote in a new president. CoBos followed a strict two-year cycle for officer seats. For the last twelve elections, Ace had been the one with a unanimous tally of votes. He’d nearly refused the last election results, speaking eloquently about bringing new blood to keep up with changing times. That refusal had been vetoed, and in the end, he had acquiesced. For the last few months, though, he’d made it crystal clear his name shouldn’t come up. He’d also made it crystal he expected Wrench to be taking up the gavel at the end of that day.

  Not something I ever aimed for, Wrench thought. And he fucking knows it. He grinned. Ace just don’t fucking care. Wrench knew he could do a good job, had sure knowledge in his gut because Ace had been grooming him for this since Wrench had first put the prospect vest on his back. He’d become the go-to guy for all the club members. When they had shit happening, he was who they called. No questions and no holding back, he was all-in with every man who wore the CoBos patch. That was something he’d learned from Twisted. Not from talking, but from observing. It was one of the memorable ways Twisted had made his name, because no matter the need, he was there for his members. No need too deep, no ask too big. “Got your back” was more than something Twisted said for show, it was the way he lived. Something Wrench still felt he stretched towards some days.

  Still, it’d be nice to delegate shit like this run. The two men in Kentucky weren’t bad guys, they were just stupid. Or they never thought it would get to this point, being as the people they were fucking over—namely the CoBos—were hundreds of miles away. Hopefully, this visit would pound the point home in a final way. Before he had to take care of things in a different final way.

  Sam was another problem he’d have to work and put in his rearview sooner rather than later. Bitch had to be high if she thought pulling that kind of stunt was going to get him back in her pants. Back when he started fucking Samantha Rotain, she’d seemed sweet. He’d gone along, talked sweet while he was inside her, wasn’t cruel when he turned her away at club events. He didn’t mind screwing her, just didn’t want her in his face every moment. It wasn’t until she realized he wasn’t coming close to putting a ring on it she had shown her true face. She was flat crazy, and now Wrench believed Thorne had to be even crazier for taking her ass on, after seeing all the shit Sam had pulled over the past few months with Wrench.

  Which brought him right back full-circle and thinking about Crissy. A woman who was as sweet as she seemed, inside and out. A woman who’d put herself out there for someone she thought was a decent neighbor and guy. The chick was pretty, and a fucking phenomenal kisser. Made a man long to try out other activities, those fun horizontal ones and see how good she was at those, too.

  Chapter Nine

  Po’Boy

  He sat on an upturned bucket, boots stretched towards the fire pit in the middle of the back lot behind the Mandeville clubhouse for Incoherent. Eyes turned towards the dancing flames, Po’Boy ignored all movement around him, knowing only members and trusted friends would be here tonight. He didn’t even flinch when a hand landed on his shoulder, the familiar grip pressing heavily as the person maneuvered around the stump to his left. Tipping his head back, he looked up to see Twisted stretch, his shirt hiking up to show belly flesh and an angular hipbone. A month ago just that would have made him insane, and would likely have sent him home to stew about it until he rolled across the causeway looking for relief from the demons in his own head.

  Tonight he found himself able to simply note it and then glance away. It wasn’t he didn’t feel for Twisted, but whatever the emotion was that’d been stoking his fires for so many years had banked back to barely a smolder. Sucking in a hard breath of relief, he caught a strong scent of sweet pot smoke that typically hovered over an IMC party and glanced to his other side. Feet firmly apart, Wildman stood just behind the ring of seating around the fire pit, critically eyeing the ember at the end of the twist he was holding. Without speaking, Po’Boy held out his hand and curled his fingers impatiently, and Wildman grinned, leaning over to pass off the hand-rolled smoke.

  Po’Boy took a long toke, then a second one, and held his breath as he offered it to Twisted, laughing soundlessly as he shook his head, turning down a hit. Sweet dreams tonight. Lips pursed in a slow, controlled exhale, Po’Boy gave it back to Wildman, the entire exercise conducted silently. With a quiet sigh, Po’Boy faced the fire again, recrossing his ankles so the other boot sole was nearest the flames.

  It had been a month since he’d seen Wrench down in New Orleans. A month of wondering. Of expecting things to go sideways any moment. For the first week, not knowing when the accusations would be leveled, waiting for the shoe to drop had been exhausting, constant expectation a sentence would be handed down. The second week had seen him asking around quietly to find Wrench had gone out of town, the CoBos having sent him on a run up East. The third week had been filled with relief as if he’d escaped judgment, thanking his lucky stars Denise and her partner hadn’t been demonstrative in the few minutes Wrench had his eyeballs on them, or things could have been entirely different.

  This past week had been a mix of emotions because first, Wrench still wasn’t back, and Po’Boy couldn’t relax and put it behind him until he knew for certain if the man was going to instigate a play to have an IMC officer call him to the floor or not. And second, it’d been a shitty few weeks because Po’Boy was missing New Orleans. He hadn’t stayed away for an entire month ever, not since he’d first rented the suite, and this self-imposed restriction was killing him. So the past seven days had seen him swinging from paranoid as fuck and afraid to look anyone in the eye, to horny as hell and wanting to hump anything.

  Yesterday he’d found a distraction at least. One of the information trolling lines he’d set following the night of Twisted’s party had begun to pay out. He wasn’t certain yet what he’d hooked, but the line was le
ading him into open water, where the currents were deep. Deuces had been seen in Slidell headed east, which would have him going into Vicar’s territory. Not a surprise, but the man riding in style was, and the pictures Po’Boy had seen put the asshole in a huge SUV all tricked out with gold everything and lighted anything. Pimp-mobile, he snorted at the thought. Definitely wasn’t hard to track and follow. Po’Boy had laughed at the reports received because it seemed it’d be harder to lose the man in such a ride.

  Now to wait, because Deuces had gone beyond where Po’Boy could safely send his brothers.

  Staring at the flames, he remembered the call he’d made a few days ago to the president of another club, a man he liked but didn’t fully trust. Mostly because the man, Retro, had something like X-Ray vision, but for bullshit. His freakish ability meant being as Po’Boy was always on his guard around any MC, he was doubly so around Retro. The ‘Bama Bastards, Retro’s club, were based out of Birmingham, Alabama, a little further east than Po’Boy expected Deuces to go, but still the only asset he could put into play that direction.

  “Retro,” he said as soon as the call connected, “Po’Boy here, man. How ya doin’?”

  Silence, then over shouts in the background he heard, “Po’Boy. Good to hear from you. I’m good, man. Good. Gimme a minute to get private.” Noise in the background swelled and then quietened, and Retro said, “I’m where I can hear ya now. What’s up, man?”