"Long day," I say. I don't give her anything else—if I do, she'll ask too many questions. She and Chief didn't have the best relationship for a few reasons. Him leaving her mother for her stepmother, Barbara, left a tear in their father-daughter bond. But what created the furthest distance between them was that Elle never understood that club business wasn't any of her business. It's only been a few times that I've had to remind her that I don't shoot the shit about my brothers. Period. But even a few times is a few too many. So instead, I reach around to her ass and give it a squeeze. She's soft and supple, and the purr that escapes her lips is enough to get my dick hard. There's nothing better than a nice quick fuck at the end of the rough day.
When I slide my hand into the leg hole of her panties and assault her clit with my thumb, she grips my shoulders tighter. With my free hand, I undo my belt, pop open the button of my jeans, and slide down the zipper. She's quick to grab my dick through my boxers and slide her hand from the base to the tip and back again. It's a matter of minutes until we are both grunting and moaning. Just before she falls over the edge, she uses my shoulders as leverage and lifts herself up. And then slowly slides down my needy cock. I hold her at the waist to guide her movements. I let the day and all its bullshit wash away with the blissful fucking feeling of hot, wet pussy.
Nothing else on this planet can make all of the bad shit disappear like pussy can. And pussy like Elle is hard to come by. Gorgeous fucking light brown skin, dark eyes, dark hair, and a whole mess of attitude. But no drama, no expectations, no commitments. Perfect fucking pussy. I'm not as young as I used to be and the exertion of holding her up like this begins to wear on me. All the booze and bud through the years has taken its toll despite my time in the gym. I suck in a deep breath and, even though I wasn't all that close to coming, it's like my orgasm is fast tracked and I'm losing myself in the soapy, sweet air around me.
Only, it's not Elle. It's Holly that I’m picturing in all her perfect fucking infuriating glory.
Chapter 16
THE FLOOR CREAKS beneath my feet as I make my way into the small cabin that we use as a safe-house. Junior’s been here for weeks, and at some point we’re going to have to see about moving him, but a few of the guys won’t sign off on it yet. It’s moved on from being a safety issue to a personal vendetta. I’m all for righting wrongs, but eventually something’s got to give. This is just one more thing that’s splintering the club from the inside out, and if I were the worrying kind, I’d fear for our future. We’re a brotherhood. If we don’t have each other’s backs, then we don’t got shit and these patches that I’d lay down my life for don’t mean a goddamn thing.
The cabin is long and narrow, reminiscent of a shotgun style house. The kitchen was long ago gutted, and the bathroom is nothing more than a half-working sink and toilet. Junior’s lucky that he’s family—even though we haven’t let him out of this shithole, he’s enjoyed daily home-cooked meals from Ruby. Like the one I have in my hands right now—fried chicken with mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob all wrapped up in aluminum foil and put inside a plastic Tupperware container that fits nicely in my saddlebags. I don’t usually play Meals-On-Wheels, but Duke’s been bugging me to give the kid a chance. He seems to think the intel the kid has is legit and that he really is interested in helping us.
In the corner of the room, Junior sits on the old stained mattress that we’ve used for interrogation more times than I can count. His legs are bent, and his arms are slung over his knees. His body jumps slightly at the sound of my entrance, but he keeps his head steady. After he recovered from the shit-kicking that Ian gave him, his entire demeanor changed. When I first caught sight of Ruby’s boy, he was fucking manic. He kept screaming, “He’ll kill her!” and fighting us at every turn. He wasn’t very cooperative during his recoup, either. But since then my brothers haven’t reported anything but cooperation. This could mean he either wants to help us, or, despite his declarations, he really does want his sister dead.
“Dinner,” I say and toss the closed Tupperware container at him. He responds quickly and catches it with little issue. His large hands tear away at the lid, and he dives right in. With the cob of corn in his hands and a mouth full of corn, he swallows then looks up at me. I grab the chair near the mattress and sit down.
“Who’s been making these meals?” he asks. To the best of my knowledge, he’s never asked where his food was coming from, so this is progress.
“Ruby,” I say and leave it at that. He doesn’t press. He just nods and goes back to eating. It’s not my place to tell him that she’s his mother—not that he’d even believe me anyway. Shit, if I hadn’t known about this kid from the beginning, I might be doubting it, too. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the day Jim told me about his woman’s fucked-up past and the babies she had to leave behind. Ruby had only been in town a few months and hadn’t let Jim in yet. He’d said his promise to protect her kids was the only reason she gave him a chance. That was back when Layla had just started fucking up again, and Chey was barely two years old. That night when I got home, I woke Chey up and held her for what seemed like hours. I had to remind myself of how fragile she was at that age so that I didn’t squish her.
“Heard you got some theories,” I say. He finishes off the corn and tosses the cob into the bag.