At least shooting smack up my veins would've cut my fuming body a break. I couldn't lose the hard-on turning my cock to steel no matter how many miles I rode, fighting to push Missy outta my mind like a madman stuck on OCD.
How fucked up was I for wanting her to scratch through my clothes on that tense ride home? If she would've gone at it a little harder, a little lower, I would've parked the bike on the side of the road and thrown her to the ground.
Tossing her to the earth and ripping off her pants sounded better than a shot of pure fucking heaven right about now. What I wouldn't give to feel her, fuck her, mark her with my teeth...I hadn't even given her a proper brand yet.
No, she wasn't really my old lady, but damn if I didn't want to make her fuck like one.
Just the thought of claiming that * as mine, stuffing her up to the hilt with my big dick, was the match that lit me on fire. I raced down the highway like an asshole who'd had one too many, weaving in and out the empty lanes, pushing my engine to its limits.
The cold wind couldn't do shit to calm me down. Nothing would. Nothing except ripping her panties off with my bare hands and sinking into that hot, pink, arrogant slit, fisting her hair and grinding my teeth while I fucked her to the earth's core.
Didn't she understand her life and death was in my fucking hands? Christ, I wanted to drive it home, drive it deep, drive it hard and rough 'til she lost control and gushed all over my dick.
If she was gonna keep screaming and snarling in my face, then I wanted to give her a damned good reason to.
My balls were still on fire on the way back, hoping enough time had passed to put her down for the night so I could collapse on the couch like a zombie. I was afraid for what I'd do if I saw her again in this state.
My hands and my cock were done listening to my head for the night. They wanted to send a message one way or another, something she'd never forget, something to tell her this old lady shit wasn't a fucking game.
I stopped off at the liquor store for a six pack and barreled back to the apartment. Place was mercifully empty when I got inside. I chugged the brews fast, letting cheap carbonation and alcohol burn my throat, waiting 'til the booze punched me in the stomach and put me down for the night.
I never asked for any of this shit. I was coming apart a little more day by day, caught between my club and this beautiful chick with the bratty sister, without any room for mistakes that would end in us being buried together.
At some point, I passed out, wondering if I'd wake up and find out it was all a bad dream. But then, I would've had to wake up about five years earlier, about the time my life went to shit.
Missy wouldn't even talk to me the next day. We rode to the clubhouse in stone cold silence for another fun filled day ahead. I'd be hearing about the latest cartel raids while she worked her ass off trying to clean this shithole up and earn the brothers' trust.
I kept an eye out for her in between checking in with Blackjack and Crack. It was no small relief to have them riding my ass about cartel business instead of the girls.
Blackjack was in the garage, probably on his tenth smoke that morning. “Three shipments hit last night on the run to San Diego. Fucked beyond all recognition. That's it, boys. The club won't be making any more hops too close to the border 'til we're confident we own the roads south again.”
“Fuck!” Crack smashed his fists together. “Did you tell the Prez yet?”
“Nope.” Blackjack winked. “That's your job, VP. Don't need to tell you morale's in the shitter too. If Fang finds out, he'll blow the fucking roof off and cancel Lipstick Night tomorrow. And that's if he doesn't send our asses charging into Mexico to get cut to pieces.”
The VP growled, giving me the evil eye. “This is all your bitch's dead daddy's fault, Brass. I fucked up letting you haul those cunts outta here, I swear to fucking God...”
He stepped up. Crack was a total hothead, always waving his dick, remembering the days when he used to be the Prez in Redding before Fang spoiled his fun. I didn't move a muscle, bowing up 'til I was at least a good inch taller than the VP.
“It's not their fault,” I said coldly. “Cancer man was the rat. You've got nothing to the contrary because it doesn't fucking exist. With all due respect, you gotta let this go, Veep. I'll keep them outta our hair, make sure they never talk. Shit, if anybody could bring the dead man back to life and put a bullet in his skull for the shit he's done to this club, I'd be the first in line.”
An obvious lie. I didn't know what the hell to do with anything involving Missy anymore. She made my dick throb in my pants so fucking hard it sucked the blood outta my head. Too hard to think. Maybe so damned hard it pulled the blinders off too, because I was really starting to wonder about the moves my brothers were making.
And doubting my own fucking club was never a good thing.