Every Last Reason

by Christa Wick

  Delia's mouth quirked when I mentioned emotions or the faint possibility that I possessed them. I couldn't blame her. I had been a robot around her this last year. Hell, I had been a robot since my return to Montana. I had watched all four of my brothers walk down the aisle with the women they loved. Through all of those weddings, I had been thinking about Delia.

  Delia the wife.

  Delia the widow.

  Delia who haunted my dreams.

  "Lindy is worried about you," she said. "Terrified, I think."

  I blanked the words out, scribbled in new ones. My instincts had told me to stay away and I should have. I had to keep a clear mind until all of my targets were in cuffs or body bags.

  "There's not anything I can tell Mama that will alleviate her concerns," I said. "Seeing her would be counterproductive."

  "So why are you here?"

  Damn. Her whisper vibrated with fear. I wanted to fold her into my arms, kiss and caress her until she stopped worrying. For a few glorious minutes up in my mother's library, I knew I had made Delia forget everything.

  "We didn't part on the best of terms," I answered.

  I had tried to scribble over some of the details of that last visit. Her anger I edited to concern. But I couldn't get past the robotic tone she had used on her way out the door. And I couldn't edit out my own mistakes. If only I had warned her about the unit tattoo or been mindful about not letting her see it—or if I hadn't immediately stuck my head up my ass in trying to explain it.

  Stepping closer, I saw that Delia had been crying recently. I reached out, brushed the tip of my finger across the prominence of her cheekbone.

  "I'll make it right with the school," I promised. "You don't need to worry about that."

  "No…"

  I read her desire to retreat. She couldn't. She had come into the room, shut the door and braced her back against it. There was nowhere she could move without first encountering me.

  Grabbing the ends of her sash, I looped each side once around a hand.

  "Come sit with me," I coaxed, walking backward, working the ends of the sash like I would the reins of a skittish mare.

  "Why?"

  "Because you won't tell me what's wrong."

  She let me tug her, even placed her hands on my shoulders when we reached the edge of the bed. Releasing the sash, I crawled onto the mattress, braced my back against the wall and grabbed a pillow.

  Placing the pillow along one side of my chest, I patted the material.

  A sad smile drifted across Delia's face.

  I remembered the movies we had watched together in Boston. Caiden asleep, the two of us sitting on the couch, our bodies close but a pillow always between us. I could have been her brother or her gay best friend, except I was neither. I was a heterosexual male already in love with her even though I knew it was wrong.

  Pushing back the past, I patted the pillow again.

  "It was okay before," I said. "Why not now?"

  "We were friends before," she answered, gray eyes flashing with the urge to retreat. "We aren't anymore."

  All the little aches still running through my body from the beating I took after the cage fight flared. The kick to the kidney, the stomped shoulder, the bruised jaw only starting to fade, the needle mark…

  Couldn't scribble over the past, couldn't edit it. Not permanently, at least. I could throw on a second skin as easily as changing clothes. The ability was part of why I had shot up the ranks at the Bureau. But I couldn't undo how I had abandoned Delia or the shitty way I went about putting her in my past.

  "I didn't want to be just your friend," I confessed. "But that's all I could be. And I didn't want to burden you with the knowledge of how I felt."

  I patted the pillow one last time.

  "Please, Delia."

  She acquiesced with a blink. Her body folded onto the bed. She curled against me, one side of her torso pressed against the pillow. I wrapped one arm around her, then the other.

  Shoulders shaking, she buried her face against the pillow.

  I stroked the blond curls. "Why are you crying, baby?"

  "I told you to stay safe."

  I nodded, realized she couldn't see it because she was still hiding from me.

  "I will," I promised.

  She lifted red-rimmed eyes, stared at me for a second before her face collapsed. "That's the last thing I said to Ken."

  Delia started to pull away.

  I tightened my grip.

  "So say something different," I coaxed, hands moving to capture the sides of Delia's beautiful face and force her to look at me. "Tell me to come back to you."

  I watched her lips quiver, watched her eyes close and shut me out. Moving closer, still holding her immobile, I covered her mouth with mine.

  She was slow to open, but she did. I kissed her with a delicate but relentless probing. A slow thrust, a nibble, the feel of my hands against her face, then down to her shoulders, neurons firing, muscles relaxing, a sigh on her lips when I released my hold.

  "Tell me," I repeated.

  Her gray eyes opened. I stared into them. She wasn't studying me, wasn't evaluating. She was accepting. I knew the feeling was fleeting, I had too much to make up for. But that was another day's worry.

  "Tell me, Delia."

  She moved closer, a smile trembling on her lips.

  "Come back to me, Emerson."

  Holding her gaze, I nodded. The back of my fingers stroked against her full cheek.

  "I will, baby. I promise."

  My fingers moved to her neck. From there, they trailed down to her collarbone. The earlier tremor returned to her shoulders, but its nature was different. If she believed what I had just said, then she knew what I had been hiding all those years.

  I dipped between the robe's lapels and located the buttons on her nightgown. It took undoing two before I could slide my hand in and palm her breast. She pushed against my touch, draped her thigh over mine.

  Keeping my leg wedged between hers, I rolled until Delia was beneath me.

  "The door," she rasped.

  I pulled back, reached an arm out and engaged the lock. Returning to Delia's lush body, I pushed the robe and gown up as one piece. Her beautiful face disappeared for a moment as I tugged the clothing from her body, only the panties still on.

  "Take them off," I ordered, rolling onto my back. "You know exactly what I want to do to you."

  Lips parting with a needy moan, a quiver rolled through her.

  "Too much, too soon?" I asked, reaching between her thighs and offering a few strokes of incentive. "I really want to taste you again. I want to fill you with my cock, too. But we have to wait."

  I omitted the cold fact that it could be our last time together. She didn't need to know how much danger loomed in front of me. Hopefully, it would all be over before she had the slightest inkling.

  She didn't answer with words. Moving in jerky blocks, she stripped the underwear off but froze once she was free of the material.

  "Straddle my hips," I said, arms moving into position.

  As she settled atop me, I slid one hand between her thighs and the other up to one thick nipple. I rubbed, pinched, and pulled at both locations until her inhibitions began to melt away. My fingers dipped inside her pussy, tickled the sweet spot just inside. Her head rolled back, her flush lips parting as she fought to contain a moan.

  "Damn, I want to hear you."

  Delia shook her head, pussy dancing around as she forced my fingers deeper. Reaching behind her, she slid my zipper down. Once more, I wasn't thinking about what she would discover beyond the thick cock she had made painfully hard. Then her eyes flashed open and she gasped.

  She lifted, evading my attempt to keep her in place as she reached between her legs, grabbed my cock and examined the piercings.

  "Oh, my…" Sucking her bottom lip in, she studied the ladder of three frenum rods on the underside of the shaft, the tubes of metal kept from sliding out by metal balls at each end. "Doub
le-aught gauge, I'd say."

  "Correct, but, uhm…how…"

  Waiting for me to finish the question, Delia laughed.

  "You wouldn't believe what an EMT sees. And, right now, you really don't want to know how my job and piercings like this intersected."

  My body reacted with a visceral squeeze, the cock bobbing upward once more. Delia wrapped her hand around the shaft, seeming to revel in its thickness as she held it far enough from my skin to read the tattoo centered on my groin.

  Bitches Sit Here

  "If only," she sighed, any hint of shyness leaving her now that she held my exposed cock in her hand.

  But then she did exactly what I didn't want her to do. She rubbed the crown against her clit. It was safe, medically, but the contact ate through all but the last of my self control.

  "Lift," I rasped, seizing both her wrists so she could no longer tease the shaft and tip against her slick labia and thereby tempt me to dip in.

  When she obeyed, I slid lower until my head was between her full thighs and the swollen outer labia were spread by the position she was forced to maintain.

  Releasing her wrists, I took a breast in each hand, squeezing and tugging as I delivered a tentative lick along the length of her pussy, starting at her core and ending at the top of her pouting clit.

  Delia's spine straightened. She wrapped one arm around her head and shoved a knuckle from the opposing hand between her teeth, biting down as she began to grind against me.

  Releasing a breast, I worked a fat triangle of fingers into her pussy. Sexy whimpers gurgled in her throat. She punished the breast I had abandoned, pinching the nipple, pulling it taut. The dance of her hips became more erratic as I sucked and thrust harder.

  She fell forward, palms planted against the mattress. I strained my gaze upward, found her biting into the flesh of her arm as she bounced back and forth against my mouth. Whatever inhibitions she had held about the position or the location were banished.

  Delia was going to ride my mouth and fingers to the end, and the end was approaching like a freight train.

  Bouncing faster, she groaned against her flesh. Her nails clawed at the bedding. I vibrated my fingers back and forth, twisting and thrusting as I did. I licked, sucked and nibbled at her click, bulldozing the fat pearl protruding from beneath the hood.

  Damn, she was responsive. Responsive and so fucking sexy. Pre-cum pearled against the head of my cock to drip against my stomach in a slow leak one bead at a time.

  "Yes," she softly gasped, rearing up, both arms curled around her head as she thrust against me.

  Another "yes," this one even more breathless, and then she locked up, stiff and shaking as she sucked one breath in after another. I froze with her, mouth suctioned to her clit and fingers buried as deep as I could go, the muscles of her tight pussy the only part of her still working, still straining.

  Delia exhaled in a rush then collapsed on her side. I pulled even with her, fingers still teasing below as my tongue swept into her mouth. One hand seized my cock, the other gently cupped my balls. She tugged me up and down, reaching once between her wet thighs for lubrication.

  Breaking the kiss, I sucked at her neck, pumped against her hand.

  How many times had I entertained a fantasy like this. All those hours spent on her couch, the pillow between us. I had thought about reaching between her legs, thought about her reaching beneath the pillow.

  "Yes, Delia," I scratched out, both of us working to bring the other to climax. "Fuck, baby…yes…"

  One last image, a fantasy flash of her lips working their way down my length, and I exploded. Her sharp gasps and tremors matched my own, her pussy flooding my fingers with fresh cream.

  I could have stayed like that forever, could have drowned in the sticky afterglow. But my phone chirped, the incoming message clear.

  I had to return to Billings.

  The time to take down the Steel Tide had finally arrived.

  15

  Delia

  That the bed was a bit of a mess, smelled of sex, and I had to find a discreet way to deal with it, floated at the periphery of my thoughts. All of my thoughts were like that—floaty and amorphous. I remembered the first time I had gone beyond heavy petting without actually surrendering my virginity. That had been in a car and I hadn't climaxed. I also hadn't been in love with the guy.

  This time, I held no doubt. I had already started loving Emerson when he lived in Boston. I couldn't admit it to myself back then. Part of me would always be ashamed to admit it. But why else had I taken Emerson's earlier abandonment so hard? Why, after he left for Montana, hadn't I reached out before or after Ken's death?

  Getting up from the bed, I shook my head. I couldn't think about Ken. I loved him, would always love him. But his dedication to the Army had made me a widow of sorts long before there was a body and a coffin. I had stayed faithful, both in my actions and in the emotions I allowed to rise to the surface for examination. But, at times, I had been lonely beyond measure, my daily life defined by Caiden's needs and an absent husband.

  Now I had a whole new set of emotions, mine and Emerson's, to deal with. I was out of practice, unsure of almost everything.

  Damn, was I unsure!

  Drawing a deep breath, I centered my mind. There were things to do, starting with a shower and a covert load of laundry. After that, I would have to find other diversions to keep my mind off the text message Emerson had received.

  I had no idea how I would survive the next twenty-four hours.

  Especially if the man who had just professed his love to me didn't.

  16

  Emerson

  I returned to the clubhouse after leaving Delia. With only half the number of bodies that were usually crammed into it, the building felt abandoned. Mongo informed me that Junker had evicted the sweetbutts and any bikers not on the run the following day, then unplugged the vending machines loaded with free beer.

  "Brothers will be back tomorrow right before we leave," Mongo said. "Somebody's gotta guard the place while we're gone and help us celebrate when we get back. Am I right?"

  Bumping fists with Mongo, I agreed. I had anticipated that most members of the chapter not on the illicit run would be present at the clubhouse. Federal Marshalls and local SWAT teams would sweep into the clubhouse as soon as Maddy gave the signal that the trade of guns and drugs for cash had been made and both the bikers and militia were in custody. Before that, cell phone reception would be jammed.

  "Line up, brothers!" Junker shouted, swaggering in with a gallon-sized baggie filled with small, white methamphetamine pills from the same batch they were selling to the militia.

  I watched as all the other men in the room hurried over, their hands extended.

  Junker counted out ten pills per man.

  "Save some for the ride," he bellowed before zipping the baggie shut.

  The men popped their first pill. Some immediately popped two despite Junker's warning. Finished swallowing, Mongo picked up a cue stick and poked his riding buddy.

  "Rack 'em so I can beat your ass."

  I settled into a corner and closed my eyes.

  Morning came after very little sleep for me. For the bikers, there was no sleep at all. When they started to feel tired, they popped another pill.

  Amped and carrying, I thought as I slid a tactical vest on then covered it with my leather jacket.

  Junker sneered. "Sure you don't want a diaper, too? No one wants to smell it when mama's boy shits his pants."

  "They're militia," I said, checking the load on my 9mm. "They'll be wearing vests and carrying AR-15s."

  I looked around the room, sizing up the out-of-shape bikers with their bloodshot eyes.

  "You sure you don't want to give your enforcer a day pass?" I asked.

  Confusion twisted Junker's lined face.

  Mongo coughed lightly then said, "He's talking about Hamburger."

  Junker giggled. "Yeah, Hamburger's not in any shape to enforce anything
."

  I didn't ask for clarification. Given the new nickname for Hatchet, the biker was dead or nearly so. I would find out later. As the chapter's Enforcer, if Hatchet was alive and could be kept that way, he could become the perfect informer on past crimes. He certainly had motivation by that point to turn his back on the brothers who had so casually abandoned him.

  Trying not to think too far ahead, I tucked the 9mm in the holster clipped to the back of my jeans. I attached four more magazines to the tactical vest then smoothed the jacket down to erase the bulges.

  Junker poked at my chest.

  "You sure you're not in the militia?"

  "Soldiering isn't a game. Those fucks think it is."

  The unit tattoo just below my back belt line started to itch. A reminder, perhaps, that I had never served.

  "Where's the van at?" I asked after a glance at my watch.

  "None of your fucking business," Junker growled. "This is my deal, not yours."

  I returned the growl, months of building antagonism against the man making it deeper and more feral than the pathetic rumble in Junker's voice.

  "Until I get paid and get the hell out of here, it's my business, too," I snapped back.

  "Deal doesn't go down unless they see him," Mongo reminded his club president.

  Turning to me, Junker slapped on a fake smile.

  "Where ya running to when this is all over?"

  "Baja," I answered. "Probably Cabo for a week of getting drunk and letting college girls lick Jello shots off my dick. Then deep sea fishing."

  Closing my eyes for a second, I imagined a boat, Delia on the deck, blond hair whipping around her beautiful face.

  Another itchy, scratchy flare shot through the tattoo.

  Junker slapped me on the back. "So close you can smell the salt air and pussy, huh?"

  I nodded. Junker lifted his hand, whipped his finger in the air, his voice booming through the clubhouse.

  "Roll Tide!"

  17

  Emerson