by Nicole Fox
“There’s a deal going down this afternoon at Nelson and Pike,” he says.
“Why Nelson and Pike?” I ask. “This is with the Oberov family?”
He shrugs a skinny shoulder. “I don’t know why that location, but yes.”
“Seems risky. That’s very near Grave Robbers’ territory. Anything else?”
“Spike is leading the team,” he says.
“Goddamit!” I snap, pounding my fist on the desk. “I specifically told him to back off until all this business with the girl was done.”
“He says he can’t sit around and do nothing all day,” Dex says. “And the girl …”
“What?” I growl.
He gives me a placating hand gesture. “She’s nice,” he says. “That’s all I was gonna say. She’s a good girl, worth keeping claimed, I think.”
“Get the fuck out of my office,” I say. “Stay out of it.”
He mumbles, “Who pissed in your Cheerios?” as he shuffles out. At least he knows how to follow directions.
Thing is, he’s not wrong. I wouldn’t call her nice, per se, but I do like her. More than I should. She’s intelligent, opinionated, sexy as hell … I’m shocked as all get-out to realize that I do like having her around, and not just for sex. I need someone to challenge me, to tell me to get my head out of my ass.
But fuck. I do not need this. I do not want this. I just want shit to settle down so I can be a dad. Run my business. Spike alone is a bag full of shit right now. Having a woman to deal with just adds a little cherry on top
I rub my temples, a fucking monster of a headache brewing. I try calling Spike to tell him to put someone else on the Oberov deal. I don’t want his busted ass fucking things up worse than he already has. He doesn’t answer, so I throw my phone against the wall. Just as it smashes to bits, the door opens and Tanner’s blonde head pops in. Her slim body follows, one hand balancing an obscenely large pile of breakfast pastries.
She kicks the door shut and wanders over to my desk. “What’d that phone ever do to you?” she asks.
“I’ve got three more. I’m apparently known to throw a tantrum or two, every so often.”
She grins, taking a bite of cinnamon roll and then holding out the half-eaten remainder to me. “ I believe that, as the person who woke up to a room full of broken glass,” she says. “Want some?”
I stare, open-mouthed, at this girl who’s literally talking with her mouth full and shoving half-eaten breakfast carbs at me.
“What?” she asks, still with food in her mouth.
I take the pastry and set it on the desk. “You bit off of that.”
“So?” she asks with a shrug, picking it up and taking another bite. “I’m sharing.”
For some reason, I’m turned on by this whole interaction. I adjust my growing dick under the desk. “Need something?”
She sits on the desk, laying the pile of pastries on my newspaper. I eyeball it with one eyebrow raised incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask. “You just put those on my newspaper?”
She flips herself around so she’s sitting facing me, her long legs stretched out on either side of me. “I thought maybe you could use a distraction.”
“With pastries? Not going to happen. I work out too many hours a week to fuck it up with cinnamon and sugar,” I answer.
“Was that a … joke?” she asks.
“No,” I say.
“Oh,” she says, frowning. After a heartbeat she says, “You take yourself too seriously. You should lighten up and have some fun.”
I sit back, folding my arms over my chest. “Are you high or something?”
She laughs. The sound goes straight to my already-alert cock.
“Do you ever smile?” she asks, ignoring my question. “Laugh?”
I consider telling her that’s none of her fucking business. That’s what I would say to anyone else. But instead, I say, “I do. With my daughter.”
Her breath catches. “I … I suppose you would.”
We stare at each other. She cocks her head, a thoughtful expression on her face. After a moment, she scoots forward and finds her way onto my lap. She leans in and kisses me.
I don’t respond at first. This is the last thing I need right now. But then again, her mouth is amazing. Her tongue begs for entry and I allow it, my hands finding the hem of her shirt, pushing under the soft material, splaying across her back.
Our kissing becomes intense, feral. I stand up, pushing her back onto the desk, lifting her shirt and finding her gorgeous tits. I meant it when I told her she had the best tits I’ve ever seen. They’re on the smaller side, but damn, so perfectly shaped. Her nipples are pink and hard. I could spend a whole day just enjoying these tits.
She arches her back up, a soft moan escaping her lips. I work her jeans off of her slender legs, slipping them to the floor while continuing my exploration of her chest, stomach and bare mound. My hands on her inner thighs, I push her legs far apart, burying my face in her folds. She moans again, her hips bucking against me. Two fingers go into her cunt, wet and slick and already pulsing, ready to explode.
I’m ruthless in my assault, wanting nothing more in that moment than to make her come. I have this beautiful, waifish young woman naked and open to me, splayed on my desk like a trophy. I feel … lucky.
Lucky that she was the one bound on my bed. Lucky that she didn’t hate me. Lucky she’s so sexually responsive. Lucky she hasn’t tried to kill me.
And that pisses me off. I should kick her out, tell her to get out of my office, out of my life.
But I don’t, I just pound my fingers into her, bite and suck at her clit, dig my free fingers into her thigh hard enough to leave bruises. And she loves it. She bucks her hips wildly, lifting her legs so I can get more leverage.
When she comes, it’s like a bomb going off, an explosion of energy, and my fingers are suddenly in a vise, trapped by a contracting pussy while she literally stops breathing, stops moving, just rides what seems like an endless wave of pleasure.
When she finally sags back against the desk, she blushes. It’s almost like she’s embarrassed for coming so hard. I hate her so much right now. Only because I want her so badly. I hate her for not making me hate her.
I kiss her again, slow and thorough, pulling off my pants, climbing up onto the desk, mounting her. Right there, on top of cinnamon pastries and newspapers and written reports, I fuck Tanner Williams, recent virgin and Grave Robbers princess. I fuck her like my life depends on it, her legs up over my shoulders, her pussy clenching around my cock, her tongue swirling in my mouth, her arms looped around my neck.
When I come, she comes right along with me, our eyes locked, some unspoken emotion blooming between us.
I withdraw immediately. “Fuck,” I snap.
She sits up, her face a mask of confusion. “What?”
“I have work to do. You’re a distraction,” I say. “Get dressed and go find someone else to bother.”
She pinches her mouth to one side, disapproving, but slips off the desk, walking her beautiful, naked ass into my office bathroom. A few minutes later, she wanders back out, pulling her hair into a topknot. She pulls on her pants and shirt and grabs her pastries, smashed as they are.
“You know what?” she asks.
I sigh and give her a bored look.
“You push people away,” she says. “I get it. You lost people you care about.”
“Don’t act like you know a thing about me, sweetheart,” I say. “You wanted to be claimed. You’re claimed. I’ve fucked you good and hard and everyone will smell the wolf’s scent now. But I’ve got to get back to work now, so go find some other way to spend your time.”
“You act like you don’t care, but you do,” she says. “You kissed me. I don’t think you kiss people when you’re just fucking them, when they don’t matter.”
I roll my eyes.
“Nice,” she says. “Be careful or your face might stick like that.”
�
��Go, go,” I say, shooing her toward the door.
She flips me off and takes a huge bite of pastry. “Fine. But we’re talking about this later.”
“No, we’re not,” I say. “Beat it.”
She leaves and I will never admit this to a soul, even on threat of death, but I smile when the door shuts. A real, bonafide smile. And I keep smiling. Until one of my guys rushes in.
“Spike’s been shot.”
# # #
Tanner
I change into my bikini and head to the pool. Almost nobody uses it during the day, though it’s a party spot at night, when all of Griz’ brotherhood relaxes a bit.
They get drunk, push each other into the pool, fornicate … It’s a weird place between day and night. During the day, it’s all business. People doing jobs, making reports, riding in and out of the property. They obviously don’t bring whatever they buy and sell into the compound, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a bunch of debauchery. I know at least that much from my father. He was very careful to make sure I wasn’t at the club after sundown. Always said guys get antsy and use the evenings to fight and fuck. Guess it’s no different here.
I float around on a swan-shaped floatie, soaking in the sun, falling asleep in the heat. I’m not sure how long I stay like that, but the sound of chaos wakes me up right quick.
Guys are running around like crazy, some pulling on bulletproof vests, some loading weapons. A car flies down the gravel path toward the garage. Shortly behind it, a medical vehicle kicks up dust behind it.
Paddling to the edge of the pool, I peer at the commotion. From the black car, two guys pull a body. A … dead body? No, he’s shaking his head. I climb out of the pool and grab a towel, padding over toward the action. At the last minute, I dive behind the garage, thinking maybe it’s best if I’m not seen during all this business.
As I peer out for a look, I see it’s Spike who’s injured, a huge blood stain spreading across his upper thigh. He’s pale, doesn’t look good. I hear him saying something about an ambush as someone from the medical vehicle hops out and advises him that he should go to the hospital. As a crowd gathers, Griz appears, hands in fists at his sides, jaw clenched, eyes hard and furious.
“What the fuck is this?” he demands.
One of his guys, an older, burly-bearded guy, says, “Fuckin’ GR was there at the pickup. They demanded restitution for the girl. The Oberovs tried to get out of the middle of it but one of the GR shot off a weapon. It was mayhem.”
Griz stomps over to where Spike’s pants are being cut off by a paramedic. “He gonna live?”
The paramedic says, “He will. Looks like the bullet path has an entrance and an exit. No major arterial damage. We’ll patch him up but he should probably go to the hospital.”
“Fuck that,” Spike growls, sweat beading on his forehead. “I’ve had worse.”
“You’re gonna have worse when I get finished with you, you arrogant piece of shit.” Griz says. “I specifically ordered you off of club business. You disobeyed a direct order.”
“A little bloodshed ain’t never hurt nobody,” Spike says, trying to smile.
“Really.” Griz says flatly. “Well, it hurts our business. What happened to the deal?”
Spike doesn’t have anything to say about this. He turns his head away as the paramedic continues cleaning and stitching the wound.
Another club member says, “Oberov says he’ll go find another club for this round. He’s spooked. And Spike shot a Robber. Guy’s dead.”
“Fuck!” Griz yells. “You fucking blew the deal and got yourselves shot up, and now you’re adding the little detail that you killed someone? What the fuck kind of business do we run here? You think we’re just some gang, all random and picking fights every day? No. We’re motherfucking professionals and you all walked right into that bullshit. Fucking idiots.”
Some of the guys hang their heads. From the ground, Spike says, “The guys believe we need to take more risks to get more rewards. We need to be pillaging some shit, taking what we want. We want more territory? Take it. We want more women? Take ’em. Fuck being professional. We need to be fucking pirates.”
Griz looks like he might blow a gasket. His tan face goes red, his teeth bared like an animal as he gets into Spike’s face.
“We are not—not—pirates. We are a goddamned motorcycle club. We all pay dues. We all have a job to do. That job is not to get in a street fight with a rival gang in a residential neighborhood in the middle of the goddamn, motherfucking day!”
The paramedic finishes, looking uncomfortable. He stands and two club members help Griz’ vice president to his feet. A second paramedic brings a pair of crutches to Spike before turning to Griz.
“How do you want to handle this?” he asks.
Griz looks at him. “Go find Lenny and have him get you some cash for the follow. Have the official bill sent to the PO Box as usual. And thank you for your discretion, as always.”
As the medical vehicle pulls away, Griz turns to the large group of club members gathered. He says, “You all got something to say?”
At first, no one speaks. But then the burly guy says, “Boss, I ain’t meanin’ no disrespect, but do you think maybe you ought to step down? Just for a bit?”
Griz narrows his eyes and the guy steps back from whatever he sees there.
“Who built this club, Hank?” he asks, deadly calm, like a pit viper waiting to strike.
“You did, boss,” he says quietly, shifting on his feet.
“What’s that?” Griz asks, stepping closer, too close.
“You did, sir,” Hank says, looking at his feet.
Griz grabs him by the neck and pushes him up off of his feet. “I built this fucking club. It is mine. Not Spike’s. Not yours. Mine. I make the fucking rules of engagement. You follow them. You pay your dues; you do your work; you get paid. That is it.”
He tosses the guy like he’s weightless and turns to the rest of the group, making eye contact with as many as he can. “Anyone else got something to say?”
“You’re wrapped up in personal shit,” Spike announces. Your kid. Your sister. You’re hardly here. And now, you’re wrapped up in that little Grave Robbers cunt. We’re left to do the work on our own and we want to do it differently.”
“We,” Griz says, his voice lifeless. “Well, here’s the deal. I don’t give a royal fuck who agrees or doesn’t agree with the way I work. This is still my fucking club and my fucking rules. So the ‘we’ you speak of can turn its colors in right now, or get the fuck in line.”
“You’ve done nothing with the gift I gave you,” Spike says. “You in love with that little bitch? That why you’re not using her to get more out of the Robbers? They shot us up today, ran our partner away. You ain’t gonna do nothing about that?”
“It’s just sex,” Griz says. “You gave her to me to claim; I claimed her.”
“Well, then, you won’t mind if I have a taste, then. I’d like to have those long legs around my fat waist,” Spike challenges.
Griz is in his face faster than if he’d been on wheels. He jams his fist into Spike’s wounded leg, sending his second to the ground with a howl.
“Don’t fuck with my stuff,” he says to Spike. “ The rest of you can turn your shit in, if you think like this asshole. Otherwise, get the fuck back to work.”
That’s the end of it. Griz leaves Spike on the ground, looking every bit like he’s about to pass out. The guys mostly dissipate, headed off to follow orders. A few mill around in pairs or small groups, talking. I think he might lose some guys today, based on the way they hang back and look at him as he walks away. And though Griz acts like he doesn’t care, I know that seeing guys leave based on how he leads will cut him.
I take the cue to leave, sneaking away quietly, finding my way back to Griz’ bedroom where I lock the door and crawl into the tub, ready to soak away the tension I felt watching all of that go down. Griz makes good on his offer to send someone to give me a ma
ssage, and I spend more than an hour getting kneaded and pounded into a total state of relaxation. At this point, I’m wondering if being a prisoner isn’t so bad after all.
Around dinnertime, I expect to see Griz but he doesn’t return. I unlock the door to head down to the dining room, only to be immediately intercepted by Spike, who shoves me back into the room, a knife pointed at my throat. He kicks the door shut and forces me backward until my back is against the wall. The knifepoint digs into my skin.
I refuse to cry or beg. This jerk gets off on that stuff. Instead, I spit in his face.
He smirks. “That’s cute. Bring it on, you little slut.”