Patriot (Dark Falcons Book 3)

by Em Petrova

  When he pushed under the band of her bra and found her straining nipples, he pinched each. She muffled a cry and kissed him all the more. He started to walk her into her actual campsite and off the trail that anybody could come along and see them. The need to conceal her from anybody’s view burned hotter than the campfire they’d sat around together.

  Swirling his fingertip around and around each hardened nipple, he drew on her lips. She came onto tiptoe again, straining against him, rocking with a need he felt building inside her.

  Tearing from the kiss, he moved to her throat, kissing that tiny spot he’d seen when she unbuttoned her coat and then down to her collarbones. When he popped one of her breasts from the cup of her bra and lifted it to his lips, she sank her fingers into his hair on a gasp.

  “Patriot!”

  Jesus, hearing his name falling from her lips shouldn’t give him such a thrill. He needed to get out more. Maybe date someone.

  Or take this woman who urged him on with tiny squeaks as he sucked her nipple into his mouth. He drew on it lightly at first and then with more insistence. His cock throbbed behind his fly, aching hard and ready to go.

  “Oh my God,” she rasped out as he grazed her nipple with his teeth. “I’ve never…”

  He froze at her uncompleted sentence. Two heartbeats passed and he raised his head. Looking into her eyes, hazy with passion, he asked, “Never what?”

  She drew in a shuddering breath. “Never had a man touch me this way. I…”

  The band around his cock moved upward to cinch in both lungs. “Aarica?”

  “I’m a virgin.” The words tumbled from her lips, but it took him a moment to understand the meaning.

  Fuck, he’d been toying with a virgin. About to take her in a fucking tent. He would have too.

  What an asshole.

  He started to release her, but she held him tighter around the neck. Reluctant to lift one fingertip from her body, he stared into her eyes. “How did a woman your age get to be a virgin?”

  She shrugged. “Farm girl. Five older cousins running everyone off.”

  Damn. He couldn’t touch her. Stealing her innocence in a campground with the idea of never seeing her again would make him the biggest dickhead on the planet.

  This time he peeled his fingers off her and stepped back. “I can’t touch you, baby.”

  Her eyelids fluttered over those big eyes that grabbed him by the guts in the first place. She dropped her head, giving him a view of the top again. And again, that protective surge drove him to envelop her in his arms once more.

  A cry left her as he bore her toward the tent, picnic table, the ground—fuck, anyplace would do.

  “Just kiss me.” The roughened plea in her tone set him on fire and awakened him all in three little words.

  Capturing her lips, he took up where he left off, brushing her nipples into tight peaks until she writhed and then he inched his hands down her small waist to the button of her jeans. He paused a moment, but she urged him on by flipping her tongue over his.

  His cock pounded with need, and he might want to take her in the raunchiest and most primal of ways, but he was man enough to step away from that mentally. That didn’t mean he couldn’t pleasure her, though.

  He popped the button, slid down the zipper and then breached the lacy band of her panties. When he eased his hand inside and located the slick, scorching heat of her pussy, his knees damn near buckled.

  “Patriot! Yes!” She shook when he teased up her seam and found the tight knot of nerves that made her scream. All he could do was kiss her to trap the noises inside as he teased that bud again and again. What he wouldn’t give to shove a finger inside her but he wouldn’t claim her virginity this way.

  He toggled her clit under his fingertip. She rocked her hips and scrabbled at his spine. When she tensed, he had to wonder if she knew what would happen in the next second, if she’d ever given herself an orgasm.

  She gave one last rock of her hips and then let go. It seemed she knew exactly what would happen, because she took his mouth for her own and kissed the hell out of him while she came on his fingers.

  Chapter Two

  As Patriot rolled up to the clubhouse, the loud music met him before the guys did. He smiled and shook his head. They had their party on already. Unbelievable. In a short time, the club had morphed from a few guys sitting around a garage on lawn chairs talking about a brotherhood of old friends to a distinct lifestyle complete with leather, patches and more people milling around than ever.

  He parked his bike on the corner next to Tank’s. Before he removed his helmet and swung his leg over the motorcycle, one of the honeys was on him.

  “Patriot. Where you been, sweetie? I missed you this weekend.” She ran her long nails over his chest.

  He stepped away and tried not to scowl in complete disgust. Some of the honeys were better than others—just looking for a place to call home and a family within the club. But others, such as this one named Rochelle, gunned hard for that patch so the Dark Falcons would take care of her forever.

  The man who took Rochelle on would be sorry within a month. It sure as hell wouldn’t be him.

  Without a glance in her direction, he strode toward the clubhouse. She followed along. “Were you away for work?” she asked.

  “No.” He opened the door and wasn’t so much of an asshole that he wouldn’t allow a woman to pass through first. She did with a coy smile that told him she read far more into the gesture than he meant.

  The instant his boots crossed the threshold, chairs were scraped back and his brothers shouted his name. Tank reached him first, thumping him on the back. Diesel bro-hugged him.

  “How were the mountains?” Tank’s question sounded innocent enough, but the concern in his eyes left Patriot aware that Dixon had filled the guys in on the situation.

  He focused on the question—the mountains. Sleeping rough sucked. He’d eaten much better food in his life. But he hadn’t gotten Aarica’s soft moans out of his head for more than five minutes at a time since laying hands on her.

  He hadn’t seen her again after that night either. While he told himself he wouldn’t go looking, he did and learned she’d taken off early Saturday morning to start a new job.

  “The mountains were good.”

  “Man, we gotta have a group trip soon.” Tank tossed him a grin.

  Some of the other guys moved in to say their hellos. He looked through the gap in bodies to see Dixon waiting in the wings. It was clear the president wanted a word.

  Patriot lifted his chin in acknowledgement, and got a head tilt toward the rear room in return. Dixon swung for the door of the meeting space, and Patriot wove through the group to follow.

  When he stepped inside, the rest of the officers, the core of the Dark Falcons, flooded in behind him. They took their respective seats around the big table. He rested his forearms on the oiled wood that he’d spent hours creating for the club. Each smooth inch of wood he had worked with his own hands, and it felt good to give something to the club.

  That only left him feeling disgusted about the other thing he’d brought on the club—trouble with the law.

  Dixon circled to the head of the table and leaned back in his seat to survey the guys. Tank positioned himself at his right hand, with Patriot at his left. Down the line, three more men took up each side of the table, all holding different roles within the ranks. Tiny gears all well-oiled and working together to keep their club running without a miss, and they were growing by the month.

  Dixon settled his gaze on Patriot. “I filled the guys in.”

  This shit storm was definitely a step away from their origins and code of the MC.

  He stared at the table a moment, chest tight. Each and every brother stood with him, and that knowledge made it difficult to breathe. He nodded.

  “We’re with ya, Patriot,” Rio spoke up from opposite him. The guy clenched a fist and held it up as if they were bumping knuckles. Though the wide oak slab of t
able rendered that impossible, he raised his fist in return.

  “The guys want to know more of the story. I only shared some of it.” Dixon’s expression didn’t read as accusatory. He was the same old friend Patriot had played football with for the Mersey Falcons high school team.

  “Give it to us straight, Patriot. We got you,” Diesel added, slicking his longish hair into the swoop that rode over his forehead.

  Sitting forward, Patriot pressed his fists together. “I did a job for a couple named Cliff. They wanted a normal contract for a garage with utility space. Concrete poured sidewalk. Nothing major. We were in and out in the timeframe I told them. But about a week after we pulled out, they called me to say they had some things missing from their place.”

  “What things?” Diesel rubbed at his trim beard now.

  “Jewelry I guess. Mrs. Cliff had a ring from her grandmother taken. And some cash.”

  “How much cash we talkin’?” Dixon asked.

  Patriot leveled his gaze at him. “They say three grand.”

  Rio blew out a whistle. “Not many keep that kinda cash layin’ around.”

  “No shit,” Patriot responded.

  “So they think you stole it.”

  He shifted his shoulders. The weight of his leather coat grounded him. “Me or my crew.”

  “Is that possible?” one of the others pressed.

  He shook his head. “We never had access to the house besides to turn off the power and wire the new electricity feeding the garage and utility room into the box. And I did that myself.”

  “So it looks as though you’re the thief.” Dixon’s rough tone reflected the fury building behind his eyes.

  “Yeah, or I permitted access. But there’s more.”

  The guys grew silent again, all eyes on him.

  “A second client is missing a bike.”

  Across from him, Diesel’s brows shot up. “A motorcycle?”

  “Yeah.” The wood grain on the surface of the table wavered in his vision.

  “Fuck, that looks bad.” Diesel tapped a blunt fingertip on the table.

  “What kinda bike?” Tank asked.

  “A fuckin’ Harley.”

  Dixon blew out a breath. “That looks even worse on us. We got at least ten parked in front of the club at all times.”

  “Shiiit,” one of the guys at the end drawled.

  Patriot turned his head toward the brother. “Look, I know it’s not the Dark Falcons. But the sheriff will be sniffin’ around here, so be on guard.”

  “You heard him. Watch your backs and wrap your dicks.” Dixon thumped a fist onto the table, and they all nodded in agreement. Solidarity to the end, which Patriot was counting on.

  “Do you have any suspicions? Any idea who could have stolen these things?” Tank asked him.

  “I grilled my crew. This isn’t some mashup of criminals doing manual labor like some construction companies. I’m choosy. I select craftsman, and honest ones. If you so much as lie to me about being sick, I’ll fire your ass. I don’t hold to immoral behavior, period. My guys say they didn’t have anything to do with the crimes and know nothing about the stolen goods, and I believe them.”

  He met Dixon’s stare.

  “What happens next?” Dixon asked.

  “No charges are being filed yet. The sheriff questioned me and my guys. As of now, they’re looking into the claims.”

  “We’ll be ready for their questions too. We stand together.” With that, Dixon pushed away from the table and gained his feet. As one unit, they all stood. They opened the door to the thumping music again, and Dixon rubbed a spot between his brows.

  “My parents hate the loud music part of living next door to the club.”

  Patriot ‘s lips tipped in a slight smile. “Tell them to turn it down.”

  “Guys gotta blow off steam somehow, but yeah. I’ll put a cap on the hours we can have the music up loud.” Dixon walked into the front room again. His woman stood there, and when their gazes locked, Patriot had to look away or feel like a voyeur. The pair loved each other beyond anything in this cruel world. At least they had each other in the rough times.

  Fiona crossed the room and stepped into Dixon’s arms. He squeezed her, burying his face in her hair as though he hadn’t seen her in months and not only a few hours he worked in his father’s auto garage and bounced to Tank’s bike shop to lend a hand there.

  Over his shoulder, Fiona met Patriot’s eyes and shot him a smile. Why did seeing them so in love shoot his brain straight to that tree-shaded campsite and a sweet and innocent woman writhing on his fingers?

  He dragged in a deep breath. Damn, he could remember a total of six minutes since that encounter that he hadn’t thought of Aarica. Must be getting better—soon he wouldn’t think of her at all.

  Who was he kidding? He could still smell and taste her. The ache to be her first, the man to break through the walls she used to hold off every other man the past twenty-three years burned through him like a welding torch to steel.

  When a set of long fingernails slapped against his chest, he actually shuddered in disgust. He peeled Rochelle’s fingers away, unable to hold Aarica in his mind at the same time this woman touched him.

  “Why don’t you go find another guy to drape yourself over?” he grated out.

  Her eyes flew wide and then she pushed out her lips into a pout. “You know it’s you I’ve got a thing for.”

  “The feeling’s not mutual. So go.” He didn’t wait to see some perfected act of sadness filling her eyes at his harsh words and turned for the door.

  Outside, he pulled in a deep breath of fresh air. The tang of the Smoky Mountains that swept through Mersey filled his nose, but now in his deviant mind, the scent of nature blended with the musk of Aarica’s release.

  Fuck. He had a man’s problems and no time for a schoolboy’s fantasy of seeing her again, like he was some goddamn John Travolta crushing over Olivia Newton John in Grease. He’d fingered her—nothing more.

  He walked down the line of bikes to stare at the two that were the same exact model as the stolen motorcycle. How the hell was he going to clear his—and the Dark Falcons’—name?

  “Aarica, would you mind trying to persuade Jay to eat breakfast? He refuses everything I make him.” Mrs. Post grabbed her handbag and slung it over her shoulder before leaning in to kiss her eight-year-old son Jay goodbye.

  He dodged her affection and she offered him a gentle smile instead.

  “Be good for Aarica, okay? She is the nicest babysitter we’ve had.” She smiled at Aarica and then backed out the door on her way to work for the day.

  For a moment, Jay stared at the closed door. Aarica assessed the autistic boy’s mood and hoped he wouldn’t burst into horrible tears. She’d spent time with him off and on over the past few weeks, but today was their first day alone together.

  “C’mon, Jay. Want to sit down and eat breakfast together?”

  He turned his big green eyes on her and then shook his head.

  “Aww, c’mon. I’m starved and I’d enjoy some company.”

  He eyed her as though she’d force him to eat, but she knew from dealing with one of her female cousins on the autism spectrum that forcing them would be the worst end result. Coaxing was more her style.

  She fixed herself a bowl of cereal and then set out another bowl and spoon on the counter next to hers. She took her seat on the high stool and lifted her spoon. From the corner of her eye, she watched Jay inch closer to the counter.

  She took a big old bite, filling her cheeks and chewing loudly. Then she grinned around her food at Jay.

  He grinned and rushed to the stool. He sat up and reached for the box of cereal. His first attempt at pouring a bowl left little chocolate balls rolling across the counter. She laughed and rolled one his way with her fingertip, and he picked it up and stuffed it in his mouth.

  After they got his bowl filled with cereal and milk, they sat munching on their breakfast together. No surprise J
ay finished first. If he gave his mom such a hard time eating, he was probably starved.

  “Can you carry your bowl to the sink? Just set it on the side and I’ll wash it later.”

  He did, but the bowl dropped hard onto the counter with a clash that made him plaster his hands over his ears. Aarica jumped off the stool and hurried to him. She placed her hands atop his and looked into his eyes. “That was loud, wasn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  “It’s okay now. The sound is gone. See?” She looked around as if searching for it.

  Slowly, he pulled his hands out from his ears, and finding the noise that startled him now gone, he lowered his hands to his sides. Good—crisis averted.

  “What would you like to do this morning? Read a book together? Roll a ball outside?”

  He shook his head and then pointed to the living room.

  “Show me.” Ignoring the breakfast mess and the few bits of chocolate cereal that hit the floor when Jay poured, she led the way to the living room. He pointed to the TV and then wiggled his thumbs.

  “Ohh, you want to play video games.”

  Grinning that she understood him so easily, he bobbed his head and then plopped on the floor in front of the big screen. She wasn’t much of a gamer, but with five older male cousins, she could hold her own with a controller. After setting up the system and allowing Jay to select the game, she settled next to him to play.

  Turned out the kid was a whiz with games. They played two and he kicked her butt both times. Laughing hysterically, he pointed at her to poke fun, and she held up her hands in surrender.

  “You beat me good!”

  He pointed to the games on the shelf again, and she shook her head. “It’s sunny outside. Let’s go out and find a ball.”

  She placed the controllers in a safe place and helped her ward through a bathroom break before they headed out the kitchen door. It led to a deck, and the scent of fresh-cut lumber and new stain hovered in the air. The fenced in back yard was ideal for her to really let loose with her ward without fear of him running in the street in front of a car or harming himself.