“Your tits … fuck, baby. I just can’t get enough of you,” he said. Then he pulled away and dragged her to over to the couch.
As she lay on the sofa, shivers rushed up her spine while she watched him undress, his gaze never leaving hers. He bent over her and lightly kissed the good side of her face while those talented fingers tweaked her nipples hard.
“We’ve got all day,” he whispered against her ear. “And I plan to take advantage of every fuckin’ second.”
As he peeled away her clothes, sprinkling the exposed skin with kisses and nips, Autumn closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the delicious sensations.
Chapter Sixteen
The clouds were blackened shadows that shifted with the wind, and Chains rode fast under a sky devoid of the moon and stars. The rage inside him was like fire lacing through his veins and creeping up his spine. He needed to ram his fist into Bret’s face and make him feel what he’d done to Autumn.
Chains revved the engine at the red light, flipping off an angry driver who shook his fist at him. If the guy had said just one word, Chains would’ve lost it and most likely smashed in the windows of the jerk’s car and then beat the crap out of him. Every one of his nerves snapped and crackled under the fury that threatened to explode.
After Chains had seen Autumn’s battered face, it took all the strength he had not to run after his brother and beat him to a pulp. But Autumn had needed him, so he pushed down the anger, but it never left him—it just simmered under the surface, and now it was ready to boil over.
When Autumn had been in the bathroom the night before, Chains had called Eagle and asked him to scope out Bret’s apartment to find out whether the pussy was there. He wasn’t, but that didn’t surprise Chains: Bret knew he’d come for him. Ever since they were kids, they’d competed with each other, egged on by their dad. Chains was always the victor when it came to women and kicking his brother’s ass. But what Bret had done to Autumn was inexcusable, and Chains would make sure he paid for it.
The bike rounded the corner and then veered left on a dark street. He knew one of Bret’s best friends, Matt, lived in a townhouse at the intersection of Sparrow Way and Concord, so he pulled over a block away and continued on foot.
The night was silent except for the rhythm of biker boots on asphalt, and the street was deserted, which surprised him since it was only six o’clock in the evening. As he walked on, Chains tried to rein in the fury swirling around inside him. If he didn’t get a handle on it, there was a very good chance he might kill his brother. Pausing for several moments, he jammed his hands inside his leather jacket and took several deep breaths, exhaling slowly. Scorpio had taught him that technique. He had once told him he’d used it during his tours in Afghanistan when he’d been in the Marines, and then later when he’d been incarcerated. Scorpio swore by it, so now Chains implemented the method in hopes of calming the fuck down and avoiding a stint in prison.
One time, a few years back, Bret had called Chains to pick him up at Matt’s house because he’d crashed his sports car when he was drunker than hell. Bret didn’t want their parents to know, so Chains had helped him out. Now he was returning to this house for a second time, but it wasn’t to help his brother out, it was to kick his ass.
He glanced around the area but didn’t see his brother’s car; however, knowing what a coward he was, Chains figured the car might be in the garage or that Bret had his friend pick him up. He went around to the back of the house and heard voices. Light spilled out onto a patch of grass, the scent of smoky hickory swirled in the air, and the filtered clang of metal against metal rang through the quietness.
Chains flattened himself against the stucco wall and peeked around its corner. He saw Matt in shorts and flip flops, standing by a large grill and drinking a beer. Pressed to his side was a skinny blonde in tight jeans and a T-shirt. The chick was sipping something in a tall glass. There was no sign of Bret.
“Do you want another drink?” Matt asked.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” the blonde answered, then a string of giggles filled the small patio.
“Maybe.” Matt bent down and kissed her, then opened the sliding glass door and escorted her to the couch.
Anger and frustration gnawed at his gut like a hungry rat, and Chains stood for a long time in hopes he’d see Bret inside the house, but his brother never materialized. Fuck!
The creak of the door sliding open had Chains back against the cold stucco wall.
“The steaks are almost ready, babe,” Matt said.
Chains came out of the shadows and approached the unsuspecting man—like a lion does its prey.
“Is Bret here?” he asked in a low voice.
Matt’s sharp yelp added to the din of aluminum utensils dropping on the concrete floor with a shrill ping. He glanced at the slightly ajar door and took a step toward it.
“I don’t wanna hurt you, dude. Stay the fuck where you are and answer my question.”
“Hey, Chet.” A nervous laugh burst through his lips. “You startled me. How’ve you been?” Matt bent down to pick up the spatula, tongs, and large fork, his hands trembling.
Chains narrowed his eyes into slits. “This isn’t a fuckin’ social call. I’m looking for Bret.”
“I don’t know where he’s at. I haven’t seen him since he went away on business.”
He stalked over to him and grabbed Matt by the front of his shirt. The utensils crashed to the floor again. “Don’t fuckin’ bullshit me.”
Eyes wide with fear, Matt shook his head vigorously. “I’m not—I swear. If he’s not at his place, then I don’t know where he is. I’ve been kind of busy with this chick”—he glanced at the blonde on the couch—“that I started going out with a couple of weeks ago, and Bret’s been out of town a lot. I swear, dude—I’m not lying to you. I wouldn’t do that.” His gaze rested on Chains’s one-percenter patch. “I’d be crazy to do that, right?”
“Yeah—real stupid. I don’t like citizens lying to me.” He threw Matt against a small table piled with foil, plastic wrap, and spice bottles.
“I’m not. Maybe he’s at his girlfriend’s house.”
At the mention of girlfriend, Chains nearly punched Matt in the stomach, but reminded himself that he didn’t have any grudge with the guy.
“What’s her name?”
“Teresa. He used to go out with her before he met Autumn. I guess they broke off their engagement.”
“Where does this chick live?” Rage began to engulf him, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard, the taste of blood calming him.
“I don’t know her exact address. Somewhere in the southeast side of the town. I think the name of her complex is Windbreaker. I’m sorry I can’t help you. Do you want me to tell Bret to call you if I talk to him?”
“No, and don’t say a fuckin’ thing about this ’cause I’ll be real pissed if you do.” He cocked his head and glared at Matt. “And you don’t wanna see me pissed.”
“I definitely won’t say anything to him.”
“Hey, baby, who’s your friend?” the blonde said as she opened the door.
“Tell your bitch to get back inside,” Chains gritted.
“Go back in. Now.” Panic punctuated Matt’s words. “I’ll be in real soon. Fix yourself another drink.”
“But who’s your friend?” She hiccupped then giggled.
“Please, Chloe, go inside.” Matt pushed her back, then grabbed the handle and slid the door closed.
“What’s Bret’s sweet piece’s last name?” Chains asked.
Confusion raced across his face. “You mean his girlfriend?”
“Yeah—his slut.”
“Uh … Shit … I can’t remember.” Matt tapped his chin over and over. “I know it, but I don’t remember it now.”
“I’ve got time to wait.”
“It’s … uh … let me see. I know it’ll come to me.”
The strong scent of burning meat filled the small space. Matt glanced be
hind his shoulder, then cleared his throat.
“Do you mind if I take the steaks off the grill?”
Chains gave him a chin lift.
As Matt put the black meat on a platter, he shouted out, “Singer! That’s the last name,” and let out a nervous laugh. “I knew it would come to me.”
Without a word, Chains turned around and walked away. He hoped Matt wouldn’t do anything stupid, like call Bret, because he really didn’t want to hurt the guy. If Bret’s friend squealed, Chains would have no choice but to teach him a hard and painful lesson: when a person messed with an outlaw, he incurred his wrath.
While straddling his bike, Chains called Crow and asked him to try and find out where a Teresa Singer lived. Besides him, Crow was the other member who was good with computer intel, and the two of them often worked together on club business.
As Chains was ready to start the engine, his phone pinged, and the corner of his mouth tugged up when he saw Autumn’s name on the screen.
“Hey, baby,” he said.
“Hi.” The melody of her voice washed over him.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“You missing me?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Are you coming over later?”
In three hours, the drug deal was going down. “I don’t know what time I’ll be done. It may be real late.”
“That’s okay.”
“I’ll have to wake you up.”
“I won’t take a pain pill.” There was humor in her tone.
“Okay, darlin’. I’ll be over. I’m gonna bring Thor. I’m sure he’s madder than hell at me about now.”
“Aren’t you at the clubhouse?”
Chains quirked his lips. “No. I had something to do.”
There was a brief pause and he could hear her soft breathing. “I’d love to see Thor again.”
“Is your cat cool with dogs?”
“Cinder gets along with my parents’ terrier. She was the first pet in the family until Scruffy came along. If it was up to Scruffy they’d be best friends, but Cinder prefers an amicable but somewhat distant relationship. Is Thor okay with cats?”
“He doesn’t have a problem with them when we come across them on walks, but I don’t know how he’d do one-on-one.”
“I guess we’ll have to see how it goes. I’m willing to try.”
“Me too, baby. If I get done sooner, I’ll let you know.” Chains appreciated that Autumn hadn’t asked any questions when he’d told her he had club business that night.
“I’ll see you later.”
“You can count on it.”
“Be careful,” she whispered.
“I always am, so no worrying, okay?”
Her “uh-huh” didn’t sound too convincing, but there was nothing Chains could do about it. The world he lived in was fraught with danger at every turn, and being aware of his surroundings at all times was how he dealt with it. Life wasn’t permanent, so he made the most of each day, cognizant of the fact that it could be his last. Life and death were intricately woven together, and even more so in the one-percenter world: that was just the way it was.
Chains stared at the screen long after Autumn had hung up. The time they’d spent together had been amazing, and he couldn’t wait until her face healed so he could get a better taste of her sweet lips. He’d only been gone from her a couple of hours, and he was already hungry for more. The thing with Autumn was that she made him feel things he hadn’t felt—hadn’t wanted to feel—in a long time. And as hard as he tried not to, Chains was falling for her—hard. How the hell did this happen? He’d sworn off citizens, and it hadn’t been a big deal until that day he’d brought Thor to the clinic. Meeting Autumn had thrown him on his ass. A part of him kept saying that it was all too soon, but another part recognized that there was something deep and almost magical between them. And that’s what blew him away because he never fell for all that bullshit, but Chains couldn’t deny the magnetic pull that drew them closer, against their better judgment.
Not knowing where Bret was irked the hell out of him, but if there was one thing Chains had learned it was that patience was an asset, especially when stalking prey. The fact that Bret wasn’t at his condo meant the douchebag was on high alert and running scared. He knew Chains would come after him, but what he didn’t know was that Chains would wait until the right moment to strike, even if it took a week, a month, or a year. It didn’t matter because he had every intention of teaching Bret a lesson. The club’s menacing motto God Forgives, Night Rebels Don’t was the way the brothers lived their lives. They didn’t start fights or get into anyone’s business unless someone disrespected them first, then they’d right the wrong no matter what. They were a no-holds-barred brotherhood, and people who fucked with them fell into two categories: brave to the point of being delusional or dumber than hell.
Chains pulled into the club’s parking lot and killed the engine. Music, mixed with voices, carried toward him, becoming louder as he approached the clubhouse. A group of brothers milled around outside with beers in hand, most probably engaged in a serious conversation about engines and chrome. Motorcycle talk ranked higher than booze or women.
“Jester, how are you, bro?” Chains said as he walked over to a tall man smoking a cigarette. Jester was a member of the Devil’s Cannibals MC. The club was based in Carlsbad, New Mexico. They were a small group, and the Night Rebels helped them out with gun smuggling and selling pot so the club could up their revenue. Since Deadly Demons MC—bitter enemies with the Insurgents MC in Colorado—claimed New Mexico, the Devil’s Cannibals’ bottom rocker didn’t bare the name of the state, only the city—Carlsbad.
“Pretty good. It was a great ride coming here. What’ve you been doing? You missed the last couple of rallies in New Mexico.”
“Been working my ass off,” Chains replied.
“That’s no fuckin’ fun, dude.” A deep laugh turned immediately into a crackling cough.
“How’s life been treating you?” Chains asked.
“Not bad. My old lady and me keep fighting, but that’s nothing new.” Another cough. “Fuck! This shit’s gonna kill me,” Jester said, waving the cigarette in the air before bringing it to his lips and taking a few puffs. Smoke billowed around them as he jerked his head toward a group of scantily dressed women in very short shorts and skirts, and way-too-tight tops. “Looks like some of the bitches are gonna need some warming up.”
Chains nodded. The women were what the club referred to as hang-arounds: women who partied with the members on the weekends. These wild women threw caution to the wind and embraced life with abandonment. They were there for the weed, the booze, and the men. They’d come and go—some partying hard for several weeks in a row, then disappearing, only to pop up again months or even a year later. It never ceased to amaze Chains how many women wanted to come party with them. Of course, the hang-arounds knew the game: they were there for sex and if a brother wanted it, they gave it. If some of the women had second thoughts, the Night Rebels respected that, but then the chicks wouldn’t be allowed to party with them anymore. It was the way their world worked, and every player—member, hang-around, club whore—knew their roles.
“I heard you got a sweet piece of ass in your harem,” Jester said. “Aztec was telling me I gotta fuck Lila, but”—he glanced around at several hang-arounds teetering in high heels—“there’re so many chicks and so little time.”
Chains laughed and clasped Jester’s shoulder. “I know you can handle a marathon, bro. Lila’s a club girl—she’ll be here in the morning, but the hang-arounds are temporary.”
“Good point. I’ll try them out and Lila tomorrow.”
“How long are you guys here for?” Chains asked.
“Through the weekend. We’re heading back Monday morning.”
“Fuck, dude, you got all the time in the world.” Chains chuckled. “I’ll be back to drink a beer with you.” Chains lifted his hand and bumped fists with Je
ster.
“I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be busy,” the biker said as he headed toward three hang-arounds.
“Then, I’ll catch you later.”
Walking into the clubhouse, it took Chains a minute to adjust his eyes to the low light. The place was packed, and the smell of whiskey, pot, and pussy washed over him. Several of the club girls walked around the throng of men, giving them a sneak peek of what they wore underneath their tight clothes. On full-house party nights, the club women were extremely territorial with the brothers and the club in general. They were the women who lived at the clubhouse, and they resented hang-arounds who acted like they owned the damn place. Many a party included a few knock-down, drag-out fights between the club girls and the hang-arounds—the club women usually winning.
Chains chatted briefly with bikers from other clubs around Colorado and New Mexico, and then he headed to his room. Normally, there wouldn’t be a party on a night when a serious business deal was going down, but because the meeting date had been changed from the night before to that night, the brothers from other clubs had already come to Alina to party with the Night Rebels.
Thor started barking the second Chains slipped the key into the lock, and when he swung the door open, the Siberian rushed over to him, jumping up on Chains, licking his hands and then running around in circles.
“Did you miss me, buddy?” Chains asked as he dropped on one knee and drew the dog to him, stroking his soft coat repeatedly. “Did you eat?” He glanced over at Thor’s empty dish.
A soft knock at the door had him up on his feet in a flash.
“Hi, stranger,” Ruby said as she slipped inside his room. “I tried to get your attention as you walked through the big room, but it’s so loud that you didn’t hear me calling your name.”
“No, I didn’t. What’s up?”
“I wanted to tell you that I fed Thor before the party started. I also spent last night in your room because he didn’t want to sleep anywhere else. Was that okay? I hope you’re not mad.”
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