“Convenient, you were gonna call,” Pacino said snidely.
“No. Just truth,” Beck lied.
“Enough,” Web sighed, taking his own seat.
Anyone left standing did the same.
Except Beck.
But Digger and Pacino went to take their seats.
“Feet, brothers, do not sit,” Web growled.
Both their eyes shot to Web, but he was looking at Beck.
“Beck, you sit,” he ordered.
“But—” Pacino began.
“First meeting of Resurrection has just begun,” Web announced, cutting Pacino off. “Beck sits, we can discuss our first order of business, revoking the patches of brothers Digger and Pacino.”
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!” Pacino yelled.
“Second,” Spartan said loudly.
“Aye,” Hardcore said.
“Aye,” Griller said.
“Aye,” Rainman said.
“Aye,” Eightball said.
“Aye,” Muzzle said.
“Beck?” Web prompted.
Beck took his seat, focus on Pacino, and said, “Aye.”
“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you, motherfucker,” Pacino threatened, attention glued to Beck.
“You look at him funny, I’ll set you on fire,” Hardcore growled.
Pacino glanced nervously at Hardcore, because Hardcore was called Hardcore for a reason, before he turned back to Beck.
“Better keep close watch over that pretty porn snatch you’re bangin’—”
That’s all he got out.
Because he started retreating when Beck’s chair hit the wall behind him and he prowled swiftly around the table.
Pacino tripped over his own feet, but what took him down to his back was Beck’s fingers wrapped around his throat.
He planted a knee in the asshole’s chest, got in his face and squeezed.
“What were you sayin’?” he whispered.
“Thro . . . Beck,” Web murmured from close.
Pacino kicking his feet, his fingers digging into Beck’s wrist, Beck asked, “What was comin’ outta your mouth?”
Pacino opened and closed that mouth, unable to get anything out, or any oxygen in, his face getting red, one hand went from Beck’s wrist to beat the floor as his body jerked viciously, fighting for air.
He should never have told them he was with Janna. She wanted nothing to do with the club, he should have made sure the club didn’t know she existed.
To keep face with them, show he was moving on from Rosalie, earn trust with sharing, keep them thinking with their dicks he was the big man, he got in with a girl in the porn scene, he’d shared.
Another lesson learned.
And time to right that mistake.
“You don’t even remember Janna exists,” he whispered. “You got me? You walk outta this room, she’s not even a memory. Confirm I’m heard.”
Frantically, Pacino nodded.
Beck gave it another five seconds.
He counted it out.
Slow.
When Pacino’s eyes started bugging, he put his weight in the man’s throat to push up.
He stood over him. “You better’ve just given me the honesty, brother. Anything happens to Janna, I swear to fuck, you’ll beg me to drag my knife from your balls to your gullet to end the pain I’ll bring.”
Pacino got on his ass and scrambled away, doing it until his back hit wall, grabbing his throat and sucking in air.
Beck didn’t move anything but his eyes, and he did that to follow him.
“Think that’s your cue to get the fuck outta here,” Eightball noted, and Beck tore his gaze off Pacino to see Eightball leaning a forearm into Spartan’s shoulder, boots crossed at the ankles, Spartan’s arms crossed on his chest, eyes on Pacino like he was fascinated by the workings of an ant.
Spartan was not a small man.
Jesus, Eightball was one tall motherfucker.
He hadn’t paid any attention to these men at all.
Lost in grief, his own mindfuck, like he’d done with Rosalie, he hadn’t paid any attention to his brothers at all.
Maybe, they were a lot like him. Maybe, dead-end jobs and kids wanting the latest smartphone and even shit dicking with their heads Beck had not made the effort to know, they’d looked for a brotherhood and found themselves on a path they didn’t want to be on and didn’t know how to get off.
Just like him.
But he didn’t know.
Because he hadn’t paid a lick of attention.
Beck looked back when Pacino struggled to his feet, drew in a big breath, two, before he sneered, “You bunch of big dumbfucks will be disbanded in a year. You don’t got what it takes to be an MC.”
“Funny, feels to me like the heavy that’s been weighing us down has just been lifted,” Griller remarked. “I feel like a flower blossoming.”
“The poet speaks,” Muzzle muttered with humor.
“Swaying in a light breeze,” Griller went on.
“Crazy fuck,” Core mumbled, but that mumble held amusement.
“Losers,” Pacino said under his breath as he moved to the door.
“Fucktard,” Eightball replied.
“Asshole!” Pacino shot back, standing at the door.
“Man, you aren’t gonna win this because, first, your ass ain’t out the door yet and it’s still out the door. Second, I’ve sunk my dick in pussy in the last decade, to be precise, this morning before I came here, I came in her, and you can’t get pussy unless you pay for it, which I think is half the definition of a fucktard. And third, you actually just are a fucktard,” Eightball returned.
Pacino scowled at Eightball before he gave his parting shot.
And it was the parting shot of a fucktard.
“I hope you all rot in hell.”
“That’s somethin’ a girl would say,” Rainman remarked.
Pacino slammed out the door.
“Digger, door works for you too,” Web noted.
That was when Beck turned to see Digger was standing, rooted to the spot.
“Digger, Resurrection meetings are for brothers only. You need to leave,” Web pushed.
“I don’t have my brothers, I don’t have dick,” Digger whispered.
“You shoulda thought of that before you offered us up to Lannigan,” Web returned.
“It was supposed to go good. It was supposed to be money. Bitches. Brothers. Outlaws,” Digger said.
“Maybe coulda been that, if we’d known what the fuck we were takin’ on and why. Lannigan has a beef against Chaos. He fucked you to get in that Club. Then he renounced that Club. Then he fucked you again to get back at that Club,” Beck reminded him. “That motherfucker doesn’t know what brotherhood is. He probably doesn’t even know how to spell it. He’s proved repeatedly he doesn’t know how to live it. And you laid us out for him.”
“I don’t have you, I don’t got dick,” Digger whispered.
“Think Pacino is lookin’ for a playmate,” Hardcore suggested.
Digger looked at Core with an expression on his face like he was about to get sick.
Then he hung his head and slowly walked to and out the door.
“Take the table, my brothers,” Web murmured.
They all moved to the table.
“Resurrection,” Web said after they all settled in.
Men cast glances at Beck.
Beck stared at Web.
“Righteousness,” Beck stated. “Clan. Honor. Respect. Allegiance.”
“Iustitia, Tribus, Honoris, Observantia, Fidelitas,” Griller muttered. “Though there’s a bunch of ets in the middle of those.”
“You havin’ a seizure?” Muzzle asked.
“Took Latin in in high school,” Griller returned. “Shit stuck.”
“We got our mission, brothers, we got our club,” Web announced, and his attention went back to Beck. “That tat you got on your arm, Beck, the one with the eyes staring through a helmet a
nd mouth grill of flame. You think your artist would be down with designing our patch?”
She got paid enough, she’d be down for anything.
“Sure,” he answered.
“Get on that, brother,” Web ordered but added, “And check those translations. Not that I doubt Grill. But we’ve fucked up enough. Let’s at least get our motto right.”
Instead of sighing, Beck lifted his chin.
He had no idea how Lucas was going to take this.
He’d weakened a murderer.
But it seemed he’d accidentally strengthened his club.
It would go down how it went down. He couldn’t change it.
And he’d never been assured of not doing more time.
If he didn’t give the cops the club, and something they could use on Valenzuela, he’d just probably have to do more of it.
He’d always been down with that option.
He’d earned it.
But now there was Janna.
So now, for the first time, he hoped he didn’t get fucked.
Not for him.
Because if he did, she would too.
On his way home . . .
No.
On his way back to Janna’s, he pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store to a spot at the far end of the lot and stopped.
Not to call Lucas.
Because Hardcore had been following him since he left the old Kiwanis or Rotary club or whoever they’d bought that piece-of-shit, cinder-block nightmare from to make it their clubhouse.
Hardcore pulled in at the open spot in front of Beck and kept rolling until he’d stopped at Beck’s side.
He shut down his bike.
So Beck shut down his bike.
“Not a big fan of the tail, man,” he growled.
“Shit we landed on Rosalie was fucked up, brother,” Hardcore returned.
Beck stared at him.
“Lost Kiki ’cause a’ that,” Hardcore shared.
Beck knew Kiki was gone. But Hardcore went through pussy like water.
That said, Rosalie had told him she thought Hardcore would keep Kiki. She’d said he was “gone for her” or some shit.
She’d been right a lot.
It was obvious she was right about that too.
“She lost her fuckin’ mind,” Hardcore went on.
“You’re tellin’ me this . . . why?” Beck asked.
“Honesty, Thro . . . Beck.”
“And you want me to do what with it?”
“I know that cut you, man,” Hardcore said low.
“Yeah, landin’ your own blows then watchin’ your brothers beat the fuck outta the woman you were gonna make babies with cuts. That a surprise?”
“Pacino is a piece of shit,” Hardcore muttered.
“He called for it. But we all voted on it. And you said aye, Core. So did I. We gotta live with that. But we don’t gotta do that processin’ it.”
Core gave him a close look. “You should bring Janna to the clubhouse, we party, Beck.”
Starting how he started, then going to that, was he insane?
“I’m not bringin’ another woman near that club until I know the club is tight and the woman is tight,” he returned.
“I get you,” he mumbled.
Beck didn’t care he got him.
“We done?”
They weren’t, and Hardcore wasn’t close to finished laying it out.
“Janna okay?” he asked.
“She’s my business, not yours.”
“Just sayin’, you need anything, brother.” It was an offer.
This was him reaching out.
Beck wished Core had reached out before.
Beck wished he’d reached out to Core before.
Maybe he wasn’t the only one learning lessons.
Even so . . .
“Last time you were with a woman of mine, that didn’t go too good, so no offense, Core, but I wouldn’t wait for me to call.”
“Yeah,” Core looked off into the distance. “I get you.”
Jesus.
He felt the mantle of shame for what was done to Rose suffocating him, he didn’t need his brother to lay his guilt on him.
Core looked back at him. “Web ain’t young and he held the gavel when all that shit went down. It happened on his watch and—”
“One,” Beck cut him off, “seems you’re a big fan of layin’ blame elsewhere that rests on all our shoulders, brother. Two, you got problems with leadership, you bring them to the table, not tail me to a parking lot to scheme some fucked-up mutiny.”
“I’d tell Web this to his face,” Core ground out.
“Then why you tellin’ it to me?”
“Because I think you should be president, and I’m not alone. Muzzle, Eight and Grill agree. This shit has worn Web out. He feels it. You can see that every time he sits the table. He was our leader when that went down, and if you’d let me finish what I was sayin’, I feel it for him. We all went along for the ride, but you sit in his chair, it’s gonna lay heavier on you. Think he’s good to hand over the gavel once we got our new charter sorted. And I want you to think about taking it when he does.”
Beck stared at him.
“Once the club is solid, we can make him Chaplain. He’d dig that,” Hardcore continued.
Beck said nothing.
“Just think on it, brother. We fucked up, and we were fallin’ apart. But you’re a big part of what kept us together, even after you took the hit of losin’ Rosalie the way we made it so that happened. That loyalty has not been missed. So just think. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Beck grunted.
“Seriously beautiful, you goin’ the extra mile to answer questions none of us thought to ask and ousting Digger and Pacino. They were both patched in before our time, and I do not get how that happened. Pacino was just a nuisance, but he was a big one. Digger,” he gave an impressive, fake, full-torso shiver, “that guy’s never been right. He did that porn girl, I would not be surprised. Kiki fuckin’ hated him. Took a lot not to go out and buy champagne, we saw the back of him.”
Hardcore grinned a grin that Rosalie used to call his Hollywood smile and Beck never got that, but now he was seeing the guy was pretty good looking.
“And I fuckin’ hate champagne,” he finished.
Core lifted a fist and Beck automatically lifted his.
They bumped them, then hooked thumbs, wrapped fingers around and held tight before they let go.
It wasn’t a secret handshake.
But all of Bounty did that.
He hadn’t done it in a long fucking time.
You asked him five minutes ago if he’d missed it, he would have said no.
Now, honestly, he’d have to take a second to think.
“Bring Janna around,” Core said quietly. “We’d like to meet her and not why you’d think. Just be good to have some decent babes around for a change.”
With that, he jerked up his chin, fired up his bike and took off.
Beck looked forward and sat there, staring at the empty spot in front of him for a minute before he did the same.
Spooked by the tail, he didn’t pull off and call Lucas.
Seeing as she was out, he’d call the man when he got to Janna’s.
And when she got home, he’d try to pull info about her dream out of her.
She was still holding it over him as emotional extortion.
He was hitting her pad not only because her pad was a whole lot nicer than his, but also because he was giving her the weekend in order to try to help her sleep easy.
But if she didn’t give him what was troubling her sometime that weekend, even if he had to tie her to the bed and play with her, not letting her come for days until he got it out of her, that was what he was going to do.
Misfits
Beck
That evening, ten after eight . . .
Beck sat on his ass with his back to the headboard, feet in the bed, legs spread, eyes glued on Janna, trying har
d not to come.
Jesus, what was happening?
She had a hand wrapped tight, working his shaft as she sucked hard at the head, alternately circling it with her tongue.
But anytime she got close to taking it to the limit, she backed off, stroking him deep with her mouth, full throated, working him up, taking her time, making it almost painful to stop himself from fucking her face.
And she wasn’t glancing up at him, checking his reaction.
Part of the brilliance of what she was doing was that she was all about his dick. Like sucking his cock nourished her or something.
It was phenomenal.
It was rocking his fucking world.
So much, that was all he could think about.
And not the weight in his gut.
“Babe,” he growled.
She didn’t even look at him.
She went from head action to doubling up, jacking him and stroking deep with her mouth, hand tight and draws wet, warm and heavy.
His hips started moving.
“Babe,” he warned.
She kept at him, tightening her fist and sliding her other hand down the inside of his thigh right to his balls, cupping them in her hand.
She’d never touched his boys.
It was like they didn’t exist for her.
Fuck.
He lost both her hands when she had to plant them in his thighs when his hips came off the bed and he started fucking her face.
Shit, she took that, her expression turning enraptured.
It was goddamned beautiful.
He fucked her faster.
It was then she lifted her eyes to his, and she was so there, so in the zone, so fucking getting off on this, Beck had no choice but to reach down to her, grasp her under her arms and drag her up his chest.
She straddled him, breathing heavily, and he shoved in at her back until it arched toward him.
He hadn’t managed to get her bra off before she started sucking his dick.
And he didn’t bother with getting it off then.
He just used both hands to tug the cups down, bunching the stretchy material under them which forced them together, high and tight—an invitation.
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