by Tara Oakes
“Baby, I’m most definitely not a softy.” I let my words stun her, but feel her fingers explore over the denim covered dick to see exactly how wrong she was.
She takes a sharp intake of breath, “Oh…”
That’s right. Oh.
“They all good back there?” I ask how Baby, Stitch and the kid are.
She nods, gulping.
“Good. Let’s get the fuck outta here and let them have some time alone. I think I should show you exactly how wrong you were about me being a softy.” I promise.
Angel frantically nods. For someone so stubborn, she sure is looking forward to being proven wrong.
~*~
CHASE
The refrigerator is old, half broken, with the bottle of champagne slushing as I take it from the shelf as if it’s partly frozen. I don’t usually drink this shit, usually opting for the harder stuff, but this is a special occasion.
I grab the nearby dishcloth and cover the corked top as I work the metal spring hinge before a loud hollowed popping sound cracks through the small kitchen.
“Ah!” Cat turns the corner just as the foam bursts from the bottle neck and down my hand. She drops to the floor and covers her head.
I laugh while stepping back so the dripping foam doesn’t fall on my feet. “It’s not a bullet, Tush. It’s just champagne.”
My words take a minute to sink in, before she uncovers her head and looks up to reassure herself that we are not, in fact, under attack. Embarrassed, she stands. “Why are you opening that and where did it come from?”
A shithole like this doesn’t have actual champagne glasses so I make do with juice glasses, pouring to the top. Her one, and I one. “The guys brought it up the other day. Was waiting ‘till just the right moment.”
Confused, she takes the glass I offer. “I thought people usually drink this before having sex?
She’s more than half naked, her skin still flushed from the ride I’ve just taken her on. If she were right, we’d have had the champagne about forty-minutes ago.
“We’re celebrating.” I inform her of the text message that came through while we were sleeping after having a marathon session of making the other come.
Cat’s eyebrow arches in question. “Celebrating?”
I clink my makeshift champagne glass against hers. “New baby.” She nearly spits out the champagne in her mouth. I laugh. “Not mine, Tush. A brother’s.”
She looks relieved. “Oh. The way you said it, I thought—”
“I know what you thought. No, it’s definitely not my kid.” I calm her worries.
My answer only seems to have confused her more. “So, you don’t want kids then?”
That’s quite a question.
I finish the expensive drink in my glass. “Never thought about it. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, I’m fine with that, too. Figured I’d cross that bridge when I get there.”
She doesn’t seem to be thrilled with my response. “I see.”
I quickly change the topic. “How ‘bout we drink the rest of this bottle, get drunk off this expensive shit and then fuck like rabbits?”
She clinks my glass, toasting to the suggestion.
As I finish what’s in my glass, I move to pour another, but pause as my phone buzzes on the nearby counter.
“I’ll do this.” Cat takes the heavy green bottle mid pour and finishes the task as I inspect the screen of the cell.
I read the message quickly.
What the fuck?!
This isn’t good, not by any means. “Skip the booze, Tush. We need to jet outta here. Now.”
It’s like she has whiplash. “What?”
I help her along by taking her glass and tossing it is the sink, pushing her luscious tush back toward her room. “Put some warm clothes on.”
She repeats herself. “Wh-why?”
“Cause we’re goin’ for a ride.” I’m losing patience, so I take her hand and lead her myself to her small bedroom, shuffling through the drawer of clothes until I find a pair of jeans and black hoodie. Perfect. We want to camouflage ourselves as best as possible in the night.
“It’s nearly three in morning!” She points out the time while stepping into the tight jeans.
Searching on the bed, I find my crumpled shirt from earlier, the one Cat tossed away while we were stripping each other a few hours ago. “Yup. It’s late and we’ve got about an hour ride. We gotta leave now, Tush. Less talk, more moving.”
“Where are we going?” Her hoodie muffles some of her words as she lowers it over her head.
“You ever ride on the back of a bike before?” The last thing I need right now is her freakin’ out behind me. This ain’t no joyride. We’ll be haulin’ ass.
Cat crosses her arms and pops out a hip. I knew it was too much to hope that she’d go along willingly without putting up a fight. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on, Chase.”
I don’t have time for this shit. The tone of my voice gives that much away. “You will go, on your own two feet, or kicking and screamin’ over my shoulder. Your choice.” My answer doesn’t cause her to move. “Look, Tush. I told you I’d keep you safe. I promised you. You need to listen to me and let me keep my word right now. Can you do that? I promise I’ll tell you what’s going on as soon as we get far enough away where I don’t have to worry about gettin’ caught in something I can’t get us out of.”
Her eyes squint and she looks for something in my eyes to help her decide whether she’s gonna play nice or not. “Fine.”
Breathing a sigh of relief that we don’t have to do this the hard way, I grab her hand and my leather cut on the way out, not bothering to lock the door.
It’s after three in the morning. Whoever’s coming isn’t going to be deterred by a fuckin’ locked door.
I’ve never made it a habit to let chicks ride on the back, so I don’t have an extra helmet. We’d gotten Cat here to the cabin in the van, and she didn’t need a helmet for that.
With the possibilities of how fucked up this night could get, falling and cracking my skull open doesn’t seem to register in the top ten. I hand her my helmet and help secure it in place as she clearly has no idea what to do with it.
For the first time since I’ve met her, she actually looks a little nervous. “Look, baby, all you have to do is hold tight and keep your feet on the little pegs. Don’t move them or you could get burned on the exhaust.”
She swallows hard and nods, taking in the instruction. I get on the bike first, holding out my hand to help her climb on and settle herself. She doesn’t do half bad for her first time.
“Tighter,” I call out over the rumbling start of the engine, and Tush obeys, tightening her thighs around my hips. Revving the engine, I warm the engine before skidding in the densely packed dirt under the tires, squealing off down the back path behind the cabin with nothing but my Harley’s headlight to light the way.
In places the branches are overgrown, whipping past us violently but she’s able to hold on, burrowing her head low behind my shoulders to protect herself from the rapidly passing over brush. I can feel her fingernails digging into my chest as she barrel hugs me, bracing herself for the crash that she no doubtedly believes will come.
Not tonight. She’s about to find out and experience first hand the one thing that I do better than fucking… riding.
With only about twelve feet visibility and going at about thirty miles an hour downhill on nothing more than a worn dirt path, I’ll admit it’s a challenge. But, I fucking live for a good challenge.
Maybe that’s one of the things that first drew me to Tush. She’s nothing if not a challenge. Even now, after we’ve been screwing for a little while, with her all but having given up on trying to kill me in the most creative ways possible, she’s still a challenge.
She doesn’t mindlessly do as I say. She questions everything. That’s a tough pill for me to swallow, as most of the brothers’ women don’t show such independence or d
efiance. Not openly, at least. Well, I take that back. From what I’ve seen, Dawson’s got his hands full with Angel. Nothing he can’t handle, but certainly enough to keep him on his toes.
I picture the two of them side by side, Angel on one hand and Tush on the other. I think they’d both come pretty close when it comes to who’s more thick-headed. God help us all if they ever team up together.
The trees begin to thin, marking the end of the trail immediately before we spill out onto a paved country road, heading in the direction of Riverdale. I haven’t had a chance to text Dawson and let him know we’re on our way, but there’s time for that. He knows me well enough that he must have anticipated what I would do under these circumstances.
I’ve heard from him a few times tonight, first with a generic text announcing the birth of Stitch and Baby’s newborn little girl, and then again later on when he gave me a heads up that someone was comin’ our way, traveling up to the cabin, someone we wouldn’t want to hang around to greet.
We’ve had an escape plan in place since before we brought Cat up there in the first place. The terrain is much easier now, on smooth road, but Tush doesn’t let up her grip. Truth be told, I like her hanging on this tight, holdin’ on for dear life. I’d never let her fall. I’d catch her every single time.
A couple of miles down the remote back road highway and my cell phone buzzes in my pocket. Expertly, I handle the bike with one hand while retrieving the phone with the other.
“Don’t!” Cat gasps. “Pay attention to the road!”
I laugh. I could answer a phone, steer a bike and jerk off at the same time if I wanted to, but she doesn’t know that. “All right. We’ll stop.”
There’s a mom and pop convenience store/gas station/diner coming up that the late night hauling truckers use. It’ll be the perfect place to stop, gas up and clue Dawson into what we’re doing.
With no street lamps to guide our way, the dark wooded tree line on either side of us is brooding. I’ve ridden enough times in darkness to be used to the creepy unknown that surrounds us, but for Tush, it must be unsettling.
Once the neon lit sign comes into view, I feel Cat exhale a breath of relief against my back. The lot is almost empty with only a couple of haulers and rigs in it. I pull us into the very first spot in the front.
Cat remains still, frozen. I reassuringly take her knee and squeeze lightly. “You gotta get off first, Tush.”
Like the novice she is, she struggles to dismount from the large bike, but we manage to safely get her on her own two feet before I join her. “Come on. Let’s get some coffee.”
I’ve stopped here once before, about a year and a half ago and I don’t remember the coffee being anything to write home about, but it’s hot and it’s got caffeine in it. Right about now, we need both of those things.
Stepping inside the old-fashioned greasy spoon type restaurant portion of the place there’s music playing low, some type of old school country, from a juke box playing in the corner.
The one waitress working the place notices us enter and gestures to a nearby booth, following with two large plastic menus and a pot of black coffee.
I nod to Tush, signaling for her to sit first and then I sit on the outside of the bench seat, blocking her in. I’m not taking any chances that she’ll take off, having gotten her first taste of freedom in weeks.
Sure, we’ve shared something these last few days. Sure, I’m feeling things for her that I haven’t felt for anyone else, and I’m pretty sure she feels the same way. But I’m not naïve. She’s still my prisoner. I’m still her guard. My first responsibility is to the club, and they need me right now. They need me to keep an eye on my mark.
“What’ll it be?” The waitress asks while turning over the two coffee mugs on the table and pouring them full of steaming Joe.
“Two eggs, sunny side up. Bacon. Grits.” I recite my standard breakfast order even though the sun isn’t even up yet and won’t be for at least another hour.
The woman scribbles the request on her small pad before turning to Cat. “And you, Miss?”
Cat actually reads the limited menu. “Um… huevos rancheros and a side of fries.”
Surprisingly, this place actually has her Tex-Mex selection. The waitress takes our menus back and nods before leaving us to ourselves.
“Okay, Chase. So, what’s going on?” she demands.
I hold up my finger to her, signaling I’ll need a minute as I type a quick text message to Dawson, alerting him that I’m bringing Cat to the clubhouse. Once my message is sent, I turn my attention to her.
“We were going to be ambushed.” I tell her.
She looks surprised. “By who? How do you know?”
Other than a beady looking guy over in the corner eating some kind of sandwich, no one in this place looks suspicious so I decide it’s safe to tell her exactly what’s goin’ on. Wrapping my arm around her, I pull her in close so I don’t have to speak loudly.
“Got a text from D, that’s Dawson, right before we split that they were being followed by some unmarked car with a couple of guys in it. They put a tracking device on the car. Well, the tracker showed that car driving up toward the cabin.”
Tush is listening closely, on pins and needles, at the real life tale of espionage and suspense. I sip my coffee before continuing. “It’s too much of a coincidence that the brothers would be followed and then the car would head away from town, in the middle of the night, into a remote area where you and I happened to be hiding up.”
“It could have been Mateo!” Tush realizes she’s speaking loud enough for some of the patrons to eye us. She lowers her voice to an excited whisper. “Chase, it could have been my cousin. He—he wouldn’t hurt me, or you. He actually needs your help.”
I’m not quite sure what the fuck she’s talkin’ about, but in my experience anyone looking to surprise you in the middle of the night isn’t looking for help. I tap the screen of my cell to bring it to life and then select the app I need.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Here, take a look. You recognize these guys?” I angle the phone just right so she can see the surveillance footage that’s linked to the live feed hidden cameras we have placed in the cabin. Thankfully, the guys are still there, rummaging through the place.
The footage is grainy at best, so Tush has to squint hard. I let her take the phone to inspect the images more closely as our breakfast arrives.
“I—I don’t know…” She practically ignores her food to concentrate on the video evidence backing up what I’ve been telling her. “Wait!” Once again a few eyes dart over to us and she sheepishly lowers her voice. “The one man… he just sniffed a pair of my panties!”
Her shocked whisper garners my attention enough to see for myself.
It’s true. One grainy looking shadow reached into a laundry bag held a pair of the white cotton panties that she had been wearing yesterday before I persuaded her to remove them for some more interesting fun.
Sick bastard! A big part of me is wishing I hadn’t left the place, had stuck around to take care of that son of a bitch myself.
Tush brings the phone closer, almost touching the tip of her nose to the screen. “I know the one guy. The smaller one. That’s Pepe. He works for my father.”
I drop my fork and look over her shoulder to see the guy she’s talking about, the one who isn’t the panty sniffer. “You sure?”
She nods her head up and down excitedly. “Yup. See? He’s missing a finger on his right hand. That’s Pepe all right.”
True enough the guy is missing a finger. “Could he be working with your cousin, Mateo?”
She shakes her head no as if I’ve just said something blasphemous. “Absolutely not. Pepe is one of the guys who helped kill Mateo’s father. I’m sure of it. He’s my father’s hitman.”
As if she’s just realized something, her eyes grow wide. “Wait. Why would father send his hitman to come rescue me?”
I don’t need to answer her. The screen on the phone
does it for us. Although the night vision shades of black, white, and green don’t give too much detail, it’s obvious that flames are engulfing the place and isn’t long before we lose the video feed all together.
They’re torching the place.
She’s frozen in place. Taking back the phone, I tuck it into my pocket where the images will remain unseen. She doesn’t need to see any more.
“Eat your breakfast. We’ve got to get going in a few.” I try to offer her a distraction from the fact that her father sent mercenaries to come for us.
Shaking her head, she pushes the plate away. “I—I’ve lost my apatite.”
I can’t blame her. I’ve been doing this a long time and it still sends a shiver up my spine seeing the image of men that want nothing more than to kill you. It feels like someone walked over your grave.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DAWSON
Things have been quiet, too quiet, around here the last couple of weeks. It gets you comfortable, too comfortable, to the point where you can get complacent and not see an attack coming.
That’s what Jimenez was doing, biding his time, letting things lie low so he could swoop in and have the advantage from the element of surprise. Fuck that! And fuck me for getting a little too lax. I should’ve seen this coming.
Angel’s still sleeping, out cold, with the thick comforter barely covering the tits I’d been sucking on last night. That’s some real temptation to pry yourself away from, but I have to.
Once all this shit is taken care of, I’ll make up for having to leave those. Just the thought of seeing the tip of my cock peeking through the swells of those tits gives me a charge running through my body to get going. The sooner I leave, the sooner I come back, and then the sooner I come on those smooth bulging mounds that have hooked me.
I swear, those babies are gettin’ bigger, no longer able to fit in my hand like hanging piece of fruit. I’ll have to test that theory once I get back.